The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  Ezra considered his words in silence, staring out at the River Lagan's muddy waters. “Why are you telling me all this if you do not want to be discovered?"

  Jonas squinted in the sunlight. "Because, Ezra, I am highly convinced you are also a Magus. Not just anyone can survive being shot by a Watcher's poisoned arrow."

  Ezra's jaw dropped open. He attempted to form words, even the most basic of grammatical structures, but could not utter anything more than primitive grunts of confusion.

  "Now, as for your other questions, those will be answered in time," Jonas promised. "Right now, all you need to know is that you are safe with us."

  "Us?"

  "The Irish Chapter of the Third Order of the Magi," Jonas replied as if the matter were as simple as explaining the sun in the sky. "There are seven Magi residing here in Belfast, but our backgrounds are from all over the world. My cousin, Kierra, is one of them. Two others attend Belfast Royal Academy."

  Oh no, thought Ezra as his stomach somersaulted unpleasantly. I swear to Allah if those two students are Dennis and one of his awful sidekicks... He absentmindedly ran his thumb over the fresh scars on his opposite palm. The wound still prickled and burned with inflammation, a physical reminder that he wasn't wanted in Ireland.

  But Jonas wasn't like the others, and that was the problem. His genuine nature seemed too good to be true. The whole story, as oddly timed as it was, seemed too good to be true. There could not be an alternative explanation: Jonas' grand tale about the Magi must have been fabricated.

  "Look, I appreciate your kindness, but I am no one special," Ezra spoke resolutely as he stood. As much as he wanted to hold onto the fleeting hope of a better life, he could not accept this was the answer. "I had better return to school before I have another disciplinary session with the headmaster."

  "Do you know why I brought you here?"

  Ezra stared blankly in response.

  Jonas gestured toward Albert Bridge and the River Lagan. "This river doesn't look like anything special. In fact, it appears rather dirty and unimpressive as it winds through our city. This bridge—though it has a wonderfully designed exterior—collapsed twenty years ago and had to be rebuilt. But just beyond these imperfect landmarks, only six kilometres due northeast from where we now stand, the river opens to an inlet and merges with the vast and beautiful North Atlantic. There's a world of wonder just beyond the bend, Ezra. You only have to be willing to take the first step of faith around the corner."

  Chapter Twelve

  Fire Signs

  A bombardment of early spring rain pounded against the storefront windows as Jonas hung his drenched coat near the register. Leaning against the counter, he exhaled a defeated breath. Recruiting those with exceptional skills had always come easy, but his latest attempt with Ezra left him wondering if he should strictly focus on his day job.

  The Emporium of Exotic Trinkets stood vastly different than any other shop in the vicinity of High Street. While other retailers focused on finely tailored clothing and high-end jewellery, Jonas preferred to carry more peculiar items. Polished ametrine from Bolivia and various archaeological artifacts from Mexico City were encased behind glass. A myriad of magnifying glasses, leather-bound books, and telescopes adorned tabletops near the storefront windows while intricately threaded scarves hung from coat racks. Faded Tibetan prayer flags crisscrossed along the ceiling rafters and an assortment of maps, logbooks, ink pens, knapsacks, and compasses sat upon the shelving that ran the length of the store. All in all, the shop seemed to be the precise personification of Jonas van der Campe himself.

  While the Emporium invoked the sense of adventure in its customers, Jonas knew it had far greater value than a mere hobby shop. Instead, it was an unusual—but altogether perfect—façade for what lay underneath street level.

  Jonas referred to the secret lower quarters as "Elysium"—a safe haven for the local members of the Third Order. While Kierra lived in the flat above the Emporium, Jonas occupied the extravagant cellar, along with Zaire, Diego, and Annabelle. The Freemasons might have had their lodges and temples, but the Third Order hid out of sight and out of reach from prying individuals. And that was just the way Jonas liked it.

  He lifted the folds of his damp jacket and unfastened the golden star-shaped pin on the lapel. His thumb traced the grooves within its confines. The sign of Aquarius within a blazing compass rose, the symbol of the Magi, had always given him hope when he had none. But now, it only seemed to mock him.

