There was another crash from inside. A slate tile slid off the roof and crashed into the yard.
“Go, go now.” He spun the combination lock and tugged the gate open.
Sophie and Josh ignored him. “What do we do?” Josh asked his twin. “Go or stay?”
Sophie shook her head. She glanced at Roux and lowered her voice to a whisper. “We have nowhere to go—we don’t know anyone in the city except Scatty and Nicholas. We don’t have any money and we have no passports.”
“We could go to the American embassy.” Josh turned to Roux. “Is there an American embassy in Paris?”
“Yes, of course, on the Avenue Gabriel, beside the Hôtel de Crillon.” The shaven-headed youth cringed as a colossal thump shook the whole building, filling the air with minute particles of dust. The glass in the window beside them cracked from top to bottom and more tiles slid off the roof, to rain down into the yard.
“And what do we tell the embassy?” Sophie demanded. “They’ll want to know how we got here.”
“Kidnapped?” Josh suggested. And then a sudden thought struck him and he felt sick. “And what do we tell Mom and Dad? How are we going to explain it to them?”
Crockery tinkled and shattered, and then there was a tremendous crack.
Sophie cocked her head to one side and brushed her hair off her ear. “That was the main window.” She took a step back toward the door. “I should help her.” Wisps of mist curled off her fingers as she reached for the handle.
“No!” Josh snatched her hand, and static crackled between them. “You can’t use your powers,” he whispered urgently. “You’re too exhausted; remember what Scatty said. You could burst into flames.”
“She’s our friend—we can’t abandon her,” Sophie snapped. “I won’t, anyway.” Her brother was a loner and had never been good at making or keeping friends in school, whereas she was intensely loyal to hers, and she had started to think of Scatty as more than just a friend. Although she loved her brother deeply, she had always wanted a sister.
Josh caught Sophie’s shoulders and turned her to face him. He was already a head taller than she was and had to look down into the blue eyes that mirrored his own. “She’s not our friend, Sophie,” his voice low and serious. “She’s never going to be our friend. She’s a two-and-a-half-thousand-year-old…something. She admitted to us that she’s a vampire. You saw the way her face changed in there: she’s not even human. And…and I’m not sure she’s all Flamel makes her out to be. I know he isn’t!”
“What do you mean?” Sophie demanded. “What are you trying to say?”
Josh opened his mouth to reply, but a series of rattling thumps vibrated through the entire building. Whimpering with fear, Roux darted out into the alley. The twins ignored him.
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked again.
“Dee said—”
“Dee!”
“I talked to him in Ojai. When you were in the shop with the Witch of Endor.”
“But he’s our enemy!”
“Only because Flamel says he is,” Josh said quickly. “Sophie, Dee told me that Flamel is a criminal and Scathach is basically just a hired thug. He said that she was cursed for her crimes to wear the body of a teenager for the rest of her life.” He shook his head quickly and hurried on, his voice low and desperate. “Sis, we know next to nothing about these people…Flamel, Perenelle and Scathach. The only thing we do know is that they’ve made you different—dangerously different. They’ve taken us halfway across the world, and look where we are now.” Even as he was speaking, the building shook, and then a dozen more tiles slid off the roof and crashed into the yard, sending razor-sharp fragments flying around them. Josh yelped as a chunk stung his arm. “We can’t trust them, Soph. We shouldn’t.”
“Josh, you have no idea what powers they’ve given me….” Sophie caught her brother’s arm, and the air, which was foul with the stink of rotting food, was touched with the odor of vanilla, and then, a moment later, the scent of oranges as Josh’s aura flared briefly golden. “Oh, Josh, the things I could tell you. I know everything the Witch of Endor knew….”
“And it’s making you sick!” Josh yelled angrily. “And don’t forget, if you use your powers one more time, you could literally explode.”
The twins’ auras flared gold and silver. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut as a flood of impressions, vague thoughts and random ideas slammed into her consciousness. Her blue eyes blinked, momentarily silver, and she suddenly realized that she was experiencing her brother’s thoughts. She wrenched her hand away from him and the thoughts and sensations immediately faded.
“You’re jealous!” she whispered in amazement. “Jealous of my powers.”
Color touched Josh’s cheeks, and Sophie saw the truth in his eyes even before he spoke the lie. “I am not!”
Suddenly, a black-clad police officer burst through the door and out into the yard. There was a long crack running down the front of his face visor, and he was missing one of his black boots. Without pausing, he limped past them and ran into the alley. They could hear the pat of his naked foot and the slap of the leather sole fade away.
Then Scatty strolled out into the yard. She was twirling her nunchaku as if she were Charlie Chaplin swinging a cane. There wasn’t a hair out of place or a mark on her body, and her green eyes were bright and alert. “Oh, I’m in a much better mood now,” she announced.
The twins looked past her into the corridor. Nothing and no one moved in the darkness beyond.
“But there were about ten of them…,” Sophie began.
Scathach shrugged. “Twelve, actually.”
“Armed…,” Josh said. He glanced sidelong at his sister, then back at the Warrior. He swallowed hard. “You didn’t…didn’t kill them, did you?”
