“Dark Watchers and the Legerdemain Brotherhood,” Aja rattled off.
“The Legerdemain Brotherhood?” Ezra asked, his mind convoluted with detail. Just how intricate was the Magi’s world? “Who are they?”
His magical company fell into uneasy stillness. Their postures stiffened, eyes darting about the room as they silently communicated their nervousness.
“Er—am I not supposed to talk about them?” Ezra asked, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I—”
“No, sweetheart, you are just fine,” Annabelle cut in, sparing him from the apology. “I am still surprised your parents never mentioned any of this to you.”
“So am I,” Ezra mumbled.
“Magi have a complicated past with the Legerdemain Brotherhood,” said the elderly woman. “To put it simply, they are the orchestrators of the attack on you and your family.”
“So, they’re the sorcerers,” Ezra noted, mostly to himself.
“Sorcerers, traitors, nothing but dirty rotten scoundrels,” Zaire growled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “They done killed my wife and kids five years ago back in the States. I obviously ain’t very fond of a society who sees me and my family as someone to snuff out.”
Ezra grimaced. “I am really sorry. That is horrible.”
“They are horrible people,” Oliver confirmed, crossing his arms over his slim middle.
Aja nodded, her eyes wide with agreement.
Ezra frowned. “Why are they so preoccupied with killing people?”
“Well, Jonas would tell you that the Legerdemain Brotherhood sees it a different way,” Oliver responded. “To them, killing is justified under the new laws implemented in 560 B.C. during King Nebuchadnezzar’s reign. That’s when the Order of Babylon came about.”
Just hearing the phrase spoken aloud made Ezra cringe. Gulping, he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Jonas says ever since then, the Brotherhood has focused on assisting governments and police establishments across the world to pursue criminals and other dangerous people who require a death sentence,” Aja said. “The Celestial Lifeforce does not allow for killing with magical powers, so they use sorcerous magic to kill instead. That’s how they get around the limitations.”
“And the Dark Watchers help them with that?” Ezra concluded.
“They specifically send their Dark Watchers after Magi,” Annabelle clarified, her needles clinking against each other. “While sorcery allows the Legerdemain to kill non-magical people, they still cannot kill Magi lest they risk their abilities being drained. That’s why they send their bounty hunters to do the work for them.”
“I see,” said Ezra. “Just how involved are the Legerdemain with world governments now?”
“I would have hoped you were paying attention in history class, Mr. Newport,” came the pleasant voice of Miss Kierra McLarney as she waltzed in through the entrance of Elysium. She winked at him before setting her bag upon a table and approached the stove to begin making tea. “Medieval restrictions on dark magic, rampant witch trials, and even the Witchcraft Act of 1735—still in place in the United Kingdom today, mind you—forbid the use of sorcery. Because of this, the Legerdemain Brotherhood hasn’t had the opportunities that Magi have, since our methods meet the current standard of governments and the Church.”
By this point, Ezra’s mind was spiralling in infinite circles, but he was not about to stop gleaning what information he could about their world. Every insight drew him closer to his parents, closer to the lives they led and why they chose the ways of the Magi in the first place. “And what exactly makes your magic different than theirs?”
Digging for her crystal pendant beneath her uniform, Aja drew out the quartz and held it out for him to see. “How familiar are you with chakras?”
“Er—not much, I guess,” Ezra admitted.
She grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she bounded from the couch. “Zaire, may I borrow your cards for a moment?”
“Sure thing,” he replied in a smooth voice. He levitated his deck and allowed it to fall into her palm.
Aja sifted through the pile and removed seven cards, each representing one of the colours of the rainbow. She held up a violet one and, at first, looked like she was going to hand it to Oliver. Instead, she raised her eyebrows at Zaire, communicating an unspoken request. Somehow, he picked up on the gist of her enquiry and levitated the card until it rested just above Oliver’s head.
