The Necromancer

by Michael Scott

  Still not looking at the woman, Sophie continued. “That day when Josh went for the job in the bookshop and you met me in the Coffee Cup. The moment you learned that we were twins … you knew then, didn’t you, that we were …”

  “… the twins of legend? I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. I have the gift of foresight. The instant I saw you I knew you were special; the minute you stepped in the door I caught the faintest glimmer of your aura, just the hint of silver. When I discovered you were a twin, my suspicions were heightened, and when I saw Josh and saw the glimmer of gold on his skin, I knew for certain. I told Nicholas to employ Josh—he was just about to reject him,” she added with a wry smile. “Your brother did not have a good interview! I don’t think he really wanted the job.”

  “He didn’t.” Sophie glanced at her quickly. “And you made Bernice hire me at the Coffee Cup.” It was a statement, not a question, but she wanted to hear the Sorceress admit the truth.

  Perenelle’s head moved in the tiniest of nods. “I suggested that she needed you, that is true.”

  “Suggested?”

  “I can be very forceful.”

  “When were you and Nicholas planning on telling us?” Sophie asked, a note of anger in her voice. The idea that she and her brother had been manipulated by the Flamels for months was chilling.

  “Actually, we were going to break the news to you in a couple of weeks’ time: at the summer solstice.”

  “Litha.” The name popped into Sophie’s head.

  “Yes, the ancients called it Litha. And it is the time of year when your auras—the gold and silver—will be at their strongest. We thought that would be the best time to Awaken you with the least danger to yourselves.”

  “But there would be dangers.…”

  “There are always dangers.”

  Sophie looked into Perenelle’s cold green eyes. “And you would still have gone through with it?”

  “Yes.”

  Sophie felt sick. This woman, whom she had liked, admired, even respected, had just admitted that she’d been prepared to put her and Josh in terrible danger. Sophie saw the Sorceress in a new light. Perenelle’s cool beauty suddenly took on an almost threatening aspect.

  “Do you smell that?” Perenelle asked suddenly.

  “What?” Sophie said, drawing in a deep lungful of air. “Vanilla,” she answered. “It smells sour.”

  “Your anger has tainted your aura. You must learn to control that. And before you rush to judgment,” the Sorceress continued with an icy smile, “ask yourself what you would have done if you and Josh were in our position. Nicholas and I have spent centuries looking for the two people who can save this world from total destruction. And yes, we have made mistakes, terrible mistakes,” she added sadly, “and we will live with those mistakes for the rest of our lives. But I ask you, what other option had we? Would it have been better if we had not looked for those two people? We were given a terrible responsibility: we accepted it.”

  “Gilgamesh said those other twins didn’t survive the Awakening. You Awakened them knowing that they would most likely die.”

  “Some survived,” Perenelle said coldly. “But we never forced anyone to go through the Awakening. We explained the risks. All of those twins accepted those risks—accepted them gladly, too,” she added.

  “Well, I wasn’t warned,” Sophie said angrily.

  “Was there time?” Perenelle asked. “From the moment Dee burst into the shop last Thursday, events have moved at such a pace.”

  “I should have been warned,” Sophie persisted.

  “And if you had been warned about the risks, how would you have decided? What would you have done?” Perenelle took a step closer, looking into Sophie’s eyes. “You are a good person, Sophie Newman. You are Silver—just like Joan. Like her, you are caring and considerate, and like her, you would have wanted to do what was right. If Nicholas and I had waited until Litha and explained the situation to you, as we’d planned, I believe you would have gone ahead with the Awakening.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Perenelle was right; even if she had known the risks, she would have gone through with it.

  “Would Josh?” Perenelle asked, her voice so soft that Sophie had to strain to hear it.

  Sophie turned to look at her brother. She didn’t have to think about an answer: if he had known the risks, Josh would not have even attempted the Awakening. Despite his bluster and bravado, he wasn’t brave. But then she thought about him in Paris and London: he had shown extraordinary courage in both cities. This was a new Josh, a Josh she’d never really seen before. The old Josh, her brother of last week, would never have been able to do those things. He wouldn’t even have tried.

