“You should have recognized his talent, though.”
“Dee!” Josh snapped.
“Aye, Dee did,” Palamedes agreed.
“No. Dee. Directly in front of you!” Josh shouted.
Dr. John Dee had crawled out of the smoke and was spinning Excalibur loosely in his left hand, turning it into a whirling circle of blue fire. His right hand dripped yellow energy. And he had taken up a position directly in front of the entrance to the compound, blocking their path.
“What—does he think I’ll not run him down?” Palamedes said.
Dee pointed the sword at the cab and then lobbed a ball of energy. It hit the sodden ground, bounced once and then rolled beneath the car. The engine cut out and all the electricity in the vehicle died, sending the car coasting to a halt, power steering locked and useless.
Sophie caught a hint of movement behind them and turned … just as the snake-wrapped Archon stepped through the thick gray clouds. “This is no good,” she muttered, tugging Josh’s sleeve.
“This is bad,” her twin agreed when he saw the Archon. “Very bad.”
“What do we do now?”
“It’s always best to fight just one battle at a time. You win more that way.”
“Who said that?” Sophie asked. “Mars?”
“Dad.”
osh!” Nicholas shouted.
Josh Newman pushed open the left-hand door, checked to make sure there were no snakes underfoot and hopped out. Clarent whined and keened as he brought it around to bear on Dee. “I’ll keep him busy,” he shouted. “Can you get the car started?” he asked the knight.
“I’ll try,” Palamedes said grimly. He twisted around to look at the Alchemyst. “Battery’s dead. Can you recharge it?”
“Josh Newman,” Dee said pleasantly as the boy approached. “You cannot honestly be thinking about fighting me?”
Josh ignored him. Holding Clarent tightly, both hands wrapped around the hilt, he felt the sword settle comfortably into his grip.
Dee grinned and continued patiently. “I want you to take a moment and think about what you are contemplating doing. I’ve spent a lifetime with this weapon; you’ve had Clarent for little more than a day at most. There is no way you can defeat me.”
Without warning Josh launched a blistering attack on the Magician. Clarent actually screamed when it hit Excalibur, a screeching cry of triumph. Josh didn’t even try to remember the moves Joan and Scatty had taught him; he allowed the sword to take control, to jab and thrust, to cut and parry. And somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he was analyzing Dee’s every move, noting his footwork, how he held the weapon, how his eyes squinted just before he lunged.
Clarent tugged Josh forward as it slashed through the air. It was all the boy could do to keep both hands around the hilt. It was like trying to hold on to a lunging dog: a ravenous, rabid dog.
And for an instant, Josh had the ridiculous thought that Clarent was alive and hungry.
“Sophie!” Nicholas roared.
But she didn’t hear him. Her only focus was her brother. Sophie pushed open the right-hand door and climbed out, her aura sparking the moment her feet touched the ground, sheathing her in a mirror image of the armor she’d seen Joan wear. Unlike Josh, she had no weapon, but she’d been trained in Air and Fire magic. The girl deliberately lowered the barriers Joan of Arc had put in place to protect her from the Witch of Endor’s memories. Right now, she needed to know everything the Witch had known about the Archon Cernunnos.
Rumors, fragments, whispered tales.
Once it had been beautiful. A giant; tall, proud and arrogant. A respected scientist. It had experimented first on others, then, when that was forbidden, upon itself. Finally, it had become repulsive, bony outcroppings appearing from its skull, its toes fusing to thick hooves. Only its face remained, a hideous reminder of its former beauty. The incomprehensible passage of time had destroyed its great intellect, and now it was little more than a beast. Ancient, powerful, still with the ability to warp humans into wolfkind, it inhabited a distant Shadowrealm of dank rotting forests ….
No animal likes fire, Sophie reasoned, and if the Archon lived in a wet forest world, it was probably afraid of fire. She felt the briefest flicker of fear—what if her fire failed her again?—but she savagely quashed the idea. Her magic would not fail her this time. In the heartbeat before she pressed her finger against her tattoo, calling upon the Magic of Fire, she used a tiny portion of her aura to bring the Magic of Air to life.
