white square.
You wouldn’t be in poor company if you hired a cook. Prit does! I need to write a letter to Mg. Aviosky and thank her for assigning me to you and not him. I don’t know how Bennet has kept such a stiff upper lip, working with him so long.
She paused, wondering if she should be careful with names. Shrugging, she Folded the square into a crane, slipping a farthing into its belly to give it some weight, should a nightly wind try tointerrupt its course. She then Folded a link to a chain spell—only one, for the crane was small—out of a portion of the butterfly Emery had sent.
“Lock,” she said, and the link tightened around the crane’s torso without interfering with its wings. The spell would ensure that only the man whose handwriting was on the chain would be able to unfold the crane. Anyone else would destroy it trying.
Uttering instructions to the bird, Ceony sent it out her window and watched it fly off through the last tendrils of sunlight.
Fennel whined at her ankles—an unsurprising complaint, for she had neglected him most of the day. If nothing else, he would provide some entertainment while Ceony waited for her paper charm to fly across London.
Lighting a few extra candles—the mansion didn’t have electric lights in most of the guestrooms—Ceony threw a knotted stocking back and forth for the paper dog for several minutes before slipping into the lavatory to wash her face and change into her night things. She tied a robe around herself even though she had no intention of leaving her room—one could never be too careful about avoiding Peeping Toms in a new place.
Fennel huffed at her, and in the spaces between his enchanted breaths, Ceony noticed how silent the large house really was. Someone could drop a fork in the kitchen two floors down and she’d hear it from up here.
She rubbed gooseflesh from her arms. With his room directly beneath hers, Bennet had the benefit of hearing her floorboards squeak.
Ceony’s eyelids were growing heavy by the time a second, gray butterfly flew through her cracked window and landed gracefully on the breakfast table. Like she’d done with her crane, Emery had fastened a privacy link about the spell’s body. His managed to look much more refined than her own, despite sporting all the same Folds. She unfolded the butterfly and read:
It will do wonders for your patience. Don’t let him postpone your test, Ceony. You’re ready. I have every confidence in you.
And I do hope you’re not focusing too strongly on young Bennet’s upper lip.
Ceony smiled as she reread the message, rubbing her thumb over the coppery mark where Emery had smudged the word
young
.
Abandoning the table, Ceony pulled her pink lipstick from its place in the set of drawers and carefully smoothed it on, then pressed her lips to the center of another square of paper.
She penned
Only yours
on the sheet before Folding it into a bird and whispering, “Breathe.”
It appeared that Mg. Bailey’s hired chef did not report for breakfast, so early the next morning Ceony acquainted herself with the kitchen. The room was enormous, of course, with two ovens and three enchanted iceboxes, a bar with stools, a wine cabinet, and a long, casual table built to hug the far corner. The cupboards all matched the dark wood stain of the floor, and the counters even boasted a small preparation sink in addition to the normal one.
Ceony had started eggs and hollandaise sauce when Bennet, hair still wet from a bath and with newspaper in hand, came in. “I see you’ve situated yourself well,” he said, stifling a yawn with his first two knuckles. He pulled over a stool and sat, spreading the Social News section before him. “What, um, are you making?”
Ceony held up an egg. “Would you like some?”
Bennet’s shoulders sagged as he let out a long sigh. “Yes, please. I’m starving and I love hollandaise.”
So does Emery
, Ceony almost said, but she bit back the comment quickly enough.
You wouldn’t be in poor company if you hired a cook. Prit does! I need to write a letter to Mg. Aviosky and thank her for assigning me to you and not him. I don’t know how Bennet has kept such a stiff upper lip, working with him so long.
She paused, wondering if she should be careful with names. Shrugging, she Folded the square into a crane, slipping a farthing into its belly to give it some weight, should a nightly wind try tointerrupt its course. She then Folded a link to a chain spell—only one, for the crane was small—out of a portion of the butterfly Emery had sent.
“Lock,” she said, and the link tightened around the crane’s torso without interfering with its wings. The spell would ensure that only the man whose handwriting was on the chain would be able to unfold the crane. Anyone else would destroy it trying.
Uttering instructions to the bird, Ceony sent it out her window and watched it fly off through the last tendrils of sunlight.
Fennel whined at her ankles—an unsurprising complaint, for she had neglected him most of the day. If nothing else, he would provide some entertainment while Ceony waited for her paper charm to fly across London.
Lighting a few extra candles—the mansion didn’t have electric lights in most of the guestrooms—Ceony threw a knotted stocking back and forth for the paper dog for several minutes before slipping into the lavatory to wash her face and change into her night things. She tied a robe around herself even though she had no intention of leaving her room—one could never be too careful about avoiding Peeping Toms in a new place.
Fennel huffed at her, and in the spaces between his enchanted breaths, Ceony noticed how silent the large house really was. Someone could drop a fork in the kitchen two floors down and she’d hear it from up here.
She rubbed gooseflesh from her arms. With his room directly beneath hers, Bennet had the benefit of hearing her floorboards squeak.
Ceony’s eyelids were growing heavy by the time a second, gray butterfly flew through her cracked window and landed gracefully on the breakfast table. Like she’d done with her crane, Emery had fastened a privacy link about the spell’s body. His managed to look much more refined than her own, despite sporting all the same Folds. She unfolded the butterfly and read:
It will do wonders for your patience. Don’t let him postpone your test, Ceony. You’re ready. I have every confidence in you.
And I do hope you’re not focusing too strongly on young Bennet’s upper lip.
Ceony smiled as she reread the message, rubbing her thumb over the coppery mark where Emery had smudged the word
young
.
Abandoning the table, Ceony pulled her pink lipstick from its place in the set of drawers and carefully smoothed it on, then pressed her lips to the center of another square of paper.
She penned
Only yours
on the sheet before Folding it into a bird and whispering, “Breathe.”
It appeared that Mg. Bailey’s hired chef did not report for breakfast, so early the next morning Ceony acquainted herself with the kitchen. The room was enormous, of course, with two ovens and three enchanted iceboxes, a bar with stools, a wine cabinet, and a long, casual table built to hug the far corner. The cupboards all matched the dark wood stain of the floor, and the counters even boasted a small preparation sink in addition to the normal one.
Ceony had started eggs and hollandaise sauce when Bennet, hair still wet from a bath and with newspaper in hand, came in. “I see you’ve situated yourself well,” he said, stifling a yawn with his first two knuckles. He pulled over a stool and sat, spreading the Social News section before him. “What, um, are you making?”
Ceony held up an egg. “Would you like some?”
Bennet’s shoulders sagged as he let out a long sigh. “Yes, please. I’m starving and I love hollandaise.”
So does Emery
, Ceony almost said, but she bit back the comment quickly enough.
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