“But enough of these pleasantries,” the Magician continued, rubbing his hands quickly together. “What brings you to London? I thought you had returned to your Bel Air mansion after our adventure in Mill Valley.”
“Earlier today I was contacted by someone from my past.” The Dark Elder’s voice was a low angry rumbling. “Someone I thought long dead, someone I never wanted to talk to again.”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me …,” the Magician began.
“Mars Ultor made contact with me.”
Dee straightened. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he could just about make out Bastet’s cat head silhouetted in black against the lighter rectangle of the window. “Mars spoke to you?”
“For the first time in centuries. And he asked me to help you.”
Dee nodded. When he had left the catacombs earlier, the Elder had still not responded to his offer to bring the twins back to Paris and force Sophie to lift the curse.
Cloth rustled and the cat smell of the Goddess grew stronger. “Is it true?” she asked, close enough to make Dee recoil from her foul breath.
The Magician turned away, blinking tears from his eyes. “Is …” He coughed. “Is what true?”
“Can you release him? The Witch cursed him; that is a curse she will not lift.”
One of the reasons the English Magician had survived in the lethal court of Queen Elizabeth and for centuries afterward was that he never made a promise he could not keep, or a threat he didn’t intend to carry out. He took a moment to consider his response, careful to keep his face neutral. Although it was dark in the back of the car, he knew that it made no difference to the cat-headed Elder. She could easily see in the dark. “The Witch transferred all her knowledge and lore into the girl, Sophie, who we now know to be one of the twins of legend. The girl even admitted that she knew how to reverse the spell, but when Mars asked her—begged her—to do so, she refused. All I have to do is give her a good reason not to refuse the next time we ask.” Dee’s cruel lips twisted in a smile. “I can be very persuasive.”
The Dark Elder grunted.
“You don’t sound very happy about that. I would have thought you would be thrilled to have someone like Mars back in your ranks.”
The Elder laughed, an ugly sound. “You know nothing about Mars Ultor, the Avenger, do you?”
The Magician took a moment before replying. “I know some of the myths,” he admitted.
“Once he was a hero; then he became a monster,” Bastet said slowly. “A force of nature, untamable, unpredictable and deadly beyond belief.”
“You don’t seem to like him very much.”
“Like him?” Bastet echoed. “I love him. And it is precisely because I love him that I do not want him abroad in the world again.”
Confused, Dee shook his head. “I would have thought we needed Mars in the coming battle.”
“His rage is liable to devastate this world and every adjoining Shadowrealm … and then either some humani hero or warrior Elder will be forced to destroy him utterly. At least in the catacombs, I know where he is and I know he is safe.”
Dee tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “How can you claim that you love him and yet want him condemned to that living death?”
Dee felt, rather than heard, the swish of nails as they arced through the air before his face. The leather seat popped and hissed as it was punctured. When she spoke, the Elder’s voice was trembling with emotion. “The humani nations called Mars by many names through the ages. I called him Horus … and he is my baby brother.”
Stunned, Dee sat back in the seat. “But why then did the Witch curse him?” he asked. “You’re suggesting that this curse actually protects him.”
“Because she loved him even more than I did. The Witch of Endor is his wife.”
etala.
The Sorceress backed away from the creature that had come through the web. It had obviously been sleeping in the cell beyond. She had caught the hint of movement in the last instant before it had appeared, but she hadn’t been quick enough to escape its flailing claws. A ragged nail had sliced her flesh, and her shoulder and arm stung as if they had been burned. She knew she needed to get back into the sunshine as quickly as possible and wash out the wound. Perenelle shuddered to think what foulness might be hiding under the vetala’s fingernails.
Behind the vampire, the spider web hung in ragged tatters. Tiny green sparks danced across the web, and she wondered if these were what had awakened the creature. Each strip still showed a sliver of Nicholas, Josh and Shakespeare.
And then the second creature stepped through the dangling threads of web.