A whipping tornado appeared around the Archon. The remnants of the Wild Hunt, every particle of dust and grit swirled up to surround Cernunnos in a thick buzzing blanket. Blinded, its mouth and nostrils filled with dirt, the creature covered its face. Then Sophie pressed her thumb against the circular tattoo and ignited the dust cloud. In the last second before she slumped to the earth, unconscious, she was aware of the Horned God’s scream. It was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard.
“Josh,” Dee gasped, desperately parrying the tremendous blows that actually numbed his arms. “There is so much you do not know. So much I can tell you. Questions I can answer.”
“There’s a lot I already know about you, Magician.” Blue-white and red-black sparks exploded every time the twin blades met, showering the fighters with burning specks. Josh’s face was flecked with black spots, and Dee’s ruined suit was pitted with a score of holes. “You. Were. Thinking. Of. Killing. The. Archon.” Josh drove home each word with a blow.
“You’ve held Clarent,” Dee heaved. “You’ve had a taste of its powers. You know what it can do. Think of it: kill the Archon and you will experience millennia, hundreds of millennia, of knowledge. You will know the history of the world from the very beginning. And not just this world either. A myriad of worlds.”
Suddenly, a huge explosion of vanilla-scented heat washed over them and drove them both to their knees. Dee was facing the Archon and crashed backward, hands over his face, blinded by the light. Josh rolled over, saw the Horned God engulfed in green-gold flames and then saw his sister slump unconscious to the ground. Sick with fear, he rolled over onto his hands and knees—and discovered Excalibur lying in the mud by his right hand. His fingers instantly wrapped around the hilt and a bolt of agony shot up through his left hand where he held Clarent. He attempted to drop the Coward’s Blade, but he couldn’t—it was stuck to his palm, sealed in his clenched fist. Bright red blood seeped between his fingers. He jerked away from Excalibur, and the searing pain in his left hand faded. Scrambling to his feet, he caught the edge of Excalibur’s hilt with Clarent’s blade, flicked the sword away, then ran around the car to his sister.
Dee scrambled to his knees, blinking glowing afterimages from his eyes. He saw Josh send Excalibur spinning through the air, watched it plop onto the gooey remnants of the steaming moat. It floated on the surface of the thick black oil for a single heartbeat; then the oil bubbled furiously and the blade sank.
Josh dropped to his knees, terrified. He pulled Sophie into his arms and then lifted her onto the backseat just as the engine coughed to life. A sick-looking Nicholas Flamel fell into the car, his hands streaming threads of the green energy he had used to recharge the car.
John Dee had to fling himself out of the way as the car, all its doors still flapping open, howled down the narrow alley, crushing arrows and spears under its wheels. The Magician desperately tried to focus his thoughts and gather enough energy to stop the cab, but he was physically and mentally drained. Pushing himself to his feet, he watched as the Archon crashed to the ground and rolled over and over in the sticky mud, extinguishing the flames that danced and flickered in the furs wrapping its body. Less than a handful of the Wild Hunt had survived the attack, and two of those disappeared into dust as Cernunnos accidentally crushed them.
Metal screaming, sparks fountaining from its fenders and open doors, the black cab scraped through the torn gate and fishtailed onto the damp street as it roared off into the night. Brake lights flar
ed red; then the car turned a corner and vanished.
Standing concealed in the shadows, Bastet pulled a slender cell phone from her pocket and hit a speed dial. Her call was answered on the first ring. “Dee failed,” she said shortly, and ended the call.
ophie woke up as the taxi rumbled over a speed bump. She was completely disoriented, and it took a long moment for what she first thought were fragments of dreams, and then realized were memories, to fade. She could still hear Cernunnos screaming in her head and, for a moment, actually felt sorry for the creature. Rising slowly and stiffly to a sitting position, she looked around. Josh lay slumped in the seat beside her, breathing heavily, face blackened and swollen where he’d been struck with sparks. The Alchemyst sat in shadow up against the window, staring out into the night. Hearing her move, he turned his head, his weary eyes catching reflections from the city lights.
