The Sorceress (20 page)

“Tell me quickly, Nicholas: is all well? Are the children safe?”

“Yes. The twins are here with me,” Nicholas said. “Both have been Awakened, and Sophie has received both the Magic of Air and the Magic of Fire. Unfortunately, Josh has not yet received any training.”

Perenelle was watching Josh as her husband spoke. Even without the wavering image, she sensed, rather than saw, his disappointment.

“There is much to tell you,” Flamel continued.

“Obviously. But Nicholas, you are forgetting your manners,” Perenelle chided him. “You have not introduced me to …” Recognition dawned even as she was about to ask the question. “Is that Master Shakespeare?”

The man next to Nicholas bowed as deeply as he could from his sitting position. “Your humble servant, madam.”

Perenelle remained silent. She felt the twinge in her shoulder where she’d been shot in the attack following Shakespeare’s betrayal, but unlike Nicholas, she had never held any grudge against the boy. She knew how dangerously persuasive Dee could be. Finally, she inclined her head. “Master Will. You are looking well.”

“Thank you, madam. Almost four hundred years ago, I wrote a line in your honor—
‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety’
—it seems that line still holds true. You are as beautiful as ever.” He drew in a quick shuddering breath. “I owe you an apology, madam. Because of what I did, you were nearly slain. I made a mistake.”

“You chose the wrong side, Will.”

“I know that, madam.” The sadness in the immortal’s voice was almost palpable.

“But you did not make a mistake: surely the mistake would have been
remaining
on that side?” she asked lightly.

The Bard smiled and bowed his head, silently thanking her.

“Perry, I have wronged Mr. Shakespeare. He is no friend to the Magician.” Nicholas waved his hand. “And he has made this communication possible.”

Perenelle bowed. “Thank you, Will. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to see Nicholas safe and well.”

Color touched Shakespeare’s cheeks and flowed up over his balding head. “It is my pleasure, madam.”

“And you, Josh. How are you?”

The boy nodded. “Good, I guess. Really good.”

“And Sophie?”

“Great. She learned Fire and Air. You should have seen what we did to the gargoyles at Notre Dame.”

Perenelle turned her green eyes on her husband, and her eyebrows rose in a silent question.

“As I said, much to tell you.” The Alchemyst leaned forward. He started off speaking in English but slipped into the French of his youth. “We were trapped, surrounded, facing the Guardians of the City. The boy fed the girl’s aura with his own—silver and gold together. Their power was incredible: they defeated the combined magic of Dee and Machiavelli. Perenelle, we have them: finally, we have the twins of legend!”

The spiderweb rippled as a sudden foul gust blew down the corridor. Nicholas’s image dissolved into a million tiny faces, each one reflected in the droplets on the web. Then the drops flowed back together again and the reflective surface reappeared.

“Madame …,”
de Ayala whispered urgently,
“something approaches.”

“Nicholas,” Perenelle said quickly. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll get to you as fast as I can,” the Alchemyst responded.

“I know you will. Just be careful, Nicholas. I can see age upon your face.”

“Perry, a last word of advice, please,” Nicholas added. “Mr. Shakespeare thinks that we need to stand and fight. But we are in the heart of Dee’s London and desperately outnumbered. What do you think we should do?”

“Oh, Nicholas,” Perenelle said softly in the forgotten Breton dialect of her long-lost youth. Something subtle happened to the bones and angles of her face, turning them hard. Her green eyes took on a glasslike appearance, and she reverted to English. “There is a time to run and a time to stand and face the enemy. Nicholas, often have I urged you to stop and fight. You have half a millennium of alchemical knowledge to use against Dee and his Dark Elders. But you’ve always told me you couldn’t—you were waiting to find the twins. Well, now you have them. And you’ve told me they are powerful. Use them. Strike a blow at the heart of Dee’s empire, let him see that we are not entirely defenseless. It’s time, Nicholas, time to stand and fight.”

The Alchemyst nodded. “And you. Can you stay safe until I get to you?”

Perenelle had just started to nod when the horror leapt through the spider web, teeth and claws extended toward her face.

he Alchemyst, Josh and Shakespeare saw Perenelle start to nod … and then the image shattered into pixels, but not before they had all seen the flash of curled claws. Instinctively, all three jerked back from the screens.

“What … what happened?” Josh asked, confused. The left screen was completely black, but the right was speckled with clumps of sparkling red and green spots.

Flamel’s left hand locked into a white-knuckled fist around the silver bracelet. Mint green fire danced across the metal as the fingertips of his right hand pressed against the monitor. The LCD cycled through a rainbow of colors, and then ten narrow and irregular colored streaks appeared on the blackness, long wavering vertical strands that gave tantalizing glimpses of an empty corridor on the other side of the world. But there was no sign of Perenelle.

“What was that?” Josh asked.

Shakespeare shook his head. “I have no idea.” Then he curled his right hand into a claw and reached toward the screen. Five of the narrow colored bands matched up with his fingers. “Something leapt at Madame Perenelle and slashed at her. It must have come at her through the web.” He tapped the glass with a fingernail. “It looks like we’re still connected through the torn shreds of web. I can try again.”

