The Necromancer

by Michael Scott

  Sophie shrugged. “I do,” she said simply, then looked quickly at her brother, reading the expression in his eyes. “But you don’t.”

  “Why should I?” he asked. “I know you like Perenelle, but don’t let that influence you. I liked Nicholas—really, I did—but once I discovered that he’d been lying to us and that he’d put us in danger, I knew I could never trust him again.”

  “That was Nicholas … not Perenelle. She was a prisoner on Alcatraz.”

  Josh shook his head in frustration. “Sis, remember, it’s the Flamels—both of them—who’ve been collecting twins for centuries. And we both saw that Perenelle seems to be in charge. I think she’s as guilty as he is. I just don’t trust her.”

  “Were you always this suspicious?” Sophie asked.

  “This last week has made me think twice about everything and everyone,” Josh said. “What was it Scatty said to us on the very first day: follow your hearts, trust no one …”

  “… except each other,” Sophie finished. “I remember.”

  “And I’m right to be suspicious. I was right about Nicholas from the very beginning.”

  “Yes, you were. But we know so much more now. And I know all that the Witch knows, so that has to give us an advantage. And I know that the Witch trusted Perenelle, so I do too. But Josh, listen to me—if we’re going to survive, we have to learn to trust people.”

  “But which people?” he asked, watching her closely, trying to keep his temper in check. Why couldn’t she see that the Flamels were dangerous? “Who do we trust? Nicholas and Perenelle? They’ve both lied to us. Scathach? Even her own sister told us that she’s a liar. Saint-Germain? We know he’s a thief. And Soph, these are supposed to be the good guys. Then there’s Dee, who everyone says is insane, and Machiavelli, who is … well, I don’t know what he is, but I sort of liked him. He was the only one who was straight with me.”

  “And don’t forget Gilgamesh,” Sophie added with a small sad smile.

  “Well, I liked him, too, but he was crazy,” he reminded her.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Sophie wandered around the room, running her fingertips over the plastic chairs, the Formica tabletop and the squat rectangular box that was the radio. She turned the dial and the radio hissed static that was touched with just the hint of voices. She clicked it off, leaned back against a bulky cream-colored Prestcold fridge and looked at her brother. “Now that I know the Witch’s memories are safe and can’t hurt me, I’ve been trying to remember everything she knew about Gilgamesh … but there are big blanks.”

  “Blanks? What sort of blanks?”

  “You know when you’re trying to remember the words of a song? You sort of know what it sounds like, you can hum the tune, but the whole thing just won’t come out. It’s like that.”

  Josh nodded. “Happens to me all the time during finals. I know that I know the answer, I just can’t get at it.”

  Sophie took a deep breath. “I’m concentrating on Gilgamesh now, for example. I can almost remember what he looks like, I can even picture him as a young man—I can see black curly hair and eyes the color of the ocean—but I can’t remember anything else.” She shook her head, frustrated. “It’ll come, I’m sure.”

  “Can you remember anything about the Flamels?” Josh asked.

  “Only bits and pieces. The Witch didn’t know a lot about them. She’d heard of them, of course. All the Elders and Dark Elders knew about the Flamels, but the Witch hasn’t had much contact with them … or with anyone, for that matter. For generations, she’s lived a very reclusive life. She’s wandered alone through the Middle East and the Russian steppes, and she lived in Transylvania, Greece, Switzerland and France before she came over to America sometime toward the end of the nineteenth century.”

  “And Perenelle was apprenticed to the Witch?” Josh asked. “Where?”

  “In France. But apparently Perenelle didn’t tell the Witch that she was married to Nicholas. She went by her maiden name. It was only later, much, much later, that the Witch discovered the truth.”

  “That seems odd. Why did she do that?” Josh asked.

  Sophie shook her head. “The Witch didn’t know.”