“I was hoping you would sleep a little longer,” he said quietly.
“Where are we?” she asked thickly. Her mouth and lips were dry, and she imagined she could feel the gritty dust of the Wild Hunt on her tongue.
Flamel handed her a bottle of water. “We’re on Millbank.” He gently tapped the window with his finger and she looked out. “We’ve just driven past the Houses of Parliament.”
Through the rear window, Sophie caught a glimpse of the spectacularly lit English parliament building. The lighting gave it a warm, almost otherworldly appearance.
“How are you feeling?” Nicholas asked.
“Exhausted,” she admitted.
“I’m not surprised after what you’ve just done. You do know that what you did today is unique in human history: you defeated an Archon.”
She swallowed more water. “Did I kill it?”
“No,” Flamel said, and Sophie found she was secretly relieved. “Though I daresay you could if you were fully trained ….” The Alchemyst paused for a moment, then added, “Once you’re trained, I don’t think there is anything you—or your brother—could not do.”
“Nicholas,” Sophie said, suddenly sad, “I don’t want to be trained. I just want to go home. I’m sick of all this, the running and fighting. I’m sick of feeling ill, of the constant headaches, the pains in my eyes and ears, the knot in my stomach.” She realized she was on the verge of tears, and rubbed her face with her hands. She wasn’t going to cry now. “When can we go home?”
There was a long silence, and when Flamel finally answered, his accent had thickened, his French ancestry clearly audible. “I am hoping I can take you back to America soon—perhaps even tomorrow. But you cannot go back home. Not just yet.”
“Then when? We can’t run and hide forever. Our parents are already asking questions. What do we tell them?” She held out her hand and watched a smooth mirrorlike silver skin form over her soft flesh. “How do we tell them about this?”
“You don’t,” Nicholas said simply. “But maybe you won’t have to. Things are moving quickly, Sophie.” His accent made her name sound exotic. “Faster than I imagined or anticipated. Everything is coming to a head. The Dark Elders seem to have abandoned all caution in their desperation to capture you and the pages from the Codex. Look at what they have done: they have loosed Nidhogg, the Wild Hunt and even the Archon Cernunnos on the world. These are creatures and beings that have not walked this earth for centuries. For ages they wanted Perenelle and me captured alive for our knowledge of the Codex and the twins; now they want us dead. They do not need us anymore, because they have most of the Book and they know you and your brother are the twins of the prophecy.” Nicholas sighed, an exhausted sound. “I once thought we had a month at the most—a month before the immortality spell failed and Perenelle and I dissolved into withered old age. I no longer think that. In little over two weeks it will be Litha: midsummer. It is an incredibly significant day; a day when the Shadowrealms draw close to this world. I believe it will all be over then, one way or the other.”
“What do you mean, all over?” Sophie asked, chilled.
“Everything will have changed.”
“Everything has already changed,” she snapped, fear making her angry. Josh stirred in his sleep but didn’t waken. “This is all normal for you. You live in a world of monsters and creatures and fairy tales. But Josh and I don’t. Or didn’t,” she amended. “Not until you and your wife chose us ….”
“Oh, Sophie,” Nicholas said very softly. “This has nothing to do with Perenelle and me.” He laughed quietly to himself. “You and your brother were chosen a long time ago.” He leaned forward, eyes bright in the darkness. “You are silver and gold, the moon and the sun. You carry within you the genes of the original twins who fought on Danu Talis ten millennia ago. Sophie, you and your brother are the descendants of gods.”
s there someone you could call upon for help?” Juan Manuel de Ayala asked.
“I’m not sure there is.” Perenelle was leaning on a wooden rail almost directly over the official sign that welcomed visitors to the island.
UNITED STATES PENITENTIARY
ALCATRAZ ISLAND AREA 12 ACRES
1½ MILES TO TRANSPORT DOCK
ONLY GOVERNMENT BOATS PERMITTED
OTHERS MUST KEEP OFF 200 YARDS
NO ONE ALLOWED ASHORE
WITHOUT A PASS
Over the sign the words Indians Welcome had been daubed in red paint and beneath it, in larger fading red letters, were the words Indian Land. She knew they had been painted there in 1969 when the American Indian Movement had occupied the island.