Wood snapped and something collapsed in the shop
“No, they’re just…sleeping.” Scatty smiled.
“But how did you—” Josh began.
“I am the Warrior,” Scatty said simply.
Sophie caught a hint of movement and opened her mouth to scream just as the shape appeared out of the corridor and a long-fingered hand fell on Scathach’s shoulder. The Warrior didn’t react.
“I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes,” Nicholas Flamel said, stepping out of the shadows. He nodded at the open gate. “We’d better go,” he added, ushering them toward the alleyway.
“You missed the fight,” Josh told him. “There were ten of them….”
“Twelve,” Scathach corrected him quickly.
“I know,” the Alchemyst said with a wry smile, “only twelve: they didn’t stand a chance.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Escaped!” Dr. John Dee snarled into the cell phone. “You had them surrounded. How could you let them escape?”
On the other side of the Atlantic, Niccolò Machiavelli remained calm and controlled, only the tightening of his jaw muscles revealing his anger. “You are remarkably well informed.”
“I have my sources,” Dee snapped, his thin lips twisting into an ugly smile. He knew it would drive Machiavelli crazy knowing there was a spy in his camp.
“You had them trapped in Ojai, I understand,” Machiavelli continued softly, “surrounded by an army of the risen dead. And yet they escaped. How could you let them do that?”
Dee sat back in the soft leather seat of the speeding limousine. His face was lit only by the screen of his cell phone, its glow touching his cheekbones and outlining his sharp goatee in cold light, leaving his eyes in shadow. He hadn’t told Machiavelli that he’d used necromancy to raise an army of dead humans and beasts. Was this the Italian’s subtle way of letting him know that he had a spy in Dee’s camp?
“Where are you now?” Machiavelli asked.
Dee glanced out the window of the limousine, trying to read the road signs flashing past. “Somewhere on the 101, heading down to L.A. My jet is fueled and ready to go, and we’re cleared for takeoff as soon as I arrive.”
“I would anticipate having them in custody before you land in Paris,” Machiavelli said. The line crackled furiously, and he paused before adding, “I believe they will attempt to contact Saint-Germain.”
Dee sat bolt upright. “The Comte de Saint-Germain? He’s back in Paris? I heard he had died in India looking for the lost city of Ophir.”
“Obviously not. He has an apartment off the Champs-Elysées and two homes in the suburbs that we are aware of. They are all under observation. If Flamel contacts him, we’ll know.”
“Don’t let them escape this time,” Dee barked. “Our masters would not be pleased.” He snapped the phone shut before Machiavelli could respond. Then his teeth flashed in a quick smile. The net was closing tighter and tighter.
“He can be so childish,” Machiavelli muttered in Italian. “Always has to have the last word.” Standing in the ruins of the coffee shop, he carefully closed his phone and looked around at the devastation. It was as if a tornado had ripped through the café. Every item of furniture was broken, the windows were shattered, and there were even cracks in the ceiling. The powdery remains of cups and saucers mixed with spilled coffee beans, scattered tea leaves and broken pastries on the floor. Machiavelli bent to lift up a fork. It was curled in a perfect S shape. Tossing it aside, he picked his way through the debris. Scathach had single-handedly defeated twelve highly trained and heavily armed RAID officers. He had been vaguely hoping that perhaps she had lost some of her martial arts skills in the years since he had last encountered her, but it seemed that his hope had been in vain. The Shadow was as deadly as ever. Getting close to Flamel and the children would be difficult with the Warrior in the picture. In his long life, Niccolò had encountered her on at least half a dozen occasions, and he’d barely survived each time. They’d last met in the frozen ruins of Stalingrad in the winter of 1942. If it hadn’t been for her, his forces would have taken the city. He’d sworn then that he would kill her: maybe now was the time to keep that promise.
But how to kill the unkillable? What could stand against the warrior who had trained all of history’s greatest heroes, who had fought in every great conflict and whose fighting style was at the heart of just about every martial art?
Stepping out of the demolished shop, Machiavelli breathed deeply, clearing his lungs of the bitter, acrid odor of spilled coffee and sour milk that hung in the air. Dagon pulled open the car door as he approached, and the Italian saw himself reflected in his driver’s dark glasses. He paused before stepping into the car and glanced up at the police closing off the streets, the heavily armed riot squad gathering in small groups and the plain clothes officers in their unmarked cars. The French secret service were his to command, he could order in the police, and he had access to a private army of hundreds of men and women who would do his bidding without question. And yet he knew that none of them could stand against the Warrior. He came to a decision and looked at Dagon before climbing into the car.
“Find the Disir.”
Dagon stiffened, showing a rare sign of emotion. “Is that wise?” he asked.
“It is necessary.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The Witch said we should get to the Eiffel Tower by seven, and to wait there for ten minutes,” Nicholas Flamel said as they hurried down the narrow alley. “If no one shows up in that time, we are to return there at eight and again at nine.”
“Who’ll be there?” Sophie asked, jogging to keep up with Flamel’s long stride. She was exhausted, and the few moments sitting in the café had only served to emphasize just how tired she was. Her legs felt leaden and there was a sharp stitch in her left side.