  Josh stood up and ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back off his forehead; then he rubbed his palms against his jeans. His hair felt greasy and he realized how badly he needed a shower. “Look, it’s clear that Nicholas isn’t in charge anymore—”

  “Josh,” Sophie interrupted with a laugh. “I don’t think he’s ever been in charge! Perenelle admitted that she was the one who convinced Nicholas to hire you. Apparently your interview wasn’t great,” she added. Before her brother could respond, she continued, “And she was the one who suggested to Bernice that she hire me at the Coffee Cup.”

  “So who is Perenelle Flamel?” Josh asked. He walked to his sister and looked into her eyes. “What does the Witch remember about the Sorceress?” Even as he was asking the question, he had a feeling he knew the answer.

  Sophie grimaced in frustration. “I’ve been trying to remember … but that’s one of the blanks.”

  Josh nodded. He wasn’t surprised. “But the Witch must remember Perenelle.”

  Sophie nodded. “She must. She spent ten years with her.”

  “And you can’t remember anything from that time?” Josh asked incredulously.

  “Nothing.” She frowned. “The memories are there—I can almost grasp them, but they just slip away when I try to focus on them.”

  “I wonder why,” Josh murmured, pacing the room.

  “I’m not worried. It’ll come to me. It’s been less than a week since Hekate Awakened me and the Witch gave me her memories. I think they’re just settling down.”

  Josh stopped in front of the old-fashioned fridge, pulled it open and peered inside. Flickering yellow light washed into the room. “Could someone be stopping you from remembering?” he asked, trying to pretend it was just a casual question.

  “Like the Sorceress?” Sophie asked, the tiniest thread of doubt in her voice.

  “Like the Sorceress,” Josh echoed. He straightened and turned to face his sister. “Nicholas tells us the Witch’s memories can take you over. Perenelle says they can’t. But you can’t remember what the Witch knew about the Sorceress. That’s really odd, don’t you think?”

  “Really odd,” Sophie agreed uncomfortably. “You think Perenelle is lying to me?”

  “Sophie, I think everyone is lying to us. Remember what Scatty said—trust no one …” His sister nodded and they finished the sentence together. “… except each other.”

  Josh closed the fridge door. “Completely empty. I wonder what an Elder eats.”

  “Most don’t,” Sophie said immediately. She frowned as the knowledge popped into her head. Why could she remember this and not something more important? “They’ve got a different metabolism than the humani.…”

  Josh turned to look at his twin before she could finish explaining. “That’s interesting.”

  Sophie jumped, surprised by the anger in her brother’s voice. “What is?”

  “You called the human race humani,” he said quietly. “I’ve never heard you call them—us—that before.”

  “That’s what the Witch called them,” she said.

  “Exactly. Maybe it’s not Nicholas who’s wrong—maybe it’s Perenelle.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I believe the Sorceress,” she said firmly, and before her brother could respond, she folded her arms and turned away, looking around the room. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  Josh took a deep breath and thought about trying to continue the conversation, but he knew from experience that once Sophie folded her arms and turned her back on him, she’d made a decision. If he pushed, they’d fight, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. All he could hope was that she’d think a little more carefully about everything the Sorceress told her.

  “Prometheus’s house in Point Re
yes. I caught a glimpse of it earlier. We’re really isolated. There’s a main house and about a dozen small cabins scattered around it. We’re in one of the cabins, and I have to tell you—it’s a dump.” He started looking through drawers. One held a mismatched assortment of knives, forks and spoons, but they were all dull and tarnished, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Another drawer was stuffed with linen tea towels. Josh pulled out a handful: they were all gray and stiff with age, and showed tourist scenes from cities across Europe: Buckingham Palace in London, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, the Royal Palace in Madrid, the Acropolis in Greece and finally, at the bottom of the pile, the pyramids in Egypt. Josh opened one and a fine cloud of dust filled the air. “I wonder when the last time anyone actually stayed here was,” he said. A blast of chill air made him turn. Sophie had pushed open the kitchen door and stepped out into the damp night. The lights of San Francisco filled the sky to the south with an orange glow.

