"We need to know what happened to the other twins," he said firmly, voicing exactly what she was thinking. "I hate to ask, but does the Witch know?" he said carefully. "I mean, do you know if the Witch knew?" He still found it hard to grasp that the Witch of Endor had somehow passed all her knowledge on to his sister.
Sophie paused for a second, then shook her head again. "The Witch doesn't seem to know a lot about the modern world. She knows about the Elders, the Next Generation and some of the oldest human immortals. She'd heard about the Flamels, for instance, but she'd never met them before Scatty brought him there with us. All I know is that she's been living in and around Ojai for years, without a phone, a TV or radio."
"OK, then forget about it, don't even think about her again." Josh picked up a pebble and tossed it against the wall of crushed cars. It rattled and bounced and a shape flickered behind the metal. The red-eyed dogs raised their heads and watched him carefully. "You know, I just had a thought…," he said slowly.
Sophie watched him, silent.
"How did I end up working for the Flamels, a couple who collect twins, and you end up in the coffee shop across the road? It can't be a coincidence, can it?"
"I guess not." Sophie nodded, the tiniest movement of her head. She'd started thinking the same thing the second Palamedes had mentioned the other twins. It couldn't be a coincidence. The Witch didn't believe in coincidence, nor did Nicholas Flamel, and even Scatty said she believed in destiny. And then of course there was the prophecy… "Do you think you got the job because he knew you had a twin?" she asked.
"After the battle in Hekate's Shadowrealms, Flamel told me that he'd only started to suspect that we were the twins mentioned in the prophecy the day before."
Sophie shook her head. "I hardly remember anything about that day."
"You were asleep," Josh said quickly, "exhausted after the battle." The memory of the fight chilled him; it was the first time he had seen how alien his sister had become. "Scatty said that Flamel was a man of his word and told me that I should believe him."
"I don't think Scatty would lie to us," Sophie said but even as she was speaking, she wondered if these were her thoughts or the Witch's.
"Maybe she didn't." Pressing both hands to his face, Josh rubbed his fingers over his forehead, pushing back his overlong blond hair. He was trying to remember exactly what had happened last Thursday. "She wasn't agreeing with him when he said he hadn't known who we were. He said that everything he'd done had been for our own protection: I'm thinking she was agreeing with that," he finished. "And the last thing Hekate said to me before the World Tree burned was 'Nicholas Flamel never tells anyone everything.'"
Sophie closed her eyes, trying to blank out the sights and sounds of the junkyard, concentrating hard now, thinking back to early April, when they'd both started the part-time jobs. "Why did you go for that particular job?" she asked.
Josh blinked in surprise, then frowned, remembering. "Well, Dad saw an ad in the university newspaper. Assistant Wanted, Bookshop. We don't want readers, we want workers. I didn't want to do it, but Dad said he'd worked in a bookshop when he was our age and that I'd enjoy it. I sent in a resume and was called for an interview two days later."
Sophie nodded, remembering. While Josh was in the bookshop, she'd gone across the road to wait for him in a small coffee shop. Bernice, the owner of The Coffee Cup, had been there talking to a striking-looking woman who Sophie now knew was Perenelle Flamel. "Perenelle," Sophie said so suddenly that Josh looked around, half expecting to see the woman behind him. He would not have been surprised.
"What about her?"
"On the day we got our jobs. You were being interviewed in the bookshop and I was having a drink. Bernice was talking to Perenelle Flamel. While Bernice was making my chai latte, Perenelle started a conversation with me. I remember her saying that she hadn't seen me in the neighborhood before, and I told her I'd come along because you'd been called for an interview in the bookshop." Sophie closed her eyes, thinking back. "She didn't say then that she was one of the owners of the shop, but I remember her asking me something like, 'Oh, I saw you with a young man outside. Was that your boyfriend?' I told her no, it was my brother. Then she said, 'You look very alike.' When I told her we were twins, she smiled, then she quickly finished her drink and left. She crossed the street and went into the bookstore."
