Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  don't touch Josh began, but Nicholas Flamel grasped the door handles and

  pulled hard.

  A third alarm much louder than the others went off, and a red light above the

  door began to wink on and off.

  Told you not to touch, Josh muttered.

  I can t understand it why is it not open? Flamel asked, shouting to be

  heard above the din. This church is always open. He turned and looked

  around. Where is everyone? What time is it? he asked, as a thought struck

  him.

  How long does it take to travel from one place to another through the

  leygate? Sophie asked.

  It' s instantaneous.

  And you re sure we re in Paris, France?

  Positive.

  Sophie looked at her watch and did a quick calculation. Paris is nine hours

  ahead of Ojai? she asked.

  Flamel nodded, suddenly understanding.

  It s about four o clock in the morning; that s why the church is closed,

  Sophie said.

  The police will be on their way, Scatty said glumly. She reached for her

  nunchaku. I hate fighting when I m not feeling well, she muttered.

  What do we do now? Josh demanded, panic rising in his voice.

  I could try and blast the doors apart with wind, Sophie suggested

  hesitantly. She wasn't sure she had the energy to raise the wind again so

  soon. She had used her new magical powers to battle the undead in Ojai, but

  the effort had completely exhausted her.

  I forbid it, Flamel shouted, his face painted in shades of crimson and

  shadow. He turned and pointed across rows of wooden pews toward an ornate

  altar picked out in a tracery of white marble. Candlelight hinted at an

  intricate mosaic in glittering blues and golds in the dome over the altar.

  This is a national monument; I' ll not let you destroy it.

  Where are we? the twins asked together, looking around the building. Now

  that their eyes had adjusted to the gloom, they realized that the building

  was huge. They could distinguish columns soaring high into the shadows

  overhead and were able to make out the shapes of small side altars, statues

  in nooks and countless banks of candles.

  This, Flamel announced proudly, is the church of Sacre -Coeur.

  Sitting in the back of his limousine, Niccol Machiavelli tapped coordinates

  into his laptop and watched a high-resolution map of Paris wink into

  existence on the screen. Paris was an incredibly ancient city. The first

  settlement went back more than two thousand years, though there had been

  humans living on the island in the Seine for generations before that. And

  like many of the earth s oldest cities, it had been sited where groups of ley

  lines met.

  Machiavelli hit a keystroke, which laid down a complicated pattern of ley

  lines over the map of the city. He was looking for a line that connected with

  the United States. He finally managed to reduce the number of possibilities

  to six. With a perfectly manicured fingernail, he traced two lines that

  directly linked the West Coast of America to Paris. One finished at the great

  cathedral of Notre Dame, the other in the more modern but equally famous

  Sacre -Coeur basilica in Montmartre.

  But which one?

  Suddenly, the Parisian night was broken by a series of howling alarms.

  Machiavelli hit the control for the electric window and the darkened glass

  whispered down. Cool night air swirled into the car. In the distance, rising

  high above the rooftops on the opposite side of the Place du Tertre, was

  Sacre -Coeur. The imposing domed building was always lit up at night in stark

  white light. Tonight, however, red alarm lights pulsed around the building

  That one. Machiavelli s smile was terrifying. He called up a program on the

  laptop and waited while the hard drive spun.

  Enter password.

  His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed: Discorsi sopra la prima deca

  di Tito Livio. No one was going to break that password. It wasn't one of his

  better-known books.

  A rather ordinary-looking text document appeared, written in a combination of

  Latin, Greek and Italian. Once, magicians had had to keep their spells and

  incantations in handwritten books called grimoires, but Machiavelli had

  always used the latest technology. He preferred to keep his spells on his

  hard drive. Now he just needed a little something to keep Flamel and his

  friends busy while he gathered his forces.

  Josh s head snapped up. I hear police sirens.

  There are twelve police cars headed this way, Sophie said, her head tilted

  to one side, eyes closed as she listened intently.

  Twelve? How can you tell?

  Sophie looked at her twin. I can distinguish the different locations of the

  sirens.

  You can tell them apart? he asked. He found himself wondering, yet again,

  at the full extent of his sister s senses.

  Each one, she said.

  We must not be captured by the police, Flamel interjected sharply. We' ve

  neither passports nor alibis. We ve got to get out of here!

  How? the twins asked simultaneously.

  Flamel shook his head. There has to be another entrance , he began, and

  then stopped, nostrils flaring.

  Josh watched uneasily as both Sophie and Scatty suddenly reacted to something

  he could not smell. What what is it? he demanded, and then he suddenly

  caught the faintest whiff of something musky and rank. It was the sort of

  smell he d come to associate with a zoo.

  Trouble, Scathach said grimly, putting away her nunchaku and drawing her

  swords. Big trouble.

  CHAPTER THREE

  W hat? Josh demanded, looking around. The smell was stronger now, stale and

  bitter, and almost familiar .

  Snake, Sophie said, breathing deeply. It' s a snake.

