ALSO BY MICHAEL SCOTT
The Alchemyst
The Magician
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Michael Scott
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Scott, Michael.
The sorceress / Michael Scott.—1st ed.
p. cm.—(Secrets of the immortal Nicholas Flamel)
Summary: While armies of the Shadowrealms gather and Machiavelli goes to Alcatraz to kill Perenelle Flamel, fifteen-year-old twins Sophie and Josh Newman accompany the Alchemyst to England to seek Gilgamesh.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89271-4
1. Flamel, Nicolas, d. 1418—Juvenile fiction. 2. Machiavelli, Niccolò, 1469-1527—Juvenile fiction. 3. Dee, John, 1527-1608—Juvenile fiction. [1. Flamel, Nicolas, d. 1418—Fiction. 2. Machiavelli, Niccolò, 1469-1527—Fiction. 3. Dee, John, 1527-1608—Fiction. 4. Alchemists—Fiction. 5. Magic—Fiction. 6. Supernatural—Fiction. 7. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 8. Twins—Fiction. 9. England—Fiction. 10. Alcatraz Island (Calif.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S42736Sor 2009
[Fic]—dc22 2009000493
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For Courtney,
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Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Part 1 - Monday, 4th June Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Part 2 - Tuesday, 5th June Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
I am tired now, so tired.
And I am aging fast. There is a stiffness in my joints, my sight is no longer sharp and I find I have to strain to hear. Over the past five days I have been forced to use my powers more times than I have used them in the entire previous century, and that has speeded up the aging process significantly. I estimate that I have aged by at least a decade—perhaps more—since last Thursday. If I am to live, I have to retrieve the Book of Abraham, and I cannot—I dare not—risk using my powers again.
But Dee has the Codex, and I know that I will be forced yet again to use my waning aura.
I must, if we are to survive.
Every time I use it I grow closer to death … and once I die, and Perenelle, too, no one will stand against Dee and the Dark Elders. When we die, the world will end.
But we are not dead yet.
And we have the twins. The real twins this time, the true twins of legend with auras of pure gold and silver. While the twins survive, there is still hope.
We are about to enter London. I fear this city above all others, for it is at the very heart of Dee’s power. The last time Perenelle and I were here, in September 1666, the Magician almost burned the city to the ground trying to capture us. We’ve never been back. London has attracted Elders from around the globe: there are more of them in this city than in any other on earth. Elders, Next Generation and immortal humans move freely and unnoticed through the streets, and I know of at least a dozen Shadowrealms scattered across the British Isles.
More ley lines meet and converge over these Celtic lands than over any other country, and I pray that with the twins’ Awakened powers, we can use those lines to return to San Francisco and my Perenelle.
And here too is Gilgamesh the King, the oldest immortal human in the world. His knowledge is incalculable and encyclopedic. It is said that he was once the Guardian of the Codex, that he even knew the mythical Abraham who created the book. Legend has it that Gilgamesh knows all the elemental magics—though, strangely, he has never possessed the power to use them. The king has no aura. I’ve often wondered what that must be like: to be aware of so many incredible things, to have access to the wisdom of the ancients, to know the words and spells that could return this world to the paradise it once was … and yet to be unable to use them.
I have told Sophie and Josh that I need Gilgamesh to train them in the Magic of Water and find us a ley line that will take us home. But they do not know that it is a desperate gamble; if the king refuses, then we will be trapped in Dee’s domain, with no possibility of escape.
Nor have I told them that Gilgamesh is quite, quite insane … and that the last time we met, he thought I was trying to kill him.
From the Day Booke of Nicholas Flamel, Alchemyst
Writ this day, Monday, 4th June,
in London, the city of my enemies
think I see them.”
The you
ng man in the green parka standing directly beneath the huge circular clock in St. Pancras station took the phone away from his ear and checked a blurred jpeg on the rectangular screen. The English Magician had sent the image a couple of hours ago: date-stamped June 04, 11.59.00, its colors washed and faded, the grainy picture looked like it had been taken by an overhead security camera. It showed an older man with short gray hair, accompanied by two fair teens, climbing onto a train.
Rising up on his toes, the young man scanned the station for the trio he’d briefly glimpsed. For a moment he thought he’d lost them in the milling crowd, but even if he had, they wouldn’t get far; one of his sisters was downstairs, and another was on the street outside, watching the entrance.
