The Glass Magician

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I mean, I think it would be a greater hindrance for everyone involved for me to try and move now,” Ceony amended. “If I have the option, I would prefer to stay in London.”

  Mg. Aviosky’s look of disapproval was unmistakable. A curt nod made Ceony’s stomach clench.

  “Take care of yourself, Miss Twill,” Mg. Aviosky said, stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll be checking in on you soon.”

  Sunlight from the wide square window near the bed woke Ceony, and despite the late hour at which she had turned in for the night, she couldn’t coax her body to sleep more. Too many thoughts ran through her mind. Why would another Excisioner want to hurt her? Where was Grath, and what would his next move be? How long would this new flat be safe?

  And what did Mg. Aviosky think of her? And Emery?

  She pulled herself from bed, wearing only her under-things and a chemise. She never slept so scandalously, especially with a man in the adjoining room, but all her clothes had been soaked last night, so her choice had been between sleeping in damp under-things or nothing at all, which would have been especially humiliating had she needed to vacate the room quickly.

  She flushed, the pinkness visible on her chest and arms, and hurried to her closet, where she had hung her clothes to dry. The second set she had packed seemed wearable. The first would need to be washed, as they bore mud stains from the riverbank and had dried stiff.

  She changed with haste and brushed out her hair, but didn’t bother with makeup. Not today. She didn’t think kohl and rouge would do her any good, and her cosmetics probably needed to dry out, too.

  When she opened the bedroom door, she found the living room bathed in bright sunlight, thanks to its east-facing window. The lavender sofa was empty save for a folded blanket perfectly aligned with the rightmost cushion. Emery sat at a tall, walnut-stained desk against the wall. He had hung his indigo coat by the door and wore the simple white button-up shirt and gray slacks he had donned the day before.

  He Folded Fennel’s front left leg.

  “Emery!” Ceony exclaimed, running to him. He had a stack of clean, white paper—where had he gotten that?—next to him, as well as Fennel, almost fully formed now. The paper forming his ears and part of his torso was slightly wrinkled, damaged from the river.

  “When did you have time to do this?” she asked, ogling his handiwork and the circles under his eyes. “You never went to bed. You pretended to go to bed and did this instead!”

  Emery smiled. “I had a lot to think about. I didn’t mind.”

  “You’re insufferable,” she mumbled, tears burning the corners of her eyes. She touched Fennel’s new muzzle, splayed sideways on the desk. A little more work and he would be able to reanimate. “You need to rest,” she added, a little quieter.

  Emery leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in a wide V. “A nap would be nice. What time is it?”

  Ceony frowned. Had Emery really suffered a bout of insomnia, or had he done this for her?

  “It’s seven thirty,” she said. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  His eyes smiled at her.

  “I’ll make you breakfast,” Ceony declared, taking one step toward the kitchen. She paused. “We have no food.”

  Emery rubbed his chin. “I believe you are correct, unless Patrice took time to stock the cupboards before we arrived. Given the short notice, I consider that highly unlikely.”

  He glanced back to his work. “Give me a few more minutes here and we can pick up some provisions.”

  Ceony reached for his face—watching those tired eyes—but retracted her hand, thinking better of it. She remembered again the look Mg. Aviosky had given her.

  “You should rest first,” she said instead.

  “I’d rather not,” Emery confessed. “I’d like to stay alert. And hidden, but I know of no businesses that deliver groceries, and while I saw a telegraph in the lobby downstairs, I wouldn’t know how to contact them, besides.”

  Ceony excused herself to write up a grocery list, which included soap for their filthy clothes. She stashed extra paper in her bag in case of an emergency and left the room. Emery had finished Fennel, but he left him unanimated on the desk. He pulled on his indigo coat and led the way out the door. Other early risers sparsely dusted the street outside.

  “I suppose we should go to the west end of Parliament Square for these things,” Emery said as he looked over Ceony’s list. “It’s always crowded there, which will be to our benefit.”

