Divided by Magic

by Rebecca Danese

  "Bloody hell. No wonder no one really liked me," I say, getting the idea that I’ve been a total outsider in more ways than I had previously noticed.

  "Yeah. But I convinced Mr. Gregorio to keep you on because, well, you know, I liked you," she says looking sheepish.

  "Are you kidding me? You liked me? But I was always the one chasing you!" I say shocked. For some reason I feel more surprised by this revelation than the fact that Mr. Gregorio is an Augur. I shake my head, realising that we’re getting off the important subject. "Doesn’t matter. What did Mr. Gregorio say to you just now?"

  "Well, I had to explain first that you knew about me and that I’d have to let you in on everything else, but his main concern was for the flash drive. As soon as the paramedics are out, we’re going to have to get in there and check if it’s actually been taken. He told me where it was, so I know exactly where to look."

  Knowing that the place is now probably considered a crime scene, we’ll have to play it very cleverly, and Ella is likely to be the best person to look, but she insists that I come in for back up. What back up I could provide against the police, ambulance services and firefighters I’m not sure, but I’ll provide moral support if nothing else.

  As we walk back into the kitchen I see that they’ve managed to get a stretcher through the large double doors and have just about gotten Federico out of the cramped space and onto it. Somehow, we have to get back into that walk-in fridge without seeming too suspicious and without disturbing anything else. Scenarios of the police finding us in there snooping around flash through my mind and I have to hope it’s me being overly cautious rather than some kind of premonition. As the paramedics leave the way they came, struggling to hold the hefty weight of Federico on the stretcher before lifting him onto a bed with wheels, Ella walks over looking like she’s going to follow them out the door. But before anyone has the chance to notice, she slips into the walk-in fridge, the door still ajar and being held open by a tub of soft cheese. I follow a few steps behind, deciding to station myself outside the door in case of any trouble. I can see her searching for a particular container amongst the racks. I feel like a lot has happened in such a short space of time, and while she searches I try to take stock of the situation. Ella loves me, and that thought alone sends a quiver through my chest. The people I’ve been working for this past couple of months are all Augurs, and the only reason I managed to hold down the job is apparently because of Ella. They all seem to be part of some secret Augur group that are hell bent on exposing or stopping some terrible thing happening, most of which I don’t understand. They want to stop Carlton Munday from implementing anti-Augur laws. I think I’ve probably bitten off way more than I can chew and will probably choke soon. How could someone set fire to a restaurant to get a flash drive?

  "Got it!" Ella says triumphantly just as I snap into the present and realise there’s someone coming through the double doors a moment too late.

  "Ella!" I whisper frantically as a uniformed officer steps through the door. If I weren’t immediately terrified I would probably smirk at the fact that I predicted this happening.

  "Excuse me, lad, but this is a crime scene and I’m going to have to ask you to leave..." the policeman trails off as Ella steps out of the fridge with a large platter of tiramisu in her hands.

  "Sorry, officer," she says to him a little breathlessly, "But I know Federico wouldn’t want this to go bad." She nods at the plastic wrapped tray as the officer stares at her dumbfounded.

  "Er, I’m afraid that’s crime scene evidence, Miss, and tampering with it is actually a chargeable crime," he pulls out a notepad and pencil from his belt.

  "Oh, no! I’m so sorry —he’s just so precious about his secret recipe. It takes hours to make and I knew he’d hate it to go bad while he was in hospital." Her explanation seems so ridiculously sincere that I think for a moment the policeman is disarmed. After a moment’s consideration he nods and I realise that I’ve been holding my breath, which I exhale as quietly as possible.

  "All the same, miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave it here, and I’m going to have to ask you both a few questions," he says, giving her a kind look and one that is slightly less so to me. I nod idiotically in the hopes that the questions won’t be too demanding of my wits. Ella is evidently much better at coping in situations of pressure than I am.

  "Which of you discovered the victim?" He starts.

