Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician

on the ceiling, Perenelle tuned out the other voices. Who are you? In the

chill damp of the cell, her words puffed from her mouth like smoke and the

myriad ghosts fell silent.

There was a long pause, as if the ghost was surprised to be spoken to; then

he said proudly, I was the first European to sail into this bay, the first

to see this island.

A shape began to form on the roof directly over her head, the crude outline

of a face appearing in the cracks and spiderwebs, the black damp and the

green moss lending it shape and definition.

I called this place la Isla de los Alcatraces.

The Isle of the Pelicans, Perenelle said, her words the merest whispered

breath.

The face in the ceiling solidified briefly. It was that of a handsome man

with a long, narrow face and dark eyes. Water droplets formed and the eyes

blinked tears.

Who are you? Perenelle asked again.

I am Juan Manuel de Ayala. I discovered Alcatraz.

Claws click-clacked on the stones outside the cell, and the smell of snake

and rancid meat wafted down the corridor. Perenelle remained silent until the

scent and the footsteps retreated, and when she looked at the ceiling again,

the face had taken on more detail, the cracks in the stonework creating the

deep wrinkles on the man s forehead and around his eyes. A sailor s face, she

realized, the wrinkles caused by squinting toward distant horizons.

Why are you here? she wondered aloud. Did you die here?

No. Not here. Narrow lips curled in a smile. I returned because I fell in

love with this place from the very first moment I set eyes on it. It was in

the year of Our Lord 1775, and I was on the good ship San Carlos. I even

remember the month, August, and the date, the fifth.

Perenelle nodded. She had come across ghosts like de Ayala s before. Men and

women who had been so influenced or affected by a place that they returned to

it again and again in their dreams, and eventually, when they died, their

spirit returned to the same location to become a Guardian ghost.

I have watched over this island for generations. I will always watch over

it.

Perenelle stared up at the face. It must have saddened you to see your

beautiful island become a place of pain and suffering, she probed.

Something twisted in the shape s mouth, and a single drop of water fell from

its eye to spatter on Perenelle s cheek.

Dark days, sad days, but gone now thankfully, gone. The ghost s lips moved

and the words whispered in Perenelle s head. There has not been a human

prisoner on Alcatraz since 1963, and the island has been peaceful since

1971.

But now there is a new prisoner on your beloved island, Perenelle said

evenly. A prisoner guarded by a warden more terrible than any this island

has ever seen before.

The face in the ceiling altered, watery eyes narrowing, blinking. Who? You?

I am held here against my will, Perenelle said. I am Alcatraz s last

prisoner, and I am guarded by no human jailor, but by a sphinx.

No!

See for yourself!

The plaster crackled and damp dust rained down on Perenelle s face. When she

opened her eyes again, the face in the ceiling had gone, leaving nothing more

than a stain in its wake.

Perenelle allowed herself a smile.

What amuses you, humani? The voice was a slithering hiss, and the language

predated the human race.

Swinging herself into a sitting position, Perenelle focused on the creature

standing in the corridor less than six feet from her.

Generations of ancient humans had tried to capture the image of this creature

on cave walls and pots, etching her shape in stone, capturing her likeness on

parchments. And none of them had even come close to the true horror of the

sphinx.

The body was that of a hugely muscled lion, the fur scarred and cut with the

evidence of old wounds. A pair of eagle s wings curled out of its shoulders

and lay flat against its back, the feathers ragged and filthy. And the small,

almost delicate-looking head was that of a beautiful young woman.

The sphinx stepped up to the bars of the cell, and a black forked tongue

wavered in the air in front of Perenelle. You have no reason to smile,

humani. I have learned that your husband and the Warrior are trapped in

Paris. Soon they will be prisoners, and this time Dr. Dee will ensure that

they never escape again. I understand the Elders have given the doctor

permission to finally slay the legendary Alchemyst.

Perenelle felt something twist in the pit of her stomach. For generations the

Dark Elders had been intent on capturing Nicholas and Perenelle alive. If she

was to believe the sphinx and they were prepared to kill Nicholas, then

everything had changed. Nicholas will escape, she said confidently.

Not this time. The lion s tail of the sphinx whipped excitedly back and

forth, raising plumes of dust. Paris belongs to the Italian, Machiavelli,

and soon he will be joined by the English Magician. The Alchemyst cannot

evade them both.

And the children? Perenelle asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. If anything

had happened to Nicholas or the children

The sphinx s feathers ruffled, raising a musty sour smell. Dee believes the

humani children are powerful, that they may indeed be the twins of prophecy

and legend. He also believes they can be convinced that they should serve us,

rather than following the ramblings of a mad old bookseller. The sphinx took

a deep shuddering breath. But if they do not do as they are told, then they

too will perish.

And what about me?

The sphinx s pretty mouth opened to reveal a maw of savage, needle-pointed

teeth. Her long black tongue thrashed wildly in the air. You are mine,

Sorceress, she hissed. The Elders have given you to me as a gift for my

millennia of service to them. When your husband has been captured and slain,

then I will be given permission to eat your memories. What a feast it will

be. I intend to savor every last morsel. When I am finished with you, you

will remember nothing, not even your own name. The sphinx started to laugh,

the sound hissing and mocking, bouncing off the bare stone walls.