The Magician Page 5

  “It might work…,” Flamel began. “I just need to know the name of the newspaper.”

  “Ojai Valley News, 646-1476,” Sophie said immediately. “I remember that much…or the Witch does,” she added, and then shuddered. There were so many memories in her head, so many thoughts and ideas…and not just the terrifying and fantastic images of people and places that should never have existed, but also ordinary mundane thoughts: phone numbers and recipes, names and addresses of people she’d never heard of, pictures from old TV shows, posters from movies. She even knew the name of every single Elvis Presley song.

  But all of these were the Witch’s memories. And right now, she had to struggle to remember her own cell phone number. What would happen if the Witch’s memories grew so strong that they overwhelmed her own? She tried to focus on the faces of her parents, Richard and Sara. Hundreds of faces flickered past, images of figures carved in stone, the heads of giant statues, paintings daubed onto the sides of buildings, tiny shapes etched in shards of pottery. Sophie started to get frantic. Why couldn’t she remember her parents’ faces? Closing her eyes, she concentrated hard on the last time she had seen her mother and father. It would have been about three weeks ago, just before they had left for the dig in Utah. More faces tumbled behind Sophie’s closed eyes: images on scraps of parchment, fragments of manuscripts or cracked oil paintings; faces in faded sepia photographs, in blurred newspapers…

  “Sophie?”

  And then, in a flash of color, the faces of her parents popped into her head, and Sophie felt the Witch’s memories fade away and her own come back to the surface. She suddenly knew her own phone number.

  “Sis?”

  She opened her eyes and blinked at her brother. He was standing directly in front of her, his face close to hers, his eyes pinched with concern.

  “I’m OK,” she whispered. “I was just trying to remember something.”

  “What?”

  She attempted a smile. “My phone number.”

  “Your phone number? Why?” He stopped, and then added, “No one ever remembers their own phone number. When was the last time you called yourself?”

  Hands wrapped around steaming mugs of bittersweet hot chocolate, Sophie and Josh sat opposite one another in an otherwise empty all-night café close to the Gare du Nord Metro station. There was only one staff member behind the counter, a surly shaven-headed assistant wearing an upside-down name tag that said ROUX.

  “I need a shower,” Sophie said grimly. “I need to wash my hair and brush my teeth, and I need to change my clothes. It feels like days since my last shower.”

  “I think it is days. You look terrible,” Josh agreed. He reached over and pulled loose a strand of blond hair that had stuck to his sister’s cheek.

  “I feel terrible,” Sophie whispered. “Remember that time last summer when we were in Long Beach and I had all that ice cream, then ate the chili dog and the curly fries and had the extra-large root beer?”

  Josh grinned. “And you finished off my buffalo wings. And my ice cream!”

  Sophie smiled at the memory, but her grin quickly faded. Although the temperature that day had risen into the hundreds, she’d started shivering, icy beads of sweat running down her back as a ball of iron settled into the pit of her stomach. Luckily, she hadn’t fastened her seat belt before she’d thrown up, but the results had still been spectacularly messy, and the car had been unusable for at least a week afterward. “That’s how I feel right now: cold, shivery, aching all over.”

  “Well, try not to throw up in here,” Josh murmured. “I don’t think Roux, our cheerful server, would be too impressed.”

  Roux had worked in the café for four years, and in that time he had been robbed twice and threatened often but never hurt. The all-night café saw all sorts of strange and often dangerous characters come through the doors, and Roux decided that this unusual quartet certainly qualified as the first sort and maybe even both. The two teenagers were dirty and smelly and looked terrified and exhausted. The older man—maybe the kids’ grandfather, Roux thought—was not in much better shape. Only the fourth member of the group—the red-haired, green-eyed young woman wearing a black top, black trousers and chunky combat boots—looked bright and alert. He wondered what her relationship was to the others; she certainly didn’t look as if she was related to any of them, but the boy and girl were alike enough to be twins.

  Roux had hesitated when the old man had produced a credit card to pay for the two hot chocolates. People usually paid cash for something so small, and he wondered if the card was stolen. “I’ve run out of euros,” the old man said with a smile. “Could you ring up twenty and give me some cash?” Roux thought he spoke French with a peculiar, old-fashioned, almost formal lilt.