  Josh felt his stomach lurch. Snake. Why did it have to be snakes? He was

  terrified of snakes though he d never admit it to anyone, especially not his

  sister. Snakes , he began, but his voice sounded high-pitched and

  strangled. He coughed and tried again. Where? he asked, looking around

  desperately, imagining them everywhere, sliding out from under the pews,

  curling down the pillars, dropping down from the light fixtures.

  Sophie shook her head and frowned. I don't hear any . I'm just smelling

  them. Her nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath. No, there' s just

  one .

  Oh, you re smelling a snake, all right but one that walks on two legs,

  Scatty snapped. You re smelling the rank odor of Niccol Machiavelli.

  Flamel knelt on the floor in front of the massive main doors and ran his

  hands over the locks. Wisps of green smoke curled from his fingers.

  Machiavelli! he spat. Dee didn't waste any time contacting his allies, I

  see.

  You can tell who it is from the smell? Josh asked, still surprised and a

  little confused.

  Every person has a distinctive magical odor, Scatty explained, standing

  with her back to the Alchemyst, protecting him. You two smell of vanilla ice

  cream and oranges, Nicholas smells of mint

  And Dee smelled of rotten eggs , Sophie added.

  Sulfur, Josh said.

  Which was once known as brimstone, Scatty said. Very appropriate for Dr.

&
nbsp; Dee. Her head was moving from side to side as she paid particular attention

  to the deep shadows behind the statues. Well, Machiavelli smells of snakes.

  Appropriate too.

  Who is he? Josh asked. He felt as if he should know the name, almost as if

  he d heard it before. A friends of Dee' s?

  Machiavelli is an immortal allied to the Dark Elders, Scatty explained,

  and no friend to Dee, though they are on the same side. Machiavelli is older

  than the Magician, infinitely more dangerous and certainly more cunning. I

  should have killed him when I had the chance, she said bitterly. For the

  past five hundred years he has been at the heart of European politics, the

  puppet master working in the shadows. The last I heard, he had been appointed

  the head of the DGSE, the Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure.

  Is that like a bank? Josh asked.

  Scatty's lips curled in a tiny smile that exposed her overlong vampire

  incisors. It means the General Board of External Security. It is the French

  secret service.

  The secret service! Oh, that s just great, Josh said sarcastically.

  The smell is getting stronger, Sophie said, her Awakened senses acutely

  aware of the odor. Concentrating hard, she allowed a little of her power to

  trickle into her aura, which bloomed into a ghostly shadow around her.

  Crackles of lustrous silver threads sparkled in her blond hair, and her eyes

  turned to reflective silver coins.

  Almost unconsciously, Josh stepped away from his sister. He d seen her like

  this before, and she' d scared him.

  That means he' s close by. He s working some magic, Scatty said.

  Nicholas ?

  I just need another minute. Flamel s fingertips glowed emerald green,

  smoking as they traced a pattern around the lock. A solid click sounded from

  within, but when the Alchemyst tried the handle, the door didn't move. Maybe

  more than a minute.

  Too late, Josh whispered, raising an arm and pointing. Something s here.

  At the opposite end of the great basilica, the banks of candles had gone out.

  It was as if an unfelt breeze was sweeping down the aisles, snuffing out the

  flickering circular night-lights and thicker candles as it passed, leaving

  curls of gray-white smoke hanging on the air. Abruptly, the smell of candle

  wax grew stronger, much, much stronger, almost obliterating the odor of

  serpent.

  I can' t see anything , Josh began.

  It' s here! Sophie shouted.

  The creature that flowed up off the cold flagstones was only marginally

  human. Standing taller than a man, broad and grotesque, it was a gelatinous

  white shape with only the vaguest hint of a head set directly onto broad

  shoulders. There were no visible features. As they watched, two huge arms

  separated from the trunk of the body with a squelch and grew handlike shapes.

  Golem! Sophie shouted in horror. A wax Golem! She flung out her hand and

  her aura blazed. Ice-cold wind surged from her fingertips to batter the

  creature, but the white waxy skin simply rippled and flowed beneath the

  breeze.

  Protect Nicholas! Scathach commanded, darting forward, her matched swords

  flickering out, biting into the creature, but without any effect. The soft

  wax trapped her swords, and it took all her strength to pull them free. She

  struck again and chips of wax sprayed into the air. The creature struck at

  her, and she had to abandon her grip on her swords as she danced backward to

  avoid the crushing blow. A bulbous fist thundered into the floor at her feet,

  spattering globules of white wax in every direction.

  Josh grabbed one of the folding wooden chairs stacked outside the gift shop

  at the back of the church. Holding it by two legs, he slammed it into the

  creature s chest where it stuck fast. As the wax shape turned toward Josh,

  the chair was wrenched from his hands. He grabbed another chair, darted

  around behind the creature and slammed the chair down. It shattered across

  the creature' s shoulders, leaving scores of splinters protruding like bizarre

  porcupine spines.

