remembered the time; she d been talking to her friend Elle in New York when
she d spotted the long black car pulling up outside the bookshop. She d
checked the time just before the man she now knew to be Dr. John Dee had
climbed out of the car.
Josh looked up. We have two e-mails from Mom, one from Dad.
Read them to me. Start with the oldest.
OK. Mom sent one on Friday, June first. Hope you re both behaving
yourselves. How is Mrs. Fleming? Has she fully recovered? Josh looked up and
frowned, confused.
Sophie sighed. Remember? We told Mom that the bookshop closed because
Perenelle wasn't feeling well. She shook her head. Try and keep up!
It s been a little busy, Josh reminded her. I can t remember everything.
Besides, that s your job.
Then we said that Nicholas and Perenelle had invited us to spend some time
with them in their house in the desert.
So. Josh looked at his sister, fingers hovering over the keys. What will I
tell Mom?
Tell her that everything s OK and Perenelle is feeling a lot better.
Remember to call them Nick and Perry, though, she reminded him.
Thanks, he said, hitting the backspace key, replacing Perenelle with Perry.
His fingers skipped over the keys as he typed. OK, next one, he continued.
From Mom again, dated yesterday. Tried phoning, but my call goes directly
to your voice mail. Is everything OK? Got a call from your aunt Agnes. She
said you didn't come home to collect any clothes or toiletries. Give me a
number where I can call you. We re worried. Josh looked at his sister. So
what do we tell her now?
Sophie chewed on her bottom lip, thinking aloud. We should tell her She
hesitated. Tell her we had the things with us at the shop. She knows we have
clothes there. That s not a lie. I hate lying to her.
Got it, Josh said, typing fast. The twins both kept clothes in his locker
in the back room of the bookshop for the occasional evening when they went to
the movies or walked down to the Embarcadero.
Tell her we have no cell service here. Just don't say where here is, she
added with a smile.
Josh looked disgusted. You mean we have no cell phones
I ve still got mine, but the battery is dead. Tell Mom that we ll call as
soon as we get a signal.
Josh continued to type. His finger hovered over the Enter key. Is that it?
Send it.
He hit Enter. Sent!
And you said there was an e-mail from Dad? she asked.
It s for me. He opened it, read it quickly and smiled broadly. He s sent a
jpeg of some fossil shark teeth he found. They look pretty good. And he s got
some new coprolites for my collection.
Coprolites. Sophie shook her head in mock disgust. Fossilized poo! Why
couldn't you collect stamps or coins like a regular person? It s just too
weird.
Weird? Josh looked up, suddenly irritated. Weird! Let me tell you what s
weird: we re in a house with a two-thousand-year-old vegetarian vampire, an
immortal alchemist, another immortal who s a musician specializing in Fire
magic and a French heroine who should have died sometime in the middle of the
fifteenth century. He nudged the sword on the floor with his foot. And
let s not forget the sword that was used to kill King Arthur. Josh s voice
had been rising as he spoke and he suddenly stopped and drew in a deep
shuddering breath, calming himself. He started to smile. Compared to all
that, I think collecting fossil poo is probably the least weird thing around
here! His smile turned to a grin and Sophie smiled, and then they were both
laughing. Josh laughed so hard he got the hiccups, and that made them laugh
even harder, until tears ran down their cheeks and their stomachs hurt.
Oh, stop, Josh moaned. He hiccupped again, and they both dissolved into
near hysteria.
It took a tremendous effort of will to control themselves, but for the first
time since Sophie had been Awakened, Josh felt close to her again. Usually,
they laughed every day; heading into work on Thursday morning was the last
time they d laughed together as they d watched a skinny man in roller skates
and running shorts being pulled along by a huge Dalmatian. All they needed to
been too many of those over the past few days.
Sophie sobered up first and turned back to the window. She could see her
brother in the glass and waited until he looked down at the screen before she
spoke. I m surprised you didn't object more when Nicholas suggested that
Francis train me in Fire magic, she said.
Josh raised his eyes and looked at his sister s face reflected in the window.
Would it have made any difference if I had? he asked seriously.
She took a moment to think. No. I suppose not, she admitted.
I didn't think so. You d still have done it.
Sophie turned to look directly at her twin. I have to. I need to.
I know, he said simply. I know that now.
Sophie blinked in surprise. You know?
Josh closed the laptop and dropped it on the bed. Then he picked up the sword
and rested it across his knees, absently rubbing the smooth blade. The stone
felt warm. I was angry, scared no, more than scared terrified when Flamel
had Hekate Awaken you. He didn't tell us about the dangers. He didn't tell us
that you could have died, or fallen into a coma. I ll never forgive him for
that.
He was pretty sure nothing would happen .
Pretty sure isn't sure enough.
Sophie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
And then, when the Witch of Endor passed her knowledge to you, I was scared
again. But not so much scared for you I was scared of you, he admitted very
softly.
Josh, how can you even say that? Sophie began, genuinely shocked. I m your
twin. The look on his face silenced her.
You haven t seen what I ve seen, he said earnestly. I watched you stand up
to the cat-headed woman. I saw your lips move, but when you spoke, the words
were out of sync, and when you looked at me, you didn't recognize me. I don't
know what you were but you weren t my twin sister then. You were possessed.
Sophie blinked and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. She had only the
vaguest memories, little more than dreamlike fragments, of what her brother
was talking about.
Then, in Ojai, I watched you make whirlwinds, and today yesterday I saw you
make fog out of nothing.
I don't know how I do those things, she murmured.
I know, Soph, I know. He stood up and crossed to the window, looking out
over the rooftops of Paris. I understand that now. I've been thinking about
it a lot. Your powers have been Awakened, but the only way you ll be able to
control them, the only way you ll be safe, is by being trained. At the moment
they are as much a danger to you as they are to our enemies. Joan of Arc
helped you today, didn't she?
Yes, she helped a lot. I don't hear the voices anymore. That s a huge help.
But there s another reason too, isn't there? Sophie asked.
Josh turned the sword over in his hand, the blade almost black in the night,
tiny flecks of crystal in the stone winking like stars. We have no idea what
sort of trouble we re in, he said slowly. But we do know that we re in
danger real danger. We re fifteen years old we shouldn't be thinking about
being killed or eaten or worse! He waved vaguely in the direction of the
door. I don't trust them. The only person I can trust is you the real you.
But Josh, Sophie said very gently, I do trust them. They are good people.
Scatty has fought for humanity for over two thousand years, and Joan is a
kind and gentle person .
And Flamel has kept the Codex hidden away for centuries, Josh said quickly.
He touched his chest and Sophie heard the crackle of the two pages in the bag
Flamel had given him. There are recipes in this book that could make this
planet a paradise, could cure every disease. He saw the flicker of doubt in
her eyes and pressed on. And you know that s true.
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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 th
e 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.