Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician

  ( Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - 2 )

  Michael Scott

  After fleeing Ojai, Nicholas, Sophie, Josh, and Scatty emerge in Paris, the City of Lights. Home for Nicholas Flamel. Only this homecoming is anything but sweet. Perenell is still locked up back in Alcatraz and Paris is teeming with enemies. Nicollo Machiavelli, immortal author and celebrated art collector, is working for Dee. He’s after them, and time is running out for Nicholas and Perenell. For every day spent without the Book of Abraham the Mage, they age one year—their magic becoming weaker and their bodies more frail. For Flamel, the Prophesy is becoming more and more clear.

  It’s time for Sophie to learn the second elemental magic: Fire Magic. And there’s only one man who can teach it to her: Flamel’s old student, the Comte de Saint-Germain—alchemist, magician, and rock star. Josh and Sophie Newman are the world’s only hope—if they don’t turn on each other first.

  For Courtney and Piers

  Hoc opus, hic labor est

  I am dying.

  Perenelle, too, is dying.

  The spell that has kept us alive these six hundred years is fading, and now

  we age a year for every day that passes. I need the Codex, the Book of

  Abraham the Mage, to re-create the immortality spell; without it, we have

  less than a month to live.

  But much can be achieved in a month.

  Dee and his dark masters have my dear Perenelle prisoner, they have finally

  secured the Book, and they know that Perenelle and I cannot survive for much

  longer.

  But they cannot be resting easy.

  They do not have the complete Book yet. We still have the final two pages,

  and by now they must know that Sophie and Josh Newman are the twins described

  in that ancient text: twins with auras of silver and gold, a brother and

  sister with the power to either save the world or destroy it. The girl s

  powers have been Awakened and her training begun in the elemental magics,

  though, sadly, the boy s have not.

  We are now in Paris, the city of my birth, the city where I first discovered

  the Codex and began the long quest to translate it. That journey ultimately

  led me to discover the existence of the Elder Race and revealed the mystery

  of the philosopher s stone and finally the secret of immortality. I love this

  city. It holds many secrets and is home to more than one human immortal and

  ancient Elder. Here, I will find a way to Awaken Josh s powers and continue

  Sophie's education.

  I must.

  For their sakes and for the continuance of the human race.

  From the Day Booke of Nicholas Flamel, Alchemyst

  Writ this day, Saturday, 2nd June,

  in Paris, the city of my youth

  SATURDAY,

  2nd June

  CHAPTER ONE

  T he charity auction hadn't started until well after midnight, when the gala

  dinner had ended. It was almost four in the morning and the auction was only

  now drawing to a close. A digital display behind the celebrity auctioneer an

  actor who had played James Bond on-screen for many years showed the running

  total at more than one million euro.

  Lot number two hundred and ten: a pair of early-nineteenth-century Japanese

  Kabuki masks.

  A ripple of excitement ran through the crowded room. Inlaid with chips of

  solid jade, the Kabuki masks were the highlight of the auction and were

  expected to fetch in excess of half a million euro.

  At the back of the room the tall, thin man with the fuzz of close-cropped

  snow white hair was prepared to pay twice that.

  Niccol Machiavelli stood apart from the rest of the crowd, arms lightly

  folded across his chest, careful not to wrinkle his Savile Row tailored black

  silk tuxedo. Stone gray eyes swept over the other bidders, analyzing and

  assessing them. There were really only five others he needed to look out for:

  two private collectors like himself, a minor European royal, a once-famous

  American movie actor and a Canadian antiques dealer. The remainder of the

  audience were tired, had spent their budget or were unwilling to bid on the

  vaguely disturbing-looking masks.

  Machiavelli loved all types of masks. He had been collecting them for a very

  long time, and he wanted this particular pair to complete his collection of

  Japanese theater costumes. These masks had last come up for sale in 1898 in

  Vienna, and he had then been outbid by a Romanov prince. Machiavelli had

  patiently bided his time; the masks would come back on the market again when

  the Prince and his descendents died. Machiavelli knew he would still be

  around to buy them; it was one of the many advantages of being immortal.

  Shall we start the bidding at one hundred thousand euro?

  Machiavelli looked up, caught the auctioneer s attention and nodded.

  The auctioneer had been expecting his bid and nodded in return. I am bid one

  hundred thousand euro by Monsieur Machiavelli. Always one of this charity s

  most generous supporters and sponsors.

  A smattering of applause ran around the room, and several people turned to

  look at him and raise their glasses. Niccol acknowledged them with a polite

  smile.

  Do I have one hundred and ten? the auctioneer asked.

  One of the private collectors raised his hand slightly.

  One-twenty? The auctioneer looked back to Machiavelli, who immediately

  nodded.

  Within the next three minutes, a flurry of bids brought the price up to two

  hundred and fifty thousand euro. There were only three serious bidders left:

  Machiavelli, the American actor and the Canadian.

