houses is nearby.
Scathach nodded. Once we get there, we ll lie low until Nicholas returns,
get some rest and a change of clothes. She wrinkled her nose in Josh s
direction. And a shower, too, she added significantly.
Color touched the young man s cheeks. Are you saying I smell? he asked,
both embarrassed and angry.
Sophie laid her hand on her brother s arm before the Warrior could answer.
Just a little, she said. We probably all do.
Josh looked away, clearly upset, then glanced back at Scathach. I don't
suppose you smell, he snapped.
No, she said. No sweat glands. The Vampire are a much more evolved species
than the humani.
They continued in silence until the Rue Pierre Charron opened out onto the
broad Champs-Elys es, Paris s main thoroughfare. To their left they could see
the Arc de Triomphe. Traffic on both sides of the street was stopped, with
drivers standing alongside their cars chatting animatedly, gesticulating
wildly. All eyes were turned to the rippling fireworks still exploding over
the Eiffel Tower.
How do you think this will be reported on the news? Josh said. The Eiffel
Tower suddenly erupting with fireworks.
Saint-Germain glanced over his shoulder. Truth is, it s not that out of the
ordinary. The tower is often lit up with fireworks on New Year s Eve and
Bastille Day, for example. I would imagine it will be reported that next
month s Bastille Day fireworks went off prematurely. He stopped and looked
around, hearing someone call out his name.
don't look , Scatty began, but it was too late: the twins and Saint-Germain
had turned in the direction of the shouts.
Germain
Hey, Germain
Two young men who were standing next to their unmoving car were pointing at
Saint-Germain and shouting his name.
Both men were dressed in jeans and T-shirts and looked alike, with
slicked-backed hair and overlarge sunglasses. Abandoning their car in the
middle of the road, they wove through the stalled traffic, both holding what
Josh thought looked like long, narrow blades in their hands.
Francis, Scatty warned urgently, her hands locking into fists. She moved
forward just as the first man reached Saint-Germain, let me .
Gentlemen. Saint-Germain turned toward the two men, smiling widely, though
the twins, who were behind him, saw yellow-blue flames dance across his
fingertips.
Great concert last night, the first man said breathlessly, speaking English
with a strong German accent. He pushed back his sunglasses and held out his
right hand, and Josh realized that what he d first imagined was a knife was
nothing more than a fat pen. Any chance I could get an autograph?
The flames on Saint-Germain s fingers winked out. Of course, he said,
smiling delightedly, reaching for the pen and pulling a spiral-bound notebook
from an inner pocket. Did you get the new CD? he asked, flipping open the
notebook.
The second man, wearing identical glasses, plucked a black and red iPod from
the back pocket of his jeans. Got it on iTunes yesterday, he answered in
the same distinctive accent.
And don't forget to check out the DVD of the show when it comes out in a
month s time. Got some great extras, a couple of remixes and a great mashup,
Saint-Germain added as he signed his name with an elaborate flourish and
pulled the pages from the notebook. I d love to chat, guys, but I m in a
rush. Thanks for stopping, I appreciate it.
They shook hands quickly and the two men hurried back to their car,
high-fiving one another as they compared their autographs.
Smiling broadly, Saint-Germain took a deep breath and turned to look at the
twins. Told you I was famous.
And you ll soon be dead famous if we don't get off this street, Scathach
reminded him. Or maybe just dead.
We re just here, Saint-Germain muttered. He led them across the
Champs-Elys es and down a side street, then ducked into a narrow, high-walled
cobbled lane that snaked around the backs of the buildings. Stopping halfway
down the alley, he slid a key into an anonymous-looking door set flush with
the wall. The wooden door was chipped and scarred, foul green paint peeling
in long strips to reveal blistered wood beneath; the bottom was splintered
and cracked from rubbing the ground.
May I suggest a new gate? Scathach said.
This is the new gate. Saint-Germain smiled quickly. The wood is just a
disguise. Beneath it is a slab of solid steel with a five-point dead bolt.
He stepped back and allowed the twins to precede him through the entrance.
Enter freely and of your own will, he said formally.
The twins stepped forward and were vaguely disappointed with what they found.
Behind the gate was a small courtyard and a four-story building. To the left
and right, tall spike-tipped walls separated the house from its neighbors.
Sophie and Josh had been expecting something exotic or even dramatic, but all
they saw was an unkempt leaf-strewn rear garden. A huge and hideous stone
birdbath was set in the center of the courtyard, but instead of water, the
bowl was filled with dead leaves and the remains of a bird s nest. All the
plants in the pots and baskets surrounding the fountain at its center were
dead or dying.