“Humans have seven primary energy centres associated with the body,” Aja began, a stark matter-of-factness ringing in her speech. “The first is the Crown Chakra, represented by this violet card. This is the transcendent connection every Gifted individual uses to pull the energy from the stars to the earth.”
“Okay, so magic is summoned through the head. Got it,” Ezra noted.
“Next up: Third Eye Chakra,” Aja announced and flung an indigo card at Oliver’s face. He winced in anticipation of it hitting him, but Zaire slowed its trajectory and held it over his forehead. “This chakra is associated with intuition and direction, so as the Celestial Lifeforce flows through us, it is at this point we decide the most beneficial way of using it.
“Next, we have the Throat and Heart Chakras,” Aja continued. The blue card obediently hovered over Oliver’s neck while the green one lingered above his chest. “The Throat Chakra is our communication centre. Our pedestal of truth. And the Heart Chakra is where love and acceptance ebb and flow. Everything we do culminates to this one point, this one central mission.”
“But that’s also where it ends,” Miss McLarney stated as she brought a tray of teacups around to everyone. “Our magic is focused on the top four chakras. The Legerdemain Brotherhood rely on the strength of the bottom three chakras.”
Aja nodded and flung a yellow card at Oliver’s chest. He watched warily as it settled into position over his lower ribcage. “The Solar Plexus. Ambition and power. This chakra is used by the Legerdemain to channel the energy from the Celestial Lifeforce.”
“So, they summon the Celestial Lifeforce through their lungs and not their heads?” Ezra enquired, trying to keep up.
Miss McLarney laughed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. Every month during the full moon, the Brotherhood trap magic from the Celestial Lifeforce through a ritual called ‘Ascension.’ They channel it the same way we do, except that they bring the magic through the body to the lowest chakra so that it is amplified by earth-based energies. They harness this artificially enhanced power within their crystals and then call it back through their Solar Plexus.”
“Okay,” Ezra murmured into his tea, going cross-eyed with information.
“The Sacral Chakra is another of their energy focuses, dealing with abundance and carnal pleasures,” Aja carried on. She allowed Zaire to direct the orange card toward Oliver’s navel. “While the last chakra, the Root Chakra, grounds the Brotherhood in their instinctive motive: Security and sense of belonging.”
Oliver blanched as the red card hovered several inches below his belt buckle. “Er, maybe we shouldn’t focus on the Root Chakra for too long.”
Aja made a wide motion with her arms at their young friend. “I present to you: The Seven Chakras!”
Miss McLarney, Annabelle, and Zaire applauded while Aja promptly curtsied.
“Impressive,” said Ezra as she joined him back on the couch.
“Very impressive,” Miss McLarney confirmed. “I’m certain Jonas would say the same.”
Oliver breathed a sigh of relief when Zaire retrieved the cards and shuffled them back into their tidy stack.
Just before Ezra had a chance to internalise what he had learned, the door to Elysium swung open again, this time revealing an exhausted young man toting a newspaper. A green Royal Irish Constabulary badge glinted on his waistcoat.
“Oh, hello, Diego,” Miss McLarney greeted him cheerfully. “How was your day?”
Annoyance loomed in the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Oh, y
ou know, the usual: Long and obnoxious. Though not as obnoxious as it could have been since Jonas is away.”
Annabelle pursed her lips. “Diego Javier, that is unnecessary.”
The young man grumbled inaudible retorts as he removed his hat and raked his fingers through his curly hair. When he noticed Ezra, his attention darted to the others for explanation.
“Diego, this is Ezra Newport,” said Miss McLarney, laying her hands on Ezra’s shoulders from behind the couch. “He’s one of my students and—”
“I know who he is,” Diego cut in.
Taken aback, Ezra shrunk into the cushion. Something about this Magus deeply unsettled him, and he was not sure it was his blatant rudeness. Honestly, he had no idea whatsoever.
Aja threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder.
“What’s your problem?” Zaire asked.
“None of your goddamn business.”
