Shattered by Magic

by Rebecca Danese

  CHAPTER 9

  The last time I was in Northeast London the place already looked like a ghetto. Between the scuffles on the street in broad daylight to the Augur hate graffiti on shops and homes, it didn’t incite much confidence that Augurism was being effectively handled. Lorenzo’s club sits in the basement of an inconspicuous building, the perfect spot for the locals to feel completely safe from the Normals outside. I don’t think a Normal had ever set foot in there until Agnes snuck me in.

  As the taxi navigates us from west of the city to the east, the contrast between each side of London is not only visible but tangible.

  As Londoners we tend to stick to what we know. For a city that was made up of towns and villages that were eventually absorbed by the metropolis, people still often insist on staying local, shopping in those few familiar places.

  If I hadn’t been living up to my eyeballs in Augur crime for the past few months, I’d probably be the same: pretending to be happy and blissfully unaware while lives are ruined in my city. I think we’re wired to keep on going, ignoring what danger we can and running away from the things we can’t control.

  West London may still be the nicer part of town, the Normals tolerating the Augurs so long as they keep quiet and stay out of trouble, but here, maybe an hour’s drive away, things are very different.

  There are still some decent streets, where people have put up a veneer of acceptability in order not to have to leave their homes, but glancing down the side streets and away from the main road, behind it all, it looks like a war zone.

  Burnt out cars, graffiti on every wall and shop window, and rubbish everywhere—a part of the city that the rest of the world seems to have forgotten about.

  Every part of this city is an eclectic mix of good and bad, old and new, vibrant and conservative. Tenement blocks next to million- pound mansions, city bankers living around the corner from street criminals, and the rich living next to the poor. It’s like that all over, but this area is far worse than I remember.

  “They just don’t care,” Marco says sadly. “This is so much more dilapidated than it used to be.”

  I have to agree with him. “How can anyone live like this? Why don’t they all move?”

  “Home. People will do anything for a place they call home, even if it’s a hellhole.”

  I can understand that sentiment too. I’ve had a comfortable roof over my head no matter what has happened to us, but home still feels like somewhere I haven’t been for a long time. Like maybe it’s something that Ella and I could have when this is over. And there’s hope again, trying to fight its way through the darkness and fill the hole in my chest with something other than pain.

  We instruct the cab driver to stop off a few blocks away and pay him in a fistful of cash out of Lou’s purse, walking the rest of the way.

  “There are a lot of roadworks,” I point out as we have to circumnavigate a large building site in the middle of the road. It looks like they’re trying to build a wall in the centre of the street, which doesn’t make much sense.

  This is Marco’s original home area, so he knows the best route to take without landing us in the nastier streets, but it takes a while to reach the building that I recognise as the site of Lorenzo’s club.

  The front of the building looks like an abandoned Edwardian mansion block, the windows boarded up from top to bottom and graffiti on the side of the building. Now that I look at it, I realise that the graffiti very clearly says The Blue Lounge in intricate writing, which is a clever way of disguising the sign for the club.

  Marco leads the way down the alley, between two large dustbins and toward the entrance, which is a grimy door slightly below street level and down a short flight of steps. He knocks rapidly on the cat-shaped knocker, and the same doorman who let me by last time opens the door, shock and puzzlement on his face as he sets eyes on each of us.

  “Marco! What a surprise.” He gives him a friendly handshake but glances at me nervously. “The Normal isn’t allowed in here,” he says quietly, as if I can’t hear him perfectly from only a foot away. “Even if he is Dark-Knife himself,” he adds.

  Marco turns around, and I give him a shrug. I have no idea what Dark-Knife is, but now isn’t the time to argue.

  “He’s an exception, George. You can ask Enzo if you want, but he’s coming in, with or without your permission,” Marco replies, shrugging. He makes it all so casual, as if me being there doesn’t go against every rule and unspoken law that Lorenzo has put into place to safeguard his club and its patrons. George hesitates, looking between Marco and me, with the occasional furtive glance up to the security camera I’ve just noticed in the corner.

