Chapter 8

CHAPTEREIGHT

Zahir wasn’t a fan of mysteries that weren’t of his own making. The day after Ezra’s visit to his boat, Zahir sent people to watch over her and gather everything there was to know about her. Ezra Eliyahu wouldn’t be a mystery for long. He would make sure of it. He would know what made her tick, what food she liked, what kind of present would entice favor.

Are you watching her or courting her?He didn’t know the answer to that. A part of him wanted to hang her upside down by her feet and demand to know what it was about her that made him so damn curious.

"Have they found anything useful yet?" Zahir asked Ashirah irritably. Technically, she was in charge of his network of spies and informants.

"Depends on what you are classifying as useful, my king," she replied. She had been full of sass about the girl ever since he’d made the deal. She always knew when he was hiding something, but in this case, he didn’t know what it was.

"Everything. I want to know everything," he said. They were in one of his houses in Cannaregio, and he was pacing a track on the soft carpets.

"I’ll start at the beginning, shall I?" Ashirah produced a small notebook from thin air and opened it. "Ezra Eliyahu, born of Judah and Lucia. Both of her parents were magio-historians, and she has a degree in it herself. Whatever that is."

Zahir toyed with his thumb ring. "They study old spells and magical processes and figure out which ones work and which ones don’t. They can revive old magic."

"I suppose that explains why they attempted to create golems from the Maharal’s writings. It was probably their idea of a fun experiment," Ashirah said and referred back to her notebook. "Ezra’s mother, Lucia, died of cancer a few years ago. According to gossip, Ezra had a fight with Judah about six or seven months ago, and she went to live in Florence. She has a small apartment there and was making money with the clubs, performing her magical highs, much like the one she threw at Asim and the others."

Zahir didn’t like the sound of that. "Do you think others know what kind of magic she has? That she can bewitch djinn?"

"I doubt it, my king. If it was known, I’m sure some enthusiastic patron would have snatched her up by now. Sigil magic like hers isn’t completely unique. She might not have felt the need to hide it at all."

"I need to be sure. I’ll go and talk to Arkon today and see what his Ravens know," Zahir said, rubbing his chin. "If they knew about her, I’m sure he would’ve recruited her."

Ashirah raised a brow. "Maybe he has. She could be one of his flock."

"She better not be," Zahir grumbled.

"Why? What is it exactly about this girl that has you so intrigued? She’s not overly beautiful, at least not in the way you prefer."

"It’s not about that." Zahir lied. It wasn’t only about that. "It’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s like she’s something I have forgotten and can’t remember. Like a scratch on my brain. She smells like myrrh, magic, and mystery. I have to figure her out."

Ashirah let out a small sigh. "If you say so. Anything else you require?"

"Yes. I want her watched at all times. Put two guards on her. I want to know who is coming in and out of that house."

"What about if she has a lover?" Ashirah asked.

Zahir’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that idea but nodded. "Yes, I suppose I better know that too. We can’t have her pillow talking about the Cabal and alerting that we are onto them. She needs to be guarded. She’s under my protection."

"Is she now? That’s news."

Zahir waved an irritated hand. "Yes, yes, of course she is. It’s a part of the deal."

"Hmm, must’ve been in the fine print," Ashirah mused.

Zahir frowned at her. "She was brave enough to come to us for help, and she’s acting as a spy to uncover this conspiracy. We have to protect her. She’s an asset."

"Of course, my king. I’ll find some suitable people who will be able to blend in to keep watch over her," Ashirah said, her lips curving into a smile.

"Good. Get it done. I’m going to go and visit Arkon," Zahir replied. The sooner he knew more about the girl and her allegiances, the better.

Zahir knew he was acting like he would if he found out he had a new enemy. He wanted to tear into Ezra’s life and figure out whether or not she would be a threat.

Ezra didn’t seem like an enemy, merely a girl in over her head. He couldn’t trust that facade because his magic had been feeling off since she had been on the boat. He had been begging the Universe to give him a spark to ignite his fire again and instead had been sent an inferno.

