The Glass Magician

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Adrenaline didn’t start streaming into her blood until she passed London and started searching the ground for Hangman’s Road. Her decision suddenly felt very real to her, and her heart beat even louder than the wind rushing by her ears. Her hands began to sweat on the handles of the glider, which she squeezed until her knuckles paled.

  Slowing down, Ceony pointed the glider closer to the earth. She veered west, following the line of shallow, green-spotted hills marking a long stretch of abandoned farmland. In the shadows of those hills she spied a rust-colored barn, large enough to house several animals. A spattering of weatherworn holes marked the west side of its seal-colored roof, and one of its white-streaked front doors rested crookedly on its hinges. A collapsed cowshed lay just a few yards to its right.

  Coaxing the glider up, she circled the house and hills, searching for anything out of the ordinary, anything to indicate Grath had laid a trap for her. She saw nothing.

  “Land gently, please,” she begged the glider. She guided it east of the barn. The glider circled three and a half times before skidding on its belly across the long grass.

  Ceony flexed her sore hands and slid off the glider, glancing warily at the barn. No sign of Grath. Not yet, anyway.

  Reaching into her bag, she unfurled her paper doll. “Stand,” she ordered.

  The paper doll stiffened and stood. Aligning herself with it, Ceony said, “Copy.”

  The doll colored itself to match her, wind-mussed hair and all. Ceony didn’t bother to smooth it down.

  Clutching Delilah’s mirror to her chest and the paper doll under one arm, Ceony cautiously approached the barn, stepping as lightly as the untamed land would allow. She peeked in past the crooked door.

  Streaks of sunlight filtered into the barn through the holes in the roof. Empty stables built of splintering wood lined two of the walls, which were studded with hooks and loops that had once held tools. A few pieces of old, dry hay lay scattered over a dirt floor. Bird droppings stained the rafters. But what really drew Ceony’s attention were all the mirrors.

  Dozens of them occupied the wide space, some as small as Delilah’s compact, others as tall as the vanity mirror Ceony had shattered. They sat or hung all around the barn, against walls or on the floor, tilted up and down, left and right. Had Grath set these up solely for their meeting, or had he been hiding here the entire time?

  Whispering to her paper doll, Ceony left it outside the doors and stepped into the barn, setting her oval mirror against the wall, pleased by how well it blended in with its reflective sisters. Ceony checked the links of her shield chain and reached into her bag, touching each of her spells. She rested her fingers on the barrel of her pistol.

  “Grath!” she shouted. “Where—”

  “I’m never late for an appointment, sweetheart,” his honey-slick voice said. Ceony whirled around, spying him first in a mirror, and then his true, solid-bodied self in the opposite corner, near an old worn-out saddle on the wall. This time he didn’t wear his false nose, or clothing common in London fashion—he had donned a black shirt with sleeves so short it was nearly sleeveless, and a black jeweled belt across his torso. No, not jeweled—tiny mirrors dotted the leather. He wore well-fitted black slacks, too, and black boots.

  Grath folded his arms, which looked notably larger than Ceony remembered them being. She didn’t even think Langston could hold his own against the man. She hoped the bulk was just a trick of the sleeves.

  Though Grath wasn’t an Excisioner, Ceony still wanted to avoid all physical contact with him. After all, shield chains would only protect her from spells, not a man’s hands.

  She cleared her throat, hoping to banish the fear from her voice. “Where’s Lira?” she asked. She winced at the tremble in her words.

  Grath strode forward, and despite Ceony’s desire to show bravery, she took several steps back. The Gaffer smiled at her, but made no comment about her cowardice.

  He paused by a stall and gestured to one of the larger mirrors at the back of the barn. “See for yourself.”

  Keeping Grath in her peripheral vision, Ceony sidestepped until she could see into the mirror. Instead of her own reflection, she saw Lira, just as she remembered her.

  The dark-haired woman crouched, flakes of frost clinging to her limbs and black clothing. Her face was contorted in a half scream, and one red-stained hand was pressed to her left eye, desperately trying to stanch the blood that dripped down her cheek and forearm. Blood from where Ceony had used Lira’s own dagger to defend herself. Small branches of ice glittered off the frozen woman’s skin and clothing.

