Dee climbed out of the car, brushed off his expensive suit and, conscious that his heart was fluttering, followed Senuhet into the mansion. The other two figures fell into step on either side of him. Although no one said anything, Dee knew they were guards. And he wasn’t entirely sure they were human.
The magician recognized the heavy, cloying scent as soon as he stepped into the house: it was frankincense, the rare and incredibly expensive aromatic gum from the Middle East, used in ancient times in Egypt and Greece and as far to the east as China. Dee felt his eyes water and his nose twitch. Those of the Elder Race were particularly fond of frankincense, but it gave him a headache.
As the three shadowy figures led Dee into the great hallway, he caught a glimpse of Senuhet: a small, slender man, bald and olive skinned. He looked as if he was of Middle Eastern origin, from Egypt or Yemen. Senuhet pushed closed the heavy front door, spoke two words—“Stay here”—and then disappeared into the darkness, leaving Dee in the company of the two silent guards.
Dee looked around. Even in the shadowy half-light, he could see that the hallway was bare. There was no furniture on the tiled floor, there were no pictures or mirrors on the walls, no curtains on the windows. He knew that there were houses like this scattered across the world, homes to those few Dark Elders who liked to walk in the world of men, usually creating mischief. Though they were extraordinarily skilled and dangerous, their powers were extremely limited because of the proliferation of iron in the modern world, which served to dull their magical energies. In the way that lead was poisonous to humans, iron, the metal of mankind, was deadly to the Elder Race. Dee knew, even without looking, that there would not be a scrap of that particular metal in this house. Everything would be made of gold or silver, even down to the door handles and the taps in the bathrooms.
The Dark Elders valued their privacy; their preference was for quiet, out-of-the-way places—small islands, patches of desert, countries like Switzerland, portions of the former Soviet Union, the arctic reaches of Canada, Himalayan temples and the Brazilian jungle. When they chose to live in cities like this one, their houses were secured behind walls and wire, the grounds patrolled by armed guards and dogs. And if anyone was lucky or foolish enough to actually reach the house, they would encounter older, darker and more lethal guards.
“This way.”
Dee was pleased that he’d managed to control his fright at the sound of Senuhet’s voice; he hadn’t heard the man return. Would they go up or down? he wondered. In his experience those of the Elder Race fell into two neat categories: those who preferred to sleep on roofs and those who preferred basements. The Morrigan was a creature of attics and roofs.
Senuhet stepped into a puddle of light and Dee noted now that his eyes were painted with black kohl, the top lid completely blackened, two horizontal lines running from the corners of his eyes to his ears. Three vertical white lines were painted on his chin, beneath his lips. He led Dee to a concealed door directly under the broad staircase and opened it with a password in the language that the boy king Tutankhamen would have spoken. Dee followed the figure into a pitch-black corridor and stopped when the door clicked shut behind them. He heard the man moving ahead of him, then his footsteps clicking on stairs.
Down. Dee should have guessed that the Dark Elder the Morrigan had sent him to see would be a creature of basements and tunnels. “I’ll need light,” he said aloud. “I don’t want to fall down the stairs in the dark and break my neck.” His voiced echoed slightly in the confined space.
“There is no electricity in this house, Dr. John Dee. But we have heard that you are a magician of note. If you wish to create light, then you are permitted to do so.”
Without a word, Dee stretched out his hand. A blue spark snapped to life in his palm. It buzzed and hissed, spinning about, then it started to grow, from the size of a pea to that of a grape. It gave off a cold blue-white light. Holding his hand out in front of him, Dee started down the stairs.
He began to count the steps as he descended, but quickly gave up, distracted by the decorations on the walls, the ceiling and even the floor. It was like stepping into an Egyptian tomb, but, unlike any of the countless tombs he had seen, where the artwork was faded, chipped and broken and everything was coated in a fine layer of gritty sand, here the decorations were pristine, brilliant and complete. The colors, slightly distorted by the blue light he was carrying, looked as if they had just been laid down, the pictographs and hieroglyphs were vivid and crisp, the names of gods picked out in thick gold leaf.
