The Magician

by Michael Scott

“In 1889. I left a couple of months later.”

  Scathach stopped outside the Metro station and asked directions from a newspaper and magazine seller. The tiny Chinese woman spoke very little French so Scathach quickly switched to another language. Sophie abruptly realized that she recognized it—it was Mandarin. The smiling clerk came out from behind the counter and pointed down the street, speaking so quickly that Sophie was unable to pick up individual words, despite the Witch’s knowledge of the language. It sounded as if she were singing. Scathach thanked her, then bowed, and the woman matched the bow.

  Sophie caught the Warrior’s arm and dragged her away. “So much for not attracting attention to yourself,” she murmured. “People were starting to stare.”

  “What were they staring at?” Scathach asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “Oh, probably just the sight of a white girl speaking fluent Chinese and then bowing,” Sophie said with a grin. “It was quite a performance.”

  “One day everyone will speak Mandarin, and bowing is just good manners,” Scathach said, setting off down the street, following the directions the woman had given.

  Sophie fell into step beside her. “Where did you learn Chinese?” she asked.

  “In China. Actually, I was speaking Mandarin to the woman, but I also speak Wu and Cantonese. I’ve spent a lot of time in the Far East over the centuries. I used to love it there.”

  They walked in silence, and then Sophie said, “So how many languages do you speak?”

  Scathach frowned, eyes briefly closing as she considered. “Six or seven…”

  Sophie nodded. “Six or seven; that’s impressive. My mom and dad want us to learn Spanish, and Dad is teaching us Greek and Latin. But I’d really like to learn Japanese. I really want to visit Japan,” she added.

  “…six or seven hundred,” Scathach continued, then laughed aloud at the stunned expression on Sophie’s face. She slipped her arm through Sophie’s. “Well, I suppose a few of those would be dead languages, so I’m not sure they count, but remember, I’ve been around for a very long time.”

  “Have you really lived for two and a half thousand years?” Sophie asked, glancing sidelong at the girl who looked no older than seventeen. She suddenly grinned: never once had she imagined herself asking a question like that. It was just another example of how her life had changed.

  “Two thousand, five hundred and seventeen humani years.” Scathach smiled a tight-lipped smile that hid her vampire teeth. “Hekate once abandoned me in a particularly nasty Underworld Shadowrealm. It took me centuries to find my way out. And when I was younger I spent a lot of time in the Shadowrealms of Lyonesse, Hy-Brasil and Tir na nOg, where time moves at a different pace. Shadowrealm time is not the same as humani time, so I really only count my time on this earth. And who knows, you may get to find out for yourself. You and Josh are unique and powerful and will grow even more powerful as you master the elemental magics. If you don’t discover the secret of immortality yourselves, someone may offer it to you as a gift. Come on, let’s cross.” Catching hold of Sophie’s hand, she pulled her across a narrow road.

  Although it had only just turned six in the morning, traffic was starting to build. Vans were making deliveries to restaurants, and the chill morning air was beginning to fill with the mouth-watering odors of fresh-baked bread and pastries and percolating coffee. Sophie breathed in the familiar fragrances: croissants and coffee reminded her that only two days ago she had been serving those in The Coffee Cup. She blinked away the sting of sudden tears. So much had happened, so much had changed in the past two days. “What’s it like to live so long?” she wondered aloud.

  “Lonely,” Scatty said quietly.

  “How long…how long will you live?” she asked the Warrior cautiously.

  Scatty shrugged and smiled. “Who knows? If I’m careful, exercise regularly and watch my diet, I could live another couple of thousand years.” Then her smile faded. “But I’m not invulnerable, nor am I invincible. I can be killed.” She saw the stricken look on Sophie’s face and squeezed her arm. “But that’s not going to happen. Do you know how many humani, immortals, Elders, were-creatures and assorted monsters have tried to kill me?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Well, nor do I, actually. But there have been thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands. And I’m still here; what does that tell you?”

  “That you’re good?”

  “Hah! I’m better than good. I am the best. I am the Warrior.” Scathach stopped and looked into a bookshop window, but Sophie noticed that when she turned to talk, her bright green eyes were darting everywhere, taking in their surroundings.

