birds was audible now, a raucous cawing, almost like high-pitched laugher.
Traffic was slowing, some people even stopping to get out of their cars to
take photographs with digital cameras and cell phones.
Nicholas Flamel leaned forward and placed his left hand on Josh s shoulder.
You should drive, he said seriously. Do not stop whatever happens, even if
you hit something. Just drive. As fast as you can. Get us off this bridge.
There was something in Flamel's unnaturally controlled voice that frightened
Sophie even more than if he had shouted. She glanced sidelong at Scatty, but
the young woman was rummaging through her backpack. The warrior pulled out a
short bow and a handful of arrows and placed them on the seat beside her.
Roll up your window, Josh, she said calmly. We don't want anything getting
in.
We re in trouble, aren't we? Sophie whispered, looking at the Alchemyst.
Only if the crows catch us, Flamel'said with a tight smile. Could I borrow
your cell phone?
Sophie pulled her cell out of her pocket and flipped it open. aren't you
going to work some magic? she asked hopefully.
No, I m going to make a call. Let s hope we don't get an answering service.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
S ecurity gates opened, and Dee s black limousine swerved into the driveway,
the Golem chauffeur expertly maneuvering the car through barred gates into an
underground parking garage. Perenelle Flamel lurched sideways and fell
against the sodden Golem sitting on her right-hand side. Its body squelched
with the blow, and spatters of foul-smelling mud squirted everywhere.
Dr. John Dee, sitting directly opposite, grimaced in disgust and scooted as
far away from the creature as he could. He was on his cell phone, talking
urgently in a language that had not been used on earth in more than three
thousand years.
A drop of Golem mud splashed onto Perenelle s right hand. The sticky liquid
ran across her flesh and erased the curling symbol Dee had drawn on her skin.
The binding spell was partially broken. Perenelle Flamel dipped her head
slightly. This was her chance. To properly channel her auric powers she
really needed both hands, and unfortunately, the ward Dee had drawn on her
forehead prevented her from speaking.
Still
Perenelle Delamere had always been interested in magic, even before she met
the poor bookseller who later became her husband. She was the seventh
daughter of a seventh daughter, and in the tiny village of Quimper in the
northwest corner of France, where she had grown up, she was considered
special. Her touch could heal not only humans, but animals, too she could
talk to the shades of the dead and she could sometimes see a little of the
future. But growing up in an age when such skills were regarded with deep
suspicion, she had learned to keep her abilities to herself. When she first
moved to Paris, she saw how the fortune-tellers working in the markets that
backed onto the great Notre Dame Cathedral made a good and easy living.
Adopting the name Chatte Noire Black Cat because of her jet-black hair, she
set herself up in a little booth in sight of the cathedral. Within a matter
of weeks she built a reputation for being genuinely talented. Her clients
changed: no longer were they just the tradespeople and stall holders, now
they were also drawn from the merchants and even the nobility.
Close to where she had her little covered stall sat the scriveners and
copiers, men who made their living writing letters for those who could
neither read nor write. Some of them, like the slender, dark-haired man with
startling pale eyes, occasionally sold books from their tables. And from the
first moment she saw that man, Perenelle Delamere knew that she would marry
him and that they would live a long and happy life together. She just never
realized quite how long.
They were married less than six months after they first met. They d been
together now for over six hundred years.
Like most educated men of his time, Nicholas Flamel was fascinated with
alchemy a combination of science and magic. His interest was sparked because
he was occasionally offered alchemical books or charts for sale or asked to
copy some of the rarer works. Unlike many other women of her time, Perenelle
could read and knew several languages her Greek was better than her
husband s and he would often ask her to read to him. Perenelle quickly became
familiar with the ancient systems of magic and began to practice in small
ways, developing her skills, concentrating on how to channel and focus the
energy of her aura.
By the time the Codex came into their possession, Perenelle was a sorceress,
though she had little patience for the mathematics and calculations of
alchemy. However, it was Perenelle who recognized that the book written in
the strange, ever-changing language was not just a history of the world that
had never been, but a collection of lore, of science, of spells and
incantations. She had been poring over the pages one bitter winter s night,
watching the words crawl on the page, when the letters formed and re-formed,
and for a heartbeat she had seen the initial formula for the philosopher s
stone, and realized instantly that here was the secret to life eternal.
The couple spent the next twenty years traveling to every country in Europe,
heading east into the land of the Rus, south to North Africa, even into Araby
in an attempt to decipher and translate the curious manuscript. They came
into contact with magicians and sorcerers of many lands, and studied many
different types of magic. Nicholas was only vaguely interested in magic; he
was more interested in the science of alchemy. The Codex, and other books
like it, hinted that there were very precise formulas for creating gold out
of stone and diamonds out of coal. Perenelle, on the other hand, learned as
much as she could about all the magical arts. But it had been a long time
since she had seriously practiced them.
