The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  Sobs decimated any shred of dignity left. “I—it was an accident,” Jonas wept. “I didn’t m-mean to—”

  Enraged, Diederik shoved him to the floor and slammed his shoe into his gut.

  Coughing and sputtering words of apology, Jonas curled his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He squeezed his eyelids together, wishing he had the Gift to disappear. Like a waif in the wind.

  His father’s presence hovered over him, a vulture about to tear into flesh.

  “You are nothing but a disappointment,” he said so quietly, Jonas could not be sure if the words were spoken or imagined. “So much for wishing on Stars Everlasting to grant me an exceptional son. I should have known that even the stars fall. How unfortunate the Universe cursed me with you.”

  THAT NIGHT ON THE FERRY to Amsterdam, Jonas cried himself to sleep, wishing in the fleeting moments of consciousness that Felix was there to hold his shaking hands.

  London, 1906

  SHIELDING HIMSELF FROM the frigid rain, Jonas made his way through the quaint urban streets under the protection of his long coat and fedora. Every step fell with purpose as he approached the British Museum. While the fast-paced nature of the city’s thoroughfares had never been a favourite of his, tonight, none of that mattered.

  Tonight, he did exactly what the Magi Administration expected of him. No matter the ungodly amount of disquietude infiltrating his soul.

  As the hour hand of his pocket watch edged closer to midnight, the museum had long since closed its gates to visitors, but Jonas was not here to meander through the exhibits like an average Quotidian. He was here to pay Edison Bellinor a visit.

  From the moment Mr. Mears had dictated the orders of the Council, Jonas knew he was not about to waltz directly into the Legerdemain Consulate. Besides the altogether obvious fact he’d be apprehended on the spot, he wasn’t sure his heart would be able to withstand such a feat in the first place. Not while his father lived and reigned as consul.

  While the doors to the Brotherhood might have been off limits, Edison provided the smallest peephole into his former world. Years had come and gone since Jonas had last received a letter from his childhood friend, and it had been even longer still since he had last spoken to him face-to-face. Through their letters, Jonas deduced Edison had remained truthful to his word, refusing to follow the ways of the Legerdemain Brotherhood or the ways of the Third Order. Instead, he embraced blissful neutrality, despite the heavy persuasion from Symon Bellinor.

  Most importantly, Edison had secured his dream job in archaeology at the British Museum. To assist Jonas in his quest, the Administration had secretly gained access to Edison’s work schedule, providing Jonas with just the information he needed to swoop in, speak with him, and return to Belfast with the intel the Council requested.

  If trouble did not seep like odorous gasses from the real London underground first.

  Let’s hope it does not come to that, Jonas thought.

  He crept around the corner to Montague Street, surveying his surroundings to ensure unfriendly eyes had not followed. Approaching the iron gate that guarded the museum's perimeter, Jonas channelled energy into his quartz wand and clunked it against the metal. The bars heated to a glowing orange and parted obediently, leaving just enough of a gap for him to slip through.

  Once inside the confines of the museum, Jonas removed his hat and surveyed his dark surroundings.

  “The Library of the Royal Anthropology Institute. First floor beneath ground level,” he whispered to himself. That was where the Administration said Edison would be waiting.

  His steps echoed across the polished floors of Central Hall and reverberated off the decorative tile on the high ceilings. Hasty yet reticent, Jonas navigated to the lower level, finally locating the library and associated study rooms.

  Save for a framed portrait here and there, and an impressive amount of shelving for countless books, the library appeared rather humble despite the opulent knowledge it held. While most lights were dimmed, an ornamental tabletop lamp emitted a golden glow from the centre of the space. The lamp's radiant circumference spilled over several open tomes, duster brushes, and ancient tablets atop cushions.

  Jonas spotted Edison examining a clay tablet through an illuminated magnifying lens attached to a contraption around his head.

  "I always knew you'd end up playing with rocks for a living."