Miss McLarney folded her arms. “Watch your tongue. That is inappropriate—”
“You know what I think is inappropriate?” Diego exploded, pointing at Ezra. “He gets to be here, and he’s not even a Magus. Every time I wish to bring Stella by for a visit, all I hear is ‘Another time, Diego!’ ‘That’s not a wise idea, Diego!’”
Perturbed by the outburst, Zaire abandoned his former place against the wall. His towering stature easily overshadowed the young man. “Calm down.”
Diego scowled at him.
Following Zaire’s lead, Miss McLarney laid a hand on his arm. “What is wrong?”
He shrugged her off. “Don’t you dare try to worm your way into my memories, Kierra! I swear to God—”
“Damn, kid. Would you stop acting like a lunatic and talk to us?” remarked Zaire.
“¡Que te den!”
“DIEGO JAVIER MONTREAL!” Annabelle scolded, rising from the armchair as fast as the anger in her cheeks. “That is enough! You do not speak to people that way!”
Her voice rang with authority, causing the entire company to freeze upon her firm rebuke. Even Ezra cast his gaze toward his shoes.
Drowning in the silence that followed, Diego shifted from foot to foot in agitated exasperation. Finally, with his fiery eyes narrowed, he slammed his newspaper to the floor. “Fine. You know what? Forget it.” Without another word, he stomped off down the corridor. A door quaking in its frame shattered the dense atmosphere.
“Okay,” Oliver exhaled. “That was weird.”
“Yes, quite,” agreed Aja.
Ezra smiled weakly. “That was weird for you, too, huh?”
“Never mind him, dear,” Annabelle stated as she settled back into the armchair. “Diego has been under a lot of stress lately at the Royal Irish Constabulary.”
“That’s still no excuse for bad behaviour,” said Miss McLarney. She gathered her hat and gloves. “Come, children. We’d best be getting back to the academy.”
Trailing behind Aja and Oliver, Ezra inadvertently lost his footing on his exit and steadied himself by clutching a side table. In his path, the newspaper left in the aftermath of Diego’s cyclonic tirade unfurled from its former, tightly rolled configuration. As the corners of the pages blossomed outward, The Belfast Evening Telegraph offered the slightest glimpse of town happenings: marriages, court cases, and progress on the construction of the new town hall. If printed type held the power to speak, most of it would have consisted of monotonous droning. All except for one seemingly insignificant section, in which the words screamed with the boundless energy of the Shahmaran:
Telegraph Exclusive: New details on the deadly Portadown Train Incident to be released in our upcoming Wednesday edition.
Conscious or subconscious, Ezra? They are not the same. So, which speaks louder?
His heart pounding a frantic rhythm, Ezra scooped up the paper and looked between Zaire and Annabelle.
“Er, would it be all right if I take this?”
“Of course, dear,” Annabelle replied. “We always have several copies laying around.”
Bowing his head in gratitude, Ezra dashed up the staircase to catch up with the others. No matter how many times he skimmed the sentence, disbelief paralyzed his conscious mind. But an insistent voice—originally entombed beneath fear and scepticism—pierced through the rocky barriers. His subconscious yelled with the same intensity as the print, clearer than ever before.
For the sake of his father, for the sake of his own sanity, Ezra had to know whatever details the forthcoming article contained.
And he wasn’t waiting until Wednesday.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Haunted
Her image was burned in every frame of Diego’s memory.
Festive strums from Tío’s vihuela intertwined with Celestina Montreal’s laughter. Her brown eyes twinkled in the colourful lamplight, thick black hair framing her face as she twirled in her Quinceañera gown.
“Mi hermano!” she yelled from across the courtyard. “Come dance!”
Chewing through an enormous bite of carne asada, Diego glanced over his shoulder at his younger sister. Happiness radiated from Celestina, a star amongst fireflies. She skipped through the throng of family members and their neighbourhood guests, followed closely by a flock of her girlfriends.
“Stop shovelling food down your throat and have some fun!” Celestina encouraged him. “Please?”
“I quite enjoy shovelling food down my throat right now,” Diego mumbled with his mouth full. “I’m a growing boy.”
