But the most concerning thing of all was not the fiery building behind them or the hordes of journalists documenting the carnage on notepads. With uneasiness rattling his insides, Diego wondered just how much more violence initiated at the hands of the Legerdemain the world could endure.
Tonight, the Irish Chapter had gotten lucky. But next time—if there indeed was a next time—Diego had a feeling their hearts would not withstand the event.
Quietus, indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aftermath
Jonas paced like a caged lion on the ferry deck, glaring at his pocket watch as if the intensity of his gaze could prompt the hands into action.
It had been six hours since he had witnessed the gut-wrenching terror inflicted on Belfast through Ezra’s eyes. At that point, Jonas had just boarded the evening train to Liverpool. The very moment the steam engine screamed into life, explosions ignited in his mind. Debris fell like rain. A run-in with the Brotherhood disintegrated into violence. And the shield—God, the shield Ezra had conjured was nothing short of spectacular, confirming everything Jonas had believed about the boy from the start.
But their shared experience ended just as quickly as it had begun, leaving him to wonder if Ezra, Aja, and Oliver were able to escape at all.
And not knowing tore him to pieces.
Every passing second sent Jonas deeper into distress. More than once, he excused himself to the lavatory, where he held his arms against his stomach, fighting off the anger, regret, and other such emotions. Ferocity consumed his soul. Jonas hated the Legerdemain Brotherhood. He hated he had ever been a part of them. Most of all, he despised his father, even if the Quietus ploys were not his direct doing.
The Magi had to be prepared for anything.
The dragon was awake.
When Jonas had finally reached Great Victoria Station at seven the next morning, he hired the first carriage he saw, paying double the driver’s usual rate to get to the Emporium as fast as possible. He hardly registered stumbling into his own shop, racing down the spiral stairs to the cellar, and bursting through the threshold of Elysium.
After dropping his suitcase by the coat rack, Aja limped across the common room and tumbled into his arms. She buried her face in his coat, her muffled sobs like newly sharpened blades against his flesh.
He held his apprentice close, not wanting to let her go. Aja was practically a daughter to him in almost every sense of the word, and the very idea of vile Brotherhood members bringing her to tears made him want to do more than just set the Consulate ablaze.
Jonas surveyed the faces of his Magi family. Arms folded, Diego braced himself against the fireplace mantel, fatigue pulling at the skin under his bloodshot eyes. Kierra and Zaire sat at the table, both nursing cups of tea and sullen expressions. Mum perched on the arm of the couch, dabbing a wet cloth over the forehead of an unconscious Oliver. And Ezra, pale and shaken, sat in the armchair with his knees hugged to his chest. No one appeared as if they’d slept much more than a wink.
But at least they were all alive, and that was more than he could have asked for.
Jonas nudged several strands of Aja’s unkempt hair behind her ear and approached the edge of the couch. He placed his palm against Oliver’s face. Bluish bruises circled Oliver's left eye and snaked across his cheekbone and neck. Wrapped in white linen bandages, his chest slowly rose and fell. The boy looked so fragile, so powerless in the light from the gas lamps. Jonas was grateful he had not ended up as mangled as the pair of spectacles that sat on the side table.
“How is he?” Jonas finally found the strength to speak.
“Oliver lost a lot of blood in a short time,” Annabelle answered with a frown. “Once the poor dear came to, he went into a fit of shock, so I gave him some of my Frankincense Tea to help him rest. He’s been sleeping ever since.”
Jonas blinked away the wetness on his eyelashes. “I am so sorry I wasn’t—I wasn’t here to help.”
“That ain’t your fault, Mista Jonas,” Zaire interjected.
“There was no way you could have known something like this would happen,” Kierra agreed, holding her teacup close to her lips. “We barely got to the scene in time as it was.”
“As a Magi Master, it is my duty to ensure the safety of my chapter,” Jonas responded. “My irrevocable moral obligation.”
