an MTV Europe Best Newcomer award.
Best New comer? Nicholas grinned, emphasizing the word new. You!
You know that I have always been a musician, but in this century, Nicholas,
I m a rock star! he said proudly. I am Germain! He looked at the twins as
he spoke, eyebrows raised, nodding, waiting for them to react to the
announcement.
They shook their heads simultaneously. Never heard of you, Josh said
bluntly.
Saint-Germain shrugged and looked disappointed. He brought the collar of his
coat up around his ears. Five number-one hits, he muttered.
What type of music? Sophie asked, biting the inside of her cheek to keep
herself from smiling at the crestfallen expression on the man s face.
Dance electro techno that sort of thing.
Sophie and Josh shook their heads again. don't listen to it, Josh answered,
but Saint-Germain was no longer looking at the twins. His head had swiveled
toward the Avenue Gustave Eiffel, to where a long sleek black Mercedes had
pulled up to the curb. Three plain black vans drew up behind it.
Machiavelli! Flamel snapped angrily. Francis, you were followed.
But how , the count began.
Remember, it s Niccol we re dealing with. Flamel looked around quickly,
assessing the situation. Scathach, take the twins, go with Saint-Germain.
Protect them with your lives.
We can stay, I can fight, Scathach said.
Nicholas shook his head. He waved at the gathered tourists. Too many people.
Someone would be killed. But Machiavelli is not Dee; he s subtle. He ll not
use magic not if he can help it. We can use that to our advantage. If we
split up, he will follow me; I m the one he wants. And not just me. Reaching
under his shirt, he pulled out a small square cloth bag.
What s that? Saint-Germain asked.
Nicholas answered Saint-Germain but looked at the twins as he spoke. Once it
held the entire Codex, but now Dee has that. Josh managed to tear two pages
from the back of the book. They re in here. The pages contain the Final
Summoning, he added significantly. Dee and his Elders need these pages. He
smoothed the cloth and then suddenly handed the bag over to Josh. Keep these
safe, he said.
Me? Josh looked from the bag to Flamel s face but made no move to take it
from the man s hand.
Yes, you. Take it, Flamel commanded.
Reluctantly, the boy reached for the bag, the cloth crackling and sparking as
he shoved it under his T-shirt. Why me? he asked. He looked quickly at his
sister. I mean, Scathach or Saint-Germain would be better .
You rescued the pages, Josh. It s only right that you should guard them.
Flamel gripped Josh s shoulders and looked into the boy s eyes. I know I can
trust you to take care of them.
Josh pressed his hand against his stomach, feeling the cloth against his
skin. When Josh and Sophie had started working in the bookshop and the coffee
shop respectively, their father had used an almost identical phrase when
talking about Sophie. I know I can trust you to take care of her. In that
moment, he d felt both proud and a little bit frightened. Right now, he just
felt frightened.
The Mercedes driver s door opened and a man in a black suit climbed out,
mirrored shades reflecting the early-morning sky, making it look as if he had
two holes in his face.
Dagon, Scathach snarled, sharp teeth suddenly visible, and reached for a
weapon in her bag, but Nicholas caught her arm and squeezed it.
This is not the time.
Dagon opened the rear door and Niccol Machiavelli emerged. Although he was
at least a hundred yards away, they could clearly see the look of triumph on
his face.
Behind the Mercedes, the vans doors slid open simultaneously and heavily
armed and armored police jumped out and started jogging toward the tower. A
tourist screamed, and the dozens of people standing around the base of the
Eiffel Tower immediately swiveled their cameras in that direction.
Time to go, Flamel said quickly. You head across the river, I ll lead them
in the other direction. Saint-Germain, my friend, Nicholas whispered softly,
we re going to need a distraction to help us escape. Something spectacular.
Where will you go? Saint-Germain demanded.
Flamel smiled. This was my city long before Machiavelli came here. Perhaps
some of my old haunts still remain.
It has changed a lot since you were last here, Saint-Germain warned. As he
was speaking, he took Flamel s left hand in both of his, turned it over and
pressed the ball of his right thumb into the center of the Alchemyst s palm.
Sophie and Josh were close enough to see that when he took his hand away,
there was the impression of a tiny black-winged butterfly on Flamel s skin.
It will lead you back to me, Saint-Germain said mysteriously. Now, you
wanted something spectacular. He grinned and pushed back the sleeves of his
leather coat to reveal bare arms. His skin was covered in dozens of tiny
tattooed butterflies that wrapped around his wrists like bracelets, then
coiled up around his arm to the crook of his elbow. Lacing the fingers of his
hands together, he twisted his wrists and bent them outward with an audible
crack, like a pianist preparing to play. Did you ever see what Paris did to
celebrate the millennium?
The millennium? The twins looked at him blankly.
