The Master Magician (16 page)

Staying on the lit streets, albeit out of the way, Ceony meandered by a noisy inn and peeked through a window unshielded by curtains, scanning the faces within, listening to the music a young balding man banged on a piano in the corner. She wished she had more to go on but also hoped she wouldn’t find anything substantial. She’d considered bringing the paper bird that had alerted her of Reading, but the creature was so damaged it had ceased to hold its animation.

Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, Ceony continued onward, taking one road and then another, avoiding dark alleys, using a Folded telescope to peer down lanes. She found no mirrors or bits of reflective glass to cast upon and eventually crossed
the street to avoid a laughing, inebriated couple who stumbled over the pavement. Eventually Ceony followed a line of blue-lit lanterns toward the bank of the River Kennet, which wound down from the River Thames and sliced through the south side of Reading. She kept clear of the docks, wanting to keep a safe distance from the water at all times. She still hadn’t learned how to swim, though Emery had mentioned wanting to teach her. Modesty, of course, was an issue, as was her unabated fear of drowning.

The flapping of paper reached her ears, and Ceony looked up to see one of her songbirds, Folded from black paper, descending to her. It hovered at eye level for a moment before backflipping in the air.

“You found something?” Ceony asked, voice low. How she wished these animated spells could talk! “Show me.”

The bird flew over Ceony’s shoulder and down a bend in the next street, winding closer to the river. Clasping the pistol inside her bag, Ceony hurried after it, not quite running. The dark spell disappeared between streetlamps, blending in with the night sky, but it didn’t fly so fast that Ceony couldn’t keep track of it.

It took her past a four-story building rowed with windows, a Victorian-esque structure waving a flag from its chimney, and a dark building that looked like a cross between a schoolhouse and a barn. A sign near its door read “Simond’s Brewery.” Only one of its windows—on the third floor—was dimly lit.

Canals branching from River Kennet looped through this part of Reading. Ceony grit her teeth as she hurried over a short bridge crossing the still water. Here the enchanted lamps, shorter than those in the other part of town, had Pyre-made flames that changed from lime to fuchsia, perhaps to draw attention to the waterline. Their reflections off the canal’s surface looked like lily pads, but Ceony tried not to stare at the water too closely. She had more critical things to fear at the moment.

The black songbird landed on a sign that read “Kennet and Avon Canal, Authorized Vehicles Only.” Ceony reached it, huffing to catch her breath. The little bird flew down into her hands, where she commanded it, “Cease,” and tucked it into her bag.

She searched the area, noting a bench by the canal, as well as a drooping tree that had seen better days. Another bridge led to a dock behind her.

On the water she saw a small boat, little more than a canoe, carrying two people—one rowed; the other smoked a cigar. A lantern sat between them, casting a mustardy glow off their faces. The man with the cigar had an old face with a prominent nose and loose skin; the man rowing wore long, loose sleeves and had a dark complexion—

Ceony’s breath caught in her throat, and a shiver ran down her spine. She stepped to the left to put the tree between herself and the boat, which steadily drew farther and farther from her. Saraj—could that man be Saraj? She thought so, but she had never gotten a clear look at the man in the light of day, only glimpses here and there. What was he doing? Where was he going, and who was helping him?

What exactly did Ceony plan to
do
? She had the upper hand of having found him first, but the water . . .

She swallowed. Her compact mirror was in her purse. She could use it to contact Mg. Aviosky or Mg. Hughes, alert them of what she’d seen. Perhaps they would believe she’d come across a Gaffer who’d agreed to help her with the spell. She’d have to explain herself . . . Word would reach Emery . . . Surely Mg. Aviosky wouldn’t suspend her at the very end of her apprenticeship!

But so what if she
were
suspended? Wouldn’t getting Saraj’s neck in the hangman’s noose be worth it? The well-being of her family was more important than any magician’s certificate.

She released her pistol and fumbled through her bag for the mirror, glancing up to spy again at the distancing boat.

“You’re like a kitten.”

The honey-slick voice pricked at the back of Ceony’s neck like cold needles, making her jump. She whirled around to see a tall, thin silhouette of a man standing at the edge of the bridge to the port.