  “So I think it best that you not tell him about Prometheus,” Perenelle finished. “Let’s not scare him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The security guards fell at the almost inaudible sounds from Virginia Dare’s wooden flute. She kept one awake, mesmerizing him with an ancient Native American lullaby, and he obediently turned off the security cameras, disarmed the alarms and opened the gates to allow her and Dee inside. The soothing lullaby ended with a single piercing note, which dropped the guard unconscious to the floor, face twisted in agony.

  The Magician stepped over the crumpled body, looked around at the sleeping guards and nodded in approval. He turned to regard the flute, tilting his head to one side to look at the hints of a spiral design running the length of the instrument. “I’ve always been fascinated by your flute,” he said. “You never told me where you got it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Dare said firmly, and turned away, forestalling the discussion.

  Dee followed the woman through the empty Tower of London. “A gift from your master, perhaps?” he persisted.

  “I don’t have a master,” she said slowly; then she glanced over her shoulder, eyes cold and angry. “But you know that, of course.”

  “Oh, that’s right: you killed him.”

  “Only a fool kills an Elder,” she snapped. “And I’m not a fool … unlike you!”

  Dee shrugged. “You’re referring to Hekate? What’s done is done and cannot be undone. And technically, I did not kill her—the Yggdrasill fell on her.”

  “You always were a master of weasel words, John,” Virginia said softly. “Even Shakespeare said you should have been a playwright. I heard you had an encounter with him and the Saracen Knight, and that you didn’t come off too well,” she added with a sly smile.

  Dee fell into step beside the immortal. “You knew they were in the city?”

  “I make it my business to know whom I’m sharing the city with.” They were back outside under the night sky, and directly ahead of them was a red-and-black-paneled Tudor building. The sound of water slapping against stone was clearly audible, and the air smelled damp. “Shakespeare has been here since the sixteenth century; Palamedes comes and goes.” Dare walked across the flagstones, completely silent in flat leather moccasins. She leaned on the metal rail and looked down into a pool of black water; then she pointed over to where an arched opening in the opposite wall had been sealed with a heavy-looking metal gate. The two halves of the gate sagged in the middle, and through the struts a second black pool rippled like oil. “And you are now about to tell me that the entrance to the Shadowrealm is in the pool behind that gate?”

  “It is. You’ve never been here?” Dee asked, surprised.

  “I have never had your dangerous curiosity,” she said.

  The Magician smiled. “We learn through curiosity.” Leaning his elbows on the metal rail, he looked at the barred entrance to the pool. “If I could use my powers, I could—”

  “If you even think about using your powers, you will draw everything in this city right here,” Dare reminded him, “and this time, I won’t rescue you.”

  Dee looked at her quickly. “You? Rescued me? Is that what you think you did?”

  Virginia twirled the flute like a b
aton in her fingers. “I rescued you. You might have been able to fight one or two of them—but there were hundreds of the creatures closing in on you. Every cucubuth clan in Europe must be in the city. I even saw some rogue Torc Madra in there, and you know how dangerous the dogmen are. You would have been captured, and most of you would have been delivered to your masters.”

  “Most of me?” Dee swallowed hard at the sudden image.

  Virginia’s smile was savage. “I’m sure they’d have taken a few bites out of you on the way. Just a little taste.”

  Dee shuddered. “I hate cucubuths.”

  “And you can be assured that at this moment, they hate you too. Your enemies are multiplying by the hour.”

  “You’re their enemy too,” Dee said.

  “Not I.” Virginia twirled the flute again. “They never even saw me. They’ll blame you.”

  Dee shook his head in admiration. “I had forgotten what a ruthless foe you are. We should have joined forces generations ago; together we could have ruled the world.”

  “We still can,” Dare agreed, “but right now you need to work out a way to open the gates. We’re being watched.”

  Dee didn’t move; only the sudden tightening of his shoulders betrayed his tension. “Where? Who?”