Now, trapped in the limo, she recalled a trick she had learned from a
strega a witch in the mountains of Sicily. It was designed for dealing with
knights in armor, but with a little adjustment
Closing her eyes and concentrating, Perenelle rubbed her little finger in a
circle against the car seat. Dee was absorbed in his phone call and didn't
see the tiny ice white spark that snapped from her fingertip into the
fine-grained leather. The spark ran through the leather and coiled around the
springs beneath. It shot, fizzing and hissing, along the springs and into the
metal body of the car. It curled into the engine, buzzing over the cylinders,
circled the wheels, spitting and snapping. A hubcap popped off and bounced
away and then abruptly, the car s electrics went haywire. The windows started
opening and closing of their own accord; the sunroof hummed open, then
slammed shut; the wipers scraped across the dry windshield, then beat so fast
they snapped off; the horn began to sound out an irregular beat. Interior
lights flickered on and off. The small TV unit in the left-hand wall popped
on and cycled dizzyingly thro
ugh all its channels.
The air tasted metallic. Tendrils of static electricity now danced around the
interior of the car. Dee flung his cell phone away, nursing suddenly numb
fingers. The phone hit the carpeted floor and exploded into shards of melted
plastic and hot metal.
You , Dee began, turning to Perenelle, but the car lurched to a halt,
completely dead. Flames leapt from the engine, filling the back of the car
with noxious fumes. Dee pushed the door, but the electric locks had engaged.
With a savage howl, he closed his hand into a fist and allowed his rage to
boil through him. The stench of smoke, burning plastic and melting rubber was
abruptly concealed beneath the stink of sulfur, and his hand took on the
appearance of a golden metal glove. Dee punched straight through the door,
practically ripping it off its hinges, and flung himself out onto the cement
floor.
He was standing in the underground car park of Enoch Enterprises, the huge
entertainment company he owned and ran in San Francisco. He scrambled back as
his hundred-and fifty-thousand-dollar custom-made car was quickly consumed by
fire. Intense heat fused the front of the car into irregular clumps of metal,
while the windshield flowed like candle wax. The Golem driver was still
sitting at the wheel, unaffected by the intense heat, which did nothing but
bake its skin to iron hardness.
Then the garage s overhead sprinkler system came on, and bitterly cold water
sprayed down onto the fire.
Perenelle!
Soaked through, doubled over and coughing, Dee wiped tears from his eyes,
straightened and used both hands to douse the flames with a single movement.
He called up a tiny breeze to clear the smoke, then ducked his head to peer
into the blackened interior of the car, almost afraid of what he would find.
The two Golems that had been sitting on either side of Perenelle were now
nothing more than ash. But there was no sign of the woman except for the rent
in the opposite door that looked as if it had been hacked by an axe.
Dee folded to the ground with his back to the ruined car and beat both hands
into the filthy mixture of mud, oil, melted plastic and burnt rubber. He
hadn't secured the entire Codex, and now Perenelle had escaped. Could this
day get any worse?
Footsteps tip-tapped.
From the corner of his eye, Dr. John Dee watched as pointy-toed,
stiletto-heeled black boots came into view. And he knew then the answer to
his question. The day was about to get worse: much worse. Fixing a smile on
his lips, he rose stiffly to his feet and turned to face one of the few of
the Dark Elders who genuinely terrified him.
Morrigan.
The ancient Irish had called her the Crow Goddess, and she was worshipped and
feared throughout the Celtic kingdoms as the Goddess of Death and
Destruction. Once there had been three sisters: Badb, Macha and the Morrigan,
but the others had disappeared over the years Dee had his own suspicions
about what had happened to them and the Morrigan now reigned supreme.
She stood taller than Dee, though most people stood taller than the doctor,
and was dressed from head to foot in black leather. Her jerkin was studded
with shining silver bolts, giving it the appearance of a medieval
breastplate, and her leather gloves had rectangular silver studs sewn onto
the back of the fingers. The gloves had no fingertips, allowing the
Morrigan s long, spearlike black nails to show. She wore a heavy leather belt
studded with small circular shields around her waist. Draped over her
shoulders, with its full hood pulled around her face and sweeping to the
ground behind her, was a cloak made entirely of ravens feathers.
In the shadow of the hood, the Morrigan s face seemed even paler than usual.
Her eyes were jet-black, with no white showing; even her lips were black. The
tips of her overlong incisors were just visible against her lower lip.
This is yours, I believe. The Morrigan s voice was a harsh whisper, her
voice ragged and torn, like a bird s caw.
