The Master Magician (The Paper Magician Series Book 3)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Several complaints? Ceony thought. Surely not about her and Emery. Surely! So few knew. Mg. Aviosky wouldn’t have reported anything, would she have? And Ceony knew her mother would never have said a word. She had seemed rather taken with the idea of having a daughter in romantic league with a magician.

  She thought of Zina and felt her stomach sink. Surely Zina wouldn’t have filed a complaint with the Cabinet . . . and wouldn’t it take more than one complaint to make a ruling, besides? Ceony had to believe the best of her sister or go insane imagining the what-ifs. If nothing else, Ceony could take comfort in knowing Zina would likely be too lazy to fill out a report.

  How strange it all felt. She and Zina had never been at odds before, not like this.

  “What is it?” asked Bennet.

  Reassigned. Ceony frowned. If she didn’t pass her magician’s test in three weeks, she might not be able to continue her tutelage under Emery. Perhaps she wouldn’t even be able to stay in London. There was only one female Folder of whom Ceony knew, and rumor had it she’d moved to the United States.

  “Ceony?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She handed back the newspaper and passed Bennet a plate so he could serve himself. Bennet inspected the newspaper, probably trying to determine what article had so grasped Ceony’s attention. To avoid conversation, Ceony examined the list Mg. Bailey had given her. After scanning to number fifty-eight, she refocused on the first item: Something to open a door.

  Open a door? she wondered. As in a paper spell to open a door? But who would craft a spell to turn a handle when it could so easily be done without magic?

  I have to pass this test, she chided herself. The stakes were higher now than ever.

  She tapped the corner of the list against her lips. Jonto was capable of opening a door. Not that she had time to construct a paper butler, but it gave her an idea.

  #2. Something that breathes. Any animation would do. She could Fold that in her sleep.

  #3. Something to tell a tale. Story illusion.

  #4. Something that sticks.

  “Sticks?” she repeated. Something sticky, or something to stick to something else? A throwing star might serve a purpose there . . . but it would be best to come up with multiple solutions. Better to overprepare than be caught off guard. She had a feeling Mg. Bailey wouldn’t give her any clues.

  “Hm?” Bennet asked, swallowing a mouthful of egg. He eyed her list. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know anything about that.”

  Chewing on her lip, Ceony rolled up the list and stuck it in her skirt pocket. “Let us assume that I’ll be very, very busy while I’m here,” she said.

  She eyed the newspaper and wondered if Emery had seen the article, too.

  Ceony took the cushioned chair in the corner of the apprentices’ study while Mg. Bailey instructed Bennet in his next Folding lesson. The study was about the size of Emery’s library, which meant it was relatively small for the enormous home. It had a short bookcase half-filled with books, a narrow shelf that appeared to be filled with homework assignments and notebooks, and a row of six desks—far more than necessary—taking up the east wall. A giant, multipaned window comprised the entire north wall, and the west held cubbies stacked with various lengths and thicknesses of paper. Two simple chandeliers hung from the ceiling, both made of glass bulbs filled with Pyre-enchanted fire, much like the streetlamps in downtown London. They would light when the room grew dark, and didn’t require new glass or matches, though a Pyre would need to come twice a year to rejuvenate their glow. Ceony had learned that from her readings on fire magic.

  Her attention wasn’t focused on the lights, however, but on number fourteen on her list of tasks: Something to hide the truth. A blind box could work perfectly for that, unless Mg. Bailey expected her to use a nullification spell on a fortuity box. That didn’t require much in the way of preparation, however. Ceony would merely need to command the fortuity box “UnFold” while the fortune-teller used it, and she doubted the test could be that easy.

  “It will destroy the paper with random tears,” Mg. Bailey said to Bennet from one side of a cherrywood table. Bennet occupied the other side. They both sat with rigid backs. The “Shred” lesson seemed overly formal, in Ceony’s opinion.

  “Observe,” he said, holding up a piece of unused paper. Such a waste.