  The one thing that didn’t match Ceony’s memory was Lira’s location. She crouched not on water-strewn rocks stained with ocean salt, but on dark, splintered floorboards dotted with mouse droppings. The mirror didn’t let in enough light for Ceony to see the rest of the space.

  “You didn’t bring her here,” Ceony said, pulse quickening. She looked back at Grath. “How can I help her if she’s not here?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Grath said, scratching the side of his thick neck with his middle finger. “She’s on the other side of that mirror. One word from me, and we can step through it. Like a portal. A few words from you, and she’ll be whole again, minus an eye.”

  He growled those last three words, making him seem much more canine than feline.

  Ceony glanced back to Lira. Could she break the spell even if she wanted to? Her words at the gulf had been so absolute, and while she had told Grath the magic wasn’t anything special, she feared that wasn’t true. No Folding spells used blood in their casting, and Ceony had used blood to freeze Lira. Though both logic and Emery had assured her that that didn’t make her an Excisioner, she wondered what it meant. Did she actually have some useful information about switching one’s designated casting material?

  “I may not have been entirely honest with you at the bistro,” Ceony said carefully. Knowledge was a powerful thing, and she didn’t want to give too much away. “The spell was accidental, but it may have had some crossover possibilities.”

  Grath’s grin widened. “I knew it,” he said, stepping forward. Ceony stepped back, keeping space between them. Surprisingly, Grath halted. He wanted Ceony’s information as much as she wanted his, if not more. Hopefully he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  “It’s a spell only I can unravel, since I’m the caster,” Ceony said. A lie, though it could be true. She could cease animation on spells Emery had activated, so it was possible that another Folder could manipulate this spell as well. But Grath wasn’t a Folder.

  “The spell is in her body, obviously,” Ceony said, pushing her voice to keep it firm. “Have you not asked Saraj to break it? Excisioners have powers over the body. Powers you don’t have.”

  “Saraj greatly disliked Lira,” she remembered Emery saying. Perhaps the Excisioner hadn’t tried, then.

  Grath ground his teeth together. “We have a spell that can stiffen the body, yes, but the reversal didn’t help Lira. This is a different spell.”

  Ceony picked apart his words. “Not we. Saraj.”

  Grath’s expression darkened. “Yes, Saraj. For now. But I know Excision like the back of my hand, Ceony Twill. If you can’t break the curse, I will, once blood is my domain. You haven’t let my secret slip, have you?”

  He stepped forward.

  Ceony held her ground, but she fisted her hand in her bag. “I’m not stupid. I know how to keep things to myself,” she lied. All of Criminal Affairs now knew Grath’s hidden identity as a Gaffer.

  Grath paused again, about seven paces from Ceony. He lifted his hands. “It’s all in the material,” he murmured, studying his own palms. “I’ve researched for years, and I know that much. A magician’s magic is all in the material. Those blasted sealing words are so easily spoken, yet so final.”

  He hesitated, then scowled, perhaps realizing Ceony was wasting his time. “Tell me what you did!” he barked. “Fi
x her!”

  Ceony jumped at the volume of his voice, which boomed against the rafters and empty walls of the barn. Mirrors quivered under its strength. Swallowing hard, she took a step toward Lira’s mirror.

  She stared at Lira, the thorny beauty whose hand and hair concealed most of her face as she crouched in unending agony. Emery had loved her, once. Three years he’d been married to her. Even when Lira had turned away from him, even when Grath had pulled her to darkness, Emery had still loved her. Not until the very end—when all hope had been lost—had he severed the bond between them. Ceony knew. She had seen it for herself.

  Lira had been a nurse, Emery had said. A healer. Nurses helped people. Perhaps that was what had drawn Emery to her, besides her beauty. Lira had worked to cure the sick.

