The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) (26 page)

“Then what should I do, Mother?”

Bastet’s huge yellow eyes blinked in surprise. She turned her face to the north, where the volcano prison Huracan rose over the island. “Why, you must feed them—all of them, Aten, Marethyu, Abraham and the foreign prisoners—into the fires of the volcano.”

Anubis nodded. “And when should I do this?”

Bastet pointed below to where Aten had taken Marethyu’s hand in his, sealing whatever bargain they had just made. “Now would be a good time.” Her claws wrapped around her son’s pawlike hands, squeezing tightly enough to draw blood. “Kill them, Anubis. Kill them all, and Danu Talis is yours.”

“And yours, Mother,” Anubis whispered, trying to extricate his torn hands.

“And mine,” she agreed. “We will rule for all eternity.”

ars Ultor stopped at the corner of Broadway and Scott Street to catch his breath. Leaning against a redbrick wall, he looked back down Broadway. He hadn’t realized it was all uphill, and his legs, long unused to exercise, were two solid pillars of pain, muscles cramping and spasming. When Zephaniah had released him from his bone prison deep beneath Paris, centuries of encrusted and hardened aura had fallen to dust around his feet, stripping him of much of his huge bulk, taking inches off his height. Beneath the shell, he’d been horrified to discover that his once-muscular body was flabby and soft, and his legs in particular felt weak, barely able to support his weight. But at least Mars Ultor could get his strength back; Zephaniah would forever be without her eyes, which she had traded to Chronos in return for the knowledge that would keep her husband safe. Mars Ultor drew in a deep
breath. When all of this was over—and presuming that he survived—he thought he would pay a visit to the loathsome Chronos. No doubt the repulsive Elder still had Zephaniah’s eyes in a jar somewhere. Maybe he could be persuaded to part with them. Mars laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. He could be very persuasive.

Turning left, he started up Scott Street.

The Elder felt the extraordinary wash of power and had already stepped away from the road even before the stripped-down, battered army surplus jeep carrying three people pulled up to the curb, tires squealing on the pavement.

A tall, striking-looking Native American with copper skin and hatchet-sharp features leaned out. “You’re Mars.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Who wants to know?” Mars Ultor asked, looking up and down the street, wondering if this was an attack.

One of the figures in the back of the jeep sat forward and tilted up the brim of a Stetson cowboy hat to reveal a patch over his right eye. “I do.”

Mars Ultor froze. “Odin?”

Then the third person, smaller, wrapped in a heavy duffle coat, pushed back the hood to reveal a narrow canine face, with two thick fangs jutting from beneath her upper lips. It was a woman, wearing dark wraparound sunglasses that covered most of her face but could not conceal the streaks of black liquid running from her eyes.

“Hel?”

“Uncle,” she rasped.

Blue eyes huge in his pale face, Mars Ultor looked from Odin to Hel and then turned to the driver. “Am I still dreaming?”

“If you are, then this is a nightmare.” The driver held out his hand, revealing his muscular forearms. A thick turquoise band encircled his wrist. “I’m Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak.” He was dressed in worn jeans, old cowboy boots and a faded Grand Canyon T-shirt. “But you can call me Black Hawk. My master is Quetzalcoatl. He sent me to collect this pair”—he jerked his thumb behind him—“and I got a call a little while ago, asking me to pick you up. Oh, and he sends his regards, too.” Black Hawk leaned over as Mars climbed into the passenger seat. “But I don’t think he was sincere.” He revved the engine and turned to look at the mismatched trio. “What is this, some sort of badly dressed Elders convention?”

Still shocked, Mars ignored the driver and swiveled around to look at the two Elders behind him. “The last time I saw you two, you were at one another’s throats.”

“That was then …,” Odin said.

“… and this is now,” Hel lisped. “Now we have a common enemy. An
utlaga
servant who thinks he can become the master.”

Black Hawk pulled away from the curb and crawled up the hill, dark eyes darting left and right, checking for an address.

“There is a humani called John Dee,” Odin said.

Mars Ultor nodded. “Zephaniah told me about him. She said that he had attempted to raise Coatlicue in order to set her on us.”

“Dee destroyed the Yggdrasill,” Odin said, reverting to a language that predated the arrival of the humani by millennia.

“He killed Hekate.”

There was the sudden stink of burnt meat and a purple-red shimmer darkened the Elder’s flesh. “Ah, my dear wife forgot to tell me that. A humani killed Hekate?” Mars Ultor asked, voice trembling with rage. “Your Hekate?” he said to Odin.

The Elder nodded. “My Hekate,” he whispered.

