The Valkyrie surged forward. Another superheated whirlwind caught her, ripping the sword from her hand and spinning her away, sending her tumbling into her sister, who had trapped Joan in a corner and battered her to her knees with a ferocious onslaught. The two Disir crashed to the floor in a clatter of weapons and armor.
“Joan—get back!” Sophie shouted.
Fog flowed from the girl’s fingers and curled across the floor; thick ribbons and ropes of smoky air wrapped around the women, swathing them in chains of scalding hot air. It took an enormous effort of will, but Sophie managed to thicken the fog, spinning it faster and faster around the struggling Disir until they were shrouded in a thick mummylike cocoon, similar to the one the Witch had enfolded her in.
Sophie could feel herself weakening, leaden exhaustion making her eyes gritty and her shoulders heavy. Drawing upon the remnants of her power, she clapped her hands and lowered the temperature of the air in the foggy cocoon so quickly that it flash-froze into a crackling lump of solid ice.
“There. You should feel right at home,” Sophie whispered hoarsely. She slumped, then forced herself to her feet and was about to dart into the kitchen when Joan stretched out her arm, stopping her. “Oh no you don’t. Me first.” The woman took a step toward the kitchen door, then glanced over her shoulder to the block of ice, with the two Disir partially visible within. “You saved my life,” she said softly.
“You would have beaten her,” Sophie said confidently.
“Maybe,” Joan conceded, “and maybe not. I’m not as young as I once was. But you still saved my life,” she repeated, “and that’s a debt I’ll never forget.” Stretching out her left hand, she placed it flat against the kitchen door and applied a gentle pressure. The door clicked open.
And then fell off its hinges.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Comte de Saint-Germain strolled downstairs from his studio, tiny noise-canceling earphones pushed into his ears, eyes fixed on the screen of the MP3 player in his hands. He was trying to create a new playlist: his top ten favorite sound tracks. Gladiator, naturally…The Rock…Star Wars, the first one only…El Cid, of course…The Crow, maybe…
He stopped at the bottom step and automatically straightened a picture that was hanging crooked on the wall. He took another step and realized that a framed gold disc was also slightly askew. Looking down the corridor, he suddenly noticed that all the pictures were at odd angles. Frowning, he pulled out his earphones…
And heard Josh call Scatty’s name…
And heard the clatter of metal…
And realized that the air stank of vanilla and lavender…
Saint-Germain raced down the stairs to the next floor. He found the Alchemyst slumped, exhausted, in the door to his room, and slowed, but Nicholas waved him on. “Quickly,” he whispered. Saint-Germain darted past him and continued down the corridor and on to the stairs….
The hallway was in ruins.
The remnants of the hall door hung off its hinges. All that remained of the antique crystal chandelier was a single buzzing lightbulb. Wallpaper hung in huge curling strips, revealing the cracked plaster beneath. Banisters were chopped through, tiles scored and chipped.
And there was a solid lump of ice sitting squarely in the center of the hall. Saint-Germain approached it cautiously and ran his fingers down the smooth surface. It was so cold his flesh stuck to it. He could make out two white-clad figures entwined within the block, faces frozen in ugly snarls; their startling blue eyes followed him.
Wood snapped in the kitchen and he turned and darted toward it, gloves of solid blue-white flame growing on his hands.
And if Saint-Germain thought that the damage to the hallway was bad, nothing prepared him for the devastation in the kitchen.
The entire side of the house was missing.
Sophie and Joan stood in the midst of the ruin. His wife was holding the shaking girl tightly, supporting her. Joan was wearing shiny blue-green satin pajamas and was still holding her sword in a metal gauntlet. She turned to look over her shoulder as her husband stepped into the room. “You missed the fun,” she said in French.
“I heard nothing,” he apologized, in the same language. “Tell me.”
