The Sorceress sotinf-3

by Michael Scott

  "You have failed us," the voices whispered.

  Neither man broke the silence that followed, fully aware that their very long lives were now hanging by a thread. They were both powerful and important, but neither was irreplaceable. The Dark Elders had other human agents they could send after Flamel and the twins. Many others.

  Static crackled and popped on the line, and then a new voice spoke. "And yet, let me suggest that all is not lost."

  Centuries of practice kept Machiavelli's face expressionless. Here was the voice he'd been expecting, the voice of his Elder master, a figure who had briefly ruled Egypt more than three thousand years ago.

  "Let me suggest that we are closer now than we have ever been. We have cause for hope. We have confirmed, that the humani children are indeed the twins of legend; we have even seen some demonstration of their powers. The cursed Alchemyst and his Sorceress wife are trapped and dying. All we have to do is to wait, and time, our greatest friend, will take care of them for us. Scathach is lost and Hekate destroyed. And we have the Codex."

  "But not all of it," the male-female voice whispered. "We still lack the final two pages."

  "Agreed. But it is more than we have ever had. Certainly enough to begin the process of calling back the Elders from the most distant Shadowrealms."

  Machiavelli frowned, concentrating hard. Dee's Elder master was reputedly the most powerful of all the Elders, and yet here was his own master arguing and debating with him or her. The line crackled, and the male-female voice sounded almost petulant.

  "But we lack the Final Summoning. Without it, our brothers and sisters will not be able to take that last step from their Shadowrealms into this world."

  Machiavelli's master responded evenly. "We should still be gathering our armies. Some of our brethren have ventured far from this earth; they have even gone beyond the Shadowrealms into the Otherworlds. It will take them many days to return. We need to call them back now, draw them into the Shadowrealms that border this earth, so that when the time is right, a single step will take them into this world and we can move as one to reclaim the planet."

  Machiavelli looked at Dee. The English Magician's head had titled slightly to one side, eyes half closed as he listened to the Elders. Almost as if he felt Machiavelli's gaze on him, Dee opened his eyes and raised his brows in a silent question. The Italian shook his head slightly; he had no idea what was happening.

  "This is the time foreseen by Abraham when he first created the Codex," Machiavelli's master continued. "He had the Sight, he could see the curling strands of time. He foretold that this age would come-he called it the Time of the Turning, when order would be returned to the world. We have discovered the twins, we know the whereabouts of Flamel and the last two pages from the Codex. Once we have the pages we can use the twins' powers to fuel the Final Summoning."

  The line crackled with static, and in the background Machiavelli clearly heard a murmur of assent. He realized that there were others listening in on the line, and he wondered how many of the Dark Elders had gathered. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling at the image of the Elders, in their assorted guises and aspects-human and inhuman, beast and monster-listening intently on cell phones. Machiavelli chose his moment when there was a break in the murmuring voices and spoke carefully, stripping all emotion from his voice, keeping it neutral and professional.

  "Then can I suggest that you allow us to complete our tasks. Let us find Flamel and the twins." He knew he was playing a dangerous game now, but it was clear that there was dissension in the ranks of the Elders, and Machiavelli had always been expert at manipulating such situations. He had clearly heard the need in his master's voice. The Elders desperately wanted the twins and the Codex: without them, the rest of the Dark Elders would not be able to return to the earth. And at that instant he recognized that both he and Dee were still valuable assets. "The doctor and I have formulated a plan," he said, and then fell silent, waiting to see if they would take the bait.

  "Speak, humani," the male-female voice rumbled.

  Machiavelli folded his hands and said nothing. Dee's eyebrows shot up and he pointed at the phone. Speak, he mouthed.

  "Speak!" the voice snarled, static howling and popping.

  "You are not my master," Machiavelli said very quietly. "You cannot command me."

  There was a long hissing sound, like steam escaping. Machiavelli turned his head slightly, trying to identify the noise. Then he nodded: it was laughter. The other Elders were amused by his response. He had been correct; there was dissension in the ranks of the Elders, and though Dee's master might be all-powerful, that did not mean he was liked. Here was a weakness Machiavelli could exploit to his advantage.