  The man jumped and clutched the tablet to his chest. When he turned and realised Jonas stood in the doorway, he set down the artifact to start his approach. "And I always knew I would have a best friend who would disappear into the folds of time, only to spring back into existence like a phoenix in the night."

  The two friends embraced. Edison heartily patted him on the back.

  "Jonas, it is so good to see you!"

  "Likewise," Jonas said, pulling back to properly examine him. While Edison now sported a thick beard and spectacles, the boyish charm he remembered from years past still exuded from his aura. "Well, look at you now, Edison Bellinor! When was the last time I saw you in person? 1893?"

  "Whatever the year, it was literally last century," Edison chuckled. The light on his headpiece bobbled about as he returned to his workstation. “Though, I must admit your presence is a surprise. What brings you to London at such an outrageous hour?”

  Jonas took a seat across the table and examined the array of tablets, analysing the curious marks in the centuries-old clay. "Ancient Sumerian?" he asked, aptly deflecting the question.

  Edison dusted off a portion of the fragile artifact with a brush. "Indeed. Written in cuneiform. This one is from the Neo-Babylonian period."

  “Mm.”

  "But you're not here to talk about ancient artifacts," Edison concluded.

  “To be quite honest, I don’t know why I am here.”

  Edison delicately placed the tablet on a padded pedestal and adjusted his magnifying glass headpiece so he could read Jonas’ intentions. “Is everything all right?”

  A discernible heaviness yanked Jonas’ sight toward the tabletop. He studied the wandering grains of the wood before swallowing the curious sensation in his throat. “I—er—I need to know something.”

  “Go on. I am listening.”

  Jonas folded his hands on the table’s surface, running his thumb back and forth over the side of his other hand. “Along with my colleagues at the Magi Administration, I am concerned the Legerdemain Brotherhood is up to something dangerous.”

  Clearing his throat, Edison abandoned his work and sunk into the chair across from Jonas. “When have they ever not been up to something dangerous? After all, didn’t that Labynetus fellow dedicate his life to seeking eternal life for King Nebuchadnezzar?”

  The beginning of a smile lifted Jonas’ demeanour. “So they say.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know that I’ve completely removed myself from that life,” Edison said, a razor-sharp honesty in his remark. “I hardly speak to my father, besides the arbitrary dinner once in a blue moon to satisfy his need to stay updated on his grandchild.”

  Jonas met his eyes. “Grandchild?”

  “Margaret is pregnant with our firstborn,” Edison detailed with a grin. “Six months along now.”

  "Congratulations, old chap!” Jonas exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. “I knew it was only a matter of time."

  "Yes, it has been quite the whirlwind,” Edison said. "I cannot tell you how exciting it is to know I'm finally going to be a father.”

  “You will make a great one.”

  “And perhaps someday, you will, too,” Edison replied. “That is, if you ever settle down and get married.”

  Jonas arched an eyebrow. "Edison."

  “You know I only want you to be happy,” his friend said, busying himself with the duster brush once more.

  “And marriage is the ultimate path to happiness?”

  Edison glanced down at his work and fell into silence.

  “If romance has taught me one t
hing, it is that no matter how much effort you put into making it last, it is as fleeting as time itself.” Jonas leaned back in the stiff wooden chair and crossed his arms. “Not to mention everyone wants to stick their nose and opinions in it when the matter is none of their concern.”

  “Apologies. My intention was not to upset you,” Edison answered quietly.

  “You do not need to apologise,” Jonas responded. “I sincerely appreciate your consideration, but you do not need to worry about my personal affairs.”

  Edison studied him before returning to the tablet. “So, tell me, after all these years, why are you concerned about the Legerdemain? If memory serves me correctly, they have been rather quiet.”

  “Times are changing.” Reaching inside of his coat, Jonas retrieved a folded newspaper and pushed it across the table toward Edison. "I am concerned the Brotherhood is trying to send the Magi a message."

  Edison's eyes surveyed Jonas' anxious features before turning toward the front page of the Belfast Evening Telegraph. He frowned while scanning the feature article. "Quietus. Good Lord, this is ghastly. And this happened in Belfast?"