Perenelle noted that the two creatures were alike enough to be twins. Their faces were beautiful, with fine delicate Indian features, flawless skin and enormous liquid brown eyes. She knew that they would usually keep their black bat wings wrapped around them, concealing their emaciated gray-skinned bodies and clawed hands and feet until the moment before they struck.
Backing down the corridor, Perenelle stepped slowly away from the vetala, desperately trying to remember what she knew about them. They were primitive and beastlike, creatures of the night and darkness, and like many of the vampire clan who were nocturnal, they were photosensitive and could not stand sunlight.
She needed to reach the stairs behind her … but she dared not turn her back to run.
De Ayala appeared behind the two vetala. The ghost raised both hands and flowed through the creatures. It moaned, a long terrifying howl of utter despair and absolute loneliness that echoed and reechoed off the damp stones. The vetala ignored the ghost. Their huge eyes were focused on the Sorceress, mouths slightly parted to reveal perfectly white teeth, chins damp with saliva. De Ayala winked out of existence and then doors slammed and rattled above their heads with enough force to send dust drifting down on top of them. The vetala didn’t even react. They simply continued to inch ever forward.
“Madame, I cannot help you,” de Ayala said desperately, appearing alongside the Sorceress. “It is as if they know I am a ghost and powerless to harm them.”
“They look hungry,” Perenelle murmured, “and they know they cannot eat you.” She stopped, suddenly noticing that the shreds of spiderweb behind the vampires had started to glow a dull lambent green. She caught fragmentary glimpses of her husband outlined in his aura.
“Perenelle.”
Nicholas’s voice was the merest gossamer whisper. There was a flicker of movement alongside him, and then his aura flared, bright enough to shed a dull green glow through the rags of web over the corridor on Alcatraz.
The Sorceress knew a dozen spells that would defeat the vampire, but to use them meant activating her aura … and that would bring the sphinx. She continued backing away; once she reached the stairs, she was going to turn and run and hope to make it to the door before the creatures brought her down. She thought she could make it. These were forest creatures; their claws were designed for soft earth and tree bark, and she had seen how their long nails slipped on the stone floor. Their folded wings were also awkward and cumbersome. Perenelle took another step back, moving toward the lighted rectangle of the door behind her. Now that she could feel the heat of the sun on her back, she knew she was close to the steps.
And then, in the shreds of dangling web, she saw Sophie and Josh standing on either side of her husband. They were all staring intently at her, frowning hard. Nicholas’s aura glowed bright emerald. On his right-hand side, Sophie blossomed silver, and Josh, on his left, bloomed gold. The spiderweb glowed like a lantern and the entire corridor lit up.
“Perenelle.”
The two vetala turned, hissing like cats at the sound and sudden light, and Perenelle saw her husband reach out to her, fingers wide. Light particles danced at the end of his fingertips … and at that moment, she knew what he was going to do.
“Nicholas! Stop! Stop now!” she screamed.
Coiling spirals and twisting circles of cracklin
g silver, green and gold energy spun from the tattered web. Hissing and spitting, they bounced off the walls and ceiling and then gathered around Perenelle’s feet, creating a puddle of light that gradually sank into the stones. The Sorceress gasped as a warm wave of energy flowed up her legs and through her chest and exploded into her head. Images danced at the corner of her mind; thoughts and memories that were not hers.
The Eiffel Tower ablaze with lights …
The Nidhogg rampaging through the streets …
Valkyries in white armor …
The same women trapped, in ice …
Gargoyles slithering down off Notre Dame …
The hideous Genii Cucullati advancing …
Unbidden, her aura shimmered into existence around her, ice white and glacial, and her hair spread in a dark sheath behind her.
“Nicholas,” Perenelle shouted as the web blackened to dust and her aura faded to nothing. “You have killed me!”
And then, howling through the very stones of Alcatraz, came the triumphant cry of the sphinx.
