“But—”
“Mr. Montreal, if you do not wish for this encounter to go permanently on Mr. van der Campe’s probationary record, I would suggest you hold your tongue.”
A devious grin worked its way across Diego’s cheeks but a warning look from Jonas made it retreat just as quickly as whatever questionable retort he had in progress.
Mr. Mears held up his hand, suggesting the conversation had ended. “This way, if you please, Mr. van der Campe.”
Sharing a concerned glance at the Irish Chapter, Jonas obliged and followed the Magi official through the corridor. After climbing steep stairs to the second level inn, Edwin Mears shoved a skeleton key into the lock and held out his arm to invite him inside.
Dust curled its wispy fingers upon the entrance into the dingy room. Thick drapes blocked out the light from the streetlamps and any residual luminance from the waning moon. Besides a bed clothed in a patchwork quilt, small table, desk, wooden chair, and a tiny washroom, the temporary living quarters were rather sparse.
Jonas tentatively sat in the chair, watching as Edwin lit the oil lamp on the rickety bedside table.
“I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me,” Mr. Mears remarked after he collapsed upon the edge of the bed. The furniture quivered under his weight. “But I’m sure you could say the very same, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I have been waiting for proper responses from my telegrams,” said Jonas. As soon as the words left his mouth, he hoped they did not come off as too eager.
“Yes, yes. I have copies of them here.” Edwin reached into his jacket’s interior breast pocket and brandished a short stack of official correspondence. “I had a chance to review them as well as your case file on the train from Constantinople. Seems like the Council was rather harsh on you for not logging three months of international travel with the Bureau.”
“I believe the Council based their sentence on something else entirely.”
Mr. Mears glanced up from the telegrams. “Oh?”
Curse my contemptibly honest Dutch mouth, Jonas scolded himself.
“Er—they were not fond of my romantic interest at the time.”
“Nor would any governmental establishment be very fond of that, I imagine,” said Edwin, an astute smile curling beneath his moustache.
Jonas hesitated before speaking, lest his words let loose anything else to betray him. “Are you my probation officer? The Administration mentioned I should expect a visit soon from whomever was assigned—”
“Oh, no, of course not,” Mr. Mears responded, fixing himself a cigar. “That would be Miss Atlantis Townsend, although she is still serving with me in the Investigative Division of the Magi Gendarmerie. Surely, you can understand how thinly stretched we’ve been as of late.”
“Ah. Yes, I understand.” Jonas allowed his gaze to descend to the gnarled planks beneath the man’s leather shoes. “Can you tell me what is going on? How much does the Administration know about recent happenings?”
“That is confidential,” Edwin admitted, “but trust me when I say we are facing some heinous times.”
“And the Legerdemain Brotherhood—”
“Have seemingly risen from their ashy graves like a phoenix,” finished Mr. Mears, puffing on his cigar.
Jonas bristled at the statement.
“Our society has quite the predicament on our hands, but the Council was hoping you would shed some light on the situation.”
Channelling all the patience he could muster, Jonas struggled to keep his eye contact steady. “Sir, if you are suggesting I’d know something because of my family’s involvement with the Legerdemain, I can assure you I have not the slightest idea.”
“I assumed as much,” Edwin sighed. Grey clouds seeped from his lips. “When was the last time you spoke with your father?”
“Not since I was eighteen,” Jonas remarked. He watched through an unfocused haze as Mr. Mears tapped ashes into a tray, the flecks fluttering to their crystal coffin like blackened snow. “Not since he told me to never come back home.”
Twelve years stood between Jonas and the moment he said goodbye to Amsterdam. Twelve years since he last saw the tears of disappointment in his mother’s eyes. Twelve years since his father had banished his only son from his homeland. Twelve unbearable years.
And yet, it still wasn’t long enough.
Digging under his bed, Edwin withdrew a briefcase and rifled through the paperwork inside. Finally, he procured a golden envelope and opened it ever so cautiously as if it would combust at any moment.
