Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  stopped. The smell was new; it wasn't the smell of the sphinx. Turning back

  to the door, she went as close as she could to the web without touching it

  and peered inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and a

  moment longer to make sense of what she was seeing.

  Vetala.

  Perenelle s heart began to beat so strongly in her chest that she could

  actually feel her flesh vibrating. Hanging upside down from the ceiling were

  a dozen creatures. Talons that were a cross between human feet and birds

  claws bit deep into the soft stone, while leathery bats wings wrapped around

  skeletal human bodies. The upside-down heads were beautiful, with the faces

  of young men and women not yet in their teens.

  Vetala.

  Perenelle mouthed the word silently. Vampires from the Indian subcontinent.

  And unlike Scathach, this clan drank blood and ate flesh. But what were they

  doing here, and more importantly, how had they gotten here? Vetala were

  always linked to a region or tribe: Perenelle had never known one to leave

  its homeland.

  The Sorceress turned slowly to look at the other open doorways lining the

  gloomy corridor. What else lay hidden in the cells beneath Alcatraz?

  What was Dr. John Dee planning?

  SUNDAY,

  3rd June

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  S ophie s ragged scream pulled Josh from a deep and dreamless sleep and

  rolled him out of bed, leaving him swaying on his feet, trying to get his

  bearings in complete darkness.

  Sophie screamed again, the sound raw and terrifying.

  Josh blundered across the bedroom, banging his knees on a chair before he

  discovered the door, visible only because of the thin strip of light beneath

  it. His sister was in the room directly across the corridor.

  Earlier, Saint-Germain had escorted them upstairs and given them their choice

  of rooms on the top floor of the town house. Sophie had immediately picked

  the one overlooking the Champs-Elys es from the bedroom window, she could

  actually see the Arc de Triomphe over the rooftops while Josh had taken the

  room across the hall, which looked over the dried-up rear garden. The rooms

  were small, with low ceilings and uneven, slightly sloping walls, but each

  had its own bathroom with a minuscule shower cubicle that had only two

  settings scalding and freezing. When Sophie had run the water in her room,

  Josh s shower stopped working altogether. And although he d promised his

  sister that he would come talk to her after he d showered and changed, he d

  sat on the edge of his bed and almost immediately fallen into an exhausted

  sleep.

  Sophie screamed for a third time, a shuddering sob that brought tears to his

  eyes.

  Josh jerked open his door and ran across the narrow corridor. He pushed open

  the door to his sister s room and stopped.

  Joan of Arc was sitting on the edge of his sister s bed, holding Sophie s

  hand in both of hers. There were no lights in the room, but it was not in

  total darkness. Joan s hand was glowing with cool silvery light and it looked

  like she was wearing a soft gray glove. As he watched, his sister s hand took

  on the same texture and color. The air smelled of vanilla and lavender.

  Joan turned to look at Josh, and he was startled to discover that her eyes

  were glowing silver coins. He took a step toward the bed, but she raised a

  finger to her lips and shook her head slightly, warning him not to say

  anything. The glow faded from her eyes. Your sister is dreaming, Joan said,

  though he wasn't sure whether she had spoken aloud or if he was hearing her

  voice in his head. The nightmare is already passing. It will not return,

  she said, making the sentence into a promise.

  Wood creaked behind Josh and he whirled to see the Comte de Saint-Germain

  coming down a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. Francis gestured to

  Josh from the bottom of the stairs, and although his lips didn't move, the

  boy clearly heard his voice: My wife will take care of your sister. Come

  away.

  Josh shook his head. I should stay. He didn't want to leave Sophie alone

  with the strange woman, but he also knew instinctively that Joan would never

  harm his sister.

  There is nothing you can do for her, Saint-Germain said aloud. Get dressed

  and come up to the attic. I have my office there. He turned away and

  disappeared back up the stairs.

  Josh took a last look at Sophie. She was resting quietly, her breathing had

  slowed and he noticed that the dark rings had disappeared from beneath her

  eyes.

  Go now, Joan said. There are some things I have to say to your sister.

  Private things.

  She s asleep , Josh began.

  But I will still say them, the woman murmured. And she will still hear

  me.

  In his room, Josh dressed quickly. A bundle of clothes had been laid on a

  chair beneath the window: underwear, jeans, T-shirts and socks. He guessed

  the clothes belonged to Saint-Germain: they were about the count s size. Josh

  dressed quickly in a pair of black designer jeans and a black silk T-shirt

  before slipping into his own shoes and taking a quick look in the mirror. He

  was unable to resist a smile; he d never imagined himself wearing such

  expensive clothes. In the bathroom, he cracked open a new toothbrush from its

  packaging, brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face and ran his

  fingers through his overlong blond hair, pulling it back off his forehead.

  Strapping on his watch, he was shocked to discover that it was a little after

  midnight on Sunday morning. He d slept the entire day and most of the night.