Now, where had the old man and the teenagers gone?
Narrow pinched nostrils flared as he sorted through the countless scents in the station. He identified and dismissed the mixed stink of too many humani, the myriad perfumes and deodorants, the gels and pastes, the greasy odor of fried food from the station’s restaurants, the richer aroma of coffee, and the metallic oily tang of the train engines and carriages. Nostrils opened unnaturally wide as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The odors he was seeking were older, wilder, unnatural ….
There!
Mint: just the merest suggestion.
Orange: no more than the vaguest hint.
Vanilla: little more than a trace.
Hidden behind small rectangular sunglasses, his blue-black pupils dilated. He sniffed the air, tracing the gossamer threads of scent through the vast train station. He had them now!
The older man from the image on his phone was striding down the station concourse directly toward him. He was wearing black jeans and a scuffed leather jacket and carried a small overnight case in his left hand. And just as in the picture taken earlier, he was followed by two blond teenagers alike enough to be brother and sister. The boy was taller than the girl, and they both wore backpacks.
The young man snapped a quick picture with his cell phone camera and sent it to Dr. John Dee. Although he had nothing but contempt for the English Magician, there was no point in making an enemy of him. Dee was the agent of one of the more senior and certainly the most dangerous of all the Dark Elders.
Pulling the hood of his green parka over his head, the young man turned away as the trio drew near him, and dialed his sister, who was waiting downstairs. “It’s definitely Flamel and the twins,” he murmured into the phone, speaking the ancient language that had eventually become Gaelic. “They’re heading in your direction. We’ll take them when they get onto Euston Road.”
Snapping his phone shut, the young man in the hooded parka set off after the Alchemyst and the American twins. He moved easily through the early-afternoon crowd, looking like just another teenager, anonymous and unnoticed in his sloppy jeans, scuffed sneakers and overlarge coat, his head and face concealed by a hood, eyes invisible behind the dark sunglasses.
Despite his appearance, however, the young man had never been remotely human. He and his sisters had first come to this land when it was still joined to the European mainland, and for generations they had been worshipped as gods. He bitterly resented being ordered around by Dee—who was, after all, nothing more than a humani. But the English Magician had promised the hooded boy a delectable prize: Nicholas Flamel, the legendary Alchemyst. Dee’s instructions were clear; the boy and his sisters could have Flamel, but the twins must not be touched. The boy’s lips twisted. His sisters would easily capture the twins, while he would have the honor of killing Flamel. A coal black tongue darted out of the corner of his mouth to lick his lips at the thought. They would feast off the Alchemyst for weeks. And, of course, they would keep the tastiest morsels for Mother.
Nicholas Flamel slowed, allowing Sophie and Josh to catch up with him. Forcing a smile, he pointed to the thirty-foot-tall bronze statue of a couple embracing beneath the clock. “It’s called The Meeting Place,” he said loudly, and then added in a whisper, “We’re being followed.” Still smiling, he leaned into Josh and murmured, “Don’t even think about turning around.”
“Who?” Sophie asked.
“What?” Josh said tightly. He was feeling nauseous and dizzy; his newly Awakened senses were overwhelmed by the scents and sounds of the train station. A throbbing headache pulsed at the base of his skull, and the light was so bright he wished he had a pair of sunglasses.
“Yes—‘What?’ is the better question,” Nicholas said grimly. He raised a finger to point to the clock, as if he were talking about it. “I’m not sure what’s here,” he admitted. “Something ancient. I felt it the moment we stepped off the train.”
“Felt it?” Josh asked, disoriented, and getting more confused by the second. He hadn’t felt this sick since he’d got heatstroke in the Mojave Desert.
“A tingle, like an itch. My aura reacted to the aura of whoever—whatever—is here. When you have a little more control of your own auras, you’ll be able to feel the same.”
Tilting her head back, as if she were admiring the metal-and-glass latticework ceiling, Sophie slowly turned. Crowds swirled around them. Most seemed to be locals—commuters—though there were plenty of tourists, many stopping to have their pictures taken in front of The Meeting Place statue or with the huge clock in the background. No one seemed to be paying her and her companions any particular attention.