  “Fine, but he landed me in the doghouse last time. I need to check you all for drugs and weapons, regardless,” he says nervously.

  Marco opens his mouth to protest but then closes it. He looks at me and rolls his eyes. As far as I understand, Marco was third in command here, after his cousin Enzo and his brother Giovanni, so he’d technically be the doorman’s boss, but he doesn’t push the point. He holds his arms out for a pat-down and then his hand for a thumb prick test, which is new. The tiny droplet that forms on the end of his finger is smeared onto a card no bigger than a postage stamp, and when nothing noticeable happens, the doorman moves on to me. I hold my tongue while he searches me, but when he asks me to empty my pockets, I panic. The switchblade counts as a weapon, and it may blow our chances to get in if I’m not careful.

  “I-I’m really sorry. It’s a family heirloom,” I say, handing it over to George when he finds it.

  He recoils instantly. “No! I mean no thanks. You can keep it. Normally I’d insist on weapons being left at the door, but as the little boss says, you’re an exception. Just please don’t use it in the club,” George says almost pleading.

  “Okay. Sure,” I reply, putting it back in my pocket and holding my thumb out for a blood test.

  “What does that mean?” I panic when my card comes up blue.

  “Normal blood. But no drugs. You’re all clear.” He seems slightly disappointed with the outcome of having to let me in, but I try not to let it irk me.

  I move out of the way for the others to be frisked, Lou grumbling throughout her pat-down and Jer saying nothing. Beryl seems to quite enjoy the whole process. I keep my mouth shut and try not to laugh when she giggles at poor George as he concedes to let us through.

  He touches the red door behind him, and it crumbles, just like I remember it did before, allowing the three of us through and into the noisy, smoky interior.

  The first thing I notice is that it’s fuller than before. I didn’t think you could cram more bodies into a space this size, but it definitely feels crowded. It doesn’t seem to matter what time of day it is; the place is a 24-hour operation, and people want to come and drink mocktails and dance their legs off in the comfort of privacy, regardless of whether it’s lunch time or night time.

  “How interesting,” Beryl shouts, skirting around a couple who are dancing as though their lives depend on it, their hands flailing in time to the heavy beat that thrums through the club. “I wish there had been something like this when I was younger!”

  I laugh at her childlike wonder at it all. The sweaty bodies, the flashing music, and the haze of smoke writhing around above us. Interesting isn’t a word I would have used to describe the scene.

  The club centres around the vibrating dance floor, with tables and booths off to each side and the bar at the back. There are a few doors leading out of the main basement, none of which I really noticed before. Private function rooms, perhaps? I’d ask Marco, but he’s already pushed his way through the throng and marched right to the back of the club, beckoning us past the bar and through the door to the right of it, which is clearly marked PRIVATE.

  A flight of stairs leads us to the manager’s office, and Marco knocks loudly when we get there. Any sound from within is cut short at our arrival, and though Marco doesn’t technically need to knock or wait for so
meone to open the door, he waits patiently for someone to answer.

  Giovanni masks his surprise well when he opens up to find us on the landing outside, but for a brief moment I can see he’s not happy.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too, brother,” Marco says, barging in. The room feels electric, like we’ve just walked in on an argument, and something feels very off. From the little vein pulsating on Gio’s temple, I guess we didn’t pick the best time to turn up. Lorenzo doesn’t move from behind his huge desk, one hand splayed out on top of it as if he was in the process of making a point, the other clenching a fistful of paperwork. He doesn’t bother to greet us when we come in, seemingly waiting for us to make our introductions. I glance around the room, but Agnes is nowhere to be seen.

  “No, I mean, I’m glad to see you, but really, what are you doing here?” Gio says, moving out of our way reluctantly.

  “Can’t I visit my family at work unannounced? I do still own five percent of this place, remember?”

  Gio ignores the question and looks at me with disdain, failing terribly if he’s trying to disguise it.

