Sophie nodded. She understood that. She’d always felt she had a responsibility to look after her brother—even though he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. “How much do you know about what’s happened in the past few days?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Aoife said, surprising her. “I felt Scathach go and I came here immediately.”
“Where were you?”
“In the Gobi Desert.”
Sophie squeezed a seed between her fingers and watched it arc into the water. “But that’s in Mongolia, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Scatty only disappeared yesterday. You must have used leygates to get here.”
Aoife nodded. “I used a little trick your friend Saint-Germain taught me a long time ago: he showed me how to see the gold and silver leygate spires. I used the gates to leap from Mongolia to the Ise Shine in Japan, to Uluru in Australia, then Easter Island and finally on to Mount Tamalpais.” She leaned forward and tapped Sophie on the knee. “I hate leygates.”
“Scatty said they make her seasick.”
Aoife sat back and nodded. “Aye, that’s just how they make me feel.”
Sophie twisted around to where the Japanese man who had driven the limo was scraping paint from the wall of the houseboat. “Did he come with you from Japan?”
“Who? Niten? No, he lives here in San Francisco. He is an immortal human and we are old friends,” she added with a hint of a genuine smile. “This is his houseboat.”
“Looks like he hasn’t been here for a while.”
“Niten travels,” Aoife said simply. “He wanders the Shadowrealms.”
Sophie looked again at the Asian man. She had initially assumed he was in his late teens or early twenties, but now she could make out the faint lines around his eyes, and she noticed that his wrists and knuckles were thick: the sure signs of a martial artist. He was stripping old paint from the wood with smooth, fluid movements.
“Tell me what happened to my sister.”
Sophie turned back to Aoife and put down the grapes. “All I can tell you is what Nicholas told me and Josh yesterday, and he heard it from Saint-Germain. Scathach and Joan of Arc were preparing to jump from Paris to Mount Tamalpais to attempt to rescue Perenelle, who was trapped on Alcatraz …”
Aoife held up her hand. “What has Joan of Arc got to do with this?”
“She’s married to Saint-Germain.” Sophie grinned at the look of surprise on Aoife’s face. “You didn’t know? I think they got married recently.”
“Joan of Arc and Saint-Germain,” Aoife murmured, shaking her head. “Did you hear that?” she said, without raising her voice.
“I thought you knew,” Niten said, and although his voice was barely above a whisper, it carried clearly. He continued to peel long strips of flaking paint off the side of the houseboat.
“How would I know?” Aoife snapped. “No one tells me anything.” She twisted in her seat to look at Niten. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never liked the Frenchman, and I knew you would dislike the Frenchwoman even more because your sister made her immortal with her blood.”
“She did?” Aoife looked horrified. “Joan carries my sister’s blood within her?”
“You didn’t know about this?” Sophie asked, surprised.
The red-haired woman shook her head. “I did not. What happened?”
“Joan was condemned to be burned at the stake. Scathach single-handedly rode into the city and rescued her, but Joan was injured in the escape. The only way to save her life was to give her a blood transfusion,” Sophie explained.
Aoife leaned forward, elbows on her knees, long pale fingers locked together. “Tell me about my sister. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know much more,” Sophie said. “Apparently, they were going to use the leygate at Notre Dame, but it was sabotaged. Saint-Germain found traces of mammoth dust around the spot. Nicholas thinks Machiavelli was responsible. Instead of landing on Mount Tamalpais today, it looks as if they’ve been dropped sometime in the past.”
“How far in the past?”
“Nicholas and Saint-Germain think the mammoth bones mean the Pleistocene era. So that could be anywhere from one point eight million years ago to just over eleven thousand years ago.”
Sophie watched in astonishment as Aoife visibly relaxed. “Oh, that’s not too bad, then. If that’s all that’s happened, we can go back and rescue them.”
“How?” Sophie demanded.