“What will we do?” Josh asked. He was starting to feel panicked. “I can boost Sophie’s powers,” he babbled, “just like I did in Paris—”
“No,” Flamel snapped, gripping Josh’s arm with iron fingers. “From now on, you can only use your powers as an absolute last resort. As soon as you activate your aura, you will alert every Elder, Next Generation and immortal within a ten-mile radius to your presence. And here, in England, just about every immortal you encounter is allied with the Dark Elders. Also, in this land, it could awaken others, creatures best left sleeping.”
“But you said we’re being followed,” Sophie protested. “That means Dee already knows we’re here.”
Flamel urged the twins to the left, away from the statue, hurrying them toward the exit. “I would imagine there are watchers in every airport, seaport and railway station across Europe. Although Dee might have suspected that we’d head to London; the instant either of you activates your aura, he’ll know for certain.”
“And what will he do then?” Josh asked, turning to look at Flamel. In the harsh overhead lights, the new lines on the Alchemyst’s forehead and around his eyes were sharp.
Flamel shrugged. “Who knows what he is capable of doing. He is desperate, and desperate men do terrible things. Remember, he was on top of Notre Dame. He was prepared to destroy the ancient building just to stop you … prepared to kill you to prevent you leaving Paris.”
Josh shook his head, confused. “But that’s what I don’t understand—I thought he wanted us alive.”
Flamel sighed. “Dee is a necromancer. It is a foul and horrible art that involves artificially activating a dead body’s aura and bringing that body back to life.”
An icy coldness washed over Josh at the thought. “You’re saying he would have killed us and brought us back to life?”
“Yes. As a last resort.” Flamel reached out and squeezed the boy’s shoulder gently. “Believe me, it is a terrible existence, the merest shadow of life. And remember, Dee saw what you did, so he now has some inkling of your powers. If there were any doubts in his mind that you are the twins of legend, they have vanished. He has to have you. He needs you.” The Alchemyst poked Josh in the chest. Paper rustled. Beneath his T-shirt, in a cloth bag hanging around his neck, Josh carried the two pages he’d torn from the Codex. “And above all else, he needs those pages.”
The group followed the signs for the Euston Road exit, and were swept along by a crowd of commuters heading in the same direction. “I thought you said there would be someone to meet us,” Sophie said, looking around.
“Saint-Germain told m
e he’d try and contact an old friend,” Flamel muttered. “Maybe he couldn’t get in touch.”
They stepped out of the ornate redbrick train station onto Euston Road and stopped in surprise. When they’d left Paris just over two and a half hours ago, the skies had been cloudless, the temperature already creeping into the seventies, but in London it felt at least ten degrees cooler and it was raining hard. The wind whipping down the road was cold enough to make the twins shiver. They turned and ducked back into the shelter of the station.
And that was when Sophie saw him.
“A boy in a green parka, with the hood pulled up,” she said suddenly, turning to Nicholas and concentrating fiercely on his pale eyes. She knew that if she looked away, she would involuntarily glance at the young man who had been hurrying after them. She could still see him from the corner of her eye. He was loitering close to a pillar, staring at the cell phone in his hand, fiddling with it. There was something wrong about the way he was standing. Something unnatural. And she thought she caught the faintest scent of spoiled meat on the air. Her nose wrinkled. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the odor. “It smells like something rotten, like roadkill.”
The smile on the Alchemyst’s face grew strained. “Wearing a hood? So, that’s who’s been following us.” The twins heard the slightest tremor in his voice.
“Except he’s not a boy, is he?” Sophie asked.
Nicholas shook his head. “Not even close.”
Josh took a deep breath. “Well then, do you want me to tell you that there are now two more people wearing green hooded parkas, and they’re both heading this way?”
“Three?” Flamel whispered in horror. “We’ve got to go.” Grabbing the twins’ arms, he pulled them out into the sleeting rain, turned to the right and dragged them down the street.
The rain was so cold it took Josh’s breath away. Pellets of hard water stung his face. Finally, Flamel pulled both twins into an alley, out of the downpour. Josh stood catching his breath. He brushed his hair back out of his eyes and looked at the Alchemyst. “Who are they?” he demanded.
“The Hooded Ones,” the Alchemyst said bitterly. “Dee must be desperate, and more powerful than I thought if he can command them. They are the Genii Cucullati.”
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