“It was all over in minutes. Sophie and I heard a disturbance at the back of the house. We ran downstairs just as two women smashed their way in through the hall door. They were Disir, they said they had come for Scathach. One attacked me, the other turned her attention to Sophie.” Even though she was speaking an obscure variant of the French language, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Francis…this girl. She is extraordinary. She combined the magics: she used Fire and Air to defeat the Disir. Then she wrapped them in fog and froze it to a lump of ice.”
Saint-Germain shook his head. “It is physically impossible to use more than one magic at a time…,” he said, but his voice trailed away to a whisper. The evidence of Sophie’s powers sat in the center of the hallway. There was a legend that the most powerful Elders were able to use all the elemental magics simultaneously. According to the most ancient myths, this was the reason—one of the reasons—that Danu Talis sank.
“Josh is gone.” Sophie suddenly shook herself free of Joan’s grip and spun around to face the count. Then she looked over his shoulder to where an ashen-faced Flamel stood leaning in the doorway. “Something’s taken Josh,” she said, desperately frightened now. “And Scatty’s gone after him.”
The Alchemyst shuffled into the center of the room, wrapped his hands around his body as if he was freezing and looked around. Then he bent to scoop up the Shadow’s matching short swords from where they lay amongst the rubble. When he turned to look back at the others, they were all startled to see that his eyes were bright with tears. “I am sorry,” he said, “so terribly, terribly sorry. I have brought this terror and destruction to your home. It is unforgivable.”
“We can rebuild,” Saint-Germain said airily. “This will give us the excuse we needed to remodel.”
“Nicholas,” Joan said very seriously, “what happened here?”
The Alchemyst dragged up the only unbroken chair in the room and slumped into it. He hunched forward, elbows on his knees, looking at the Shadow’s gleaming swords, turning them over and over in his hands. “Those are Disir in the block of ice. Valkyries. Scathach’s sworn enemies, though she’s never told me why. I know they have pursued her down through the centuries and have always allied themselves with her enemies.”
“They did this?” Saint-Germain looked around the ruined kitchen.
“No. But they obviously brought something with them that did.”
“What’s happened to Josh?” Sophie demanded. She shouldn’t have left him alone in the kitchen, she should have waited with him. She would have defeated whatever had attacked the back of the house.
Nicholas held up Scathach’s weapon. “I think you should be asking what’s happened to the Warrior. In the centuries I’ve known her, she’s never let her swords out of her grasp. I fear she’s been taken….”
“Swords…swords…” Sophie pulled away from Joan and began desperately searching through the rubble. “When I went to bed, Josh had just come back from sword practice with Scatty and Joan. He had the stone sword you gave him.” She summoned a wind to raise a chunk of heavy masonry and toss it aside, revealing the floor beneath. Where was the sword? She felt a flicker of hope. If he’d been captured, then surely the sword would be on the floor? She straightened and looked around the room. “Clarent isn’t here.”
Saint-Germain walked to the hole where the back door had been. The garden was a ruin. A chunk of stone had been ripped out of the fountain and the bowl cracked in half. It took him a moment to recognize the U-shaped hunk of metal that had been his back gate. Only then did it sink in that the entire back wall was missing. The nine-foot-tall wall was now little more than a stump. There were powdered and crushed bricks scattered all across the garden, almost as if the wall had been pushed down from outside.
r /> “Something big—very big—has been in the garden,” he said to no one in particular.
Flamel looked up. “Can you smell anything?” he asked.
Saint-Germain breathed deeply. “Snake,” he said firmly. “But that’s not Machiavelli’s odor.” He stepped out into the garden and drew in a deep lungful of cool air. “It’s stronger out here.” Then he coughed. “This stench is fouler, much fouler…,” he called. “This is the stink of something very, very old….”
Drawn by the wailing car alarms, Saint-Germain crossed the garden, clambered over the broken wall and looked up and down the alley. House and car alarms were ringing, mainly to his left, and there were lights on in the houses at that end of the street. In the mouth of the narrow alleyway, he could see the crushed remains of a black car.
“Whatever it was attacked this house,” he said, darting back into the kitchen. “There’s a two-hundred-thousand-euro car at the end of the street that’s only fit for the scrap yard.”
