Deleted Scenes

This chapter takes place between chapters 8 and 9 of The Glass Magician. It details what is being discussed behind the closed doors of the Parliament building while Ceony and Delilah wait outside. The scene is told in Emery’s point of view. (Back to Deleted Scenes.)

Emery’s hands idly folded and unfolded a square of paper as the last person entered the conference room—Mg. Juliet Cantrell, a Smelter roughly the same age as Emery, who had joined Criminal Affairs two years ago. She was a tall and pretty woman, with a military-type stride to her legs and a stiffness to her shoulders that Emery had yet to see relax. Like Patrice, she wore her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, which emphasized her square jaw.

She nodded to Alfred and took a seat on the far end of the table, opposite him.

Alfred started with introductions, which Emery paid only half an ear to—he knew all these people. Several had worked with him during Lira’s terrorizing reign. Pushing thoughts of his ex-wife aside, Emery continued folding the small square of paper, back and forth, weakening its creases with every movement. He wondered if he could make it fall apart by the end of the meeting without tearing it.

“Right to it, then,” Alfred said, still standing over his chair. “Mg. Thane has brought me the startling news that changes everything we know about Grath Cobalt. It seems the man is not an Excisioner at all, but a Gaffer.”

Two magicians murmured to one another, but the rest remained silent. Patrice, at least, already knew, but at the voicing of it, she pursed her lips until they turned white.

“His apprentice, Ceony Twill, discovered it,” Alfred continued.

Juliet said, “She’s the target?”

Emery frowned.

Alfred nodded. “Seems he contacted her through a mirror in her temporary apartment, alone. Not the wisest choice of action if he wanted to keep his Gaffering a secret.”

A Polymaker named Simon commented, “Perhaps he didn’t want it to be a secret?”

“Unlikely,” Emery interjected, “based on the conversation.”

Juliet asked, “You witnessed it?”

Emery nodded, flipping the paper between his fingers. “I doubt Grath would work so hard to brand himself an Excisioner all these years just to turn the tables now. Though apparently, that’s what he’s doing.”

“Yes, some nonsense about breaking bonds,” Alfred said. After a few startled looks, he added, “I assure you, that is a talent he does not possess, and that does not exist. Still,” he glanced to Emery, “your apprentice is quite the detective to work such a detail out from one of our most wanted. A clever girl, even if she’s not much to look at.”

Emery dropped his paper. The room was silent for two seconds before he said, “I think that’s a matter of opinion, Alfred, and hardly appropriate in these circumstances.”

“I agree,” Patrice said, sharp as a paring knife. “Please, Mg. Hughes, let’s keep this meeting on topic and stray away from your . . . personal preferences.”

Still, Emery bristled. Alfred was already on his fourth marriage, so his opinions on women were to be taken with a grain of salt. But exactly what part of Ceony did he find unappealing?

Alfred only smiled. “Of course. Where was I? Oh yes, the mirror. Mg. Thane?”

Scooting back from the table, Emery reached into his coat and pulled out two small shards of glass from the vanity mirror in the apartment, each wrapped tightly in bandages of paper. Setting them on the tabletop, he slid one to Patrice and the other to Chester, another Gaffer who sat beside her.

“These are from the mirror Grath used to contact Ceony,” Alfred explained. “He also attempted transport, but the mirror was shattered before he succeeded.”

Patrice tilted her shard back and forth, her face contorted in its ever-present frown. She looked like a tortoise, frowning like that. Emery imagined her smile couldn’t be much worse.

Both Gaffers commanded their shards, “Reflect, Past,” and angled them to get a good view of Grath’s current abode. They didn’t look long.

“I don’t recognize it,” Patrice said.

“It’s unremarkable,” added Chester.

Emery leaned back in his chair and returned to manipulating the square of paper. He had a sinking feeling that this meeting would be very, very long. He should have brought a snack.

Still, he asked, “But the apartment is secure?”

Patrice nodded. “I would recommend ridding yourself of any other mirrors, Mg. Thane, but I don’t believe your current abode to be jeopardized.” She paused. “I do, however, recommend separating you and Miss Twill, for a time.”

Oh? Emery leaned his elbows on the table, waiting. Folding and unfolding that paper.

“I think splitting you two would be safer, in the long run,” she continued.

“I’m not a target this time, Patrice.”

She frowned, deeper, likely at the use of her first name in such a formal setting. Emery hid a smile.

“I would like Miss Twill to stay with me,” she continued, “where I can keep an eye on her.”

