Nicholas Flamel 1 - The Alchemyst sotinf-1

by Michael Scott

  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.