The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  Aja nimbly leafed through the pages of her book. Her fingertip explored the tables of fine print while she made notations as she went about her research.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Compiling your natal chart,” Aja simply answered. “Using the tables published in the Ephemerides, I can track the positions of the planets across the sky as they were at the exact moment of your birth. That positioning helps me unravel more about who you are as a person.”

  Ezra raised an eyebrow.

  “Just wait until you hear how accurate your chart is,” Aja noted with a sly grin.

  Ezra watched as she drew a circle and divided it into twelve equal sections. Moving back and forth between the book and her notebook, she scratched out unfamiliar symbols around the circle as well as within the various slices. She drew straight lines between select symbols, creating a web of unexplained confusion in the centre of the diagram.

  “Hmm, while your sun sign is Scorpio, your chart ruler is actually Virgo,” Aja said matter-of-factly. “It’s your ascendant.”

  Ezra stared at her.

  “That means that you tend to favour order and control, with quite the dedicated work ethic,” Aja responded. “You also have Mars in your fourth house, which illustrates your need for stability and security. But the moon in your twelfth house shows you favour solitude and don’t make friends easily.”

  Okay. Definitely accurate.

  “Uranus in your first house suggests you either have strong individuality or you are unstable and deceptive in nature,” she continued. “But—oh! Here’s an interesting bit: Neptune in your ninth house says you are open to mysticism, so perhaps that’s a good sign you’ll come to embrace the ways of the Magi. Now, your second house...”

  Every syllable tumbling from Aja’s mouth sounded more peculiar the longer she spoke. Her words intertwined with Yonca’s, building upon the foundations of conversation at the beach.

  “If you do not understand the meaning in the simplest things—the stars, the moon, the sun—how will you ever understand the Great Unknown?”

  The Greatest Unknown had submerged Ezra in murky train horns, screaming smokestacks, and fiery blasts. The repercussions had done more than kill his mother and prompt the disappearance of his father. It had uprooted his entire world.

  While he still had doubts about his parents’ allegiances, perhaps meeting the Irish Chapter of the Third Order of the Magi had been a blessing in disguise. The more he could understand about them—their society, their abilities, their enemies—the better his chances of figuring out where his father might have disappeared. He might not have belonged in their world, but he needed them to reconstruct his.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, Ezra leaned forward in interest, resting his head on his hand as he listened to Aja detail who he was according to the stars.

  Chapter Twenty

  Doomsday Consultation

  Legerdemain Brotherhood Headquarters, London, 1889

  Diederik van der Campe had the uncanny ability to bewitch people with nothing but words.

  From the local parish priest to the constable patrolling Herenstraat, Jonas’ silver-tongued father could talk his way out of murder. As the newly elected leader of the Legerdemain Brotherhood, no one would dare stand against him.

  Of course, smooth talking was not his only Gift when it came to supernatural abilities. Diederik’s excellence in eidetic memory allowed him to remember almost anything he had ever seen or heard with incredible precision. Jonas would often watch in utter bemusement during his father’s Division meetings as the man astonished his fellow Legerdemain with his recollections.

  “Ah, yes. Paris. I’ve only graced the city once—this year, actually—during the grand opening of the Eiffel Tower. But ask me about any street, and I’ll tell you about every shop along the way,” Diederik would say with a wink and a raise of his glass, almost as if he were toasting himself. “Put me to the challenge, and I shall prove it to you.”

  His father’s unapologetic ways as a braggart would prompt much scorn from Jonas’ mother. Also Gifted in the ways of the Celestial Lifeforce, Sterre van der Campe kept her abilities contained to the home. Mostly, she limited her talent for psychic navigation to tracking her only son throughout Amsterdam, ensuring he wouldn’t stray too far. Or—to both Mr. and Mrs. van der Campe’s dismay—meet up with Felix, the Magus boy with whom he was completely infatuated.