  Ceony’s memory swirled to the rocky cave on Foulness Island, where Emery’s heart had sat beating in a pool of enchanted blood. Ceony had shot Lira in the chest with her pistol. But the Excisioner had used dark magic to pull the bullet free, healing herself. For a brief moment, under Grath’s scrutiny, Ceony wondered if that could have been what drew Lira to Excision. Had Grath offered her a way to heal people to which modern medicine couldn’t compare? Had Lira initially wanted to be the kind of person who could heal someone with just a single touch, a single spell?

  Ceony peered into the mirror. Lira had been a good person, once. To win Emery’s love, she must have been. But Excision had darkened her, stolen her soul away.

  “Grath was our neighbor when we lived in Berkshire . . .”

  Grath. She turned toward him. Grath had planted the evil in Lira’s heart, nourished it like a gardener would his plot. No, Ceony wouldn’t free Lira; Emery had given her chance after chance, and she had proved she had no redemption left in her.

  But Ceony couldn’t free Grath, either. She couldn’t let him go back to the city and hurt more people, draw more innocents into the dark arts. Possibly become an Excisioner himself. She had to stop it.

  Reaching down to the very base of her bag, Ceony gripped her Tatham percussion-lock pistol and pulled it free from its bed of Folded spells.

  She leveled it at Grath.

  CHAPTER 13

  GRATH FROWNED AT THE pistol. “Is this your plan, pet?”

  “You’re not an Excisioner,” she said flatly, though she moved her other hand to the pistol to hold it steady. She hadn’t used the gun since her confrontation with Lira, and the rickety barn hardly made for ideal concentration. “You can’t heal from it like Lira did.”

  “Are you so sure?” he asked.

  Ceony leveled the gun at his heart.

  Grath stepped forward. Ceony cocked the hammer.

  He chuckled. “You ever killed someone before, little girl?” he asked.

  “I did that, didn’t I?” Ceony said, jerking her head toward the mirror that still showcased Lira. But that isn’t death, just magic, she thought. If I shoot him, I’ll kill him. I’ll be a killer just like he is.

  But no, this was different. This was Grath or Ceony, and Ceony thought a bullet to the chest was undoubtedly far more merciful than whatever Grath had planned for her.

  Still, she lowered the muzzle down, to his hip. Better to incapacitate him here and let Criminal Affairs deal with him.

  She hated how the gun trembled in her grip.

  Grath did not seem amused. “I’ll track down your blond friend like I promised. Delilah Berget, isn’t it?”

  Ceony tried very hard not to glance at the oval mirror by the doors.

  Reaching behind him, Grath pulled two short daggers from his belt, their blades made of thick, frosted glass. They looked like carved ice. He brought one to his lips and kissed it.

  “I’ll cut off her toes first,” he said, taking a small step forward, sliding his boot across the dirt floor. “Then her fingers, her ears. I’ll pull her teeth one by one, then her tongue. And when she can’t scream anymore, I’ll—”

  “Stop it!” Ceony shouted. “It doesn’t matter! I’ll stop you, and Delilah will be fine!”

  “Oh, she might be, but what about the others?” Grath asked. “You don’t know much about Saraj, do you? He’s a mad dog, the kind that kills for fun, not for food. He’ll go after your friend, and Patrice Aviosky, and Emery Thane. He even blew up the Dartford Paper Mill just to flush you out.

  “But he won’t stop there,” he continued. “With him, it’s always a game. I already know who’s on his list. Ernest John Twill, Rhonda Montgomery Twill . . .”

  Every muscle in Ceony’s body tensed, distorting her aim. Those were her parents’ names.

  Grath didn’t stop. “Zina Ann, Marshall Ernest, and Margo Penelope. It is Penelope, isn’t it?”

  Ceony’s mouth dried to desert. Airy tears stung her eyes. Her hands perspired around the gun. He knows my family’s names. How does he know their names?!

  “Don’t you see, pet?” Grath asked, taking another sliding step forward. “I’m Saraj’s leash. If something happens to me, he’ll be let loose on the world—”

  Grath moved so swiftly he blurred, a swathe of peach, black, and light. His blade whistled through the air, and suddenly Ceony’s pistol jerked from her clammy hands, hitting the ground some eight paces behind her. One of Grath’s daggers landed beside it.