“My dear, you put way too much blame on yourself for something you had no control over,” Mum said, reaching over to grasp his arm. “Besides, you weren’t chasing fleeting fancies. You were on assignment as dictated by the Administration.”
Despite her words, guilt still churned in the pit of his stomach. After shedding his coat, Jonas knelt beside the armchair. “I saw a great deal of what happened through your eyes, Ezra. How are you feeling?”
At first, he did not respond. The adolescent cradled his knees closer to himself and leaned his chin against them. His eyes swam with fear, doubt, and hesitation. Jonas was certain if he could see inside Ezra’s mind, he’d see a compass needle spinning out of control, leaving him lost and directionless.
“I—I’m fine,” Ezra managed, though it hardly sounded convincing. “Were it not for Diego, I would not have been able to do what I did. If it weren’t for you all, I would be...” he paused, as if the very thought pained him to speak aloud. “I would be dead.”
“As would Oliver and I,” Aja added.
Jonas met Diego’s line of sight and offered his sincerest thanks in the form of an unrestrained smile. The young man nodded in acknowledgment and awkwardly glanced away.
“Ezra, your heroic actions should not be discredited,” Kierra chimed in. “Your newfound abilities are really what saved the lives of Aja and Oliver.”
“It is the truth,” Jonas told Ezra. “And your skills will open a world of opportunities for you as a Magus.”
Ezra issued a shaky sigh. He suddenly found great interest in rubbing his thumb over the scuff on one of his leather shoes.
“By the way, why were you three at the Belfast Evening Telegraph?” Jonas questioned, looking between Aja and Ezra.
“Well, you see—” Aja began as she stumbled through syllables. “We—er—we shouldn’t have, but—”
By this time, Ezra had procured a hopelessly wrinkled copy of the Telegraph from his interior jacket pocket and held it out for Jonas to see. “I had a feeling this would provide me some answers about the Portadown train wreck. I was right.”
Jonas read the text as well as the disbelief in the new Magus’ face. “And?”
“A journalist told us that the event was not an accident,” Aja broke in.
“Which I figured, due to the Dark Watchers’ involvement,” Ezra said. “But Mr. Tavin implied that someone might have been retaliating against my father. According to him, my father attempted to persuade the Daily Telegraph reporters in London not to publish an article about an artifact translation, just before we left in a mad haste to get to Ireland.”
A chill washed down Jonas’ spine as he processed the statement. Without delay, he thumbed through past newspapers on the bookshelf and located the copy Aja had brought to his attention what seemed like ages ago. “This? The Babylonian tablet translation?”
Aja nodded.
Words began to click into place, like iron rails materialising for his wicked train of thought. Phrases from Mr. Mears and Edison heaped coal onto the ever-blazing fire, launching the locomotive forward into strange territory. This had to be the reason.
It had to be.
“Christ, this makes so much more sense,” Jonas whispered to himself, but it was lost on his company.
“What do you mean?” Annabelle enquired.
With the translation paper rolled in his fist, he paced the length of the room, mulling over the scenario in his mind. For the benefit of the Irish Chapter, he spoke his musings aloud. “When Mr. Edwin Mears came to see me about going to London, he dictated the Administration’s fears that the Legerdemain were up to something.”
&nbs
p; “Well, we know that,” Diego muttered, “what with the Quietus violence and all.”
“But he also said he was concerned about the Portadown incident, because it did not follow what we know about Dark Watchers and the Legerdemain.”
“Meaning?” Zaire prodded.
“When the Order of Babylon is invoked, what happens next?” Jonas asked his company.
“If you agree, the Dark Watchers take you to the Legerdemain Consulate to be trained in the ways of the Brotherhood,” Aja correctly answered. “If you decline, you are killed.”
“Indeed. But they do this only for those with an active connection to the Celestial Lifeforce.”
Ezra’s quizzical expressions locked on Jonas. “What does that mean?”