  Dee was staring at him, gray eyes wide with horror and maybe even admiration.

  The line clicked, the ambient background noise changed and then Machiavelli's master spoke, amusement clearly audible in his gravelly voice. "What do you propose? And be careful, humani," he added. "You too have failed us. We were assured that Flamel and the twins would not leave Paris."

  The Italian leaned toward the phone, his smile triumphant. "Master. I was instructed to do nothing until the English Magician arrived. Valuable time was lost. Flamel was able to contact allies, find shelter and rest." Machiavelli was watching Dee carefully as he spoke. He knew the Englishman had contacted his Elder master, and that master in turn had ordered Machiavelli's master to tell the Italian to do nothing until Dee arrived. "However," he pressed, having made his point, "this delay worked to our advantage. The boy was Awakened by an Elder loyal to us. We have some idea of the twins' powers and we know where they've gone." He could barely keep the smugness out of his voice. He looked at Dee sitting across the table and nodded quickly. The English Magician took the hint.

  "They are in London," John Dee continued. "And Britain, more than any other land on this earth, is our country," he stressed. "Unlike in Paris, we have allies there: Elders, Next Generation, immortals and humani servants who will aid us. And in England there are others, loyal to none but themselves, whose services can be bought. All of these resources can be directed to finding Flamel and the twins." He finished and leaned forward, staring intently at the phone, waiting for an answer.

  The line clicked and went dead. Then an irritating busy signal filled the room.

  Dee stared at the phone with a mixture of shock and anger. "Have we lost the connection or have they just hung up on us?"

  Machiavelli hit the Speaker button, silencing the noise. "Now you know how I feel when you hang up on me," he said quietly.

  "What do we do now?" Dee demanded.

  "We wait. I would imagine they are discussing our futures."

  Dee folded his arms over his narrow chest. "They need us," he said, trying-and failing-to sound confident.

  Machiavelli's smile was bitter. "They use us. But they do not need us. I know of at least a dozen immortals in Paris alone who could do what I do."

  "Well, yes, you are replaceable," Dee said with a self-satisfied shrug. "But I have spent a lifetime chasing Nicholas and Perenelle."

  "You mean you've spent a lifetime failing to catch them," Machiavelli said, his voice neutral, and then added with a sly smile, "So close, and yet always so far."

  But any reply Dee was about to make was cut off when the phone rang.

  "This is our decision." It was Dee's Elder master speaking, the male-female voices blending together into one slightly discordant voice. "The Magician will follow the Alchemyst and the twins to England. Your instructions are explicit: destroy Flamel, capture the twins and retrieve the two missing pages. Use whatever means necessary to achieve this objective; we have associates in England who are indebted to us. We will call in those debts. And Doctor… if you fail us this time, then we will temporarily remove the gift of immortality and allow your humani body to age to its very limit… and then, at the moment before your death, we will make you immortal again." There was a rasp that might have
been a chuckle or an indrawn breath. "Think about how that will feel: your brilliant mind trapped in an ancient and feeble body, unable to see or hear clearly, unable to walk or move, in constant pain from a score of ailments. You will be forever ancient and yet undying. Fail us and this will be your destiny. We will trap you in this aged fleshy shell for an eternity."

  Dee nodded, swallowed hard and then said with as much confidence as he could muster, "I will not fail you."

  "And you, Niccolo…" Machiavelli's Elder master spoke. "You will travel to the Americas. The Sorceress is loose on Alcatraz. Do whatever you must to secure the island."

  "But I have no contacts in San Francisco," Machiavelli protested quickly, "no allies. Europe has always been my domain."

  "We have agents all across the Americas. Even now they are moving westward to await your arrival. We will instruct one to guide and assist you. On Alcatraz, you will find an army of sorts sleeping in the cells, creatures the humani will recognize from their darkest nightmares and foulest myths. It was not our intention to use this army so soon, but events are moving quickly now, much faster than we anticipated. Soon it will be the Time of Litha, the summer solstice. At midsummer, the twins' auras will be at their strongest and the barriers between this world and the myriad Shadowrealms at their weakest. It is our intention to reclaim the world of the humani on that day."

