Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  and Scatty would well, he wasn't sure what would happen to Scatty. Whatever

  it was, it wouldn't be good.

  Following Nidhogg was simplicity itself. The creature ran in a straight line,

  crashing through the countless small streets and alleyways that ran parallel

  to the Champs-Elys es. It left a trail of devastation in its wake, trampling

  through a side street filled with parked cars, running right over the top of

  them, leaving them crumpled, flattened wrecks. As it darted down a narrow

  alleyway, its wavering tail punched through the steel shutters on the fronts

  of shops on either side of the street, shattering the glass they protected.

  Burglar and car alarms added to the mayhem.

  Suddenly, a flash of white ahead of him caught his attention.

  Josh had briefly glimpsed the figure in white standing outside

  Saint-Germain s house. He guessed it was one of the monster s keepers. And

  now it looked as if they were also chasing the creature which meant they had

  lost control. He glanced up, trying to gauge the time. Directly ahead of him,

  the sky was already paling toward the dawn, which meant that he was running

  east. What was going to happen when the city woke up to find a prehistoric

  monster rampaging through the streets? There d be panic; no doubt the police

  and army would be brought in. Josh had hacked at it with his sword and that

  had done nothing he had a horrible feeling that bullets would probably be

  just as useless.

  The streets narrowed to little more than alleyways, and the creature was

  forced to slow down as he crashed off the walls. Josh discovered that he was

  catching up with the figure in white. He thought it was a man, but it was

  hard to be sure.

  He was running easily now, not even breathing hard; he guessed all the weeks

  and months of football practice were paying off. His sneakers made no sound

  on the streets and he assumed that the figure in white didn't even suspect

  they were being followed. After all, who would be crazy enough to run after a

  monster with nothing but a sword for protection? However, as he got closer,

  he could see that the figure was also carrying a sword in one hand and what

  looked like an oversized hammer in the other. He recognized the weapon from

  World of Warcraft: it was a war hammer, a ferocious and deadly variant of the

  mace. Drawing nearer still, he discovered that the person was wearing white

  chain-mail armor, metal boots and a rounded helmet with a veil of chain mail

  covering the neck. Somehow he wasn't even surprised.

  Then, abruptly, the figure changed.

  Right before his eyes, the figure transformed from an armored warrior into a

  blond-haired young woman, not much older than himself, in a leather jacket,

  jeans and boots. Only the sword and war hammer in her hands marked her as

  extraordinary. She disappeared around a corner.

  Josh slowed: he didn't want to run into the woman with the sword and hammer.

  And, thinking about it, he guessed she probably wasn't a young woman at all.

  There was an explosion of brick and glass ahead of him and Josh picked up his

  pace and darted around the corner, then stopped. The creature was stuck in an

  alley. Josh moved forward cautiously; it looked as if the monster had run

  down what looked like another arrow-straight street. But this particular

  street curved at the end and then narrowed, the upper stories of the two

  houses on either side projecting out over the sidewalk below. The monster had

  slammed into the opening, tearing a chunk out of both buildings. Attempting

  to push ahead, it had suddenly found itself wedged in. It thrashed from side

  to side, brick and glass raining down into the street below. There was a

  flash of movement in a nearby window, and Josh caught a glimpse of a man

  peering from one of the windows, eyes and mouth round with horror, frozen in

  place by the monster directly outside his window. A slab of concrete the size

  of a sofa fell on the creature s head, but it didn't even seem to notice.

  Josh had no idea what to do. He needed to get to Scatty, but that meant

  getting around the creature, and there was simply no room. He watched as the

  blond woman raced down the alley. Without hesitation she leapt onto the

  monster s back and climbed nimbly toward its head, arms stretched out on

  either side, weapons poised.

  She was going to kill it, Josh decided, relief washing over him. Maybe then

  he could get in and grab Scatty.

  Sitting astride the creature s broad neck, the woman reached down and lashed

  out at Scathach s limp and unmoving body.

  Josh s cry of horror was lost in the wail of sirens.

  Sir, we have a report of an incident. The ashen-faced police officer handed

  the phone to Niccol Machiavelli. The RAID officer asked to speak to you

  personally.

  Dee caught the man by the arm and spun him around. What is it? he demanded

  in perfect French as Machiavelli listened intently to the call, one finger in

  his ear, trying to drown out the noise.

  I m not sure, sir. A mistake, certainly. The police officer attempted a

  shaky laugh. A few streets down, people are reporting that there is a

  monster stuck in a house. Impossible, I know His voice trailed off as he

  turned to look toward what had once been a substantial three-story house that

  now had a gaping hole plowed through the side.

  Machiavelli tossed the phone back to the police officer. Get me a car.

  A car?

  A car and a map, he snapped.