  “It is strictly against our policy…,” Roux began, but another look at the hard-eyed red-haired girl made him reconsider. He attempted a smile at her as he said, “Sure, I think I can do that.” If the card had been reported stolen, it wouldn’t scan in the machine anyway.

  “I would be very grateful.” The man smiled. “And could you give me some coins?”

  Roux rang up eight euro for the two hot chocolates and swiped the Visa for twenty euro. He was surprised that it was an American credit card; he would have sworn by his accent that the man was French. There was a delay and then the card went through, and he deducted the cost of the two drinks and handed over the change in one- and two-euro coins. Roux went back to the math textbook hidden under the counter. He’d been wrong about the group. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. They were probably visitors just off one of the early-morning trains; they were nothing out of the ordinary.

  Well, maybe not all of them. Keeping his head down, he raised his eyes to look at the red-haired young woman. She was standing with her back to him, talking to the old man. And then she slowly and deliberately turned to look at him. She smiled, the merest curl of her lips, and Roux suddenly found his textbook very interesting.

  Flamel stood at the café counter and looked at Scathach. “I want you to stay here,” he said softly, slipping from French into Latin. His eyes flickered to where the twins sat drinking their hot chocolate. “Watch over them. I’ll go find a phone.”

  The Shadow nodded. “Be careful. If anything happens and we get separated, let’s meet back in Montmartre. Machiavelli will never expect us to double back. We’ll wait outside one of the restaurants—maybe La Maison Rose—for five minutes at the top of every hour.”

  “Agreed. But if I’m not back by noon,” he continued very softly, “I want you to take the twins and leave.”

  “I will not abandon you,” Scathach said evenly.

  “If I don’t come back, it’s because Machiavelli has me,” the Alchemyst said seriously. “Scathach, even you would not be able to rescue me from his army.”

  “I’ve faced down armies before.”

  Flamel reached out and laid his hand on the Warrior’s shoulder. “The twins are our priority now. They must be protected at all cost. Continue Sophie’s training; find someone to Awaken Josh and train him. And rescue my dear Perenelle, if you can. And if I die, tell her my ghost will find her,” he added. Then, before she could say anything else, he turned and strode out into the chilly predawn air.

  “Hurry back…,” Scatty whispered, but Flamel had gone. If he was captured, she decided, no matter what he said, she was going to tear this city apart until she found him. Taking a deep breath, she looked over her shoulder and found the shaven-headed assistant staring at her. There was a spiderweb tattooed onto the side of his neck, and the entire length of both of his ears was pierced with at least a dozen little studs. She wondered how painful that had been. She’d always wanted pierced ears, but her flesh simply healed too quickly, and she’d no sooner had the piercing done than the hole closed up.

  “Something to drink?” Roux asked, smiling nervously, a metal ball visible in his tongue.

  “Water,” Scatty said.

  “Sure.
Perrier?”

  “Tap. No ice,” she added, and turned away to join the twins at the table. She spun a chair around and straddled it, leaning her forearms across the top of the chair and resting her chin on her arms.

  “Nicholas has gone to try and get in touch with my grandmother to see if she knows anyone here. I’m not sure what we’re going to do if he cannot get through.”

  “Why?” Sophie asked.

  Scatty shook her head. “We’ve got to get off the streets. We were lucky to get away from Sacré-Coeur before the police threw up a cordon around it. No doubt they have found that stunned officer by now, so their search will have moved outward, and the patrols will have our descriptions. It’s only a matter of time before we’re spotted.”

  “What will happen then?” Josh wondered aloud.

  Scathach’s smile was terrifying. “Then they’ll see why I am called the Warrior.”

  “But what happens if we’re caught?” Josh persisted. He still found the idea of being hunted by the police nearly incomprehensible. It was almost easier to imagine being hunted by mythical creatures or immortal humans. “What would happen to us?”

  “You would be turned over to Machiavelli. The Dark Elders would consider you pair quite a prize.”

  “What…” Sophie looked quickly at her brother. “What would they do to us?”

  “You really don’t want to know,” Scathach said sincerely, “but trust me when I tell you that it would not be pleasant.”