“I don’t see how your ‘eye’ is any better than mine,” Emery countered, keeping his voice smooth. Oh, how Patrice loved to meddle. It was almost quaint. “Especially given that I have experience in these matters.”

“Especially given your experience, Magician Thane,” she chided, taking on her school-advisor voice. It was a tone she had often used with Emery when he had been in her Spells and Counterspells course at Tagis Praff some thirteen years ago.

Emery palmed the paper and leaned his chin onto his folded hands, watching her. It unnerved Patrice when people stared.

He didn’t like the idea of Ceony leaving. Not only for the sake of her company, but because he couldn’t watch her if they separated. He couldn’t protect her. It was her involvement in his problems that led to this catastrophe in the first place. No, Emery wouldn’t let her go. Not easily.

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Thank you for the concern,” Emery said, “but no.”

Aviosky frowned even further. “I do hope you’re not growing too close to your apprentice.”

Ah, so that was it. Perhaps Emery had let himself slip, been too familiar with Ceony before the Gaffer’s eyes. Then again, walking within two feet of one another would be too familiar for Patrice.

“And I hope you haven’t distanced yourself to the point where you can no longer see yours, Patrice,” he countered.

“Well,” Alfred interjected as Patrice turned away, silently fuming, “Ceony will stay under Emery’s stewardship for the time being. Juliet?”

Juliet stood, dropping a few files onto the table. “I’ve sifted through Cobalt’s criminal records for comparison, and it seems we’ve never had an actual witness testify to his use of Excision. However, he has taken credit for the works of other Excisioners, Lira Hoppson being the most recent.”

A few eyes strayed toward Emery. He made a point of not meeting them.

Instead, he said, “A man can still learn Excision without being able to practice it. I knew a man in secondary school who had memorized all the basics of Folding before ever attending Tagis Praff. I’m positive that, at minimum, Grath personally trains his recruits.”

Juliet merely nodded, then crouched down to retrieve a large roll of canvas, which she splayed over the table—a map of England and its surroundings. Then, reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handful of thick, brass coins and tossed them over the map. She commanded, “Arrangement, position two,” and the coins snapped into position over different cities as though magnetically drawn to them. Emery noticed each coin had been engraved with a date. A few of the coins bore black rims.

Juliet went on to describe the last known whereabouts of Grath and Saraj, indicating each coin in turn. The black-rimmed coins were Saraj’s locations. All but one coincided with Grath’s.

“When Saraj hits,” Simon, the Polymaker, said, “he does far more damage, but Grath strikes more frequently.”

Juliet folded her arms tightly, her brows drawing together. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by ‘more damage.’”

“Take the paper mill, for example. Millions of dollars in repairs.”

“My concern is more for people, not property,” Juliet said, a bit sharp. “Did you know that last year in Presto, Grath raped a teenaged girl so severely that she needed surgery afterward?”

Emery paled.

“Or that earlier this year,” Juliet continued, “Near Derby, he gathered a family into—”

“Please, Juliet,” Alfred interjected, “spare us the details. Let us focus on the present threat.”

Emery crumpled the square of paper in his left palm. The present threat. Ceony. The thought of Grath so much as touching her made his blood boil.

He’d kill the man before he had an opportunity, so help him.

Alfred leaned over the map and said, “Now that we have the history, let’s determine where Grath is now, where he may strike, and what on earth we’re going to do when he does.”

This chapter occurs between chapters 16 and 17 in The Glass Magician. It reveals part of what Emery did after sending Ceony to stay with Langston.

Hand on the doorknob to Mg. Aviosky’s home, Emery watched Langston’s car drive away through a window until it vanished beyond the scope of the panes. He squeezed the knob in his hand, resisting the urge to strike something. His stomach rumbled, igniting a small but sharp pain there. That woman had probably given him an ulcer, not to mention insomnia and a headache. Despite all the beautiful things about Ceony, she could be such a fool!

He let out a long breath. Thank the heavens they had found her unharmed. Thank the heavens. Emery had prayed for the first time in his life last night that he would find her whole. Whatever God watched over him had certainly been merciful.

Alfred came down the hall. “I have my auto coming,” he said. “Do you know the Twill residence?”

“I know the address,” Emery answered. He had never been there himself. “I’d like to come with you.”

Alfred nodded.

Not precisely the way Emery had wanted to meet Ceony’s parents, but he supposed none of that really mattered—or should have been at all important—given the circumstances.