  He sighed and handed the list back to Ceony. “What a bother. This place is like a bad cold.”

  “Congested and tiring?”

  Emery’s eyes shimmered with amusement. “Precisely. I like how you think, Ceony.”

  Ceony permitted herself to bask in the compliment for as long as it took them to reach the market, which, thanks to the location of the complex where they were staying, was only about ten minutes away. Long lines of vendors sold goods from stands clustered at the far west end of Parliament Square, most of them local farmers. The stands formed two narrow streets, which were already crowded with customers weighing tomatoes and holding beaded jewelry up to the spare sunlight. A few pigeons had gathered at the corners of the market to peck for crumbs, and Big Ben chimed the hour behind them.

  As Ceony examined a small wheel of cheese at a dairy stand painted bright green, she said, “I am expecting an extension on my homework in light of everything.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ceony put the cheese in her cloth bag while Emery paid the vendor. “Why not?”

  “Magicians must constantly work under pressure,” Emery said matter-of-factly, “and so must you. Perhaps one more attempt on your life will make me reconsider, but until then, lessons and assignments will proceed as normal.” He paused. “Though I suspect you left the paper doll behind, hmm? I’ll think of some other sort of busywork.”

  Ceony frowned.

  She approached a wide vegetable stand draped in a turquoise cloth edged with bobbin lace. A few departing patrons bumped into her as she squeezed by; the narrow street in combination with the narrow storefronts offered little in the way of personal space. Despite herself, her stomach churned uneasily, as if it were full of cream that couldn’t quite make itself into butter. She picked up a red bell pepper and examined it without really seeing it.

  When Emery came closer, she said, “I really am sorry about last night. I understand if you’re upset.”

  He glanced at her, genuine surprise in his emerald irises. “You’re hardly the one who crashed the car, Ceony,” he said in a low voice.

  Ceony set the pepper down. “I know. It’s not that, I just . . .”

  She released a long breath and stepped back from the stand, moving away from the bulk of the crowd. “It’s just that I was about as useful as that half-cut paper doll in my bedroom. I know you expect more of me.”

  Emery nodded, though his eyes looked sympathetic. Ceony waited for a moment before moving on to the next stand, where she grabbed a small bundle of carrots and some thyme.

  Once they returned to the center of the road, having navigated around two men who’d had the audacity to bring their horses into the crowded market, Emery said, “I understand why you’d think that, Ceony, but I don’t hold any malice toward you. Certainly you know that.”

  She just nodded.

  “We all have our fears,” he said, placing a hand on her back to guide her around a gaggle of gossiping women. His touch felt light, but warm, and welcome. “You understand mine; it’s only fair that I try and understand yours.”

  She glanced back at him, surprised. “I . . . thank you.”

  He rubbed his eyes, which had finally grown heavy with fatigue. “Let’s see . . . list. Rhubarb is over here, I think.”

  “Rhubarb isn’t on the—”

  “And we’ll need flour if you’re making that pie tonight,” he continued, pointing to a wide stand showcasing various types of produce. Ceony had thought the season for r
hubarb was over, but these farmers had some of the red stalks in their wares.

  She smiled. “In that case, I’ll also need eggs and butter. I only brought one bag, but I’m sure there’s space in that coat of yours.”

  “The gray one has more pockets.”

  Ceony selected a few stalks of rhubarb, wondering if the kitchen in their temporary home was stocked with any pie tins, when a familiar, uneasy feeling settled over her skin—the same prickling sensation she’d experienced at the paper mill in Dartford.

  She froze for a moment, but Emery’s hand found her back again, and he pushed her farther down the road.

  “Look ahead,” he murmured. “I believe we’re being followed. Let’s loop around to check, hmm?”

  The hair on Ceony’s arms stood on end, but she nodded and focused on looking straight ahead. Her pulse quickened, pushing against her neck, and she couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or Emery’s fingers pressing into her shoulder blades. She groaned inwardly. How enamored could one woman be?