A sudden updraft caused the blue-white ball of light to flicker and dance in his hand, sending the shadows leaping and darting. Dee’s nostrils flared: the wind carried the stench of something old…old and long dead.
The stairs ended in a wide, vaulted cellar. Dee felt something crunch and snap beneath his feet with his first step. He lowered his hand and the blue-white light shone across the floor…which was covered with countless tiny white bones, blanketing the ground in an ivory carpet. It took Dee a long moment before he recognized the bones as those of rats and mice. Some of them were so old that they crumbled into white powder when he disturbed them, but others were much newer. Unwilling to ask a question to which he really did not want an answer, Dee followed his silent guide, bones crunching and crackling with every step. He lifted his hand high, shedding light across the chamber. Unlike the stairwell, however, this room was unadorned, the walls streaked black with moisture, green mold gathering close to the floor, sprouting fungi dappling the ceiling.
“Looks like you have a problem with damp,” Dee said unnecessarily, simply to break the growing silence.
“It is of no matter,” Senuhet said quietly.
“Have you been here long?” Dee wondered, glancing around.
“In this place?” The other man paused, considering. “Less than a hundred years. No time at all, really.”
A shape moved in the shadows. “And we will not be here much longer. That is why you are here, isn’t it, Dr. Dee?” The voice was a cross between a sultry growl and a purr, shaping the English words with difficulty. Almost against his will, Dee raised his hand, allowing the light in his palm to illuminate the tall, slender figure that moved in the gloom. The light moved over bare feet, toenails black and pointed like claws, then up a heavy white kiltlike skirt studded with stones and precious jewels, and a chest crisscrossed with wide straps etched with Egyptian characters—and finally reached the head.
Although he knew what he was going to see, Dee couldn’t prevent the gasp of shock from escaping his lips as he looked at Bastet. The body was that of a woman, but the head that brushed the arched ceiling belonged to a cat, sleek and furred, with huge yellow slit-pupiled eyes, a long pointed snout and high triangular ears. The mouth opened and Dee’s cold light ran across gleaming yellow teeth. This was the creature that had been worshipped for generations throughout the land of Egypt.
Dee licked dry lips as he bowed deeply. “Your niece, the Morrigan, sends her regards and has asked me to relay the message that it is time to take your revenge on the three-faced one.”
Bastet surged forward and wrapped razor-tipped claws in the folds of Dee’s expensive suit coat, punching holes in the silk. “Precisely…tell me precisely what my niece said,” she demanded.
“I’ve told you,” Dee said, looking up into the terrifying face. Bastet’s breath smelled of rotten meat. He tossed the blue-white ball of light into the air, where it hung, suspended and whirling, then he carefully removed Bastet’s claws from his jacket. The coat was a shredded ruin.
“The Morrigan wants you to join her in an attack on Hekate’s Shadowrealm,” Dee said simply.
“Then it is time,” Bastet announced triumphantly.
The ancient magician nodded, shadows racing and dancing on the walls with the movement. “It is time,” he agreed, “time for the Elder Race to return and reclaim this earth.”
Bastet howled, the sound high-pitched and terrifying, and then the darkness
behind her boiled and shifted as thousands of cats of every breed, of all shapes and sizes, poured into the cellar and gathered around her in an ever-widening circle. “It is time to hunt,” she announced, “time to feed.”
The cats threw back their heads and mewled and howled. Dee found the din utterly terrifying: it sounded like countless lost babies crying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Scathach was waiting by the enormous open doors when Sophie and Josh returned to the tree. The pterosaur hopped along behind them, and the other two circled low in the sky over their heads, the downdraft of their wings setting eddies of dust circling and dancing around them. Although nothing was said, the twins knew they were being gently—but firmly—herded back toward the house.
