"Thank you," Leyla replied with a polite nod. "If you think it smells great, wait until you've tasted it. I have got all of your Eid favourites, coming right up!"
In almost no time at all, the six of them tucked in to the glorious, heaping piles of food. Finally. This was what the night was all about, the long-awaited celebration of Eid al-Fitr.
Without considering the consequences, Ezra stuffed a whole piece of pide in his mouth.
"My love, take smaller bites, please," insisted Leyla.
"Why?" young Ezra replied with his mouth bursting at the seams with the flat bread. "It is good."
Yonca grinned, displaying the prominent absence of her front teeth.
That figured, Ezra grouched. Yonca was taller and she would be getting all her grown-up teeth before him.
"Remember what Ramadan is all about, son," said Ibrahim.
Ezra met his father’s eyes upon feeling his strong hand grip his shoulder.
"Self-control is just one of the many lessons Allah teaches us during this time."
"Did Allah ever have a huge plate of pide in front of him?" Ezra remarked with a grin. "No."
Kiraz snorted into her teacup while Leyla shook her head in amusement.
"Well, what about you, Ibrahim?" asked Taylan. "What did Ramadan teach you this year?"
"Many things," Ibrahim answered. He put his arm around his wife's shoulders and drew Ezra into a half embrace. "I made a promise to myself—and a vow to Allah—that I would be the best husband and father I can for as many days as I have left on this earth. I would sacrifice everything for the safety of these two. Life simply would not be worth living without them."
While not as vivid as they once were, Ezra's early memories of celebrating the end of Ramadan lingered in the dusty corners of his mind. This memory had haunted him from sunrise to sunset ever since the fateful evening on the train.
If Baba was so intent on protecting us, Ezra speculated, then why did he disappear the very moment we needed him? Why did he abandon us to face evil alone?
The more he mentally repeated his father's sovereign vow, the more apparent it became that recent events did not add up. Confusion gave way to exasperation, and exasperation transformed into bitterness with every passing minute. That evening, Ezra's anger festered more than usual—an unfortunate side effect of Dennis and the academy’s disciplinary tactics. The disturbing combination was just strong enough to ignite something drastic. Like oil to flame, a notion of sweet escape flared into life, crooning with the promise of uncovering what really became of Ibrahim Newport.
Cursing his classmates’ stories and ignoring the voice of rationality, Ezra’s undaunting decision solidified.
He was going to break out of Belfast Royal Academy.
Ezra set his jaw in determination and gripped the strap of his travel bag with his un-marred hand. At this hour, his stealthy trek through the school corridors would likely go unnoticed as students and faculty had turned in for the evening. However, it was also the route with the highest chance of failure.
Remembering the fearless students who had paved the path before him, Ezra snuck through his dormitory window and carefully felt around for footholds in the uneven brick. If he did this right, if he somehow dodged the all-seeing eye of the headmaster, he would be free. Free from Dennis and his cruelty. Free to find his father and discover once and for all why his vow lay broken before Allah and man.
Just get past the front gates and take the alleys to Great Victoria Station, Ezra coached himself as he scaled the walls. One step at a time.
Triumph tingled in his ears when his shoes finally met the ground. The taste of freedom danced along his tongue when he clambered over the iron fence. With the brilliance of the full moon to guide him and the accompaniment of an owl’s song to cover his footsteps, Ezra sprinted down Cliftonville Road, mentally charting his southern route as he ran.
Ezra dodged the circumference of light from the streetlamps and darted his way through alleyways and gardens. His heart thumped a hopeful rhythm, pounding in time with his footfalls.
Weaving through red brick buildings just past Carlisle Circus, Ezra slowed when the scraping of gravel echoed throughout the otherwise still air. A gradual exhale rippled a Union flag draped from the window of an upper level flat. Ezra tensed, drawing in a breath of his own. He gripped his bag tighter and edged along the side of the building, eager to escape whatever lurked in the night.