The gardener s away, Saint-Germain said without a trace of embarrassment,
and I m really not very good with plants. He held up his right hand and
spread his fingers. Each one popped alight with a different-colored flame. He
grinned and the colored flames painted his face in flickering shadows. Not
my specialty.
Scathach paused by the gate, looking up and down the alleyway, head tilted to
one side, listening. When she was satisfied that they were not being
followed, she closed the door and turned the key in the lock. The dead bolts
slid into place with a satisfying thunk.
How will Flamel find us? Josh asked. Even though he was wary and fearful of
the Alchemyst, he felt even more nervous around Saint-Germain.
I gave him a little guide, Saint-Germain explained.
Will he be all right? Sophie asked Scathach.
I m sure he will be, she said, though the tone of her voice and the look in
her eyes betrayed her fears. She was turning away from the gate when she
stiffened, jaw unhinging, vampire teeth suddenly terrifyingly visible.
The door to the rear of the house had opened suddenly, and a figure stepped
out into the courtyard. Abruptly, Sophie s aura blazed silver-white, the
shock sending her spinning back into her brother, bringing his aura to
crackling life as well, outlining his body in gold and bronze. And as the
twins held on to one another, blinded by the silver and gold light of their
own auras, they heard Scathach scream. It was the most terrifying sound they
had ever heard.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
S top!
Nicholas Flamel kept running, turning to the right, racing down the Quai
Branly.
Stop or I shoot!
Flamel knew the police wouldn't shoot they couldn't. Machiavelli would not
want him harmed.
The slap o
f leather on concrete and the jingle of weapons were close now, and
he could hear his pursuer s even breathing. Nicholas s own breathing was
beginning to come in great heaving gasps, and there was a stitch in his side
just below his ribs. The recipe in the Codex kept him alive and healthy, but
there was no way he could outrun this highly trained and obviously fit police
officer.
Nicholas Flamel stopped so suddenly that the police captain almost ran right
into him. Standing still, the Alchemyst turned his head to look back over his
left shoulder. The policeman had drawn an ugly black pistol and was holding
it in a steady two-handed grip.
don't move. Raise your hands.
Nicholas turned slowly to face the police officer. Well, make your mind up,
what s it to be? he asked mildly.
Behind his protective goggles, the man blinked at him in surprise.
Do I not move? Or do I raise my hands?
The police officer gestured with the barrel of the gun and Flamel raised his
hands. Five more RAID officers came running up. They trained a variety of
weapons on the Alchemyst as they spread out in a line alongside their
captain. With his hands still in the air, Nicholas turned his head slowly to
look at each of them in turn. In their black uniforms, helmets, balaclavas
and goggles, they looked like insects.
Get down on the ground. Do it, do it now! the captain commanded. Keep your
hands in the air.
Nicholas slowly folded to his knees.
Now lie down! Facedown!
The Alchemyst lay flat on the Parisian street, his cheek against the cool,
gritty pavement.
Stretch your arms wide.
Nicholas stretched out his arms. The police officers shifted position,
quickly encircling him, but they still kept their distance.
We have him. The police captain spoke into the microphone positioned in
front of his lips. No, sir. We ve not touched him. Yes, sir. Immediately.
Nicholas wished Perenelle were with him now; she would know what to do. But
if the Sorceress had been with him, then he would not be in this mess in the
first place. Perenelle was a fighter. How often had she urged him to stop
running, to use half a millennium of his alchemical knowledge and her sorcery
and magic and take the fight to the Dark Elders? She d wanted him to gather
the immortals, the Elders and the Next Generation who supported the humani
and wage a war against the Dark Elders, Dee and his kind. But he couldn't;
he d been waiting all his life for the twins foretold in the Codex.
The two that are one, the one that is all.
There had never been any doubt in his mind that he would discover the twins.
The prophecies in the Codex were never wrong, but like everything else in the
book, the words of Abraham were never clear and were written in a variety of
archaic or forgotten languages.
The two that are one, the one that is all.
There will come a time when the Book is taken
And the Queen s man is allied with the Crow.
Then the Elder will step out of the Shadows
And the immortal must train the mortal. The two
that are one must become the one that is all.
And Nicholas knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the immortal
mentioned in the prophecy: the hook-handed man had told him.
Half a millennium ago, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel had traveled throughout
Europe in an attempt to understand the enigmatic metal-bound book. Finally,
in Spain, they had met a mysterious one-handed man who had helped translate
portions of the ever-changing text. The one-handed man had revealed that the
secret of Life Eternal always appeared on page seven of the Codex at the full
moon, while the recipe for transmutation, for changing the composition of any
material, appeared only on page fourteen. When the one-handed man had
translated the first prophecy, he had looked at Nicholas with coal black eyes
and reached over to tap the Frenchman s chest with the hook that took the
place of his left hand.
