Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  see people.

  Josh shook his head. I don't understand.

  Dee and the Elders he serves look at these people and see only slaves. He

  paused, then quietly added, Or food.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  L ying flat on her back, Perenelle Flamel stared at the stained stone ceiling

  directly above her head and wondered how many other prisoners incarcerated on

  Alcatraz had done the same. How many others had traced the lines and cracks

  in the stonework, seen shapes in the black water marks, imagined pictures in

  the brown damp? Almost all of them, she guessed.

  And how many had heard voices? she wondered. She was sure that many of the

  prisoners had imagined they heard sounds in the dark whispered words, hushed

  phrases but unless they possessed Perenelle s special gift, what they were

  hearing did not exist outside their imaginations.

  Perenelle heard the voices of the ghosts of Alcatraz.

  Listening intently, she could distinguish hundreds of voices, maybe even

  thousands. Men and women children, too clamoring and shouting, muttering and

  crying, calling out for lost loved ones, repeating their own names again and

  again, proclaiming their innocence, cursing their jailers. She frowned; they

  weren t what she was looking for.

  Allowing the voices to wash over her, she sorted through the sounds until she

  picked up one voice louder than all the rest: strong and confident, it cut

  through the babble, and Perenelle found herself concentrating on it, focusing

  on the words, identifying the language.

  This is my island.

  It was a man, speaking Spanish in an old, very formal accent. Concentrating

  on the ceiling, Perenelle tuned out the other voices. Who are you? In the

  chill damp of the cell, her words puffed from her mouth like smoke and the

  myriad ghosts fell silent.

  There was a long pause, as if the ghost was surprised to be spoken to; then

  he said proudly, I was the first European to sail into this bay, the first

  to see this island.

  A shape began to form on the roof directly over her head, the crude outline

  of a face appearing in the cracks and spiderwebs, the black damp and the

  green moss lending it shape and definition.

  I called this place la Isla de los Alcatraces.

  The Isle of the Pelicans, Perenelle said, her words the merest whispered

  breath.

  The face in the ceiling solidified briefly. It was that of a handsome man

  with a long, narrow face and dark eyes. Water droplets formed and the eyes

  blinked tears.

  Who are you? Perenelle asked again.

  I am Juan Manuel de Ayala. I discovered Alcatraz.

  Claws click-clacked on the stones outside the cell, and the smell of snake

  and rancid meat wafted down the corridor. Perenelle remained silent until the

  scent and the footsteps retreated, and when she looked at the ceiling again,

  the face had taken on more detail, the cracks in the stonework creating the

  deep wrinkles on the man s forehead and around his eyes. A sailor s face, she

  realized, the wrinkles caused by squinting toward distant horizons.

  Why are you here? she wondered aloud. Did you die here?

  No. Not here. Narrow lips curled in a smile. I returned because I fell in

  love with this place from the very first moment I set eyes on it. It was in

  the year of Our Lord 1775, and I was on the good ship San Carlos. I even

  remember the month, August, and the date, the fifth.

  Perenelle nodded. She had come across ghosts like de Ayala s before. Men and

  women who had been so influenced or affected by a place that they returned to

  it again and again in their dreams, and eventually, when they died, their

  spirit returned to the same location to become a Guardian ghost.

  I have watched over this island for generations. I will always watch over

  it.

  Perenelle stared up at the face. It must have saddened you to see your

  beautiful island become a place of pain and suffering, she probed.

  Something twisted in the shape s mouth, and a single drop of water fell from

  its eye to spatter on Perenelle s cheek.

  Dark days, sad days, but gone now thankfully, gone. The ghost s lips moved

  and the words whispered in Perenelle s head. There has not been a human

  prisoner on Alcatraz since 1963, and the island has been peaceful since

  1971.

  But now there is a new prisoner on your beloved island, Perenelle said

  evenly. A prisoner guarded by a warden more terrible than any this island

  has ever seen before.

  The face in the ceiling altered, watery eyes narrowing, blinking. Who? You?

  I am held here against my will, Perenelle said. I am Alcatraz s last

  prisoner, and I am guarded by no human jailor, but by a sphinx.

  No!

  See for yourself!

  The plaster crackled and damp dust rained down on Perenelle s face. When she

  opened her eyes again, the face in the ceiling had gone, leaving nothing more

  than a stain in its wake.

  Perenelle allowed herself a smile.

  What amuses you, humani? The voice was a slithering hiss, and the language

  predated the human race.

  Swinging herself into a sitting position, Perenelle focused on the creature

  standing in the corridor less than six feet from her.

  Generations of ancient humans had tried to capture the image of this creature

  on cave walls and pots, etching her shape in stone, capturing her likeness on

  parchments. And none of them had even come close to the true horror of the

  sphinx.