Yet, the sound came again, louring and formidable.
Scritch. Scritch. Click.
With anxiety crashing through him like an icy wave, Ezra whirled around just as a pair of ragged boots stepped into the moonlight. What followed next nearly stopped his heart.
An all-too familiar mechanical humanoid came into full view, toting a weathered crossbow. The figure ominously stomped forward, then motioned for whomever was following astern to step in line. With three frightening beings now lumbering toward him, Ezra tried to move, but fear restrained him.
"Ah, we meet again, Ezra Newport," jeered the leader of the group, his finger stroking the crossbow trigger. "And this time, we’re very much eager to see you join your mother in death."
Chapter Eight
Premonitions
The piercing cry from the tea kettle rattled Jonas from his thoughts.
Since receiving the official letter from the Magi Administration earlier that morning, Jonas urged his mind away from the typeset words and the warnings beneath them. But the more he mentally recited the letter, the more his intuition wavered in the winds of apprehension. It wasn’t merely the fact he was instructed not to interfere. The Magi Administration had said nothing about the larger threat looming in the shadows. Something was still off. The alignment of the stars, the balance of the Celestial Lifeforce. Something.
Jonas stirred milk into his tea and welcomed the hot liquid to his lips. Meandering toward the fireplace, he lowered himself into an armchair and stared into the dying flames. His fingertips reached toward them, sparking the logs back into life.
“Evening, Mista Jonas.”
Jolted from his internal musings, Jonas almost spilled his tea but steadied the cup at the last second. He hesitantly raised his eyes to Zaire, who stared at him with a wide, humoured grin.
“A lil’ on edge, I see?”
Jonas forced a smile and sipped from the cup. “Mm. You could say that.”
His fellow Magus took a seat on the settee, leaning forward in concern. “Miss Kierra told me about your dream last week. Has the Administration recommended a course of action?”
“According to the letter I received this morning, they’ve got everything under control,” Jonas replied, watching as his friend raised an eyebrow. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it is not over just yet.”
"Dark Watcher raids are nothing new, though," Zaire reminded him. “They’ve done ravaged everywhere from India to America for centuries looking for people like us. What makes you think this is any different?”
“This time, the stars tell a more sinister story,” Jonas whispered, glancing at the fireplace. “I’m highly convinced—”
The teacup crashed at his feet, fragments of porcelain skittering across the floorboards. Jonas grasped his head and shut his eyes against a sudden, painful assault. Lightning streaked across his retinas. Flashes of blurry scenes transmitted throughout his mind: Fear, running down alleys, the twang of crossbows...
“Mista Jonas?” Zaire said, abandoning the couch to put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Go—go get Kierra,” Jonas groaned. He clutched the armrests, willing the pain to cease. Instead, it wormed its way further through his being. “She’s upstairs in her flat.”
“Right away.”
When Zaire returned, Kierra was at his heels, her face pale and contorted with worry. She knelt at his side, clutching his forearm.
“Cousin, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Jonas replied, his voice cracking. �
�One moment I was speaking with Zaire and the next moment—”
He cried out as another burst of discomfort made him double over in the chair.
“Should I go get Ms. Annabelle?” Zaire offered.
“No,” Jonas gasped. His breaths came sharp and heavy. “No, I think this is some sort of...Celestial Message. A forced vision. Memories—”
Kierra furrowed her eyebrows. “If they’re memories, I can attempt to see whose they truly are,” she offered. “I need you to relax.”
Jonas closed his eyes, digging his fingernails into the fabric of the chair. “I believe it—it might be Ezra.”
“What makes you think so?” Kierra asked, holding her palm centimetres from Jonas’ skull.
“Infallible intuition,” he answered as his cousin mentally scanned his memories. While Kierra rarely used her Gift to wade through the fibres of his own recollections, Jonas knew the experience exerted quite the toll on a person. Thank the Universe she wouldn’t have to dive in too far.
