The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  “You are mental!” Ezra spat, struggling for freedom.

  “No,” John said, pausing to consider the remark. “No, I don’t think we are.”

  “Come on, boys,” Dennis instructed his mates. “Let’s see if Allah will save him.”

  In one swift movement, Martin and John hauled Ezra to his feet. Dennis slammed his fist into his gut, doubling him over. Every time Ezra attempted to fight back, sudden blows from behind caught him off guard. They only became stronger, more ruthless, and more excruciating as the minutes passed.

  The longer they kicked and beat him, the harder Ezra found the simple act of breathing. Somehow, they had managed to wrestle him face down against the polished floors. The taste of metal swam along Ezra’s tongue just before a significant blow to his back forced him to cough up crimson.

  “Stop!” Ezra pleaded amidst choking sobs.

  He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the beating before he lost consciousness. Judging by the prickling feeling in his head, it would not be much more than a few minutes.

  “Look at him cry like a baby,” Dennis laughed, using his shoe to lift Ezra’s chin upward. “Pathetic, isn’t it? Looks like even Allah can’t be bothered to come to your defence, Ezra.”

  Inspired by Dennis’ cruelty, Martin and John jeered and pushed Ezra face first onto the watery floors.

  “GET. BACK.”

  The room fell into silence. Even Ezra held his breath.

  “Or what, sweetheart?” he heard Dennis chide. “You’ll rat me out to Headmaster Willigen?”

  “That’s too good for you,” said the familiar voice. “No, I was thinking of tying you all up by your ankles to the front lawn tree branches. Call it a science experiment. I’m interested in seeing how long it takes for you to pass out from the blood rushing to your head.”

  A rigid stillness washed over the three bullies before they burst into laughter.

  “That’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever—”

  But Dennis did not have a chance to finish his sentence before a flash of light and whoosh of air blasted him backward into a bookshelf. Startled, three pairs of footsteps scurried over the wet floors and faded down the corridor until all Ezra heard was the pounding in his own ears.

  “Are you all right?”

  Groaning with pain and humiliation, Ezra rolled himself onto his side and squinted up at the young lady.

  She sank to her knees, her House Cairns tie and long, black braid racing each other toward the pool of mop water. The ornamental bindi between her eyebrows glittered in the dim light of dawn filtering through the library windows. Deep empathy creased the skin around her mahogany eyes.

  Shaking, he hoisted himself up but regretted the decision when his vision fuzzed along the perimeter. Ezra did not even realise he had grabbed onto her arm for balance until he felt her other hand reach out to steady his shoulder. He prayed embarrassment had not yet reached his cheeks.

  “Easy does it,” the student encouraged him, brushing his hair out of his face. “Are you okay?”

  Ezra examined the state of his clothing. His uniform was in shambles, streaked with blood and soiled water. The bandage around his thigh had shifted and allowed moisture to saturate the dark fibres of his trousers. Eyes stinging and heart racing, Ezra seethed with anger once the shock wore off over what had just happened.

  “Argh. I’m going to pummel them so hard—” Ezra began, but the House Cairns student shook her head.

  “No, because I will make good on my threat before that happens,” she promised, a slight smile brightening her worried features. “I’m Aja Burman, by the way. We are in Year 14 history class together.”

  So that was where he had seen her before.

  "Oh. Well, Aja, I owe you all my gratitude for getting me out of...of that,” he croaked, gesturing obscurely around them. “I'm Ezra—"

  "Newport, I know," Aja finished for him. "Jonas told me about you. You have had a rough last couple days, haven’t you?"

  Taken aback for a moment, Ezra gaped at her. Her timely—and explosive—response to warding off the three bullies was starting to make more sense now. "Er—oh. You must be part of his group."

  "I am," Aja confirmed, "along with my friend Oliver Abberton, Year 11 here at the academy. He’s in House Currie."

  “Ah,” Ezra said, distracted. “Did you just do magic a few minutes ago?”

  Aja grinned. “Technically, I ‘summoned the Celestial Lifeforce to conjure a defensive energy blast.’ But yes, you can call it magic.”