  “And what about you?” Josh asked.

  “I have no friends amongst the Dark Elders,” Scathach said softly. “I’ve been their enemy for over two and a half thousand years. I would imagine they have a very special Shadowrealm prison prepared for me. Something cold and wet. They know I hate that.” She smiled, the tips of her teeth pressing against her lips. “But they haven’t got us yet,” she said lightly, “and they’ll not get us easily.” She turned to squint at Sophie. “You look terrible.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Sophie said, wrapping both hands around the steaming mug of chocolate and bringing it to her lips. She breathed deeply. She could smell every subtlety in the rich aroma of cocoa and felt her stomach rumble, reminding her that it had been a long time since they had eaten. The hot chocolate tasted bitter on her tongue, eye-wateringly strong, and she remembered reading somewhere that European chocolate had a greater cocoa content than the American chocolate she had grown up with.

  Scatty leaned forward and dropped her voice. “You need to give yourselves time to recuperate from all the stresses you’ve been through. Traveling from one side of the world to the other via a leygate takes its toll—it feels like massive jet lag, I’m told.”

  “And I guess you don’t get jet lag?” Josh muttered. There was a joke in the family that he could get jet lag on a car trip from one state to the next.

  Scatty shook her head. “No, I don’t get jet lag. I don’t fly,” she explained. “You’d never get me up in one of those things. Only creatures with flapping wings are meant to be in the skies. Though I did ride a lung once.”

  “A lung?” Josh asked, confused.

  “Ying lung, a Chinese dragon,” Sophie said.

  Scathach turned to look at the girl. “Calling up the fog must have burned through a lot of your aura’s energy. It’s important that you not use your power again for as long as possible.”

  The trio sat back as Roux came out from behind the counter with a tall glass of water. He placed it on the edge of the table, attempted a nervous smile at Scatty and then backed away.

  “I think he likes you,” Sophie said with a weak grin.

  Scatty turned to glare at the assistant again, but the twins saw her lips twist in a smile. “He’s got piercings,” she said, loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t like boys with piercings.”

  Both girls smiled as the back of Roux’s neck flared bright red.

  “Why is it important that Sophie not use her powers?” Josh asked, bringing the conversation back to Scatty’s earlier comment. An alarm had gone off at the back of his mind.

  Scathach leaned forward across the table, and both Sophie and Josh moved in to hear her. “Once a person uses all their natural auric energy, then the power starts to feed off their flesh for its fuel.”

  “What happens then?” Sophie asked.

  “Have you ever heard of spontaneous human combustion?”

  Sophie’s expression was blank, but Josh nodded. “I have. People just bursting into flames for no reason: it’s an urban legend.”

  Scatty shook her head. “It’s no legend. Many cases have been recorded throughout history,” she said evenly. “I’ve even witnessed a couple myself. It can happen in a heartbeat, and the fire, which usually starts in the stomach and lungs, burns so fiercely that it leaves little more than ash behind. You have to be careful now, Sophie: in fact, I’d like you to promise me not to use your power again today, no matter what happens.”

  “And Flamel knew this,” Josh said quickly, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

  “Of course,” Scatty said evenly.

  “And he didn’t think it was worth telling us?” Josh snapped. Roux looked over at the raised voice, and Josh took a deep breath and continued in a hoarse whisper. “What else isn’t he telling us?” he demanded. “What else comes with this gift?” He almost spat out the last word.

  “Everything has happened so fast, Josh,” Scatty said. “There simply hasn’t been time to train or instruct you properly. But I want you to remember that Nicholas has your best interests at heart. He is trying to keep you safe.”

  “We were safe until we met him,” Josh said.

  The skin tightened across Scatty’s cheekbones and the muscles in her neck and shoulders twitched. Something dark and ugly flickered behind her green eyes.

  Sophie reached out and put a hand on both Scatty’s and Josh’s arms. “Enough,” she said tiredly. “We shouldn’t fight with each other.”

  Josh was about to respond, but the look on his sister’s exhausted face scared him, and he nodded. “OK. For now,” he added.

