Nicholas knew that his priority now was to find a safe haven for the twins.
And that meant he had to find an immortal living in Paris. Every city in the
world had its share of humans with life spans that extended into centuries or
even millennia, and Paris was no exception. He knew that immortals liked the
big anonymous cities, where it was easier to disappear amongst an
ever-changing population.
Long ago, Nicholas and Perenelle had come to realize that at the heart of
every myth and legend was a grain of truth. And every race told stories of
people who lived exceptionally long lives: the immortals.
Over the centuries, the Flamels had come into contact with three entirely
different types of immortal humans. There were the Ancients of whom there
were now perhaps no more than a handful still alive who hailed from earth's
very distant past. Some had witnessed the entire span of human history, and
it had made them more, and less, than human.
Then there were a few others who, like Nicholas and Perenelle, had discovered
for themselves how to become immortal. Down through the millennia, the
secrets of alchemy had been discovered, lost and rediscovered countless
times. One of the greatest secrets of alchemy was the formula for
immortality. And all alchemy and possibly even modern science had one single
source: the Book of Abraham the Mage.
Then there were those who had been given the gift of immortality. These were
humans who had, either accidentally or deliberately, come to the attention of
one or other of the Elders who had remained in this world after the Fall of
Danu Talis. The Elders were always on the lookout for people of exceptional
or unusual ability to recruit to their cause. And in return for their
service, the Elders granted their followers extended life. It was a gift very
few humans could refuse. It was also a gift that ensured absolute, unswerving
loyalty because it could be withdrawn as quickly as it had been given.
Nicholas knew that if he encountered immortals in Paris even if he had known
them in the past there would now be a very real danger that they were in the
service of the Dark Elders.
He was passing an all-night video store that advertised high-speed Internet
when he noticed the sign in the window, written in ten languages: NATIONAL &
INTERNATIONAL CALLS. CHEAPEST RATES. Pushing open the door, he suddenly
breathed in the sour odor of unwashed bodies, stale perfume, greasy food and
the ozone of too many computers packed tightly together. The store was
surprisingly busy: a group of students who looked like they d been up all
night clustered around three computers displaying the World of Warcraft logo,
while most of the other machines were taken up by serious-faced young men and
women staring intently at the screens. As he made his way to the counter at
the back of the shop, Nicholas could see that most of the young people were
e-mailing and instant-messaging. He smiled briefly; only a few days ago, on
Monday afternoon, when the bookshop was quiet, Josh had spent an hour
explaining to him the difference between the two methods of communication.
Josh had even set him up with his own e-mail account which Nicholas doubted
he would ever use though he could see a use for the instant-messaging
programs.
The Chinese girl behind the counter was dressed in ragged and torn clothes
that Nicholas thought looked fit only for the trash but that he guessed had
probably cost a fortune. She was in full goth makeup and was busy painting
her nails when Nicholas stepped up to the desk.
Three euro for fifteen minutes, five for thirty, seven for forty-five, ten
for an hour, she rattled off in atrocious French without looking up.
I want to make an international call.
Cash or credit card? She still hadn't raised her head, and Nicholas noticed
that she was blackening her nails not with polish but with a felt-tip marker.
Credit card. He wanted to conserve the little cash he had to buy some food.
Although he rarely ate, and Scathach never ate, he would need to feed the
children.
Use booth number one. Instructions are on the wall.
Nicholas slipped into the glass-fronted booth and pulled the door closed
behind him. The shouts of the students faded, but the booth smelled strongly
of stale food. He quickly read the instructions as he fished the credit card
he d used to buy hot chocolate for the twins from the back of his wallet. It
was in the name of Nick Fleming, the name he d been using for the past ten
years, and he briefly wondered whether Dee or Machiavelli had the resources
to track him through it. He knew that of course they did, but a quick smile
curled Flamel s thin lips; what did it matter? All it would tell them was
that he was in Paris, and they already knew that. Following the instructions
on the wall, he dialed the international access code and then the number
Sophie had recalled from the Witch of Endor s memories.
The line crackled and clicked with transatlantic static, and then, more than
five and a half thousand miles away, the phone started ringing. It was
answered on the second ring.
woman s voice was surprisingly clear.
Nicholas deliberately affected a thick French accent. Good morning or
rather, good evening to you. I m delighted to find you still at the office.
This is Monsieur Montmorency, phoning you from Paris, France. I m a reporter
with
exciting evening there.
Gosh news does travel fast, Mr. Montmorency.
Montmorency. Yes, we ve had quite an evening. How can we help?
We would like to include a piece in this evening s paper I was wondering if
you had a reporter on the scene?
Actually, all our reporters are downtown at the moment.
Would it be possible to put me through, do you think? I can get a quick
on-the-spot description of the scene and a comment. When there was no
immediate response, he added quickly, There would be a proper credit for
your newspaper, of course.
Let me see if I can patch you through to one of our reporters on the street,
Mr. Montmorency.
The line clicked again, and there was a long pause. Nicholas guessed that the
receptionist was talking to the reporter before transferring the call. There
was another click, and the girl said, Putting you through . He was saying
thank you when the phone was answered.
Michael Carroll,
France? There was a note of incredulity in the man s voice.
Indeed I am, Monsieur Carroll.