A flag rippling in the breeze, boots stepping into the moonlight, a black arrow with red feathers—
A black arrow with red feathers.
Kierra yanked her hand back, returning Jonas’ terrified expressions. “Ezra is in danger.”
Jonas lost no time in leaping to his feet. Reeling from the sudden motion, he collected his jacket and fedora from the coat rack. “The Watchers are back,” he explained aloud, mostly for Zaire’s sake. “We don’t have much time.”
“But Mista Jonas, what about the Magi Administration’s letter?” Zaire reminded him. “Didn’t they say they had everything in order?”
Jonas hesitated near the door, his fingers stopping short of the steel handle.
“They did tell you not to interfere,” Kierra added.
Jonas let out a slow, calculated breath. If he took one step out that door, one step with the intention of going against the Council’s orders, then the entire last six months of winning back their favour would be for naught. His license, his status as a Magi Master, his apprentices, everything he had worked so hard to reclaim would be lost.
But Felix...
Swallowing unspoken misery, Jonas shut his eyes and bowed his head. Of course. Felix would want him to do the right thing. Boldly. Unapologetically. Steadfast in every way.
I am already walking a tightrope, Jonas considered, gripping the door handle. What’s another step into the spotlight of scrutiny?
Jonas confidently turned to face Kierra and Zaire. “As Magi, our duty is to our community and right now, a boy needs our help.”
Surely, the Administration would understand.
Chapter Nine
Arrows of the Watchers
Ezra blindly darted through backstreets but whenever he thought he had lost the nightmarish trio, the ringleader was already waiting around every corner, his weapon aimed at his chest.
"In the name of Allah, most gracious, most merciful!" prayed a panicked Ezra as he retreated uptown.
There had to be a way to get them off his trail. If only Ezra could remember how he accomplished survival the first time. Maybe then, he’d actually have a chance.
Fear drove him further into unknown territory. Endless brick buildings, meandering roads, and identical lampposts disoriented him. At times, the footsteps in pursuit would hasten and other times, the echoes from their pattering would cease altogether. Relying on an idea borne from desperation, Ezra sprinted into another alley off Donegall Street and leapt into a large rubbish receptacle. He lowered the lid onto the container and shrunk back in the putrid darkness.
And the world fell into silence.
So did his heart.
After what seemed like ages of this, Ezra’s pulse assaulted his ears as he lifted the lid to steal a glimpse of his surroundings.
Three sets of glowing eyes glared back at him, full of undying hunger for his blood.
“Nice disappearing act, boy,” chastised the ringleader. He signalled for the other two to haul Ezra out of the rubbish bin. They roughly deposited him on the concrete, stomping their boots upon his back to keep him from escaping. “But the thing about hiding is that your own fear always betrays you in the end.”
Trembling, Ezra lifted his eyes to meet the leader’s edacious expression. "What do you want?" he yelled, voice breaking in emotion. "You already took my anne from me! What do you want!?"
"For you to follow and obey the Order of Babylon," answered the figure, cocking his head menacingly to the side.
"I will not!" replied Ezra. "I don't even know what that is supposed to mean!"
"Most unfortunate," uttered the ringleader. "I would have hoped your parents shared at least something important with you."
A burst of courage inspired Ezra to squirm out from under the boots of the hunters. He had almost reached the end of the alley before the click of the crossbow heralded a piercing agony in the tissue of his thigh.
Crumpling to the cement in anguish, he conjured what strength remained to pull himself out of their firing range, but they effortlessly kept pace.
"This will be so much easier if you tell us where your father is now," sighed the figure, reloading his weapon with another black arrow.
"I—I do not know where he is!" cried Ezra. A strange prickling sensation emanated from where the arrow protruded from his thigh. Within mere moments, his entire leg and midsection burned as if his insides had been set ablaze.
The arrow must have been poisoned.
"Lies. Tell us and perhaps we will spare your life tonight," the ringleader asserted.
