Itching to steer away from his annoyances, Diego excused himself from the pub and began the solitary journey back to the British Museum. At least the comforts of sleep would be excited to greet him.
Chapter Forty
Unfinished Reports
A tremor shook Ezra awake.
Uncurling from his uncomfortable position on the boulder, he hoisted himself to his feet and surveyed the caverns. A mysterious bioluminescence illuminated pillars that rose like giants from the lake. Each pillar, crowned with Corinthian capitals, supported arches of stone along the ceilings. Ghostly ripples danced along the architectural wonders, prompting Ezra to marvel at how an underground world like this even existed.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he located the Shahmaran lounging on a rock. Drenched in violet light, she twisted her wet hair into intricate braids.
“It is,” Ezra answered, “but I don’t remember this place being so—so breathtaking.”
The Shahmaran’s laughter tickled his ears. “It is amazing how time erases even the most vivid things.”
Ezra frowned. “But it hasn’t. All of this,” he gestured at the pillars and carved ceilings, “never existed until now.”
Her mouth curled into a smirk. “Is that your conscious or subconscious speaking?”
“You are impossible.”
“So are you.”
Ezra scoffed and returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“Would you believe me if I said it has been here all along? Just waiting for you to open your eyes?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Sweet boy,” she sighed, slipping into the water. When she reached his boulder, she crested and used her forearms to hold her in place. A smile bloomed across her cheeks as she rested her chin atop her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Confusion is just a part of the process. In time, you will find the things that baffled you were the things that shaped you into the person you became.”
Ezra pulled his knees into his chest. For some reason, the injury in his thigh twinged unpleasantly at the shift in motion. “I am still scared.”
“Good,” said the Shahmaran. “Strength without fear is but folly.”
“It’s just,” Ezra began, not even sure he knew how to voice his thoughts. “If I had some inkling this world existed earlier, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a shock for me now. Shouldn’t I have had some clue about my identity as a Magus in my childhood?”
“If you did, would you have even noticed?”
“Of course!” Ezra retorted, almost in hysteria. “I would remember shooting magical shields out of my hands and rearranging interior walls. That’s not something you easily forget.”
“Hmm,” she replied. “You baffle me, Ezra Newport.”
“I baffle you?”
“For such an intelligent boy, you have a strange memory.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked just as the ground beneath them trembled. “Unless...are you a memory?”
The Shahmaran laughed again. The very intonations of her lighthearted joy sent pebbles and dust raining from the ceiling. “I am not a memory. I am an illusion.”
WHEN HIS AWARENESS shifted back into reality, Ezra jerked his head around in a sudden terror when his surroundings failed to spark familiarity. Beneath him, a rocky floor. Around him, a cell of some kind. Three of the walls were carved from stone, but the front had been barred with iron. At least, Ezra thought it was iron. The metal bars glowed a scorching blood orange and electrocuted the elements of the air that dared caress its surface.
It’s got to be some type of magical entrapment, Ezra theorised. That or a torture device.
Carefully, he got to his knees and pulled himself as close as he could to the bars without touching them. From what he could see, he had to be in a prison somewhere...
Of course. The Dousing Chambers.
After Miss Eridian had blindfolded him, Ezra remembered being shoved through the twisting corridors of the Flamsteed House. The slam of a door and shifting air pressure popping in his eardrums followed afterward. A rush of damp, mildewy air wafted under the cloth, the only hint that he’d entered some subterranean realm. From there, the needle of his internal compass spun in the maze of darkness until he had been thrust onto a rough floor.
He vaguely recalled being injected with something before losing consciousness. Remnants of pain still twinged in his upper arm from the forced entry of a sharp instrument. While he wasn’t sure, Ezra figured it was the only way to keep him from fighting back whilst Andromeda prepared his cell. Or maybe it was to stop him from using his Gifts? Whatever the reason, he was imprisoned with not a plan nor a hope in sight.
