for: a seething mass of teeming life. Then it was a simple matter of using
transmutation, the basic principal of alchemy, to create glucose and fructose
and bind them together with a glycosidic bond to create sucrose. The life
stirred, shifted, flowed toward the sweetness.
The police captain raised his voice. Cuff him. Search him.
Nicholas heard the shuffling approach of two police officers, one on either
side. Directly in front of his face, he saw highly polished thick-soled black
leather boots.
And then, magnified because of its closeness to his face, Nicholas spotted
the ant. It popped up out of a crack in the pavement, antennae waving. It was
followed by a second, and a third.
The Alchemyst pressed his thumbs against the third finger of each hand and
snapped his fingers. Minuscule sparkles of mint-smelling green-gold spun into
the air, coating the six police officers in infinitesimal particles of power.
Then he transmuted the particles into sugar.
Abruptly, the pavement around Flamel turned black. A mass of tiny ants
erupted from below the street, surging up out of the cracks in the stone.
Like a thick glutinous syrup, they spread across the pavement, flowing over
boots before suddenly curling up around the legs of the police officers,
coating them in a heaving swarm of insects. For a moment the men were shocked
into immobility. Their suits and gloves protected them for another instant,
and then one man twitched, and another and another as the ants found the
tiniest of openings in the men s suits and darted inside, legs tickling, jaws
nipping. The men began jerking, twisting, turning, slapping at themselves,
throwing down their weapons, pulling off their gloves, tugging at their
helmets, tossing aside their goggles and balaclavas as thousands of ants
crawled over their bodies.
The police captain watched as their prisoner who was completely untouched by
the heaving blanket of ants sat up and fastidiously dusted himself off before
rising to his feet. The captain tried to point his gun at the man, but ants
were clawing at his wrists, tickling the palms of his hands, nipping his
flesh, and he couldn't hold the weapon steady. He wanted to order the man to
sit down, but there were ants crawling across his lips, and he knew if he
opened his mouth they would dart inside. Reaching up, brushing his helmet off
his head, he jerked off his balaclava and flung it to the ground, arching his
back as insects crawled along his spine. He ran his hand across his head and
felt it dislodge at least a dozen ants. They fell across his face and he
squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the prisoner was strolling
towards the Pont de l Alma train station, hands in his pockets, looking as if
he hadn't a care in the world.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
raised his hand to his face, he could see the ghost of his own golden aura
still visible around his flesh. Reaching out, he found his sister s hand and
caught it. She squeezed gently, and he turned to find her blinking her eyes
open.
What happened? he mumbled, too shocked and numb to even be scared.
Sophie shook her head. It was like an explosion .
I heard Scathach scream, he added.
And I thought I saw someone coming out of the house , she added.
They both turned back to the town house. Scathach was at the door, her arms
wrapped around a young woman, holding her tightly, swinging her around in a
circle. Both women were laughing and squealing with delight, shouting at one
another in rapid-fire French. I guess they know each other, Josh said as he
helped his sister to her feet.
The twins turned to look at the Comte de Saint-Germain, who was standing to
one side, arms folded across his chest, smiling delightedly. They re old
friends, he explained. They ve not met in a long time a very long time.
Saint-Germain coughed. Joan, he said politely.
The two women broke apart and the woman he d called Joan turned to look at
Saint-Germain, her head tilted at a quizzical angle. It was impossible to
guess her age. Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, she was Sophie s height,
almost unnaturally slender, and her deeply tanned and flawless skin
emphasized huge gray eyes. Her auburn hair was cut in a short boyish style.
There were tears on her cheeks that she brushed away with a quick movement of
her palm. Francis? she asked.
And these are our visitors.
Holding Scathach s hand, the young woman stepped closer to Sophie. As the
woman approached, Sophie felt a sudden pressure in the air between them, as
if some invisible force was pushing her back, and then, abruptly, her aura
flared silver around her and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of
vanilla. Josh grabbed his sister s arm and his own aura crackled alight,
adding the scent of oranges to the air.
Sophie Josh , Saint-Germain began. The rich, sweet aroma of lavender filled
the courtyard as a hissing silver aura grew around the short-haired young
woman. It hardened and solidified, becoming metallic and reflective, molding
itself into a breastplate and greaves, gloves and boots, before finally
solidifying into a complete medieval suit of armor. I would like to
introduce my wife, Joan
Your wife! Scatty squealed, shocked.
whom you and history know as Joan of Arc.
Breakfast had been laid out on a long polished wooden table in the kitchen.
The air was rich with the odor of newly baked bread and brewing coffee.
Plates were piled high with fresh fruit, pancakes and scones, while sausages
and eggs sizzled in a pan on the old-fashioned iron range.
Josh s stomach started rumbling the moment he stepped into the room and saw
the food. His mouth filled with saliva, reminding him just how long it had
been since he d last eaten. He d only managed a couple of sips of the hot
chocolate at the caf earlier before the police arrived.
Eat, eat, Saint-Germain said, grabbing a plate in one hand and a thick
croissant in the other. He bit into the pastry, spilling wafer-thin flakes
onto the tiled floor. You must be famished.
Sophie leaned in close to her brother. Could you get me something to eat? I
want to talk to Joan. I need to ask her something.