In the gloom, Scathach’s face was unnaturally pale, her cropped red hair black in the shadows. Although her lips were set in a grim line, her voice, when she spoke, was carefully neutral. “Do you really want me to tell you just how stupidly dangerous that was?”
Josh opened his mouth to reply, but Sophie caught his arm, silencing him. “We just wanted to go home,” she said simply, tiredly. She already knew what the Warrior was going to say.
“You cannot,” Scathach said, and turned away.
The twins hesitated at the door, then turned to look back at the pterosaur. It tilted its snakelike head and regarded them with a huge slit-pupiled eye, and its voice echoed flatly in their heads. “Don’t worry too much about Scathach; her bark is much worse than her bite.” The creature opened its mouth to show hundreds of triangular teeth in what might have been a smile. “I do believe she was worried about you,” it added, then turned away, ran in a series of short hops and took to the air with a crack of wings.
“Don’t say a word,” Sophie warned her brother. Josh’s quips and comments were always getting him into trouble. Whereas Sophie had the ability to see something and keep her mouth shut, her brother always had to make a comment or observation.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Josh snapped, but his voice was shaky. Josh had a fear of snakes going back to the time he’d gone camping with their father and had fallen into a rattlesnake nest. Luckily, the deadly serpent had just fed and had chosen to ignore him, giving him the seconds he’d needed to scramble away. He’d had nightmares about snakes for weeks after that, and still did occasionally, when he was particularly stressed—usually at exam time. The huge, serpentlike pterosaurs belonged to his darkest nightmares, and when they’d come hopping out of the night, he’d felt his heart hammering so powerfully that the skin on his chest had actually pulsed. When that long-toothed face had leaned toward him, he’d been sure he was going to faint. Even now, he could feel the icy sweat trickling along the length of his spine.
Sophie and Josh followed Scathach through Hekate’s house. The twins were aware now of movement in the shadows, floorboards creaking underfoot, wooden walls popping and cracking as if the house were moving, shifting, growing. They were also conscious that the voices, the screams and shouts of earlier, had fallen silent.
Scathach led them to an empty circular room where Nicholas Flamel was waiting. He stood facing away from them, hands clasped tightly against the small of his back, and stared out into the shadowed night. The only light in the room came from the huge moon now starting to dip toward the horizon. One side of the room was bathed in harsh silver-white light, the other was in darkness. Scatty crossed the room to stand beside the Alchemyst. She folded her arms across her chest and turned to the twins, her face an expressionless mask.
“You could have been killed,” Flamel said very softly, without turning around. “Or worse.”
“You can’t keep us here,” Josh said quickly, his voice sounding too loud in the silence. “We’re not your prisoners.”
The Alchemyst glanced over his shoulder. He was wearing his tiny round glasses and, in the gloom, his eyes were hidden behind the silver circles. “No, you’re not,” he said very quietly, his French accent suddenly pronounced. “You are the prisoners of circumstance, of coincidence and chance…if you believe in such things.”
“I don’t,” Scathach muttered.
“Neither do I,” Nicholas said, turning around. He took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. There were dark circles under his pale eyes, and his lips were pinched in a thin line. “We are all prisoners of a sort here—prisoners of circumstance and events. Nearly seven hundred years ago, I bought a battered secondhand book written in an incomprehensible language. That day I too became a prisoner, trapped as securely as if I were behind bars. Two months ago, Josh, you should never have asked me for a job, and you, Sophie, should never have started working in The Coffee Cup. But you did, and because you made those decisions you are both standing here with me tonight.” He paused and glanced at Scathach. “Of course, there is a school of thought that suggests that you were fated to take the jobs, to meet Perenelle and me and to come on this adventure.”
Scathach nodded. “Destiny,” she said.
“You’re saying that we have no free will,” Sophie asked, “that all this was meant to happen?” She shook her head. “I don’t, for one minute, believe that.” The very idea went against everything she believed; the idea that the future could be foretold was simply ludicrous.
