And why would that bother her? Josh asked, staring entranced at the dancing
flames. He wanted desperately wanted to be able to do something like that.
Maybe because I learned the secret of fire from her brother. The music
changed, becoming discordant and harsh. Well, when I say learned, I should
really say stole.
You stole the secret of fire! Josh said.
The Comte de Saint-Germain nodded happily. From Prometheus.
And one of these days my uncle will want it back. Scathach s voice made
them both jump. Neither had heard her enter the room. Nicholas is here, she
said, and turned away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
N icholas Flamel was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, both hands
wrapped around a steaming mug of soup. In front of him was a half-empty
bottle of Perrier, a tall glass and a plate piled high with thick-crust bread
and cheese. He looked up, nodded and smiled as Josh and Saint-Germain
followed Scathach into the room.
Sophie was sitting on one side of the table, facing Joan of Arc, and Josh
quickly slid into the seat beside his sister while Saint-Germain took the
seat alongside his wife. Only Scathach remained standing, leaning against the
sink behind the Alchemyst, staring out into the night. Josh noted that she
was still wearing the bandana she had cut from Flamel s loose black T-shirt.
Josh turned his attention to the Alchemyst. The man looked exhausted and old,
and there seemed to be a dusting of silver in his close-cropped hair that
hadn't been there earlier. His skin was also shockingly pale, emphasizing the
bruise-black circles beneath his eyes and the deep lines in his forehead. His
clothes were rumpled and speckled with rain, and there was a long muddy
streak on the sleeve of the jacket he d hung off the back of the wooden
chair. Water droplets sparkled on the worn leather.
No one spoke while the Alchemyst finished the soup and then broke off chunks
of the cheese and bread. He chewed slowly and methodically, then poured water
from the green bottle into the glass and drank in short sips. When he was
finished, he wiped his lips on a napkin and allowed himself a sigh of
satisfaction. Thank you. He nodded to Joan. That was perfect.
There is a larder full of food, Nicholas, she said, her gray eyes huge and
concerned. You really should have more than soup, bread and cheese.
It was enough, he said gently. Right now I need to rest, and I didn't want
to put a lot of food in my stomach. We shall have a big breakfast in the
morning. I ll even cook it myself.
I didn't know you could cook, Saint-Germain said.
He can t, Scathach muttered.
I thought eating cheese late at night gave you nightmares, Josh said. He
glanced at his watch. It s close to one in the morning.
Oh, I don't need cheese to see nightmares. I ve seen them in the flesh.
Nicholas smiled, though there was no humor in it. They re not so scary. He
looked from Josh to Sophie. You re safe and well?
The twins glanced at one another and nodded.
And rested?
They slept all day and most of the night, Joan said.
Good, Flamel nodded. You re going to need all your strength. And I like
the clothes. While Josh was dressed identically to Saint-Germain, Sophie was
wearing a heavy white cotton blouse and blue jeans with the ends turned up to
reveal ankle-high boots.
Joan gave them to me, Sophie explained.
Almost a perfect fit, the older woman said. We ll go through my wardrobe
shortly, get you some changes for the rest of your journey.
Sophie smiled her thanks.
Nicholas turned to Saint-Germain. The fireworks on the Eiffel Tower
yesterday: inspired, just inspired.
The count bowed. Thank you, Master, he said, looking tremendously pleased
with himself.
Joan s giggle was a low purr. He s been looking for an excuse to do
something like that for months. You should have seen the display he set off
in Hawaii when we were married. We waited until the sun went down; then
Francis lit up the sky for nearly an hour. It was so beautiful, though the
effort exhausted him for a week, she added with a grin.
Two spots of color touched the count s cheeks and he reached over to squeeze
his wife s hand. It was worth it to see the look on your face.
You hadn't mastered fire the last time we met, Nicholas said slowly. If I
recall, you had some little ability with it, but nothing like the power you
demonstrated yesterday. Who trained you?
I spent some time in India, in the lost city of Ophir, the count responded,
glancing quickly at the Alchemyst. They still remember you there. Did you
know they erected a statue to you and Perenelle in the main square?
I didn't. I promised Perenelle I d take her back there someday, Nicholas
said wistfully. But what has that got to do with your mastery of fire?
I met someone there someone who trained me, Saint-Germain said
enigmatically. Showed me how to use all the secret knowledge I d gleaned
from Prometheus
Stolen, Scathach corrected.
Well, he stole it first, Saint-Germain snapped.
Flamel s hand hit the table with enough force to rattle the bottle of water.