  Jonas placed the pin on the counter, rolled up his sleeves, and grabbed a rag to polish the glass displays.

  "Someone looks as if they could use a hug."

  Jonas forced a smile and scrutinised the impossibly soaked young man who had just entered the Emporium.

  "You know, Diego, you should really take an umbrella with you," Jonas suggested as he continued wiping down the displays. "You're not in Guadalajara anymore."

  "No kidding," Diego replied. He wrung out the excess water from his flat cap. "I've been on this earth for twenty-two years and in all that time, I still have not figured out how the Irish aren't horrendously shrivelled prunes by now."

  "What an impeccable visual," laughed Jonas. A nagging annoyance clawed at him, causing his humour to fade. Not even bothering to look Diego in the eyes, Jonas tossed the rag behind the cash register and flipped the sign on the entrance to signify the end of operating hours.

  "Closing already?" asked Diego.

  "Indeed," said Jonas. "We have matters to discuss."

  “About what?”

  Diego’s question went unanswered as Jonas descended the spiral staircase leading to the cellar. Every echoing clamour of the steel rungs awakened the sea monster within Jonas' stomach. Despite the Magi Administration’s strong warning to steer clear of Ezra, their mysterious absence from Belfast continued to fuel his anxiety. Jonas expected them to be beating down his door by now, demanding an explanation as to why he had disobeyed orders. And yet, nothing ever came. No telegrams. No transmissions over the transponder. Nothing.

  Besides that—and the uncanny connection he still maintained with Ezra—Jonas had another reason for uneasiness: Diego himself.

  By the time he and Diego had reached the lower landing, Jonas forced a deep cleansing breath to squelch his irritation before it contorted into something altogether horrifying.

  The ruby door flew open as if on its own accord.

  "I had a feeling you would be closing up shop early today, my dear," said Annabelle as Jonas rushed through the doorway. “It is a good thing, too; we have only a few moments before the Administration transmits.”

  "Excellent. Round up the crew, Mum," Jonas instructed, making a circular motion with his index finger. "Diego and I will be right there."

  Annabelle nodded but gasped when she caught sight of the young man. "Diego Javier Montreal! You are soaked to the bone! What did I tell you about taking an umbrella with you? You are going to catch cold!"

  "¡Ay, dios mio, Mamá!" he grumbled as Annabelle yanked him along by the shirt collar on her frantic journey to find him a towel. "That is an old wives' tale!"

  "Well, I happen to call it an old wise tale," Annabelle remarked. She located a quilt and wrapped it over his shoulders. "Now, have a sit in front of the fireplace and warm up. I'll gather the others."

  “Come with me,” Jonas requested, grabbing Diego by the forearm. He led him down the corridor to his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind them.

  Diego stared at Jonas for a moment, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “What? Why are you acting so strange?”

  Of course, Diego could see right through him. He had quite the knack for doing that.

  Frowning, Jonas folded his arms. “I am not acting strange.”

  The young man’s mouth curled into a smirk. “A Sagittarius can detect lies from across the galaxy while blindfolded. That, and you are a terrible liar. You, mi amigo Holandés, are acting strange.”

  Jonas observed Diego in silence. Waves of d
ark, wet hair curled underneath the edges of his flat cap and elegantly graced his cleanly shaven jawline. Barely into his twenties, he appeared just as charming, just as vibrant, as he had three years prior when they first met in Mexico. A breathtaking enthusiasm blazed throughout Diego’s aura, and that was merely one of the things Jonas admired about him.

  But his dress shirt had been buttoned hastily, half-heartedly. Wrinkles traversed over the fabric of his trousers. The remnants of lipstick smudged his neck. Redness in his eyes suggested sleep had been interrupted by more vigorous activities.

  Diego’s heart had been unequivocally claimed by another.

  “I figured you stayed at Stella’s flat last night,” deduced Jonas. His words sounded lifeless and indignant.

  Jealous.