  They turned left through the stands, passing tables of beads and leather goods, and then moved back behind the produce sellers until they once again reached the man with the red peppers. Ceony picked up the closest one to purchase, hoping to make their movements look as natural as possible. Emery flowed right with the act, paying the seller and thanking him for his trouble.

  They began walking again, weaving through other customers. Emery reached into his coat and pulled out a roll of paper, which he began to roll even tighter around his pinky finger.

  Before long, he had formed a paper telescope.

  Ceony glanced at his sleeves. “How much stuff do you keep in there?”

  Emery just smiled, then pulled Ceony behind a used-book shop. Peering around the corner of the building, Emery extended the telescope’s length and said, “Zoom.” He searched the street for a few long seconds before shortening the telescope and returning it to his coat.

  “Quite the bold man, that one.”

  “Grath?” Ceony asked. She wondered how badly he had been burned by her Burst spell.

  “No, Saraj. At least, I think that’s him. He’s wearing a hood, and he’s alone.”

  “Let me see.”

  Emery hesitated.

  She held out her hand, waiting, and the paper magician reluctantly handed her the telescope, which still held its Magnification spell. It took Ceony a moment, but then her telescope landed on a fairly tall man—shorter than Grath, she supposed—a ways down the road, wearing a jacket much too warm for the climate, its unfashionable hood pulled up and over his face. It could have been the shadows, but he resembled the man she had seen near the mill and after the buggy accident. She couldn’t get a clear look at his face, however.

  Ceony lowered the telescope and ducked back around the corner of the bookstore. Her skin prickled even more—perhaps that was the body’s natural reaction to an Excisioner’s gaze.

  Emery took the telescope back from her. “I want you to circle around this shop and head toward the bank. Don’t stop for anything. Go to the flat’s back entrance, understand?”

  Tingles like electricity ran up Ceony’s sides and into her skull. She grabbed Emery’s forearm. “Please don’t,” she whispered, pleaded. “Please, please don’t go after him now. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Emery said.

  And that’s why you haven’t caught him yet, because you know what you’re doing? Ceony wanted to say, but she kept the thought to herself.

  Another phrase came to mind. “Let me come with you.”

  He frowned. “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  Fine lines creased Emery’s brow. He glanced back around the bookstore before saying, “This is not a matter of trust.”

  Isn’t it? But Ceony knew when she couldn’t win an argument. Instead, she tried another tack.

  “I’ll be left alone,” she said. A pregnant woman passed them, and Ceony held her tongue until the woman was out of earshot. “And I’m the one’s he’s after, right?”

  Emery pressed his lips into a thin line. He glanced back around the corner of the bookstore—only a glance—and nodded. “All right. We’ll take a long route home, however. Find a place where we can telegraph his location to the police. I don’t want him spying any of my spells.”

  Ceony nodded and forced herself to release her crab-claw grip on Emery’s forearm. She must have been squeezing harder than she realized, because Emery rubbed the spot when she released him.

  They took a very, very long route home, so long that Ceony’s feet and hips hurt by the time they reached the complex.

  Ceony couldn’t help but feel like they’d been walking on eggshells.

  CHAPTER 7

  CEONY MADE A SIMPLE stew for dinner that night, cooking and seasoning with care to make it taste as good as she could manage with their limited supplies. Mg. Aviosky had stopped by earlier to bring them some extra groceries, as well as some ledgers from Mg. Hughes for Emery. Emery had been absorbed in the books ever since.

  He ate at the desk, and Ceony took her own supper into the bedroom, where Fennel yipped until she let him smell the bowl. Being made of paper, Fennel couldn’t eat the stew, but Emery had crafted him with the doglike mannerisms anyway. For a man allergic to canines, he certainly knew them well.