The millennium. The year 2000. Although the millennium should have been
celebrated in 2001, he added.
Oh, that millennium, Sophie said. She looked at her brother, confused. What
did the millennium have to do with anything?
Our parents took us to Times Square, Josh said. Why?
Then you missed something truly spectacular here in Paris. Next time you re
online, check out the pictures. Saint-Germain rubbed his arms briskly and
then, standing below the huge metal tower, he raised his hands high and
suddenly the scent of burnt leaves filled the air.
Both Sophie and Josh watched the butterfly tattoos spasm, then shiver and
pulse on Saint-Germain s arms. Gossamer wings trembled and vibrated, antennas
twitched and then the tattoos lifted away from the man s flesh.
An endless stream of tiny red and white butterflies peeled off
Saint-Germain s pale skin and curled into the cool Parisian air. They circled
upward, spinning away from the small man, a seemingly never-ending spiral of
crimson and ashen dots. The butterflies curled around the struts and spars,
the rivets and bolts of the metal tower, covering it in an iridescent,
shimmering skin.
Ignis, Saint-Germain whispered, throwing back his head and clapping his
hands together.
And the Tower exploded into a cracking, sparking fountain of light.
He laughed delightedly at the twins expressions and said, Know me: I am le
Comte de Saint-Germain. I am the Master of Fire!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
F ireworks, Sophie breathed in awe.
The Eiffel Tower lit up with a spectacular fireworks display. Blue and gold
traceries of light raced almost one thousand feet to the mast at the very top
of the tower, where they blossomed into fountains of blue globes. Sparking,
hissing, fizzing rainbow-colored threads wove through the struts, bursting
and snapping. The tower s thick rivets popped with white fire, while the
arching spars rained cool ice blue droplets into the street far below.
The effect was dramatic, but it became truly spectacular when Saint-Germain
snapped the fingers of both hands and the entire Eiffel Tower turned bronze,
then gold, then green and finally blue in the morning sun. Rattling traceries
of light darted up and down the metal. Catherine wheels and rockets,
fountains and Roman candles, flying spinners and snakes spun off from every
floor. The mast at the very tip of the tower fountained red, white and blue
sparks that cascaded like bubbling liquid down through the heart of the
tower.
The crowd was entranced.
People gathered at the base, oohing and aahing, applauding at each new
explosion, their cameras clicking furiously. Motorists stopped on the roads
and climbed out of their cars, holding camera phones to snap the stunning and
beautiful images. Within moments, the dozens of people around the tower had
grown to a hundred and then, within a matter of minutes, had doubled and then
doubled again as people came running from shops and homes to observe the
extraordinary display.
And Nicholas Flamel and his companions were swallowed up by the crowd.
In a rare display of emotion, Machiavelli hit the side of the car so hard it
hurt his hand. He watched the growing crowd of people and knew his men would
not be able to get through in time to prevent Flamel and the others from
escaping.
The air sizzled and spat with fireworks; rockets went whizzing high into the
air, where they exploded into spheres and streamers of light. Firecrackers
and sparklers rattled around each of the tower s four giant metal legs.
Sir! A young police captain stopped before Machiavelli and saluted. What
are your orders? We can push through the crowd, but there may be injuries.
Machiavelli shook his head. No, do not do that. Dee would do it, he knew.
Dee would not hesitate to level the entire tower, killing hundreds just to
capture Flamel. Drawing himself up to his full height, Niccol could just
about make out the shape of the leather-clad Saint-Germain and the lethal
Scathach herding the young man and woman away. They melted into the now-huge
crowd and disappeared. But surprisingly, shockingly, when he looked back,
Nicholas Flamel remained where he had first seen him, standing almost
directly beneath the center of the tower.
Flamel raised his right hand in a mocking salute, the silver-link bracelet he
wore reflecting the light.
Machiavelli caught the police captain s shoulder, spun him around with
surprising strength and pointed with his long narrow fingers. That one! If
you do nothing else today, get me that one. And I want him alive and
unharmed!
As they both watched, Flamel turned and hurried toward the west leg of the
Eiffel Tower, toward the Pont d I na, but whereas the others had run across
the bridge, Flamel turned to the right, onto the Quai Branly.
Yes, sir! The captain struck out at an angle, determined to cut off Flamel.
Follow me, he shouted, and his troops spread out in a line behind him.
Dagon stepped up to Machiavelli. Do you want me to track Saint-Germain and
the Shadow? His head turned, nostrils flaring with a wet sticky sound. I
can follow their scent.
Niccol Machiavelli shook his head slightly as he climbed back into the car.
Get us out of here before the press turns up. Saint-Germain is nothing if
not predictable. He s undoubtedly heading to one of his homes, and we have
them all under observation. All we can do is hope we capture Flamel.