“Do you know what this is?”
Jonas shrugged, hoping his impatience had not become evident in his mannerisms. “Something to do with my probation?”
“Precisely,” Edwin remarked, placing the memorandum down on his knee. “It has come to the Magi Council’s attention that you have overstepped your boundaries. You do recall receiving a letter after the Portadown train incident, do you not?”
“Yes, I received it.”
“And the contents of that letter urged you not to interfere with the Newport boy as the Administration had everything under control, did it not?”
“Yes, but—”
“And yet, you interfered.”
Jonas cringed at the accusatory undertone in the official’s voice. “Ezra was nearly killed under the Administration’s watch!” he retorted, fighting the urge to stand to his full height. Some remaining shred of caution kept him rooted in place. “If it weren’t for the Irish Chapter, he would be—”
“Mr. van der Campe, the fact of the matter is this: When the Magi Council gives you direct orders, you follow them.”
“Even if you know those orders are flawed?” Jonas said, challenging him with a dark glare.
Edwin Mears studied Jonas for a moment before continuing. “It has also come to their attention that a protective crystal grid was placed over Belfast Royal Academy. You are under strict directions to take it down.”
Jonas could not believe his ears. “Sir, that is preposter—”
“Was it authorised by the Administration?”
“Well, no—”
“Has the proper paperwork been filed for its creation?”
“No, but—”
“Then I suggest you remove it with haste,” interrupted Edwin. “Mr. van der Campe, you know the rules of our Order. Yet you are treading into perilous waters by disobeying them during your probationary period. If you continue to defy these mandates, you will have your Magi license revoked. For good.”
Vibrations from his words resounded for several seconds following their release. Jonas winced under their heaviness as if he’d been struck across the face.
“Did you know they were fugitives?”
“Pardon me?”
“The Newports. Both Ibrahim and Leyla had their Magi licenses revoked a decade ago for crimes they committed while working for the Administration,” Edwin stated bluntly. “But I doubt you spent much time wondering why the Administration urged you to stay out of their complicated affairs in the first place.”
An electric jolt violated Jonas’ heart. “So, you’re saying the Administration wanted to arrest them?”
“Lord, no,” Mr. Mears said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They are not a threat. However, we do want to understand why the Legerdemain Brotherhood is after them, because it is not the Order of Babylon.”
“No?”
“Mr. van der Campe, why would the Legerdemain want to convert two former Magi who had their connection to the Celestial Lifeforce severed?”
Severed.
Just the way the words spilled from his lips invoked a chill down Jonas’ spine. In fact, the entire room fell victim to a sudden onslaught of glacial air.
Severed. The Newports had received the worst possible punishment after their licenses were rescinded. And the very sentence was not at all out of the question for himself, either. Jonas forced himself to stay calm.
“Perhaps they sought Ezra?”
Jonas folded his hands over his lap, tightly interlacing his fingers. “I would not rule out his abilities just yet.”
“Still, I would advise you stay clear of the boy,” Edwin stressed. “At least during our active investigation. And for the love of God, please follow orders as requested.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Mears scrutinised him for another moment as he drew one last puff from his cigar. “I will admit, I find you quite fascinating, Mr. van der Campe. So intelligent, yet so bereft of common sense.”
“I beg your—” Jonas began, but Edwin cut him off.
“However, the Council is willing to overlook your recent offences in exchange for your assistance.”
Jonas swallowed his nerves. “Assistance?”
“Frankly, we are desperate for intel. Now that we have evidence suggesting the Brotherhood is behind the Quietus ploys, this is more important than ever,” Edwin explained. “It’s really quite simple: The Brotherhood is up to something. You have an in with them, and we intend to use it. Either you work with us to provide the intel we need, or I can arrange for a probationary hearing to review your recent charges.”