  The body was that of a hugely muscled lion, the fur scarred and cut with the

  evidence of old wounds. A pair of eagle s wings curled out of its shoulders

  and lay flat against its back, the feathers ragged and filthy. And the small,

  almost delicate-looking head was that of a beautiful young woman.

  The sphinx stepped up to the bars of the cell, and a black forked tongue

  wavered in the air in front of Perenelle. You have no reason to smile,

  humani. I have learned that your husband and the Warrior are trapped in

  Paris. Soon they will be prisoners, and this time Dr. Dee will ensure that

  they never escape again. I understand the Elders have given the doctor

  permission to finally slay the legendary Alchemyst.

  Perenelle felt something twist in the pit of her stomach. For generations the

  Dark Elders had been intent on capturing Nicholas and Perenelle alive. If she

  was to believe the sphinx and they were prepared to kill Nicholas, then

  everything had changed. Nicholas will escape, she said confidently.

  Not this time. The lion s tail of the sphinx whipped excitedly back and

  forth, raising plumes of dust. Paris belongs to the Italian, Machiavelli,

  and soon he will be joined by the English Magician. The Alchemyst cannot

  evade them both.

  And the children? Perenelle asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. If anything

  had happened to Nicholas or the children

  The sphinx s feathers ruffled, raising a musty sour smell. Dee believes the

  humani children are powerful, that they may indeed be the twins of prophecy

  and legend. He also believes they can be convinced that they should serve us,

  rather than following the ramblings of a mad old bookseller. The sphin
x took

  a deep shuddering breath. But if they do not do as they are told, then they

  too will perish.

  And what about me?

  The sphinx s pretty mouth opened to reveal a maw of savage, needle-pointed

  teeth. Her long black tongue thrashed wildly in the air. You are mine,

  Sorceress, she hissed. The Elders have given you to me as a gift for my

  millennia of service to them. When your husband has been captured and slain,

  then I will be given permission to eat your memories. What a feast it will

  be. I intend to savor every last morsel. When I am finished with you, you

  will remember nothing, not even your own name. The sphinx started to laugh,

  the sound hissing and mocking, bouncing off the bare stone walls.

  And then a cell door slammed.

  The sudden sound shocked the sphinx into silence. Her small head turned, her

  tongue flickering, tasting the air.

  Another door boomed shut.

  And then another.

  And another.

  The sphinx spun away, claws striking sparks off the floor. Who s there? Her

  voice screeched off the damp stones.

  Abruptly, all the cell doors in the upper gallery rattled open and closed in

  quick succession, the sound a rumbling detonation that vibrated deep into the

  heart of the prison, causing dust to rain from the ceiling.

  Snarling and hissing, the sphinx bounded away, looking for the source of the

  noise.

  With an icy smile, Perenelle swung her feet back up on the bench, lay back

  and rested her head on her laced fingers. The island of Alcatraz belonged to

  Juan Manuel de Ayala, and it looked as though he was announcing his presence.

  Perenelle heard cell doors clang, wood thump and walls rattle and knew what

  de Ayala had become: a poltergeist.

  A noisy ghost.

  She also knew what de Ayala was doing. The sphinx fed off Perenelle s magical

  energies; all the poltergeist had to do was to keep the creature away from

  the cell for a little time and Perenelle s powers could begin to regenerate.

  Raising her left hand, the woman concentrated hard. The tiniest ice white

  spark danced between her fingers, then fizzled away.

  Soon.

  Soon.

  The Sorceress closed her hand into a fist. When her powers had recovered, she

  would bring Alcatraz tumbling down around the sphinx s ears.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  T he beautifully intricate Eiffel Tower loomed more than nine hundred feet

  over Josh s head. There was a time when he d compiled a list for a school

  project of the Ten Wonders of the Modern World. The metal tower had been

  number two on that list, and he d always promised himself that someday he d

  get to see it.

  And now that he was finally in Paris, he didn't even look up.

  Standing almost directly beneath the center of the tower, he rose on his

  toes, turning his head left and right, searching for his twin among the

  surprisingly large number of early-morning tourists. Where was she?

  Josh was scared.

  No, more than scared he was terrified.

  The last couple of days had taught him the true meaning of fear. Prior to the

  events of Thursday, Josh had only ever really been afraid of failing a test

  or being publicly humiliated in class. He had other fears too, those vague,

  shivery thoughts that came in the dead of night, when he found himself lying

  awake wondering what would happen if his parents had an accident. Sara and

  Richard Newman both held PhD s in archaeology and paleontology, and while

  that wasn't the most dangerous line of work, their research sometimes took

  them into countries in the midst of religious or political turmoil, or they

  conducted their digs in areas of the world ravaged by hurricanes or in

  earthquake zones or close to active volcanoes. The sudden movements of the

  earth s crust often threw up extraordinary archaeological finds.

  But his deepest, darkest fear was that something would happen to his sister.

