For Claudette, of course
I am legend.
Death has no claim over me, illness cannot touch me. Look at me now and it
would be hard to put an age upon me, and yet I was born in the Year of Our
Lord 1330, more than six hundred and seventy years ago.
I have been many things in my time: a physician and a cook, a bookseller and
a soldier, a teacher of languages and chemistry, both an officer of the law
and a thief.
But before all these I was an alchemyst. I was the Alchemyst.
I was acknowledged as the greatest Alchemyst of all, sought after by kings
and princes, by emperors and even the Pope himself. I could turn ordinary
metal into gold, I could change common stones into precious jewels. More than
this: I discovered the secret of Life Eternal hidden deep in a book of
ancient magic.
Now my wife, Perenelle, has been kidnapped and the book stolen.
Without the book, she and I will age. Within the full cycle of the moon, we
will wither and die. And if we die, then the evil we have so long fought
against will triumph. The Elder Race will reclaim this Earth again, and they
will wipe humanity from the face of this planet.
But I will not go down without a fight.
For I am the immortal Nicholas Flamel.
THURSDAY,
CHAPTER ONE
Francisco in the middle of summer? Sophie Newman pressed her fingers against
the Bluetooth earpiece as she spoke.
On the other side of the continent, her fashion-conscious friend Elle
inquired matter-of-factly, What sort of coat?
Wiping her hands on the cloth tucked into her apron strings, Sophie moved out
from behind the counter of the empty coffee shop and stepped up to the
window, watching men emerge from the car across the street. Heavy black wool
overcoats. They re even wearing black gloves and hats. And sunglasses. She
pressed her face against the glass. Even for this city, That'sjust a little
Maybe they re undertakers? Elle suggested, her voice popping and clicking
on the cell phone. Sophie could hear something loud and dismal playing in the
background Lacrimosa maybe, or Amorphis. Elle had never quite got over her
Goth phase.
Maybe, Sophie answered, sounding unconvinced. She d been chatting on the
phone with her friend when, a few moments earlier, she d spotted the
unusual-looking car. It was long and sleek and looked as if it belonged in an
old black-and-white movie. As it drove past the window, sunlight reflected
off the blacked-out windows, briefly illuminating the interior of the coffee
shop in warm yellow-gold light, blinding Sophie. Blinking away the black
spots dancing before her eyes, she watched as the car turned at the bottom of
the hill and slowly returned. Without signaling, it pulled over directly in
front of The Small Book Shop, right across the street.
Maybe they re Mafia, Elle suggested dramatically. My dad knows someone in
the Mafia. But he drives a Prius, she added.
This is most definitely not a Prius, Sophie said, looking again at the car
and the two large men standing on the street bundled up in their heavy
overcoats, gloves and hats, their eyes hidden behind overlarge sunglasses.
Maybe they re just cold, Elle suggested. doesn't it get cool in San
Francisco?
Sophie Newman glanced at the clock and thermometer on the wall over the
counter behind her. It s two-fifteen here and eighty-one degrees, she said.
Trust me, they re not cold. They must be dying. Wait, she said,
interrupting herself, something s happening.
The rear door opened and another man, even larger than the first two, climbed
stiffly out of the car. As he closed the door, sunlight briefly touched his
face and Sophie caught a glimpse of pale, unhealthy-looking gray-white skin.
She adjusted the volume on the earpiece. OK. You should see what just
climbed out of the car. A huge guy with gray skin. Gray. That might explain
it; maybe they have some type of skin condition.
I saw a National Geographic documentary about people who Can't go out in the
sun , Elle began, but Sophie was no longer listening to her.
A fourth figure stepped out of the car.
He was a small, rather dapper-looking man, dressed in a neat charcoal-gray
three-piece suit that looked vaguely old-fashioned but that she could tell
had been tailor-made for him. His iron gray hair was pulled back from an
angular face into a tight ponytail, while a neat triangular beard, mostly
black but flecked with gray, concealed his mouth and chin. He moved away from
the car and stepped under the striped awning that covered the trays of books
outside the shop. When he picked up a brightly colored paperback and turned
it over in his hands, Sophie noticed that he was wearing gray gloves. A pearl
button at the wrist winked in the light.
They re going into the bookshop, she said into her earpiece.
Is Josh still working there? Elle immediately asked.
Sophie ignored the sudden interest in her friend s voice. The fact that her
best friend liked her twin brother was just a little too weird. Yeah. I m
going to call him to see what s up. I'll call you right back. She hung up,
pulled out the earpiece and absently rubbed her hot ear as she stared,
fascinated, at the small man. There was something about him something