  Diego’s light-hearted demeanour faded. “So? I was with her all day, too, at the Royal Irish Constabulary. Arrest me.”

  Jonas blinked away his exasperation and picked at a fraying thread on his shirt sleeve. “You have been slacking in your duties. As a Magi Insigne, your responsibility now that you are a full-fledged member of the Irish Chapter is to serve your community. To help those in need. Gallivanting around Belfast with Stella is hardly a priority, especially now when times are rapidly changing.”

  “I am doing my duties!” Diego retorted, “or need I remind you that I work with the police?”

  “Well, Chief Constable Norman tells me you often leave consultations early once Stella’s shift ends,” Jonas shot back, “and he mentioned just last week he caught the two of you in the alley—”

  “Jonas, that is irrelevant.”

  “No, that is highly inappropriate while you’re on duty! Not to mention it infringes on public decency. What were you thinking?”

  Diego drew in a sharp breath. “You are just—”

  “Don’t,” Jonas warned, fire prickling in his chest. “Don’t you dare say it.”

  The young man chewed on the inside of his cheek, challenging him with a dangerous glare. Several times, he opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to release what yearned to break loose from his lips. “Am I not allowed to move on from...from what we had? Is that what this is about? Remember, it was your decision to call things off in the first place.”

  Jonas clenched his fists with white-knuckled ferocity.

  Yes, because I was forced to end it.

  “Not at all,” Jonas managed to state calmly, though he could feel his blood pressure pounding in his ears. “What I am saying is that you need to become serious about being a part of the Third Order. You swore an oath, Diego. That oath must be upheld. ‘Good thoughts, good words, good deeds,’” he quoted, “‘forever be the life I lead.’”

  “Si, I know the Magi’s Creed.”

  “Then follow it.”

  A formidable stillness cast a spell over the entire room. Irritated, Jonas ran his fingers through his hair while Diego attempted to suppress his temper by clenching his teeth. They glared at each other, fire and frustration blazing within their auras. The longer the silence reigned, the thicker the barrier between them grew. But as with any structure standing on shaky ground, it was only a matter of time before the foundation crumbled into dust.

  “You sound just like the Magi Council,” Diego seethed in disappointment. “Indoctrinated, unforgiving, and hopelessly stuck on the rules. The Administration would be proud.”

  “You know that is not true,” Jonas responded, hurt. His voice cracked from the restraint it took to conceal his distress.

  “Congratulations, Señor van der Campe,” Diego said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as he mock applauded him. “I do not know how, but you have made everything worse.” While Jonas grappled for a response, Diego scoffed, yanked the bedroom door open, and stalked off down the corridor.

  Jonas’ lungs deflated with regret in the deafening silence that followed.

  Touchy subjects should be left for calmer times, he scolded himself. And this was definitely not the time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Transmissions

  Still stewing from the heated conversation with Jonas, Diego flopped in front of the fireplace, drawing the quilt around his shoulders.

  If Jonas wanted to be a bothersome fool, then so be it. Two could play at that game.

  Now actively preparing a pot of tea, Kierra had arrived in the short time Diego had been absent from the common room. Zaire busied himself with fluffing the couch cushions while Annabelle diligently worked on her knitting project in the armchair. Every time Diego tried to make eye contact with any of them, their eyes skirted away in awkward haste.

  “What?” Diego asked, though it came out more aggressive than was necessary.

  “Diego, my darling, Jonas means well,” spoke Annabelle, her needles crisscrossing over her blanket. “After all, he is the leader of the Irish Chapter. If nothing else, you owe him respect for his position in the Third Order.”

  “Yes, well, I get the feeling his arguments have ulterior motives,” Diego grumbled.

  Of course, the damn walls in this place are excruciatingly thin, he thought. No wonder everyone always knows our business.

  “Just give him some grace,” suggested Kierra, handing him a steaming cup of tea. “He will come around.”

  “Doubtful,” Diego muttered as he sipped on the beverage. “Leos are the most stubborn sign of the Zodiac.” His tone signalled he wanted nothing more than to end that conversation.