  Sophie froze. She desperately tried to recall some of the secrets of Air

  magic that the Witch of Endor had taught her only a few hours ago. The Witch

  said it was the most powerful of all magics and Sophie had seen what it had

  done to the undead army of long-deceased humans and beasts Dee had raised in

  Ojai. But she had no idea what would work against the wax monster before her.

  She knew how to raise a miniature tornado, but she couldn't risk calling it

  up in the confined space of the basilica.

  Nicholas! Scatty called. With her swords stuck in the creature, the Warrior

  was using her nunchaku two lengths of wood attached by a short chain to

  batter at the Golem. They left deep indentations in its skin but otherwise

  seemed to have no effect. She delivered one particularly fierce blow that

  embedded the polished wood in the creature s side. Wax flowed around the

  nunchaku, trapping them. When the creature twisted toward Josh, the weapon

  was ripped from the Warrior s hands, sending her spinning across the room.

  A hand that was only thumb and fused fingers, like a giant mitten, caught

  Josh' s shoulder and squeezed. The pain was incredible and drove the boy to

  his knees.

  Josh! Sophie screamed, the sound echoing in the huge church.

  Josh tried to pull the hand away, but the wax was too slippery and his

  fingers sank into the white goo. Warm wax began to flow off the creature s

  hand, then curl and wrap around his shoulder and roll down onto his chest,

  constricting his breathing.

  Josh, duck!

  Sophie grabbed a wooden chair and swung it through the air. It whistled over

  her brother s head, the wind ruffling his hair, and she brought it down

  hard edge-first on the thick wax arm where the elbow should have been. The

  chair stuck halfway through, but the movement distracted the creature and it

  abandoned Josh, leaving him bruised and coated in a layer of candle wax. From

  his place kneeling on the ground, Josh watched in horror as two gelatinous

  hands reached for his twin s throat.

  Terrified, Sophie screamed.

  Josh watched as his sister s eyes flickered, the blue replaced with silver,

  and then her aura blazed incandescent the moment the Golem s paws came close

  to her skin. Immediately, its waxy hands began to run liquid and spatter to

  the floor. Sophie stretched out her own hand, fingers splayed, and pressed it

  against the Golem' s chest, where it sank, sizzling and hissing, into the mass

  of wax.

  Josh crouched on the ground, close to Flamel, his hands thrown up to protect

  his eyes from the brilliant silver light. He saw his sister step closer to

  the creature, her aura now painfully bright, arms spread wide, an invisible

  unfelt heat melting the creature, reducing the wax to liquid. Scathach s

  swords and nunchaku clattered to the stone floor, followed, seconds later, by

  the remains of the wooden chair.

  Sophie' s aura flickered and Josh was on his feet and by her side to catch her

  as she swayed. I feel dizzy, she said thickly as she slumped into his arms.

  She was barely conscious, and she felt ice c
old, the usually sweet vanilla

  scent of her aura now sour and bitter.

  Scatty swooped in to gather up her weapons from the pile of semiliquid wax

  that now resembled a half-melted snowman. She fastidiously wiped her blades

  clean before she slipped them back into the sheaths she wore on her back.

  Picking curls of white wax off her nunchaku, she slipped them back into their

  holster on her belt; then she turned to Sophie. You saved us, she said

  gravely. That' s a debt I' ll not forget.

  Got it, Flamel said suddenly. He stood back, and Sophie, Josh and Scathach

  watched as curls of green smoke seeped from the lock. The Alchemyst pushed

  the door and it clicked open, cool night air rushing in, dispelling the

  cloying odor of melted wax.

  We could have done with a little help, you know, Scatty grumbled.

  Flamel grinned and wiped his fingers on his jeans, leaving traces of green

  light on the cloth. I knew you had it well under control, he said, stepping

  out of the basilica. Scathach and the twins followed.

  The sounds of police sirens were louder now, but the area directly in front

  of the church was empty. Sacre -Coeur was set on a hill, one of the highest

  points in Paris, and from where they stood, they had a view of the entire

  city. Nicholas Flamel s face lit up with delight. Home!

  What is it with European magicians and Golems? Scatty asked, following him.

  First Dee and now Machiavelli. Have they no imaginations?

  Flamel looked surprised. That wasn't a Golem. Golems need to have a spell on

  their body to animate them.

  Scatty nodded. She knew that, of course. What, then ?

  That was a tulpa.

  Scatty s bright green eyes widened in surprise. A tulpa! Is Machiavelli that

  powerful, then?

  Obviously.

  What' s a tulpa? Josh asked Flamel, but it was his sister who answered, and

  Josh was once again reminded of the huge gulf that had opened up between them

  the moment her powers had been Awakened.

  A creature created and animated entirely by the power of the imagination,

  Sophie explained casually.

  Precisely, Nicholas Flamel said, breathing deeply. Machiavelli knew there

  would be wax in the church. So he brought it to life.

  But surely he knew it would not be able to stop us? Scatty asked.

  Nicholas walked out from under the central arch that framed the front of the