  Even Machiavelli was unable to keep his face expressionless. He looked at Dee and found that the Magician too was wide-eyed with shock. Both men had worked for the Dark Elders for centuries and had always known that they intended to return to the world they had once ruled. Still, it was startling to discover that after years of waiting and planning, it was about to happen in just over three weeks' time.

  Dr. John Dee leaned closer to the phone. "Masters-and I know I speak for Machiavelli when I say this-we are delighted that the Time of the Turning is almost upon us and that you will soon return." He swallowed hard and took a quick breath. "But if you will allow me to caution you: the world you are returning to is not the world you left. The humani have technology, communications, weapons… they will resist," he added hesitantly.

  "Indeed they will, Doctor," Machiavelli's master said. "So we will give the humani something to focus on, something to use up their resources and consume their attention. Niccolo," the voice continued, "when you have retaken Alcatraz, rouse the monsters in the cells and then loose them on the city of San Francisco. The destruction and terror will be indescribable. And when the city is a smoking ruin, allow the creatures to wander as they will. They will ravage across America. Mankind has always been fearful of the dark: we will remind him why. There are similar caches of creatures already hidden on every continent; they will be released at the same time. The world will quickly dissolve into madness and chaos. Entire armies will be wiped out, so that there will be none to stand against us when we return. And what will be our first action? Why, we will destroy the monsters and be hailed by the humani as their saviors."

  "And these beasts are in Alcatraz's cells?" Machiavelli asked, appalled. "How do I rouse them?"

  "You will be given instructions when you reach the Americas. But first, you have to defeat Perenelle Flamel."

  "How do we know she is still there? If she has escaped her cell, surely she will have fled the island?" The Italian was aware that his heart was suddenly pounding; three hundred years ago he had sworn vengeance on the Sorceress. Was he now about to be given an opportunity for revenge?

  "She is still on the island. She has released Areop-Enap, the Old Spider. It is a dangerous foe, but not invincible. We have taken steps to neutralize it and ensure that Perenelle will remain there until you arrive. And Niccolo"-the Elder's voice turned hard and ugly-"do not repeat Dee's mistake."

  The Magician straightened.

  "Do not attempt to capture or imprison Perenelle. Do not talk to her, bargain with her or try to reason with her. Kill her on sight. The Sorceress is infinitely more dangerous than the Alchemyst." he early-morning sky over Alcatraz was the color of dirty metal. Flecks of ice-cold rain hissed across the island, and the churning sea pounding against the rocks sent bitter salty foam high into the air.

  Perenelle Flamel ducked back into the shelter of the ruin of the Warden's House. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, brushing away droplets of salty moisture. She was wearing a light sleeveless summer dress, now soiled with mud and rust, but the tall elegant woman wasn't cold. Although she'd been reluctant to use her waning powers, she had adjusted her aura, bringing her body temperature up to a comfortable level. She knew if she got too cold, she wouldn't be able to think clearly, and she had a feeling she was going to need all her resources in the hours to come.

  Four days ago, Perenelle Flamel had been kidnapped by John Dee and imprisoned on Alcatraz. Her guard, a sphinx, had been chosen for its special ability to feed off others' auras-the energy fields that surround every living thing. The English Magician had hoped the sphinx would drain Perenelle's aura and prevent her from escaping, but as Dee had done so often in the past, he had underestimated Perenelle's abilities and powers. With the help of the island's guardian ghost, the Sorceress had been able to escape the sphinx. It was only then that she discovered the island's terrible secret: Dee had been collecting monsters. The prison cells were filled with horrific creatures from all over the earth, creatures most humans believed existed only in the darkest corners of myth and legend. But the most surprising discovery had lain in the hidden tunnels deep beneath the island. There, trapped behind magical symbols older than even the Elders, she had found the creature known as Areop-Enap, the Old Spider. The two had formed an uneasy alliance and defeated the Morrigan, the Crow Goddess, and her army of birds. But they knew that worse was to come.

