And it s making you sick! Josh yelled angrily. And don't forget, if you
use your powers one more time, you could literally explode.
The twins auras flared gold and silver. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut as a
flood of impressions, vague thoughts and random ideas slammed into her
consciousness. Her blue eyes blinked, momentarily silver, and she suddenly
realized that she was experiencing her brother s thoughts. She wrenched her
hand away from him and the thoughts and sensations immediately faded.
You re jealous! she whispered in amazement. Jealous of my powers.
Color touched Josh s cheeks, and Sophie saw the truth in his eyes even before
he spoke the lie. I am not!
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.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
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 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?