  When he left the bedroom, he stopped at the door to his sister s room and

  looked inside. The smell of lavender was so strong it made his eyes water.

  Sophie lay unmoving on the bed, her breathing regular and even. Joan remained

  beside her, holding her hand, murmuring softly, but not in any language he

  could understand. The woman turned her head slowly to look at him, and he

  discovered that her eyes were once again flat silver discs, without any hint

  of white or pupil. She turned back to Sophie.

  Josh stared at them for a moment before turning away. When the Witch of Endor

  had instructed Sophie in the Magic of Air, he had been dismissed; now he d

  been dismissed again. He was quickly realizing that in this new magical

  world, there was no place for someone like him, someone without power.

  Josh slowly climbed the narrow winding stairs that led up to Saint-Germain s

  office. Whatever Josh had been expecting to find in the attic, it was not the

  huge brightly lit white wood and chrome room. The attic ran the length of the

  entire house and had been remodeled into one vast open space, with an arched

  window looking over the Champs-Elys es at one end. The enormous room was

  filled with electronics and musical instruments, but there was no sign of

  Saint-Germain.

  Against the right wall, a long table stretched from one end of the space to

  the other. It was piled high with computers, both desktops and laptops,

  screens of all shapes and sizes, synthesizers, a mixing desk, keyboards and

  electro
nic drum kits.

  On the opposite side of the room a trio of electric guitars were perched on

  stands, while an assortment of keyboards were arranged around an enormous LCD

  screen.

  How do you feel? Saint-Germain asked.

  It took Josh a second to identify where the voice was coming from. The

  musician was lying flat on his back under the table, a bundle of USB cables

  in his hands. Good, Josh said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

  He felt better than he had in a long time. I don't even remember lying

  down .

  You were both exhausted, physically and mentally. And I understand the

  leygates suck every last drop of energy from you. Not that I ve ever traveled

  through one, he added. To be truthful, I was surprised you were still on

  your feet, Saint-Germain muttered as he dropped the cables. you've slept

  for about fourteen hours.

  Josh knelt alongside Saint-Germain. What are you trying to do?

  I moved a monitor and the cable fell out; I m not sure which one it is.

  You should color code them with tape, Josh said. That s what I do.

  Straightening, he caught the end of the cable that was attached to the

  wide-screen monitor and jerked it up and down. It s this one. The cable

  twitched in Saint-Germain s hands.

  Thanks!

  The monitor suddenly flickered to life, displaying a screen filled with

  sliders and knobs.

  Saint-Germain climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. He was wearing

  clothes identical to Josh s. They fit. He nodded. And they look good on

  you. You should wear black more often.

  Thanks for the clothes . He stopped. I don't know how we re going to be

  able to pay you back, though.

  Francis laughed quickly. They weren t a loan, they were a gift. I don't want

  them back.

  Before Josh could thank him again, Saint-Germain hit the keyboard and Josh

  jumped as a series of heavy piano chords thumped out from hidden speakers.

  don't worry, the attic is soundproofed, Saint-Germain said. It ll not wake

  Sophie.

  Josh nodded at the screen. Do you write all your music on computer?

  Just about. Saint-Germain looked around the room. Anyone can make music

  now; you don't need much more than a computer, some software, patience and a

  lot of imagination. If I need some real instruments for a final mix, I ll

  hire musicians. But I can do most things here.

  I downloaded some beat-detection software once, Josh admitted. But I could

  never get it right.

  What do you compose?

  Well, I m not sure you d call it composing . I put together some ambient

  mixes.

  I d love to listen to anything you have.

  It s all gone. I lost my computer, my cell phone and my iPod when Yggdrasill

  was destroyed. Even saying it aloud made him feel sick. And the worst part

  was that he really had no idea exactly what he d lost. I lost my summer

  project and all my music, and that was about ninety gigs. I had some great

  bootlegs. I ll never be able to replace them. He sighed. I also lost

  hundreds of photos; all the places Mom and Dad took us. Our parents are

  scientists they re archaeologists and paleontologists, he added, so we ve

  seen some amazing places.

  Lost everything! That s got to be tough, Saint-Germain sympathized. What

  about backups?

  The stricken look on Josh s face was all the answer the count needed.

  Were you a Mac or a PC user?

  Both, actually. Dad uses PCs at home, but most of the schools Sophie and I

  have gone to use Macs. Sophie loves her Macs, but I prefer a PC, he said.

  If anything goes wrong, I can usually pull it apart and fix it myself.

  Saint-Germain walked to the end of the table and rummaged around underneath

  it. He pulled out three laptops, different brands and screen sizes, and lined

  them up on the floor. He gestured dramatically. Take one.

  Josh blinked at him in surprise. Take one?

  They re all PCs, Saint-Germain continued, and they re no use to me. I ve

  completely switched over to Macs now.