  "This weather is not natural," Perenelle said softly, the merest trace of her French accent audible in her voice. She breathed deeply and grimaced. To her heightened sense of smell, the wind coming in off San Francisco Bay was tainted with the odor of something foul and long dead, a sure sign that it was abnormal.

  Areop-Enap was perched high on a wall of the empty building. The enormous bloated spider was busy sheathing the shell of the house with a sticky white web. Millions of spiders, some as big as plates, others little more than specks of dirt, scuttled across the massive web in an undulating dark shadow, adding their own layers of silk to the dripping web. Without turning its head, the Elder swiveled two of its eight eyes to focus on the woman. It raised one of its thick legs straight up in the air, gray-tipped purple hair waving in the breeze. "Aye, something's coming… but not Elder, and not humani, either," it lisped.

  "Something's already here," Perenelle said grimly.

  Areop-Enap turned to look down at Perenelle. Eight tiny eyes were perched on the top of its eerily humanlike head. It had no nose or ears, and its mouth was a horizontal slash filled with long poisonous fangs. The savage teeth gave it a curious lisping speech. "What happened?" it asked suddenly, dropping to the ground on a gossamer thread.

  Perenelle picked her way across the stone floor, trying to avoid the knotted strands of spiderweb that stuck to everything they touched. They had the consistency of chewing gum. "I was down at the water's edge," she said quietly. "I wanted to see how far we were from land."

  "Why?" Areop-Enap asked, stepping closer to the woman, towering over her.

  "I learned a spell many years ago from an Inuit shaman. It changes the consistency of running water, turning it to something like thick sticky mud. Effectively, it allows you to walk on water. Inuits use it when they're hunting polar bears out on ice floes. I wanted to see if it worked on warm salt water."

  "And?" Areop-Enap asked.

  "I didn't get a chance to try it." Perenelle shook her head. Gathering her long mane of black hair in her hands, she pulled it over her shoulder. Usually, she wore it in a tight thick braid, but it hung loose now, and it was shot through with more silver and gray than even the day before. "Look."

  Areop-Enap stepped closer.
Each of its legs was thicker than the woman's torso, and tipped with a hooked spike, but it moved without making a sound.

  Perenelle held out a hank of hair. A four-inch-long chunk had been neatly cut from it. "I was leaning over the water, gathering my aura to try the spell, when something came up out of the water with barely a ripple. Its jaws sliced right through my hair."

  Old Spider hissed softly. "Did you see it?"

  "A glimpse, nothing more. I was too busy scrambling back up the beach."

  "A serpent?"

  Perenelle reverted to the French of her youth. "No. A woman. Green-skinned, with teeth… lots of tiny teeth. I caught the flash of a fish's tail as it dipped back into the water." Perenelle shook her head and dropped her hair, settling it back over her shoulder, then looked up at the Elder. "Was it a mermaid? I've never seen one of the seafolk."

  "Unlikely," Areop-Enap muttered. "Though it might have been one of the wilder Nereids."

  "The sea nymphs… but they are far from home."

  "Yes. They do prefer the warmer waters of the Mediterranean, but the oceans of the world are their home. I've encountered them everywhere, even amongst the icebergs of the Antarctic. There are fifty Nereids, and they always travel together… which suggests to me that this island is most likely completely surrounded. We'll not escape by sea. But that is not the greatest of our concerns," Areop-Enap lisped. "If the Nereids are here, then that probably means that their father, Nereus, is close as well."

  Despite her warmth, a shiver ran up Perenelle's spine. "The Old Man of the Sea? But he lives in some distant watery Shadowrealm and only rarely ventures to this realm. He hasn't come to our world since 1912. What would possibly bring him back?"

  Areop-Enap bared its teeth in a savage grin. "Why, you, Madame Perenelle. You are the prize. They want your knowledge and your memories. You and your husband are amongst the rarest of humans: you are immortals without Elder masters controlling you. And now that you are trapped on Alcatraz, the Dark Elders will do their utmost to ensure that you not leave here alive."