“I think you stopped growing two years ago,” Celestina joked and nudged him with her shoulder.
“Hey,” Diego remarked, swallowing his food. “You’re not much taller.”
“I’m not eighteen.”
The girls behind her giggled.
“Hush, Pequeña.”
Celestina grabbed hold of his wrist, urging him to join the light-hearted fun. “Come, Diego!”
“I am a terrible dancer.”
“You are not, you liar!”
Diego skirted around his sister, dodging her frantic swipes to catch him. “You cannot make me! Nothing you can say or do could possibly—”
“Lucía wants to dance with you!” Celestina interrupted, folding her arms as if perturbed she had to lay it out so plainly. Even in the fading twilight, Diego could see her young friend flush in embarrassment.
“Well, in that case, let’s dance!” Diego proclaimed with a grin. He reached out to take Lucía’s hands and whirled her around, moving with the ever-advancing tempo.
Celestina squealed with laughter when Lucía flashed her a look.
Kaleidoscopes of colours and accelerating rhythms spun across his memories until suddenly, they were extinguished by a scream.
Then darkness. Intimidation. Pleading cries for release.
“Let her go!” a voice cried out. For a moment, Diego did not know whether the desperate words erupted from his lips or someone else’s entirely. “Please let her go!”
A dark figure moved amongst the shadows, slipping out of his jacket as he towered over Diego.
“Please!” Hot tears flowed until reaching the barrier of a rough hand at his mouth. “Please don’t!”
“You know the deal,” a cruel voice reminded him. “Have you changed your mind?”
Trembling, Diego attempted to wrangle himself away from the body pinning him down. “N-no!”
“Well, dear boy, as I said, you know the deal.”
DIEGO AWOKE IN A BED soaked in sweat and tears.
Wiping the wetness around his eyes with the sleeve of his nightshirt, he rolled over on his side and clutched his pillow.
She had found her way into his dreams. Again.
He wanted to hold them so close, as if somehow the threads of the dreamworld could conjure Celestina in the flesh. Those very last moments Diego saw his younger sister alive always dissolved into dust and fell through his fingers. At least in Waking Life, his sister’s kidnapper could not follow him or force him to relive those horrid memories.
With his stoma
ch tangled in tempestuous knots, Diego rolled out from the bottom level of the bunk beds. He stepped carefully, hoping not to disturb Zaire as he ventured through the Elysium common room, up the staircase, and out into the night. There was no going back to the dream world now.
Not while he was watching.
Between the local crimes and terror-filled nightmares, Diego would do just about anything to clear his head. But when tequila lost its charms, another temptation seduced him. Darting across sidewalks and alleyways, he made his way uptown toward Belfast Central Library, practically on instinct. He turned the corner around a brick building and with swift agility, climbed a fire escape to the next level.
He rapped three times with the back of his knuckles over the glass of the second-floor window. Within a few moments, the pane slid upward, revealing his lover in a floral nightdress.
Stella grinned and folded her arms, leaning against the window frame. Diego’s mouth went dry at how the silk hugged her curves. "Diego Javier Montreal," she said in a sultry voice. "I wondered when I’d see my favourite police consultant again."
"Stella, mi querida," Diego laughed as he swung his legs over the ledge. "You know I cannot stay away."
"Mmm, smart man," Stella replied. She cupped the side of his face in her palm, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "And yet, I cannot help but wonder why you look so upset tonight. Is something the matter, love?"
Diego scrunched up his nose and waved his hand in dismissal. "Nothing for you to concern yourself over."
Stella stared at him incredulously, but her eyes softened when Diego wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
She kissed him along his jaw, her lips hovering centimetres away from his. "Oh, but I do worry. Chief Constable Norman said you ran into some trouble during one of your recent consultations. The whole experience sounded dreadful; you poor thing," she remarked in a seductive tone as she drew him into the flat by the collar of his nightshirt.
Diego shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. "Ah, is that what he told you?"
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