Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2 Page 8

On the other side of the Atlantic, Niccol Machiavelli remained calm and

  controlled, only the tightening of his jaw muscles revealing his anger. You

  are remarkably well informed.

  I have my sources, Dee snapped, his thin lips twisting into an ugly smile.

  He knew it would drive Machiavelli crazy knowing there was a spy in his camp.

  You had them trapped in Ojai, I understand, Machiavelli continued softly,

  surrounded by an army of the risen dead. And yet they escaped. How could you

  let them do that?

  Dee sat back in the soft leather seat of the speeding limousine. His face was

  lit only by the screen of his cell phone, its glow touching his cheekbones

  and outlining his sharp goatee in cold light, leaving his eyes in shadow. He

  hadn't told Machiavelli that he d used necromancy to raise an army of dead

  humans and beasts. Was this the Italian s subtle way of letting him know that

  he had a spy in Dee s camp?

  Where are you now? Machiavelli asked.

  Dee glanced out the window of the limousine, trying to read the road signs

  flashing past. Somewhere on the 101, heading down to L.A. My jet is fueled

  and ready to go, and we re cleared for takeoff as soon as I arrive.

  I would anticipate having them in custody before you land in Paris,

  Machiavelli said. The line crackled furiously, and he paused before adding,

  I believe they will attempt to contact Saint-Germain.

  Dee sat bolt upright. The Comte de Saint-Germain? He s back in Paris? I

  heard he had died in India looking for the lost city of Ophir.

  Obviously not. He has an apartment off the Champs-Elys es and two homes in

  the suburbs that we are aware of. They are all under observation. If Flamel

  contacts him, we ll know.

  don't let them escape this time, Dee barked. Our masters would not be

  pleased. He snapped the phone shut before Machiavelli could respond. Then

  his teeth flashed in a quick smile. The net was closing tighter and tighter.

  He can be so childish, Machiavelli muttered in Italian. Always has to have

  the last word. Standing in the ruins of the coffee shop, he carefully closed

  his phone and looked around at the devastation. It was as if a tornado had

  ripped through the caf . Every item of furniture was broken, the windows were

  shattered, and there were even cracks in the ceiling. The powdery remains of

  cups and saucers mixed with spilled coffee beans, scattered tea leaves and

  broken pastries on the floor. Machiavelli bent to lift up a fork. It was

  curled in a perfect S shape. Tossing it aside, he picked his way through the

  debris. Scathach had single-handedly defeated twelve highly trained and

  heavily armed RAID officers. He had been vaguely hoping that perhaps she had

  lost some of her martial arts skills in the years since he had last

  encountered her, but it seemed that his hope had been in vain. The Shadow was

  as deadly as ever. Getting close to Flamel and the children would be

  difficult with the Warrior in the picture. In his long life, Niccol had

  encountered her on at least half a dozen occasions, and he d barely survived

  each time. They d last met in the frozen ruins of Stalingrad in the winter of

  1942. If it hadn't been for her, his forces would have taken the city. He d

  sworn then that he would kill her: maybe now was the time to keep that

  promise.

  But how to kill the unkillable? What could stand against the warrior who had

  trained all of history s greatest heroes, who had fought in every great

  conflict and whose fighting style was at the heart of just about every

  martial art?

  Stepping out of the demolished shop, Machiavelli breathed deeply, clearing

  his lungs of the bitter, acrid odor of spilled coffee and sour milk that hung

  in the air. Dagon pulled open the car door as he approached, and the Italian

  saw himself reflected in his driver s dark glasses. He paused before stepping

  into the car and glanced up at the police closing off the streets, the

  heavily armed riot squad gathering in small groups and the plain clothes

  officers in their unmarked cars. The French secret service were his to

  command, he could order in the police, and he had access to a private army of

  hundreds of men and women who would do his bidding without question. And yet

  he knew that none of them could stand against the Warrior. He came to a

  decision and looked at Dagon before climbing into the car.

  Find the Disir.

  Dagon stiffened, showing a rare sign of emotion. Is that wise? he asked.

  It is necessary.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  T he Witch said we should get to the Eiffel Tower by seven, and to wait

  there for ten minutes, Nicholas Flamel said as they hurried down the narrow

  alley. If no one shows up in that time, we are to return there at eight and

  again at nine.

  Who ll be there? Sophie asked, jogging to keep up with Flamel s long

  stride. She was exhausted, and the few moments sitting in the caf had only

  served to emphasize just how tired she was. Her legs felt leaden and there

  was a sharp stitch in her left side.

  The Alchemyst shrugged. I don't know. Whoever the Witch can contact.

  That s assuming there is anyone in Paris willing to risk helping you,

  Scathach said lightly. You are a dangerous enemy, Nicholas, and probably an

  even more dangerous friend. Death and destruction have always followed

  closely at your heels.

  Josh glanced sidelong at his sister, knowing she was listening. She

  deliberately looked away, but he knew she was uncomfortable with the

  conversation.

  Well, if no one turns up, Flamel said, then we ll go to plan B.

