The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (23 page)

“The Witch’s memories also tell me that there are recipes in the book that could destroy this world.”

Josh shook his head quickly. “I think you’re seeing what they want you to see.”

Sophie pointed to the sword. “But why did Flamel give you the sword and the Codex pages?” she asked triumphantly.

“I think I
know
they’re using us. I just don’t know what for. Not yet, anyway.” He saw his twin start to shake her head. “Anyway, we’re going to need your powers to keep us both safe.”

Sophie reached out and squeezed her brother’s hand. “You know I’d never let anything hurt you.”

“I know that”, Josh said seriously. “At least, not deliberately. But what happens if something uses you, like it did in the Shadowrealm?”

Sophie nodded. “I had no control then”, she admitted. “It was like I was in a dream, watching someone who looked like me.”

“My football coach says that before you can take control, you have to
be
in control. If you can learn how to control your aura and master the magics”, Josh continued, “no one would be able to do that to you ever again. You’d be incredibly powerful. And let s say, for instance, that my power isn’t Awakened. I can learn how to use this sword.” He twisted it in his hand, attempting to spin the blade, but it slipped sideways and cut a deep gouge in the wall. “Oops.”

“Josh!”

“What? You can hardly notice it.” He rubbed his sleeve against the cut. Paint and plaster flaked away, exposing the brickwork beneath.

“You’re making it worse. And you’ve probably taken a chunk out of the sword.”

But when Josh held the weapon up to the light, there wasn’t even a mark on the blade.

Sophie nodded slowly. “I still think
I know
you’re wrong about Flamel and the others.”

“Sophie, you have to trust me.”

“I trust you. But remember, the Witch knows these people, and she trusts them.”

“Sophie”, Josh said in frustration, “we don’t know anything about the Witch.”

“Oh, Josh, I know
everything
about the Witch”, Sophie said feelingly. She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “And I wish I didn’t. Her entire life, thousands of years, are in here.” Josh opened his mouth to reply, but Sophie held up her hand. “Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll work with Saint-Germain, learn everything he has to teach me.”

“And keep an eye on him at the same time; try and find out what he and Flamel are up to.”

Sophie ignored him. “Maybe the next time we’re attacked, we’ll be able to defend ourselves.” She looked across the rooftops of Paris. “At least we’re safe here.”

“But for how long?” her twin asked.

D
r. John Dee turned off the light and stepped out of the enormous bedroom onto the balcony, resting his forearms on the metal railing and looking out over the city of Paris. It had rained earlier and the air was damp and chill, tainted with the sour smell from the Seine and the hint of exhaust fumes.

He hated Paris.

It had not always been that way. Once, this had been his favorite city in all of Europe, filled with the most wonderful and extraordinary memories. After all, he had been made immortal in this city. In a dungeon deep below the Bastille, the prison fortress, the Crow Goddess had taken him to the Elder who had granted him eternal life in return for unquestioning loyalty.

Dr. John Dee had worked for the Elders, spied for them, undertaken many dangerous missions through countless Shadowrealms. He had fought armies of the dead and undead, pursued monsters across bitter wastelands, stolen some of the most precious and magical objects sacred to a dozen civilizations. In time he had become the champion of the Dark Elders; nothing was beyond him, no mission was too difficult except when it came to the Flamels. The English Magician had failed, over and over, to capture Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, several times in this very city.

It remained one of the greatest mysteries of his long existence: how had the Flamels evaded him? He commanded an army of human, inhuman and abhuman agents; he had access to the birds of the air; he could command rats, cats and dogs. He had at his disposal creatures from the darkest edges of mythology. But for more than four hundred years, the Flamels had escaped capture, first here in Paris, then across Europe and into America, always staying one step ahead of him, often leaving town only hours before he arrived. It was almost as if they were being warned. But that, of course, was impossible. The Magician shared his plans with no one.

A door opened and closed in the room behind him. Dee’s nostrils flared, smelling a hint of musty serpent. “Good evening, Niccol”, Dee said, without turning around.

“Welcome to Paris.” Niccol Machiavelli spoke Latin with an Italian accent. “I trust you had a good flight and that the room is to your satisfaction?” Machiavelli had arranged for Dee to be met at the airport and given a police escort to his grand town house off the Place du Canada.

“Where are they?” Dee asked rudely, ignoring his host’s questions, asserting his authority. He might have been a few years younger than the Italian, but he was in charge.

Machiavelli stepped out of the room and stood beside Dee on the balcony. Unwilling to wrinkle his suit against the metal railing, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The tall, elegant, clean-shaven Italian with close-cropped white hair was in great contrast with the small sharp-featured man with his pointed beard and his gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “They are still in Saint-Germain’s house. And Flamel has recently joined them.”

Dr. Dee glanced sidelong at Machiavelli. “I’m surprised you were not tempted to try and capture them yourself”, he said slyly.

Machiavelli looked over the city he controlled. “Oh, I thought I would leave their final capture to you”, he said mildly.

“You mean you were instructed to leave them to me”, Dee snapped.

Machiavelli said nothing.

“Saint-Germain’s house is completely surrounded?”

“Completely.”

“And there are only five people in the house? No servants, no guards?”

“The Alchemyst and Saint-Germain, the twins and the Shadow.”

“Scathach is the problem”, Dee muttered.

“I may have a solution”, Machiavelli suggested softly. He waited until the Magician turned to look at him, his stone gray eyes blinking orange in the reflected streetlights. “I sent for the Disir, Scathach’s fiercest foes. Three of them have just arrived.”

A rare smile curled Dee’s thin lips. Then he moved back from Machiavelli and bowed slightly. “The Valkyries a truly excellent choice.”

“We are on the same side”, Machiavelli bowed in return. “We serve the same masters.”