  For some reason, her response struck him as hysterical.

  She eyed him sceptically. “What?”

  “Headmaster Willigen will sure get a fright out of having to discipline a student with magical powers,” Ezra laughed.

  “Miss McLarney will talk him out of it,” Aja said with striking confidence. “She’s the master at redirecting attention away from feats that defy explanation. After all, who would believe whatever comes out of that little sod’s mouth, anyway?”

  Ezra shrugged and attempted to get to his feet. “Well, the headmaster certainly believed him last time.”

  Aja grabbed his wrist before he toppled over. “Are you sure you’re all right? Should I walk you to the nurse’s office?”

  “I’m right as rain,” Ezra insisted, though he wasn’t entirely sure the truthfulness of the statement. He smiled until the widespread aftermath of the mop bucket arrested his attention. There would be no possible way he could clean it up before first bell. Not even with a second convenient miracle from Allah.

  Aja must have noticed his anxiety over the library’s disorderly state. “Don’t worry about this. Allow me to help. It’s the least I can do.”

  "You do not have to.” Ezra moved his shoe about in small circles to disperse the water. “It is my duty.”

  “And my duty is to make sure you are properly looked after,” Aja stated. “Go get changed. I’ll take care of it.”

  Ezra sighed and, after a few moments of internal contemplation, met his classmate’s gaze. "You are different than the others here."

  "Oh, really?" Aja answered with a sly grin. She playfully folded her arms. "Did the matter of me being Indian give it away?"

  "No, I mean...you are kind."

  "Well, I strive not to be an ignoramus like Dennis," said Aja. "I have made it my sole purpose in life."

  Silence overtook him as he studied her. The longer he stared, the more he narrowed his eyes in concentration, as if engineering the proper angle for a medieval flying buttress.

  “What?”

  “Why do you and the other Magi even care about me?” he whispered, not even positive Aja heard him. “Why risk your own safety for...for someone like me?”

  Features softening, Aja laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “Because, Ezra, your life is important to us. You matter. And we fight for the ones whose voices need to be heard.”

  Ezra returned her friendly smile and began his watery trek toward the corridor.

  "By the way," Aja called after him, "you have got quite the impressive right hook. I thought you were going to knock Dennis’ lights out completely in class last week."

  "Believe me, I tried," Ezra remarked with a short laugh. His diaphragm ached in retaliation. "Dennis and his mates are miserable halfwits."

  "Well, if it happens again, I've got your back, Ezra Newport. There is no reason you should ever go into battle alone."

  Her words stuck with him as he made the journey back toward the boys’ dormitories. First Miss McLarney. Then Jonas. Now Aja. Every member of the so-called Irish Chapter of Magi twinkled like diamonds, radiating a light Ezra had not seen from anyone before.

  Except his parents.

  His stomach somersaulted with sadness, hope, and—

  Sudden recognition.

  Vivid mental portraits in shades of gold featured his mother’s broach—her star-shaped compass rose broach. The very same symbol Jonas van der Campe had been wearing upon their first meeting
.

  The symbol of the Magi.

  He had always known the truth.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the faintest sound of a woman’s laugh echoed across a black lake.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Official Business

  While the rest of the pub bubbled with effervescence, it failed to liven the usual embodiment of high spirits: Jonas van der Campe.

  He drew a cigar and matchbook from his coat pocket and fixed himself a smoke. Normally, he would pass off the habit as a vice but these days, a cigar was the least of his worries.

  Jonas studied his surroundings with his typical perceptive eye. Charles, the comedic bartender with a portly stature and a long, grey moustache, made small talk with a group of businessmen at the pub counter. Several fishermen in ragged overalls and wool caps gathered around a table by the street side picture window, placing bets on their game of cards. Meanwhile, a fellow sitting on a stool near the front entrance played a rousing tune on his violin, each note more jubilant than the last.

  Oh, to be as unfettered as a Quotidian. Regular, non-Magi folk did not realise how blessed they were to have such ordinary lives. They weren't burdened with centuries of civil responsibility or the unfortunate connection to another’s recent memories, whether or not it was desired.

