Ceony sat across from him—the position she took for most of their lessons. Emery shuffled the cards rather expertly, which made her wonder what sort of employment he had taken before becoming a Folder. Her journey through his heart hadn’t revealed those secrets, and so she decided it best not to ask.
“You remember the File-location spell I taught you, yes?” he asked.
Ceony did, as she remembered nearly everything that occurred in her life, whether she wanted to or not. For the most part, her photographic memory was a gift. Emery had taught her that spell the day after his recovery from losing his heart—the same day Ceony had begun calling him by his first name.
She recited the lesson. “So long as I have made physical contact with the papers in question, I can use a ‘sort’ command and then recite, verbatim, the written terms I am looking for.”
It would have been a useful spell to know while studying for midterms at the Tagis Praff School for the Magically Inclined.
“Precisely,” Emery said with a nod. “With playing cards—unless they’re from a tampered deck—you can do the exact same thing. And you can assign a card a gesture instead of a name, so that the gesture will call it forward in a game. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He fanned out the cards, perhaps to ensure he had, indeed, touched each of them, and then said, “Sort: King of Diamonds.” One of the topmost cards pulled out of the deck toward him. He plucked it up with his other hand and turned it so Ceony could see that it was the King of Diamonds.
He then turned the card away from Ceony and, as though talking to the king himself, said, “Re-sort: Gesture,” and tapped the right side of his nose once. Emery slipped the King of Diamonds back into the deck and shuffled it, dealing Ceony and himself five cards as though they were playing poker, which they had gotten into the habit of doing most Tuesday nights at a quarter past seven.
“Now,” Emery said, holding up his cards. “So long as I mumble ‘sort’ under my breath, or somewhere where the cards can hear me, I can signal the King of Diamonds by tapping my nose. I usually find it best to say the word before I enter the room where the game is being held. But mind that you must repeat the ‘sort’ command for each card you intend to steal.”
He coughed—Ceony thought she heard the word “sort” in the act—and tapped the side of his nose. The King of Diamonds flew out of the deck and right into Emery’s waiting hand.
“How deceitful of you,” Ceony said, though she couldn’t help but smirk. How angry Zina would be if Ceony used this trick against her the next time they played Hearts!
“It’s easiest to disguise what you’re doing when you’re shuffling or dealing,” Emery explained, “or when your opponent is distracted by something that’s cooking in the kitchen.”
Ceony opened her mouth to protest, but instead closed it and shot him a disapproving look. He had won the game last Tuesday when Ceony had cinnamon rolls in the oven. She had been worried they would burn. Perhaps that’s why Emery never kept the money she lost, regardless of the amount. The cheater.
“And how do I tamper with the deck?” she asked.
That amusement rekindled in his eyes. “A lesson for another day. I can’t give away all my secrets at once,” he said. He handed the deck to her, and Ceony tried the spell herself, only with the Queen of Spades. To her relief, a quick tug on her braid summoned the card on her first try.
“Now we shall see who wins at cards,” Emery said, chuckling to himself. He gathered the deck and returned it to the recesses of his coat. For the next spell, he stood and retrieved two white, 8½" by 11" sheets of medium-thickness paper and set them down on the Folding board. His eyes met Ceony’s for a long moment as he settled back into his seat, but Ceony couldn’t read his thoughts. Emery had gotten better at hiding them these days.
“I’m going to teach you the Ripple spell, but this is one that can’t be rushed,” he explained, dropping his gaze to the rectangular paper in his hands. “The thickness of the paper does affect the spell—the thicker the parchment, the stronger the ripple.”
“What ripple?” Ceony asked, brows drawn together. “I haven’t read anything about Ripple spells.”
Emery smirked and did a square Fold—a triangular Fold that formed a square when opened, after cutting off the excess paper. He sheared the excess strip off with a rotary cutter and performed a full-point Fold to turn the Folded triangle into a smaller, symmetrical triangle.