  “And you?”

  “I’m with him,” I say, pointing to Marco.

  “Nice to see you, Giovanni,” Beryl says, smiling as sweetly as she can manage but keeping her hands firmly clasped in front of her. No handshakes for her; the last time she did that, she got a full whack of Gio’s power, which happened to be an uncomfortable vision of London going up in flames.

  “Likewise,” he replies curtly.

  “‘Sup, Gio?” Lou says, with Jer bringing up the rear and giving him a small one-fingered salute but saying nothing. The immense office can easily fit us all inside, but I can see Enzo’s irritation at being inundated with people without warning.

  “Enzo, this is Beryl, David’s mother,” Marco says, making introductions.

  “David, the healer?” Lorenzo speaks for the first time since we’ve arrived.

  “Like mother, like son.” Beryl walks over and holds out her hand, hesitating only slightly when he shakes it. No visions from Enzo. All I know is that his power has something to do with water, so she’s safe from any surprises for now.

  “You remember Lou and Jer.”

  Enzo nods, but his eyes are already on me.

  “And, of course, Curtis,” Marco says cheerily.

  Enzo narrows his eyes, giving me a brief nod but nothing more than that. I get the impression he likes to pretend that Normals don’t exist in here, so maybe he’s trying to ignore me as much as he can. I attempt a smile, but it’s wasted on him, as he’s already fixing Marco with an unimpressed glare. I don’t remember much about the office, other than that it made me think Lorenzo was wealthy. Now that I’m back, I take in a few more details: the modern art hanging on the walls, the opulent furniture, and the main talking point, the glass floor. I recall thinking I was going to fall straight through it and onto the clubbers below, and that same vertiginous feeling makes my stomach lurch when I look down for too long. I try to keep my eyes on the people in the room instead and wonder where Agnes has gotten to.

  “So, what did I miss?” Marco asks, leaning against a modern and expensive-looking sculpture.

  “We were discussing moving the premises of the club. The council is proposing to put up a wall around the east end to encourage Normals to move out of Stonewell and into other areas. They’re even giving them a monetary incentive,” Lorenzo explains.

  “That’s insane! We’re not rabid animals!” Beryl says disgustedly.

  I think about the roadworks we walked around. Has the wall-building started already?

  “So far, no one has really backed it as an idea, but it doesn’t stop them from trying. After the last few days of news, I worry that we’ll wake up one morning and find the wall already in place. With no one to fight back and keep the authorities and press occupied, they’re taking Augur segregation to a whole new level, and there’s nobody to stop them. Not even a little terrorist faction to keep their minds off segregating us.” He sits down in the leather rotating chair and undoes the button on his expensive-looking suit, taking us all in with one sweep of his gaze.

  What is it with everyone missing the Magic Circle all of a sudden? “You’re saying that the Magic Circle was a good thing?” I interject. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that today.

  He glances at me and looks like he might not answer, but with an encouraging nod from Marco, he thinks better of it.

  “Not a good thing, as such. They were a bunch of thugs and druggies ultimately, but at least it made the politicians think twice about trying to oppress us. It also consumed the front pages of the news every day, which meant that everyone’s focus was on the bad guys, not on the rest of us who just want to live our lives in peace.”

  I nod, even though I don’t agree with him.

  “Surely that’s a good thing though? More business for the club?” Marco says.

  “No, little cousin. This is a safe haven for Augurs. We provide a very specific service, and we’re already at maximum member capacity. If there’s nothing but Augurs in the neighbourhood, our business will collapse,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “So, we get back to money again,” Gio says, throwing his hands up in frustration. I sense that this was the argument we interrupted, and I don’t need to hear any more of it to know we shouldn’t be involved.

  “We have a bigger problem. Unless you’ve seen the news, I’m afraid to say that Munday has escaped from ATU custody,” I say, stepping into the centre of the room. I’m not breaking any rules if someone already leaked it to the press, am I?