Jonas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Edwin’s fierce stare blazed through his spectacles with such intensity that caused Jonas to wonder how it did not melt the very glass he peered through. The fact of the matter was not that he did not wish to help. As part of the Third Order, this was his duty, his calling. But effectively doing so would require opening old wounds Jonas was not eager to relive. The very thought of it sent pangs of dread throughout his chest.
Nevertheless, Jonas straightened his posture, looked Edwin in the eyes and spoke softly, resolutely, “What must I do?”
Chapter Nineteen
According to the Stars
Constantinople, 1895
The girl emerged from the ocean with strands of seaweed in her hair.
Young Ezra whirled around when ripples lapped against his back and yelped at the proximity of the sea monster.
“Yonca!” Ezra gasped. “Don’t scare me!”
“You were scared?” Yonca giggled, skimming her arms over the surface of the water. “Oh, Ezra. It is only me.”
The afternoon sun had ripened her cheeks and shoulders. Freckles dotted her face like stars. But every time Ezra tried to get a closer look at them, he shied away and instead, found interest in a fish that flitted around his ankles.
“You are so jumpy.”
Ezra smirked and splashed sea water at her. “Well, you look like a susulu.”
“Because I am a susulu,” joked Yonca. She arched her back and flipped her feet like a dolphin. “We are both water signs, you know. My anne says I am a Pisces, and you are a Scorpio.”
Of course, Kiraz would say something like that about him. So would Taylan. Ezra had overheard one too many conversations between his father and Taylan, mostly centred on his strong will as a six-year-old. But this remark confused him. A scorpion? Ezra was positive he was a boy and not a scorpion. He squinted back at the shore, scrutinising Kiraz as she spoke with his mother under the shade of palms. Hopefully she was not convincing her of the same thing. “I am not a scorpion.”
“A Scorpio,” Yonca laughed. “It’s part of the Zodiac.”
Ezra raised an eyebrow.
“My baba says that stars paint the skies with stories,” Yonca explained. “Every person has a story in the stars.”
“All right, then,” Ezra responded. “What does yours say?”
Yonca sank into the ocean until her chin grazed the surface. “Well, it says I’m creative and that I love the sea.” She allowed the waves to carry her for a moment and then kicked her way back to him. “And it says I am very drawn to Scorpios.”
Ezra chewed on his lip. How could stars be responsible for such things? Weren’t they merely lights in the night sky? Lesser beings that circled the cosmos? “It—it does?”
“According to the stars.”
“That cannot be true.”
Abundant wonder sprang from the depths of Yonca’s hazel eyes. “If you do not understand the meaning in the simplest things—the stars, the moon, the sun—how will you ever understand the Great Unknown?”
Belfast, 1906
WITH THE DAWN OF THE Spring Equinox set to enchant Northern Ireland in a matter of hours, a sense of renewal had already strengthened Ezra Newport.
The grounds of Belfast Royal Academy basked beneath the mid-March sun. While Ezra had only been enrolled at the academy for two weeks, it had become a vastly different place since he met Aja Burman. The hallways seemed brighter. His tasks felt lighter. Best of all, since their last run-in, Dennis and his mates had steered clear of him in favour of picking on a couple of younger pupils. Ezra knew how fast circumstances could change, yet he decided to welcome this new chapter of serenity with open arms.
But that was the extent of it. While he appreciated Aja’s support and the hospitable gestures from the Irish Chapter, they would continue to stay at arm’s length. Of course, they would always be allies, but he did not belong in their world. He never would.
On one especially sunny morning, Ezra meandered across the front lawn between classes. The crisp spring air invigorated his senses as it drifted on the breeze. He spotted Aja and another student sitting underneath one of the large oaks and navigated his way around the maze of hedges to join them.
"Ezra, hi!" Aja waved as he approached. "Come sit."
Beaming at his new acquaintance, he allowed his school bag to fall to the grass before planting himself beside the two of them.