"I remember when she came in," Josh agreed. "I didn't think the interview was going particularly well. I got the impression that Nicholas-or Nick… whatever his name is-was looking for someone older for the job. Then Perenelle came in, smiled at me, and called him to the back of the shop. I saw them both looking at me. Then she left the store as quickly as she'd arrived."
"She came back into The Coffee Cup," Sophie murmured. Then she stopped as memories and events slotted into place. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Josh, I just remembered something. She asked Bernice if she was still looking for staff. She suggested that if my brother was working across the street, it would be perfect if I was working at The Coffee Cup. Bernice agreed and offered me the job on the spot. But you know what, when I turned up for work the next day it was the strangest thing. I could swear that Bernice looked a little surprised to find me there. I even had to remind her that she'd offered me the job the day before."
Josh nodded. He remembered his sister telling him that. "Do you think Perenelle somehow made her give you the job? Could she do that?"
"Oh yes." Sophie's eyes turned briefly silver. Even the Witch of Endor acknowledged Perenelle as an extraordinarily powerful Sorceress. "So do you think we got the jobs because we're twins?" she asked again.
"I have no doubt about it," Josh said angrily. "We were just another set of twins to be added to the Flamels' collection. We've been tricked."
"What are we going to do, Josh?" Sophie asked, her voice as hard as her brother's. The thought that the Flamels had somehow used them made her feel sick to her stomach. If Dee hadn't showed up in the shop, then what would have happened to them? What would the Flamels have done to them?
Catching Sophie's hand, Josh pulled his sister behind him toward the stinking metal hut, stepping carefully around the potholes. The dogs sat up, heads swiveling to follow them, red eyes glowing. "There's no going back. We have no choice, Soph: we have to see this through to the end."
"But what is the end, Josh? Where does it end… how does it end?"
"I have no idea," he said. He stopped and turned to look directly into his sister's blue eyes. He took a deep breath, swallowing his anger. "But you know what I do know? This is all about us."
Sophie nodded. "You're right. The prophecy is about us, we're gold and silver, we're special."
"Flamel wants us," Josh continued, "Dee wants us. It's time to get some answers."
"Attack," Sophie said, hopping over a muddy puddle. "When I knew him-I mean, when the Witch knew him-Mars always said that attack was the best form of defense."
"My football coach says the same thing."
"And your team didn't win a single game last season," Sophie reminded him.
They had almost reached the hut when a wild-eyed William Shakespeare appeared, a blazing frying pan clutched in both hands. ithout a second thought Josh shrugged the map tube off his shoulder and shook out the sword. It settled easily into his hand, his fingers wrapping around the stained leather hilt. He took a step forward, putting himself between Shakespeare and his sister.
The immortal didn't even look at them. He turned the blazing pan upside down and shook out the contents. What looked like half a dozen blackened sausages dropped onto the muddy ground. They hissed and sizzled but continued to burn, spiraling sparks into the air. One of the red-eyed dogs came out from beneath the hut, and a long forked tongue snatched up a chunk of still-burning meat and swallowed it whole. The flames turned its eyes to rubies, and when it licked its lips, curls of gray smoke leaked from the corner of its mouth.
Shakespeare bent down and roughly patted t
he dog's head. He was about to turn and climb the steps when he spotted the twins. The dull evening light reflected off his overlarge glasses, turning them to silver mirrors. "There was a little mishap with our evening meal," he said, a quick smile revealing his bad teeth.
"That's OK. We weren't that hungry," Sophie said quickly. "And I'm trying to give up meat."
"Vegetarians?" Shakespeare asked.
"Sort of," Sophie said, and Josh nodded in agreement.
"There might be some salad inside," the immortal said vaguely. "Neither Palamedes nor I are vegetarians. There's fruit," he added. "Lots of fruit."
Josh nodded. "Fruit would be perfect." Even the thought of meat set his stomach churning.
Shakespeare seemed to notice the sword in Josh's hand for the first time. "Keep up your bright swords," he murmured. Stepping forward, he produced a surprisingly pristine white handkerchief, pulled off his glasses and started to polish them. Without the thick lenses, Sophie noticed, he looked more like the image of the famous playwright she'd seen in her textbooks. He put his glasses back on and looked at Josh. "It is Clarent?"
