The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(48)

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “You can’t just tell me Grath and Saraj are your problem and expect me to be content with that.”

“You have no say in the matter,” Emery said, keeping his voice low. “And the decision is not only mine.”

He walked past her, heading for the front door.

“I have no say in the matter?” Ceony repeated, catching up to him. “You’re just going to keep me in the dark, after all this?”

Emery laughed, a mirthless sound. He stopped walking. “I wish I could keep you in the dark,” he said, cool and blunt. He kept his voice low to prevent Mg. Hughes from overhearing. “But you won’t stay there. I could plead with you on my hands and knees and you still wouldn’t stay there, Ceony. You’re a candle that won’t be snuffed, and now the darkest parts of this world can see you. And they don’t tolerate the light.”

He shook his head and continued walking. Ceony followed him into the hallway.

“I said I was sorry,” she said, the words shaking in her throat. “I’m so sorry, Emery. Please don’t be angry with me. If I could go back in time and change it, I would.”

“It’s unfortunate that time is not a material,” he said, pausing just long enough to open the front door. He stepped out into the afternoon light, searching the street beyond the short front yard. He folded his arms. “And I am angry with you. I am so”—he paused—“so angry with you. But I will take care of you, Ceony. I swear my life on it. I will take care of you.”

Ceony’s heart twisted in her chest. Gooseflesh prickled her arms, despite the heat. Her gaze dropped to her feet, and all she could think to say was, again, “I’m sorry.”

Minutes later an automobile pulled up to the curb and Emery walked toward it. It had no passengers, but when the driver stepped out, Ceony recognized him immediately.

“Langston,” she said.

Emery said, “Thank you, for doing this.”

“It’s not a problem,” Langston replied.

Emery turned to Ceony. “You’re going to stay with Langston for a little while. He’ll see that you have everything you need.”

Ceony’s jaw fell. “I . . . you’re transferring me?”

Langston said, “It’s only temporary, until things clear up. I promise you’ll be safe. I keep a good watch.”

But Ceony shook her head. “I-I don’t want to be safe.” To Emery, she said, “I want to stay with you.”

Emery avoided her gaze. “Take care of her. I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Take too long?” Ceony repeated. She grabbed Emery’s shirtsleeve. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Please, Ceony,” he said, just a murmur. “Please do this for me. If nothing else, please just get into the auto.”

Ceony retracted her hand, feeling as though Emery had slapped her. Her cheek throbbed anew. Unable to bring up words, she merely nodded, and Langston opened the passenger-side door.

Emery turned back to the house without a good-bye. Ceony stared at its doors as Langston drove away, but he never reemerged.





CHAPTER 17



LANGSTON ASKED CEONY SIMPLE questions as they drove, just as he had after rescuing her from the city after the incident at the bistro. But Ceony only stared out the window, watching buildings as they passed, unable to find a drop of conversation in her. After a few blocks, Langston started chatting about the weather and the university library, which had recently accumulated a large collection of American newspapers, which he claimed to be “more honest” than the British ones.

Ceony pressed up against the window as the automobile passed the street she would have turned onto to get to the Mill Squats in Whitechapel, where her family lived. Her father would be at work right now, her mother preparing dinner, her sister Zina out with friends, trying to use up as much free time as possible before the school year began. Marshall would likely be curled up on the couch with a book, and Margo would be outside playing in the dirt, searching for worms or building castles.

Outside, where anyone could see her. Ceony had to warn them.

“Could you take me to the Mill Squats, please?” Ceony pleaded as Langston stopped for a woman crossing the street.

“I’m sorry,” Langston replied, and he really did look sorry. He also looked like he wanted to put a padlock on the passenger-side door. “Magician Thane asked me to take you straight home. Are you worried about your family?”

Ceony sank into the seat. “Yes.”

“They’ll be safe,” Langston said, guiding the automobile forward. “Magician Thane is thorough, and if Criminal Affairs is involved, they’re probably already at the house, getting things in order.”

Ceony nodded, but the young Folder’s words could only comfort her so much. They were a threadbare blanket against a winter storm. No matter how tightly Ceony wrapped it around herself, she could do nothing about the holes.

Langston drove down a street not too far from the Parliament building, one lined with town houses on one side and vanity stores on the other. The town houses—tan, white, gray, even salmon pink—all stood five stories tall, and all pressed up one against another so that not even an ant could wriggle its way between them. Langston parked in front of a coffee-brown town house trimmed with black and came around the automobile to let Ceony out. He offered his elbow, but she shook her head and followed him inside on her own.