  That, and they were not at the mercy of the Magi Administration for advice on what to do about the appearance of Time Blemishes.

  While Jonas would not call his recent conversation with Diego “cordial,” per se, it was a step in the right direction. If by “right direction” one meant ‘filled with hideous details of an entrapment charm, laid at the hands of the Legerdemain Brotherhood.’ Clearly, the Brotherhood had trickery up their sleeves that no one—not even Magi—could even imagine. Jonas had not felt this encumbered since—

  "Jonas! How about an ale, eh?" shouted Charles from behind the counter.

  Forced from his reverie, Jonas urged a smile. "Make it a stout."

  "Comin' right up!"

  Expelling a mouthful of smoke, Jonas tapped the end of the cigar into a crystal ash tray.

  "Hola, mi persona favorita. Is this seat taken?"

  Jonas pulled out the chair next to him and gestured for Diego to sit.

  "I hope you are in a better mood now," Diego said as he slipped out of his jacket and draped it overtop the chair. "You are, aren’t you?"

  Jonas drew several puffs from the cigar. "Mm.”

  "Ay, dios mio," Diego replied under his breath as Zaire, Annabelle, and Kierra joined them at the table. "I don't even have to speak in Spanish around Jonas right now; he's not listening anyway."

  Kierra took a seat at her cousin’s other side. Fresh from her Women’s Suffrage Society meeting, she still wore her green “Votes for Women” sash. “Have you heard anything more from the Magi Administration about the Time Blemishes?”

  "If they’d even divulge such information," Zaire said darkly, clasping his hands together over the tabletop.

  Jonas blinked and set his cigar down in the ash tray. Letting out the last of the smoke, he looked around the table into the eyes of his Magi family.

  “I alerted the Administration as soon as Diego brought the matter to my attention. Additionally, I mentioned what I observed in the stars back at the turn of the year,” Jonas confirmed. “I have not heard anything since.”

  “Well, they best get to it,” Annabelle admonished, reaching over to draw Diego into a half embrace. “I don’t want my poor little Diego dear caught up in another one of those traps.”

  “Mamá,” Diego groaned, attempting to pull away. He cringed when she succeeded in planting a motherly kiss on his cheek.

  “Neither do I,” said Jonas. “I did not think something like this could even be in the cards.”

  “That was your first mistake,” Zaire honestly remarked. “Every scenario is in the cards. It’s just that sometimes, the dangerous ones linger in dusty corners for ages and just when you think you’re in the clear, they’re drawn.”

  At that moment, Charles plunked a pint in front of Jonas and surveyed the rest of the table.

  "Blimey, this party needs some more drinks," he said jovially. "What can I get you all?"

  "Tea for me, dearie," Annabelle said.

  "A glass of red wine sounds nice," Kierra responded.

  "Whiskey, my brotha," Zaire replied.

  Charles nodded and pointed at Diego. "What's it going to be for you, Diego? Tequila?"

  "Why do you always think that is what I am going to order?" Diego asked in exasperation and then cracked a smirk. "Si, tequila."

  "Right-o!" Charles said and disappeared toward the pub counter.

  The entire table once again directed their attention toward Jonas.

  "And yet, I am utterly bewildered.”

  "Oh, the great Jonas van der Campe is actually bothered by something?" Diego teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

  Jonas allowed the slightest grin to transform his otherwise solemn features. “From time to time.”

  “What is it?” Kierra urged.

  “Why now? My connection with Ezra and this increased activity from the Legerdemain Brotherhood,” Jonas listed off. “Why is all of this happening now?”

  “I supposed that’s the question,” noted Annabelle. “I wonder if the other eleven chapters have reported anything lately.”

  “My mother told me earlier today she received a letter from a friend of hers in the Salem, Massachusetts Chapter,” said Kierra. “In it, Greta explained they discovered the word ‘Quietus’ splashed across the exterior of a church, and shortly after, it burst into flames. Apparently, the situation has rattled the whole town.”