  Scathach s lips curled into a humorless smile. I didn't even know we had a

  plan A. What s plan B?

  I haven t gotten that far yet. He grinned. Then the smile faded. I just

  wish Perenelle were here; she d know what to do.

  We should split up, Josh said suddenly.

  Flamel, who was in the lead, glanced over his shoulder. I don't think so.

  We have to, Josh said firmly. It makes sense. But as he said it, he

  wondered why the Alchemyst didn't want them to split up.

  Josh is right, Sophie said. The police are looking for the four of us. I m

  sure they have a description by now: two teenagers, a red-haired girl and an

  old man. It s not really a common group.

  Old! Nicholas sounded vaguely insulted, his French accent pronounced.

  Scatty is two thousand years older than I!

  Yes. But the difference is that I don't look it, the Warrior teased with a

  grin. Splitting up is a good idea.

  Josh stopped at the mouth of the narrow alley and looked up and down. Police

  sirens wailed and warbled all around them.

  Sophie stood beside her brother, and while the similarity in their features

  was obvious, he suddenly noticed that there were now lines on her forehead,

  and her bright blue eyes had become cloudy, the irises flecked with silver.

  Roux said we should turn left for the Rue de Dunkerque or right for the

  Metro station.

  I m not sure that splitting up Flamel hesitated.

  Josh spun around. We have to, he said decisively. Sophie and I will he

  began, but Nicholas shook his head, interrupting him.

  OK. I agree
that we should split up. But the police may be looking for

  twins .

  We don't look too much like twins, Sophie said quickly. Josh is taller

  than me.

  And you both have blond hair and bright blue eyes, and neither of you speaks

  French, Scatty added. Sophie, you come with me. Two girls together will not

  attract too much attention. Josh and Nicholas can go together.

  I m not leaving Sophie , Josh protested, suddenly panicked at even the

  thought of being separated from his sister in this strange city.

  I ll be safe with Scatty, Sophie said with a smile. You worry too much.

  And I know Nicholas will look after you.

  Josh didn't look too sure. I d rather stay with my sister, Josh said

  firmly.

  Let the girls go together; it s better this way, Flamel said. Safer.

  Safer? Josh said incredulously. Nothing about this is safe.

  Josh! Sophie snapped, in the exact tone that their mother sometimes used.

  Enough. She turned back to the Warrior. You ll need to do something with

  your hair. If the police have a description of a red-haired girl in black

  combats

  You re right. Scathach s left hand moved in a quick twisting gesture and

  suddenly she was holding a short-bladed knife between her fingers. She turned

  to Flamel. I m going to need some cloth. Without waiting for an answer, she

  spun him around and lifted his battered leather jacket. With neat precise

  moves, she cut a square from the back of Flamel s loose black T-shirt. Then

  she dropped his leather jacket back in place and twisted the square of fabric

  into a bandana, knotting it at the back of her head, covering her distinctive

  hair.

  This was my favorite T-shirt, Flamel muttered. It s vintage. He shifted

  his shoulder uncomfortably. And now my back is cold.

  don't be such a baby. I ll buy you a new one, Scatty said. She caught

  Sophie s hand. Come on. Let s go. See you at the Tower.

  Do you know the way? Nicholas called after her.

  Scatty laughed. I lived here for nearly sixty years, remember? I was here

  when the tower was built.

  Flamel nodded. Well, try not to draw attention to yourself.

  I ll try.

  Sophie , Josh began.

  I know, his sister answered, be careful. She turned back and hugged her

  brother quickly, their auras crackling. Everything s going to be all right,

  she said softly, reading the fear in his eyes.

  Josh forced himself to smile, and he nodded. How do you know? Magic?

  I just know, she said simply. Her eyes blinked briefly silver. This is all

  happening for a reason remember the prophecy. Everything s going to work out

  fine.

  I believe you, he said, even though he didn't. Be careful, and remember,

  he added, no wind.

  Sophie hugged him quickly again. No wind, she whispered in his ear, and

  then spun away.

  Nicholas and Josh watched Scatty and Sophie disappear down the street,

  heading toward the Metro station; then they turned in the opposite direction.

  Just before they rounded a corner, Josh glanced back over his shoulder and

  saw that his sister had done the same. They both raised their hands and waved

  good-bye.

  Josh waited until she had turned away and then lowered his hand. Now he was

  truly alone, in a strange city, thousands of miles from home, with a man he

  didn't trust, a man he had started to fear.

  I thought you said you knew the way, Sophie said.

  It s been a while since I was here, the Warrior admitted, and the streets

  have changed quite a bit.

  But you said you were here when the Eiffel Tower was built. She stopped,

  abruptly realizing what she had just said. And when was that exactly? she

  asked.

  In 1889. I left a couple of months later.