Josh nodded. He could feel it tremble slightly in his hands and was aware of a slow warmth soaking into his flesh.
Shakespeare leaned forward, his long narrow nose inches from the tip of the blade, but he made no attempt to touch it. "I saw its twin many times," he said absently. "The blades are identical, but the hilts are slightly different."
"Was this when you were with Dee?" Sophie asked shrewdly.
Shakespeare nodded. "When I was with the doctor," he agreed. He reached out and tentatively touched the tip of the blade with his index finger. The dark stone sparkled and rippled with a tracery of pale yellow, as if a liquid had been poured down the blade, and there was a hint of lemon in the air. "Dee inherited Excalibur from his predecessor, Roger Bacon, but this was really the weapon he wanted to find. The twin blades are older than the Elders and were ancient long before Danu Talis was raised from the seas. Individually, the swords are powerful, but legend has it that together they have the power to destroy the very fabric of the earth itself."
"I'm surprised Dee didn't find it," Josh said a little breathlessly. He could feel the sword buzzing in his hands, and strange images floated at the edge of his consciousness. Somehow he knew that these were Shakespeare's memories.
A circular building in flames…
A pitifully small grave, and a young girl standing over the opening, tossing in a handful of dirt…
And Dee. A little younger than Josh remembered him; his face unlined, his hair dark and full, his goatee without a hint of gray.
"The Magician always believed the sword had been lost in a lake deep in the Welsh mountains," Shakespeare continued. "He spent decades hunting for it there."
"Flamel found it in a cave in Andorra," Sophie said. "He believed Charlemagne hid it there in the ninth century."
Shakespeare smiled. "So the Magician was wrong. It is gratifying to know that the doctor is not always correct."
Sophie stepped out from behind Josh and pushed down his arm. The wind coming across the sword blade moaned. "Are you really… really William Shakespeare? The Bard?" she asked. Even after all she had seen and experienced over the past few days, she still found the idea awe-inspiring.
The man stepped back and executed a surprisingly elegant sweeping bow, leg outstretched, head bent almost to waist level. "Your servant, my lady." The whole effect was slightly ruined by the stench of stale body odor that rolled off him. "Please call me Will."
Sophie wasn't sure how to react. "I've never met anyone famous before…," she started, and then stopped when she realized what she was saying.
Shakespeare straightened. Josh coughed and backed away, eyes watering. "You have met Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel," Shakespeare said in his precise English, "Dr. John Dee, the Comte de Saint-Germain and, of course, Niccolo Machiavelli," he continued. "And no doubt you encountered the charming Jeanne d'Arc."
"Yes," Sophie said with a shy smile, "we met all of them. But none of them are as famous as you are."
William Shakespeare took a moment to consider, and then he nodded. "I am sure Machiavelli and certainly Dee would disagree. But yes, you are correct, of course. None of them would have my"-he paused-"my profile. My work has thrived and survived, whereas theirs is not quite so popular."
"And did you really serve Dee?" Josh asked suddenly, realizing that here was an opportunity to get some answers.
Shakespeare's smile faded. "I spent twenty years in Dee's service."
"Why?" Josh asked.
"Have you ever met him?" Shakespeare replied.
Josh nodded.
"Then you will know that Dee is that most dangerous of enemies: he truly believes that what he is doing is right."
"That's what Palamedes said," Josh murmured.
"And it's true. Dee is a liar, but I came to understand that he believes the lies he tells. Because he wants to believe, he needs to believe."
A quick spattering of rain rattled across the junkyard, pinging off the crushed metal cars.
"But is he right?" Josh asked quickly, ducking as big drops of rain hit the side of the metal hut. He reached out and grabbed the man's arm, and instantly his aura flared bright brilliant orange, while a pale yellow aura outlined the man's body. Orange and lemon mingled, and while the results should have been pleasant, the two odors were sour and tainted by Shakespeare's unwashed smell.
Dee, younger, his face unlined, hair and beard dark, staring into an enormous crystal, a young wide-eyed William Shakespeare by his side.
