Machiavelli looked toward the fast-approaching island. “Is something wrong?”
“Not over there. Here,” Billy said. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pitched his voice just above the hum of the engine and the splashing of the waves so that only Machiavelli could hear it. “You’ve got a look on your face that I don’t like.”
Machiavelli composed himself. “A look?”
“Yep. The look of someone who is thinking deep thoughts. Dark thoughts. Stupid thoughts.”
“And you would be an expert on facial expressions?” Machiavelli said sarcastically.
“Sure am,” Billy said, blue eyes twinkling. “Kept me alive long enough.”
“And what do you think my face reveals?” Machiavelli asked. He’d always been able to keep his face expressionless and was irritated that this uneducated young immortal had managed to read him so easily. Perhaps he had underestimated the American.
Billy took a hand out of his back pocket and rubbed it across his chin, stubble rasping. “You’ve never been in a gunfight?” he asked.
Machiavelli blinked in surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.”
“What about a duel? Didn’t you have duels in Europe—swords and pistols at dawn, that sort of thing?”
The Italian nodded. “I’ve attended some.”
“I bet you always knew who was going to lose.”
Machiavelli considered, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose I did.”
“How could you tell?” Billy asked.
“From the expression on their face, the way they stood, the set of their shoulders …”
“Exactly. They expected to lose. And therefore, they lost. Now, I was never a great shot, and never very fast. All that quick-draw nonsense comes from books written about me, and most of those are lies. But I always expected to win. Always. And I made sure to associate with others who expected to win.” He paused and added, “People who start thinking deep dark thoughts in the middle of a war start expecting to lose. And they end up dead because they’re not thinking straight, they’re not focused.”
Machiavelli’s head tilted in a slight bow. “That is a very astute observation. And do you have a suggestion?”
Billy nodded toward the island. “Let’s stay focused on the task at hand. Let’s do what our Elder masters have commanded and awaken these sleeping beasts, before we start thinking deep dark thoughts.”
“We?”
“We.” Billy smiled. “I bet you could teach me a lot.”
Machiavelli nodded, surprised. “And I believe I could learn a lot from you.”
The boat bumped against the dock and Black Hawk pulled them in against the wooden pilings. “All ashore,” he called.
Billy the Kid leapt onto the wooden gangway and then stooped to offer his hand to the Italian. Machiavelli hesitated a moment, then took it, and Billy hauled him up. Black Hawk immediately revved the engine, water churning white as he backed away.
“Are you not joining us?” Billy asked.
“You must be joking! I wouldn’t set foot on this island. It is a cursed place.” Even as he was speaking, dozens of women’s faces appeared just below the surface of the water. Iridescent fishtails flickered. “Call me when you’re done. Will you be long?”
Billy looked at Machiavelli and raised his eyebrows.
“A couple of hours.”
Billy the Kid grinned. “Time enough to change the world.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Sitting alone at the kitchen table with the crystal skull between them, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel looked at one another. The Alchemyst’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion clear on his face and in his sunken eyes. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his wife and said, “So what do we do now?”
Perenelle absently reached out to stroke the skull. She could actually feel the vague tingling residue of Sophie’s and Aoife’s auras on the crystal. “This changes nothing,” she said finally. “We fight.”
Nicholas wheezed a laugh. “Look at us … well, look at me. I can’t help you.”
“Between us we have more than a millennium of knowledge,” Perenelle reminded him gently. “We use our brains; that’s all we need.”
The door opened and Prometheus stepped back into the room. “Niten and Aoife have gone with Sophie. I’ve given them a car,” he said. “But it’ll take them two and a half, maybe three hours to get into the city.”
“Three hours?” Perenelle looked at Nicholas. “Could Dee teach Josh anything about necromancy in that time?”
“Last night, Josh learned Fire magic in a couple of hours.…”
“He learned the basics. But it will take him a lifetime to master it,” Prometheus said.
“And who knows what Dee can do,” Nicholas added. “How he got here from London is beyond me.”
“He’s been declared utlaga,” the Elder said. “The message rippled through the Shadowrealms yesterday. His own masters have put an enormous price on his head.”
“They want him dead?” Nicholas was shocked.
There was only pity in Prometheus’s laugh. “They want him alive first.”
The Alchemyst sat back into the creaking kitchen chair and rubbed his face with his hands. “But this changes everything,” he said. “If Dee is no longer working for the Dark Elders, why does he need Josh? Why would he want to teach him necromancy?”
Prometheus moved away from the door. “Dee obviously has his own plans,” he said.
“Dee and Dare,” Perenelle reminded them. “A dangerous combination.”
“And now Josh, too,” Nicholas whispered. “A gold twin, trained in Water and Fire magics.”
Prometheus pulled out a chair and spun it around so that he could straddle it. It creaked ominously under his weight.
Nicholas squinted into the Elder’s face. “What happens if a pure gold twin, knowledgeable in the Magics of Water and Fire, is trained in necromancy?”
Prometheus shook his head. “It has never happened before, to the best of my knowledge. It is a powerful combination, but the real potential lies in the strength of his aura. The boy is extraordinarily powerful … he simply does not realize that yet.”