“I as well,” Patrice called as she descended the stairs.

“Delilah?” Emery asked.

“I sent her to the school,” Patrice replied. “I’ve given her enough homework to last her another year. What, pray tell, have you done with Ceony?”

“She’s taken care of for the time being,” Emery said, and he left it at that. Patrice opened her mouth to say more, but she quickly closed it. Perhaps Emery’s disdain for the conversation showed on his face—his aunt had always told him his eyes expressed themselves too well.

Alfred’s driver brought his automobile and Emery held the passenger door for Patrice, remaining silent as he did so. Emery directed the driver to Whitechapel and the Mill Squats. Alfred seemed amused, but withheld comment.

“Here is fine,” Emery announced when they grew close. No need to draw attention to themselves.

They stepped out of the auto onto a narrow street barely wide enough to fit one, lined on either side with box-like flats all compressed in such a way he couldn’t tell where one started and another ended. The brickwork on the road had cracked, strewing potholes up and down its length. Weeds grew up through more cracks in the sidewalks, and the buildings themselves looked centuries old. A thin woman sat on a set of steps outside, watching her two boys bat a pill bug around with sticks.

“Charming,” Alfred said. Turning to Patrice, he added, “Would you find a line and get the location to the others? Tell them only to send a few, please.” Then, to Emery, “It’s a little late for mail birds to look commonplace.”

Emery nodded.

Patrice headed down the sidewalk, back the way they had come, her short heels clicking against the pavement.

Emery led the way to the Twills’, checking building numbers and street signs until he found the address registered under Ceony’s profile, the one he had received a week before she began her apprenticeship. It was a single-story house wedged in between two others, made of rusty brick chipping at the edges and a roof in dire need of re-shingling.

A past conversation came to Emery’s mind as he approached the door.

“Could I borrow a few shillings for a buggy? Please?” Ceony asked.

Emery looked up from the letter he was drafting. “Didn’t you receive your stipend last week?”

“Yes . . . but I sent it away already.”

Sent it away. Here, no doubt.

He thought of the letter she had sent him when she entered Tagis Praff, after he’d donated a scholarship rile Sinad Mueller.

It has been my dream since I was a young girl to learn the secrets of magic, but due to my family’s financial situation and some bad luck on my part, I had truly believed only a few days ago that my dream was unobtainable.

He knocked on the door. Ceony would hate further charity on his part, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t lend her family some help behind her back. He resolved to do so, once this mess had been dealt with.

A woman answered the door. She looked to be about Patrice’s age, with auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. A worn apron stained with what looked like some sort of fruit preserve hid most of her faded dress.

Alfred said, “Mrs. Twill, I presume?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. May I help you?”

Alfred stepped forward and offered his hand. “My name is Alfred Hughes of Criminal Affairs, Magicians Cabinet. May we come in? You know Magician Thane, of course.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Magician Thane! No no, I haven’t had the pleasure.” She released Alfred’s hand and shook his own, her grip surprisingly firm. “Ceony has told me so much about you . . . though I didn’t think you’d be so young.”

Emery smiled. “Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, mostly,” she said, then laughed. “Mostly. You’re a better dresser than she claims. Yes yes, please come in.”

Mrs. Twill opened the door wide and gestured them into a small living area, divided into both a living room and a dining room by a long couch that had obviously seen many years of sitting and rough-housing. A narrow kitchen extended beyond that, and a hallway that likely led to the bedrooms. The flat couldn’t have fit more than two.

“Magicians Cabinet,” Mrs. Twill repeated as she shut the door. “Oh dear. Has Ceony done something foul?”

Beyond foul, Emery thought, but he said, “I’m afraid the situation is more my fault than anything else, Mrs. Twill.”

“Oh, call me Rhonda,” Rhonda said. Her face fell. “Is . . . everything all right?”

“Mom, who are they?”

Emery turned to see two children in the hallway, a boy of about ten and a girl—a spitting image of Ceony—a couple years younger than that. Marshall and Margo, if Emery remembered correctly. Ceony had mentioned them on multiple occasions.

“Oh nothing,” Rhonda said. “Go to your room.”

“But—”

“Now,” she added, and the two children frowned and scurried down the hallway.

Rhonda gestured to the couch, but Alfred waved it away with his hand. He asked, “Is your husband at home?”

“No . . . he’s at work,” Rhonda said, fiddling with her apron tie. “And Zina—my other daughter—is still at school. Is there a problem?” She glanced to Emery.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose much,” Alfred said, “but I will need to relocate your family for a short time.”

