The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  “As of ten seconds ago.”

  “Mm. And you’ve seen nothing recently that would allude to his current whereabouts?”

  “None whatsoever, sir. That’s what bothers me.”

  Edwin jotted something down in a pocket-sized notebook before returning his attention to Jonas. “Well, if you do happen to see anything, contact my office at once. Until then—”

  “What do we do?” asked Jonas. He hoped his words wouldn’t betray the fear in his chest. Unfortunately, the question came out as a strangled plea.

  With a demulcent sparkle in his eyes, Diego laid a hand on his shoulder. Jonas flinched at the contact but did not pull away. “We will find him,” Diego said with confidence. “And by God above, we are going to make those Legerdemain pay.”

  “You sure as hell will not,” Mr. Mears growled, stepping forward with an unyielding intensity in his aura. “This situation falls under the Administration’s jurisdiction. You and the entirety of the Irish Chapter will stay here and not move a muscle; do you understand me?”

  “I understand English easily enough,” Diego replied with an apathetic wave of his hand. “But what you just said does not translate. Ezra is one of us, and you cannot believe that we will just sit around and—”

  “Mr. Montreal, one more word from you and my colleagues and I will not hesitate to arrest you for interfering with an official investigation.” Heat radiated from Edwin like an imploding star. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Diego sighed, defeated.

  Edwin looked to Jonas next. “And you, Mr. van der Campe?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  But as the Administration officials departed the Emporium of Exotic Trinkets, Jonas could not help but wonder if the figurative wall they were up against was something more than a simple obstacle. This wall was a target through a scope, just seconds from a barrage of bullets.

  ACCORDING TO DIEGO, maps were simultaneously the best and worst things to ever exist.

  While they were immensely helpful during travel—and a beneficial distraction from the earlier conversation with Edwin Mears—the two-dimensional landscapes did nothing but torment him now. Especially when the flame of action had been ignited and showed no signs of wearing off. Nevertheless, Diego sank deeper into the comforts of his favourite atlas, trying his hardest to redirect his thoughts from the bleak circumstances.

  There was nothing the Irish Chapter could do for Ezra. Their hands were tied.

  As Diego lazed on the common room couch, his feet propped upon the furniture’s armrest, he studied the eastern coastline of Australia. However, Kierra’s persistent pacing in front of the fireplace had become increasingly annoying. Fulgurating flames in the hearth illuminated her exhausted scowl. Sections of light red hair fell from their original pinned position atop her head, making her appear frazzled and disheartened.

  “If you keep pacing like that, you’re going to wear a hole in the ground,” Diego murmured without looking up from the vast regions of Australia’s outback.

  Kierra huffed, blowing the hair away from her forehead. “I just don’t understand how everyone can sleep right now, knowing that poor boy is out there. He’s probably frightened. Upset. What if he’s hurt?”

  “I guarantee you Jonas is not sleeping,” Diego said, peering over the top of the atlas. “He’s probably tossing and turning thinking of how to strangle Edwin Mears without the Council knowing.”

  “This isn’t funny, Diego!” Kierra exclaimed, hugging her arms close to herself.

  “I never said it was.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “What can we do? The Administration made it clear they’ve got it under control.”

  “But they have said that before and look how that turned out,” Kierra fought back, gesturing vaguely around her as if to further annunciate her point. “Ezra needs us.”

  “I agree,” Diego replied, setting the atlas on his lap. “But we don’t have a choice right now.”

  “We always have a choice.”

  “You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the savage look Mr. Mears gave Jonas and me earlier. That man has it out for us. Well, more Jonas than anything, but I guess when you are the enemy’s son, that’s...”

  He allowed his voice to trail off when he realised tears now flowed freely over Kierra’s cheeks.

  “Dios,” he muttered to himself before getting up to draw her into his arms. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “How can you say that?” Kierra cried, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  “Because if I don’t say it, who will?”

  She sniffed as she pulled back, tears glistening on her eyelashes. “I want to believe you. I really do. But—”

  Just then, the Magi transponder chimed into life on the mantel.