  Machiavelli s thin lips twisted into a rare smile; his patience was about to

  be rewarded, and finally the masks would be his. Then the smile faded as he

  felt the cell phone in his back pocket buzz silently. For an instant he was

  tempted to ignore it; he d given his staff strict instructions that he was

  not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely critical. He also knew they were

  so terrified of him that they would not phone unless it was an emergency.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ultraslim phone and glanced down.

  A picture of a sword pulsed gently on the large LCD screen.

  Machiavelli s smile vanished. In that second he knew he was not going to be

  able to buy the Kabuki masks this century. Turning on his heel, he strode out

  of the room and pressed the phone to his ear. Behind him, he could hear the

  auctioneer s hammer hit the lectern Sold. For two hundred and sixty thousand

  euro

  I m here, Machiavelli said, reverting to the Italian of his youth.

  The line crackled and an English-accented voice responded in the same

  language, using a dialect that had not been heard in Europe for more than

  four hundred years. I need your help.

  The man on the other end of the line didn't identify himself, nor did he need

  to; Machiavelli knew it was the immortal magician and necromancer Dr. John

  Dee, one of the most powerful and danger
ous men in the world.

  Niccolo Machiavelli strode out of the small hotel into the broad cobbled

  square of the Place du Tertre and stopped to breathe in the chill night air.

  What can I do for you? he asked cautiously. He detested Dee and knew the

  feeling was mutual, but they both served the Dark Elders, and that meant they

  had been forced to work together down through the centuries. Machiavelli was

  also slightly envious that Dee was younger than he and looked it. Machiavelli

  had been born in Florence in 1469, which made him fifty-eight years older

  than the English Magician. History recorded that he had died in the same year

  that Dee had been born, 1527.

  Flamel is back in Paris.

  Machiavelli straightened. When?

  Just now. He got there through a leygate. I ve no idea where it comes out.

  He s got Scathach with him .

  Machiavelli s lips curled into an ugly grimace. The last time he'd

  encountered the Warrior, she d pushed him through a door. It had been closed

  at the time, and he d spent weeks picking splinters from his chest and

  shoulders.

  There are two humani children with him. Americans, Dee said, his voice

  echoing and fading on the transatlantic line. Twins, he added.

  Say again? Machiavelli asked.

  Twins, Dee added, with pure gold and silver auras. You know what that

  means, he snapped.

  Yes, Machiavelli muttered. It meant trouble. Then the tiniest of smiles

  curled his thin lips. It could also mean opportunity.

  Static crackled and then Dee s voice continued. The girl s powers were

  Awakened by Hekate before the Goddess and her Shadowrealm were destroyed.

  Untrained, the girl is no threat, Machiavelli murmured, quickly assessing

  the situation. He took a breath and added, Except perhaps to herself and

  those around her.

  Flamel took the girl to Ojai. There, the Witch of Endor instructed her in

  the Magic of Air.

  No doubt you tried to stop them? There was a hint of amusement in

  Machiavelli s voice.

  Tried. And failed, Dee admitted bitterly. The girl has some knowledge but

  is without skill.

  What do you want me to do? Machiavelli asked carefully, although he already

  had a very good idea.

  Find Flamel and the twins, Dee demanded. Capture them. Kill Scathach if

  you can. I m just leaving Ojai. But it s going to take me fourteen or fifteen

  hours to get to Paris.

  What happened to the leygate? Machiavelli wondered aloud. If a leygate

  connected Ojai and Paris, then why didn't Dee ?

  Destroyed by the Witch of Endor, Dee raged, and she nearly killed me, too.

  I was lucky to escape with a few cuts and scratches, he added, and then

  ended the call without saying good-bye.

  Niccol Machiavelli closed his phone carefully and tapped it against his

  bottom lip. Somehow he doubted that Dee had been lucky if the Witch of Endor

  had wanted him dead, then even the legendary Dr. Dee would not have escaped.

  Machiavelli turned and walked across the square to where his driver was

  patiently waiting with the car. If Flamel, Scathach and the American twins

  had come to Paris via a leygate, then there were only a few places in the

  city where they could have emerged. It should be relatively easy to find and

  capture them.

  And if he could capture them tonight, then he would have plenty of time to

  work on them before Dee arrived.

  Machiavelli smiled; he d only need a few hours, and in that time they would

  tell him everything they knew. Half a millennium on this earth had taught him

  how to be very persuasive indeed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  J osh Newman reached out and pressed the palm of his right hand against the

  cold stone wall to steady himself.

  What had just happened?