  “Near Belfast, yes, but it is happening all over the world without signs of ceasing.” Jonas retrieved the newspaper. “If you know anything, Edison, anything at all...I need to hear it.”

  "I—I’m not at liberty to say."

  Jonas eyed him. "So, they are coordinating something?"

  Sighing, Edison set down his tools and pushed the spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. Folding his arms as if debating some internal argument with himself, he finally leaned forward into the lamplight. “There’s been a stalemate in the Consulate.”

  Of course. Legerdemain election season. Jonas scolded himself for not remembering sooner. No wonder he had felt disorder in the stars; ambitions and temperaments were running at all-time highs. “A stalemate? That never happens.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Edison replied with a shrug. “Our fathers were up for re-election. Though this time, they had stiff competition from an up-and-coming Legerdemain duo promising to make a bigger impact than Consul Diederik has done in all his sixteen years in office. On one side, you have the loyalists, who believe in the vision the consul has for bringing their society into a new age. On the other, you have the next generation of the Brotherhood rallying for radical change. Both wanted to solidify their campaign promises and flaunt their leadership in a new and daring way. For the first time ever, the elections resulted in a tie.”

  Jonas never once diverted his gaze from his friend. If he had been terrified before, he had become even more horrified in the last minute. Stalemates were not simple deadlocks. They were competitions.

  “You know what comes next.”

  “Unfortunately,” Jonas responded. “To gain their seats as head of the Consulate, each party partakes in a Duel of Contingency. A display of power.”

  “I believe you may be witnessing the displays of power from our fathers’ opponents,” Edison explained, gesturing toward the newspaper.

  “And what is it Diederik and Symon are doing for their act?” Jonas grimaced, afraid of the answer.

  Agitated, Edison shifted in his seat. “Seeking the Tablet of Destinies.”

  “Er—the what?”

  “The Tablet of Destinies,” Edison repeated. “From Babylonian legend.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” Jonas admitted. “Is that the same cuneiform tablet mentioned in the papers last month?”

  Edison pursed his lips as if contemplating whether Jonas was worthy of the words he was about to speak. After a dreadfully long moment—too long for Jonas’ liking—he relented. "No, it is a different one. The ancient Mesopotamian creation story Enuma Elish mentions the Tablet of Destinies. Legend says when the god Marduk defeated Quingu, he claimed the Tablet of Destinies from him, thus legitimising his rise to power. To put it simply, anyone who possesses the artifact has the power of a god. And to my father and the consul, it is a sure-fire way to make sure they hold their positions of power."

  Jonas nodded as he soaked in the information. "And what happened to the Tablet?"

  "It is a symbolic mechanism in a creation myth, not actual fact," Edison reinforced. “Allegorical. Nothing more.”

  “Yet, these tablets exist,” Jonas pointed out, his eyes scanning the relics in front of him. “Myths are always rooted in some sort of truth.”

  “Look, I’ll tell you the same thing I told my father: The Tablet of Destinies is like the Ark of the Covenant; even if it is real, it will be impossible to find." He moved his hands in wide gestures as if to enunciate his point even further. “They are on a wild goose chase leading to nothing but disappointment and failure. They’ll be forced to concede.”

  Would that be such a bad thing?

  As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a pang of dread gripped his stomach. No matter who claimed victory over the Legerdemain Consulate, one thing was inherently clear: The Legerdemain Brotherhood intended on stealing back a world they thought they’d lost. And the Magi were caught in the middle. If something was not done soon, Jonas feared the worst, be it further violence against Quotidians or the rise of unstoppable power in the hands of his father.

  Drained of hope, Jonas placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin against his interlaced fingers. As he looked over top of them at Edison, apprehension swam in his eyes. He forced himself to draw in a deep, calming breath and let it out ever so slowly, but it failed to restore his inner peace.

  "I wouldn’t be too troubled by it, Jonas," Edison advised. "Once Consul Diederik and my father realise the Tablet of Destinies does not exist, life will fall back into complacency once again."