“Cutting off the excess is necessary,” he explained. “Don’t start with a square piece of paper. Would you hand me the ruler?”
Ceony snatched the ruler from the top drawer of the table. She heard a few pencils roll around inside the drawer as she closed it, and Emery frowned. He would probably reorganize that drawer before he left the library today. For a man who was more or less a pack rat, Emery preferred his belongings to be in perfect order. Perfect to him, at least.
Emery set the ruler down on the paper to measure the width, then laid it out across the length. “Five-eighths of an inch is the magic number. Remember that,” he said. He dragged the rotary cutter across the line, but stopped short of shearing off the base of the triangle entirely. He then flipped the paper over and measured again, cutting from the other side, five-eighths of an inch up.
“Like in sewing,” Ceony said, watching his hands work. Even though she would remember all the cuts, this spell would take her far longer to prepare. How did he make his measurements so quickly?
“Is it?” he asked, glancing up at her before making a third cut, flipping the triangle once more. Two more cuts, and he had an evenly sliced triangle in his hands.
He carefully unfolded it until it became a single-layered flayed square. Pinching its center, he lifted the paper up. Ceony ogled—it looked like a multi-tiered, geometric jellyfish. She didn’t know any other way to describe it.
Emery stood, and Ceony followed suit.
“This is something I kept in my back pocket when I . . . aided law enforcement,” he said. Ceony, of course, knew about his work hunting Excisioners, the practitioners of forbidden blood magic, but there were some things Emery just didn’t like to discuss. “It’s good for a distraction, or to give someone you don’t like a headache.”
Emery extended his arm in front of him and commanded, “Ripple,” then bobbed the paper creation up and down, making it look even more like a jellyfish.
The spell blurred, but so did the rest of the library. Ceony blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the very air seemed to undulate out from the paper jellyfish, like a rock thrown into the center of a pond. The floor rolled; the bookshelves waved. The ceiling twisted and the furniture appeared to be swimming. Even Ceony’s own body rippled back and forth, back and forth—
Her mind spun as vertigo assaulted her. She reached for the chair, for the table, but her hand missed and she teetered.
Emery sidestepped and caught her, one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. He dropped the spell, and the library reoriented itself, straight and sturdy once again.
“I should have insisted you stay seated,” he said apologetically.
She shook her head, finding her feet. “No . . . it’s very, uh, useful.”
As her vision returned to normal, she became hyperaware of Emery’s hand on her shoulder, and despite her every urge for it not to happen, her cheeks burned with a flush.
Emery’s arm lingered a moment after she had steadied herself, and he seemed hesitant to remove it. Was he worried she’d fall?
Clearing his throat, Emery rubbed the back of his head. “You should practice this when you get a chance, perhaps with thinner paper to start, hmm?” He glanced toward the door, then at the table drawer containing the loose pencils. He stepped around Ceony and began reorganizing the errant drawer. “And the paper doll, of course. That should keep you busy until the tour tomorrow.”
Ceony took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t notice her blazing skin. “I think it will. I’ll finish my work on the doll first. It’s a little le
ss jarring.”
Emery nodded, and Ceony excused herself.
She settled back down on the floor of her room, leaving the door cracked open. However, as she picked up her enchanted scissors and held them to the paper doll, she found she had an especially hard time holding her hand still.
CHAPTER 3
CEONY ROSE EARLY THE next day without the help of Jonto, whom she found lurking suspiciously outside her bedroom after she had gotten dressed. She wore her red apprentice’s apron over a beige blouse and navy skirt, and had pinned her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, where the uniform top hat wouldn’t disturb it. She had enough time to prepare two fried-egg sandwiches and fluff Fennel’s bed before the buggy pulled up to the house, the driver casting a wary glance at the illusion of a dark mansion with broken shutters and sharp-eyed crows. He must have been new.
Emery didn’t appear until the buggy honked. He looked somewhat bleary-eyed.
“You really should go to sleep earlier,” Ceony commented as he locked the house. “Why did you stay up?”
