The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (13 page)

Swinging herself into a sitting position, Perenelle focused on the creature standing in the corridor less than six feet from her.

Generations of ancient humans had tried to capture the image of this creature on cave walls and pots, etching her shape in stone, capturing her likeness on parchments. And none of them had even come close to the true horror of the sphinx.

The body was that of a hugely muscled lion, the fur scarred and cut with the evidence of old wounds. A pair of eagle s wings curled out of its shoulders and lay flat against its back, the feathers ragged and filthy. And the small, almost delicate-looking head was that of a beautiful young woman.

The sphinx stepped up to the bars of the cell, and a black forked tongue wavered in the air in front of Perenelle. “You have no reason to smile, humani. I have learned that your husband and the Warrior are trapped in Paris. Soon they will be prisoners, and this time Dr. Dee will ensure that they never escape again. I understand the Elders have given the doctor permission to finally slay the legendary Alchemyst.”

Perenelle felt something twist in the pit of her stomach. For generations the Dark Elders had been intent on capturing Nicholas and Perenelle alive. If she was to believe the sphinx and they were prepared to kill Nicholas, then everything had changed. “Nicholas will escape”, she said confidently.

“Not this time.” The lion’s tail of the sphinx whipped excitedly back and forth, raising plumes of dust. “Paris belongs to the Italian, Machiavelli, and soon he will be joined by the English Magician. The Alchemyst cannot evade them both.”

“And the children?” Perenelle asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. “If anything had happened to Nicholas or the children”

The sphinx’s feathers ruffled, raising a musty sour smell. “Dee believes the humani children are powerful, that they may indeed be the twins of prophecy and legend. He also believes they can be convinced that they should serve us, rather than following the ramblings of a mad old bookseller.” The sphinx took a deep shuddering breath. “But if they do not do as they are told, then they too will perish.”

“And what about me?”

The sphinx’s pretty mouth opened to reveal a maw of savage, needle-pointed teeth. Her long black tongue thrashed wildly in the air. “You are mine, Sorceress”, she hissed. “The Elders have given you to me as a gift for my millennia of service to them. When your husband has been captured and slain, then I will be given permission to eat your memories. What a feast it will be. I intend to savor every last morsel. When I am finished with you, you will remember nothing, not even your own name.” The sphinx started to laugh, the sound hissing and mocking, bouncing off the bare stone walls.

And then a cell door slammed.

The sudden sound shocked the sphinx into silence. Her small head turned, her tongue flickering, tasting the air.

Another door boomed shut.

And then another.

And another.

The sphinx spun away, claws striking sparks off the floor. “Who’s there?” Her voice screeched off the damp stones.

Abruptly, all the cell doors in the upper gallery rattled open and closed in quick succession, the sound a rumbling detonation that vibrated deep into the heart of the prison, causing dust to rain from the ceiling.

Snarling and hissing, the sphinx bounded away, looking for the source of the noise.

With an icy smile, Perenelle swung her feet back up on the bench, lay back and rested her head on her laced fingers. The
island
of
Alcatraz
belonged to Juan Manuel de Ayala, and it looked as though he was announcing his presence. Perenelle heard cell doors clang, wood thump and walls rattle and knew what de Ayala had become: a poltergeist.

A noisy ghost.

She also knew what de Ayala was doing. The sphinx fed off Perenelle’s magical energies; all the poltergeist had to do was to keep the creature away from the cell for a little time and Perenelle’s powers could begin to regenerate. Raising her left hand, the woman concentrated hard. The tiniest ice white spark danced between her fingers, then fizzled away.

Soon.

Soon.

The Sorceress closed her hand into a fist. When her powers had recovered, she would bring Alcatraz tumbling down around the sphinx’s ears.

T
he beautifully intricate
Eiffel
Tower
loomed more than nine hundred fee
t over Josh’s head. There was a time when he’d compiled a list for a school project of the Ten Wonders of the Modern World. The metal tower had been number two on that list, and he’d always promised himself that someday he’d get to see it.

And now that he was finally in Paris, he didn’t even look up.

Standing almost directly beneath the center of the tower, he rose on his toes, turning his head left and right, searching for his twin among the surprisingly large number of early-morning tourists. Where was she?

Josh was scared.

No, more than scared he was terrified.

The last couple of days had taught him the true meaning of fear. Prior to the events of Thursday, Josh had only ever really been afraid of failing a test or being publicly humiliated in class. He had other fears too, those vague, shivery thoughts that came in the dead of night, when he found himself lying awake wondering what would happen if his parents had an accident. Sara and Richard Newman both held Ph D’s in archaeology and paleontology, and while that wasn’t the most dangerous line of work, their research sometimes took them into countries in the midst of religious or political turmoil, or they conducted their digs in areas of the world ravaged by hurricanes or in earthquake zones or close to active volcanoes. The sudden movements of the earth s crust often threw up extraordinary archaeological finds.

But his deepest, darkest fear was that something would happen to his sister. Although Sophie was twenty-eight seconds older, he always thought of her as his baby sister. He was bigger and stronger, and it was his job to protect her.

And now, in a way, something terrible
had
happened to his twin.

She had changed in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. She had become more like Flamel and Scathach and their kind than like him: she had become more than human.

For the first time in his life, he felt alone. He was losing his sister. But there was one way to be her equal again: he had to have his own powers Awakened.

Josh turned just as Sophie and Scathach appeared, hurrying across a broad bridge that led directly to the tower. Relief washed over him. “They’re here”, he said to Flamel, “who was facing the opposite direction.”

“I know”, Nicholas said, his French accent sounding stronger than usual. “And they’re not alone.