Dagon s face was impassive as he slammed the car door closed behind his
master. He turned in the direction Flamel had run and saw him disappear
amongst the crowd. The police were close behind, moving fast even though they
were weighed down by their body armor and weapons. But Dagon knew that over
the centuries Flamel had escaped both human and inhuman hunters, had slipped
past creatures that had been myth before the evolution of the apes and had
outwitted monsters that had no right to exist outside of nightmares. Dagon
doubted that the police would catch the Alchemyst.
Then he cocked his head, nostrils flaring again, catching the scent of
Scathach. The Shadow had returned!
The enmity between Dagon and the Shadow went back millennia. He was the last
of his kind because she had destroyed his entire race one terrible night two
thousand years ago. Behind his wraparound mirrored sunglasses, the creature s
eyes filled with sticky colorless tears, and he swore that, no matter what
happened between Machiavelli and Flamel, this time he would have his revenge
on the Shadow.
Walk, don't run, Scathach commanded. Saint-Germain, take the lead, Sophie
and Josh in the middle, I ll take up the rear. Scatty s tone left no room
for argument.
They darted across the bridge and turned right onto the Avenue de New York. A
series of lefts and rights brought them to a narrow side street. It was still
early, and the street was entirely in shadow. The temperature dropped
dramatically, and the twins immediately noticed that the fingers of
Saint-Germain s left hand, which were gently brushing against the dirty wall,
left tiny sparks in their wake.
Sophie frowned, sorting through her memories the Witch of Endor s memories,
she reminded herself of the Comte de Saint-Germain. She caught her brother
looking sidelong at her and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
Your eyes turned silver. Just for a second, he said.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder to where Scathach was trailing behind and
then looked at the man in the leather coat. They were both out of earshot,
she thought. I was trying to remember what I knew . She shook her head.
What the Witch knew about Saint-Germain.
What about him? Josh said. I ve never heard of him.
He is a famous French alchemist, she whispered, and along with Flamel,
probably one of the most mysterious men in history.
Is he human? Josh wondered aloud, but Sophie pressed on.
He s not an Elder or Next Generation. He s human. Even the Witch of Endor
didn't know a lot about him. She met him for the first time in London in
1740. She knew immediately that he was an immortal human, and he claimed he d
discovered the secret of immortality when he was studying with Nicholas
Flamel. She shook her head quickly. But I don't think the Witch quite
believed that. He told her that while traveling in Tibet he had perfected a
formula for immortality that didn't need to be renewed each month. But when
she asked him for a copy, he told her he d lost it. Apparently, he spoke
every language in the world fluently, was a brilliant musician and had a
reputation as a jewel maker. Her eyes blinked silver again as the memories
faded. And the Witch didn't like or trust him.
Then neither should we, Josh whispered urgently.
Sophie nodded, agreeing. But Nicholas likes him, and obviously trusts him,
she said slow
ly. Why is that?
Josh s expression was grim. I ve told you before: I don't think we should be
trusting Nicholas Flamel, either. Something s not right about him I m
convinced.
Sophie bit back her response and looked away. She knew why Josh was angry
with the Alchemyst; her brother was envious of her Awakened powers, and she
knew he blamed Flamel for putting her in danger. But that didn't mean he was
wrong.
The narrow side street led onto a broad tree-lined avenue. Although it was
still too early for rush-hour, the spectacular light and fireworks display
around the Eiffel Tower had brought any traffic in the area to a standstill.
The air was filled with the blare of car horns and the whooping of police
sirens. A fire truck was caught in the traffic jam, its wails rising and
falling, though there was nowhere for it to go. Saint-Germain strode across
the road, looking neither left nor right as he dug in his pocket for a
slender black cell phone. He flipped it open and hit speed dial. Then he
spoke in rapid-fire French.
Are you calling for help? Sophie asked when he had closed the phone.
Saint-Germain shook his head. Ordering breakfast. I m famished. He jerked
his thumb back in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, which was still erupting
fireworks. Creating something like that if you ll pardon'the pun burns a lot
of calories.
Sophie nodded, understanding now why her stomach had been rumbling with
hunger since she d created the fog.
Scathach caught up with the twins and fell into step alongside Sophie as they
hurried past the American Cathedral. I don't think we re being followed,
she said, sounding surprised. I would have expected Machiavelli to send
someone after us. She rubbed the edge of her thumb against her bottom lip,
chewing on her ragged nails.
Sophie automatically brushed Scatty s hand away from her mouth. don't bite
your nails.
Scathach blinked at her in surprise, then self-consciously put her hand down.
An old habit, she muttered. A very old habit.
What happens now? Josh asked.
We get off the streets and rest, Scathach said grimly. Have we much
farther to go? she called out to Saint-Germain, who was still in the lead.
A few minutes, he said, without turning around. One of my smaller town
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