  Resisting the temptation to turn around, Sophie lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are we being followed?” She was surprised to discover that she wasn’t the least bit afraid; she knew, instinctively, that nothing could harm her when she was with Scatty.

  “No, I don’t think so. Just old habits.” Scathach smiled. “The same habits that have kept me alive through the centuries.” She moved away from the shop and Sophie linked her arm with Scatty’s.

  “Nicholas called you other names when we met you….” Sophie frowned, trying to remember how he’d first introduced Scathach back in San Francisco only two days ago. “He called you the Warrior Maid, the Shadow, the Daemon Slayer, the King Maker.”

  “Those are just names,” Scathach muttered, sounding embarrassed.

  “They sound like more than names,” Sophie pressed. “They sound like titles…titles you’ve earned?” she persisted.

  “Well, I’ve had lots of names,” Scathach said, “names my friends gave me, names my foes called me. I was the Warrior Maid first, and then I became the Shadow, because of my skills at concealment. I perfected the first camouflage clothing.”

  “You sound like a ninja,” Sophie laughed. Listening to the Warrior talk, images from the Witch’s memories flickered through her head, and she knew that Scatty was telling the truth.

  “I tried teaching ninjas, but they were never that good, believe me. I became the Daemon Slayer when I killed Raktabija. And I was called the King Maker when I helped put Arthur on the throne,” she added, her voice turning grim. She shook her head quickly. “That was a mistake. And not my first either.” She laughed, but it came out shaky and sounding forced. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

  “My dad says you can learn from your mistakes.”

  Scatty barked a laugh. “Not me.” She was unable to keep the note of bitterness from her voice.

  “It sounds like you’ve had a tough life,” Sophie said quietly.

  “It’s been tough,” the Warrior admitted.

  “Has there ever been a…” Sophie paused, hunting for the word. “Have you ever had a…a boyfriend?”

  Scathach looked at her sharply, then turned her face away to stare into a shop window. For a moment Sophie thought she was examining the display of shoes, but then she realized that the Warrior was looking at her own reflection in the glass. The girl wondered what she saw.

  “No,” Scatty finally admitted. “There’s never been anyone close, anyone special.” She smiled tightly. “The Elders fear and avoid me. And I try not to get too close to humani. It’s too hard watching them age and die. That is the curse of immortality: to watch the world change, to see everything you know wither. Remember that, Sophie, if someone offers you the gift of immortality.” She made the last word sound like a profanity.

  “It sounds so lonely,” Sophie said carefully. She never thought about what it must be like to be immortal before—to live on while everything familiar changed and everyone you knew left you. They walked a dozen steps in silence before Scatty spoke again.

  “Yes, it’s been lonely,” she admitted, “very lonely.”

  “I know about lonely,” Sophie said thoughtfully. “With Mom and Dad away so much or moving us from city to city, it’s hard to make friends. It’s almost impossible to keep them. I suppose that’s why Josh and I have always been so close; we’v
e had no one else. My best friend, Elle, is in New York. We talk on the phone all the time, and e-mail and chat on IM, but I haven’t seen her since Christmas. She sends me photos off her cell every time she changes her hair color, so I know what she looks like,” she added with a smile. “Josh doesn’t even try to make friends, though.”

  “Friends are important,” Scathach agreed, squeezing Sophie’s arm lightly. “But while friends come and go, you will always have family.”

  “What about your family? The Witch of Endor mentioned your mother and brother.” Even as she was speaking, images from the Witch’s memories popped into her mind: a sharp-faced older woman with bloodred eyes and an ashen-skinned young man with blazing red hair.

  The Warrior shrugged uncomfortably. “We don’t talk much these days. My parents were Elders, born and raised on the isle of Danu Talis. When my grandmother Dora left the island to teach the first humani, they never forgave her. Like many Elders, they considered the humani to be little better than beasts. ‘Curiosities,’ my father called them.” A flicker of disgust crossed her face. “Prejudice has always been with us. My mother and father were even more shocked when I announced that I too was going to work with the humani, to fight for them, to protect them when I could.”