  “Where is the Elder?” she asked quietly, without looking around.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him—I haven’t seen anyone—since you fainted or collapsed, or whatever you did earlier. The car was dead, so Prometheus carried you up here. Then, when we got here, all he said was ‘Let her sleep. She’ll be fine when she wakes,’ and he left.” Josh shrugged. “I’ve been sitting here for the past four hours waiting for you to wake up.” He paused and added, “I’m starving.”

  “You’re always hungry.”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  Sophie took a moment to consider. “No,” she said, “not really.” She knew she should be hungrier—the only food she’d had all day was the fruit she’d eaten with Aoife on the houseboat—but for some reason she felt fine. “We don’t have to stay here,” she said. “We could go looking for them.”

  “This is a Shadowrealm,” Josh reminded her. “And the mud people are out there. I’ll bet there are other guardians too.”

  “So where is everyone?” she asked, but even as she was speaking, two figures materialized out of the night. As they approached, Sophie could see it was Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, arm in arm, walking slowly toward the house. “We’ve got company,” she said softly.

  Josh stepped outside and stood beside his sister on the wooden deck. “He looks older,” he said quietly. “Older than Perenelle for sure.”

  “And she’s ten years older than him,” Sophie reminded her brother.

  “So why isn’t she aging as fast?”

  “Maybe she hasn’t used her aura as much as he has,” Sophie suggested.

  Josh shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense—she must have used her powers on Alcatraz.”

  Almost as if she felt his gaze, Perenelle raised her head to look at Josh, her eyes dark smudges against the pale oval of her face. She smiled, but it looked forced, artificial. “You’re awake,” she called to Sophie, and then turned to Josh. “And you must be hungry.”

  “Famished,” he said lightly. “I don’t suppose you brought any food?”

  “There’s food aplenty, but you cannot eat just yet,” Perenelle answered. She was close enough now that the wan light from the table lamp in the room behind the twins washed her face in a yellow glow, turning the whites of her eyes the color of lemons.

  “Prometheus has agreed to train you in the Magic of Fire.”

  Josh blinked in surprise. “I’m going to learn Fire magic now?”

  “Right now.” Nicholas nodded. “It will nicely complement your Water magic.”

  “Could we do it after dinner?” he asked, feeling his stomach grumble.

  Nicholas looked at Josh closely. “It’s never a good idea to learn an Elemental Magic on a full stomach.”

  “But Saint-Germain taught Sophie Fire magic after dinner,” Josh pointed out, almost petulantly. His sister might not need food, but he hadn’t eaten all day.

  Perenelle’s smile vanished from her face, turning it hard. “You are not your sister; she is infinitely more powerful than you will ever be, Josh. She can do things that would be impossible for you.”

  “And of course, you have your own skills,” Nicholas said to Josh hastily, glaring at his wife.

  Josh looked at the couple, confused and surprised about what they’d just said. “I thought we were equal,” he said eventually.

  Perenelle looked as if she was about to reply, but Josh saw Nicholas catch her hand, squeezing it and silencing her. “You are twins,” he said, “but you have never been equals—you each have your strengths and weaknesses. It is the combination of your strengths, one canceling out the other’s weakness, which makes you special.”

  “The two that are one, the one that is all,” Perenelle finished.

  Nicholas squinted at Josh, his pale eyes looking somewhat unfocused. “You could eat now if you wish, but by the time you’ve finished, Prometheus might have changed his mind.” He smiled and asked lightly. “So, Josh, Fire magic or food?”

  “What’s it to be?” Perenelle demanded, but there was no humor in her voice.

  Josh looked from the Sorceress to the Alchemyst. Something had happened between them. He’d seen his parents like this on occasion when they were arguing. They would be polite but brittle with one another and would lash out at anyone who irritated them. He wondered what the immortals had been arguing about. And at the back of his mind, he kept remembering that when Perenelle had trained with the Witch of Endor, she’d used her maiden name. She hadn’t admitted she was the Alchemyst’s wife. “Fire magic,” he said quietly.