A gruff cough startled him out of his recollections. Edging closer to the bars, Ezra squinted in the dim light, trying to get a view of the corridor beyond the shadows. A young man—early twenties, by the looks of it—sauntered closer. One hand gripped a radiant yellow stone and the other, an oversized mug. Under his armpit, he carried a file folder and a fountain pen poked out from behind his ear. His hair was slicked back against his head except for one wavy section at the front that tapered into a curl. Beady eyes peered through spectacles, but they narrowed as soon as he came to a stop in front of Ezra’s cell.
“I see you’re awake,” he said. For some reason, it sounded like an accusation. “Welcome to the Dousing Chambers, Magus.”
The young man waved his crystal in front of the bars until the motion dampened the fervent glow to a mild glimmer. He shoved the mug through the slats and plunked it down on the ground.
Ezra did not say a word.
“Well, go on then. Drink,” the man commanded as if he were wasting precious daylight.
Or rather, nightlight? For all he knew, it could have been evening. The caverns made it impossible to be certain.
Ezra retrieved the mug and sniffed its contents. It smelled suspiciously of water straight from the Thames. But as his throat felt like he had inhaled a bucket of sand, he drank it without a word of argument.
When he had finished, he returned the mug and scooted until he reached the back of the cell. The stranger’s clear blue eyes trailed after him like a hunting dog.
“Who are you?” Ezra asked, shattering the stiff silence.
“My name is Julien,” growled the young man, “and that’s all you need to know.”
“Are you some sort of prison warden?”
“No.”
“Where am I?”
“The Dousing Chambers. Did you not hear me before?”
Ezra scowled at him. “What exactly are the Dousing Chambers?”
“You ask too many questions,” Julien grumbled. He propped himself against the wall as if already exhausted from interacting with him. “The Dousing Chambers are where we keep our most high security prisoners. If you’re in a cell, you cannot use magic. Simple as that.”
Drawing his knees into his chest, Ezra never once let his eyeline fall away from the young man. Something about him seemed so familiar, yet so dreadfully unnerving. His grating personality provoked Ezra’s irritation closer to the surface. “You Legerdemain Brotherhood members are obnoxious.”
“And you Magi are full of yourselves,” Julien shot back.
Ezra let his gaze fall. “I—I am not part of the Third Order.”
Julien studied him a moment before drawing the folder out from under his arm. He uncapped the pen with his teeth and scribbled a note. “You are still a Magus without affiliation. It’s basically the same thing in my mind. It’s a pity the Watchers did not kill you when they had a chance.”
Rubbing his nose on his sleeve, Ezra sighed and rested his chin on his knees. “I suppose everything would have been better if that had happened,” he whispered, disheartened.
“And here, Carpenter said we’d never get a hold of you Newports,” Julien laughed, continuing to make notes in his paperwork. “That’s another bet he owes me. Your presence made me five hundred
pounds richer, kid.” He smiled to himself and proudly patted the lump in his trouser pocket. “Although, I still find it fascinating the Watchers were on your case so early when even Consul Diederik did not know of your significance yet.”
Ezra lifted his head. “What do you mean?”
A disgusted scowl crested over the top of his file, but his attention soon fell back toward its contents. “I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars for that Belfast Evening Telegraph piece on the Portadown incident. Ultimately, that article tipped off the consul about your father’s connection to the Babylonian translation.”
The blood drained from Ezra’s face. “That—that’s impossible.”
“And why’s that, Magus?”
“Because,” Ezra began, fighting an unnerving pressure rising in his chest. “He had to have known sooner. The Dark Watchers followed my family from London at the beginning of March. They attacked us on the train in Portadown. They—they chased me through the streets of Belfast.”
“Your point?” Julien murmured. His severe glare never once wavered in intensity.
“The timing is all wrong,” Ezra mumbled. His heart thumped against his ribs and his breath caught in his throat. Trembling, he ran his hand over his face as he desperately tried to make sense of the information. Somewhere along the line, an error must have been made. How else would the Watchers known about his family? Why else would they be so intent on killing his Magi parents? On killing him? “Then, the Dark Watchers must have gone rogue.”