  Although Sophie was twenty-eight seconds older, he always thought of her as

  his baby sister. He was bigger and stronger, and it was his job to protect

  her.

  And now, in a way, something terrible had happened to his twin.

  She had changed in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. She had become

  more like Flamel and Scathach and their kind than like him: she had become

  more than human.

  For the first time in his life, he felt alone. He was losing his sister. But

  there was one way to be her equal again: he had to have his own powers

  Awakened.

  Josh turned just as Sophie and Scathach appeared, hurrying across a broad

  bridge that led directly to the tower. Relief washed over him. They re

  here, he said to Flamel, who was facing the opposite direction.

  I know, Nicholas said, his French accent sounding stronger than usual. And

  they re not alone.

  Josh tore his gaze away from his approaching sister and Scathach. What do

  you mean?

  Nicholas inclined his head slightly and Josh turned. Two tourist buses had

  just arrived at the Place Joffre and were disgorging their passengers. The

  tourists Americans, Josh guessed by their clothing milled around, chatting

  and laughing, cameras and videos already whirring while their guides tried to

  gather them together. A third bus, bright yellow, pulled up, spilling dozens

  of excited Japanese tourists out on the pavement. Confused, Josh looked at

  Nicholas: did he mean the buses?

  In black, Flamel said enigmatically, pointing by lifting his chin.

  Josh turned and spotted the man in black striding toward them, moving swiftly

  through the holiday crowd. None of the tourists even glanced at the stranger

  weaving his way among them, twisting and turning like a dancer, taking care

  to not so much as brush against them. Josh guessed the man was probably about

  his own height, but it was impossible to make out his body shape because he

  was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat that flapped about him

  as he walked. The collar was turned up, and his hands were pushed deep into

  the pockets. Josh felt his heart sink: now what?

  Sophie raced up and punched her brother in the arm. You got here, she said

  breathlessly. Any trouble?

  Josh tilted his head toward the approaching man in the leather coat. I m not

  sure.

  Scathach appeared beside the twins. She wasn't even breathing hard, Josh

  noted. In fact, she wasn't breathing at all.

  Trouble? Sophie asked, looking at Scathach.

  The Warrior smiled, tight-lipped. Depends how you define trouble, she

  murmured.

  On the contrary, Nicholas said, smiling broadly. He heaved a sigh of

  relief. It s a friend. An old friend. A good friend.

  The man in the black coat was closer now, and the twins could see that he had

  a small, almost round face, deeply tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. Thick

  shoulder-length black hair was swept back off his high forehead. Mounting the

  steps, he pulled both hands out of his pockets and spread his arms wide,

  silver rings winking on every finger and on his thumbs, matching the silver

  studs in both ears. A broad smile revealed misshapen, slightly yellowed

  teeth.

/>   Master, he said, wrapping both arms around Nicholas and kissing him quickly

  on both cheeks. You have returned. The man blinked, eyes moist, and for an

  instant the pupils winked red. There was a sudden hint of burnt leaves in the

  air.

  And you never left, Nicholas said warmly, holding the man at arm s length

  and examining him critically. You look well, Francis. Better than the last

  time I saw you. He turned, putting his arm around the man s shoulder.

  Scathach you know, of course.

  Who could forget the Shadow? The blue-eyed man stepped forward, caught the

  Warrior s pale hand in his and brought it to his lips in an old-fashioned

  courtly gesture.

  Scathach leaned forward and pinched the man s cheek hard enough to leave a

  red mark. I told you last time; don't do that to me.

  Admit it you love it. He grinned. And this must be Sophie and Josh. The

  Witch told me about them, he added. The man s bright blue eyes remained wide

  and unblinking as he regarded the two in turn. The twins of legend, he

  murmured, frowning a bit as he stared hard at them. You re sure?

  I m sure, Nicholas said firmly.

  The stranger nodded and bowed slightly. The twins of legend, he repeated.

  I am honored to make your acquaintance. Allow me to introduce myself. I am

  le Comte de Saint-Germain, he announced dramatically, and then paused,

  almost as if he expected them to know the name.

  The twins looked at him blankly, identical expressions on their faces.

  But you must call me Francis; all my friends do.

  My favorite student, Nicholas added fondly. Certainly my best student.

  We ve known one another a long time.

  How long? Sophie asked automatically, although even as she was asking the

  question, the answer popped into her head.

  For about three hundred years or so, Nicholas said. Francis trained to be

  an alchemist with me. He quickly surpassed me, he added. He specialized in

  creating jewels.

  I learned everything I know about alchemy from the master: Nicholas Flamel,

  Saint-Germain said quickly.

  In the eighteenth century, Francis was also an accomplished singer and

  musician. And what are you this century? Nicholas asked.

  Well, I have to say I am disappointed you've not heard of me, the man said

  in accentless English. you've obviously not been keeping up with the charts.

  I ve had five number-one hits in the States and three in Germany, and I won