Jonas sighed. “It means your parents had their Magi licenses revoked years ago. Not only that, but their connections to the Celestial Lifeforce had also been severed by the Administration due to some past offence against them.”
Annabelle and Zaire gasped. Kierra threw a hand over her mouth in shock. Aja uncomfortably hugged her arms close to her body.
Ezra’s eyebrows knit together in the centre of his forehead. “Severed? So, they had their abilities taken away?”
Jonas nodded solemnly. “It’s an irreversible punishment reserved for the most heinous crimes. Now, I’m not saying whatever your parents did was wrong, because I do not know the circumstances. What I do know is that their sentence was why you never saw them perform magic.”
“But why would the Legerdemain send Watchers after the Newports if they magic was taken and Ezra’s abilities had not shown themselves yet?” Zaire questioned.
“I wondered the very same,” Jonas continued, pacing once more. “But now I have an unfortunate inkling, starting with what I learned from my friend Edison at the British Museum. He reminded me it’s Legerdemain election season. My father and his father were up for re-election, but they are running against another pair who has proven they have what it takes to run the Brotherhood. Nevertheless, the election resulted in a stalemate, which means both sides must now compete to win the bid.”
Diego shifted his position against the fireplace. “Compete? Like a duel?”
“Exactly. Both must prove to the Consulate they are capable. They are assigned tasks and based on the impact those have, the winners are instated as the new leaders. This unknown pair running against my father are most likely the ones behind the Quietus ploys, according to Edison.”
“Well, that sheds a light on matters,” Kierra replied. “But what are Uncle Diederik and Mr. Bellinor doing for their portion of the duel?”
“They are seeking the Tablet of Destinies,” Jonas responded. “A mythical artifact with the supposed ability to grant one the powers of a god.”
“Oh, mercy me,” Annabelle said.
Jonas hesitated, clutching the newspaper in his hand. Carefully, he unfolded it and after staring at the photograph of the cuneiform tablet, held it up for all to see. “This translation must have something to do with the Tablet of Destinies.”
“Could you read it, Mista Jonas?”
Clearing his throat, he grabbed his reading spectacles and shook out the folds of the newspaper.
“When struggles crest
Kings crumble at the tryst
The Roaming Lion shall rise
And the Tribes he’ll assist.
Locked within time
Where Destinies are viewed
The Lion’s touch opens eyes
Immense power renewed.
Unite the Lion, Dragon, and Bull
At the mouth of Babylon’s Gates
A circle of Twelve shall overcome
Hail the victors’ celestial fates.”
Introspective silence chased Jonas’ words as he rolled the publication within his hands once more.
“And Mr. Newport did not want the papers to take that to print?” Diego repeated.
Ezra and Jonas nodded in unison.
“Honestly, it sounds very much like Mr. Newport came to the same conclusion ages before we did,” Kierra said, setting down her teacup in its saucer. “He knew the text related to the Tablet of Destinies and did not want it in the wrong hands. But after the article’s release, the Legerdemain—namely Uncle Diederik and Mr. Bellinor—found out and sent the Watchers after them.”
“But why—” Ezra began, his red-rimmed eyes desperate, searching. “Why would they want to kill us? Wouldn’t they need us? For information’s sake?”
Jonas knelt once again to Ezra’s level and put a comforting hand on his forearm. “You will chase your sanity in circles if you try to rationalise the acts of the Brotherhood,” he spoke softly. “Chances are that my father wanted you and your family out of the way as not to impede his mission. Simple as that.”
But as Jonas watched the boy draw back into himself, he knew the matter would never be that simple. If anything, their theories just exasperated an already complicated situation. And while answers broke the surface, terror still lurked in the depths. Slithering through rocks and growing more powerful by the second.
This was not over yet.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Resistance
Lounging on a rock, the Shahmaran skimmed her fingertips over the surface of the lake, watching as the ripples expanded outward. She aimed a sideways glance at Ezra, who was sitting cross-legged on a nearby bolder, watching as she toyed with the water.