  Scatty nodded too. “Sophie is correct.” She turned to look at Josh. “It is unfortunate that everything has fallen on Sophie at the moment. It’s a pity your powers weren’t Awakened.”

  “You’re not half as sorry as I am,” he said, unable to keep the note of bitterness from his voice. Despite all that he had seen, and even knowing the dangers, he wanted the powers his twin had. “It’s not too late, though, is it?” he asked quickly.

  Scatty shook her head. “You can be Awakened at any time, but I don’t know who would have the power to Awaken you. It needs to be done by an Elder, and there are only a handful with that particular skill.”

  “Like who?” he demanded, looking at Scathach, but it was his sister who answered, dreamily.

  “In America, Black Annis or Persephone could do it.”

  Josh and Scatty turned to look at her.

  Sophie blinked in surprise. “I know the names, but I don’t even know who they are.” Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “I have all these memories…that aren’t even mine.”

  Josh took his sister’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  “They are all the Witch of Endor’s memories,” Scathach said softly. “And be glad you don’t know who Black Annis or Persephone is. Especially Black Annis,” she added grimly. “I’m surprised that if my grandmother knew where she was, she let her live.”

  “She’s in the Catskills,” Sophie began, but Scathach reached over and pinched the back of her hand. “Ouch!”

  “I just wanted to distract you,” Scathach explained. “Don’t even think about Black Annis. There are some names that should never be spoken aloud.”

  “That’s like saying don’t think of elephants,” Josh said, “and then all you can think of are elephants.”

  “Then let me give you something else to think about,” Scathach said softly. “There are two police officers in the window staring at us. Don’t look,�
�� she added urgently.

  Too late. Josh turned to look, and whatever expression crossed his face—shock, horror, guilt or fear—brought both officers racing into the café, one pulling his automatic from its holster, the other speaking urgently into his radio as he drew his baton.

  CHAPTER NINE

  With hands pushed deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, still wearing his none-too-clean black jeans and scuffed cowboy boots, Nicholas Flamel didn’t look out of place with either the early-morning workers or the homeless beginning to appear on the streets of Paris. The gendarmes gathered in small groups on the corners were talking urgently together or listening to their radios and didn’t even give him a second glance.

  This wasn’t the first time he had been hunted in these streets, but it was the first time without allies and friends to help him. He and Perenelle had returned to their home city at the end of the Seven Years’ War in 1763. An old friend needed their help, and the Flamels never refused a friend. Unfortunately, however, Dee had discovered their whereabouts and had chased them through the streets with an army of black-clad assassins, none of whom was entirely human.

  They had escaped then. Escaping now might not be so easy. Paris had changed utterly. When Baron Haussmann had redesigned Paris in the nineteenth century, he had destroyed a huge portion of the medieval section of the city, the city Flamel was so familiar with. All the Alchemyst’s hiding places and safe houses, the secret vaults and hidden attics, were gone. He had once known every street and alley, each twisting lane and hidden courtyard of Paris; now he knew as much as the average tourist.

  And at that moment, not only did he have Machiavelli chasing them, the entire French police force was also on the lookout for them. And Dee was on his way. Dee, as Flamel well knew, was capable of just about anything.

  Nicholas breathed in the cool predawn Parisian air and glanced at the cheap digital watch he wore on his left wrist. It was still set to Pacific time, where it was now twenty minutes past eight in the evening, which meant—he did a quick calculation in his head—that it was five-twenty a.m. in Paris. He thought briefly about resetting the watch to Greenwich Mean Time, but quickly decided against it. A couple of months ago, when he’d tried resetting the watch for daylight savings, it had started madly blipping and flashing. He’d worked on it for over an hour without any success; it had taken Perenelle thirty seconds to fix it. He only wore it because it came with a countdown timer. Every month, when he and Perenelle created a new batch of the immortality potion, he reset the counter to 720 hours and allowed it to count down to zero. With the passing of years, they had discovered that the potion was timed to a lunar cycle and lasted roughly thirty days. Over the course of the month, they would age slowly, almost imperceptibly, but once they drank the potion, the effects of the aging process would quickly reverse—hair would darken, wrinkles soften and disappear, aching joints and stiff muscles become supple again, eyesight and hearing sharpen.