Free Magic Under Glass by Jaclyn Dolamore Page A

should see this house, Erris. His father turned real tigers to gold, and now they guard the gate, and he even has the head of a unicorn in his study and . . . worse.”
    “Mmm?” His voice was low.
    For a moment, I wished I had said nothing. I thought it might be better not to know. But then, it must be worse to be trapped in one room, without any idea where you were beyond those four walls. Like a devoted nurse at the bed of a paralyzed man, I brought a wisp of life to the stiff arms and the fairy shoes frozen fast to the ground. I described the hall ceiling that stretched so high that ghosts could have waltzed in the rafters, dear Linza and the sniping comments of Miss Rashten, even the horror of discovering the garden fairies frozen under glass in his father’s study.
    Erris’s hands quivered at this, but he didn’t reply.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know if I should tell you.”
    YES. DO.
    “I thought you’d want to know.”
    I MISS MY FATHER. HE’D KNOW WHAT TO DO.
    “Is he still alive?”
    NO . . .
    “I’m sorry. I understand. You must miss home terribly.”
    I DO. He made a sound in his throat rather like a sigh. I SHOULD BE MORE SAD. FEELS LIKE A DREAM.
    “I guess you never had a proper good-bye.” I recalled my own good-bye with Father. I’d been furious with him for long months, with good reason, yet when I said good-bye, I sobbed like anything. He said he was sorry and kissed my cheek. I said I would write. At the time, I’d meant it heartily, and consoled myself with my dream of a triumphant return with pockets full of gold, but I’d been a naïve young thing. “But, then again . . . perhaps saying good-bye doesn’t change anything.”
    His arms spread across the piano keys, and drew together again, wavering a moment before he began to spell. YOU LOOK SAD.
    I quickly shook my head.
    An unexpected chuckle carried down the hall. “Play!” I hissed, as I snatched the marking paper from the piano. Male conversation drew close. Erris began a melody.
    The door flung open. Hollin entered, followed by a man clad in a dark gray suit with pointed sorcerer’s cuffs on his jacket.
    “Ah,” he said. “So this is the automaton . . .”
    Hollin stepped beside me to make introductions. “And this is Nimira, the singer I’ve hired. Nimira, this is Mr. Soleran Smollings.”
    Smollings was handsome for an older man, dark and thin, with distinguished high cheekbones and a straight narrow nose. His eyes swept over me, appraising and unreadable.
    “Charming, but next time I should like to see her in trousers,” he said. “Quite odd to see a little girl from Tassim in one of our ladies’ fine dresses.”
    I forced myself to keep quiet. Nothing good could come of arguing, but his condescending words were almost more than I could bear.
    “Don’t insult her,” Hollin said, dark eyes flashing anger.
    “Oh, Parry,” Smollings said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you a little moon-eyed.” He smiled at me, as if a mere smile would soothe my shallow foreign feelings. I hated for Erris to hear them deride me. Cheerful tunes came from the piano as we spoke; of course Erris must play until his mechanism wound down.
    Now Smollings went to stand behind Erris while he finished his song. As he watched Erris, I watched him. He ran his hand along Erris’s arm. He peered into his glass eyes, giving his cheek a brief, appraising stab with one finger. He lifted aside his coat to see his clockwork slowly turning. I wanted to shove him away.
    Hollin rubbed his hands, as if they were cold. “Lovely craftsmanship, isn’t it?”
    “It has been too many months since I’ve paid a visit to Vestenveld.” Smollings’s hand lingered on Erris’s back, near his keyhole. “I’ve been so busy. Where did you find this automaton, Parry?”
    “An auction. I was looking for new furniture when this caught my eye.”
    “You know, I heard the Pelerine family recently sold Garvin’s Colsom Lake estate and