“Dee does,” Nicholas muttered.
“So Josh is more powerful than Dee?” Perenelle asked.
“Yes, I believe so. Much more powerful,” Prometheus agreed. “Just untrained.”
“And necromancy raises the dead, and with Josh’s power …” Perenelle began slowly.
Nicholas finished the thought. “So whom—or what—does Dee want to raise from the dead?” He placed his hand flat on top of the crystal skull. “If we could only see what’s happening …” A pale green light pulsed once deep within the skull and then faded. Perenelle placed her hand on top of her husband’s. Speckles of white crawled along her fingertips, sank through Flamel’s wrinkled flesh and seeped into the crystal. A white light tinted with the hint of green throbbed in the eye sockets. Then it faded. “We’re not strong enough.” Nicholas slumped back into the chair, though Perenelle kept his hand pressed to the crystal.
“Why did you bring this evil thing?” Prometheus asked.
“We were going to use it to try to control the monsters on Alcatraz,” Perenelle explained. “Areop-Enap is still on the island. I thought if we could see through the Old Spider’s eyes, we would be able to turn the creatures against one another. Many of them are natural enemies. I thought it might buy us a little time until Sophie and Josh were fully trained.”
“A good plan,” Prometheus agreed. “But you need to fuel the skull with your auras.”
“We were rather counting on Sophie and Josh to help us.”
The Elder looked at each of them in turn. “You do realize that when you are feeding the skull, it is feeding off you, drinking your auras, your memories, your emotions,” he said slowly. “The skulls are true vampires. The twins are young; the process would have taken a few years off their lives, but they would have survived. In your present st
ate, you would not.”
“We have spent our entire lives fighting for the survival of the human race,” Perenelle said quietly. “We cannot stop now. We will fight to our last breaths to protect it from the Dark Elders.”
“You would have paid a heavy price.”
“Everything has a price,” Nicholas said simply. “And some prices are worth paying.” He drew in a deep breath and looked at the Elder. “You paid a heavy price for bringing the humani to life.”
Prometheus nodded.
“Have you ever regretted it?”
“Not for a moment.” Prometheus stared at the skull. “Not for a single moment,” he said softly, and then grunted a bitter laugh. “Crystal libraries, my sister called these. She suspected that they might even have been partially responsible for the annihilation of the Archon race, and she destroyed as many as she could. Some knowledge should not be passed on, she said. And there was one piece of advice she gave me time and again: an Elder must never, ever, touch the skulls.”
“Why not?” Nicholas asked.
Prometheus ignored the question. He reached out and placed his hand on top of the Flamels’. Instantly, the room was flooded with the smell of aniseed and the skull turned a deep ruby color. “I can link to the boy, but you will need to focus on the Magician,” he said almost apologetically. “Are you sure you want to do this? It will age you.”
“Do it,” Perenelle said, and the Alchemyst nodded.
“Then let us see what the Magician has in store for the boy,” the Elder said through gritted teeth as images formed over the skull: crystal-clear pictures in vivid color.
And suddenly they were looking through Josh Newman’s eyes at Virginia Dare’s face.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Aoife snapped. “I could push this heap quicker.”
“My foot is flat to the floor,” Niten said calmly, “but the vehicle is forty years old and it’s only got a fifty-horsepower engine.”
“Piece of junk,” Aoife muttered. She looked at Sophie stretched out on the long backseat behind them. Reaching over, she pulled a blanket across the girl’s shoulders. “You’d think an Elder would have a better car than this antiquated minivan,” she said, turning back to Niten.
“I’m surprised Prometheus even had a car. And it’s not a minivan, it’s a microbus. I like it,” the Japanese immortal said. “This is a 1964 Volkswagen Microbus. And it still has its original red and white paint job. Usually they’re painted all the colors of the rainbow.”
“Listen to you. Since when did you become such a car expert?” Aoife asked sarcastically.
The tiniest of smiles moved Niten’s lips. “You do know that I collect classic cars, don’t you?”
Aoife looked at him in surprise. “No,” she said finally. “I never knew that.”
“How long have you known me, Aoife?” he asked in formal Japanese.
She frowned and replied in the same language. “There was a battle, I seem to recall.”
“We met at the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I remember.”
“I thought you were Scathach,” he reminded her.
Aoife smiled and nodded again.
“But the moment we started to fight, I knew you were not the girl I had fought before. You had a different style.”
“And I defeated you,” she reminded him.
“You did,” he agreed. “Just the once.” He turned the big steering wheel, maneuvering the van onto the narrow two-lane highway. “So you’ve known me—what?—for more than four hundred years … and yet, what do you really know about me?”
Aoife stared at the slender black-suited man and shook her head. “Not a lot,” she admitted.
“And why is that?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Because you were never interested,” Niten said gently. “You are the most self-obsessed, selfish person I know.”
The warrior blinked in surprise. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“This is not a criticism,” he continued, “merely an observation.”
They drove in silence for a long time before Aoife said, “So, after four hundred years, why are you telling me this now?”