Her hand snapped back to the pistol. “Excuse me?”

The man moved forward until the light of the nearest flashing lamp cast its green and purple beams on him. They glinted off the gold studs in his ears. An Indian man who stood a little too slender, matted curls jutting out from either side of his almost triangular head. He wore tattered clothes that needed washing. The clothing of a man on the run.

“A kitten,” his accented words repeated. “Who wanders around and follows those who offer her milk. But I have no milk, kitten.”

An icy tremor coursed down Ceony’s back.

Saraj Prendi took one step closer. “So tell me, Ceony Maya Twill . . . Why have I found you wandering this city so late at night?”

He grinned a truly canine smile.

C
HAPTER
11

C
EONY
’
S THROAT CLOSED
, and she took a step back from the Excisioner, her shoulder brushing a drooping branch of the tree. She dared to glance behind her, but the small boat and its oblivious passengers had sailed too far to hear her if she screamed. She couldn’t see their lantern anymore.

“Curious,” Saraj said, folding his long arms and taking a step toward her—once, twice. “Usually a kicked animal fears its abuser, cowers from him. Avoids him. But I have this strange”—he waved a hand in the air—“
inkling
that you’ve sought me out. Inkling, correct? I believe I’m using the word correctly. Yes. What a strange kitten you are,
kagaz
. Unless you have another purpose.”

He paused, looking her up and down. His gaze felt like slime on Ceony’s skin, but from what Ceony could see in the blinking lamplight, there was no lust in it. No, he looked at her as if she were a piece of furniture, an end table or chair. Something tossed on the street, and he couldn’t decide if it was worth salvaging. “No,” he said. “You’re not dressed like a harlot.”

“Of course I’m not,” Ceony spat, her anger at the assumption giving her just enough fuel to speak. Still, she took another step back, her eyes searching Saraj’s belt. Lira had kept glass vials of blood secured at her waist for spells, but there didn’t appear to be any on
Saraj, unless they were under his shirt. Then again, an Excisioner wouldn’t need blood to destroy her; just one touch would do.

Ceony’s free hand moved to her necklace. She swallowed. “Why are you here, Saraj? Why not flee when you had the chance? I know about your prison break.”

Saraj laughed. “I’m famous, it seems. If you must know, kitten, I have unfinished business to attend to. Things to collect. You are not my sun.”

“Huh?” she murmured under her breath, barely moving her lips.

“My sun,” Saraj repeated, relaxing his stance. He swirled an index finger around. “Orbits, rotations. My doings don’t revolve around you. See?”

Ceony gave herself a few seconds before answering, her fingers playing across her necklace. “No, they revolve around Grath,” she said, clearing her throat once to prevent a tremor in her voice. “He seemed confident about that. But he’s not here.”

Saraj frowned. “No,” he agreed, but Ceony detected no remorse in the word, no regret, no loyalty.

He took another step forward. Ceony drew her pistol and pointed it at him.

Saraj grinned, his teeth not white enough to reflect the lamplight. He tilted his head to one side, staring at Ceony. Making her feel uncomfortable. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he began to chant words in a language no countryman knew—the language of the dark. She recognized this spell, its lilts and rhythm. A healing spell, not a spell meant to injure her. Not yet.

She let Saraj have his words and took the chance to whisper her own, hand on her necklace, hoping the darkness hid her lips.

“Is this about the rest of the litter?” Saraj asked, his chant finished. He held the spell in the hand embedded in his pocket, ready to use it should Ceony fire. Did he think she didn’t know? “Your
parivāra
? The mum and pop and other kittens?”

Ceony’s grip on her pistol tightened, her palm sweating. She kept it leveled at Saraj’s chest.

Saraj pulled his hand free—a dark drop of blood dripped down from his thumb—and the skin of it glimmered gold. The healing spell. Well, Ceony doubted it could cure a bullet to the head.

She adjusted her aim for Saraj’s forehead.