  To avoid times like these, Diederik would often bring fourteen-year-old Jonas with him to the underground facilities serving as the headquarters to the Legerdemain Brotherhood. Sheltered from the dreary London rain, the tunnels gave way to expansive rooms of alabaster and intricate stonework. Vines laced with emeralds traversed across stone bridges, and silver lanterns snaked their way throughout the corridors.

  Certainly, the tunnels were far-reaching, but Jonas had no idea the extent of their grasp. According to fragments of conversation overheard before Assembly meetings, the tunnels’ network extended to the catacombs of Paris, the Edinburgh Vaults, and even the Giza Plateau. No matter the validity, Jonas used every scrap of information to piece together rough maps of the Legerdemain World. What else was there to do whilst waiting for his father to finish with whatever it was a consul did?

  On one particularly mundane morning, Jonas lounged on the marble floor, staring up at the high ceilings of the foyer. His folded hands rested against his belly while his eyes traced the curvature of the elegant designs.

  Why would they put such bloody effort into a ceiling? he thought for what seemed like the millionth time. Are they purposefully trying to make people stumble about like lunatics?

  Jonas had a feeling the architects might have been intoxicated. That, or they had a strange compulsion to make sober people act like fools.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jonas bolted into an upright position and smiled when he recognized Edison Bellinor standing at his feet. Also fourteen years of age, Edison shared yet another commonality with him: His father, Symon, served the Brotherhood as Consul Diederik’s second-in-command. Whatever business Diederik had on his schedule, Symon was typically required to attend, meaning Jonas and Edison often found themselves at the mercy of whatever fun they could conjure within the Consulate’s walls. Though, between the two of them, adventures in the underground realm were never sparse in the hours waiting for their parents.

  “Admiring the ceilings again?” Edison enquired, extending his hand to help Jonas to his feet. “You know they change patterns, right?”

  “I believe that is hearsay,” Jonas replied. He dusted off his trousers, though not a trace of dirt existed. “They have not changed the entire time I’ve been staring at them.”

  Edison smirked and elbowed him in the ribs. “Yes, because you are distracted.”

  “By what?”

  “By whom, more like.”

  Jonas flushed and turned away, hoping Edison did not catch the panic in his eyes. “Erm—I have no idea who—”

  “Don’t be daft. I overheard what Consul van der Campe told my father,” Edison chuckled. “You’ve been possessed by a Magus named Felix.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Jonas grumbled, tapping the toe of his shoe on a vine-strewn pillar as they passed. “Honestly. I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  Edison allowed their conversation’s resonance to fade before continuing. “Associating with their kind is forbidden.”

  He was not wrong. By all accounts, Jonas should not have even entertained the prospect of a friendship with Felix. Yet, he couldn’t imagine a world without him. Jonas understood their affiliations differed—both their families rivalled each other in everything from politics to magic—but Jonas accepted Felix, nonetheless. And he, him. Jonas just held out for the hope that one day, Felix would see eye to eye with him regarding the ways of the Brotherhood. As brazen and ill-advised as they were, the Magi still saw the Legerdemain as barbarians for amplifying the Universe’s power for greater opportunities. What was s
o wrong with that?

  “You know, we used to be part of the Third Order, Ed.”

  “To each their own. Besides, I could care less what you do. I am only repeating what I hear my father say, though every word seems to irritate me as of late. Especially talks of training.”

  Jonas stopped to study his friend, as if trying to look beyond his exterior. “You are going to train with the Legerdemain, aren’t you?”

  Edison shook his head.

  “You want to be part of the Third Order?!” Jonas cringed when his exclamation ricocheted throughout the corridor and came back at him like a boomerang.

  “No, I want to be an archaeologist.”

  “Oh,” Jonas remarked, in lower tones this time. “I suppose that’s respectable.”

  “Not according to my father,” Edison divulged. “He always tells me to ‘take your choice, you have one option.’ I suppose being the consul’s son, you don’t have much of a choice, either.”

