Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I do not enjoy the bath.
I thought I had the temperature right. I tested the water carefully, yet five minutes after I eased in, my skin felt flayed. The heat within the bathtub climbs and climbs; the room steams. My head spins, and I perch on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel, glowing lobster-red and dizzy.
I have drawn hundreds of baths for other people, perfectly, yet this body refuses to cooperate.
I am not sure whether the water is truly too hot or whether something is simply wrong with me. So much for a relaxing soak. At least I am clean.
I dress in a dark-blue tea dress scattered with white spots, a loosely fitted waist, short sleeves, and a full skirt to mid-calf. The white cardigan is soft against my newly cleaned skin; the knit snags gently on the pads of my fingers as I fasten the buttons.
My freshly washed hair—still grey with that odd lilac sheen—gets a thorough brushing before I twist it into a loose bun.
I consider wearing it down, embracing modern fashion, but the ends still scratch my neck, so up it goes.
Now I sit in a Ministry conference room while we all wait for the paper mages.
The round table is ringed by enchanted chairs that glide at a thought, though with the anti-magic cuff still locked around my wrist, my thoughts go nowhere. The metal cuff pinches whenever I shift, sending little jolts of discomfort up my arm.
Lander leans in—far too close—his shoulder brushing my cardigan as he nudges my chair; it glides forward and clicks softly against the table.
Ministry staff watch from every side. A spectacled man keeps glaring over the rims of his glasses, pen poised. Guards stand like statues at the room’s edges, hands near wands, eyes scanning every twitch.
Then the paper mages arrive.
My heartbeat drums in my throat. Lander takes up too much space beside me. His arm shifts, blocking my view with his broad shoulders. The heat of him seeps through my sleeve; I resist the urge to elbow him aside.
“Where is she?” someone demands, the voice sharp as a knife.
Footsteps approach. A man steps around the table to my left. I look up.
Dark hair, near-black eyes, and a jagged scar—shaped like lightning—cut from temple to mouth. A spell gone wrong. He could have had it healed, but has chosen not to.
The mark sharpens rather than mars his face. Broad-shouldered and built like a shifter, he takes up too much space beside Lander.
“You have been magically depleted?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t sense any magic,” he says, leaning closer.
“No,” I reply, lifting my arm. “Because I am wearing this.” I gesture at the cuff.
“May I?”
With my nod of permission, he takes my hand gently. His skin is warm, his grip careful. With a soft click, the band pops open. He drops it to the floor, lips curling in disgust, then rubs the red mark left behind with his thumb.
The touch feels more like care than intrusion.
Magic—delicious, familiar magic—surges through me.
It is like plunging my hands into a warm current.
For the briefest instant I feel as though I am back by the bathtub, overheated and light-headed, but then the rush settles.
Power licks along my nerves until I fear I might burst. I am not as strong as I was when I was House, yet my magic is unmistakably here.
“You called. I came.” His mouth curves. “Dazzle me, little paper mage. Show us all some paper magic.”
Meredith cuts across him, voice impatient. “She’s not a performing puppy. We must discuss terms—”
He ignores her, his gaze never leaving mine. “Please.”
Spellwork, at least, has not deserted me. Power rises at my call as easily as ever; my magic remembers what my new body has not yet relearned. It is walking in a straight line on these unreliable legs that still feels like the difficult part.
I choose something simple. A childish game I used to play.
A map of the sectors hangs on one wall, a long sheet pinned at each corner. Perfect.
The map peels away, slipping free of the tacks that held it hostage. It billows, then hovers above the table, suspended mid-air.
Gasps flutter around the room.
With a flicker of imagination, I let loose. The paper tears with precise, clean lines, shaping itself into classic gingerbread figures. More than a dozen identical silhouettes drift down and land neatly on thick paper legs.
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 soft pop, 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 like that. 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 you worked 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.
The paper mage offers his arm, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. He smells of ink and something crisp, like a new novel. He guides me towards the door.
“Knox!” Lander growls behind us. “You’d better take care of her. If you don’t, treaty or no, I will come for you.”