“I am just curious,” Niten said. His dark brown eyes drifted to the rearview mirror, and he tilted it so that he could look at Sophie. “You don’t know this girl. You only met her yesterday, and I got the impression that you either did not like her or were afraid of her.”
“I am afraid of no one,” Aoife said automatically.
Niten bowed. “You are fearless in battle,” Niten agreed diplomatically. “So why are we now driving her toward a confrontation with a dangerous and powerful adversary?”
Aoife stared straight ahead, and when she finally answered, her voice sounded lost and distant. “She is looking for her twin,” she whispered.
“And is that the only reason?” he probed gently.
“She asked for my help, Niten,” Aoife said quietly. “Do you know who the last person was to ask me for help?”
Niten shook his head, though he suspected he knew the answer.
“My twin, Scathach,” she murmured. “And I refused.” She turned to look at Sophie again. “I don’t want to make that mistake twice.”
“Aoife, this girl is not your twin.”
“But she asked for my help, old friend. It’s been a long time since anyone asked me for anything. I have a …” She paused, hunting for the right word. “I have a duty.”
“Ah, duty. That I understand.” The Japanese immortal turned right onto Shoreline Highway, heading for San Francisco. “It is duty and responsibility that separates humankind from the beasts … and the Elders,” he added. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
They continued in silence for many miles, and then, much later, Aoife said, “So, tell me about this car collection of yours. I mean, are we talking real cars or just models?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“He looks so young,” Virginia Dare said, staring into Josh’s unblinking red eyes.
“He’s fifteen and a half,” Dee said absently. “You could help me here,” he added. He was standing in the middle of his living room, attempting to push the heavy sofas out of the way to clear a space in the center of the floor.
“I don’t push furniture,” Virginia said, still staring at Josh. “These red eyes are creepy. I’ve only seen them a couple of times before.”
“The boy was Awakened by Mars Ultor.…”
Virginia Dare’s head snapped up. “The Avenger is still alive?” she gasped.
Dee’s smile was cruel. “Sort of. As you know, there is always a connection between an Elder and the humani he or she Awakens. Sometimes—though not always—the same Elder will offer the humani immortality.”
Virginia nodded. “That’s what happened to me. My Elder Awakened me when I was a child and then, fifteen years later, made me immortal.”
“One day you’re going to tell me who that Elder was,” Dee grunted, trying to move an enormous black leather lounger. “Why did I buy this?” he muttered.
“Is he asleep?” she asked, waving her hand in front of Josh’s eyes. They remained open and unblinking.
“He’s in a dream state. He’s aware enough to walk and talk and drive, but he’s only semiconscious. No doubt he believes all of this is a dream.”
“Like hypnosis?”
“Just like hypnosis,” Dee agreed. He finally managed to get the chair up against a wall and collapsed into it. “I’m getting too old for this,” he wheezed.
“Doctor,” Virginia said quietly, “you need to see this.”
The tone in the woman’s voice brought Dee quickly across the room. Josh was sitting on a stool at the kitchen table. The four swords and the Codex were on the glass tabletop before him, where Dee had left them. When the boy had rested his hands on the table, all of the swords had immediately started to glow, throbbing gently like
beating hearts. There was the sudden odor of oranges, and abruptly the glass surface turned into a sheet of solid gold.
Virginia tapped the gold with her fingernail. “Now, that’s impressive.”
“The boy is powerful indeed,” Dee said. “I’ve never seen a pure Gold before.”
Gossamer threads of Josh’s gold aura drifted across the table like smoke, curling around the stone swords. Crackling sparks leapt from blade to blade. Particles of ice sparkled across Excalibur and red-black smoke drifted off Clarent; gritty brown sand formed on Joyeuse’s blade, and Durendal’s surface rippled as if a chill breeze were blowing across it. Then the heavy copper cover of the Codex flapped open and the pages began to riffle as if blown by a strong breeze. Dee carefully reached out and lifted the book off the table. “He is so strong,” the Magician said, “it seems almost a shame to have to kill him.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Josh.
Wake up.
Josh. Wake up.
Josh.
And Josh woke up, hearing Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel’s voices ringing in his head.
He remembered lying down on the uncomfortable couch in Prometheus’s guesthouse; then there was a dream … a long, boring dream.
Or was it a dream?
He was sitting on a high stool in a modern-looking apartment, with Dr. John Dee and the almost-familiar-looking young woman from his dream watching him.
“You’re awake!” Dee said, sounding surprised.
Confusion gave way to fear, which quickly turned to anger. “What have you done to me?” Instinctively, Josh snatched Clarent from the table and slid off the stool, holding the sword in both hands. Instantly, he felt its familiar heat flow up his body, and his aura started to harden into gold-plated armor around his flesh. He looked around quickly, trying to get his bearings. “Where am I? Where’s my sister? What have you done with Sophie?”
Keeping the Codex pressed close to his chest, Dee stepped right up to the tip of the outstretched blade. “Do you remember the dream, Josh? The dream of the long drive?”
The Necromancer Page 24
