Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2 Read online

  She felt her stomach flip-flop, and suddenly this didn't seem like such a

  good idea anymore. Why would you say that?

  Well, the chances of coming across another person whose magical abilities

  have been Awakened are very slight, and those of finding someone with as pure

  an aura as yours, next to impossible. A silver aura is incredibly rare. Joan

  was the last humani to have one, and she was born in 1412. You are very

  special indeed, Sophie Newman.

  Sophie swallowed hard; she wasn't feeling very special.

  Saint-Germain sat down on a simple wooden bench set back against the chimney

  breast. Sit here beside me, and I ll tell you what I know.

  Sophie sat beside the Comte de Saint-Germain and looked across the roof, out

  over the city. Memories that were not hers flickered at the edge of her

  consciousness, hinting at a city with a different skyline, a city of low

  buildings clustered around a massive fortress, thousands of smoke trails

  rising into the night. She deliberately shied away from the thoughts,

  realizing she was seeing Paris as the Witch of Endor remembered it, sometime

  in the past.

  Saint-Germain shifted to look at the girl. Give me your hand, he said

  softly. Sophie put her right hand in his, and immediately a feeling of warmth

  coursed through her body, wiping out the chill. Let me tell you what my own

  teacher taught me about fire. As he was speaking, the count moved his

  glowing index finger across the girl s palm, following the lines and ridges

  in the flesh, tracing a pattern on her skin. My teacher said that there are

  those who will say that the Magic of Air or Water or even Earth is the most

  powerful magic of all. They are wrong. The Magic of Fire surpasses all

  others.

  As he was speaking, the air directly in front of them began to glow, then

  shimmer. As if through a heat haze, Sophie watched the smoke twist and dance

  with the count s words, creating images, symbols, pictures. She wanted to

  reach out and touch them, but she remained still. Then the rooftop faded and

  Paris vanished; the only sound she could hear was Saint-Germain s softly

  insistent voice, and all she could see were the burning cinders. But as he

  spoke, images started to form in the fire.

  Fire consumes air. It can heat water to mist and can crack open the earth.

  She watched as a volcano spewed molten rock high into the air. Red-black lava

  and white-hot cinders rained down on a town of mud and stone .

  Fire destroys, but it also creates. A forest needs fire to thrive. Certain

  seeds depend on it to germinate.

  Flames twisted like leaves and Sophie saw a forest blackened and battered,

  the trees scarred with the evidence of a terrible fire. But at the base of

  the trees, brilliant green shoots poked through the cinders .

  In ages past, fire warmed the humani, allowed them to survive in harsh

  climates.

  The fire revealed a desolate landscape, rocky and snow-covered, but she could

  see that the cave-dotted cliff face was lit up with warm yellow-red flames .

  There was a sudden crack and a pencil-thin finger of flame shot up into the

  night sky. She craned her neck, following it up, up, up, until it disappeared

  amongst the stars.

  This is the Magic of Fire.

  Sophie nodded. Her skin tingled and she looked down to see tiny yellow-green

  flames curl off Saint-Germain s fingers. They flickered across her skin,

  coiling around her wrist, feather-soft and cool, leaving faint black traces

  on her flesh. I know how important fire is. My mother is an archaeologist,

  she said dreamily. She told me once that man didn't begin on the road to

  civilization until he started cooking his meat.

  Saint-Germain flashed a smile. You have Prometheus and the Witch to thank

  for that. They brought fire to the first primitive humani. Cooking made it

  easier for mankind to digest the meat they hunted, allowed them to absorb the

  nutrients more easily. It kept them warm and safe in their caves, and

  Prometheus showed them how to use the same fire to harden their tools and

  weapons. The count gripped Sophie s wrist with his hand, holding it as if he

  were taking her pulse. Fire has driven every great civilization, from the

  ancient world right up to the present day. Without the heat of the sun, this

  planet would be nothing more than rock and ice.

  As he was speaking, images crackled into existence before Sophie s face

  again, formed from smoke drifting off his hands. They hung undulating in the

  still air.

  A gray-brown planet turning in space, a single moon spinning around it.

  There were no white clouds, no blue water, no green continents or golden

  deserts. Only gray. And the faintest outlines of land masses cut into the

  solid rock. Sophie abruptly realized that she was looking at the earth,

  perhaps far, far in the future. She gasped in shock and her breath blew the

  smoke away, taking the image with it.

  The Magic of Fire is strongest in sunlight. Saint-Germain moved his right

  hand and traced a symbol with his index finger. It hung glowing in the air, a

  circle with spikes radiating from it like a sunburst. The count blew on it

  and it dissolved into sparkles. Without fire, we are nothing.

  Saint-Germain s left hand was now completely wrapped in flame, but he still

  clutched Sophie s wrist. Red-white ribbons of fire curled around the girl s

  fingers and puddled in the palm of her hand. Each finger burned like a

  miniature candle red, yellow, green, blue and white yet she felt no pain and

  no fear.