  Yes, sir. You can take mine. The police officer had been one of the first

  on the scene following dozens of calls from alarmed citizens. He d spotted

  Machiavelli and Dee hurrying from the alley close to the source of the noise

  and had stopped them, convinced that they had something to do with what was

  being reported as an explosion. His bluster had turned to dismay when he d

  discovered that the mud-spattered older man with white hair in the torn suit

  was actually the head of the DGSE.

  The officer handed over his car key and a battered and torn Michelin map of

  Paris s city center. I m afraid this is all I have.

  Machiavelli snatched it from his hand. You re dismissed. He gestured toward

  the street. Go and direct traffic; let no press or public near the house. Is

  that clear?

  Yes, sir. The police officer raced away, thankful that he still had his

  job; no one wanted to upset one of the most powerful men in France.

  Machiavelli spread the map across the hood of the car. We re here, he

  explained to Dee. Nidhogg is heading directly east, but at some stage, it s

  got to cross the Champs-Elys es and make for the river. If it continues on

  its present course, I ve a reasonably good idea it will come out his finger

  stabbed the map close to here.

  The two men climbed into the small car and Machiavelli looked around for a

  moment, trying to make sense of the controls. He couldn't remember the last

  time he d driven a car; Dagon had always looked after that. Finally, with a

  grinding crunch of gears, he got the car moving and made an illegal turn that

  sent them fishtailing across the road, then roared down the Champs-Elys es,

  leaving rubber in their wake
.

  Dee sat silently in the passenger seat, one hand wrapped around the seat

  belt, the other braced against the dashboard. Who taught you to drive? he

  asked shakily as they bounced off the curb.

  Karl Benz, Machiavelli snapped. A long time ago, he added.

  And how many wheels did that car have?

  Three.

  Dee squeezed his eyes shut as they roared across an intersection, barely

  missing a lumbering road-sweeper truck. So what do we do when we get to

  Nidhogg? he asked, focusing on the problem, trying to keep his mind off

  Machiavelli s terrible driving.

  That s your problem, Machiavelli retorted. After all, you re the one who

  freed it.

  But you invited the Disir here. So it s partially your fault.

  Machiavelli hit the brakes hard, sending the car into a long screeching

  slide. The engine cut out and the car jerked to a halt.

  Why have we stopped? Dee demanded.

  Machiavelli pointed out the window. Listen.

  I can t hear anything over the noise of the sirens.

  Listen, Machiavelli insisted. Something s coming. He pointed to the left.

  Over there.

  Dee rolled down his window. Over the police, ambulance and fire sirens, they

  could hear stones grinding, bricks falling and the sharp snap-crackle of

  breaking glass .

  Josh watched, powerless, as the woman sitting atop the monster lashed at

  Scatty with her sword.

  At that moment the monster shrugged, still trying to free itself from the

  building that encased it, and the blade missed, whistling dangerously close

  to the unconscious Warrior s head. Edging higher on the monster s broad neck,

  the woman gripped a clump of thick skin, leaned sideways across a huge

  unblinking eye and jabbed the point of her sword at Scatty. Again the

  creature moved and the sword bit into its arm, close to the claw wrapped

  around the Warrior. The monster didn't react, but Josh saw how close the

  blade had come to Scatty. The woman leaned down again, and this time, Josh

  knew, she d hit the Warrior.

  He had to do something! He was Scatty s only hope. He couldn't just stand

  here and watch someone he knew get killed. He started running. Back at the

  house, when he d slashed at the creature, nothing had happened, but when he d

  plunged the sword point first into its thick hide

  Holding Clarent in the two-handed grip Joan had taught him, Josh put on a

  final burst of speed and raced up to the creature. He could feel the sword

  humming in his hands just before he stabbed it into the monster s tail.

  Instantly, heat flowed up through his arms and blossomed in his chest. The

  air filled with the tart smell of oranges in the heartbeat before his aura

  flared briefly golden and then faded to the same reddish-orange glow that was

  streaming off the sword protruding from the creature s thick knobbled skin.

  Josh twisted Clarent and pulled it free. In the grayish brown hide, the wound

  burned bright red and immediately started to hardened into a black crust. It

  took a moment for the sensation to travel through the creature s primitive

  nervous system. Then the monster abruptly reared up on its hind legs, hissing

  and squealing in agony. It wrenched itself free of the house, the sudden rain

  of bricks, roof tiles and wooden beams sending Josh scrambling back, out of

  harm s way. He hit the ground, covering his head as debris crashed about him.

  He thought it would be just his luck to be killed by a roof tile. The

  unexpected movement almost dislodged the woman on the monster s back.

  Swaying, she dropped the war hammer and desperately grabbed at the creature s

  back to prevent herself from being thrown down directly in front of it. Lying

  on the ground, bricks raining around him, Josh watched as the thick black

  crust began to spread out from the wound and creep up the monster s tail. It

  reared again and then plowed right through the corner of the house and out

  across the Champs-Elys es. Josh was relieved to see that Scatty s limp form

  was still gripped in his front claws.