  “Shred,” Mg. Bailey commanded, and the paper tore itself into over a dozen uneven portions. Bennet collected the pieces into a neat pile on the table surface. Once he had finished, Mg. Bailey continued. “It works on various sizes of paper, and on active paper spells—”

  Ceony twirled a strand of hair around her finger. #53. A means of escape. Emery’s glider immediately came to mind—could she use something that large on her test? She couldn’t see why not, though she had a feeling the items on this list would need to be brought to and used in the test itself, and a glider large enough to carry her would be difficult to transport, especially if she didn’t want it damaged during the trip. Unless she rode in on it . . .

  Concealing confetti, she thought. A trick parlor magicians loved to purchase from Folders—paper confetti that could be thrown in the air to teleport a person a very short distance, so long as it wasn’t through a wall. She’d first encountered the spell in Belgium, when Emery had used it to circumvent Grath. Perhaps that would work.

  Too bad I can’t just mirror teleport, Ceony thought. She fingered the charm necklace hidden beneath the collar of her shirt.

  “Miss Twill.”

  Mg. Bailey’s sharp use of her name drew Ceony from her thoughts. She lifted her head and dropped her hand from the necklace.

  The Folder frowned. “Did you not bring a ledger?”

  She blinked. “A ledger?”

  “For notes.”

  Ceony cast a glance at Bennet, who rubbed the back of his head and avoided eye contact. “Notes on this lesson?”

  Mg. Bailey sighed. “Yes, Miss Twill.”

  “I know the ‘Shred’ spell, Magician Bailey,” Ceony said.

  “And would a review not be beneficial to your magician’s test?”

  Ceony felt as though her ribs had turned into vipers and were in the midst of attacking one another. She tried to smooth her eyebrows, which had skewed significantly in response to the Folder’s questions. “I . . . no. I’m quite familiar with the spell and have used it multiple times successfully. Taking notes would be . . . redundant.”

  “And what of other spells I may teach today, or tomorrow, hm?” Mg. Bailey asked, his face looking even longer. The corners of his lips drooped into his chin. “Do you feel too experienced to benefit from them?”

  A blush threatened to creep into Ceony’s cheeks—or perhaps it was a flush of anger. “I mean no disrespect.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Magician Bailey . . .” Bennet whispered, but if the Folder heard his name, he ignored it.

  Ceony sat up as straight as her spine would allow. “If I did not feel confident in my knowledge of Folding, I would not be making the preparations for my magician’s test. No, I don’t believe I need a ledger. If by some means you teach something that Magician Thane has failed to instruct me on in his lessons, I will pay rapt attention, I assure you.”

  Mg. Bailey snorted. “If Magician Thane believes he can cover every aspect of Folding in two years, he’s deluded.”

  The flush made it to Ceony’s face this time. “You’ll have to take that up with the Cabinet, then, Magician Bailey,” she said, each word sticking to her teeth like saltwater taffy. “The education board is the department that deduced a person could earn their magicianship in two years. I’m sure Patrice Aviosky would love to hear your explanation as to why the department is in error.”

  Mg. Bailey narrowed his eyes. A few long seconds passed before he said, “You’re dismissed, Miss Twill.”

  Gladly, Ceony thought, but she dared not push her luck with more words. Rising from her chair, she smoothed her skirt and walked to the door with the paper list
in hand, fighting her desire to run, stomp, and curse the bloody man’s name.

  “Deluded,” she mumbled to herself. She pinched her lips together, hoping the word didn’t carry through the vast emptiness of the ridiculous house, if the man could hear anyone speak with that ego pressing against his eardrums. “No wonder this place is so empty,” she added with a scowl. “Who on earth would want to live with him?”

  She fidgeted with her necklace and daydreamed of going back into the study and turning Pyre right then and there. How she would love to hurl a ball of flames right at Mg. Bailey’s head!

  She found Fennel scratching at the door in her room, his rubber paw pads thumbing against the doorjamb. She picked the pup up in her arms and scratched his neck.

  “Sorry, boy,” she said. “I’m sure Magician Bailey would love to de-spell you if you wandered into his line of sight.”