Rhonda’s eyes bugged. “Relocate? Whatever for?”

Stepping forward, Emery said, “We have reason to believe you may be in danger. A slim chance, I assure you, but it’s always better to play the safe card. Consider it a . . . paid vacation.”

The words didn’t soothe her. “What about Ceony?”

“Oh, she’s perfectly fine, studying for midterms,” Emery lied. “The arrangements will be for a few days, a week at most.”

Alfred harrumphed. Emery ignored him.

Chewing on her nail, Rhonda looked around the house. “But I . . .”

“All will be explained later,” Emery assured her, though the statement wasn’t necessarily true. “Please, pack your things.”

Alfred said, “If you tell us where we could find your husband and daughter, I’ll see that they’re brought home safely as well.”

Rhonda chewed her lip, eyeing Emery. After a long moment, she said, “She trusts you. I suppose I will too. God knows we could use some time out of this house, but . . .”

She didn’t finish the statement, only hurried down the hall, calling out to Marshall and Margo to “get ready for a trip.”

Turning to Alfred and keeping his voice low, Emery asked, “Where will you send them?”

“Probably Portsmouth, but that’s yet to be decided,” Alfred answered.

Someone knocked on the door, and Emery took the liberty of answering it.

Three men in police uniforms stood there. Alfred told one to wait outside the door and the other to circle the block, to keep an eye out. The third he invited inside.

Emery stepped outside so as not to overcrowd the room. He ran his hand through his hair.

“I would still like to speak to you regarding Miss Twill,” Patrice’s voice said beside him. He hadn’t noticed her there.

“You address little else, these days,” Emery said, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. He felt exposed without his coat, which he had left at Patrice’s home. He’d need to retrieve that. “What is it?”

“I’m considering Miss Twill’s welfare as an apprentice, Magician Thane.”

“You think I’m mistreating her?”

“Quite the opposite, in fact,” she huffed. She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. “I think it to be more conducive to Ceony’s studies, and her well-being, if I reassigned her under Magician Morse.”

Emery glanced straight ahead and folded his arms. “Magician Morse has an apprentice.”

“Not for much longer, and I believe—”

“I would think you’d trust me regarding my own students.” Emery said, looking down on her. “After all, you are the one who made the assignment.” And to a broken man like myself, no less.

“Considering recent events . . .”

“This is neither the time nor place.”

Patrice frowned. “There is never a time or place with you, Magician Thane.”

He turned to her, and she took a step back, surprisingly. “I have the strangest inkling that this isn’t about the Excisioners, Patrice.” He kept his voice low, not wanting any of Ceony’s family to overhear.

Patrice actually flushed. “No, not entirely. I worry about the consequences of the incident concerning your . . . collapse, three months ago.”

“This is an awfully large bush to beat about.”

Patrice scowled. “Do not mock me for being proper.”

Emery inhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders back, trying to relieve the tension in them. The third police officer stepped out of the house and jogged down the street toward his car, likely off to rescue the rest of the Twill family.

“Tell me,” he said, “have you ever completely opened your heart to someone?”

Patrice took several seconds before answering. “No . . .”

“I have,” Emery said, staring at the bland building across the street, at the Y-shaped crack running up its side. “It may not have been by choice, but it’s done. Once something like that happens, one tends to see the world—and the person—a little differently.”

Patrice didn’t respond.

“I will take care of Ceony,” he said, glancing at her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but she seemed somewhat defeated. “She will earn her magicianship at the end of two years, or you may personally have me expelled from the Magicians’ Alliance.”

Patrice’s mouth form a small O. Alfred exited the house and flagged down one of the policemen. After asking him to retrieve the auto, he said, “They’re almost ready. Emery, if I could speak with you.”

Emery stepped away from Patrice without so much as a nod, but before he reached the door, he spied something small and white tumbling over the building across the street—a mail bird. Stepping into the gutter, he held his hand out to it, and the paper crane circled about his fingers and landed in his palm.

“Cease,” he commanded it. The bird went still, and he unfolded it, glancing over the message inside, written in Ceony’s hand.

“What is it?” Alfred asked.

Emery slipped the paper into his pocket. “Nothing,” he said, and followed the Siper inside. Two packed bags already sat on the dining-room table.

“I have a proposition for you,” Alfred said, hushed. “Something I need done while we deal with Grath.”

“I’m listening,” Emery replied.