The Sorceress had spent the remainder of the afternoon systematically going over the island, looking for some way to escape. There were no boats, though there was plenty of wood and lumber, and she briefly considered making a raft, using towels and blankets from the cell exhibits to lash the wood together. In 1962, three prisoners had supposedly escaped by building their own raft. But Perenelle knew that nothing was going to get past Nereus and his savage daughters. From her second-floor position on the dock over the bookshop, Perenelle could see the heads of the Nereids bobbing in the water directly in front of her, long hair floating behind them like seaweed. From a distance they might have looked like seals, but these creatures were unmoving, and fixed her with cold unblinking eyes. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of jagged teeth as they chewed still-wriggling fish. No doubt they had heard what she’d done to their father.
She had found clothes on her tour of the island and was now dressed in a set of coarse prison trousers and shirt, both of which were at least two sizes too large for her and which scratched everywhere. The clothes had been part of the display that had once greeted the many visitors to the island. But since Dee’s company had taken over, there had been no visitors to Alcatraz for months. Perenelle discovered that many of the cells were decorated with artifacts and items that would once have belonged to the prisoners. Going through the cells, she had found a heavy black coat hanging on a peg and taken that. Although it smelled musty and felt slightly damp, it was still a lot warmer than the light silk dress she’d been wearing, and meant that she would not have to expend her energy keeping warm. She had found no food but had discovered a dusty metal cup in the kitchen, and once she’d cleaned it out, there were plenty of rainwater pools scattered around the island. The water tasted slightly of salt, but not enough to make her feel ill.
As the afternoon had worn on, she’d finally ended up on the dock, where all the visitors—prisoners and tourists—to Alcatraz would have started and finished their journeys. She’d discovered a flight of stairs to the left of the bookshop that led up to the second floor, and had climbed up. Now, leaning on the rail, she looked out over the waves. The city was tantalizingly close, just over a mile and a half away. Perenelle had grown up on the cold northwestern coast of France, in Brittany. She was a strong swimmer and loved the water, but swimming the treacherous and chilly waters of the bay was out of the question—even if Nereus and his daughters had not been waiting. She realized she really should have learned how to fly when they w
ere in India in the days of the Mughal Empire.
Water pounded against the dock, sending silver-white spray high into the air … and the ghost of de Ayala materialized out of the glistening water droplets.
“There must be someone in San Francisco you can call upon for assistance,” the ghost said. “Another immortal, perhaps?”
Perenelle shook her head. “Nicholas and I have always kept very much to ourselves. Remember, most of the immortals are servants or even slaves of the Dark Elders.”
“Surely not all immortals are beholden to an Elder,” de Ayala said.
“Not all,” she agreed. “We are not; neither is Saint-Germain nor Joan. I have heard rumors of others like us.”
“And could some of these others be living in San Francisco?” he insisted.
“It’s a big city. Immortals prefer large cities with constantly shifting populations, where it is easier to remain anonymous and invisible. So, yes, there must be.”
The ghost moved around to float on her left-hand side. “Would you recognize another immortal if you passed one in the street?”
“I would.” Perenelle smiled. “Nicholas might not.”
The ghost floated out directly in front of the Sorceress. “So if you had no contact with others of your kind in the city, then how did Dee find you?”
Perenelle shrugged. “That is a good question, is it not? We’re always exceptionally careful, but Dee has spies everywhere, and sooner or later, he always finds us. In truth, I’m surprised we’ve managed to stay hidden here in San Francisco for so long.”
“But you have friends in the city?” the ghost pressed.
“We know some people,” Perenelle said, “but not many, and not well.” Brushing stray wisps of silvered hair away from her face, she squinted up at the dead sailor. In the afternoon sunlight de Ayala was almost completely invisible, just a wavering impression in the air, the hint of liquid eyes betraying his position. “How long have you been a ghost?” she asked.