Page 52 of The Book of Heartbreak

Reader, as my chronicles repeat within these pages, the fundamental laws of our realm present two ways to lift a curse: through a sacrifice deemed worthy, or by rectifying the misdeeds that ensnare those entangled by the curse.

Excerpt from The Book of Heartbreak, Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena

We climb up to the tower just after the museum closes. The rotunda is eerily empty, with no sign of Munu or the book. Leon holds my hand tightly, as if he’s afraid I might vanish at any moment.

We step onto the terrace, where Istanbul sprawls beyond the sea – a chaos no one seems to mind. The salty breeze uncorks a bottle of memories from the night I almost died here, and I wonder if returning to the place where the curse originated is a mistake.

‘Canim.’ Munu emerges before us, cradling a bundle of yellowing parchments.

‘You brought the surviving pages,’ Leon gasps, lunging towards Munu, tugging at my arm, unwilling to let go.

Munu’s eyes flicker to our clasped hands, and her lips part as though she’s about to speak, but she holds back.

‘Please.’ Leon stretches out his free hand, palm open, waiting for the journal.

Munu hesitates, her gaze shifting between us. After a few seconds, she gives a small nod, seeming to convince herself, then drifts towards us.

‘Not so quick,’ comes a voice from behind us.

We whirl around to find a man standing on the terrace behind us. Where did he come from?

His handsome, sun-kissed face is framed by dark, sleek hair, swept back as if even the wind wouldn’t dare disrupt his features. His dark brown eyes are cold with a blend of disdain and arrogance.

I swear I haven’t seen him before, but he feels oddly familiar.

‘You.’ Leon frowns.

‘You,’ Munu echoes.

It throws me off guard how they both seem to know him. Tall, broad-shouldered in a slick black suit, and far too large to have been hiding when we arrived, the man holds himself with an aura of power, as if the world itself tilts slightly in his direction.

‘You will pay for your disobedience,’ he roars, jabbing a finger at Munu. His anger ripples through the air like an electric storm.

My jaw drops. Is he another seer? How can he see Munu?

‘You can . . . see her?’ Leon asks, just as stunned.

The man’s gaze shifts to Leon, sizing him up with a thin-lipped scowl, then to our linked hands, and his expression hardens even more, the temperature around us seeming to drop.

‘Get out, you two,’ he barks, a hundred thunderbolts crashing at once. It’s not just a command – it’s a force. ‘Now.’

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I demand before anyone else can speak. There’s something deeply unsettling about the stranger, an energy so oppressive it seems to paralyse both Leon and Munu.

‘H-he’s the historian I told you about,’ Leon declares, but the man remains unfazed, folding his arms with an air of indifference. ‘Professor Arman Aziz – I didn’t know he was involved in the craft—’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ the professor snaps, then his gaze whips towards Munu. Her wings start flapping wildly, as if in agitation. ‘I didn’t expect you to act so vulgarly, Munu, not after everything I’ve done for you,’ he says, shaking his head in disgust. ‘How could you betray me?’

The weight of his voice sends a chill through me, and for a moment, I can’t clear my thoughts enough to realise he’s accusing Munu. And is it just my imagination, or is Munu . . . growing?

‘How do you know him?’ I turn to Munu.

‘I used to think I knew him,’ Munu says, her lips trembling. ‘But I’m not sure I do any more. I don’t know if I ever truly did.’

‘Stop being hysterical and hand those papers to me,’ the professor demands, his voice a harsh growl. ‘Do you no longer fear my wrath?’

‘No, Lazarios,’ Munu replies, her grip on Sufi Chelebi’s pages tightening as she grows taller with each word. ‘It’s time you pay for what you did.’

It all unfolds in a blur as Leon and I watch, transfixed.

Professor Aziz – or Lazarios – groans before lunging at Munu with an inhuman speed. The gust of wind from his movement nearly knocks us off our feet and I wrap my arms around Leon.

Lazarios . The name rings in my mind as I watch him grapple for the papers in Munu’s hands. Lazarios, the man both Munu and her sister Theodora once loved. But how could he still be alive? I glance at Leon, searching for answers, but he looks as shocked as I am.

‘You worthless harpy! The beggar of my love. I told you not to call me by that name. Are you attempting to punish me for denying you my company?’ Lazarios shouts as Munu wrestles for the parchments. ‘Give them to me!’

‘You are damned! You are done for,’ Munu hisses, clinging on to the papers for dear life. She grows taller with every passing second, her form expanding. ‘I know everything you did. You treacherous, lying, cruel devil. I don’t love you, and neither am I scared of you any more.’