  “Why?” Sophie asked.

  Scatty’s voice grew soft. “It was obvious to me, even then, that the humani were the future and that the days of the Elder Races were drawing to a close.” She glanced sidelong at Sophie, who was surprised to find Scathach’s eyes bright and glittering, almost as if there were tears in them. “My parents warned me that if I left home, I would bring shame on the family name and they would disown me.” Scatty’s voice trailed into silence.

  “But you still left,” Sophie guessed.

  The Warrior nodded. “I left. We didn’t speak for a millennium…until they were in trouble and needed my help,” she added with a grim smile. “We talk occasionally now, but I’m afraid they still consider me an embarrassment.”

  Sophie squeezed her hand gently. She felt uncomfortable with what the Warrior had just told her, but she also realized that Scatty had shared something incredibly personal, something that Sophie doubted the ancient warrior had ever shared with anyone else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Scathach squeezed back. “You didn’t upset me. They upset me—more than two thousand years ago, in fact—and I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. It’s been a long time since anyone took the trouble to ask about my life. And believe me, it’s not been all bad. I’ve had some wonderful adventures,” she said brightly. “Did I tell you about the time I was the lead singer in an all-girl band? Sort of goth-punk Spice Girls, but we only did Tori Amos covers. We were very big in Germany.” She lowered her voice. “The problem was, we were all vampires….”

  Nicholas and Josh turned onto the Rue de Dunkerque and discovered there were police everywhere. “Keep walking,” Nicholas said urgently as Josh slowed. “And act natural.”

  “Natural,” Josh muttered. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

  “Walk quickly, but don’t run,” Nicholas said patiently. “You’re completely innocent, a student on the way to class or heading to a summer job. Look at the police, but don’t stare. And if one looks at you, don’t turn away quickly, just let your eyes drift on to the next character. That’s what an ordinary citizen would do. If we’re stopped, I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine.” He saw the skeptical look on the boy’s face and his smile widened. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. The trick is to move as if you have every right in the world to be here. The police are trained to look for people who look and act suspicious.”

  “Don’t you think we fall into both categories?” Josh asked.

  “We look like we belong—and that makes us invisible.”

  A group of three policemen didn’t even look in their direction as they walked past. Josh noticed that each was wearing a different type of uniform, and the men seemed to be arguing.

  “Good,” Nicholas said when they were out of earshot.

  “What’s good?”

  Nicholas inclined his head in the direction they had just come. “You saw the different uniforms?”

  The boy nodded.

  “France has a complicated police system; Paris even more so. There is the Police Nationale, the Gendarmerie Nationale and the Préfecture de Police. Machiavelli has obviously pulled out all the stops to find us, but his great failing has always been that he assumes that other people are as coldly logical as he is. He obviously thinks that if he puts all these police resources on the streets, they will do nothing but search for us. But there is a great deal of rivalry between the various units, and no doubt everyone wants the credit for capturing the dangerous criminals.”

  “Is that what you’ve made us into now?” Josh asked, unable to disguise the sudden bitterness in his voice. “Two days ago, Sophie and I were happy, normal people. And now look at us: I barely know my own sister. We’ve been hunted, attacked by monsters and now we’re on a police most-wanted list. You’ve made us criminals, Mr. Flamel. But this isn’t the first time you’ve been a criminal, is it?” he snapped. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and closed them into fists to prevent them from shaking. He was scared and angry, and the fear was making him reckless. He’d never talked to an adult like that before.

  “No,” Nicholas said mildly, his pale eyes starting to glitter dangerously. “I’ve been called a criminal. But only by my enemies. It seems to me,” he added after a long pause, “that you’ve been talking to Dr. Dee. And the only place you could have encountered him was in Ojai, since that was the only time you were out of my sight.”

  Josh didn’t even think about denying it. “I met Dee when the three of you were busy with the Witch,” he admitted defiantly. “He told me a lot about you.”

  “I’m quite sure he did,” Flamel murmured. He waited by the curb as a dozen students on bicycles and mopeds sped past; then he strolled across the street. Josh hurried after him.