  “What did you say?” Lorenzo stands up and puts his broad hands on the desk in front of him.

  “Giles Mulberry was apprehended yesterday afternoon. By yesterday evening, he’d broken out, taking Munday, Kai Chen from the Magic Circle, and the Duke’s chauffeur with him. Our understanding is that Clarence needs Munday to complete his drug formula, and it turns out he’s wanted Ella’s genetic coding to help him all along. He wants to make a form of Air that will make Augurs infinitely powerful, like her.” I control my voice as best I can, but it cracks, and I clear my throat, hoping someone will take over.

  Jer takes the hint and speaks up for me. “The butler was already dosed up with Air when he broke Munday out of prison. We have to assume that they’re close to completing the formula, and we know exactly where they are.”

  “But why is that a bad thing?” Gio asks. “I mean, experimenting on Ella is horrific, but if Augurs aren’t limited by power sources, surely that would solve a huge amount of our problems?”

  “You’d think so, bro, but Air is still a drug. Just look at the examples we’ve seen here. It does something to people—makes them unpredictable, docile towards their dealers, and dangerous. Mulberry had taken his hit eight hours before he broke out of maximum security. We don’t want a city full of psychos like him,” Marco explains.

  “Why did they break Munday out?” Enzo asks.

  “We think he’s the key to finishing Clarence’s research. He and Munday were working this stuff when I was still in nappies. I think he needs what’s left of Munday’s scientific brain, combined with Ella’s powers, to finish it,” Marco replies.

  “It’s only a matter of time before they perfect the formula and get exactly what they’ve wanted all along,” Jer adds.

  “An Augur army,” Gio murmurs.

  The cousins look at each other, a silent conversation going on between them that lasts more than a few seconds, until Lorenzo says, “Why bring this to us? Don’t you all work for the government now?”

  I shuffle uncomfortably, and Marco clears his throat.

  “You’re kidding me. You got fired?” Gio asks incredulously.

  “Our boss got the sack, and our other boss fired us.” Marco throws his hands up in a wide shrug. “We’re on our own.”

  “So, you want money,” Enzo says flatly.

  “No, we need manp
ower, and you’re the only person I’d trust to bring this to,” Marco replies, stepping in front of Enzo’s desk. “Cuz, you have contacts, people you trust who would be willing to help us…if you told them to.”

  “Forget it,” Enzo says abruptly.

  That wasn’t how I expected this conversation to go.

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m not jeopardising my relationship with these people because you want to go and play hero, Marco. What you’re describing is effectively a suicide mission.”

  “We have a solid plan,” Marco says, shooting me a look that seems to say, “We have a plan, right?”

  I nod my head slightly, hoping that I can come up with something before anyone asks me for details.

  “Why didn’t you bring this information to your government friends?” Gio asks disdainfully. “Surely they would have sent a hundred Normals in to sort this out, rather than leaving it to you?”

  I know he doesn’t like the fact that I dragged his little brother into the ATU with me, and he’s making it very clear with the way his voice changes every time he speaks to me. It’s starting to get on my nerves.

  “We tried. They already have agents on their way to the old Facility site outside Leicester, but they don’t realise that the Air is stashed there, and they’ll walk head on into a trap if we don’t act now.”

  Gio smirks. “Let them.”

  “This isn’t some kind of joke, Giovanni. These are people’s lives! This will affect you too if we don’t do something about it,” I say, allowing my temper to get the better of me for a moment. I take a deep breath and calm myself. I can’t let him get under my skin.

  “Look, we’ll lay all of the information out on the table before we ask any of your friends for help. Full transparency. A mission summary, if you like. If no one wants to help us, we’ll go on our own, but we’ll be far more likely to make it out alive if we have help.”

  “Spoken like a real government agent,” he says sounding unimpressed.

  Enzo paces around his desk and over the glass floor, stopping at the far wall, which juts out into the club. From below it looks like just another piece of architecture, but from here you can almost see every nook and cranny of the room below.