  Fennel huffed and wagged his tail, jerking toward the window. Another butterfly rested on its pane, a brief letter from Emery hidden in its Folds. He recounted the dullness of his day and an invitation to a ball being thrown for new Tagis Praff graduates. He had likely been invited since he might soon be free to take on a new apprentice. So they both hoped, anyway, at least if the position opened for the right reason, and not because Ceony was forced to relocate and live with a female mentor. Of course, he claimed he didn’t plan to attend.

  Oh, how she missed Emery. And the thought of how Mg. Bailey had insulted him, not to mention her, set her bones blazing once more. She lowered Fennel to the floor and punched her mattress. That man was trying to be impossible.

  Ceony pulled free her list of items to Fold for her test and set it on the breakfast table, which was slowly transforming into a desk. It would be best if she started now. The sooner she passed her test and left the Bailey prison, the better.

  CHAPTER 9

  THAT NIGHT, HOVERING over the breakfast table beside two thick candles, Ceony rubbed the sprout of a headache from her right temple. A ledger sat open under one wrist, while the list from Mg. Bailey was sprawled beneath the other.

  #24. Something to cross a river.

  She chewed on the end of her pencil. Surely she wouldn’t have to physically cross a river! As far as she knew, the magician’s test wasn’t mobile . . . but then again, she knew never to expect the expected when it came to magicians, especially Folders. Emery had taught her that, and on her very first day as his apprentice, no less.

  Something to cross a river. A shiver coursed up one arm, across her shoulders, and down the other. Would they make her demonstrate the device? Either way, she couldn’t let her hydrophobia thwart her chances of winning her certificate. She just couldn’t.

  Sighing, Ceony scanned down the list to numbers thirty-two and thirty-three. Something to cause a storm and Something to repel the rain. All three items were water-related. The storm wasn’t specific, though. Perhaps she could create the illusion of a storm, or Fold dozens of water-droplet-shaped spells that could fall from the ceiling like paper snowflakes.

  As for repelling the rain—real rain, she assumed—Ceony’s mind warped back to the night she and Emery had fallen into the river in their buggy, and the “Conceal” spell Emery had used. It had taken a bowed shape, similar to an umbrella. Such a spell, modified, could potentially repel rain for a short time.

  Saraj.

  Ceony shook her head. He, of course, had caused the accident, but she couldn’t worry about him now. She had a test to focus on—a test that Mg. Bailey apparently didn’t believe she could pass.

  He’s still in England, a voice in her head insisted.

  Ceony set her pencil down and rubbed the base of her hands into her eyes. Focus!

  A knock sounded at her door.

  Ceony lowered her hands as Fennel’s tail shot straight into the air in excitement. He yipped his whispery bark and hurried for the door.

  Ceony almost stopped the paper dog, but surely Mg. Bailey wouldn’t come all this way to speak to her. And about what? Certainly not to apologize.

  “Come in,” she said.

  The door creaked open and Bennet poked his head in. His blue-eyed gaze jumped to Fennel almost instantly. “Oh my!” he said, crouching down and prodding the dog’s ears. When he realized they wouldn’t fall off or crumple under his touch, he let himself get a bit rougher. “This is the dog!”

  “Fennel,” Ceony said with a smile. “He’s been aching for company.”

  Fennel yipped and put his front paws on Bennet’s knees, licking his hands with that paper tongue. Ceony hoped it didn’t leave any paper cuts in its wake, as it had been known to do.

  After a moment Bennet stood. “Do you mind?”

  Ceony waved him forward.

  Bennet shut the door to prevent Fennel’s escape, glanced around for a moment, then took the chair opposite Ceony, though there wasn’t an inch of free space on the breakfast table. “I wanted to come by and apologize for Magician Bailey.”

  “He can’t apologize for himself?”

  “He’s just got some chipped shoulders, if you know what I mean.”

  Fennel sniffed about the newcomer’s shoes for a moment before occupying himself with something on the other side of the bed.

  “I have a vague idea,” Ceony said. She knew the man had been picked on in school—Emery being one of his tormenters—but that had been years ago. Surely he hadn’t held on to such old grievances for so long! “But it gives him no excuse. If nothing else, I’m a lady.”