  “He said that you never tell anyone everything.”

  “True,” Flamel agreed. “If you tell people everything, you take away their opportunity to learn.”

  “He said you stole the Book of Abraham from the Louvre.”

  Nicholas walked for half a dozen steps before nodding. “Well, I suppose that is true too,” he said, “though it’s not quite so straightforward as he would like to paint it. Certainly, in the seventeenth century, the book briefly fell into the hands of Cardinal Richelieu.”

  Josh shook his head. “Who’s that?”

  “Have you never read The Three Musketeers?” Flamel asked in astonishment.

  “Nope. Didn’t even see the movie.”

  Flamel shook his head. “I’ve got a copy in the shop…,” he began, and then stopped. When he’d walked away from the bookshop on Thursday, it had been a trashed ruin. “Richelieu appears in the books—and the movies, too. He was a real person and was known as the l’Eminence Rouge—the Red Eminence—so named after his cardinal’s red robes,” he explained. “He was King Louis XIII’s chief minister, but in reality he ruled the country. In 1632, Dee managed to trap Perenelle and me in a part of the old city. His inhuman agents had surrounded us; there were ghouls in the earth beneath our feet, Dire-Crows in the air, and Baobhan Sith were tracking us through the streets.” Nicholas shrugged uncomfortably at the memory and looked up and around, almost as if he expected to see the creatures appear again. “I was beginning to think that I was going to have to destroy the Codex rather than see it fall into Dee’s hands. Then Perenelle suggested one last option: we could hide the book in plain sight. It was simple and brilliant!”

  “What did you do?” Josh asked, curious now.

  Flamel’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I sought an audience with Cardinal Richelieu and presented him with the book.”

  “You gave it to him? Did he know what it was?”

  “Of course he d
id. The Book of Abraham is famous, Josh—or maybe infamous might be a better word. Next time you go online, look it up.”

  “Did the cardinal know who you were?” he asked. Listening to Flamel talk, it was easy—so easy—to believe everything he said. And then he remembered how believable Dee had been back in Ojai.

  Flamel smiled, remembering. “Cardinal Richelieu believed I was one of the descendants of Nicholas Flamel. So we presented him with the Book of Abraham and he put it in his library.” Nicholas laughed softly as he shook his head. “The safest place in all of France.”

  Josh frowned. “But surely when he looked at it, he saw that the text moved?”

  “Perenelle put a glamour over the book. It’s a particular type of spell—astonishingly simple, apparently, though I could never master it—so when the cardinal looked at the book, he saw what he expected to see: pages of ornate Greek and Aramaic writing.”

  “Did Dee catch you?”

  “Almost. We escaped down the Seine on a barge. Dee himself stood on the Pont Neuf with a dozen musketeers and fired scores of shots at us. They all missed; despite the musketeers’ reputation, they were terrible shots,” he added. “And then, a couple of weeks later, Perenelle and I returned to Paris, broke into the library and stole our book back. So I suppose you could say that Dee is right,” he concluded. “I am a thief.”

  Josh walked on in silence; he had no idea what to believe. He wanted to believe Flamel; working in the bookshop alongside the man, he’d grown to like and respect him. He wanted to trust him…and yet he could never forgive him for putting Sophie in danger.

  Flamel glanced up and down the street; then, putting his hand on Josh’s shoulder, he guided him through the stalled traffic and across the Rue de Dunkerque. “Just in case we’re being followed,” he said softly, his lips barely moving as they darted through the early-morning traffic.

  Once they were across the road, Josh shrugged off Nicholas’s hand. “What Dee said made a lot of sense,” he continued.

  “I’m sure it did,” Flamel said with a laugh. “Dr. John Dee has been many things in his long and colorful life, a magus and a mathematician, an alchemist and spy. But let me tell you, Josh, he was often a rogue and always a liar. He is a master of lies and half-truths, and he practiced and perfected his craft in that most dangerous of times, the Elizabethan Age. He knows that the best lie is one that is wrapped around a core of truth.” He paused, his eyes flickering over the crowd streaming past them. “What else did he tell you?”