  "Er, I did officer," I volunteer. He looks a tad disappointed, as if he’d much rather speak to Ella than me. I understand those sentiments completely. After a few minutes of asking the expected: did I see anything unusual? Only a person in a hoodie that I couldn’t describe and didn’t get a look at. How well did I know the victim? Not that well, we’re colleagues but he’s a private man. And was there anything out of place in the kitchen? Not that I could tell. He goes on until he resigns himself to getting nothing useful out of me that will forward the investigation that is now turning out to be a case of both arson and grievous bodily harm. He takes my address and contact details, and when he asks Ella for hers she simply says, "We live together," and gives him the sweetest smile she can obviously muster. My stomach does its familiar flip flop as she takes my arm, thanks him and leads me out of the kitchen through the back door.

  When finally in the clear I lean close to her and say, "That was a close one!" but she doesn’t answer until we’re so far out of earshot we’re practically a block away.

  "God, that was ridiculous," she fumes. "But at least I got this," she says as she pulls out a small silver oblong from her jacket pocket.

  "What now?" I ask, realising suddenly that we’ve no work to go to.

  "Now we go and visit a few of my friends," she says ominously.

  "Why do you say that like we’re about to attend a funeral?"

  "Because, no offence, but bringing a Normal into a group of Augurs is a bit like bringing a plagued rat to a hospital."

  "Oh, how could I be offended by that analogy?" I say sarcastically. But I know what she means, and I’m no more happy about it than she is. "Can’t I just stay at home?" I plead.

  "Curtis, you’re a part of this almost as much as I am now. Yes, yes, you don’t really know what ‘this’ is yet, but I think I’m going to need you there more than you realise."

  Agnes’s words and my promise to her run through my head. I promised to stay with Ella, no matter what. I promised to help her use her true potential or whatever you want to call it. For Augurs everywhere, even if I’m fairly clueless as to how that’s going to come about.

  "Yeah, yeah, okay. So, let’s take this plagued rat to meet your friends, shall we?" I sigh as she loops her arm through mine and leads me to the tube station that sits off the main road. One of the good things about living in London is the vast underground network that connects one side of the city to the other. Yes, sometimes it smells. It’s often hot, and one regularly has to suffer their journey cramped worse than a sardine under someone’s armpit while trying to read another person’s paper over their shoulder. In the winter when everyone is sick it feels like an incubator for germs. But hey, I’m grateful that I can get across several miles of road in under an hour.

  We descend the stairs that take us to the Bakerloo line, passing a busker who tunefully gives us a rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ on his accordion. That’s when I realise it’s only three weeks until Christmas, and although the thought of that would usually make no difference to my life at all, I now officially have a girlfriend. That involves a whole extra set of protocols that I’m unfamiliar with but somewhat aware of.

  "Hey, where did you go?" Ella asks, snapping me back into the present as we stand on our platform waiting for the train.

  "Ah, I just realised it’s pretty close to Christmas. I didn’t even realise it was December," I say sheepishly. She smiles, although there’s a sadness behind it.

  "We haven’t really celebrated Christmas since I was a kid," she grimaces. "What do you normally do?" she asks me.


  "Ah, parents make food, we open presents, drive to my uncle’s house, eat more food, open more presents. Then my grandparents’ for the same routine," I sigh at the thought of all the travelling and eating, not to mention the gifts of knitted jumpers and festive socks I have to endure, but when I look at Ella she’s giving me this odd dreamy sort of look. "Sounds amazing," she says. I wrinkle my nose.

  "I tend to try and stay out of everyone’s way. My uncle is nice, but my Dad has a way to end the day in an argument with everyone. He’d argue with the weather if he could," I joke. It’s true though —he always finds some way to tick people off, even his own brother. I usually end up playing video games with my uncle and ignoring everyone if I can.

  Our train pulls in loudly and the wind blows papers and litter around the platform. We hop on and I prop myself up in a corner. Rather than take an available seat she comes and leans against me. There’s a feeling I get when she does stuff like that, or when she asks me to do things for her. I think I’ve realised what it is: it’s a feeling of being needed. I’ve never been needed before. It sort of hardens my resolve to do whatever I can to help her and the Augurs. Okay, so mainly her. But I know that to someone I’m important, and that seems to have changed something inside me.