Even the vetala turned and fled.
n a stinking flurry of flapping wings, the sphinx appeared at the end of the corridor, huge lion paws scraping along on the floor. Crouching low, belly to the ground, the creature spread her eagle’s wings and screamed triumphantly in a language that predated the first Egyptian pharaoh. “You are mine, Sorceress. I will feast off your memories and then eat your bones.” The sphinx’s head was that of a beautiful woman, but her eyes were slit-pupiled and the tongue that waved in the air was long, black and forked. Closing her eyes, she threw back her head and drew in a deep shuddering breath. “But what’s this … what’s this?” Her tongue darted, tasting the air. She took a couple of steps down the corridor, claws clicking on stone. “How can this be? You are powerful … powerful indeed … too powerful.” And then she stopped, her flawless face creasing into an ugly frown. “And strong.” Her voice faltered. “Stronger than you should be.”
Perenelle had half turned to make a dash for the stairs, but then she suddenly stopped and turned back to face the sphinx. The corners of her eyes crinkled and the tiniest of smiles curled her lips, turning her face cruel. Bringing her hand up to her face for a closer look, she gazed at it in wonder as a glasslike glove grew over each finger and down into her palm. The glass turned from transparent to translucent and then opaque. “Why, of course I am,” she whispered. And then she laughed aloud, the shocking sound echoing off the walls. “Thank you, Nicholas; thank you, Sophie and Josh!” she shouted.
The woman’s smile frightened the sphinx, but her laughter terrified her. The creature took a tentative step forward, then backpedaled. Despite her fearsome appearance and appalling reputation, the sphinx was a coward. She had grown up in a time of monsters, and it was fear and cowardice that had kept her alive through the millennia.
The Sorceress faced the creature and brought her palms together, thumb against thumb, fingers touching. Suddenly, her aura blazed white light, bleaching the entire corridor of color, and then crackled around her in a protective oval of harshly reflective mirrorlike crystals. Every crumbling brick, each rusting pipe, the mold-spattered ceiling, the tattered cobwebs and the crumbling metal cell-door bars were picked out in exquisite detail. Long angular shadows stretched down the corridor toward the sphinx, though Perenelle herself cast no shadow.
The woman flung out her right hand. A globe of white light that almost looked like a snowball burst from her palm and bounced once, twice on the floor, bounced again and then rolled to a stop between the filthy paws of the sphinx.
“And what am I supposed to do about this?” the creature snarled. “Catch it in my mouth and bring it back to you?”
Perenelle’s smile was terrifying as her hair rose in a dark cloud behind her.
The sphere started to grow. Spinning, twisting, turning, sparkling ice crystals grew in layers on it. The air temperature abruptly plummeted and the sphinx’s breath plumed white on the air.
The sphinx was a creature of the desert. All her long life, she had known arid heat and searing sunshine. Certainly, in the weeks since she had been tasked with guarding Alcatraz, she had grown used to the chill of the prison island, the damp bite of the bay’s rolling fog banks, the sting of rain, the bitter winds. But she had never experienced cold like this. This was a chill so extreme that it burned. Countless tiny crystals erupted out of the glowing sphere and alighted on her flesh like fiery embers. A snowflake no bigger than a dust mote landed on her tongue: it was like sucking a hot coal. And still the ball grew bigger.
Perenelle took a step closer. “I should thank you.”
The sphinx stepped back.
“If I had turned and run, you would have chased me down. But when you reminded me that I was more powerful than before, I realized the gift my husband and the twins had given me.”
The sphinx screeched like a feral cat as the icy air bit and stung her human face. “Your powers will not last. I will drink them.”
“You will try,” Perenelle said quietly, almost gently. “But to do that you need to concentrate and focus on me. And personally, I have always found it hard to concentrate when it is cold.” She smiled again.
“Your aura will fade.” The sphinx’s needle-sharp teeth began to chatter. Thin curls of ice were forming on the wall.
“True. I have a minute, perhaps less, before my aura fades back to normal. But I have enough time.”
“Enough time?” The creature shuddered. Frost now coated the sphinx’s chest and legs; her pale cheeks turned red, her lips blue.