  “Attention all chapters of the Third Order of the Magi,” transmitted a voice that sounded on the verge of breaking. “The Administration has issued an urgent warning for all Magi to seek shelter at once. We repeat: The Magi Council has declared a Triple Star emergency—”

  “¡Santa mierda!” Diego exclaimed, sharing a look of pure dread with Kierra.

  Before Kierra could say anything in response, Diego bolted down the corridor, pounding his fists over Zaire and Annabelle’s rooms. “Wake up, Zaire! Mamá!”

  He proceeded through Jonas’ doorway and leapt onto his mattress, shaking him into consciousness.

  “Good Lord, Diego,” fussed Jonas in a hoarse voice. He hoisted himself into a seated position. “What is all this madness about?”

  Diego frantically yanked on his arm. “The Administration is transmitting! And they said something about a Triple Star emergency!”

  Jonas swore under his breath and swung his long legs out from underneath his quilt.

  Hustling back into the Elysium common room, the five Magi gathered around the flashing transponder.

  “... details are still arriving as we speak. For those just joining us, we find ourselves in the midst of terror this evening. With rising violence in and around our twelve Magi Chapter jurisdictions, the Magi Council has initiated a Triple Star Emergency. We have confirmed the Legerdemain Brotherhood is behind the attacks as part of an internal political ploy. While these heinous acts have been targeting Quotidians, the Magi Gendarmerie confirms at least one hundred Magi worldwide have been killed while attempting to rescue those involved.”

  “God be with them,” Annabelle whispered as she pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders. Diego laid a comforting hand on her arm, and she grasped it in hers.

  “As we work in cooperation with international authorities, the Magi Council advises all Chapters to shelter within a safe area until further notice. Travel outside of local municipalities is not advised and will be punished by the fullest extent of the Magi Code.”

  Kierra’s glistening eyes met Diego’s.

  “For the safety of our couriers, the Magi Administration will also be suspending our courier service. As always, we encourage open communication between our Chapters and the Council. Telegrams and telephone messages are highly recommended during this time.

  “May the Famed Three and the Yonder Star protect you now and into the future as we rise above the folly of our foes.”

  The transmission fizzled, leaving a bitter silence settling over the room.

  “Christ,” mumbled Jonas as he massaged his forehead.

  “I can’t believe it has come to this,” said Zaire.

  “This is awful,” Annabelle agreed. “In my entire life, I have never witnessed such international atrocities at the hands of the Brotherhood.” She approached Jonas and rubbed his upper arm in consolation. “I believe your interpretation of the night sky at the turn of the year is starting to make sense, my dear. But remember, as Magi, our hope in the future is as everlasting as the stars.”

  Jonas collapsed into the armchair. After running frustrated fingers through his bedraggled hair, his shoulders sank in dejection, and he turned his glas
sy stare to the fireplace. “Someone once told me that even the stars fall.”

  Diego crouched beside the chair to confront the ocean storm within Jonas’ eyes. “What do we do now?”

  Chewing on his thumbnail, with disquietude weighing down his facial features, Jonas broke his silence. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do: We’re going to listen to the Administration and do exactly as they say.”

  Diego searched his expressions for a hint of cynicism, but every fibre of his being emanated sincerity.

  “I know this is going to be difficult with Ezra missing,” Jonas remarked. “But until the Administration says it is safe again, none of us are to leave Elysium. As they have made it quite clear, they have got everything under control.” With exhaustion and the slightest glimmer of doubt in his face, Jonas made eye contact with his cousin. “Kierra, will you bring Aja and Oliver over first thing tomorrow morning? You will need to take a leave of absence from the academy, if possible.”

  Kierra nodded without a word of objection.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Diego struggled to process what had just transpired. In a month’s time, his happy-go-lucky existence had crumbled beneath him, leaving doubt, disappointment, and perturbation in the rubble. Diego fully expected his dreams to haunt him, but not waking life. Waking life was the only place he could find redemption. Healing. Justice.