“And destroyed the Yggdrasill,” Hel repeated. “The Shadowrealms of Asgard, Niflheim and the World of Darkness were destroyed. The gates to another six worlds have collapsed, sealing them off forever, dooming them to stagnation and destruction.”

“One man did this?” Mars asked.

“The humani Dee,” Hel said. She leaned forward, enfolding Mars in a foul miasma. “Dee’s masters want him alive. But while Dee lives, he is a danger to us all. My uncle and I are joined in common purpose: we are here to kill Dee.” She rested a clawed hand on Mars Ultor’s shoulder. “It would be a mistake to stand against us.”

Mars swept the Elder’s fingers off his shoulder as if he were brushing away some lint. “Don’t even think about threatening me, niece. I know I have been gone a long time. Perhaps you have forgotten who I am.
What
I am.”

“We know who you are, cousin,” Odin said quietly. “We know what you are—we all lost friends and relatives to your rages. The more important question is: why are you here?”

Mars Ultor smiled. “Well, for once, cousin and niece, we
are on the same side. This very day my wife freed me and tasked me with a single mission: to kill Dr. John Dee.”

Black Hawk pulled the jeep over and cut the engine before either of the Elders in the backseat could respond. “We’re here,” the Native American immortal announced.

“Where?” Mars Ultor asked.

“The home of Tsagaglalal the Watcher.”

Mars and Odin were helping Hel out of the jeep when the door opened and Prometheus and Niten, both wrapped in their auric armor, appeared at the top of the steps leading to the house. The air soured with a mixture of scents—burnt meat and green tea, anise, sarsaparilla and rotting fish—and then, with a howl of rage, Mars Ultor produced a short sword from beneath his leather jacket and launched himself at Prometheus, the blade flickering toward his throat.

’ve just been talking to the boy,” Virginia Dare said, catching up with John Dee as he strode down the pathway that wound around the island.

Dee glanced sidelong at the woman but did not speak.

Virginia shook her head, loosening the knot of hair tied at her neck and letting it fall down her back once more. “He asked me what happens when all the monsters are released into the city.”

“There will be terror,” Dee said, waving his hand in the air. “Chaos.”

“Ah yes, your specialty, Doctor. But what about the Elders?” She raised one eyebrow. “I thought the plan was that the monsters would ravage the city, and then the Elders would appear and save the day.”

“Yes, that was the original plan.”

They rounded a corner and the wind coming in low across
the bay whipped at them. San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge rose across the water through an early-afternoon haze. “I take it the plan has changed.”

“It changed.”

Virginia exhaled a deep breath in frustration. “Do I have to drag every sentence out of you, or are you going to share with me? You got me involved, after all. I was happy in London, content and invisible. Now I have a price on my head because of you.”

Dee remained silent.

“You are starting to irritate me,” Virginia said very quietly. “And you do not want to make me angry. I don’t believe you’ve ever actually seen me angry.”

The Magician glanced over his shoulder. Machiavelli was chatting with Billy, while Josh trailed behind them. The three were far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear him, but he still lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “I made you promises.”

“You promised me this world.”

“I did.”

“And I expect you to make good on your promise.”

The doctor nodded. “I am—and have always been—a man of my word.”

“No, Doctor. You are—and have always been—a consummate liar,” Virginia said, “but at least you’ve always been careful to tell
me
the truth.” Her voice turned as chill as the wind gusting across the bay. “It is the only thing that has kept you alive these many centuries.”

Dee nodded. “You are right, of course. I have never intentionally
lied to you.” He sighed. “These last few days have been … difficult.”

“Difficult?” Virginia Dare smiled. “That would seem to be an understatement.” Her smile broadened into a grin. “In the space of a week, you have gone from being an agent—no, more than that,
the
agent—of the greatest of the Dark Elders to being declared
utlaga
. They want you dead. You have slain an Elder and destroyed countless Shadowrealms.”

“You don’t have to remind me …,” Dee began, but Virginia continued.

“In only seven days, everything you have ever worked for, everything you have ever believed in, has been changed and changed utterly.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you!” Dee raised his voice.

“I’m curious to see how you extricate yourself, Doctor.”

“Well, as you say: you’re in this with me now. You’ve spent most of your life in the shadows, Virginia. But now the spotlight has been shone on you. The Elders and their Next Generation and humani mercenaries will come for me, but they’ll be hunting you, as well.”

“Which is precisely my problem with you,” Virginia said, fingers closing around her wooden flute. She could feel it grow warm beneath her flesh.

“I have a plan,” Dee said.