“Enough time to do this!”
The snowball was now the size of a large pumpkin. The sphinx lashed out at it, an enormous lion’s paw cutting through the frozen crystals. When she jerked her paw back, the skin and nails were burned black by the intense chill.
“A shaman on the Aleutian Islands taught me this pretty spell,” Perenelle said, moving closer to the sphinx. The creature immediately tried to back away, but the floor was slick with crackling ice and her feet shot out from beneath her, sending her crashing to the ground. “The Aleut are the masters of snow and ice magic. There are many different types of snow,” the Sorceress said. “Soft …”
Feather-soft snowflakes curled out of the spinning ball and flurried around the sphinx, hissing onto her skin, burning and melting the moment they touched.
“Hard …”
Stone-sharp chips of ice danced away from the ball, stinging the sphinx’s human face.
“And then there are blizzards.”
The ball erupted. Thick snow blasted against the creature, coating her chest and face. She coughed as the freezing crystals swirled into her mouth. Feet scrabbling, she attempted to back away, but the entire hallway was now a sheet of ice. The sphinx raised her wings, but they were weighted down beneath a thick coating of frost and could barely move.
“And of course, hail …”
Pea-sized chips and chunks of ice battered the ancient creature. Snow pellets and hailstones ricocheted out of the spinning ball, puncturing tiny holes in her wings.
Howling, the sphinx turned and fled.
An ice storm pursued her, hail bouncing and pinging off the floor, shattering against the ceiling, rattling off the metal cell doors. Inch-thick ice bloomed along the length of the corridor, metal bars shattered with the intense chill, bricks crumbled to dust and whole chunks of ceiling collapsed under the weight of the heavy ice.
The sphinx had almost reached the end of the corridor when it collapsed around her, burying her under tons of rock and metal. And then the cracking and snapping ice flowed over it all, sealing the rubble beneath eighteen inches of iron-hard permafrost.
Perenelle staggered as her aura winked out of existence.
“Bravo, madame,” the ghost Juan Manuel de Ayala murmured, appearing out of the gloom.
The Sorceress leaned against a wall, breathing in great heaving gasps. She was trembling with exertion, and the effort had left her with aching join
ts and stiff muscles.
“Have you killed her?”
“Hardly,” Perenelle said tiredly. “Slowed her down, irritated her, frightened her. I’m afraid it will take more than that to kill a sphinx.” She turned and slowly climbed the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall.
“The snow and ice was impressive,” de Ayala said, floating backward up the stairs so that he could admire the solid plug of glacier at the end of the corridor.
“I was going to try something else, but for some reason, I had an image of two warrior women trapped in ice; they looked like Valkyries ….”
“A memory?” de Ayala suggested.
“Not one of mine,” Perenelle whispered, then sighed with relief as she stepped out into the glorious morning sunshine. With the last remnant of her aura, she trailed her fingers across her wounds, cleansing them. Then, closing her eyes, she tilted her face to the light. “I think they were Sophie’s memories,” she said in wonder. Then she stopped, a sudden thought chilling her. “Valkyries and the Nidhogg abroad in the world again,” she said in wonder. Instinctively, the Sorceress turned to the east and opened her eyes. What was happening to Nicholas and the children? How much trouble were they in?
lchemyst,” Palamedes shouted desperately, “you have doomed us all!”
Flamel lay slumped before the destroyed screens. His skin was the color of yellowed parchment, there were new wrinkles around his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead had deepened. When he turned to look at the Saracen, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, the whites tinged with green.
“I told you not to use your aura,” the knight snarled. “I warned you.” Palamedes rounded on Shakespeare. “Prepare for battle. Alert the guards.” The Bard nodded and hurried outside, the red-eyed dogs silent now, fanning out around him in a protective shield. The knight’s chain-mail armor appeared ghostlike around his huge frame, then solidified. “What did I say, Alchemyst? Death and destruction follow you. How many will die tonight because of you?” he shouted before he raced out the door.
The Sorceress Page 15