“There are ways.” Aoife looked over at Niten. “Perhaps it’s time we talked to the Alchemyst and his wife, to see if they have any further information. Do you know where they are?”
“Yes,” Niten said simply as he scraped away the paint.
“Would you like to tell me?” Sophie could clearly hear the annoyance in her voice.
The slender man raised his chin toward the shore, and Sophie and Aoife turned to see a bright red Thunderbird pull up to the dock in a cloud of dust. “Right here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With his long hair tied back in a tight ponytail, head covered in a stained Dodgers baseball cap, eyes huge behind thick glasses, and wearing clothes at least two sizes too large for him, the Comte de Saint-Germain shuffled unnoticed through the Arrivals Hall at London’s Heathrow airport. Stepping out into the cool damp evening air, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked his messages.
There was one message. Number withheld. It said simply: Level 3, space 243.
He turned and headed into the parking structure, taking the stairs up to level three. He was moving quickly, checking the numbers, when a dark shape detached itself from the shadows and fell into step alongside him. “Looking for a taxi, sir?”
“Palamedes,” Saint-Germain whispered, “don’t do that. You could have given me a heart attack.”
“Hardly. You knew I was there, didn’t you?”
Saint-Germain nodded. “I smelled you.”
“So you’re saying I smell?”
“You smell of cloves. Ah, but it is good to see you, old friend,” the Frenchman said, using a Persian dialect that had gone extinct a century earlier.
“I wish it were in happier circumstances,” the huge shaven-headed man said. He eased Saint-Germain’s carry-on bag from his hands. The Frenchman tried to protest, but the Saracen Knight ignored him. “I sent a message to my master,” the knight continued in the same ancient language. Both immortals were too experienced to allow anyone to come close enough to eavesdrop on them, but they were equally conscious that there were more security cameras in London than any other city on earth. Anyone looking at them now would just see a London taxi driver picking up a fare.
“And how is your master?” Saint-Germain asked cautiously.
“Still angry at you. You seem to have a gift for upsetting people,” Palamedes added with a broad grin.
“Will he help me?” Saint-Germain asked nervously.
“I don’t know. I will speak for you. Shakespeare will, too, and you know what a great talker he is.” They stopped at a black cab and Palamedes pulled open the door to allow the Frenchman inside. “There will be a cost,” the knight said seriously.
Saint-Germain gripped his friend’s arm. “Anything. I will pay anything to get my wife back.”
“Even your immortality?”
“Even that. What is the point in living forever, if it is not with the woman I love?”
A flicker of immeasurable sadness crossed the knight’s face. “I understand that,” he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“This is my friend Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak,” Billy the Kid said as the small powerboat bounced across San Francisco Bay.
The sharp-featured man nodded to Machiavelli. “You’ll find it more convenient to call me Black Hawk,” he drawled. He was dressed, like Billy, in faded jeans, old cowboy boots and a T-shirt. Unlike Billy, though, who was thin to the point of scrawniness, Black Hawk was a solid mass of muscle. He handled the b
ucking powerboat with ease.
Billy tapped him on the shoulder. “Over there; my car is at Pier—”
“I checked. Your car is gone,” Black Hawk said, and then laughed aloud at the stricken look on Billy’s face.
“Stolen! Someone stole my car!” He turned to the Italian. “That’s … that’s criminal!”
Machiavelli kept his face expressionless. “I’ll wager the Sorceress took it.”
Billy nodded eagerly. “I bet you’re right. She’ll look after it, though, won’t she? I mean, she’ll know it’s a classic car and treat it with respect?”
Machiavelli caught Black Hawk’s eye and then had to look away quickly before he laughed. “I do believe I read in my files somewhere that Perenelle Flamel only learned how to drive recently,” he said innocently.
Billy sank down to the side of the boat as if he’d been struck. “She’ll ruin it. She’ll wreck the transmission and she’ll probably scrape the tires against the curb. Do you know how hard it is to find those whitewall tires?”