  The Alchemyst nodded in agreement. “Fire magic it is.”

  “I thought Prometheus said he would never train anyone again,” Sophie said.

  “The Elder had a change of heart,” Perenelle answered, looking at the girl as she spoke.

  “Prometheus will always do the right thing,” Sophie said quietly, and Josh was startled to hear just a hint of the Witch’s accent in her voice. Then she turned to look at Josh. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded. “I think so.…”

  “Come on, then, let’s go.”

  The Alchemyst shook his head. “The Elder just wants Josh,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He said that he doesn’t want to see you again.”

  Sophie looked surprised. A feeling of extraordinary sadness washed over her.

  “I think you frighten him,” Perenelle added.

  Nicholas looked at Josh. “The Elder has agreed to train you. This is quite an honor; it’s been a long time since Prometheus had a student.”

  “I thought Saint-Germain learned Fire magic from him,” Josh said.

  Nicholas shook his head and laughed. His chuckle came from deep in his chest and sounded wet and wheezy. “Saint-Germain stole fire from the Elder. Whatever you do, try not to mention his name. Prometheus hates him. In fact, I think most of the Elders hate Saint-Germain. He has a gift for irritating people.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Saint-Germain raised both hands and spread his fingers wide. Each fingertip popped alight, flickering with varicolored flames. In the dancing firelight, the immortal’s face was savage. “Don’t threaten me, Green Man,” he snarled, his accent pronounced. “I will burn this forest to the ground without a second thought.”

  Tammuz drew back, reflected light running liquid across the silver mask, making it look as if the carved leaves were trembling in a breeze.

  The dryads, their drawn bows nocked with black-tipped arrows, looked at the Green Man, awaiting his instructions.

  Tammuz hesitated and Saint-Germain immediately stepped forward. He had pushed up his sleeves, exposing his butterfly tattoos. The flames from his fingertips made their wings appear to beat softly. “I came here to bargain with you, Lord Tammuz, maybe even plead with you. Most certainly not to threaten you. But you know what I am capable of, so don’t push me.” He paused and added with an icy smile, “Remember what happened to your precious forest in Russia in 1908.”

  “Go—go now.” The Gree
n Man waved his arm and the dryads disappeared back into the forest, the hamadryads melting back into the trees.

  Ptelea was the last to leave. “My lord, I am sorry, I did not—”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Tammuz boomed. “I blame these two,” he said, pointing to Shakespeare and Palamedes, “and especially you, Sir Knight.”

  Palamedes straightened and a shimmer of his green aura flickered briefly in the air. “We came to talk,” he said, “to support our brother’s petition, nothing more. And,” he added slowly, “I was expecting to be listened to, not treated in this shabby manner and threatened. Saint-Germain is my friend—more than my friend, he is my brother-in-arms—and he is under my protection. Threaten him and you threaten me.”

  Even through the silver mask, the Green Man’s shock was clear. His voice gave his surprise away. “How dare you speak to me like that! Have you gone mad, Palamedes? Has this magician ensorceled you? Have you any idea just who your friend is? Do you know what he has done?”

  “I do not. Nor do I care. We’re not here to talk about that.”

  “Perhaps you should be. Look at him now.…” The Elder waved his hands toward Saint-Germain. “Threatening me. Threatening my forest, my creatures. Bringing cursed fire into the heart of my realm.” He stretched out a silver-gloved hand. “He may be beyond my reach, but you are not. All I have to do is lay my hand upon you. I gave you immortality; I can remove it with but a single touch.”

  William Shakespeare stepped out from behind Palamedes to stand between the knight and the Elder. “But you are not my master; you have no power over me.” Shakespeare’s glasses slipped down his nose and he looked over the top of the black frames. His smile was ugly. “And I doubt you have any idea what I can do to you.” The Bard leaned forward. “Anger me and I will teach you the true magic of words … and believe me, sirrah, when I am through with you, you will wish that Saint-Germain had burned down your precious forest.”