  Jonas pressed his back into the leather seat and folded his arms. “The Legerdemain Brotherhood is clearly trying to get a message across. I would say it’s working, but I’m confounded as to—”

  Charles brought a tray of drinks to the table and dispersed them. “Drink up, my friends,” he encouraged in a cheery manner. When he deposited Kierra’s glass of wine, he winked. “You know my policy: Suffragettes get my vote as well as drinks on the house.”

  “Oh, well that is very kind of you,” Kierra responded. “We appreciate your support.”

  “You must be very proud of your cousin,” Charles said to Jonas.

  “Immensely proud.”

  The bartender offered a quick smile at the group before returning to the counter.

  Jonas waited until the pub’s musician began another tune before speaking. “I’m confounded as to what is fuelling this behind the scenes.”

  "Do you have any ideas?" Zaire enquired.

  Jonas took a gulp from his stout and heavily plunked the glass upon the table. "Nothing concrete, but I have theories.”

  “As do I,” Diego cut in, “and it is the theory that we really need to forget about this and have some fun tonight.”

  "You know, the kid is right,” Zaire agreed. "What we really need is a moment to clear our minds. It has been the strangest March on record."

  "I am not a kid," Diego mumbled.

  "Yes, you is," Zaire sassily remarked. "If you half my age, you is a kid."

  "You are all kids to me," Annabelle said, sipping her tea.

  Jonas sighed. "And just how do you propose we 'have fun' with this burden lingering in the shadows?"

  Grinning, Diego slurped the rest of his tequila, sprung from his chair, and approached the violinist in the corner. After a brief exchange, the violinist stood up, elegantly poised his bow over the instrument, and erupted into the liveliest of songs.

  Diego skipped back to the table and tugged on Jonas' shirt sleeve to get him up from his seat. "I think it's half past Irish Jig o'clock."

  Jonas surprised himself when a chuckle escaped his lips. "All right! All right, you got me."

  Kierra and Zaire also rose to their feet and danced alongside Jonas and Diego, stepping in time to the music. While Kierra, Zaire, and Diego were graceful in their movements, Jonas swayed and bob
bed in an awkward manner.

  "Come on, Mamá!" Diego encouraged Annabelle. "Show us your moves!"

  "Oh, I thought you would never ask," the elderly woman replied, joining the fun. "Heaven knows I love a good Irish drinking song."

  Jonas had become so caught up in gallivanting around the pub that he abruptly collided with another body at the counter. Recovering quickly, the stout little man stared in bewilderment from behind his wire-framed spectacles, as if completely offended by the interaction.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Jonas apologised but stopped short when he noticed the golden Magi pin on his jacket lapel. A silver medallion rested beside it—engraved with the Star of Bethlehem—effectively heralding his status with the Magi Administration.

  The man adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. “Out for a bit of fun tonight, Mr. van der Campe?”

  By this time, the rest of the Irish Chapter had gathered behind Jonas. He could practically feel their gazes darting between him and the newest guest in their company.

  “Oh, er...”

  “You are a difficult man to track down,” the official said, holding out his hand in greeting. “My name is Edwin Mears, Auditor of Affairs at the Magi Administration. I do hope that I can speak with you in private?”

  Jonas swallowed. He had been expecting this for some time. But now? Here?

  “Certainly.”

  “I had better be present for this conversation as well,” Diego interrupted, squaring his shoulders to appear intimidating. His small stature worked dreadfully against him. “As a representative of the Royal Irish Constabulary.”

  Annoyance twitched at the corner of the official’s mouth before he let out a high-pitched chuckle. “Ah. Our police consultant. Mr. Montreal, am I correct?”

  “No,” Diego replied, standing on the balls of his feet. “It’s ‘Your Royal Highness Hailing from the Radiant Kingdom of Mexico.’”

  Jonas snorted but immediately tried to disguise it as a cough.

  “Well, whatever you go by these days, I do not need your interference,” Mr. Mears stated. “This shall strictly be a private conversation between Mr. van der Campe and myself, on direct orders from the Magi Council.”