“If it’s any consolation,” Black Hawk said with a grin, “in about an hour, you’ll never need a car again. The last time I saw our master this angry was in April 1906 … and you know what happened then.”
Billy’s face set in a petulant snarl. “Well, I don’t know what you’re so happy about. I was going to leave you that car in my will.”
“Thanks.” Black Hawk shrugged. “But I’m not a Thunderbird person; I prefer Mustangs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sophie leapt out of her chair as Josh pushed open the driver’s door and climbed out of the red Thunderbird. Aoife’s hand fell on her shoulder, squeezing gently, but the warning was clear: she was not to move. Perenelle climbed out of the back of the car and Nicholas slowly pushed open the passenger door. It took some seconds before he straightened.
Niten appeared by Aoife’s side, two Japanese swords, one longer than the other, held lightly in his hands. “Be calm,” he said quietly, and Sophie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Aoife.
“Sophie, are you all right?” Josh went to step forward, but Nicholas stretched out his arm, stopping him.
“I’m fine,” she called, her voice echoing flatly across the water. The dock was slightly higher than the houseboat, and Sophie’s face was at the same level as her twin, but they were less than ten feet apart. Without turning her head, she said, “I told you he’d find me.”
“He is full of surprises,” Aoife murmured, then raised her voice. “How did you find me?” she called out, addressing the question to Josh, but it was Perenelle who answered, stepping around her husband and walking right up to the edge of the dock.
“You have few friends in the Americas, Aoife,” the Sorceress said, “and fewer still in this city. You had nowhere to go … except to the Swordsman, of course.” She bowed slightly to the Japanese man, hands pressed flat against her thighs.
“Sorceress,” he acknowledged. “I have heard much about you, and your husband, too.” He matched her bow, dipping his head, though his eyes never left hers.
“We called your dojo earlier and discovered that you had not attended morning lessons. Then we drove past your home: the moment I saw that the newspaper was still in your driveway, I knew you were not there.”
“You have my home address?” he said cautiously.
“I know all there is to know about you, Swordsman.”
“How did you know I was here?” he said.
“You come here most weekends to work on the boat.”
“How did you know that?” he asked.
Perenelle smiled but did not answer.
“I did not realize I had become a creature of habit and routine.” Niten bowed again. “There is nothing more dangerous to the warrior. Nor did I realize I was being watched,” he added.
“Not all of my spies were humani,” the Sorceress said.
“Even so; I should have spotted them. I must have become lazy in my old age.”
“And we know how dangerous that is, don’t we?” Perenelle asked. “Laziness will kill even the strongest warrior.”
“You will not be able to follow me again,” the Swordsman said, head tilted to one side, the faintest smile on his thin lips.
“I know that.”
“Why have you told me this?” he wondered aloud.
“Nicholas and I were content to monitor your movements, and once we were sure you meant us no harm, we left you alone. But what we did, others can do also … and you and your legendary swords would be quite a prize.”
“Well, this is all very civilized,” Aoife interrupted rudely, “but what—exactly—do you want?”
“We’ve come for the girl … and to talk,” Nicholas answered.
“And if I refuse?” Aoife demanded.
Nicholas sighed. “I am having a really bad day, and Perenelle is not in a good humor. Now, you really do not want to make us angry, do you?”
“You do not frighten me, Alchemyst,” Aoife snarled.
“I should,” Nicholas whispered. “And Perenelle should terrify you.”
“We should listen to what they have to say,” Niten said suddenly. “Only moments ago, you wanted to talk to them,” he reminded Aoife.
“Yes, but not here and not now.”
“Talk to them,” Sophie said.
“Be quiet.”
Sophie rounded on the woman. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” she said, suddenly angry. She hated—absolutely hated—when adults dismissed her.
Aoife looked at her in surprise, but before she could reply, Niten stepped up to the edge of the houseboat and looked from the Alchemyst to the Sorceress. “Give me your word that this is not a trick.”