‘You don’t love me any more?’ Lazarios laughs. ‘Impossible, Munu.’

Munu spits in his face, then backhands his arm with fierce defiance. She’s now as tall as I am, her form almost human except for the giant grey wings on her back.

The contempt in Lazarios’s face is also growing.

‘I will show no mercy this time,’ he sneers. ‘You will beg at my feet like the wet mop you are, pleading for my affection once again, but I will have none of it. You ruined everything, you miserable wretch.’

He yanks at the parchments, but Munu holds firm. ‘Never!’ she shouts defiantly. ‘I will never beg again.’

‘Enough!’ Leon shouts, diving into the fray to join the struggle over the papers, leaving me behind.

I step back, gripping the railing tightly, and watch the three of them tussle for the parchments.

The commotion halts abruptly when a sharp whistle slices through the air, freezing everyone in their tracks.

‘Oh my,’ cackles a dreamy voice.

That laugh, like the sound of children giggling in unison. I remember it from the night he bent Munu. How could anyone forget it?

‘Am I late to the party?’ Grey steps into view.

His body is lean and muscular, almost naked save for tight leather briefs, a belt with dangling handcuffs, and a policeman’s hat perched on his head.

His strange attire stuns me for a moment, and it takes a few seconds to register – he’s not a real policeman. He’s a stripper.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Lazarios yells at him.

‘Didn’t you get my meeting invite?’ Grey frowns, twirling a whistle in one hand while pointing a baton at Lazarios with the other.

‘I’m not here for your stupid meeting, cherub.’

‘So you do know who I am, dear comrade.’ Grey chuckles, not a single drop of enthusiasm lost.

What the hell does he mean by addressing Lazarios as comrade ?

‘Hello, Sare Sila Silverbirch, my second favourite mortal.’ Grey beams as he spots me. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again.’

Baffled by everything going on, I can’t seem to voice my confusion.

‘Partner.’ Leon nods at Grey. ‘If you know him, does that mean . . .’ Leon trails off, glancing at Lazarios. ‘He’s one of your kind? He introduced himself as a historian to me.’

‘He likes this handsome mortal face. I have evidence that he uses it every single time.’ Grey sighs. ‘Lazarios for Eudokia, and Professor Arman Aziz for you.’

It dawns on me all at once.

Lazarios is a celestial in human form. Munu’s lover was an angel .

‘You’re crossing a dangerous line, cherub,’ Lazarios snarls at Grey, his eyes burning a blazing orange now. ‘Piss off before I crush you.’

‘Where’s the fun if I leave now?’ Grey retorts, waving the baton. ‘Why do you think I chose this particular attire? I’m here to enforce the law, defend the innocent! Finally serve justice to all these poor, tormented souls.’

Perhaps I’m too shaken to point out the obvious, but Lazarios isn’t.

‘It’s not a real police uniform, dimwit.’

‘Is it not?’ Grey blinks with sheer innocence.

If I wasn’t so confused by everything unfolding, I’d be laughing – or maybe even hugging Grey.

‘But the guy I have borrowed – he was . . . orchestrating chaos into harmony, and people were watching him, mesmerised.’ Grey lifts up his whistle. ‘He even had this horn to blow. I thought he was someone important.’

‘Umm . . .’ I wonder how I can explain without offending him, not sure why I’m bothering. ‘He was a . . . dancer.’

‘A stripper, you idiot,’ Lazarios yells at him. ‘You assume you understand mortals? You have no clue, you low-ranking buffoon. Crawl back to your archives, now, before I shred you into pieces. Even my mercy has a limit.’

‘For the record, I no longer work in those archives. And let’s be real – your mercy has always been sub-zero, which is why we’re here today.’ Grey holds his fist out defiantly. ‘I’m sorry, but police officer or dancer, I’m not going anywhere.’

Lazarios finally abandons his attempt to seize the parchments from Munu and towers over Grey, grabbing him by his throat.

‘Will someone please explain what’s going on?’ I demand, watching Lazarios seize Grey.

‘Hmm,’ Grey puffs nonchalantly as Lazarios shakes him. ‘Where does one begin with the misdeeds of this one?’

‘Go on, then,’ I challenge him, and my words draw Lazarios’s attention to me. ‘What has he done?’

Lazarios drops his hold on Grey and sashays over to me like a panther approaching its prey.

‘Are you going to join this parade of ungrateful, reprehensible heretics, Sare Sila Silverbirch?’ He smirks.