“Just thinking,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“About what?”
He glanced at her, paused, and smiled. “As I said, I can’t give away all my secrets.”
Ceony rolled her eyes and hurried to the car. “I think there’s a good many hours in the daytime for thinking.”
Emery merely smiled a second time and helped her into the cab. Once they were comfortably settled, Ceony handed him his sandwich. The man really would have starved by now had Mg. Aviosky not appointed Ceony to his stewardship. She told him so as he chewed his first bite.
“A great many things would have been different without you, that is certain,” he replied.
Ceony mulled over his words for some hidden meaning, but deciphered none. Perhaps she really wasn’t as astute as she should be. She wondered if there was a spell for that.
It took the buggy two hours and Ceony and Emery eleven conversation topics, ranging from Ceony’s father’s new job as a facilities worker for the local water treatment plant to the mating habits of honeybees, to arrive in Dartford. Ceony had never before been to Dartford. She glanced out the window as they approached, soaking in the sight of the large, industrial-looking city. Narrow, cramped-looking homes and flats occupied both sides of nearly every street, and various factories, warehouses, and sparse trees lined the city’s perimeter. Dartford also had a very wide river with a port. Leaning forward, Ceony closed her eyes and held her breath as the buggy drove over a long suspended bridge, trying to block out all thoughts about the miles and miles of water beneath her. Emery placed a hand on her back for comfort, which he did not remove even after the buggy found solid land. Ceony made no comment, letting herself enjoy the subtle warmth of his fingers.
The driver pulled into a wide square paved with cobblestones, parking in a free spot amid a long line of automobiles and one unhitched carriage. When Ceony stepped out and looked for the paper mill, she saw only more flats, a butcher shop, a bookshop, a Polymaking—plastics—studio, and some sort of foreign-foods grocery store, all more squat and less colorful than similar buildings in the capital. Only the bank building reached more than one story high.
A breeze swept by, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned around and scanned the narrow street behind her, but saw only businessmen on their way to work and a small flock of flying mail birds, enchanted by some other Folder in a nearby city. Odd—for a moment, Ceony had experienced the distinct sensation of being watched.
“Where’s the mill?” Ceony asked after Emery paid the driver and began walking toward the square.
“It’s on the east side,” he answered. He jutted his chin forward, toward a short, faded red bus parked in the square. “The shuttle will take you there.”
Ceony paused. “Just me?”
Emery smiled, and Ceony spied mischief in his green eyes. “It’s a rather dreadful tour, and the place doesn’t smell too pleasant, either. I’m going to pass on this one.”
Ceony frowned. “You make it sound so exciting. Can’t I just read a book about it and skip?”
“Ceony, Ceony,” he said. “You do not yet know the marvels that wood chips and pulp have in store for you. There will be a test. This visit is a requirement of the Board of Education for Folders—elective credit for anyone else. As I told you, Magician Aviosky specifically requested your presence.”
Ceony pulled her top hat down farther on her head. “There’s a special place in heaven for people like you.”
Emery laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“Ceony!” sang out a familiar voice.
Ceony looked toward the shuttle and spied Delilah, Mg. Aviosky’s apprentice, hurrying toward her. Emery quickly withdrew his hand from Ceony’s shoulder and stepped aside as the women greeted each other.
Delilah grabbed Ceony by the arms and kissed both her cheeks—French bisous—as she was wont to do. She was the perfect opposite of her buttoned-up mentor. While Mg. Aviosky had a rather uptight and proper demeanor, Delilah bubbled inside and out, and wore a smile that refused to ever leave her perfectly oval face. She had curled her sunny-blond hair, cut into a bob, and wore a sky-blue sundress beneath her apprentice’s apron. Ceony wasn’t tall, but Delilah stood a good two inches shorter.
“What are you doing here?” Ceony asked, watching from the corner of her eye as Mg. Aviosky approached Emery. “You’re studying glass!”