"Ezra, this is my friend Oliver Abberton," Aja said, motioning to the young man sitting next to her. "He is the other Magus I was telling you about."
"It's a pleasure," Oliver said animatedly, holding out his hand toward Ezra. "I've heard so much about you."
Ezra shook Oliver's hand. "I don't know if I should be flattered or worried," he laughed.
Oliver adjusted his circular spectacles atop his small nose. "Considering your aura is a warm, rich orange today, I wouldn't worry too much at all."
"My what?"
Aja giggled. "Oliver is a Magus with a Gift for reading people's auras."
"Every living being emits light, ranging from any colour of the spectrum," Oliver explained, "and your dominant colour today just happens to be orange. That tells me you are feeling especially self-confident and optimistic."
"Ah," Ezra answered. "Interesting."
"What's mine?" Aja asked.
"You don’t have one," Oliver stated in complete seriousness. "You must be a corpse."
"And you must be a blooming idiot," Aja replied, giving Oliver a friendly push.
"So, does every Magus have a special ability?" Ezra enquired.
"Most of us do along with the other specialties that make us Magi," Aja said. "Want to see what I can do?”
Without even waiting for an answer, Aja reached her fingers toward a tiny wildflower poking out amongst the tree roots. Suddenly, the plant flourished and burgeoned until it stood a foot off the ground, its purple petals splaying outward as it faced the sun.
Ezra’s jaw dropped open. He craned his head around to ensure no one else had noticed the startling event. Thankfully, no one had.
Aja laughed at his response. “Being a Virgo, an earth sign, it is only natural that my Gifts are strongly connected to the environment.”
"W-wow,” Ezra stammered. “That really is quite fascinating.” The authentic tone of interest in his voice prompted a stirring guilt within. He swatted it away.
“Jonas thinks you are a Magus, too,” said Oliver, earning a look of chagrin from Aja.
Of course he did, but Jonas was wrong. While his parents might have belonged to the secret organisation, Ezra refused to accept they had metaphysical abilities beyond
the realm of understanding. After all, he had never seen them do anything out of the ordinary in his entire life. No shred of evidence—besides his mother’s golden Magi pin—existed to prove their affiliations.
Magic did not run in their veins, and it sure as hell did not run through his.
Ezra clenched his jaw and diverted his sight line away from the boy. “I am not a Magus, and I would appreciate if you didn’t bring it up again.”
Aja picked at the grass beside her ankle high boots. "Sometimes, the greatest gifts we possess are the ones buried the deepest within us. It takes time, effort, and a little bit of patience to unearth them."
The look on his face must have communicated something dangerous as Aja immediately backed down.
“Well, maybe you are not a Magus, but you still have a story in the stars!” Aja sifted through her schoolbag and procured a notebook, a leather-bound tome, and a fountain pen, arranging them in her lap.
Story in the stars? Why did that sound so familiar...
“Oh, don’t bother poor Ezra with your astrological obsession,” Oliver insisted.
She glared at him over the top of her book. “Hush, Little One.”
"Aja," Oliver groaned, shaking his head. "I’m turning fifteen in May."
"You’re still the youngest Magus in the local chapter, which makes you a Baby Magus."
"Ugh, please do not repeat that," Oliver remarked, turning pink in the face.
Their humorous exchange sparked Ezra’s mouth into a grin.
“Speaking of birthdays,” Aja remembered. She flipped through the pages of her notebook until she came to a fresh sheet. “The stars’ story. I have you pegged as a Scorpio. Are you a Scorpio, Ezra?”
Of course. Yonca had told him the very same all those years ago.
“Er, yeah,” he answered. “My birthday is October 31, 1888.”
Aja smiled and scribbled a note. “I am just over a month older than you, by the way.”
“Careful, Ezra,” Oliver said. “She won’t ever let you hear the end of it.”
“Time and place of birth?”
“Constantinople. I think I remember my mother telling me I was born around three in the morning.”
The Magi Menagerie Page 10