I don’t know what stuns me more, that he knows my full name, or the gentle tone he speaks to me with, a politeness he doesn’t seem to have for anyone else.

Leon puts himself between us. ‘Don’t touch her.’

‘Go to hell, Lazarios.’ Munu follows Leon.

‘Why, Munu? Why did you turn against me?’ Lazarios moves back to her. ‘What have they promised to you?’

‘Don’t you dare call me Munu again,’ she replies.

‘That name is a lie. I know everything. A fool I was, never once suspecting your sudden mercies. I condemned my poor sister because of you!’ She slaps him again.

I’m too stunned to move, and Leon’s protective hold pins me to the spot anyway.

‘It’s only when she said it – she said what you called her .

’ Munu’s lips tremble with a fury I’ve never seen on her before.

‘How could you do this to us? How could you do this to Sare?’

Me? I stand confused, as everything Munu told me about Lazarios plays in my head. ‘What does he have to do with me?’

The sun sinks slowly towards the sea, its fiery glow shimmering on the water’s surface, casting tense, restless colours over the old, fragile tower.

‘Enough,’ Lazarios demands. ‘Sare and I will have a word, in private.’

He flicks a finger at Munu, and she grabs her own throat and begins to wriggle before disappearing with a loud crack, leaving the parchments in her hands drifting in the air.

Instead of saving the fragments of the journal, Leon shoves me behind his body in a desperate attempt at protection.

When Lazarios’s murderous focus shifts to him, I’m more terrified for him than for my own safety.

‘Leon is under my protection!’ Grey’s fingers hook on to Lazarios’s shoulder. ‘Your divine debt is too high already. Spare yourself from more ill! You owe these people justice.’

‘How dare you presume to give me orders.’ Lazarios stares at Grey’s hand as if there’s a fly on his shirt. He doesn’t even seem angry. ‘I am Five the Fifth, Angel of Death.’

Five the Fifth , I repeat. The angel of death?

Lazarios is Five . . . Munu’s boss?

‘I am the most impeccable, unblemished,’ Five announces, his voice emboldened with authority.

‘I am the might of the light, the fire of the stars. I am the ultimate superior.’ He snaps his fingers again and Grey disappears with a loud sizzle, leaving behind a swirling vortex of smoke. ‘And I don’t owe anyone shit.’

‘Stop,’ Leon protests, but it doesn’t save him from vanishing too. He departs in a flash, leaving behind a ripple of disturbed air.

I claw the empty space where Leon stood a split second ago, my heart sinking.

‘Bring him back!’ I scream at Lazarios – or Five, whatever his real name is. ‘What have you done to him?’

‘Oh, calm down, he’s fine . Still in one piece. I zapped him back to the mainland.’ Five rolls his eyes. ‘All that fuss, for one mortal boy? I felt quite proud with the way you had him under your finger. Don’t tell me you actually like him.’

A lump forms in my throat. ‘I love him,’ I confess.

‘Well, that’s a pity.’ He leans down to collect the remains of Sufi Chelebi’s journals, scattered on the stone tiles. ‘I hoped you’d be different from the rest of these fools.’

‘What do you want from me?’ My voice trembles.

‘The real question is –’ he looks up at me, bemused – ‘what you will want from me.’

His smile, empty as it is, sparks that sense of recognition in me again. I’ve definitely seen this smile before.

Where, though?

‘I’m leaving,’ I announce. There’s something unsettling in the way he looks at me, and I want nothing to do with him. Besides, I need to find the others, wherever he’s sent them to. I hurtle towards the exit, panic rising within me.

‘Running into the arms of that stupid boy?’ Five laughs, a mocking, cruel sound. ‘After everything I’ve done for you? All the risks I took to save your worthless life?’

‘What the fuck do you mean?’ I turn to him with a dizziness that makes me stagger.

‘Watch your tongue.’ Five rises to his feet, crushing the poor remains of Sufi Chelebi’s legacy in his fist. ‘I will not be dishonoured, Sare. Not even by my own child.’

‘W-what?’ I try to make sense of his words as a cold gust sweeps at me.

No , I tell myself. I must have misheard. He can’t possibly mean that. But then the memory surfaces – him, tall and striking in that old photo from Mum’s room. His face younger, eyes bright with the same confidence, his arm wrapped around Iris.

Ozan. Azlan. The man who ruined my family.

‘W-who are you really?’ My knees buckle as Five takes a step towards me. Then another. I shiver, unable to peel my gaze off him, unable to make a move.

‘I thought you’d figure it out sooner,’ he says. ‘I’m your father.’