Images in the crystal…
Lush green fields…
Orchards laden down with fruit…
Seas churning with fish…
"Wait-you think Dee should bring the Elders back to this world?"
William Shakespeare started for the stairs. "Yes," he said, without turning around. "My own research has led me to believe it may be the right decision."
"Why?" the twins demanded.
The Bard rounded on them. "Most of the Elders have abandoned this world. The Next Generation toy with humani and use the earth as both a playground and a battleground, but the most dangerous of all are we humani. We are destroying this world. I believe we need the Dark Elders to return so that they can save the earth from our destruction."
Stunned, the twins looked at one another, completely confused now. Josh spoke first. "But Nicholas said the Dark Elders want humans as food."
"Some do. But not all Elders eat flesh; some feed off memories and emotions. It seems a small price to pay for a paradise without famine, without disease."
"Why do we need the Dark Elders?" Sophie asked. "Between the Alchemyst and Dee and the others like them, surely they must possess enough power and knowledge to save the world?"
"I do not believe so."
"But Dee is powerful…," Josh began.
"You cannot ask me anything about Dee; I have no answers."
"You spent twenty years with him; you must know him better than anyone on this earth," Sophie protested.
"No one truly knows the Magician. I loved him like a father, like an older brother. He was all that I admired, all that I wanted to be." A single tear suddenly appeared under the immortal's thick glasses and rolled down his cheek. "And then he betrayed me and killed my son." n the catacombs deep beneath the city of Paris, Dr. John Dee fastidiously brushed dust off the arm of his suit, tugged at his cuffs and straightened his bow tie. He snapped his fingers and a sulfurous yellow ball blossomed before him, bobbing at head height. It exuded the smell of rotten eggs, but its stench was so familiar that Dee no longer even registered the foul odor. Dirty yellow light splashed across two arching columns of polished bones that had been shaped to resemble a doorframe. Beyond the opening there was utter blackness.
Dee stepped into the underground chamber to face a frozen god.
In his long lifetime the Magician had experienced wonders. He had come to accept the extraordinary
as ordinary, the strange and wonderful as commonplace. Dee had seen the legends of the Arabian Nights come to life, had fought with monsters from Greek and Babylonian myth, had traveled through realms that people believed were lies created by the travelers Marco Polo and Ibn Battutah. He knew that the myths of the Celts and the Romans, the Gauls and the Mongols, the Rus, the Viking and even the Maya, were more than stories-they were based on fact. The gods of Greece and Egypt, the spirits of the American plains, the jungle totems and the Japanese Myo-o had once lived. Now they were remembered as little more than fragments of myths and snatches of legend, but John Dee knew that they had once walked this earth. They were part of an Elder race who had ruled the world for millennia.
One of the greatest of the Elders was Mars… and less than twenty-four hours earlier, Dee had encased him in a tomb of solid bone.
The Magician stepped into a vast but low-ceilinged circular chamber, the floating light painting everything sallow, the color of pale butter, and looked around the chamber. Although he'd known about its location for decades, he'd never had a reason to venture down to face the Sleeping God before, and everything had happened so quickly yesterday that he hadn't had a chance to examine the sepulchre. He ran his hand down a section of the smooth wall beside the door, the scientist within him recognizing the materials: collagen fiber and calcium phosphate. The walls here were not stone-they were bone. Dee spotted two indentations against the far wall. Between them were two dimpled depressions, and suddenly he knew what he was seeing and realized where he was. He was looking at a set of eyes and a nose. The chamber had not been hollowed from a single piece of bone, as he'd thought-he was inside an enormous skull. Terrifyingly, the skull looked almost human. Dee felt a shiver run down his spine; he'd never encountered them, but he'd heard stories of Shadow-realms inhabited by cannibal giants. Yesterday, the walls had been smooth and polished; today they looked like a candle that had been left too close to a fire. Long-frozen stalactites of bone dripped like sticky toffee from the ceiling; huge bubbles had been caught and frozen as they popped; dribbles and streams of thick liquid curled in ornate patterns.
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