Chapter 5

CHAPTERFIVE

Ezra had never possessed the deep distrust and fear of the djinn that her father had, but standing before Zahir the Eternal was taking every ounce of courage she had. If she hadn’t had her anger sustaining her, she doubted she would have stepped onto his boat at all.

Zahir was not what she expected. He was handsome in a shocking way that felt like a punch knocking the air out of her. He was dressed in black tailored pants and a burned orange collared shirt. His thick, dark hair was brushed back from a brown, bearded face. He had a full smirking mouth; gold glinted in his ears, and a scent rose from him like desert sand and spice. He still held onto her wrists, flames flickering in his dark eyes. Her mouth went bone dry at the anger in them.

"Who the fuck did this to you?" he growled out. The threat in his voice robbed her of some of her courage.

"I-I don’t know his name. He was part of a group called the Cabal of the Wise. They killed my father," Ezra said. She let her magic go with a gasp, the burning of the marks becoming too much. The bindings faded away. Zahir’s thumbs stroked over her skin, leaving traces of heat that made her heart race.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite the desk. Ezra sat, all the adrenaline leaving her shaky. Zahir passed her a steaming glass cup of mint tea.

Ezra was so confused by the gesture, she had a sip without thinking. It was warm and fragrant, and it calmed the nausea in her stomach.

Zahir leaned against the table and crossed his arms. They were impressive arms, she noticed, and then hated herself. The djinn were all so beautiful that desire was never far behind.

"You had best start from the beginning," Zahir said, his deep voice charming once more.

Ezra took another sip of her tea and glanced at the other djinn sitting in the corner of the room. She didn’t need an introduction. Ashirah.

Ezra had grown up with rumors that she was the actual lost goddess of the Jews who had once been the consort of the god El, father of the gods, before a lower war god in the pantheon, Yahweh, had stolen her away and overthrown El. She had also been a consort to Solomon and a queen in Egypt. The tales spun on.

"You can trust me, little one," Ashirah said, reading the worry that Ezra hadn’t voiced aloud.

Ezra licked her lips. "It started just after my mother died…" She told them about the golem, their argument about the new friends her father had made, their fight, her kidnapping, and his murder.

Zahir frowned. "They want you to make golems? That magic has been lost for centuries. Why, the last time was… God, I can’t remember."

"Prague. 1600s," Ezra said.

"Exactly. What made them certain that you could do it?" Zahir asked, giving her a sceptical once over.

"They have a projection of the night my father and I achieved it."

Ashirah clicked her tongue. "You are a descendent of the Maharal of Prague, aren’t you?"

"Yes. My father and I tried to recreate his magic, and we succeeded. We didn’t expect it to work. When it did, we realized what we had done. We destroyed the scroll, the shem that gave it life, and we boxed the golem up." Ezra felt like she was betraying Judah’s memory just by being there and divulging their secrets. She pushed the feeling down. He had done the same by telling the Cabal about her.

"And now this Cabal… They killed him without checking the magic and want you to fix it?" Zahir said.

"Yes. I’m bound to them until I finish it. I can’t break the spell on my own."

Zahir inspected his nails. "You broke into here fine. I’m sure a clever girl like you will be able to figure it out."

"You won’t help me?" Ezra demanded.

"I don’t know why I should. I have no jurisdiction in the Jewish Quarter that you are a part of. That’s the Doge’s problem, so he is the one you should be petitioning," Zahir replied calmly.

Ezra’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not the real reason."

"Well, you haven’t told me the truth, have you?"

"How could you know that?" Ezra asked. Her heart was beating hard, but she tried to keep the panic from her face. She had told him the truth, just not all of it.

Zahir’s eyes sparked with flames as he leaned into her space. "The sparrow does not come to the lion for help to deal with yapping dogs. So what is it about this Cabal that scares you more than me, little bird?"

"Apart from the fact they have enslaved me and want me to make unstoppable warriors for them?" she asked incredulously.

Zahir studied her face carefully. "Yes."

"I… I have reason to suspect that they want to entrap djinn," Ezra whispered, unable to look away from him.

The flames in his eyes were so bright now, they appeared gold. "Your proof?"

"The Cabal hates the djinn. They think you have too much power and that you’re abominations of the Creator. It was one of the many things I argued about with my father." Ezra reached into her bra and pulled out the sketch. "I found this in my father’s study."

Zahir took the paper and unfolded it. He went still. "Keep talking."

Ezra spun her theory out to him that her father could have been influenced by the Cabal to create such a thing.

"What does he mean here by ’Ask Ezra?’ Why would you be the key to such a prison?"

Ezra lifted her chin. "I’ll tell you if you promise not to kill me."

"Don’t take that deal, Zahir," Ashirah said, looking at the sketch over his shoulder.

Ezra tried to be brave, but it wasn’t working. She was exhausted, hung over from whatever poison she had been injected with, and so filled with grief, she wanted to tear Venice apart.

"If we kill her, we will never find this Cabal," Zahir said. He turned his attention back to Ezra. "I promise not to kill you. Now answer me."

"My magic is creation. Specifically, sigil creation. I could, in theory, create a seal that would be able to trap a djinn in magically infused clay," she said and waited for the blow. Neither djinn moved.

"What makes you certain you have the power to affect a djinn? We are made of magic, after all," Zahir said.

"Did you not see how high your djinn are out on deck? That’s a party spell of mine. An easy child’s trick, really," Ezra replied, trying to sound as cocky as he did.

"Kill her. Or I will," Ashirah hissed, a curved blade appearing in her hand.

"No. I made a promise. We need to find this Cabal, especially if they are building golems. There’re only two reasons they want them—to use them against the djinn or sell them to the Varangians. If we kill her, we lose our only lead," Zahir argued. He stared at her without saying anything. Ashirah huffed and went and sat back in her corner.

Ezra sipped her tea as the silence in the cabin stretched on. If they did kill her, it would be better than being a slave. She wasn’t good with pain, and the bindings would be used to torture her until she did what they wanted. They would get it from her, eventually. She closed her eyes and waited for her death.