  We rattle through London’s underground and after twenty minutes or, so we end up in Oxford Circus. I’m surprised when Ella squeezes my hand and motions us to get off, as I didn’t expect the Augur meeting place to be quite so, well, central. I say as much to her as we climb the escalators, missing out the word ‘Augur’ in such a crowded place, but she just smiles and says, "You’ll see."

  We navigate through the throngs of Christmas shoppers and tourists and she guides me down a side road. Oxford Street is lined with shops but between each block there are streets that branch off. The inquisitive tourist might venture down one and get completely lost, but the streets themselves contain specialist boutiques, restaurants and very posh offices, as well as hidden treasures. Ella guides me to an upmarket square, the kind that has a private communal garden in the middle. I feel out of place amongst the smart businessmen and women in their suits and wool coats, carrying briefcases and hailing taxis to take them home. I look down at my worn puffa jacket and scuffed shoes and wonder how long these people had to stay in school to get the jobs they did and the pay checks they take home. But as my uncle would say, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Impressive CVs and a nudge from the right person, and someone like me might even be able to land a job at one of these places.

  Ella leads me up a short set of steps and uses the impressive door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head holding a brass ring in its mouth. The sound--three precise and clipped knocks--reverberates around the square and I look around nervously, worried that someone might be watching us. The few people that are around couldn’t care less about us —they’re too busy trying to get home or catch their taxi to notice.

  The door opens slowly and a man in a Butler’s uniform shows us in.

  "Good evening, miss, may I take your coat?" He helps Ella remove it and stands back. I wonder why he hasn’t asked me for mine, but I realise he’s looking at Ella for an explanation for this stranger standing on his doorstep.

  "Oh, Mulberry, this is Curtis Mayes. He’s a, er, friend of mine," she says gesturing towards me. Is she blushing? "He and I need to speak to the Duke about a very urgent matter," she explains. I try not to let my eyes roll out of their sockets with shock. The Duke? I’d no idea she rubbed shoulders with royalty. Mulberry eyes me with what I can only detect is a little disdain. Maybe he can smell that I’m a normal.

  "Would sir like to remove his jacket?" He asks coldly. "There is a fire in the study and it is quite warm." He holds out his free arm, the other holding Ella’s coat, and I shrug mine off and hand it to him. I thank him, but he turns on his heel to put the coats away. I’ll probably have to let Ella do all the talking here, which these days isn’t unusual. When he returns, he leads us up the carpeted stairs. Paintings that look like they belong in a museum line the walls, and every so often there are completely pointless little tables with vases or ornate pots on them. The whole place is warm and opulent but looks like it was decorated in the eighteenth century.

  On the first landing, Mulberry directs us to a large set of solid double doors. There’s another one of those little tables outside, but this one has a rather elegant looking bowl on it. "Your phone, sir," the Butler addresses me and gestures towards it. I realise he wants me to put my phone in there, I’m guessing as some kind of security measure. I comply a little begrudgingly, but I suppose it makes sense. If something sensitive is going on behind those doors, the last thing they probably need is some hacker getting info through someone’s phone. It does make me feel like I’m not trusted though.

  He swings the large doors open and announces our arrival as, "Sir, Miss Ella Cooper and her— friend are here to see you."

  A rotund man sits behind a large wooden desk cluttered with papers. Behind him from floor to ceiling stands a bookshelf that stretches across and around each wall of the room. A large fireplace in the back of what can only be described as a study roars welcomingly, but it’s the only thing in the room that is. Scattered around the room are chairs and sofas, and on every one there sits a person with either a shocked or distasteful look on their face. I feel the heat creeping up my neck. Every man and woman in the room is looking at me.

  "Thank you, Mulberry," says the large man that I can only assume is the Duke, and the butler leaves, closing the door behind him. Someone gets up behind me and I hear a bolt slide into place. I try not to gulp at the thought that there’s no running now.