  Scathach stopped outside the Metro station and asked directions from a

  newspaper and magazine seller. The tiny Chinese woman spoke very little

  French so Scathach quickly switched to another language. Sophie abruptly

  realized that she recognized it it was Mandarin. The smiling clerk came out

  from behind the counter and pointed down the street, speaking so quickly that

  Sophie was unable to pick up individual words, despite the Witch s knowledge

  of the language. It sounded as if she were singing. Scathach thanked her,

  then bowed, and the woman matched the bow.

  Sophie caught the Warrior s arm and dragged her away. So much for not

  attracting attention to yourself, she murmured. People were starting to

  stare.

  What were they staring at? Scathach asked, genuinely puzzled.

  Oh, probably just the sight of a white girl speaking fluent Chinese and then

  bowing, Sophie said with a grin. It was quite a performance.

  One day everyone will speak Mandarin, and bowing is just good manners,

  Scathach said, setting off down the street, following the directions the

  woman had given.

  Sophie fell into step beside her. Where did you learn Chinese? she asked.

  In China. Actually, I was speaking Mandarin to the woman, but I also speak

  Wu and Cantonese. I ve spent a lot of time in the Far East over the

  centuries. I used to love it there.

  They walked in silence, and then Sophie said, So how many languages do you

  speak?

  Scathach frowned, eyes briefly closing as she considered. Six or seven

  Sophie nodded. Six or seven; that s impressive. My mom and dad want us to

  learn Spanish, and Dad is teaching us Greek and Latin. But I d really like to

  learn Japanese. I really want to visit Japan, she added.

  six or seven hundred, Scathach continued, then laughed aloud at the

  stunned expression on Sophie s face. She slipped her arm through Sophie s.

  Well, I suppose a few of those would be dead languages, so I m not sure they

  count, but remember, I ve been around for a very long time.

  Have you really lived for two and a half thousand years? Sophie asked,

  glancing sidelong at the girl who looked no older than seventeen. She

  suddenly grinned: never once had she imagined herself asking a question like

  that. It was just another example of how her life had changed.

  Two thousand, five hundred and seventeen humani years. Scathach smiled a

  tight-lipped smile that hid her vampire teeth. Hekate once abandoned me in a

  particularly nasty Underworld Shadowrealm. It took me centuries to find my

  way out. And when I was younger I spent a lot of time in the Shadowrealms of

  Lyonesse, Hy-Brasil and Tir na nOg, where time moves at a different pace.

  Shadowrealm time is not the same as humani time, so I really only count my

  time on this earth. And who knows, you may get to find out for yourself. You

  and Josh are unique and powerful and will grow even more powerful as you

  master the elemental magics. If you don't discover the secret of immortality

  yourselves, someone may offer it to you as a gift. Come on, let s cross.

  Catching hold of Sophie s hand, she pulled her across a narrow road.

  Although it had only just turned six in the morning, traffic was starting to

  build. Vans were making deliveries to restaurants, and the chill morning air

  was beginning to fill with the mouth-watering odors of fresh-baked bread and

  pastries and percolating coffee. Sophie
breathed in the familiar fragrances:

  croissants and coffee reminded her that only two days ago she had been

  serving those in The Coffee Cup. She blinked away the sting of sudden tears.

  So much had happened, so much had changed in the past two days. What s it

  like to live so long? she wondered aloud.

  Lonely, Scatty said quietly.

  How long how long will you live? she asked the Warrior cautiously.

  Scatty shrugged and smiled. Who knows? If I m careful, exercise regularly

  and watch my diet, I could live another couple of thousand years. Then her

  smile faded. But I m not invulnerable, nor am I invincible. I can be

  killed. She saw the stricken look on Sophie s face and squeezed her arm.

  But that s not going to happen. Do you know how many humani, immortals,

  Elders, were-creatures and assorted monsters have tried to kill me?

  The girl shook her head.

  Well, nor do I, actually. But there have been thousands. Maybe even tens of

  thousands. And I m still here; what does that tell you?

  That you re good?

  Hah! I m better than good. I am the best. I am the Warrior. Scathach

  stopped and looked into a bookshop window, but Sophie noticed that when she

  turned to talk, her bright green eyes were darting everywhere, taking in

  their surroundings.

  Resisting the temptation to turn around, Sophie lowered her voice to a

  whisper. Are we being followed? She was surprised to discover that she

  wasn't the least bit afraid; she knew, instinctively, that nothing could harm

  her when she was with Scatty.

  No, I don't think so. Just old habits. Scathach smiled. The same habits

  that have kept me alive through the centuries. She moved away from the shop

  and Sophie linked her arm with Scatty s.

  Nicholas called you other names when we met you . Sophie frowned, trying to

  remember how he d first introduced Scathach back in San Francisco only two

  days ago. He called you the Warrior Maid, the Shadow, the Daemon Slayer, the

  King Maker.

  Those are just names, Scathach muttered, sounding embarrassed.

  They sound like more than names, Sophie pressed. They sound like

  titles titles you've earned? she persisted.

  Well, I ve had lots of names, Scathach said, names my friends gave me,

  names my foes called me. I was the Warrior Maid first, and then I became the

  Shadow, because of my skills at concealment. I perfected the first camouflage