  Fire can heal; it can seal a wound, can cut out disease, Saint-Germain

  continued earnestly. Golden cinders of fire burned in his pale blue eyes. It

  is unlike any other magic, because it is the only one directly linked to the

  purity and strength of your aura. Almost anyone can learn the basics of

  Earth, Air or Water magic. Spells and incantations can be memorized and

  written down in books, but the power to ignite fire comes from within. The

  purer the aura, the stronger the fire, and that means, Sophie, that you must

  be very careful, because your aura is so pure. When you unleash the Magic of

  Fire, it will be incredibly potent. Has Flamel warned you not to overuse your

  powers, lest you burst into flame?

  Scatty told me what might happen, Sophie said.

  Saint-Germain nodded. Never create fire when you are tired or weakened. If

  you lose control of this element, it will snap back on you and burn you to a

  crisp in a heartbeat.

  A solid ball of flame now burned steadily in Sophie s right hand. She became

  aware that her left hand was tingling and quickly lifted it off the bench. It

  left the smoking, blackened impression of a hand burned into the wood. With a

  dull pop, a puddle of blue flame appeared in her left hand and each finger

  sparked alight.

  Why can t I feel it? Sophie wondered aloud.

  You are protected by your aura, Saint-Germain explained. You can shape the

  fire, in the same way that Joan showed you how to shape your aura into silver

  objects. You can create globes and spears of fire. He snapped his fingers

  and a scattering of thick round sparks bounced across the roof.
He then

  pointed his index finger and a little jagged spearlike flame darted toward

  the nearest spark, striking it with deadly accuracy. When you are in full

  control of your powers, you will be able to draw upon the Magic of Fire at

  will, but until then you will need a trigger.

  A trigger?

  Normally it would take hours of meditation to focus your aura to the point

  at which you could bring it alight. But sometime in the very distant past,

  someone discovered how to create a trigger. A shortcut. you've seen my

  butterflies?

  Sophie nodded, remembering the dozens of tiny tattooed butterflies that

  wrapped around the count s wrists and coiled up his arm.

  They are my trigger. Saint-Germain lifted the girl s hands. And now you

  have yours.

  Sophie looked down at her hands. The fire had gone out, leaving black sooty

  streaks on her flesh and around her wrists. She brushed her hands together,

  but succeeded only in smearing the dust.

  Allow me. Saint-Germain lifted a watering can and shook it. Liquid sloshed

  inside. Hold out your hands. He poured water over her palms it sizzled as

  it touched her flesh washing away the black streaks. The count pulled a

  spotless white handkerchief from his back pocket, dipped it into the watering

  can and carefully wiped off the remainder of the soot. But around her right

  wrist, where Saint-Germain had held it, the soot refused to wash away. A

  thick black band encircled her wrist like a bracelet.

  Saint-Germain snapped his fingers and his index and little finger lit up. He

  brought the light close to Sophie s hand.

  She looked down to discover that a tattoo was burned into her skin.

  Silently lifting her arm, she twisted her wrist to examine the ornate band

  twisted around it. Two strands, gold and silver, entwined and curled around

  one another to form an intricate, almost Celtic-looking pattern. On the

  underside of her wrist, where Saint-Germain had pressed his thumb, was a

  perfect gold circle with a red dot in the center.

  When you wish to trigger the Magic of Fire, press your thumb against the

  circle and focus your aura, Saint-Germain explained. That will bring the

  fire alive instantly.

  And that s it? Sophie asked, sounding surprised. That s all?

  Saint-Germain nodded. That s it. Why, what were you expecting?

  Sophie shook her head. I don't know, but when the Witch of Endor taught me

  Air magic, she wrapped me in bandages like a mummy.

  Saint-Germain smiled shyly. Well, I m not the Witch of Endor, of course.

  Joan tells me the Witch imbued you with all of her memories and knowledge.

  I've no idea why she did that; it certainly wasn't necessary. But no doubt

  she had her reasons. Besides, I don't know how to do that and I m not sure

  I'd want you knowing all my thoughts and memories, he added with a grin.

  Some of them are not very nice.

  Sophie smiled. I m relieved another batch of memories wouldn't be that great

  to deal with. Holding up her hand, she pressed the circle on her wrist and

  her little finger smoked; then the nail glowed dull orange for a moment

  before it popped alight with a slender, wavering flame. How did you know

  what to do?

  Well, I was first and foremost an alchemist. I suppose you d call me a

  scientist today. When Nicholas asked me to train you in the Magic of Fire,

  I'd no idea how to do it, so I just approached this like any other

  experiment.

  An experiment? Sophie blinked. Could it have gone wrong?

  The real danger was that it simply would not have worked.

  Thank you, she said finally, and then she grinned. I was expecting the

  process to be a lot more dramatic. I m really glad it was so she paused,

  looking for the right word ordinary.

  Well, maybe not that ordinary. It s not every day you learn how to master

  fire. How about extraordinary? Saint-Germain suggested.