  Josh looked from Saint-Germain to the laptops and back to the musician again.

  He d just met this man, didn't know him, and here he was offering Josh a

  choice of three expensive laptops. He shook his head. Thanks, but I

  couldn't.

  Why not? Saint-Germain demanded.

  And Josh had no answer for that.

  You need a computer. I m offering you one of these. I would be pleased if

  you took it. Saint-Germain smiled. I grew up in an age when gift giving was

  an art. I have found that people in this century really do not know how to

  accept a gift gracefully.

  I don't know what to say.

  How about thank you? Saint-Germain suggested.

  Josh grinned. Yes. Well thank you, he said hesitantly. Thank you'very

  much. Even as he was speaking, he knew which machine he wanted: the tiny

  one-inch-thick laptop with an eleven-inch screen.

  Saint-Germain dug around under the table and extracted three power cords that

  he dropped onto the floor alongside the machines. I m not using them.

  They ll probably never be used again. I ll end up reformatting the hard

  drives and giving the machines to the local schools. Take whichever one you

  like. You ll find a backpack under the table too. He paused, blue eyes

  twinkling, and tapped the back of the machine Josh was looking at, then added

  with a grin, I ve a spare long-life battery for this one. That was my

  favorite.

  Well, if you re really not using them

  Saint-Germain ran a finger across the back of the small laptop, tracing a

  line in the dust, holding it up so that Josh could see the black mark on his

  fingertip. Trust me: I m not using them.

  OK thanks. I mean, thank you. No one s ever given me a present like this

  before, he said, picking up the small computer and turning it over in his

  hands. I ll take this one if you re really sure .

  I m sure. It s fully loaded; got wireless, too, and it ll autoconvert the

  power for European and American current. Plus, it s got all my albums on it,

  Saint-Germain said, so you can start your music collection again. You ll

  also find an mpeg of the last concert. Check it out; it s really good.

  I ll do that, Josh said, plugging in the laptop to charge the battery.

  Let me know what you think. And you can be honest with me, Saint-Germain

  added.

  Really?

  The count took a moment to consider, and then he shook his head. No, not

  really. Only tell me if you think I m good. I don't like negative reviews,

  though you d think that after nearly three hundred years, I d be used to

  them.

  Josh opened the laptop and turned it on. The machine whined and flickered to

  life. Leaning forward, he gently blew dust off the keyboard. When the laptop

  booted, the screen flickered and showed an image of Saint-Germain onstage,

  surrounded by a dozen instruments. You have a picture of yourself for your

  wallpaper? Josh asked incredulously.

  It s one of my favorites, the musician said.

  Josh nodded toward the screen and then looked around the room. Can you play

  all these?

  Every one. I started on the violin a long time ago
, then moved on to

  harpsichord and flute. But I ve kept up with the times, always learning new

  instruments. In the eighteenth century, I was using the latest technology the

  new violins, the latest keyboards and here I am, nearly three hundred years

  later, still doing that. This is a great time to be a musician. And with

  technology, I can finally play all the sounds I hear in my head. His fingers

  brushed a keyboard and a full choir sang from the speakers.

  Josh jumped. The voices were so clear that he actually looked over his

  shoulder.

  I load up the computer with sound samples, so I can use anything in my

  work. Saint-Germain turned back to the screen and his fingers danced on the

  keys. don't you think those fireworks yesterday morning made some great

  sounds? Crackling. Snapping. Maybe it s time for another Fireworks Suite.

  Josh walked around the room, looking at the framed gold records, the signed

  posters and CD sleeves. I didn't know there was one already, he said.

  George Frideric Handel, 1749, Music for the Royal Fireworks. What a night

  that was! What music! Saint-Germain s fingers moved across a keyboard,

  filling the room with a tune Josh thought sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe

  he d heard it on a TV ad. Good old George, Saint-Germain said. I never

  liked him.

  The Witch of Endor doesn t like you, Josh said hesitantly. Why?

  Saint-Germain grinned. The Witch doesn t like anyone. She especially doesn t

  like me because I became immortal through my own efforts and, unlike Nicholas

  and Perry, I don't need any recipe from a book to remain undying.

  Josh frowned. You mean there are different types of immortality?

  Many different types, and as many different types of immortals. The most

  dangerous are those who became immortal because of their loyalty to an Elder.

  If they fall from favor with the Elder, the gift is rescinded, of course. He

  snapped his fingers and Josh jumped. The result is instant old age. Ancient

  age. It s a great way of ensuring loyalty. He turned back to the keyboard

  and his fingers drew a haunting breathy sound from the speakers. He looked up

  as Josh joined him in front of the screen. But the real reason the Witch of

  Endor doesn t like me is because I an ordinary mortal became the Master of

  Fire. He held up his left hand and a different-colored flame danced at the

  tip of each finger. The attic studio suddenly smelled of burnt leaves.