The Master Magician

The door opened then, and Emery entered back-first, carrying a small wooden tray in his hands. Fennel scurried in between his feet and barked, sniffing about the bed and wagging his tail. The mattress was too tall for him to leap upon it.

Emery, already dressed, set the tray on the bed. It held two pieces of buttered toast and a seven-minute egg.

“Oh, Emery, you didn’t have to do this,” Ceony said.

Emery shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t,” he replied. He sat on the opposite corner of the bed, the mattress’s edge, so as not to disturb the tray. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Mm,” she said, mouth full of toast. She swallowed and added, “Thank you.”

He merely smiled. Fennel, giving up on Ceony’s side of the bed, scampered over to Emery’s feet and began tugging at his pant leg.

“Emery,” Ceony said, pausing her breakfast, “what was that telegram about yesterday?”

“Hm?” he asked, shaking Fennel free. For a moment, Ceony imagined equipping the paper dog with more substantial teeth—plastic, or perhaps steel. The latter would likely weigh his head down. And what did Ceony need a dog with steel teeth for?

“I suppose it’s well for you to know now,” Emery said, combing back his hair with his fingers. “You see, I won’t be the one testing you for your magicianship.”

Ceony’s hand hovered over her breakfast tray. She processed the words. “Pardon?”

“I won’t be the one initiating your test,” he repeated.

An uneasiness filled her, like a boat tipping back and forth inside her chest. Ceony moved the tray aside and scooted forward on the bed. “But . . . are you joking? The apprentice manual states clearly in the preface that the apprentice’s mentor is the one who gives the test for magicianship.”

“So it does,” Emery said, his expression a little softer now, but not teasing. He stood from the bed and walked to his closet, grabbing his indigo coat from its hanger and slipping it on. “It’s something that’s been on my mind for months now—surely it’s crossed yours.”

He paused again at the foot of the bed and looked her over, smiling with his eyes. His lips, however, bore the slightest frown. “I’m worried anyone who suspects our relationship will believe you were tested with a bias.”

Trying to hide her own frown, Ceony nodded. “I did consider that, once or twice. But I haven’t told—”

“Sometimes, darling, you don’t have to say it out loud,” Emery interjected. “I’ve made other arrangements for you. You’re a wildly talented Folder, Ceony. Almost as much as myself,” he added with a pompous grin. “I would hate to have anyone cast doubts on your abilities, now or in the future.”

Ceony felt herself droop a little—she couldn’t help it. Without Emery as her tester, she was faced with yet another unknown in this process. She knew even less of what to expect now than she had this morning. And, if she didn’t pass the test the first time, she’d have to wait another six months. If she failed three times, her name would be crossed out from the books forever, unredeemable. Any subsequent attempt at magic would send her to a jail cell.

What if she didn’t pass?

She sucked in a deep breath. “Very well. I trust you in this. May I ask who will be handling my test in your stead?”

“Ah yes,” Emery said, clapping his hands together. “I got his consent in that telegram. You, Ceony Twill, will test for your magicianship under the scrutiny of Magician Pritwin Bailey. Actually, you’ll be staying with him and his apprentice for a couple weeks prior to testing, as per tradition.”

Ceony’s lips parted, and a moment later she asked, “A couple weeks?”

“Two or three.”

“Magician Bailey?” she asked, twisting a lock of hair around her index finger. The name wasn’t familiar, but—

She paused, her memory itching at her. Something about it . . .

For a moment Ceony found herself reeled back into the halls of Granger Academy, the secondary school both she and Emery had attended. The memory was not hers, but his—something she had spied when she traveled through his heart two years ago in an attempt to rescue it from a horrid Excisioner named Lira, who also happened to be Emery’s ex-wife. She recalled Emery and two other boys picking on a gangly, aspiring Folder. A Folder named Prit.

“Prit?” she asked. “The boy you bullied in school?”

Emery scratched the back of his head. “‘Bullied’ sounds so juvenile . . .”

“But it’s him, isn’t it?” Ceony pushed. “Pritwin Bailey? He became a Folder after all?”

Emery nodded. “We graduated from Praff together, actually. But yes, he’s the same.”

Ceony relaxed somewhat. “So you two are on good terms, then?”

The paper magician barked a laugh. “Oh, heavens no. We haven’t spoken to each other since Praff, save for this telegram. He quite loathes me, actually.”

Ceony’s eyes bugged. “And you’re sending me to test with him?”

Emery smiled. “Of course, in a few days. What better way to prove you had no bias than to place your career aspirations in the hands of Pritwin Bailey?”

Ceony stared at him a long moment. “I’ve been shot to hell, haven’t I?”