  Taking a deep breath, Josh scrambled to his feet and snatched up the sword.

  Instantly, he felt power buzz through his body, heightening every sense. He

  stood swaying as raw power energized him; then he turned and raced after the

  monster. He felt amazing. Even though it was still not quite dawn, he could

  see clearly, though the colors were slightly off. He could smell the myriad

  scents of the city through the rancid serpent-stink of the creature. His

  hearing was so acute he could differentiate the sirens of the many different

  emergency services; he could even distinguish individual cars. He could

  actually feel the irregular indentations in the pavement beneath his feet

  through the rubber soles of his sneakers. He waved the sword in the air

  before him. It keened and hummed, and instantly, Josh imagined he could hear

  distant whispers and make out words he could almost understand. For the first

  time in his life, he felt truly alive: and he knew then that this was how

  Sophie had felt when she d been Awakened. But whereas she d been frightened,

  confused by the sensations he felt exhilarated.

  He wanted this. More than anything else in the world.

  Dagon padded into the alleyway, scooped up the Disir s fallen war hammer and

  raced after the boy.

  Dagon had seen the flare of the boy s aura and knew that it was indeed

  powerful, though whether the boy and girl were the twins of legend was a

  different matter. Obviously, the Alchemyst, and Dee, too, seemed convinced

  that they were. But Dagon knew that even Machiavelli one of the most

  brilliant humani he d ever associated with was unsure, and the brief glimpse

  he d caught of the boy s aura wasn't enough to convince him either way. Gold

  and silver auras were rare though not as rare as the black aura and Dagon had

  encountered at least four sets of twins down through the ages with the sun

  and moon auras, as well as dozens of individuals.

  But what neither Dee nor Machiavelli knew was that Dagon had seen the

  original twins.

  He d been on Danu Talis at the very end, for the Final Battle. He d worn his

  father s armor on that auspicious day, when all knew that the fate of the

  island hung in the balance. Like everyone else, he d cowered in terror as

  silver and gold lights blazed from the top of the Pyramid of the Sun in a

  display of primal power. The elemental magics had lain waste to the ancient

  landscape and sundered the island at the heart of the world.

  Dagon rarely slept anymore; he didn't even possess a bed. Like a shark, he

  could sleep and continue to move about. He rarely dreamed, but when he did,

  the dreams were always the same: a vivid nightmare of those times when the

  skies had burned with gold and silver lights and the world had ended.

  He d spent many years in Machiavelli s service. He d seen both wonders and

  terrors during those centuries, and together, they d been present for some of

  the most significant and interesting moments in the earth s recent history.

  And Dagon was beginning to think that this night might be one of the most

  memorable.

  Now, that s something you don't see every day, Dee mutter
ed.

  The Magician and Machiavelli watched Nidhogg burst through a building on the

  left side of the Champs-Elys es, trample the trees that lined the street and

  career across the road. It still held red-haired Scatty in its claws, and the

  Disir was clinging to its back. The two immortals watched the huge swinging

  tail turn a set of traffic lights into a mangled ruin as the creature darted

  down another street.

  It s heading for the river, Machiavelli said.

  But what happened to the boy, I wonder? Dee mused aloud.

  Maybe he got lost, Machiavelli began, or was trampled by Nidhogg. Or maybe

  not, he added as Josh Newman stepped through the uprooted trees and out into

  the broad road. He looked left and right, but there was no traffic, and he

  didn't even glance at the police car badly parked against the curb. He darted

  across the wide avenue, the sword in his hand streaming smoky gold threads

  behind him.

  The boy s a survivor, Dee said admiringly. Brave, too.

  Seconds later, Dagon burst out of the side street, following Josh. He was

  carrying a war hammer. Spotting Dee and Machiavelli in the car, he raised his

  other hand in what might have been a greeting, or a farewell.

  Now what? Dee demanded.

  Machiavelli turned the key in the ignition and wrenched the car into first

  gear. It jerked forward, bouncing a little; then the engine howled as he put

  his foot to the floor. The Rue de Marignan comes out onto the Avenue

  Montaigne. I think I can get there before Nidhogg does. He hit the sirens.

  Dee nodded. Perhaps you might think about changing gear. His lips moved in

  a barely discernable smile. You ll find the car will go faster that way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Y our garage isn't attached to your house? Sophie asked, climbing into the

  back of a small red and black Citro n 2CV, taking up a position behind

  Nicholas, who was sitting up front with Joan.

  These are converted stables. In previous centuries, the stables were never

  too close to the house. I guess the rich didn't like living with the smell of

  horse manure. It s not so bad, though it can be a bit of an inconvenience on

  a rainy night, knowing you have to run three blocks home. If Francis and I go

  out for an evening, we usually take the Metro.

  Joan eased the car out of the garage and turned right, moving away from the