  But the more he thought about it, the more he realised the anxieties of waking life had always been there, crouching like a predator in the dark.

  And the darkness would not be letting up anytime soon.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Final Piece of the Trap

  For two days, restless waves tossed the small vessel from the North Atlantic to the Irish Sea and into the English Channel. By the time it had docked—based on the exchange between Ezra's captors, somewhere on the River Thames outside of London—he could hardly stand from the horrible concoction of dehydration and sea legs. Much to Mr. Ackerly and Andromeda’s dismay, both adults had to physically lift him from the lower hold and haul him to a carriage parked just off the marina.

  Still bound at the wrists, Ezra collapsed in exhaustion on the transport's seat cushions while his captors spoke in hushed tones with the coachman.

  "What took so long?" said an unfamiliar voice in an accent that Ezra guessed was Egyptian.

  "You have to understand, Rami, that we were transporting an adolescent in rough seas," snarled Mr. Ackerly. "That's about as impossible as speeding up time."

  "Especially a young man who cannot stomach sailing to begin with," Andromeda grumbled.

  "Well, let us get a move on; the consul is expecting you," Rami explained in a stern tone. The carriage swayed on its chassis as he climbed into the coach box. His two captors followed suit, hoisting themselves up into the transport with Ezra.

  Ezra moaned miserably. His gut churned in retaliation for denying it food, water, and stable ground for so long. Each shallow breath seemed harder to inhale than the last, and his head felt as if someone had taken an axe to the back of his skull.

  After what seemed like hours of fading in and out of consciousness, Ezra found himself being unloaded from the carriage amid an all-too-familiar city. Led by the man called Rami, Andromeda and Mr. Ackerly ushered Ezra into an upscale building and up a winding staircase, flanked by marble railing. Every step forward felt like an ironic step backward, and even further into a nightmare from which he desperately wanted to wake.

  Once they had arrived at the top landing, Rami rapped his knuckles over the polished door. A flurry of commotion on the other side sounded just before the door flew open, revealing at least a dozen people gaping in astonishment. Whispers circulated amongst the lot but were expeditiously silenced by Rami’s commanding voice.

  "Out of the way! Alert Consul Diederik and Deputy Consul Symon that we have arrived with Ibrahim's son."

  "Most impressive," said a smooth voice from somewhere behind the horde. "Most impressive, indeed."

  The group parted down the middle, allowing Andromeda and Mr. Ackerly to drag Ezra forward into the penthouse and deposit him onto the marble floors. Ezra fell to his hands and knees. Too weary to raise his head, he slumped forward in front of two pairs of feet he assumed belonged to the leaders of the Legerdemain Brotherhood.

  “Hmm,” mused one of the men, using his cane to lift Ezra’s chin.

  While his sight was unfocused, Ezra could see the man looked to be in his fifties, with dark brown hair tinged with streaks of silver and clear, blue eyes. He looked so much like Jonas. Or rather, Jonas looked so much like him. But Ezra knew the person behind the façade was nothing like the Magi Master.

  Ezra shivered to the point he had to hold himself to get the tremors to stop. But his overwhelming nausea won. Falling forward onto his hands, he coughed violently, heaving nothing but air. He had nothing left.

  The other man—Ezra assumed through process of elimination had to be Symon—knelt in front of him and placed two fingers on the side of his neck. Symon shook his head at the consul, communicating unspoken fear.

  "I told you to bring him to me unharmed," the consul articulated in a biting voice, "not with his life hanging by a thread. He is no use to us dead."

  “I—I figured he was just seasick,” Andromeda answered, a faint trace of panic in her voice.

  "And how long were you at sea?"

  "Two days, more or less," replied Mr. Ackerly, glancing at his partner in crime for confirmation. "We ran into some rough weather past St. George’s Channel; our boat got turned around for a time."

  Consul Diederik scoffed. "I would like to see how you feel when you are dangerously close to dying of severe dehydration."

  The whole room fell into uneasy silence, as if every one of its occupants had turned to stone.