* * *

The palace wasa decent walk from the Wands District, and Zahir made sure he was as incognito as possible. He could have vanished or teleported himself to San Marco, but he needed the time and the walk to think and use his physical body. When he took away the bright clothes, he was just another man on the street, and he liked it that way.

Zahir walked and thought. Golems could be helpful in the war effort, especially if Arkon’s theory about the Varangians having other mages in their employ was true.

Using unstoppable clay warriors seemed ungentlemanly. The golems paled in comparison to the Cabal’s plans to trap djinn.

Tightness squeezed his chest, and he quickly stared at the too blue sky above him. He had been trapped in jars before, knew the horrible, lonely darkness of it. He would do everything he could to stop it from happening again.

Zahir would give Ezra time to find out who the Cabal members were, and he’d take the information to Gio. He didn’t want the djinn to take their revenge on humans because it would cause a whole world of drama for him.

At the palace, the guards recognized him immediately and didn’t bother to stop him. Zahir stretched out his magic and tried to locate the Grand Sorcerer. His rooms had a habit of changing location due to Arkon’s intense desire to be left alone.

Zahir felt the pathway that led to the current location and quickly moved along it before the magic changed on him. Arkon hadn’t taken to setting booby traps yet, but Zahir knew he wanted to. He knocked on the door, and after receiving no answer, he pushed through Arkon’s complex wards and walked in.

As usual, the sorcerer’s apartment was a royal mess. Arkon lay on the couch facing his wall of Wolf Mage pictures. Every few moments, a small fireball appeared in his hand, and he threw it at one of the portraits.

"Ah, the busy life of the Grand Sorcerer," Zahir chuckled.

"Go away. I’m too hung over to spar with you," Arkon groaned and rolled onto his side.

Zahir walked carefully through the scattering of spell designs on the floor and placed a hand on Arkon’s shoulder.

"Come on, sorcerer. I’ll take you for some air and food and a djinn hangover cure you won’t ever forget," Zahir coaxed him.

There was a long pause before the sorcerer mumbled, "Can I have the cure first?"

"Go and clean yourself up." Zahir poked him until he sat up.

Arkon stood up and stretched. "Fine. Wait here. Don’t touch anything."

"I wouldn’t dream of it," Zahir replied with a grin. Arkon scowled and disappeared towards the bathroom.

Zahir wasn’t a snoop, even when he was tempted, so he sat on the vacated couch. He amused himself by repairing all the damaged posters of the Wolf Mage and the abused wall behind it. If the propaganda posters were to be believed, she was a living saint. Zahir had met saints before and highly doubted it. Using divine power would make her a cleric at most.

Still, there was something unnerving about the silvery Nordic hair and piercing gray eyes. She was beautiful and talented and dangerous.

Zahir was sure her game with Arkon would only end with one of them dead. If the war ended tomorrow, he had no doubt the sorcerer would track her down. Obsession didn’t fade until it was satiated.

You should heed your own advice, his consciousness pricked him. Zahir refused to believe he had reached the point of obsession with Ezra. It was merely a curiosity. He didn’t understand her power, and for the most part, he ignored magical abilities in humans. He needed his expert.

Arkon emerged from the bathroom a different man. He had showered and was dressed in clean clothes. Zahir got up and fixed the buttons on his waistcoat.

"Help. My head is killing me," Arkon complained.

Zahir’s magic thrummed, and he sketched a symbol on Arkon’s forehead. The sorcerer groaned as the magic hit him.

"There we are, habibi. I’ll make it all better," Zahir crooned at him.

Arkon sighed as the magic cleared the pain away. "If you teach me how to do that, I will call you Daddy forever."

Zahir pinched his chin. "That’s Baba to you."

"Feed me, Baba, and tell me I’m pretty," Arkon said, batting his long lashes at him.

"Come along then, my dear sorcerer. I need you focused," Zahir replied, opening the door for him.

"Good luck with that," Arkon said but followed him anyway.