“Nidhogg,” Flamel whispered in horror. He nodded; it made sense now. “The Disir brought Nidhogg,” he said. Then he frowned. “But even Machiavelli wouldn’t bring something like that into a major city. He’s too cautious.”
“Nidhogg?” Joan and Sophie asked simultaneously, looking at one another.
“Think of it as a cross between a dinosaur and a snake,” Flamel explained. “But probably older than this planet. I think it’s got Scathach and Josh went after it.”
Sophie shook her head firmly. “He wouldn’t do that—he couldn’t—he’s terrified of snakes.”
“Then where is he?” Flamel asked. “Where is Clarent? It’s the only explanation: he’s taken the sword and gone in search of the Shadow.”
“But I heard him calling to her for help….”
“You heard him call her name. He might have been calling out to her.”
Saint-Germain nodded. “It makes sense. The Disir only wanted Scathach. Nidhogg grabbed her and ran. Josh must have followed.”
“Maybe it grabbed him and she followed,” Sophie suggested. “That’s the sort of thing she’d do.”
“It had no interest in Josh. It would have just eaten him. No, he went of his own accord.”
“That shows great courage,” Joan said.
“But Josh isn’t brave…,” Sophie began. Yet even as she was saying it, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. He’d always stood up for her in school and protected her. But why would he go after Scatty? She knew he didn’t even like her.
“People change,” Joan said. “No one stays the same.”
The noise was louder now, a mingled cacophony of police, ambulance and fire sirens drawing closer. “Nicholas, Sophie, you’ve got to go,” Saint-Germain said urgently. “I think we’re about to have police, lots and lots of police with far too many questions. And we have no answers. If they find you here—without papers or passports—I’m afraid they’ll hold you for questioning.” He tugged out a leather wallet attached to his belt on a long chain. “Here’s some cash.”
“I cannot…,” the Alchemyst began.
“Take it,” Saint-Germain insisted. “Don’t use your credit cards; Machiavelli can track your movements,” he continued. “I don’t know how long the police will be here. If I’m free, I’ll meet you tonight at six at the glass pyramid outside the Louvre. If I’m not there at six, I’ll try and get there at midnight, or failing that, at six tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, old friend.” Nicholas turned to Sophie. “Grab your clothes, and Josh’s too, and whatever else you need; we’ll not be coming back here.”
“I’ll help you,” Joan said, hurrying out of the room with Sophie.
The Alchemyst and his former apprentice stood in the ruins of the kitchen, listening to the two women run upstairs.
“What are you going to do with the block of ice in the hall?” Nicholas asked.
“We’ve got a big chest freezer in the cellar. I’ll shove it in there until the police leave. What about the Disir, are they dead, do you think?”
“The Disir are practically impossible to kill. Just make sure that ice doesn’t melt anytime soon.”
“I’ll drive it to the Seine one evening and drop it in the river. With luck it won’t thaw till Rouen.”
“What are you going to tell the police”—Nicholas waved a hand at the devastation—“about all this?”
“Gas explosion?” Saint-Germain suggested.
“Lame,” Flamel said with a smile, remembering what the twins had said when he’d made the same suggestion.
“Lame?”
“Very lame.”
“Then I think I just came home and found it like this,” he said, “and it’s close enough to the truth. I’ve no idea how it happened.” He suddenly grinned mischievously. “I could sell the story and pictures to one of the tabloids. Mysterious Forces Destroy Rock Star’s House.”
“Everyone would think it was a publicity stunt.”
“Yes, they would, wouldn’t they? And you know what: I just happen to have a new album out. It’ll be great advertising.”
The kitchen door opened and Sophie and Joan walked into the room. They had both changed into jeans and sweatshirts and were wearing matching backpacks.
“I’m going with them,” Joan said before Saint-Germain could ask the question that had started to form on his lips. “They’ll need a guide and a bodyguard.”