“Litter, kittens,” Ceony repeated, “this is all just a game for you, isn’t it? You didn’t care about Lira, and I don’t think you cared about Grath—”

“A game!” Saraj exclaimed, hand still aglow. “Oh, but they were poor players,” he said, advancing with a long stride. “And your littermates make boring pieces. A favor for him before, but they’re so dull, kitten.”

Ceony’s hand shifted on her necklace, skipping over the vial of oil, bag of sand, and starlight marked “in 1744.” Her words were so quiet she may have only thought them. She couldn’t let Saraj know her secret—Grath’s secret—but even if he learned it, he couldn’t share it if he were dead.

“I need money to get by, just like any dolly,” he said, moving forward. Ceony moved back. “Got to collect. But that’s not a game, is it? That’s boring. But you . . . you’re here, now. You’ve come to play. To show me what’s inside you.”

“I’ve come to put you down,” Ceony growled.

Saraj laughed and clapped his hands, though the motion didn’t disturb the glowing spell that awaited him on his right fingers.

“All a game,” Saraj said, rooting his feet, stiffening. His grin grew lopsided, almost into a snarl. “And now kitten is on the board. I still need a heart, kitten. I suppose yours will do.”

Cold sweat chilled Ceony from crown to knee. Saraj jerked forward.

Ceony flinched and fired.

The blast echoed between canal walls and off Simond’s Brewery,
surely loud enough to alert
someone
. Ceony couldn’t see where she had hit Saraj until he lifted his glowing hand to his collar. The bullet had pierced just under it on the right. He coughed, wheezed, but the orange light of his spell quickly seeped into the wound and closed it up. He pulled his hand away seconds later and dropped the bullet onto the pavement.

“Checkmate,” Saraj said.

“Wrong game,
friend
,” Ceony countered, lowering her pistol. “I wasn’t firing for the bullet.”

No. She’d fired for the
spark
.

“Flare!” she cried, and the tiny spark she’d pulled from the pistol spit and grew, building a fire in her left palm. Giving her enough light to see Saraj’s wide eyes.

“Combust!” she called, and she flung her left hand forward, sending a hailstorm of fire raining down on Saraj. With her eyes adjusted to the dark and her target so close, the fire’s brightness seared her eyes, stealing her sight for a moment. Ceony staggered back, blinking away spots. Smoke assailed her nostrils. Coughing, Ceony backed up and croaked an “Arise” command, beckoning a spark back to her hand, preparing to finish off the Excisioner.

But as the hailstorm cleared, leaving scattered weeds and a board of the dock burning, Ceony’s adjusting eyes couldn’t pinpoint Saraj in the darkness. She whirled around once, twice, and commanded her little flame, “Flare!”

The fire grew in her palm, casting topaz light over the docks. Empty. Creaking.

Familiar shivers crept up her arms and back. She couldn’t have incinerated the man! Where had he gone? Jumped into the river?

Her eyes focused on the black depths of the canal, the shivers growing ever colder. Had he teleported? Where was he? Watching her?

Ceony ran.

She ran hard and fast, her self-made wind snuffing out the flames still licking her fingers.

She ran down lit streets and around sharp corners until she heard the piano music still streaming from the inn. She grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open, dodging inside. The door slammed closed behind her.

A few patrons—only a dozen or so lingered in the foyer—glanced at her, but the music radiating from the corner of the room had apparently drowned out her arrival.

Ceony pressed her back against the door and slunk down to the floor, shrinking from the windows, breathing hard. She closed her eyes and beat the back of her head against the door’s wood.

On the board now. Does that mean I’ve put myself in his path?

Smelt to hell, I showed him Pyre magic. If Grath ever confided in him . . . Saraj knows what I can do. A man like him would kill for that information. Stupid. Stupid.

Realizing she still held her pistol, Ceony stashed it in her bag before she alarmed anyone. She clasped her Folded songbird and pulled it free, pinching its narrow body in her fingers. She worried that by tracking Saraj down, she may have endangered Emery. Would the Excisioner go after him—after her family—for use as bait or persuasion, or would he head straight for her? She’d likely burned him badly; how easily could he heal himself? Could he come for her tonight?