  “Father and I have a deal,” Jonas sighed as they passed vividly painted canvases decorating the stone walls. He paused to admire the colourful spectrums of light cascading over the two-dimensional Etemenanki ziggurat of Babylon. “As long as I go through with my training to become part of the Legerdemain Brotherhood, he promised the Dark Watchers will stay clear of Felix and his family. So that’s what I’m going to do.” While strength rang with every consonant, an uneasiness darkened Jonas’ heart. Yes, it was bribery, but he was desperate.

  “You care about him that much?”

  Jonas nodded.

  His friend simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I should not be surprised. You’ve always had a heart of gold.”

  “And you’ve always had a heart of stone,” Jonas said, laughing as Edison took a friendly swipe at him. “Sodalite and agates and—oh! What’s that relatively recent one? Hiddenite?”

  “Yeah, you poke fun now,” Edison remarked, an air of exuberance in his voice. “Wait until I’m a famous scientist with a rock named after me.”

  “Edisonite?”

  “You clown!” Edison aimed another light punch in Jonas’ direction, which he easily deflected.

  “Anyway, I am dreadfully bored,” Edison complained once their humour faded. “What do our fathers even do in Legerdemain Assembly meetings?”

  Jonas flashed a mischievous grin at Edison Bellinor. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

  IN LESS THAN A QUARTER hour, Jonas and Edison had wormed their way into the supposedly impenetrable Assembly Hall.

  Reserved for large gatherings and official Legerdemain business, the massive room spanned the length of a rugby pitch. While Jonas expected the auditorium to be reminiscent of the Roman Colosseum, it instead resembled a grand opera house. Multiple rows of seating ascended to daring heights. Three decks of balconies embraced the expanse, clothed in swirls of red velvet curtains. Banners decorated with ancient runes cascaded toward the marble stage, fluttering lightly in a phantom breeze.

  Every seat—there had to be thousands—contained a member of the Legerdemain Assemblies. While Jonas was well aware the assemblies contained three divisions—the Assembly of Justice, Acquirement, and Quotidian Relations—he knew very little of their actual significance. Every humdrum thing his father said went in one ear and conveniently out the other. But now—

  Jonas gulped.

  Now the voice of Diederik van der Campe carried into the furthest reaches of his audience, lofty and resilient. Each intonation rang with terror and wonder all at the same time. People listened, leaning forward in their seats. Waiting on bated breath, practically salivating for the next word.

  The assemblies revered him. Jonas feared him.

  But the transcendent focal point of the space had nothing to do with the construction of the hall or the voice of Consul Diederik van der Campe.

  Like a blazing furnace fuelled by eternal flame, a massive pyramid hovered above the stage. The frightening object rotated on an invisible axis, framed by gold. Inside, an emerald eye blinked out at the crowd through wisps of smoke.

  “What do you suppose that does?” Edison whispered, transfixed.

  Jonas merely shrugged.

  Perched atop a catwalk spanning the width of the proscenium, both boys laid flat against the iron grates, surveying the scene below. Jonas’ focus eventually drifted from the life-size Legerdemain symbol to his father. Consul Diederik paced the stage, leaning into his ornate cane. Though he walked with a slight limp from a previous carriage accident, his gait exuded vitality, never weakness. Symon stood only metres behind, furiously jotting down notes in a small book.

  “The Assembly of Justice recommends a revision of the Dark Watcher Program to enhance our current forces,” the Leader of the Legerdemain said, striding back to his podium to refer to a stack of documents. “Of the changes proposed, one of them is to craft our Watchers with the ability to use acts of magic for short timeframes. This would allow our bounty hunters to conjure serpents, birds of prey, and other related items to help them effectively hunt down their targets. We shall put this to a vote in this afternoon’s session.”

  Jonas looked over his shoulder to Edison, who yawned and mouthed the word “boring.”

  “Also on the agenda for the Assembly of Justice: a request to send a team of Dark Watchers to Lalibela, Ethiopia where a large Chapter of Magi are practicing. Deputy Consul Symon Bellinor and I have formally approved this measure.”

  “Ugh. Political stuff makes me want to vomit,” Edison sighed, tugging on Jonas’ shirt sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Jonas insisted. A small, crooked smile sparked his eyes into life. “I want to try something.”