  The woman nodded into the reflective black water in front of them.

  Dee looked, staring hard, before finally saying, “Two birds, flying high … and yet birds don’t fly at night, and certainly not in perfect circles.”

  “Too high to see what they are,” Virginia said, “but I’ll wager they’re ravens.”

  “Ravens?” Dee licked his lips nervously. “Well, there are ravens in the Tower of London …”

  “Whose wings are clipped so they cannot fly,” Virginia reminded him. “These birds are not natural. Which means …”

  “Odin’s birds,” Dee whispered.

  “Which also means that Odin’s wolves, Geri and Freki, are probably not far behind.” Virginia smiled sweetly. “What are they called, again? Oh, yes: Ravenous and Greedy. I’m so glad they’re not hunting me.”

  Abruptly, the English Magician’s aura blazed bright yellow around him, painting the walls in amber light and black shadow; the stench of sulfur polluted the night air.

  “What are you doing?” Virginia Dare cried in alarm. “You’ve betrayed our location!” Even as she was speaking, the sound of distant howls and triumphant screaming filled the sky. The cucubuths had awakened.

  “I killed Hekate and destroyed the World Tree,” Dee snapped. “Odin loved her. He won’t want to capture me for the Elders, he’ll want to destroy me, and he’ll take a long time doing it. The time for subtlety and subterfuge is past: we need to get out of here now!” Dee’s yellow aura rolled off his body and onto the dark water, instantly freezing it to foul yellow ice. The Magician leapt over the edge of the rail and landed surefootedly on the frozen surface. It creaked, and a tiny network of cracks appeared beneath his feet, but it held. The Magician looked up at the woman. “Last chance to make up your mind.”

  “Have I a choice now?” Dare’s pretty face twisted into an ugly mask of rage. “I’m tainted with your stink.” She sailed lightly over the edge of the rail and landed beside the Magician. Stepping close, she pressed the end of the flute against Dee’s throat, pushing hard against his Adam’s apple, driving his chin up and his head back. The Magician tried to swallow, but failed. “Do not betray me, John Dee,” Virginia Dare whispered. “Do not make the mistake of adding me to your list of enemies.”

  “I made you promises,” Dee gasped out.

  “Make sure you keep those promises: I want to rule this world.”

  Dee started to nod … but suddenly became aware of the two huge ravens plummeting silently out of the night sky, pointed beaks and razor claws extended.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Josh sat beside Niten, who steered the black town car with his left hand. His right hand cradled a long dagger in a black-lacquered case that rested on his lap. In the seats behind, Nicholas was slumped beside Perenelle; Sophie and Aoife sat facing them. The Alchemyst’s eyes were closed and his head was resting on Perenelle’s shoulder, his fingers lightly touching the back of her hand.

  “How long has he left?” Aoife asked bluntly.

  Flamel’s pale eyes opened and he straightened. “Long enough,” he answered, his voice cracking. He coughed and tried again, his voice stronger. “And he’s not dead yet, and certainly not deaf.”

  Aoife bared her teeth in a quick smile and, in that instant, was the image of her sister.

  “Why are you here?” Perenelle snapped.

  “I want my sister back,” Aoife said, her voice as icy as the Sorceress’s.

  “It seems she may be trapped in the past,” Nicholas said.

  “My uncle Prometheus will take me to Chronos; I’ll have him pull Scathach—”

  “And Joan,” Perenelle said quickly.

  “And Joan,” Aoife added reluctantly. “I’ll have him pull them both from the past and bring them back here.”

  Sophie pushed up against the door and turned in her seat to look at the warrior. The name Chronos had filled her head with the Witch’s thoughts. The Witch of Endor knew the Elder Chronos, knew what he was and what he was capable of doing. She had bargained with him before and paid a terrible price. “Will Chronos not want some sort of payment?” she asked carefully, struggling to keep her voice level.

  “He will.” Aoife shrugged and pushed her dark glasses up onto her nose again. “My uncle will take care of it. He is one of the most powerful of all the Elders,” she added proudly.