“Is she … is she OK?” Josh asked, worried. He noticed that the silver bracelet was now in two halves; its center had melted into flat silver droplets. “Nicholas?”

Flamel said nothing. He was trembling, his face bloodless and gaunt, lips outlined in blue. The word
Perenelle
formed on his lips, but he didn’t say it aloud.

The screen image wavered … and then they saw Perenelle.

She was backing away from them, hands spread protectively before her. A long scratch ran across her bare shoulder and down one arm, the flesh red and angry-looking.

“Perenelle,” Flamel whispered, the sound escaping in a ragged gasp.

And then they saw it. A creature was moving slowly down the stone corridor, advancing on the Sorceress. Josh had never seen anything like it before: it was both beautiful and horrific in equal measure. The creature was about his height, and while the plump red-cheeked face was that of a young man, the body was skeletal, bones and ribs clearly visible through gray-white skin. Talons that were a cross between human feet and birds’ claws click-clacked across the floor, and although it had human hands, its nails were long and black,
sharply curled, like a cat’s. Huge leathery bat’s wings grew out of its bony spine and dragged along the floor behind it.

And then a second figure appeared. It was a female. Gossamer black hair framed her delicately beautiful face. But if anything, her body was even more emaciated than the boy’s. Her wings were ragged and torn, and she dragged her left leg behind her.

“Vetala,” Flamel whispered in horror. “Blood drinkers, flesh eaters.”

Another figure appeared before Perenelle. Vague and insubstantial, this one looked human and male. His hands rose into threatening fists and he moaned.

Flamel’s aura bloomed bright green around his body, and the smell of mint was overpowering. “I’ve got to help her,” he said desperately.

Suddenly, Palamedes burst through the door into the hut. “Your aura—douse it now!” he commanded.

Wide-eyed, Sophie was at the knight’s heels, while behind her the red-eyed dogs crowded in the doorway and began to bark and growl.

“Perenelle’s in trouble,” Josh said, looking at Sophie. He knew his sister really liked the woman.

“Flamel: stop!” the knight shouted.

But the Alchemyst ignored him. Rolling the halves of the ruined silver bracelet into the palm of his left hand, he closed his fingers over them and brilliant emerald green light engulfed his fist. Then he pressed his right hand to the LCD screen. “Perenelle!” he called.

Flamel’s mint odor was blanketed by the warmer spice of
cloves as the knight clamped his hands onto the Alchemyst’s shoulders. “You’ve got to stop, Nicholas. You’ll bring destruction down on top of us!”

Abruptly, the Alchemyst’s aura flared even brighter, flaming first to brilliant emerald, then luminescent jade and finally a deep olive green. The knight was flung backward away from Nicholas, a suit of chain mail forming over his body even as he crashed against the wall with enough force to dent the metal. Green fire crawled across the links of his armor. “Will—stop him!” Palamedes shouted, his accent thick with fear. “Break the link!”

“Master, please …” Shakespeare grabbed the Alchemyst’s sleeve and tugged. Tiny bitter-green flames immediately coursed up his arm, sending him staggering back, beating at the cold fire.

Josh crouched beside the Alchemyst, staring at the screen. “What are you trying to do?” he demanded.

“Strengthen Perenelle’s aura with my own,” Nicholas said desperately. “The vetala will tear her apart. But I fear I’m not strong enough.” The terror in his voice was clear.

Josh looked up at his sister, saw her head move in the tiniest of nods and then turned to Nicholas. “Let me help,” he said.

“Let
us help,
” Sophie added.

The twins took up positions on either side of the Alchemyst, Sophie on his right, Josh on his left, and each placed a hand on his shoulder. Josh looked at his sister and asked, “Now what do we do?”

And then the mixture of scents in the room became
overpowering, almost nauseating: orange and vanilla, clove and mint, mingling with the odors of fried food, stale body odor and the ripe smell of damp dogs.

The Saracen Knight shouted, but his words were lost as the twins’ auras crackled around them, gold and silver, sizzling and spitting as they touched the Alchemyst’s now dull green aura, which immediately flared and brightened, sparkling with gold motes and silver threads.

“Alchemyst,” Palamedes shouted desperately, “you have doomed us all!”

“Perenelle!” Nicholas cried, splaying his fingers against the working monitor. Coiling threads of green, yellow and silver spiraled down his arm, wrapped around each finger and disappeared into the screen.

The screen to the right cracked down the middle, thick black smoke curling upward, and then Perenelle’s voice, thin and high, was clearly audible.

“Nicholas! Stop! Stop now!” She sounded terrified.

In the left-hand monitor they saw her ice white aura shimmer into existence around her and then quickly wink out.

“Nicholas!” Perenelle screamed. “You have killed me!”

And then the screen melted into a stinking puddle of bubbling plastic and molten glass.

r. John Dee strolled into the arrivals concourse in London City Airport. He was unsurprised to see a man in a two-piece black suit, white shirt and dark glasses, holding a card with the name
DEE
neatly printed on it. The Magician had phoned ahead and let the London offices of Enoch Enterprises know he was arriving.