Read The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) Online
Authors: Michael Scott
The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (10 page)
Suddenly, a black-clad police officer burst through the door and out into the yard. There was a long crack running down the front of his face visor, and he was missing one of his black boots. Without pausing, he limped past them and ran into the alley. They could hear the pat of his naked foot and the slap of the leather sole fade away.
Then Scatty strolled out into the yard. She was twirling her nunchaku as if she were Charlie Chaplin swinging a cane. There wasn’t a hair out of place or a mark on her body, and her green eyes were bright and alert. “Oh, I’m in a much better mood now”, she announced.
The twins looked past her into the corridor. Nothing and no one moved in the darkness beyond.
“But there were about ten of them”, Sophie began.
Scathach shrugged. “Twelve, actually.”
“Armed”, Josh said. He glanced sidelong at his sister, then back at the Warrior. He swallowed hard. “You didn’t didn’t kill them, did you?”
Wood snapped and something collapsed in the shop
“No, they’re just sleeping.” Scatty smiled.
“But how did you…” Josh began.
“I am the Warrior”, Scatty said simply.
Sophie caught a hint of movement and opened her mouth to scream just as the shape appeared out of the corridor and a long-fingered hand fell on Scathach’s shoulder. The Warrior didn’t react.
“I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes”, Nicholas Flamel said, stepping out of the shadows. He nodded at the open gate. “We d better go”, he added, ushering them toward the alleyway.
“You missed the fight”, Josh told him. “There were ten of them”.
“Twelve”, Scathach corrected him quickly.
“I know”, the Alchemyst said with a wry smile, “only twelve: they didn’t stand a chance.”
“E
scaped!” Dr. John Dee snarled into the cell phone. “You had them surrounded. How could you let them escape?”
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 cafe. 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.”
“T
he Witch said we should get to the
“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 cafe 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
“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.