“I give you my word,” Nicholas said.
“And I,” Perenelle added.
Niten’s arms moved and the swords disappeared into matched sheaths he wore strapped to his hip. “Come aboard,” he said. “Enter freely and of your own will.”
“Hey …,” Aoife began.
“This is my boat,” Niten reminded her, “and the Flamels may be many things, but I believe that they have always kept their word.”
“Tell that to the generations of people they betrayed and destroyed,” Aoife muttered, but she stepped back and allowed Nicholas, Perenelle and Josh onto the boat.
“You need to learn how to trust a little more,” the Swordsman said to Aoife.
“And you need to learn to trust the right people,” she snapped. “And these are not the right people.”
“Your sister likes and trusts them.”
Aoife sneered. “I am not my sister.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“None of these things are of any concern to me,” Aoife said finally. Nicholas and Perenelle had just spent thirty minutes explaining the events of the past few days, adding details that Sophie had forgotten or skipped over.
Niten had set up a wooden crate on the center of the deck and arranged an assortment of mismatched chairs around it. He’d placed a delicately beautiful, almost transparent white china teapot and matching cups on the crate and poured fragrant olive green tea. The Swordsman had not sat, however; he had stood behind Aoife, arms hanging loosely at his sides as Nicholas and Perenelle told their story, starting with the theft of the Codex from the bookshop the previous Thursday.
Aoife shook her head. “I just want my sister back safely.”
“We all want that,” Nicholas said firmly. “Scathach is precious to us, too.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “She is the daughter we never had.” He drew in a deep shuddering breath. “But Scathach’s return—Joan’s, too—is not our immediate priority. The Dark Elders have gathered together an army in the cells on Alcatraz. They plan to release them on the city.”
“So?” Aoife asked.
Perenelle leaned forward and a static charge rippled down the length of her silver-streaked hair, raising it off her back. When she spoke, her words were as brittle as the look in her eyes. “Are you
so divorced from humanity that you would condemn them to annihilation? You know what will happen to civilization if these monsters are allowed to prowl the city.”
“It has happened before,” Aoife snapped. Tendrils of faint gray smoke leaked from her nostrils. “On at least four previous occasions that I know of, the humani were almost wiped out, but they rose to repopulate the earth. You are old, Sorceress, but you have experienced only a fraction of what I have endured upon this earth. I have watched civilizations rise and fall and rise again. Sometimes it is necessary to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.” She spread her arms wide. “Look at what this present batch of humani have done to the earth. Look at what their greed has wrought. They have brought this planet to the very brink of destruction. The polar caps are melting, sea levels are rising, weather patterns are changing, seasons altering, farmlands turning to desert …”
“You sound like Dee,” Josh said suddenly.
“Don’t you dare compare me to the English Magician,” Aoife spat. “He is despicable.”
“He said the Dark Elders could repair all this damage. Could they?” Josh asked curiously.
“Yes,” Aoife answered simply. “Yes, they could. Tell him,” she said to the Alchemyst.
Josh turned to look at Nicholas. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” the Alchemyst sighed. “Yes, they undoubtedly could.”
Sophie leaned forward, her forehead creasing in a frown. “So that means the Elders, the ones whose side you’re on, could also do the same thing?”
This time there was a longer pause, and when Nicholas finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sure they could.”
“So why don’t they?” Sophie demanded.
Nicholas looked at Perenelle, and it was the Sorceress who finally answered. “Because sooner or later every parent must let their children go to live their lives and make their mistakes. That is the only way they can grow. In generations past, the Elders moved among the humani, living with them, working side by side—all those legends about the ancient gods interacting with humans have some truth in them. There really were gods on the earth in those days. But humankind did not progress. It was only when most of the Elders retreated to the Shadowrealms and left the humani to their own devices that the race started to grow.”
The Necromancer: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel Page 8