The Alchemyst shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever the Witch can contact.”
“That’s assuming there is anyone in Paris willing to risk helping you,” Scathach said lightly. “You are a dangerous enemy, Nicholas, and probably an even more dangerous friend. Death and destruction have always followed closely at your heels.”
Josh glanced sidelong at his sister, knowing she was listening. She deliberately looked away, but he knew she was uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Well, if no one turns up,” Flamel said, “then we’ll go to plan B.”
Scathach’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “I didn’t even know we had a plan A. What’s plan B?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He grinned. Then the smile faded. “I just wish Perenelle were here; she’d know what to do.”
“We should split up,” Josh said suddenly.
Flamel, who was in the lead, glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”
“We have to,” Josh said firmly. “It makes sense.” But as he said it, he wondered why the Alchemyst didn’t want them to split up.
“Josh is right,” Sophie said. “The police are looking for the four of us. I’m sure they have a description by now: two teenagers, a red-haired girl and an old man. It’s not really a common group.”
“Old!” Nicholas sounded vaguely insulted, his French accent pronounced. “Scatty is two thousand years older than I!”
“Yes. But the difference is that I don’t look it,” the Warrior teased with a grin. “Splitting up is a good idea.”
Josh stopped at the mouth of the narrow alley and looked up and down. Police sirens wailed and warbled all around them.
Sophie stood beside her brother, and while the similarity in their features was obvious, he suddenly noticed that there were now lines on her forehead, and her bright blue eyes had become cloudy, the irises flecked with silver. “Roux said we should turn left for the Rue de Dunkerque or right for the Metro station.”
“I’m not sure that splitting up…” Flamel hesitated.
Josh spun around. “We have to,” he said decisively. “Sophie and I will—” he began, but Nicholas shook his head, interrupting him.
“OK. I agree that we should split up. But the police may be looking for twins….”
“We don’t look too much like twins,” Sophie said quickly. “Josh is taller than me.”
“And you both have blond hair and bright blue eyes, and neither of you speaks French,” Scatty added. “Sophie, you come with me. Two girls together will not attract too much attention. Josh and Nicholas can go together.”
“I’m not leaving Sophie…,” Josh protested, suddenly panicked at even the thought of being separated from his sister in this strange city.
“I’ll be safe with Scatty,” Sophie said with a smile. “You worry too much. And I know Nicholas will look after you.”
Josh didn’t look too sure. “I’d rather stay with my sister,” Josh said firmly.
“Let the girls go together; it’s better this way,” Flamel said. “Safer.”
“Safer?” Josh said incredulously. “Nothing about this is safe.”
“Josh!” Sophie snapped, in the exact tone that their mother sometimes used. “Enough.” She turned back to the Warrior. “You’ll need to do something with your hair. If the police have a description of a red-haired girl in black combats…”
“You’re right.” Scathach’s left hand moved in a quick twisting gesture and suddenly she was holding a short-bladed knife between her fingers. She turned to Flamel. “I’m going to need some cloth.” Without waiting for an answer, she spun him around and lifted his battered leather jacket. With neat precise moves, she cut a square from the back of Flamel’s loose black T-shirt. Then she dropped his leather jacket back in place and twisted the square of fabric into a bandana, knotting it at the back of her head, covering her distinctive hair.
“This was my favorite T-shirt,” Flamel muttered. “It’s vintage.” He shifted his shoulder uncomfortably. “And now my back is cold.”
“Don’t be such a baby. I’ll buy you a new one,” Scatty said. She caught Sophie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go. See you at the Tower.”
“Do you know the way?” Nicholas called after her.
Scatty laughed. “I lived here for nearly sixty years, remember? I was here when the tower wa
s built.”
Flamel nodded. “Well, try not to draw attention to yourself.”
“I’ll try.”
“Sophie…,” Josh began.
“I know,” his sister answered, “be careful.” She turned back and hugged her brother quickly, their auras crackling. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she said softly, reading the fear in his eyes.
Josh forced himself to smile, and he nodded. “How do you know? Magic?”
“I just know,” she said simply. Her eyes blinked briefly silver. “This is all happening for a reason—remember the prophecy. Everything’s going to work out fine.”
“I believe you,” he said, even though he didn’t. “Be careful, and remember,” he added, “no wind.”
Sophie hugged him quickly again. “No wind,” she whispered in his ear, and then spun away.
Nicholas and Josh watched Scatty and Sophie disappear down the street, heading toward the Metro station; then they turned in the opposite direction. Just before they rounded a corner, Josh glanced back over his shoulder and saw that his sister had done the same. They both raised their hands and waved good-bye.
Josh waited until she had turned away and then lowered his hand. Now he was truly alone, in a strange city, thousands of miles from home, with a man he didn’t trust, a man he had started to fear.
“I thought you said you knew the way,” Sophie said.
“It’s been a while since I was here,” the Warrior admitted, “and the streets have changed quite a bit.”
“But you said you were here when the Eiffel Tower was built.” She stopped, abruptly realizing what she had just said. “And when was that exactly?” she asked.
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