  “And you expect Chronos to bring your sister and Joan through time because Prometheus asks him?” Flamel coughed a laugh. He tried to smile, but failed. “And if he refuses?”

  Aoife exposed her savage vampire teeth. “Then I will speak with him myself. No one has ever refused me anything.”

  “Except Scathach,” Sophie said very softly.

  The red-haired warrior turned to look at the girl, and for a long time the only sound in the car was the humming of the tires on the road. “Except Scathach,” she acknowledged finally, a note of terrible loss in her voice.

  “What happened?” Sophie asked.

  Aoife blinked, and for an instant, her green eyes winked bloodred. Then she swiveled in her seat to look at Josh. “He is your twin,” she said. “What would you do if you lost him?”

  “Lost him?” Sophie shook her head, not understanding. “What do you mean, lost him?”

  “If he turned against you, hated you …”

  Josh started to laugh, until he realized that the vampire wasn’t joking. “I would never …,” he began.

  “That’s what Scathach said,” Aoife interrupted. She fixed her eyes on Sophie. “You did not answer my question: what would you do if you lost your brother, if he suddenly hated you? Would you give up on him?”

  “Never,” Sophie whispered. The very thought was chilling and made her feel sick to her stomach.

  Aoife nodded slowly, then sat back and closed her eyes, the palms of her hands resting flat on her thighs. “I lost Scathach, but I never gave up on her. I have spent ten thousand years in this Shadowrealm waiting for that single moment to tell her, to show her, that I never stopped loving her.”

  The car turned onto the 101 heading north and picked up speed, the only sound the thrumming of the wheels on the road. Then Perenelle leaned forward and touched the vampire’s knee. The air crackled with static.

  “You love your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “She does not love you,” the Sorceress said quietly.

  “It does not matter.”

  They continued in silence and then Perenelle spoke very softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes shining wetly. “Perhaps we have misjudged you, and if we have, then I apologize.”

  Aoife grunted a laugh. “No, you did not misjudge me, Sorceress. I am as bad as I’m made out to be.”

  Josh t
urned in the front seat. “Hey, did you just say you’ve spent ten thousand years on this earth?”

  Sophie nodded. She knew exactly what he was about to ask, and knew the answer.

  “But you’re Scatty’s twin, and she said she was two thousand five hundred and seventeen years old. How can you be ten thousand?”

  “Scathach lies,” Aoife said simply. She shook her head. “She’s a terrible liar. You wouldn’t want to believe a single word she tells you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “I suppose Billy told you not to mention the tail?” Kukulkan said, sitting on a curved stone stool carved with hideous grinning faces. The brightly colored feathered tail coiled around his feet, the tip beating silently against the floor.

  Niccolò Machiavelli sat back into an ornate hand-carved wooden throne, rested his elbows on its arms and brought the fingertips of both hands together before his face. A sense of calm settled over him, and the fact that they had not been killed immediately gave him reason to hope. Taking a slow deep breath, he composed himself before answering.

  The Italian had been in situations like this before, when all that kept him from certain death were his wits and his skill with words. He had been an ambassador to the glittering courts of France and Spain, where a single wrong word or misplaced look could get a man killed. Later still, he had survived the deathly Papal court and the even more ruthless and dangerous world of the Borgias, where assassination and poisoning were commonplace. The Elder sitting opposite him, looking human in every respect—except for the tail and the solid black eyes—might be ten thousand and more years old, but Machiavelli had discovered that just about every being he had come across either in this world or in the nearby Shadowrealms, was driven by nearly the same needs and desires. Humani’s earliest myths were full of tales that revealed just how petty the gods could be. It was said that the gods had made man in their image. If so, then the humani had inherited all the faults and frailties of those same gods.

  Kukulkan’s tail twitched as he waited for an answer.

  Finally, Machiavelli smiled and said, “Billy may have suggested that I avoid the subject of the tail.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the American immortal close his eyes in dismay. “Though I have to say,” he added, “it is one of the finest tails I have ever seen.”