“I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head,” Knox answers coolly. He nudges the anti-magic cuff across the floor; it skitters and strikes the toe of Lander’s boot with a metallic click. “I’m nothing like you, pal.”
I cannot bear to look at Lander’s expression, so I glance at Knox instead.
“Let’s go,” he says softly.
We leave together, winding through the Ministry’s labyrinthine corridors. Magic hums in the walls; the air smells of ozone and stone dust.
At last we reach fresh air. I breathe deeply—relief at last, the city’s cool evening breeze brushing my cheeks.
A dark car waits at the kerb, engine ticking softly, runes pulsing along the bonnet.
He opens the door, and I slide across before he can walk around to the other side.
I sink into the plush upholstery. The faux leather is warm beneath my fingertips, and for the first time in days, I believe the day will end far better than it began.
He joins me, and we wait while his team clambers into the surrounding vehicles.
“I did not know there were that many paper mages,” I say.
“There aren’t,” he replies. “My magic coats my people, alters their aura. It makes us seem more numerous than we are. I can also lend my power to certain people, if they’re attuned.”
“Ah,” I murmur, impressed. “A handy trick.”
I understand; I once lent slivers of my magic to family so they could send notes and cast simple spells.
“The Ministry treats us very carefully because they can’t count us. The other paper mages are scattered across the world, doing what we do best,” he continues. “We keep to ourselves. You know how it is.”
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to acknowledge that yes, I do. Subtle—unlike Lander, who barrels through conversation; Knox is smooth.
I nod. “Thank you for coming.”
“When I received your note, I was intrigued. I know all the paper mages; there were fifteen of us worldwide. With you, that makes sixteen. We don’t just spring up out of nowhere.”
He watches my reaction. “I should like to hear your story, Harper. I’m not like your friend in there; I won’t interrogate or force you to speak. He’s a good man—just fanatical. Lander thinks he alone can keep everyone safe, when in reality he can’t.”
That smile appears again. He is a fearsome figure—big and strong—yet his black eyes are as soft as velvet. It feels as though I can see into his soul, and what stares back is kindness. That is rare. Exceptionally so.
Now that my own magic is stirring, I can sense his. He is powerful—though not as powerful as I am. Few are—but I am curious to discover what he can do.
We set off, leaving that horrendous building behind. I glance back only once; the Ministry and all its lies fall away in the rear window, shrinking to a black scar on the skyline. If it were up to me, I would tear the place down.
“We can’t stay in the Magic Sector,” Knox says. “I have a small island off the coast. We can drive across when the tide is low enough. Provided the traffic is light, we should reach the causeway at low tide.”
As if on cue, the driver accelerates and merges onto the main street that heads out of the sector.
“We’ll arrive in about two and a half hours,” Knox adds.
I stare out of the window. We sweep through a bustling sector: a cinema with glowing posters, a theatre marquee blazing with enchanted lights, rows of restaurants with people spilling onto pavements, laughter and music drifting in. Wards shimmer above shopfronts like heat-haze.
Their island keeps them apart, granting both space and safety, and just now safety sounds appealing.
“We have the most incredible library,” he says. “Books you cannot imagine, with information beyond belief.”
I can imagine.
“You will never have seen their like or the knowledge they hold.”
I am sure I have.
I picture the future, how easy life could be if I went with him, surrounded by people who understand my magic. Who understand me. But when have I ever taken the easy route?
I have learned that without adversity, we do not grow, and without challenges, we do not change.
In this new, uncomfortable humanity, I cannot yet defend myself, but I am not ready to be cosseted either.
I turn to Knox. “Again, thank you for rescuing me, but I will not be travelling with you to your island. I am something of a lone wolf, happy to work with others, but best on my own.”
I do not trust Lander, nor do I trust Knox. The only person I can rely on is myself.
The smile falls from his face. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure. If you ever need anything, simply send a note.”
His velvet-dark eyes remain kind. “Whatever you need, we’ll be here.”
“Thank you.”
At the next set of lights, the car slows. The city outside is a blur of movement, pedestrians crossing, voices rising, and horns blaring.
The moment the vehicle stops, I move. I pop the door and slip into the crowd, and vanish.