  Ceony read to the thirteenth chapter in her origami textbook, storing the words to memory as she went, rereading important passages or anything Emery had highlighted to ensure the knowledge stuck. She fingered the barrette in her hair—the one Emery had made her—as she studied. She hoped they would return to the cottage soon. She had grown rather fond of the place, cluttered though it was. Nothing spectacular had happened after the trip to the market that morning, so perhaps they would head back soon. Ceony knew it wouldn’t happen, not until there was some resolution to this situation, but she could hope, at least.

  She washed her clothes and Emery’s, using a Fan spell to help dry them, then bathed and got ready for bed. She peeked out the closed curtains over her bedroom window before settling in for the night. The city lights provided only scant illumination, however, and the night hid the street from her, save for the occasional passing of a buggy’s headlamps smearing over the cobblestones like butter over hot bread.

  Ceony sighed. She hated being stuck like this, waiting for enemies to make their moves. At least with Lira she had been able to take matters into her own hands, more or less. Even trapped inside Emery’s heart, she could always move forward, make progress. Here, the tall buildings and clustered streets of the city had her trapped like a mouse in a maze, without even the possible reward of cheese. Perhaps that was why Emery hated the city so much.

  She turned off her lamp, but noticed dim light streaming in from under her door. She went to the living room, where Emery sat on the end of the couch, reading over yet another ledger.

  She watched him a moment, his focus, the slouch to his shoulders, the way the electric light gleamed off the waves of his hair. She had thought Magician Emery Thane very common looking, once. How silly she had been.

  A minute passed before Emery sensed her and looked up from his work.

  “You’ll turn to mush if you don’t get some rest,” Ceony warned, spying his dinner bowl on the desk. She crossed the room to fetch it; how unlike him to be untidy, even on this small a scale. Those ledgers had to be incredibly absorbing. And that worried her.

  “I’ll turn in soon,” he said.

  “Hmm,” Ceony hummed, doubting him. She’d have to start drugging him with poppy seeds and chamomile just to get him on a half-normal sleep schedule. What would the man do without an apprentice to look after him?

  She headed for the kitchen, but Emery stopped her. “Ceony,” he said.

  She glanced back. Emery remained on the couch, but he’d extended his left hand to her.

  Ceony assumed he wanted his bowl back, for whatever reason, but when she held it out to him, h
e reached past the dish to her wrist and gently tugged her onto the couch beside him.

  Shivers ran over her skin like hundreds of ants. Ceony opened her mouth in question, but Emery merely put his arm around her shoulders and continued to read his ledger, the pages of which had been crammed margin to margin with tiny, cramped handwriting not nearly as refined as his own.

  The shivers fled, and just like they always did when he was near, her cheeks and chest blushed at his closeness. After a moment she permitted herself to relax. Sitting against him, and without the indigo coat between them, it surprised Ceony how warm Emery felt, like a campfire crackled beneath his skin. Not feverishly warm, just . . . comfortable.

  She laid her head against him as she had in the car, and his fingers curled around her shoulder. Her pulse raced, and she could hear his heart through his shoulder. It was beating steadily, but perhaps a bit more quickly than normal. After all, she knew Emery’s heartbeat almost as well as her own.

  He smelled like soap and brown sugar. She glanced up at the stubble beginning to grow on his face, heavier close to his long sideburns and finer as it neared his lips. She studied his lips for a moment, their shape, their smoothness. She dropped her gaze before she could flush too deeply.

  Her pulse gradually slowed as she let herself absorb the moment, the perfectness of it all, until her thoughts lulled her into warm, equally perfect dreams.

  Ceony awoke the next morning to Fennel tugging on her messy braid. She stared at her surroundings—the desk, the ceiling, the window—in confusion for a moment before registering where she lay. The flat in the city: the living room. She lay on her side on the sofa, her legs curled up and her right foot asleep. A tan blanket was draped over her.

  She bolted up, knocking Fennel to the floor. The dog yapped in protest, but shook his head and took to sniffing about the baseboards.

  Ceony saw no sign of Emery, but there was a piece of paper bearing his beautiful script on the chair of the desk, which had been turned to face her.