“Would it be worth my while arguing with you?” the count asked.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” He hugged his wife. “Please be careful, be very careful. If Machiavelli or Dee is prepared to bring the Disir and Nidhogg into the city, then they are desperate. And desperate men do stupid things.”
“Yes,” Flamel said simply. “Yes, they do. And stupid men make mistakes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Josh kept looking over his shoulder, trying to orient himself. He was moving farther and farther away from Saint-Germain’s house and was worried that he was going to get lost. But he couldn’t turn back now; he couldn’t leave Scatty to the creature. And so long as he could find the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the Champs-Elysées, he figured he’d be able to get back to the house. Alternatively, all he had to do was to follow the steady stream of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances that were racing down the main street, heading in the direction he was running from.
He tried not to think too much about what he was doing because if he thought about it—he was chasing a dinosaur-like monster through Paris—then he’d stop, and Scatty would…well, he wasn’t sure what would happen to Scatty. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
Following Nidhogg was simplicity itself. The creature ran in a straight line, crashing through the countless small streets and alleyways that ran parallel to the Champs-Elysées. It left a trail of devastation in its wake, trampling through a side street filled with parked cars, running right over the top of them, leaving them crumpled, flattened wrecks. As it darted down a narrow alleyway, its wavering tail punched through the steel shutters on the fronts of shops on either side of the street, shattering the glass they protected. Burglar and car alarms added to the mayhem.
Suddenly, a flash of white ahead of him caught his attention.
Josh had briefly glimpsed the figure in white standing outside Saint-Germain’s house. He guessed it was one of the monster’s keepers. And now it looked as if they were also chasing the creature…which meant they had lost control. He glanced up, trying to gauge the time. Directly ahead of him, the sky was already paling toward the dawn, which meant that he was running east. What was going to happen when the city woke up to find a prehistoric monster rampaging through the streets? There’d be panic; no doubt the police and army would be brought in. Josh had hacked at it with his sword and that had done nothing—he had a horrible feeling that bullets would probably be just as useless.
The streets narrowed to little more than alleyways, and the creature was forced to slow down as he crashed off th
e walls. Josh discovered that he was catching up with the figure in white. He thought it was a man, but it was hard to be sure.
He was running easily now, not even breathing hard; he guessed all the weeks and months of football practice were paying off. His sneakers made no sound on the streets and he assumed that the figure in white didn’t even suspect they were being followed. After all, who would be crazy enough to run after a monster with nothing but a sword for protection? However, as he got closer, he could see that the figure was also carrying a sword in one hand and what looked like an oversized hammer in the other. He recognized the weapon from World of Warcraft: it was a war hammer, a ferocious and deadly variant of the mace. Drawing nearer still, he discovered that the person was wearing white chain-mail armor, metal boots and a rounded helmet with a veil of chain mail covering the neck. Somehow he wasn’t even surprised.
Then, abruptly, the figure changed.
Right before his eyes, the figure transformed from an armored warrior into a blond-haired young woman, not much older than himself, in a leather jacket, jeans and boots. Only the sword and war hammer in her hands marked her as extraordinary. She disappeared around a corner.
Josh slowed: he didn’t want to run into the woman with the sword and hammer. And, thinking about it, he guessed she probably wasn’t a young woman at all.
There was an explosion of brick and glass ahead of him and Josh picked up his pace and darted around the corner, then stopped. The creature was stuck in an alley. Josh moved forward cautiously; it looked as if the monster had run down what looked like another arrow-straight street. But this particular street curved at the end and then narrowed, the upper stories of the two houses on either side projecting out over the sidewalk below. The monster had slammed into the opening, tearing a chunk out of both buildings. Attempting to push ahead, it had suddenly found itself wedged in. It thrashed from side to side, brick and glass raining down into the street below. There was a flash of movement in a nearby window, and Josh caught a glimpse of a man peering from one of the windows, eyes and mouth round with horror, frozen in place by the monster directly outside his window. A slab of concrete the size of a sofa fell on the creature’s head, but it didn’t even seem to notice.