“Dark Watchers always answer to the Legerdemain Brotherhood. All requests begin in the Assembly and are signed off by the consul,” Julien snapped. “Dark Watchers have never acted on their own accord.”
“Well, someone authorised it!” Ezra fought back. “They must have known!”
“Unless...” Julien whispered to himself, on the verge of some sort of hypothesis. He thumbed through the pages of the file and scanned the contents until a grin carved across his cheeks. “Nah. That’d be ludicrous.”
“If the consuls didn’t authorise it, who did?”
Julien rolled his eyes. “Honestly, kid, you need to stop talking.”
Ezra approached the bars, keeping a safe distance from the crackling static. It was a long shot, but he needed to know. “If your mother were killed by Dark Watchers, wouldn’t you want to know why? Wouldn’t you do anything to learn more about the person who authorised it?”
“Look, the fact is that we don’t have records of an authorisation,” Julien divulged. “More than likely, an Assembly intern lost the paperwork, or it was a bold move by Diederik and Symon’s opponents. Based on how this election season has played out, I would place my bets on the latter.”
Massaging his forehead, Ezra considered the explanation. But without understanding Legerdemain Brotherhood politics, he really had no idea what to make of it. “Why would they even care about my family?”
“Perhaps they knew of your significance before the consuls did. I don’t know,” Julien growled. “Who knows what goes through Taylan and Kiraz’s heads half the time? Personally, I side with Consul Diederik’s interpretation of Brotherhood politics, but—”
Ezra had to remind himself to keep breathing. “Wh-what did you say?”
“I’m a Loyalist.”
“No, about—about Taylan and Kiraz?”
“They are running against Diederik and Symon for the consul positions of the Legerdemain Brotherhood.”
Drowning in a torrent of details, Ezra stumbled backward and slid down the wall.
Taylan and Kiraz. The very people he’d spent celebrating Ramadan with year after year—
They were responsible for sending the Dark Watchers?
They were responsible for the Legerdemain attacks on the world?
It had to be a mistake...a misunderstanding...
“Darling, are you down here?”
Bewitched by the female voice, Julien’s demeanour perked up. He spent an unholy amount of time brushing off nonexistent particles from his shirt until Andromeda Eridian blessed them both with her appearance.
Apparently, not all magic was off limits in the Dousing Chambers.
Ezra did not even look up when Andromeda and Julien shared a kiss.
“Well, don’t you look dashing tonight,” she complimented Julien, cupping his face in her hands. “I see you’re getting to know our newest prisoner?”
“The kid is an absolute nutter,” he replied. “I do hope you are here to get him out of my presence.”
“It’s your lucky day, love,” Andromeda responded. “Mr. Newport? Stop sulking in there and get up. Symon will be here to collect you shortly.”
Still lost in his thoughts, Ezra raised his head and glowered at the woman. “Why? Did he miss me?”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “No. Apparently, you both have company. Ibrahim Newport has arrived in London.”
Chapter Forty-One
A Dangerous Night
Under the darkness of night, the horse-drawn carriage drew to a stop on the edge of Charlton’s Way. Diego glanced out into the evening, surveying grey obscurity just beyond the windowpane. His stomach squirmed in dread. If everything went according to plan, the night would go down in history as a successful rescue by the Irish Chapter. If not, then...
Diego refused to dwell too much on the alternative.
Discreetly, he and Zaire stepped out of the carriage, their shoes treading lightly against the gravel. Diego cringed at the unseasonably cold temperatures. Even for the United Kingdom, the frozen air felt much too heavy against his chest. Condensation from his breath shrouded the scene as Jonas and Ibrahim also climbed out of the transport.
“We gotta be fast,” Zaire instructed. He dug into his jacket pocket and dispersed vials of teal liquid to Diego and Jonas. “Ma’s concoction will only render our auras invisible for a short time. We got an hour tops, got it?”