  “No children this evening?” Annabelle enquired to Kierra after a glance around their current company.

  Kierra shook her head and sat on the couch next to Zaire. “Aja and Oliver are studying for upcoming exams,” she explained. “They will be here tomorrow for their apprenticeship lessons.”

  The melodic chime of the transponder prickled through the atmosphere. Standing at a height of twelve centimetres, the golden pyramid-shaped device atop the mantel flashed royal blue. As it did so, it emitted the first eight notes of We Three Kings, signalling the beginning of a message over the electromagnetic air waves.

  “Mista Jonas!” Zaire hollered. “The Administration is broadcasting!”

  “Greetings to all members of the Third Order of the Magi,” came the disembodied voice of a man through the transponder. “The Council sends their brightest regards to every Chapter, from the nearest field and fountain to the farthest moor and mountain. Everyone in our Constantinople headquarters has been hard at work, fulfilling the duties we strive to uphold.”

  Finally, Jonas sauntered into the room, ignoring Diego altogether as he leaned against the mantel. Diego narrowed his eyes at his presence but turned his attention back to the broadcast before he could slosh around in his anger.

  “As for our announcements bulletin: Due to several recent events under investigation, the Magi Travel Bureau has temporarily changed the requirements for logging travel with the Administration. Beginning April 1, all licensed Magi must document travel with the Bureau for trips 100 kilometres or greater. Last week, the Council voted to decrease the requirement from 500 kilometres to 100 kilometres in a measure to more adequately ensure Magi safety.”

  “In other words, they keeping us on a shorter leash,” Zaire pointed out.

  “I wonder what that’s all about,” remarked Annabelle.

  “The Department of Abilities and Mastership welcomed 33 newly sanctioned members last month,” the jubilant voice continued through crackling static. “Congratulations to the Rio de Janeiro Chapter for cultivating 20 of those 33. Your training programs continue to be a shining example to Magi Chapters around the world.”

  “Hooray for Rio,” Diego replied without enthusiasm as he waggled his fingers in mock celebration.

  “The Commission on Gift Giving reminds all Chapters that resources are available for providing meaningful gifts to governmental leaders and royal families,” the announcer persisted in his grand manner. “Please telegraph the Administration if you wish to receive a pamphlet in
the Magi Post.

  “And lastly, the Department of Transmissions thanks you for tuning in to our program today. May the Famed Three and the Yonder Star guide you as you go about your moral obligations. Celestial blessings to you all.”

  The transponder’s twinkling blue luminance faded as the voice dissolved into silence.

  Jonas raised his eyebrows, sharing a concerned glance with his cousin.

  “Well, that was dreadfully enigmatic,” Kierra noted. “‘Events currently under investigation?’ Do you think they mean the Portadown train incident?”

  “Perhaps,” Annabelle mused. “But why would they restrict all Magi’s travel due to a single occurrence? Unless—”

  “Unless there’s more at work than what they are letting on,” Jonas said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Are you suggesting the Magi Administration is hiding something or are you just sore that you are on probation with them?” asked Diego, not even bothering to hide his irritability.

  Jonas shot him a warning glare.

  “You don’t think,” Kierra began, cupping her hands around her tea, “the Legerdemain Brotherhood is somehow involved, do you?”

  The atmosphere in the cellar went cold at the very suggestion.

  Like a persistent viper, the Legerdemain Brotherhood excelled at slithering in and out of the world spotlight long enough to snuff the life out of hope and retreat into darkness. Besides their undying commitment to building their army of Dark Watchers to hunt Magi and uphold the Order of Babylon, Diego knew the sorcerous society had been rather silent over the past century. While at one time the Brotherhood and the Third Order of the Magi were one and the same, differences of opinion on how to wield the Celestial Lifeforce drove them apart. The schism between those who wished to use magic for the betterment of the world versus those who wished to use their abilities for their own selfish ambitions grew deeper over the years. But apart from insignificant quarrels in the political arena and vying for the same consultancy positions as the Magi, the Brotherhood had vastly kept to themselves.