She grinned when he met her eyes. “I wondered how long it would take you,” the Shahmaran’s voice bathed his ears in honey, “to realise that you and I are incredibly similar beings.”
Ezra sucked in the cavern’s damp air and stared out at the lake. “You are not real.”
“Sweet boy, I am as real as the magic within your soul.”
Ezra laid back on the rock so that he could observe the ceiling in all its opulent magnitude. For some reason, he could not recall if he’d ever realised how the stalactites carried the rock above them, like pillars supporting a grand rotunda.
“That’s not real, either.”
“Then please do explain to me how you are alive.”
“I just—I just am.”
The Shahmaran propped her chin upon her hand and angled her body toward him. Portions of her wet hair tumbled across her glistening shoulders like a waterfall spilling over the edge of a cliff. “Do you not believe in the impossible?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I believe that all things happen in accordance with Allah’s will. If that so happens to be an impossible thing, then yes.”
“But this is not Allah’s will for you?”
“I don’t know!” he responded a little too loudly. His voice assaulted the deepest rocky crevice and came back at him like a slap across the face. “There was a reason Anne and Baba kept their world hidden. It is what they wanted for me, and I will respect their wishes.”
She reached out to grasp his hand, her mouth curling into a dazzling smile. “What do you want, Ezra Newport? What do you really, truly want?”
He bit his lip, hoping the pain would distract him from the tingle in his throat. When he summoned the strength to speak, he abandoned the lake’s surface and met her expectant gaze. “I want a clear path.”
Drawing herself into a confident posture, she lifted her chin and tilted her head slightly to the side. “Then prepare to move.”
THE SOFT ORANGE FLAME of daybreak illuminated the tiny storage closet.
"In all of the worlds, You are the most praised and the most glorious."
Ezra lingered on his woven prayer mat, his hands resting on his knees. He turned his head to the right, keeping his eyes closed so as not to be distracted by the resident spider spinning its web between two broomsticks.
"May the peace and mercy of Allah be upon you."
He turned to his left, repeating the prayer as the Salat al-fajr drew to a close.
Ezra slumped forward, burying his head in his hands. No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the happenings from
two nights ago. Nor could he fathom the perplexing details he’d gathered since speaking with Jonas and the Irish Chapter. It was too much to digest. Too much to believe.
Perhaps most frightening of all was the understanding that he—an ordinary immigrant from the Ottoman Empire—used magic from the Celestial Lifeforce, proving his rightful place amongst the Magi. But it wasn’t even the first time it had happened. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, he realised his ability to produce a magical shield was the very thing that kept him alive during the Portadown train wreck.
He just did not want to accept the truth.
In fact, the longer Ezra dwelt on the situation, the more insistently the vomit crept into his throat. Besides what he had learned over the course of the past few days, he hardly knew anything of the Magi world. But after the conclusion Jonas and the others came to yesterday, he was not sure he wanted to hear much more. It would just further prove that the existence he lived had never been his own.
Ezra examined his hands. The fading lines on his palms seemed less noticeable since that miraculous moment, almost as if the Celestial Lifeforce had regenerated his cells. According to Miss McLarney, the shield was not even his true Gift. He had simply called upon the power of the Universe, something that he did not know was possible without crystal. However, learning what his real specialty was could take time, as Zaire reinforced. The path of the Magi was not a linear one.
Nor a clear one.
Sitting beside his prayer mat: the Wednesday morning paper. Mr. Tavin’s article filled the front page with the same details he’d let on during their visit. This time, though, the story was not confined to the newsroom. Now, everyone would start associating the Portadown disaster with his family. With him. And Ezra was not ready for the repercussions.
A sudden blaze of anger bristled within him. Ezra slammed a fist against the floorboards, sending particles of dust into a tempest. Perhaps the magic had awoken more than just his connection to the Universe. More than just releasing an earthquake that shook every foundation holding together his already fragile life.
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