“Ay ay ay,” Diego sighed resolutely and grabbed a vial. Even though Aja and Oliver had tested the idea before they departed the British Museum, that still did not calm the storm ravaging his insides. “Here goes nothing.”
“Bottoms up,” Jonas agreed, tipping back the liquid into his mouth.
Instead of the elixir, Ibrahim took in a cleansing gulp of oxygen and nodded solemnly. “Allah, be with me,” he prayed.
“We will get your son back,” Jonas reassured him, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I promise you that.”
Kierra leaned over the coachman’s seat. “All right, men. Get a move on,” she commanded. “I’ll be waiting right here for your return. Bring him back safely.”
Jonas tilted his head in the direction of a grove of trees and underbrush meandering across the south end of Greenwich Park. Diego, Zaire, and Ibrahim trailed him, hunching behind the natural cover.
“Diego and Zaire: Remember, your mission will be getting Ezra out of there,” Jonas directed, “and I’ll distract the consuls so Ibrahim can make his escape.” His voice quaked in uneasiness, though Diego knew he was trying his hardest to disguise it. He could see it in the maelstrom of Jonas’ blue eyes.
For a fleeting moment, a twinge of an old—almost unfamiliar—emotion churned within his abdomen. Diego wished he could stop everything just to embrace Jonas. To hold him close and tell him everything would be okay. To confide in him like he once did. But that seemed as impossible as the objective before them, and the reasons outnumbered the stars.
The four Magi crept along the hedge line, peering out amongst the gaps in the branches to inspect the scene. Jonas squatted behind one of the bushes, motioning for Diego, Zaire, and Ibrahim to do the same.
Approximately twelve paces away, four shadowy human outlines—two of them presumably Symon and Ezra—lingered in the open, grassy area. At least a dozen taller figures congregated around them. Lurid and macabre, each nightmarish silhouette stood atop eight spider-like legs and brandished crossbows glinting in the moonlight.
“What are those?” Diego cringed at ho
w squeaky his question sounded.
“Dark Sentinels, guards of the Legerdemain Consulate,” Jonas replied, his eyes darting about in frenzied distraction. “They’re similar to the Dark Watchers we are familiar with but are much stronger.”
“Creepy buggers,” Zaire commented. “I ain’t never seen something so frightening in my entire life.”
Breaking his focus away from the scene before them, Diego watched as Jonas sank deeper into his internal anxieties. The wand clasped within his shaking hands emitted vibrations of despair. Sweat beaded across his forehead, despite the temperature of the air hovering near the freezing mark.
Of course, he’s afraid, Diego internalised. He’s in Legerdemain territory. He is practically on his father’s doorstep.
Unable to refrain, Diego grasped Jonas’ hand. “Hey.”
Tranquillity quelled the storm in Jonas’ eyes but only for a moment. Still trembling, he squeezed Diego’s fingers.
“It is going to be all right,” Diego encouraged, a tender honesty in his voice. “We can do this.”
Regaining his composure, Jonas nodded wordlessly. At one point, Diego thought he detected a faint smile, but oppressive darkness shrouded it.
“You know the signal, Ibrahim,” said Zaire, shocking Diego back into reality. “Once we see it, we’ll be right behind you.”
Ibrahim squared his shoulders in determination.
Still holding onto Jonas, Diego attempted to quiet his frantic heart as Ibrahim stood, straightened his suit jacket, and strode confidently into the open.
EZRA STRUGGLED AGAINST the grasp of Andromeda and Mr. Ackerly as they stood in the empty expanse of Greenwich Park. He glared at Symon, who paced the field with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Do you think Ibrahim will show?” asked Mr. Ackerly.
Symon smirked. “Oh, he will come. Won’t he, Ezra?”
Ezra said nothing but hoped the dark look brewing in his eyes communicated what words could not.
“It’s a pity Consul Diederik could not be here for this,” Andromeda noted. “I’m surprised he trusted you to carry out the exchange on your own, Deputy Consul.”
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