  One moment he d been standing in the Witch of Endor s shop in Ojai,

  California. His sister, Sophie, Scathach and the man he now knew to be

  Nicholas Flamel had been in the mirror looking out at him. And the next thing

  he knew, Sophie had stepped out of the glass, taken his hand and pulled him

  through it. He d squeezed his eyes shut and felt something icy touch his skin

  and raise the small hairs on the back of his neck. When he d opened his eyes

  again, he was standing in what looked like a tiny storage room. Pots of

  paint, stacked ladders, broken pieces of pottery and bundled paint-spattered

  cloths were piled around a large, rather ordinary-looking grimy mirror fixed

  to the stone wall. A single low-wattage lightbulb shed a dim yellow glow over

  the room. What happened? he asked, his voice cracking. He swallowed hard

  and tried again. What happened? Where are we?

  We re in Paris, Nicholas Flamel said delightedly, rubbing his dusty hands

  against his black jeans. The city of my birth.

  Paris? Josh whispered. He was going to say Impossible, but he was

  beginning to understand that that word had no meaning anymore. How? he

  asked aloud. Sophie? He looked to his twin sister, but she had pressed her

  ear against the room's only door and was listening intently. She waved him

  away. He turned to Scathach, but the red-haired warrior just shook her head,

  both hands covering her mouth. She looked as if she was about to throw up.

  Josh finally turned to the legendary Alchemyst, Nicholas Flamel. How did we

  get here? he asked.

  This planet is crisscrossed with invisible lines of power sometimes called

  ley lines or cursus, Flamel explained. He crossed his index fingers. Where

  two or more lines intersect a gateway exists. Gates are incredibly rare now,

  but in ancient times the Elder Race used them to travel from one side of the

  world to the other in an instant just as we did. The Witch opened the leygate

  in Ojai and we ended up here, in Paris. He made it sound so matter-of-fact.

  Leygates: I hate them, Scatty mumbled. In the gloomy light, her pale,

  freckled skin looked green. You ever been seasick? she asked.

  Josh shook his head. Never.

  Sophie looked up from her spot leaning against the door. Liar! He gets

  seasick in a swimming pool. She grinned, then pressed the side of her face

  back against the cool wood.

  Seasick, Scatty mumbled. That s exactly what it feels like. Only worse.

  Sophie turned her head again to look at the Alchemyst. Do you have any idea

  where we are in Paris?

  Someplace old, I m guessing, Flamel said, joining her at the door. He put

  the side of his head back against the door and listened.

  Sophie stepped back. I m not so sure, she said hesitantly.

  Why not? Josh asked. He glanced around the small untidy room. It certainly

  looked as though it was part of an old building.

  Sophie shook her head. I don't know it just doesn t feel that old. She

  reached out and touched the wall with the palm of her hand, then immediately

  jerked it back again.

  What s wrong? Josh whispered.

  Sophie placed her hand against the wall again. I can hear voices, songs and

  what sounds like organ music.

  Josh shrugged. I can t hear anything. He stopped, abruptly conscious of the

  huge difference between himself and his twin. Sophie s magical potential had

  been Awakened by Hekate,
and she was now hypersensitive to sights and sounds,

  smells, touch and taste.

  I can. Sophie lifted her hand from the stone wall and the sounds in her

  head faded.

  You re hearing ghost sounds, Flamel explained. They re just noises

  absorbed by the building, recorded into the very structure itself.

  This is a church, Sophie said decisively, then frowned. It s a new

  church modern, late nineteenth century, early twentieth. But it s built on a

  much, much older site.

  Flamel paused at the wooden door and looked over his shoulder. In the dim

  overhead light, his features were suddenly sharp and angular, disturbingly

  skull-like, his eyes completely in shadow. There are many churches in

  Paris, he said, though there is only one, I believe, which matches that

  description. He reached for the door handle.

  Hang on a second, Josh said quickly. don't you think there ll be some sort

  of alarm?

  Oh, I doubt it, Nicholas said confidently. Who would put an alarm on a

  storeroom in a church? he asked, jerking the door open.

  Immediately an alarm pealed through the air, the sound echoing and reechoing

  off the flagstones and walls. Red security lights strobed and flashed.

  Scatty sighed and muttered something in an ancient Celtic language. Didn't

  you tell me once to wait before moving, to look before stepping and to

  observe everything? she demanded.

  Nicholas shook his head and sighed at the stupid mistake. Getting old, I

  guess, he said in the same language. But there was no time for apologies.

  Let's go! he shouted over the shrieking alarm, and darted down the

  corridor. Sophie and Josh followed close behind, while Scatty took up the

  rear, moving slowly and grumbling with every step.

  The door opened onto a short narrow stone corridor that led to another wooden

  door. Without pausing, Flamel pushed through the second door and immediately

  a new alarm began to shriek. He turned left into a huge open space that

  smelled of old incense, floor polish and wax. Banks of lit candles shed a

  golden yellow light over walls and floor and, combined with the security

  lights, revealed a pair of enormous doors with the word EXIT above them.

  Flamel raced toward it, his footsteps echoing.