Josh tore his gaze away from his approaching sister and Scathach. “What do you mean?”

Nicholas inclined his head slightly and Josh turned. Two tourist buses had just arrived at the Place Joffre and were disgorging their passengers. The tourists Americans, Josh guessed by their clothing milled around, chatting and laughing, cameras and videos already whirring while their guides tried to gather them together. A third bus, bright yellow, pulled up, spilling dozens of excited Japanese tourists out on the pavement. Confused, Josh looked at Nicholas: did he mean the buses?

“In black”, Flamel said enigmatically, pointing by lifting his chin.

Josh turned and spotted the man in black striding toward them, moving swiftly through the holiday crowd. None of the tourists even glanced at the stranger weaving his way among them, twisting and turning like a dancer, taking care to not so much as brush against them. Josh guessed the man was probably about his own height, but it was impossible to make out his body shape because he was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat that flapped about him as he walked. The collar was turned up, and his hands were pushed deep into the pockets. Josh felt his heart sink: now what?

Sophie raced up and punched her brother in the arm. “You got here”, she said breathlessly. “Any trouble?”

Josh tilted his head toward the approaching man in the leather coat. “I’m not sure.”

Scathach appeared beside the twins. She wasn’t even breathing hard, Josh noted. In fact, she wasn’t breathing at all.

“Trouble?” Sophie asked, looking at Scathach.

The Warrior smiled, tight-lipped. “Depends how you define trouble”, she murmured.

“On the contrary”, Nicholas said, smiling broadly. He heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s a friend. An old friend. A good friend.”

The man in the black coat was closer now, and the twins could see that he had a small, almost round face, deeply tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. Thick shoulder-length black hair was swept back off his high forehead. Mounting the steps, he pulled both hands out of his pockets and spread his arms wide, silver rings winking on every finger and on his thumbs, matching the silver studs in both ears. A broad smile revealed misshapen, slightly yellowed teeth.

“Master”, he said, wrapping both arms around Nicholas and kissing him quickly on both cheeks. “You have returned.” The man blinked, eyes moist, and for an instant the pupils winked red. There was a sudden hint of burnt leaves in the air.

“And you never left”, Nicholas said warmly, holding the man at arm’s length and examining him critically. “You look well, Francis. Better than the last time I saw you.” He turned, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder. “Scathach you know, of course.”

“Who could forget the Shadow?” The blue-eyed man stepped forward, caught the Warrior’s pale hand in his and brought it to his lips in an old-fashioned courtly gesture.

Scathach leaned forward and pinched the man’s cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. “I told you last time; don’t do that to me.”

“Admit it you love it.” He grinned. “And this must be Sophie and Josh. The Witch told me about them”, he added. The man’s bright blue eyes remained wide and unblinking as he regarded the two in turn. “The twins of legend”, he murmured, frowning a bit as he stared hard at them. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure”, Nicholas said firmly.

The stranger nodded and bowed slightly. “The twins of legend”, he repeated. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Allow me to introduce myself. I am le Comte de Saint-Germain”, he announced dramatically, and then paused, almost as if he expected them to know the name.

The twins looked at him blankly, identical expressions on their faces.

“But you must call me Francis; all my friends do.”

“My favorite student”, Nicholas added fondly. “Certainly my best student. We’ve known one another a long time.”

“How long?” Sophie asked automatically, although even as she was asking the question, the answer popped into her head.

“For about three hundred years or so”, Nicholas said. “Francis trained to be an alchemist with me. He quickly surpassed me”, he added. “He specialized in creating jewels.”

“I learned everything I know about alchemy from the master: Nicholas Flamel”, Saint-Germain said quickly.

“In the eighteenth century, Francis was also an accomplished singer and musician. And what are you this century?” Nicholas asked.

“Well, I have to say I am disappointed you’ve not heard of me, the man said in accentless English. You’ve obviously not been keeping up with the charts. I’ve had five number-one hits in the States and three in Germany, and I won an MTV Europe Best Newcomer award.”

“Best
New
comer?” Nicholas grinned, emphasizing the word
new.
“You!”

“You know that I have always been a musician, but in this century, Nicholas, I’m a rock star!” he said proudly. “I am Germain!” He looked at the twins as he spoke, eyebrows raised, nodding, waiting for them to react to the announcement.

They shook their heads simultaneously. “Never heard of you”, Josh said bluntly.

Saint-Germain shrugged and looked disappointed. He brought the collar of his coat up around his ears. “Five number-one hits”, he muttered.

“What type of music?” Sophie asked, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling at the crestfallen expression on the man’s face.

“Dance electro techno that sort of thing.”

Sophie and Josh shook their heads again. “Don’t listen to it”, Josh answered, but Saint-Germain was no longer looking at the twins. His head had swiveled toward the Avenue Gustave Eiffel, to where a long sleek black Mercedes had pulled up to the curb. Three plain black vans drew up behind it.

“Machiavelli!” Flamel snapped angrily. “Francis, you were followed.”

“But how…” the count began.

“Remember, it’s Niccol we’re dealing with.” Flamel looked around quickly, assessing the situation. “Scathach, take the twins, go with Saint-Germain. Protect them with your lives.”

“We can stay, I can fight”, Scathach said.

Nicholas shook his head. He waved at the gathered tourists. “Too many people. Someone would be killed. But Machiavelli is not Dee; he’s subtle. He’ll not use magic not if he can help it. We can use that to our advantage. If we split up, he will follow me; I’m the one he wants. And not just me.” Reaching under his shirt, he pulled out a small square cloth bag.