Perenelle Flamel came forward, moving slowly and carefully. Two enormous
ravens were perched on her shoulders, and both held their razor-sharp beaks
dangerously close to her eyes. She had barely scrambled out of the burning
car, desperately weakened by her use of magic, when she d been attacked by
the birds.
Let me see it, the Morrigan commanded eagerly.
Dee reached into his coat and produced the metal-bound Codex. Surprisingly,
the Crow Goddess did not reach for it.
Open it, she said.
Puzzled, Dee held the book in front of the Morrigan and turned the pages,
handling the ancient object with obvious reverence.
The Book of Abraham the Mage, she whispered, leaning forward, but not
approaching the book. Let me see the back.
Reluctantly, Dee turned to the back of the book. When the Morrigan saw the
damaged pages, she hissed with disgust. Sacrilege. It has survived ten
thousand years without suffering any damage.
The boy tore it, Dee explained, closing the Codex gently.
I'll make sure he suffers for this. The Crow Goddess closed her eyes and
cocked her head to one side, as if listening. Her black eyes glittered and
then her lips moved in a rare smile, exposing the rest of her pointed teeth.
He will suffer soon; my children are almost upon them. They will all
suffer, she promised.
CHAPTER TWELVE
J osh spotted an opening between two cars a VW Beetle and a Lexus. He pushed
his foot to the floor and the heavy car shot forward. But the gap wasn't
quite wide enough. The SUV s grill struck the side mirrors on the other two
cars and snapped them off. Oops Josh immediately took his foot off the
gas.
Keep going, Flamel ordered firmly. He had Sophie s phone in his hand and
was talking urgently in a guttural, rasping language that sounded like
nothing the twins had ever heard before.
Deliberately not looking in the rearview mirror, Josh roared across the
bridge, ignoring the honks and shouts behind him. He shot along the outside
lane, then cut into the middle lane, then back out again.
Sophie braced herself against the dashboard, peering through half-closed
eyes. She saw the car hit another side mirror; it came spinning, almost
slowly, up onto the hood of their SUV, scoring a long scrape in the black
paint before it bounced away. don't even think about it, she muttered as a
tiny open-topped Italian sports car spotted the same gap in the traffic that
Josh was aiming for. The driver, an older man with far too many gold chains
around his neck, put his foot down and raced for the gap. He didn't make it.
The heavy SUV caught the right front edge of the little car, just tapping it
on the bumper. The sports car was flung away, spinning in a complete
360-degree turn on the crowded bridge, bouncing off four other cars in the
process. Josh tore through the opening.
Flamel twisted around in the seat, looking through the rear window at the
chaos they had left in their wake. I thought you said you could drive, he
murmured.
I can dri
ve, Josh said, surprised that his voice sounded so calm and
steady, I just didn't say I was good at it. Do you think anyone got our
license plates? he asked. This was nothing like one of his driving games!
The palms of his hands were slick and wet and beads of sweat were running
down the sides of his face. A muscle twitched in his right leg from the
effort of keeping the accelerator pressed hard to the floor.
I think they ve got other things to worry about, Sophie whispered.
The crows had descended on the Golden Gate Bridge. Thousands of them. They
came in a black wave, cawing and screaming, wings cracking and snapping. They
hovered over the cars, darting low, occasionally even landing on car roofs
and hoods to peck at the metal and glass. Cars crashed and sideswiped one
another along the entire length of the bridge.
They ve lost focus, Scathach said, watching the birds behavior. They re
looking for us, but they ve forgotten our description. They have such tiny
brains, she said dismissively.
Something distracted their dark mistress, Nicholas Flamel'said.
Perenelle, he said delightedly. I wonder what she did. Something dramatic,
no doubt. She always did have a sense of the theatrical.
But even as he was speaking, the birds rose into the air again, and then, as
one, their black eyes turned in the direction of the fleeing black SUV. This
time when they cawed, it sounded like screams of triumph.
They re coming back, Sophie said quickly, breathlessly. She realized that
her heart was pumping hard against her rib cage. She looked at Flamel and the
Warrior for support, but their grim expressions gave her no comfort.
Scathach looked at her and said, We re in trouble now.
In a huge black-feathered mass, the crows took off after the car.
Most of the traffic on the bridge was now stalled. People sat frozen in
terror in their cars as the birds flowed, foul and stinking, over the roofs.
The SUV was the only car moving. Josh had his foot pressed flat to the floor,
and the needle on the speedometer hovered close to eighty. He was becoming
more comfortable with the controls he hadn't hit anything for at least a
minute. The end of the bridge was in sight. He grinned; they were going to
make it.
And then the huge crow landed on the hood.
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