  Edison watched in curiosity as Jonas cracked his knuckles and stretched out his fingers. He did not know exactly what compelled him to do it; perhaps it was retribution for all the wrongs his father had committed against him. Whatever the cause, his current preoccupation ignited like kerosene. With the meticulous discipline of an apprentice, Jonas withdrew his sunstone wand from his pocket, placed it on the catwalk, and cupped his hands over it. Warmth trickled down his spine and emanated through his fingers. At his command, a sphere of energy sparked into life. He chewed on his lip, concentrating while he moulded the fiery orb into the shape of a palm-sized phoenix.

  Thoroughly impressed, Edison applauded.

  An excitable ardour bubbled within him as Jonas blew on the firebird. The nebulous creature doubled, tripled, quadrupled in size until its wingspan had grown to at least four metres in length.

  That’s when he set the phoenix free.

  Shouts of alarm circled the Assembly Hall while a palpable trepidation followed in its wake. Jonas’ eyes traced the flight pattern of his creation as it swooped, swerved, and frolicked above the Brotherhood.

  “Nice one, Jo!” Edison commended him. “Look at that thing go!”

  Jonas beamed at his friend, but when he returned his attention to the creature, his eyes grew wide with panic.

  All at once, chaos erupted.

  The phoenix grazed the long banners hanging from the ceiling and curtains along the box seats, sending fiery fingers crawling over the cloth. Assembly members leapt over chairs and fought their way through the mass exodus streaming toward the exits. Perturbed by the now flaming décor, the enormous eye within the pyramid flitted across the scene in the utmost horror.

  “JONAS!”

  Consul van der Campe stormed across the stage, glaring up at them through the holes in the catwalk. Symon followed and shielded his eyes to avoid the unforgiving flood lights.

  “Go!” Jonas prompted Edison. The two scurried as fast as their hands and knees would take them, but their efforts were no match for Diederik. Within seconds, the consul conjured a radiant lasso from his crystal-topped cane. The tendril of magic wrapped around Jonas’ ankle, making it impossible to escape.

  “Go, now!” Jonas yelped again, not wanting Edison caught up in whatever punishment he was about to endure. At first, it looke
d as if his friend wished to stay and attempt to loosen the hold of the magical rope now edging him off the catwalk. But with one look into Jonas’ desperate eyes, Edison swiftly made his way to the crevice from which they entered.

  Jonas winced as he lost his grip and collided with the dense stage floor.

  Consul Diederik yanked Jonas up by the shirt collar and hauled him backstage, away from any wandering eyes still waiting for escape. “Symon! Put out the flames,” barked his father. “You can secure your son later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With Symon aptly distracted, Diederik shoved Jonas against the wall and pressed his cane against his neck. Jonas struggled for freedom.

  “What the DEVIL were you thinking?!” Diederik yelled, his hot breath assaulting his face. “What gave you the gall to do something like that?”

  “I-I-I’m sorry!” Jonas stammered. His shoes grazed the ground as he flailed for release. “It was a-a lapse of j-judgement!”

  Unfortunately, no matter the words of explanation, the wrath of Diederik van der Campe could not be doused. In one wretched motion, Diederik struck Jonas across the face with his cane, causing him to stumble back to the floor.

  Lightning shattered his nerves. Pain trickled from his nostrils. He sniffed and summoned what strength remained to hold back tears.

  “Get up!” his father commanded. “Right now!”

  Jonas’ face screwed up in emotion.

  “NOW.”

  Rising to his feet, Jonas stood broken before his father, refusing to make eye contact as he choked for air.

  “How DARE you.”

  It was a threat, not a question.

  Jonas gulped shallow breaths. “I said I’m—”

  “No,” Diederik fumed, striking Jonas again, “because if you were truly sorry, you would not be whimpering like a coward in my presence.”

  Jonas attempted escape, but his father wrenched him back.

  “Stop crying this instant and answer me,” he hissed, pinching Jonas’ jaw between his thumb and index finger. “What dastardly thing possessed you to set fire to our facility?”