Only Scathach didn't jump. Enough! he barked, and for an instant, the
planes and angles of his face altered, cheekbones suddenly prominent, hinting
at the skull beneath the flesh. His almost colorless eyes visibly darkened,
turning gray, then brown and finally black. Resting his elbows on the table,
he rubbed his face with the palms of both hands and took a deep shuddering
breath. There was the faintest hint of mint in the air, but it was a sour
bitter odor. I m sorry. That was inexcusable. I should not have raised my
voice, he said quietly into the shocked silence that followed. When he took
his hands away from his face, his lips moved into a smile that did not quite
reach his eyes. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on the
twins stunned faces. You must forgive me. I m tired now, so tired; I could
sleep for a week. Continue, Francis, please. Who trained you?
The Comte de Saint-Germain took a breath. He told me he said that I was
never to speak his name aloud, he finished in a rush.
Flamel placed his elbows on the table, wrapped the fingers of both hands
together and rested his chin on his knotted fists. He stared at the musician,
his face impassive. Who was it? he demanded firmly.
I gave him my word, Saint-Germain said miserably. It was one of the
conditions he imposed when he trained me. He said there was a power in words
and that certain names set up vibrations both in this world and the
Shadowrealms and attracted unwelcome attention.
Scathach stepped forward and rested her hand lightly on the Alchemyst s
shoulder. Nicholas, you know that is true. There are certain words that
should never be spoken, names that should never be used. Old things. Undead
things.
Nicholas nodded. If you gave this person your word, then you should not go
back on it, of course. But tell me he paused, not looking at the count this
mysterious person, how many hands did he have?
&nbs
p; Saint-Germain sat back suddenly, and the shocked expression on his face
revealed the truth. How did you know? he whispered.
The Alchemyst s mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. In Spain, six hundred
years ago, I met a one-handed man who taught me some of the secrets of the
Codex. He too refused to speak his name aloud. Flamel suddenly looked at
Sophie, eyes wide and staring. You have within you the Witch s memories. If
a name comes to you now it would be better for all of us if you did not say
it aloud.
Sophie closed her mouth so quickly she bit the inside of her lip. She knew
the name of the person Flamel and Saint-Germain were talking about. She also
knew just who and what he was. And she had been just about to speak the name
aloud.
Flamel turned back to Saint-Germain. You know that Sophie s powers have been
Awakened. The Witch taught her the basics of the Magic of Air, and I am
determined that both she and Josh be trained in all the elemental magics as
quickly as possible. I know where there are masters of Earth and Water magic.
Only yesterday, I was thinking we might have to go in search of one of the
Elders associated with fire, Maui or Vulcan or even your old nemesis,
Prometheus himself. Now I m hoping that might not be necessary. He paused
for a breath. Do you think you could you teach Sophie the Magic of Fire?
Saint-Germain blinked in surprise. He folded his arms across his chest and
looked from the girl to the Alchemyst and started to shake his head. I m not
sure I could. I m not even sure I should .
Joan reached over and rested her right hand on the back of her husband s arm.
He turned to look at her and she nodded, almost imperceptibly. Her lips
didn't move, and yet everyone clearly heard her say, Francis, you must do
it.
The count didn't hesitate. I ll do it but is it wise? he asked, serious.
It is necessary, she said simply.
It ll be a lot for her to take in . He bowed to Sophie. Forgive me. I
didn't mean to talk about you as if you weren t here. He looked back at
Nicholas and added doubtfully, Sophie is still dealing with the Witch s
memories.
Not anymore. I attended to that. Joan s grip tightened on her husband s
arm. She turned her head to look at everyone sitting around the table,
finally stopping at Sophie. While Sophie slept, I spoke to her, helped her
sort the memories, categorize them, separate her own thoughts from the
Witch s. I do not think they will trouble her so much now.
Sophie was shocked. You got into my head while I was asleep?
Joan of Arc shook her head slightly. I didn't get into your mind I simply
talked to you, instructed you what to do and how to do it.
I saw you talking , Josh began, and then frowned. But Sophie was sound
asleep. She couldn't hear you.
She heard me, Joan said. She looked directly at Sophie and placed her left
hand flat on the table. A crackling silver haze appeared on her fingertips,
tiny speckles of light dancing from her flesh to bounce, like mercury
droplets, across the table toward the girl s hands, which were resting on the
polished wood. As they approached, Sophie s fingernails began to glow a muted
silver, and then suddenly, the points of light wrapped around her fingers.
You may be twin to Josh, but we are sisters, you and I. We are Silver. I
know what it is like to hear voices inside my head; I know what it is like to
see the impossible, to know the unknowable. Joan looked first at Josh and
then at the Alchemyst. While Sophie slept, I spoke directly to her
unconscious mind. I taught her how to control the Witch s memories, how to
ignore the voices, to shut out the images. I taught her how to protect
herself.
Sophie raised her head slowly, eyes wide with surprise. That s what s
different! she said, both shocked and amazed. I can t hear the voices
anymore. She looked at her twin. They started when the Witch poured her
knowledge into me. There were thousands of them, shouting and whispering in
languages I almost understood. It s quiet now.