Alchemyst, here is your destiny, he had whispered.
The mysterious words suggested that Flamel would one day find the twins the
prophecy hadn't revealed that he d end up lying spread-eagled on a dirty
Parisian street surrounded by armed and very nervous police officers.
Flamel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Pressing his outspread fingers
against the stones, he reluctantly drew upon his aura. The merest gossamer
thread of green-gold energy seeped off his fingertips and soaked into the
stones. Nicholas felt the tendril of his auric energy curl through the
pavement, then into the earth beneath. The hair-thin thread snaked through
the soil, looking searching and then, finally, finding what he was looking
for: a seething mass of teeming life. Then it was a simple matter of using
transmutation, the basic principal of alchemy, to create glucose and fructose
and bind them together with a glycosidic bond to create sucrose. The life
stirred, shifted, flowed toward the sweetness.
The police captain raised his voice. Cuff him. Search him.
Nicholas heard the shuffling approach of two police officers, one on either
side. Directly in front of his face, he saw highly polished thick-soled black
leather boots.
And then, magnified because of its closeness to his face, Nicholas spotted
the ant. It popped up out of a crack in the pavement, antennae waving. It was
followed by a second, and a third.
The Alchemyst pressed his thumbs against the third finger of each hand and
snapped his fingers. Minuscule sparkles of mint-smelling green-gold spun into
the air, coating the six police officers in infinitesimal particles of power.
Then he transmuted the particles into sugar.
Abruptly, the pavement around Flamel turned black. A mass of tiny ants
erupted from below the street, surging up out of the cracks in the stone.
Like a thick glutinous syrup, they spread across the pavement, flowing over
boots before suddenly curling up around the legs of the police officers,
coating them in a heaving swarm of insects. For a moment the men were shocked
into immobility. Their suits and gloves protected them for another instant,
and then one man twitched, and another and another as the ants found the
tiniest of openings in the men s suits and darted inside, legs tickling, jaws
nipping. The men began jerking, twisting, turning, slapping at themselves,
throwing down their weapons, pulling off their gloves, tugging at their
helmets, tossing aside their goggles and balaclavas as thousands of ants
crawled over their bodies.
The police captain watched as their prisoner who was completely untouched by
the heaving blanket of ants sat up and fastidiously dusted himself off before
rising to his feet. The captain tried to point his gun at the man, but ants
were clawing at his wrists, tickling the palms of his hands, nipping his
flesh, and he couldn't hold the weapon steady. He wanted to order the man to
sit down, but there were ants crawling across his lips, and he knew if he
opened his mouth they would dart inside. Reaching up, brushing his helmet off
his head, he jerked off his balaclava an
d flung it to the ground, arching his
back as insects crawled along his spine. He ran his hand across his head and
felt it dislodge at least a dozen ants. They fell across his face and he
squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the prisoner was strolling
towards the Pont de l Alma train station, hands in his pockets, looking as if
he hadn't a care in the world.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
J osh forced his eyes open. Black spots danced in front of them, and when he
raised his hand to his face, he could see the ghost of his own golden aura
still visible around his flesh. Reaching out, he found his sister s hand and
caught it. She squeezed gently, and he turned to find her blinking her eyes
open.
What happened? he mumbled, too shocked and numb to even be scared.
Sophie shook her head. It was like an explosion .
I heard Scathach scream, he added.
And I thought I saw someone coming out of the house , she added.
They both turned back to the town house. Scathach was at the door, her arms
wrapped around a young woman, holding her tightly, swinging her around in a
circle. Both women were laughing and squealing with delight, shouting at one
another in rapid-fire French. I guess they know each other, Josh said as he
helped his sister to her feet.
The twins turned to look at the Comte de Saint-Germain, who was standing to
one side, arms folded across his chest, smiling delightedly. They re old
friends, he explained. They ve not met in a long time a very long time.
Saint-Germain coughed. Joan, he said politely.
The two women broke apart and the woman he d called Joan turned to look at
Saint-Germain, her head tilted at a quizzical angle. It was impossible to
guess her age. Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, she was Sophie s height,
almost unnaturally slender, and her deeply tanned and flawless skin
emphasized huge gray eyes. Her auburn hair was cut in a short boyish style.
There were tears on her cheeks that she brushed away with a quick movement of
her palm. Francis? she asked.
And these are our visitors.
Holding Scathach s hand, the young woman stepped closer to Sophie. As the
woman approached, Sophie felt a sudden pressure in the air between them, as
if some invisible force was pushing her back, and then, abruptly, her aura
flared silver around her and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of
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