The Glass Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy #2)(10)

Her voice shook a little on those last words. She coughed to steady it.

One of the officers Emery had been arguing with stepped forward. “You were a witness?” he asked.

Ceony nodded.

“Please come with us,” he said. “I’d like to ask you some questions about what you saw and where. Her, too.” He gestured toward Delilah.

“Of course,” Ceony said, and she felt Emery’s hand clasp hers behind the shield of his coat. “Whatever is necessary.”

“I’ll accompany them,” Emery said.

“As will I,” said Mg. Aviosky. “I’m these girls’ director; any involvement they have in this incident is my responsibility.”

The officers nodded. “My automobile is out this way. Please.”

Ceony, Emery, Delilah, and Mg. Aviosky followed the officers to their cars, and rode with them to the police station, where Ceony filed her report in the utmost detail she could muster, including the two words she had overheard whispered to Miss Johnston. Dear God, let her be safe.

Ceony and Emery stayed at the station until late into the night, but it seemed no one had any solid evidence as to what could have caused the explosion, short of sabotage.

But as Ceony rode in a hired buggy back through the dark roads to London, she couldn’t help but wonder, Who would want to sabotage a paper mill?





CHAPTER 4



CEONY LAY AWAKE IN her bed, her arm splayed across her forehead to keep the morning sunlight from her eyes. Fennel whined at her from the floor, his paper tail beating a rapid rhythm against the carpet. She reached a hand toward him and stroked the top of his paper head.

In her mind she stood in front of the paper mill’s three buildings, the shuttle driving away down the pebbled road behind her. Miss Johnston mumbled ahead of her. Ceony strained her memory for any forgotten details that might explain what had happened. She wished she’d paid more attention. But the police had said the explosion happened in the drying room, of all places, and Ceony’s tour never reached that part of the mill. That’s why the police suspected sabotage—there was nothing in the drying room that could have malfunctioned on such a large scale.

Ceony recalled the intense heat on her face as the fire soared toward the sky. She could only imagine how much hotter it must have been inside. By the time she and Emery had left the police station, fourteen casualties had already been reported. Ceony had read the list—no one with the surname “Johnston” had been on it.

Closing her eyes, Ceony replayed the explosion, the fire, the falling rubble. Thank goodness for Clemson, whose Pyre magic had saved her life. No paper spell could have rescued her from being crushed. But she hadn’t included the falling rubble in her police report. Emery had been listening, and she hadn’t wanted to distress him. He had been so . . . quiet. Worried about her. Ceony had been too shaken to relish the way he’d held her, but . . .

Ceony sat up and straightened the bodice of her nightgown, then moved to her desk, which sat on the opposite side of the small bedroom. In the back of the second drawer rested the fortuity box that had offered her such pleasant promises for the future. She held it for a long moment before returning it to its hiding spot. It was bad luck to read one’s own fortune, and Ceony had experienced her fill of bad luck for the week.

Fennel coughed a faint bark and wagged his tail. Moments later, Ceony detected the smell of bacon wafting under her door. Had Emery decided to cook breakfast?

She glanced at her clock—ten past nine. She had slept in late today.

Quickly changing into a blouse, skirt, and a pair of stockings, Ceony went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, braid her hair, and apply her makeup. She hurried down the steep stairs that opened onto the dining room, where Emery had already loaded two plates with bacon and eggs.

“You didn’t have to do this. I was up,” Ceony said, though it impressed her that the bacon wasn’t burned and the eggs looked perfectly sunny. Ever since being fed tuna and rice on her first day as an apprentice, Ceony had insisted on cooking every meal. After all, if not for Emery’s scholarship, she would have enrolled in culinary school.

“I am capable of cooking,” Emery said, pulling out a chair for her, “else I would have starved long ago.”

Ceony smiled and settled into the seat while Emery retrieved silverware. Perhaps he had needed to cook while married to Lira. The Excisioner didn’t seem like she’d be much of a cook, though Ceony wouldn’t dream of asking him about it. If any topic made Emery uncomfortable, it was his ex-wife.

Ceony wondered if Lira was still as she’d left her—frozen and bleeding on the rocky beach of Foulness Island—but then Emery sat down beside her, and the memories flitted away.

He handed her a telegram.

“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it.

lets not change plans stop albans at noon stop

“It came this morning,” Emery said between bites. He frowned at his eggs and reached for the pepper shaker. “I believe it’s from Delilah, unless you’ve taken to arranging social visits with Patrice Aviosky.”

His eyes shined as he chuckled at his own joke.

“I would like to meet her for lunch,” Ceony said, “unless you need me here.”

Emery thought for a moment, chewing, and left the table without excuse. He returned with a 9" by 14" sheet of paper, which he tore in half.