  Well, that too.

  That s all. Oh, there are tricks I can and will teach you. Tomorrow, I ll

  show you how to create globes, donuts and rings of fire. But once you have

  the trigger, you can call upon fire at any time.

  But do I need to say anything? Sophie asked. Do I need to learn any

  words?

  Like what?

  Well, when you lit up the Eiffel Tower, you said something that sounded like

  eggness.

  Ignis, the count said. Latin for fire. No, you don't need to say

  anything.

  Why did you do it, then?

  Saint-Germain grinned. I just thought it sounded cool.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  P erenelle Flamel was puzzled.

  Creeping along the dimly lit corridors, she d discovered that all the lower

  cells of the island prison were filled with creatures from the darker edges

  of myth. The Sorceress had encountered a dozen different vampire breeds and

  various werebeasts, as well as boggarts, trolls and cluricauns. One cell held

  nothing but a sleeping child minotaur, while in the cell opposite, two

  cannibal Windigo lay unconscious alongside a trio of oni. An entire corridor

  of cells was given over to dragon-kin, wyverns and firedrakes.

  Perenelle didn't think they were prisoners none of the cells were locked yet

  they were all asleep, and they were secured behind the shining silver

  spider s web. Still, she wasn't sure whether that was to keep the creatures

  prisoners or keep them apart. None of the creatures she d discovered were

  allies. She passed one cell where the web hung in ragged tatters. The cell

  was empty, but the web and floor were clogged with bones, none of them even

  vaguely human.

  These were creatures from a dozen lands and as many mythologies. Some like

  the Windigo she had only heard of, but at least they were native to the

  American continent. Others, as far as she knew, had never traveled to the New

  World and had remained safe and secure in their homelands or in Shadowrealms

  that bordered those lands. Japanese oni should not coexist alongside Celtic

  peists.

  There was something terribly wrong here.

  Perenelle rounded a corner and felt a breeze ruffle her hair. She turned her

  face to it, nostrils flaring, smelling salt and seaweed. With a quick glance

  over her shoulder, she hurried down the corridor.

  Dee had to be collecting these creatures, had to be gathering them together,

  but why? And more importantly, how? Capturing a single vetala was unheard of,

  but a dozen? And how had they managed to get a baby minotaur away from its

  mother? Even Scathach, as fearless and deadly as she was, would never face

  down one of the bull-headed race if she could help it.

  Perenelle came to a flight of steps. The smell of salt air was stronger now,

  the breeze cooler, but she hesitated before putting her foot down and bent to

  check the stair for silver strands. There were none. She still hadn't spotted

  whatever had spun the webs that festooned the lower cells, and it was making

  her incredibly nervous. It suggested that the web creators were probably

  sleeping which meant that they would wake up sooner or later. When they did,

  the entire prison would be swarming with spiders or maybe worse and she

  didn't want to be out in the ope
n when that happened.

  A little of her power had returned certainly enough to defend herself, though

  the moment she used her magic, it would draw the sphinx to her and

  simultaneously weaken and age her. Perenelle knew she would only get one

  chance to face down the creature, and she wanted needed to be as powerful as

  possible for that encounter. Darting up the creaking metal stairs, she

  stopped at the rust-eaten door. Pushing back her hair, she placed her ear

  against the corroded metal. All she could hear was the dull pounding of the

  sea as it continued to eat away at the island. Gripping the handle in both

  hands, she gently bore down on it and pushed the door open, gritting her

  teeth as old hinges squeaked and squalled, the sound echoing through the

  corridors.

  Perenelle stepped out into a broad courtyard surrounded by ruined and tumbled

  buildings. To the right the sun was sinking in the west, and it painted the

  stones in a warm orange light. With a sigh of relief, she spread her arms

  wide, turned her face to the sun, threw her head back and closed her eyes.

  Static crackled and ran along the length of her black hair, lifting it off

  her shoulders as her aura immediately began to recharge. The wind whipping in

  off the bay was cool, and she breathed deeply, ridding her lungs of the

  stench of rot, mildew and the monsters below.

  And then she suddenly realized what all the creatures in the cells had in

  common: they were monsters.

  Where were the gentler spirits, the sprites and fey, the huldra and the

  rusalka, the elves and the inari? Dee had only gathered the hunters, the

  predators: the Magician was assembling an army of monsters.

  A savage howling shriek ripped through the island, vibrating the very stones

  beneath her feet. Sorceress!

  The sphinx had discovered Perenelle was missing.

  Where are you, Sorceress? The fresh sea air was suddenly tainted with the

  stink of the sphinx.

  Perenelle was turning back to close the door when she spotted movement in the

  shadows below. She d looked into the sun too long, and the golden ball had

  left burning afterimages on her retina. She squeezed her eyes shut for a

  moment; then she opened them again to peer into the gloom.

  The shadows were moving, flowing down the walls, gathering at the bottom of

  the steps.

  Perenelle shook her head. These were no shadows. This was a mass of