  Maintaining his posture, Jonas closed his eyes as the proverbial weight of the world crashed over his shoulders. "But at what cost?”

  Time was ticking for humanity and in Jonas' mind, nothing could slow the ever-advancing minute hand of doomsday.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Perdition in Elysium

  A blinding light forced Ezra to squeeze his eyelids shut.

  “That’s it, young’un. Focus, now!”

  “I am focusing,” Oliver answered Zaire as he cupped his hands around a stubborn mass of energy. The white light pulsed and throbbed as the boy attempted to control its form. “It’s just too bloody strong!”

  Ezra exchanged a curious glance with Aja, who had perched next to him on the couch of the Irish Chapter’s cellar hideout.

  “Usually, Quotidians aren’t allowed in Elysium at all,” she had said on their way over after school. “It’s just for Magi. But Jonas said you were always welcome, due to your parents’ affiliations.”

  According to Aja, Jonas had been called away to London for business, so Zaire would conduct their weekend Magi training. Ezra hardly knew anything about the Irish Chapter, but it did not take long before he was introduced to Zaire’s flavourful background as an illusionist in New Orleans. The Magus lost no time in showing off his levitation skills and incredible sleight of hand that left Ezra speechless.

  “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it, dear?” asked Annabelle. She sat in the armchair by the fireplace, concentrating on her knitting.

  Ezra smiled, refusing to take his attention away from the training session. “It’s baffling, is what it is.”

  The older woman chuckled. “Oh, honey. Even after all these years as a Magus, the ways of the Universe are still bewildering.”

  “Are you controlling the Lifeforce or is the Lifeforce controlling you?” asked Zaire as he circled around Oliver in observation. “The crystal is your conduit, but you are ultimately the one who decides how the energy acts once it’s brought to earth.”

  “I still don’t understand what the Celestial Lifeforce is,” Ezra mentioned to Aja.

  “It’s the glue of the Universe,” Aja answered in all seriousness. “It fuels the stars. In its purest form, it’s just a tiny atom. But, when channelled consciously through a crystal or stone,
it sparks into brilliant life, creating the energy you see Oliver failing to control.”

  Ezra snickered.

  “It’s really a sodding nightmare,” Oliver muttered.

  Aja made a show of rolling her eyes at her fellow apprentice’s remark.

  “Oliver, mind your language,” Annabelle scolded him in a motherly tone.

  “What colour aura do I have right now?”

  The energy in Oliver’s hands faltered as he stared at Zaire in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Auras are perfect indicators of how to strategise your attack,” Zaire answered, holding out his hands defensively in front of him. “What aura do I have, kid?”

  “You-you’re readying for a fight! It’s bright scarlet!” Oliver replied, trying his hardest to hold on to the energy. “But the colour is most saturated around your neck and shoulders.”

  “Excellent!” Zaire praised as he continued to circle the apprentice like a hawk. “My plan was to attack with my upper body, which is why the colours were strongest in that area. That information can help you decide where to block.”

  Zaire conjured a beam of energy and aimed it toward Oliver, who aptly deflected it with his own energy field.

  “Nice work, Little One!”

  “Aja! I’m not little,” Oliver said, his voice cracking in embarrassment. “Like I keep telling you, I’m going to be fifteen in two months.”

  “You are still a baby,” Aja whispered to herself. “A little Gemini baby.”

  “That’s my boy!” Annabelle exclaimed, lifting her gaze from her needles. “But don’t go too lightly on him, Oliver. Zaire needs a good wallop after he broke my bottle of lavender the other day.”

  “It was an accident,” Zaire insisted.

  “Ah, an accident,” Annabelle murmured with a grin. “I’ll bet the Boston Tea Party was an accident, too, right?”

  Zaire shrieked with laughter. “Ma, you is kooky.”

  Ezra hugged his knees to his chest. “Do you all learn this sort of thing to fight off Dark Watchers?”