“Magician Aviosky says it’s proper to be well versed in all the materials,” Delilah said with a slight French lilt, her voice reminiscent of chiming bells. “She said you’d be coming. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ceony laughed. “Why would I mind? But it doesn’t look like it will be a very big group.”
Indeed, other than Magicians Aviosky and Thane and the bus driver, only three other apprentices—all male—had gathered by the bus, each wearing a long red vest instead of an apron. Ceony recognized two of them from her graduating class: George, a stocky man whose rimless glasses were propped on a short nose, and Dover, whose curly dark hair and tan skin had always won him the attention of Ceony’s female classmates in school. Ceony suspected their attention was why it had taken Dover the full three years to receive his diploma from Tagis Praff.
Delilah took Ceony by the hand and pulled her over to the bus. She greeted all three boys and introduced Ceony to the one that she hadn’t previously met. He was a tall, lanky fellow who reminded Ceony of Prit from Emery’s high school—the aspiring Folder whom Emery had bullied—except that he was a Pyre, a fire magician.
Delilah practically cooed Dover’s name, but he didn’t seem to mind. It surprised Ceony to learn that, like herself, both Dover and George had been assigned to paper, and George had obviously not come to terms with that fact.
“What a waste of time,” he grumbled, leaning back against the bus and folding his arms loosely over his chest. “Maybe if we all hold hands and stay quiet, someone will give us lollipops at the end of this nonsense.”
“A sour one for you,” Ceony quipped, then flushed upon hearing her own words. She had been spending far too much time around Emery. George’s ensuing scowl only punctuated that thought, though Dover turned away to hide a chuckle.
“It will be splendid,” Delilah said, hanging off Ceony’s right arm, “and great exercise, besides. I’ve always wondered how paper is made.”
“Deforestation,” George replied. Dover laughed, his perfect curls quivering with the effort. Clemson, the Pyre, merely scratched the back of his head.
Mg. Aviosky clapped her hands and said, “Everyone onto the shuttle. We are sending you without chaperone because you are adults; please remember that during your tour. The shuttle will meet you at the south entrance to the mill at noon. Don’t be tardy. Your participation in this event will be recorded for your permanent record.”
George cursed under his breath. Ceony met Emery’s eyes and shrugged, then allowed Delilah to lead her onto the bus.
> To Ceony’s dismay, the Dartford Paper Mill really did smell awful—something like overcooked broccoli with a touch of morning breath. Three buildings, squished together, comprised the factory itself. Seven stories tall, they were built to look like an even mix between a dormitory and a prison. The first six floors were striped with rows of evenly spaced rectangular windows, and the first and third buildings boasted a huge smokestack each, which billowed white, broccoli-scented steam into the air, making it feel especially humid. Part of the large river Ceony had ridden across earlier flowed behind the factory, turning various wheels and powering generators.
Their small tour group gathered together by the side of the shuttle. For the second time that day, Ceony felt as though someone was watching her. Gooseflesh sprang up on her arms, but none of the other apprentices seemed to notice—their attention was focused on the mill. Perhaps being in a new city had heightened her paranoia.
“I think it could look quite nice with some curtains,” Delilah suggested.
“And some perfume,” Ceony added. Still, she imagined that all the paper she had Folded these last three months must have come from this mill, so that meant something. Without this factory, she would be out of a job.
A tall woman in a purple jacket and an alarmingly short skirt that barely covered her knees appeared from inside the first building just as the shuttle drove off. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her eyelids were lined perfectly with kohl. She cradled a clipboard in the nook of her left elbow.
“Hello, hello,” she said, counting each head with a bob of her finger. She took dainty steps around the pebble-strewn road. “Seems we’re missing a few. Will they be on their way?”
Ceony glanced around her. “I think this is it.”
“Oh. Well, all right. Still a decent group.” The woman nodded. “My name is Miss Johnston, and I’ll be your tour guide today. Please stay together as a group, and don’t touch anything unless instructed to do so. If we can do this, the tour will move along swiftly.”
The Glass Magician Page 2