They re still there, Joan explained. They will always be there. But now
you will be able to call upon them when you need to, to use their knowledge.
I also started the process of teaching you how to control your aura.
But how could you while she was asleep? Josh pressed. He even found the
thought of it incredibly disturbing.
Only the conscious mind sleeps the unconscious is always aware.
What do you mean, control my aura? Sophie asked, confused. I thought it
was just this silver-colored electrical field around my body.
Joan shrugged, an elegant movement of her shoulders. Your aura is as
powerful as your imagination. You can shape it, meld it, fashion it to your
will. She held out her left hand. That s how I can do this. A metal glove
from a suit of armor clicked into existence around her flesh. Each rivet was
perfectly formed, and the back of the fingers was even dappled with rust.
Try it, she suggested.
Sophie held out her hand and looked hard at it.
Visualize the glove, Joan suggested. See it in your imagination.
A tiny silver thimble appeared on Sophie s little finger, then winked out of
existence.
Well, a little more practice, maybe, Joan admitted. She glanced sidelong at
Saint-Germain and then looked at the Alchemyst. Let me work with Sophie for
a couple of hours, teach her a little more about controlling and shaping her
aura, before Francis starts to teach her the Magic of Fire.
This Fire magic. Is it dangerous? Josh demanded, looking around the room.
He still vividly remembered what had happened to his sister when Hekate had
Awakened her she could have died. And the more he d learned about the Witch
of Endor, he d realized Sophie could have died learning Air magic as well.
When no one answered him, he turned to look at Saint-Germain. Is it
dangerous?
Yes, the musician said simply. Very.
Josh shook his head. Then I don't want
Sophie reached out to squeeze her brother s arm. He looked down: the hand
that gripped his arm was wrapped in a chain-mail glove. Josh, I have to do
this.
No, you don't.
I do.
Josh looked into his sister s face. It was set in the stubborn mask he knew
so well. Finally, he turned away, saying nothing. He didn't want his sister
learning any more magic not only was it dangerous but it would also distance
her even further from him.
Joan turned to Flamel. And now, Nicholas, you must rest.
The Alchemyst nodded. I will.
We were expecting you back a long time ago, Scathach said. I was thinking
I d have to go out in search of you.
The butterfly led me here hours ago, Nicholas said tiredly, voice muffled
with exhaustion. Once I knew where you were, I wanted to wait for night to
fall before approaching the house, just in case it is under observation.
Machiavelli doesn t even know this house exists, Saint-Germain said
confidently.
Perenelle taught me a simple cloaking spell a long time ago, but it only
works when it s raining it uses water droplets to refract light ar
ound the
user, Flamel explained. I decided to wait until nightfall to increase my
chances of remaining unseen.
What did you do for the day? Sophie asked.
I wandered around the city, looking for some of my old haunts.
Surely most are gone? Joan said.
Most. Not all. Flamel reached down and lifted an object wrapped in
newspaper from the floor. It made a solid thump when he dropped it on the
table. The house in Montmorency is still there.
I should have guessed you d visit Montmorency, Scathach said with a sad
smile. She looked at the twins and explained, It is the house where Nicholas
and Perenelle lived in the fifteenth century. We spent some happy times
there.
Very happy, Flamel agreed.
And it s still there? Sophie asked, amazed.
One of the oldest houses in Paris, Flamel said proudly.
What else did you do? Saint-Germain asked.
Nicholas shrugged. Visited the Mus e de Cluny. It s not every day you get to
see your own gravestone. I guess it s comforting to know that people still
remember me the real me.
Joan smiled. There is a street named after you, Nicholas: the Rue Flamel.
And one named in honor of Perenelle, too. But somehow, I don't think that s
the real reason you visited the museum, is it? She said shrewdly, You never
struck me as a sentimental man.
The Alchemyst smiled. Well, not the only reason, he admitted. He reached
into his jacket pocket and plucked out a narrow cylindrical tube. Everyone
around the table leaned forward. Even Scatty stepped in to look at it.
Unscrewing both ends, Flamel removed and unrolled a length of rustling
parchment. Nearly six hundred years ago, I hid this within my tombstone,
little thinking that I would ever need to use it. He spread the thick yellow
parchment on the table. Drawn in red ink faded to the color of rust was an
oval with a circle inside it, surrounded by three lines forming a rough
triangle.
Josh leaned over. I ve seen something like that before. He frowned. isn't
there something like that on the dollar bill?
Ignore what it looks like, Flamel said. It s drawn this way to disguise
its true meaning.
What is it? Josh asked.
It s a map, Sophie said suddenly.
Yes, it s a map, Nicholas agreed. But how did you know? The Witch of Endor
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