"I already told you!" Ezra growled through clenched teeth, trying not to look at the blood collecting beneath him. The more he fought against the poison coursing through his veins, the faster his surroundings spun around him. Sweat brimmed along his forehead and traced the curvature of his nose. "I—I don’t...know," he panted.
"Hmm," the mechanical human noted, watching him struggle. "You are thoroughly more entertaining to watch than your mother."
Ezra let out another cry of pain, grasping at the ground as if that would stabilise him. His eyes sank again to the growing pool of blood and he quickly shut them, trying to ward off visions of his dying mother on the train.
"Please," Ezra begged, his entire body shaking from a combination of rapid blood loss and the wretched arrow. "Please."
"Please, what?" chirped the mechanical voice of one of the beings. "Show you mercy?"
Ezra struggled to keep his eyes open as the three brutes loomed over him.
"This one is a fighter," one of them said. "Usually, they cannot make it past the first minute."
This is it, Ezra contemplated, letting his heavy eyelids fall. Anne, I'm coming...
His world succumbed to blackness.
Chapter Ten
Not Enough Time
“We’re close,” Jonas told Kierra and Zaire as they sprinted down Donegall Street. Deep within his gut, he worried it was already too late. Yet, an inexplicable buoyancy carried him further into the heart of Belfast, despite his previous reservations about overstepping the Administration.
Gripping his crystal quartz wand, Jonas crept along the perimeter of St. Patrick’s Church, his ears trained on any noise that would give away Ezra’s location. Besides the buzzing of the streetlamps and a distant boat horn blasting in the harbour, all was silent.
Except—
Jonas homed in on brutish laughter several blocks away. Nodding toward Kierra and Zaire, he welcomed the Celestial Lifeforce into his being, causing his wand to respond with warmth and luminance. Pure white light spilled out before them, leading the way to a back street.
The first thing Jonas saw when he turned the corner were three silhouettes armed with crossbows. But when his eyes adjusted, Jonas gasped when he noticed the form of a boy crumpled on the ground.
"Back away from him at once!" yelled Kierra, charging into the alley without any sort of plan. "I swear to God above I will unleash hellfire if you do not comply this instant!"
Jonas chased after his cousin and stood beside her. "I would take her seriously if I were you," he advised.
“I take her as seriously as I would a butterfly with a vendetta,” chuckled one of the brutes.
"Back up, you filthy Watchers!" commanded Zaire, clearly annoyed. "You done messed with the wrong people tonight."
"Ahh," came the voice of the ringleader. "Three Magi here to join the soiree! What—no gifts for the host?"
"We only bring gifts to royalty," replied Kierra, her brows creasing above her blue eyes, "not talking rubbish heaps."
"Your kind always were arrogant," jeered one of the Watchers.
All at once, Kierra channelled a beam of energy through the quartz crystal pendant around her neck and directed it toward the ringleader of the group.
He squealed in terror as the ethereal light penetrated his industrial armour and cut through flesh, causing him to collapse lifeless to the ground.
“And your kind always were despicable,” Kierra mocked him.
Jonas nodded in approval. “Nice work,” he commended. He had always admired Kierra’s incredible ability to harness the Celestial Lifeforce. If it weren’t for her being family, Jonas would have been absolutely terrified of her.
Following Kierra's lead, Jonas formed a globe of fiery energy in his hands and propelled it toward the closest Watcher. The magic exploded into a resonating shockwave, slamming the figure forcibly against a brick wall before he crumpled in a heap.
Take that.
"I been waiting too long to try this one," exclaimed Zaire. He fanned a deck of black playing cards and blew over top of them, causing them to spark and crackle as if electrified. Acting on their own accord, the cards lifted from his hands, arced over his head and with a flick of his finger, flew like daggers toward the remaining mechanical bounty hunter. Each card met its mark, slicing into the Dark Watcher with alarming accuracy.
"Very impressive!" praised Jonas with a grin. "Americans never cease to surprise me."
The Magi Menagerie Page 4