  "Well? Don't just stand around like imbeciles; someone bring me a Restorative Potion!" commanded Diederik. "Rami, Symon, help me get him to the study."

  Every onlooker exploded into action. After being lifted to his feet, the pattering of footsteps rushed around him in a furious pandemonium. Moments later, Ezra stumbled face first into a leather couch as the world around him spun out of control. He shut his eyes, praying for it to stop.

  “Come now, boy, you need to stay conscious,” Diederik instructed as he lifted him up into a seated position. He patted him on the cheek. “Look at me.”

  Ezra’s eyelids fluttered. Staying awake was a losing fight.

  “Tell me your name,” the man demanded as a servant rushed into the room with a crystal vial. “Your full name.”

  “Ez-Ezra...N-Newport,” he struggled to speak. His parched lips could barely form words.

  Diederik snatched the vial and uncorked it. Cupping one hand under Ezra’s chin, he gingerly poured the elixir into his mouth.

  At first, the simple action of swallowing felt like a foreign concept as Ezra choked on the liquid. But after a few moments of reacquainting himself with hydration, he allowed the potion to chart a smoother course down his oesophagus.

  “That’s it, Ezra,” Diederik encouraged, tipping the vial until every drop had been drained. “Drink up.”

  He exhaled as he laid back and let the strange, unfamiliar world around him fade away.

  LURCHING INTO CONSCIOUSNESS, Ezra found himself lying under a heavy quilt in an unfamiliar room. Moonlight seeped through the penthouse flat’s windows, illuminating the muslin curtains framing them. He blinked several times, as if it would clarify his convoluted mind.

  “Welcome back to London, Mr. Newport.”

  Starting at the unexpected voice, Ezra launched himself into a seated position. One wary glance across the study proved he had an audience watching him.

  Consul Diederik perched on the edge of a writing desk, leaning both hands against his cane. His piercing, hawk-like eyes bored into him. Across the room, Symon hovered over a beverage cart, fixing himself a drink. The ice clunked against its glass enclosure when he swirled the liquid, sloshing amber wav
es over perfectly square icebergs.

  Ezra clenched his jaw at the two of them.

  “You once called this city home, am I correct?”

  He hesitated before answering the consul. “What’s it to you?”

  Diederik’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Quite the feisty one, aren’t you, boy? Of course, I would expect nothing less from the son of Ibrahim Newport.”

  Ezra remained silent, trying to maintain a brave front.

  “You are most welcome, by the way,” Symon added, raising his glass at Ezra, “for saving your life.”

  Something about the way the men held themselves, self-righteous and smug, made Ezra physically ill. Here they were, sharing vicious grins with one another as if everything that had transpired over the past few days was some sort of joke. As if now, they not only owned him but the entire world.

  But Ezra could see right through them. They were liars. Kidnappers. Murders.

  These men were the reason his friends had been hurt. The reason his mother was dead. The reason his father had disappeared and hadn’t come back. The very reason he was here now, filled with a hatred Ezra had no idea he even possessed.

  “Feisty and unmannered, apparently,” the consul responded.

  “Why am I here?” Ezra growled. “What do you want from me?”

  “Actually, nothing at all,” Diederik said with a lazy flourish of his wrist. “We just wanted to invite you to tea.”

  Symon snorted into his liquor glass.

  Unamused, Ezra never once let his attention deviate from their faces. “You have destroyed my life.”

  “My boy,” the consul chuckled, sliding off the desk to his feet. “I believe we have saved it.”

  Ezra gritted his teeth. “And how is that?”

  With an unabashed smile, the leader of the Legerdemain Brotherhood strode forward, moonlight glinting off the triangle badge at his waist. His cane clunked heavily onto the wooden floor; resounding with finality as he came to a halt only centimetres from Ezra.

  Ezra shrunk back against the cushions.

  “You Newports have become quite the hot commodity ever since you left London,” said Consul Diederik. “Personally, I would hate to have you end up in the wrong hands.”