  “He’s just . . . different, I guess,” Bennet said. “I had a hard time adjusting, too, but after a month or so I started to understand him. We get on well now.”

  Ceony shut her ledger. “He treats you like a butler.”

  “No,” Bennet said, “not really. I mean . . . please and thank you aren’t foremost in his vocabulary, but he means them. Implies them. If he asks you to do a small task, there’s no harm in doing it, and he’ll be more pleasant afterward. That’s one rule I’ve learned.”

  Despite being a “lady,” Ceony snorted and leaned back in her chair. “Rule? What other rules should I be aware of?”

  “Well . . .” Bennet paused, thinking. “It’s best not to bother him in the morning if you need something . . . and requests are best made through paper mail. You know, sending a crane to his office.”

  “But we’re in the same house!”

  “A big house, but it takes the edge off,” Bennet explained. “You know, lets him mull it over before answering. He doesn’t like to be surprised, and he’s more positive when given a chance to mull.”

  Ceony resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Really, though”—Bennet clasped his hands in his lap—“it takes him a long time to get used to people, and he just likes to keep to himself. Sometimes it’s nice not to have to report every little thing, you know? As long as I keep up with my lessons and get my homework done on time, we get along. And he doesn’t care what I do with my free time. There’s lots of space to stretch out.”

  A long sigh passed through Ceony’s lips. “I suppose he and I are just very different,” she said.

  Bennet straightened, eyes wide and hopeful.

  “And,” Ceony continued, “it’s only for a few weeks. I can follow these . . . rules . . . for a few weeks.”

  Bennet grinned. “I’m happy to help, always. If you need anything. I know you’re more advanced and all—”

  “You’ll be testing soon, won’t you?” she asked.

  Bennet shrugged. “Maybe in a year. I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready.”

  Ceony frowned. “With a different teacher, you might be.”

  He smiled. “I appreciate your confidence. And when you need a break . . . there’s a really lovely park not far from here. Magician Bailey has his own Mercedes, and sometimes he lets me take it out. There’s a duck pond, and it’s a nice place for a picnic.”

  Ceony, who had taken to bending the corner of her test list back and forth, slowed her fingers. She kept her shoulder
s lax, but her chest began to warm. Surely Bennet wasn’t insinuating a date . . . Was he?

  “Oh?” she asked. Prodded.

  “Just say the word.”

  Ceony glanced to one of the paper butterflies beside her window. I guess I just won’t give the word, she thought. No harm done.

  “Thank you for the offer,” she said. “Hopefully I won’t need a break.” She sighed and lifted the list from the table. “I have so much to do. I’ll have to get to Folding tomorrow.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you,” Bennet said, rising from the table. Fennel ran over to meet him, perhaps hoping the visitor would play. Bennet laughed and rubbed the top of the paper dog’s head. “So expertly made,” he said. “I’m really impressed. Would you consider letting me take him apart to see how he works? I don’t recognize some of these Folds.”

  Ceony stiffened. Her extra enchantments on Fennel aside, she couldn’t bear the thought of someone taking him apart. Not when Emery’s hands had so expertly crafted him, twice.

  “I’d . . . prefer to keep him intact,” she said.

  Fortunately, Bennet didn’t push the matter. “All right, but I wouldn’t mind getting a lesson from you in advanced animation,” he said, apparently assuming Ceony the pup’s creator. “Have a good night.”

  She smiled. “You, too. And thank you.”

  Bennet left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Ignoring her work, Ceony penned Emery a note and Folded it into a crane.

  She didn’t mention Bennet’s invitation.

  Mg. Pritwin Bailey paced back and forth in the apprentices’ study, turning just before reaching either curtain covering the large window. Morning sunlight gleamed off his spectacles whenever he passed in front of a certain ray of light, and he clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Recite the steps for a ‘Stiffen’ spell,” he commanded Bennet, who sat dutifully in a chair at the table.

  Ceony, as before, had taken up residence in the corner of the room. She held her ledger on her lap, though the writing on the current page grew more lax and sloppy with each passing line. The words morphed from thoughts on her magician’s test to unsorted notes regarding Saraj Prendi.