  "Ella, my dear. We’ve been expecting you," says the Duke, taking his eyes off me for a moment and giving her a warm smile. "I called an emergency meeting as soon as I heard the news," he says gesturing to the dozen or so other people in the room. "But I must say, I’m surprised you brought an... outsider." The final word is said with a tone that suggests he wanted to say something else, probably a word that shouldn’t be heard in the presence of a lady. If I felt like a foreigner in Ella’s world before, I feel like a complete alien now.

  "Yes, your Grace. I understand and apologise I couldn’t give you any advanced warning. We came straight from the restaurant," Ella explains.

  "Yes, Gregorio sent a message to me from the hospital. Federico is in a bad way, and the restaurant will have to be closed for several weeks. I did tell Federico not to store such sensitive information somewhere so insecure, but there’s just no reasoning with the man sometimes," the Duke sighs and straightens his papers on his desk. "Well, you may as well formally introduce us to your friend," he says, and I immediately feel on the spot. The only light in the room comes from the fireplace and a small lamp on the Duke’s desk, which gives the space and everyone in it a slightly eerie glow.

  "Yes, sir, of course. This is Curtis Mayes. He’s not one of us." This meets a murmur of disapproval from the group, "But, he’s promised to help us, and I trust him with my life," Ella says. I’ve never heard her sound so nervous before, or at least not like this.

  "You’ve taken a great risk bringing him here," says the Duke, once again returning his gaze to me and making me wish the ground would open up to swallow me right now. "The only reason I’ve condoned it is because of your sister’s premonitions," he says, waving to a corner of the room. To my surprise, Agnes sits inconspicuously in an armchair. I wouldn’t have recognised her if he hadn’t pointed her out. She gives me an almost imperceptible smile and nod before the Duke calls back my attention. "But, whether I agree with your decision or not, the fact is that right now we need all the help we can get. Unfortunately, we’ve lost contact with Marco and Giovanni. Apparently, they’ve decided to visit relatives in Italy thanks to that little attack on the restaurant," the Duke sighs. That explains why they were nowhere to be seen; they ran and hid as quickly as they could. "He will have to undergo some checks, of course, and before we move onto anything
else, I’ll have to insist that he is probed." I feel a surge of alarm when he says that, and a tall African man rises and steps forward with a hand signal from the Duke.

  "Oh, please, Sir, is that really necessary?" Ella sounds a little pleading, and that sets me on edge even more.

  "I’m afraid so, my dear, but I promise Mumbe will be gentle with him, won’t you, Mumbe?" The man simply nods and takes another step towards me. There’s no point in backing down, and there’s certainly no good in turning and running away.

  "I’m so sorry, Curtis," Ella whispers to me as Mumbe comes even closer. I shake my head in silent resignation and look up at the man. He’s at least a foot taller than me, built with muscle and with no hair on his shiny scalp. His large eyes are like black pools set in the whites of his eyes, and I realise that although I’m trying, I can’t seem to avert my gaze. I feel like I’m being hypnotised as I stare into them. The black irises seem to be growing first no bigger than coins, then the size of coasters and bigger still until I’m completely consumed in blackness. I don’t even protest when I feel his large hands clamp onto each side of my head. At the same time as I feel his grip, I also get a distinct tug from below, and within seconds I’m falling. I realise that of course I can’t really be falling, but the sensation is so strong I wonder if the ground actually has decided to swallow me up. Suddenly, I hit the floor and I’m standing in my kitchen at home. Mum and Dad are talking over breakfast and I’m propped up against the counter. Is this an hallucination?

  "Wouldn’t you agree, son?" Dad says to me.

  "Er, sorry, what now?" I say.

  "Wouldn’t you agree that the Augurs should be segregated?" Dad is thrusting a newspaper at me as he says it and I read the headline: MANDATORY AUGUR REGISTRATION AND SEGREGATION. This isn’t a memory, so what is it? I frown, and as I open my mouth to answer, I’m pulled from the strange scene into another. My classroom in Year 4. I’m eight, and standing next to me is the Augur boy that I suddenly thought about only last week. Ethan. The name comes back to me as if it had never been forgotten. Between us, a large papier-mâché volcano spews red soap mixture. Mrs. Page, our teacher, stands there fuming as the classroom floor is being slowly flooded.