The faint sound of children’s laughter echoes disembodied and distant, as I make them join hands and spin in a slow circle on the tabletop.
Then, in eerie, uncanny unison, they sing:
“Ring-a-ring o’ roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.”
On cue they sneeze, little paper heads jerking, limbs flailing, and collapse in a flurry. With a softpop, each figure transforms into hundreds of fluttering paper handkerchiefs, drifting upward like a blizzard of white. One lands on the back of my hand, weightless, before spinning away.
I giggle at the fond memories of tormenting my siblings with the same trick.
With a thought, I summon every fragment. One by one, the scraps lift, spin, and lock perfectly back together.The map reforms, uncut and uncreased, and drifts back to the wall, pinning itself as though nothing had happened.
I turn.
The paper mage stares, eyebrows high.
Silence blankets the room.
Meredith and the staff gape. One half-rises from her enchanted chair, knuckles white on the armrest. Another lets his chair clatter to the floor. Lander watches me as if seeing me for the first time, pale eyes wide with shock and, if I am generous, awe.
The paper mage steps closer. “Impressive. You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t everyone play with paper?”
He laughs, warm, delighted. “They do,” he says, “but not likethat. She’s one of ours.”
Lander splutters. “No?—”
“She’s one of ours,” he repeats, silencing him with a look. “Harper, would you like to come with me?”
“Yes, please.”
He helps me stand. My legs tingle as blood rushes back into them. Only then do I notice them—dozens of his mages lining the walls in their neat black coats, magic threaded faintly around them. We are supposed to be rare; I do not understand how so many are here.
“I still have questions; I need to speak with her,” Lander says.
“You can direct your questions to our legal department,” the paper mage replies smoothly. “You don’t want to break the treaty, do you, Councillor Kane?”
“Councillor?” I echo, feigning surprise. “I thought youworked for the Ministry as an operative. Mr Kane, did you lie?”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
“No? You just misled me.”
He takes my hand and gently draws me away from the towering paper mage—whose name I still don’t know. “Please, Harper,” he murmurs. “You don’t know these people. Don’t go with them. Stay here with me; I promise to keep you safe.”
His eyes are heartbreakingly earnest, that same vanilla and coconut scent curling around me; for a moment I see three girls shrieking “Uncle Lander!” as they climb him like a tree, not the Magic Hunter who threatened to rip my magic apart. The contradiction makes my ribs feel too tight for my heart.
The paper mage answered my call and has shown only kindness. I know who I trust, and it is not the Magic Hunter.
“I am sure if you have further questions, you will get in touch,” I tell him. “I will do my best to answer. Please say goodbye to your sister and nieces.”
I do not know what possesses me, but on impulse, I lean in and kiss his cheek. His skin is warm, faintly rough with stubble. “Thank you for all your help.” I could say more, but I do not.