  Ceony’s heart dropped to her heels. She bolted for the oval mirror.

  “Oh no,” Grath growled, and his heavy footsteps pursued her like a locomotive, boots smashing into the ground hard enough to shake it. Ceony shrieked and grabbed a handful of spells, throwing them behind her without even stopping to see what they were.

  “Breathe!” she cried.

  Three paper birds came to life, and one Burst spell fell to the ground, useless.

  The birds sailed for Grath, but he pushed through the paper creations without even pausing.

  “Delilah!” Ceony screamed as she neared the mirror. Its surface rippled, but Grath’s giant hand grabbed Ceony’s wrist and yanked her back.

  For a quarter of a second Ceony flew, the barn spinning. Then she collided with the dirt, and a cloud of dust swelled up around her, stinging her eyes and coating her tongue. She coughed and pushed herself up, her right shoulder protesting.

  Grath picked up the oval mirror. “Cute,” he said. “Shatter.”

  Under the Gaffer’s light touch, the mirror broke into hundreds of pieces, falling to the ground like frozen rain. Amid the ringing of so many shards, Ceony heard Delilah scream her name.

  Panting, Ceony stared wide-eyed at her ruined means of escape. But she still had the glider. If she could only reach the glider—

  Grath switched his dagger to his right hand and charged.

  Ceony pulled a paper rhombus from her bag and shouted, “Burst!”

  The spell hovered between them, quivering wildly. Ceony ran to the back of the barn before it exploded in a firework of white and yellow. Some of its ashes curled around her, repelled by the shield chain.

  Grath had vanished, leaving the path to the doors clear.

  Ceony ran, but as she moved, a tall mirror to her right rippled and Grath passed through it. His huge arms swung for her like massive crab claws. Ceony ducked, half-tripping, and kicked him hard in the shin. She scrambled against the loose dirt on the floor and sprinted for the door, leaving the Gaffer cursing behind her.

  She had almost reached the doors when another circular mirror rippled, and Grath stepped out. He said something Ceony couldn’t hear, and suddenly every mirror in the barn rippled. A copy of Grath stepped out from all of them. Soon dozens of Grath Cobalts surrounded her, some huge and menacing, some only a few inches high, hovering before the tiny mirrors that lined the wall.

  Ceony stepped back, blinking sweat from her eyes. The copies of Grath had a slightly airy look to them, almost like a story illusion. But which one was real? And could the illusions hurt her?

  “Don’t run, pet,” all the Graths said in unison, a songless choir.

  She had one Burst spell left. Best to try the Grath closest
to the door.

  “Burst!” she cried, flinging the spell toward a mirror with an iron-cast frame, the one the first Grath had stepped through. She backtracked and called, “Move!”

  The Burst spell exploded, its light reflecting through the enchanted mirrors, incinerating the Gaffer’s copies of himself.

  Ceony ducked down, and the real Grath emerged from another mirror on the east side of the barn. He threw his dagger right at Ceony—

  And it ripped through paper.

  Grath, now unarmed, watched with a pale expression as Ceony’s paper doll—now torn from nose to collar—lost its color and drifted to the ground. The Mobility spell she’d placed on the doll earlier had brought it into the barn with Ceony’s second command.

  The real Ceony stood and rushed for the doors, her hand searching for her bag, her eyes whipping between two other mirrors.

  Grath transported to the one on the left, but Ceony pulled her Ripple spell free. Grath charged, a human bull.

  “Ripple!” Ceony commanded the spell as its jellyfish-like folds cascaded downward.

  The air around her warped, not unlike the glass of a mirror before transport. Grath wavered in his charge, but not enough. He reached Ceony, pulled back his right fist, and swung.

  A sound like thunder echoed through Ceony’s skull, followed by wide streaks of lightning. She landed on the ground hard, the impact jarring up through her tailbone.

  Fire burst from her left cheek, just below her eye. The rafters spun around her, this way and that, unsure of their direction.