The Magician was about to step back into the room when he stopped and turned to look at Machiavelli. For a moment, the faintest rotten-egg hint of sulfur hung in the air. “You have no idea whom I serve”, he said.

Dagon threw open the tall double doors and stepped back. Niccol Machiavelli and Dr. John Dee strode into the ornate book-filled library to greet their visitors.

There were three young women in the room.

At first glance they were so alike that they could have been triplets. Tall and thin, with shoulder-length blond hair, they were dressed alike in black tanks under soft leather jackets and blue jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Their faces were all angles: sharp cheekbones, deeply sunken eyes, pointed chins. Only their eyes helped distinguish them. They were different shades of blue, from the palest sapphire to deep, almost purple indigo. All three looked as if they might have been sixteen or seventeen, but in actuality, they were older than most civilizations.

They were the Disir.

Machiavelli stepped into the center of the room and turned to look at each of the girls in turn, trying to tell them apart. One was sitting at the grand piano, another was lounging on the sofa, while a third leaned against a window, staring out into the night, an unopened leather-bound book in her hands. As he got closer to them, their heads pivoted, and he noticed that their eye colors matched their nail polish. “Thank you for coming”, he said, speaking Latin, which, along with Greek, was the one language most of the Elders were familiar with.

The girls looked at him blankly.

Machiavelli glanced at Dagon, who had stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He pulled off his glasses, revealing his bulbous eyes, and spoke quickly in a language no human throat or tongue could shape.

The women ignored him.

Dr. John Dee sighed dramatically. He dropped into a high-backed leather armchair and clapped his small hands together with a sharp crack. “Enough of this nonsense”, he said in English. “You’re here for Scathach. Now, do you want her or not?”

The girl sitting at the piano stared at the Magician. If he noticed that her head was now twisted at an impossible angle, he didn’t react. “Where is she?” Her English was perfect.

“Close by”, Machiavelli said, moving slowly around the room.

The three girls directed their attention to him, heads turning to track him, like owls following a mouse.

“What is she doing?”

“She is protecting the Alchemyst Flamel, Saint-Germain and two humani”, Machiavelli said. “We only want the humani and Flamel. Scathach is yours.” He paused and then added, “You can have Saint-Germain, too, if you want him. He’s no use to us.”

“The Shadow. We just want the Shadow”, the woman sitting at the piano said. Her indigo-tipped fingers moved across the keys, the sound delicate and beautiful.

Machiavelli crossed to a side table and poured coffee from a tall silver pot. He looked at Dee and raised his eyebrows and the pot at the same time. The Magician shook his head. “You should know that Scathach is still powerful”, Machiavelli continued, speaking now to the woman seated at the piano. The pupils of her indigo eyes were narrow and horizontal. “She knocked out a unit of highly trained police officers yesterday morning.”

“Humani”, the Disir almost spat. “No humani can stand against the Shadow.”

“But we are not humani”, the woman standing at the window said.

“We are the Disir”, finished the woman sitting across from Dee. “We are the Shield maidens, the Choosers of the Dead, the Warriors of…”

“Yes, yes, yes”, Dee said impatiently. “We know who you are: Valkyries. Probably the greatest warriors the world has ever seen according to yourselves, anyway. We want to know if you can defeat the Shadow.”

The Disir with indigo eyes swiveled her body away from the piano and flowed smoothly to her feet. She stalked across the carpet to stand before Dee. Her two sisters were suddenly by her side, and the temperature in the room abruptly plummeted.

“It would be a mistake to mock us, Dr. Dee”, one said.

Dee sighed. “Can you defeat the Shadow?” he asked again. “Because if you cannot, then I’m sure that there are others who would be only too delighted to try.” He held up his cell phone. “I can call upon Amazons, Samurai and Bogatyrs.”

The temperature in the room continued to fall as Dee spoke, and his breath plumed white in the air, ice crystals forming on his eyebrows and beard.

“Enough of this trickery!” Dee snapped his fingers and his aura flashed briefly yellow. The room grew warm, then hot, heavy with the stink of rotten eggs.

“There is no need for these lesser warriors. The Disir will slay the Shadow”, the girl standing to Dee’s right said.

“How?” Dee snapped.

“We have what those other warriors have not.”

“You’re talking in riddles”, Dee said impatiently.

“Tell him”, Machiavelli said.

The Disir with the palest eyes turned her head in his direction and then looked back at Dee. Long fingers flickered toward his face. “You destroyed the Yggdrasill and released our pet creature, which had been long trapped in the roots of the World Tree.”

Something flickered behind Dee’s eyes and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Nidhogg?” He looked at Machiavelli. “You knew about this?”

Machiavelli nodded. “Of course.”

The Disir with indigo eyes stepped up to Dee and looked down into his face. “Yes, you freed Nidhogg, the Devourer of Corpses.” Still leaning toward Dee, she swiveled her head to look at Machiavelli. Her sisters also turned in his direction. “Take us to where the Shadow and the others are hiding, then leave us. Once we have loosed Nidhogg, Scathach is doomed.”

“Can you control the creature?” Machiavelli asked curiously.

“Once it feeds off the Shadow, consumes first her memories and then her flesh and bones, it will need to sleep. After a feast like Scathach, it will probably sleep for a couple of centuries. We will recapture it then.”

Niccol Machiavelli nodded. “We didn’t discuss your fee.”

The three Disir smiled, and even Machiavelli, who had seen horrors, recoiled from the expressions on their faces. “There is no fee”, the Disir with indigo eyes said. “This we will do to restore the honor of our clan and avenge our fallen family. Scathach the Shadow destroyed many of our sisters.”

Machiavelli nodded. “I understand. When will you attack?”