“Neither do I,” Josh said defiantly.
“And yet,” Flamel said very softly, “what if I were to tell you that the Book of the Mage—a book written more than ten thousand years ago—speaks of you?”
“That’s impossible,” Josh blurted, terrified by the implications.
“Ha!” Nicholas Flamel spread his arms wide. “And is this not impossible? Tonight you encountered the nathair, the winged guardians of Hekate’s realm. You heard their voices in your heads. Are they not impossible? And the Torc Allta—are they not equally impossible? These are creatures that have no right to exist outside of myth.”
“And what about us?” Scathach asked. “Nicholas is nearly seven hundred years old, and I am so old I have seen empires rise and fall. Are we not equally impossible?”
Neither Josh nor Sophie could deny that.
Nicholas stepped forward and put a hand on Josh’s and Sophie’s shoulders. He was no taller than they were and looked directly into their eyes. “You must accept that you are trapped in this impossible world. If you leave, you will bring destruction onto your family and friends, and in all probability, you will bring about your own deaths.”
“Besides,” Scathach added bitterly, “if you’re mentioned in the Book, then you’re supposed to be here.”
The twins looked from Scatty to Flamel. He nodded. “It’s true. The book is full of prophecies—some of which have certainly come true, others which may yet come to pass. But it does specifically mention ‘the two that are one.’”
“And you believe…?” Sophie whispered.
“Yes, I believe you may be the prophecy. In fact, I am convinced of it.”
Scathach stepped forward to stand beside Flamel. “Which means that you are suddenly much more important—not only to us, but also to Dee and the Dark Elders.”
“Why?” Josh licked dry lips. “Why are we so important?”
The Alchemyst glanced at Scatty for support. She nodded. “Tell them. They need to know.”
The twins looked from Scatty back to the Alchemyst. There was a sense that what he was about to tell them was of immense importance. Sophie slipped her hand into her brother’s, and he squeezed her fingers tightly.
“The Codex prophesies that the two that are one will come either to save or to destroy the world.”
“What do you mean, either save or destroy?” Josh demanded. “It’s got to be one or the other, right?”
“The word used in the Codex is similar to an ancient Babylonian symbol that can mean either thing,” Flamel explained. “Actually, I’ve always suspected that it means that one of you has the potential to save the world, while the other has the power to destroy it.”
Sophie nudged her brother in the ri
bs. “That would be you.”
Flamel stepped back from the twins. “In a couple of hours, when Hekate arises, I will ask her to Awaken your magical potential. I believe she will do it; I hope and pray that she does,” he added fervently. “Then we will leave.”
“But where are we going?” Josh asked at the same time that Sophie said, “Will Hekate not allow us to stay here?”
“I’m hoping some of the other Elders or immortal humans might be persuaded to help train you. And no, we cannot stay here. Dee and the Morrigan have contacted one of the most fearsome of the Elders: Bastet.”
“The Egyptian cat goddess?” Sophie asked.
Flamel blinked in surprise. “I’m impressed.”
“Our parents are archaeologists, remember? While other children were being read bedtime stories, our parents told us myths and legends.”
The Alchemyst nodded. “Even as we speak, Bastet and the Morrigan are gathering their forces for an all-out attack on Hekate’s Shadowrealm. I suspected that they would try and attack during the hours of darkness, when Hekate is sleeping, but so far there is no sign of them, and it will be dawn soon. I’m sure they know that they will only get one chance, and they need all their forces in place before they attack. At the moment, they believe we are still ignorant of their intentions; more importantly, they do not know that we are aware of Bastet’s involvement. But we will be ready for them.”
“How do we know?” Sophie asked.
“Perenelle told me,” Flamel said, and waved away the next obvious question. “She is a resourceful woman, she enlisted a disembodied spirit to pass on a message to me.”