dangerous.
Leaning forward, Machiavelli pressed a button on his desk phone. The door
immediately opened and Dagon stepped into the room, his mirrored sunglasses
reflecting the bare walls.
Any reports on the Alchemyst?
Nothing. We've accessed the video from the security cameras in the Pont de
l Alma station and every station it connects with and we re analyzing it now,
but it s going to take time.
Machiavelli nodded. Time was something he did not have. He waved a
long-fingered hand in the air. Well, we might not know where he is now, but
we know where he s going: to Saint-Germain s house.
Dagon s lips parted stickily. The house is under observation. All entrances
and exits are secured; there are even men in the sewers beneath the building.
No one can get in or out without us observing them. There are two RAID units
in vans in nearby side streets and a third unit in the house next to
Saint-Germain s property. They can be over the wall in moments.
Machiavelli stood up and stepped out from behind the desk. With his hands
behind his back, he walked around the tiny anonymous office. Although it was
his official address, he rarely used this room, and it held nothing but the
desk, two chairs, and the telephone. But is it enough, I wonder? Flamel has
escaped from six highly trained officers who were holding him at gunpoint,
facedown on the pavement. And we know Saint-Germain the Master of Fire is
inside this property. We had a little example of his abilities this morning.
The fireworks were harmless, Dagon said.
I m sure he could have just as easily turned the tower to liquid. Remember,
he makes diamonds from coal.
Dagon nodded.
Machiavelli continued. We also know that the American girl s powers have
been Awakened, and we ve seen a little of what she can do. The fog at
Sacre -Coeur was an impressive feat for someone untrained and so young.
And then there is the Shadow, Dagon added.
Niccol Machiavelli s face turned into an ugly mask. And then there is the
Shadow, he agreed.
She took out twelve heavily armed officers in the coffee shop this morning,
Dagon said emotionlessly. I ve watched her face down entire armies, and she
survived for centuries in an Underworld Shadowrealm. Flamel is obviously
using her to protect the twins. She must be destroyed before we move against
any of the others.
Indeed.
You will need an army.
Perhaps not. Remember,
Who said that? Dagon asked.
I did, in a book, a long time ago. It was true in the court of the Medicis,
and it is true now. He looked up. Did you send for the Disir?
They re on their way. Dagon s voice turned sticky. I don't trust them.
No one trusts the Disir. There was no humor in Machiavelli s smile. Did
you ever hear the story of how Hekate trapped Scathach in that Underworld?
Dagon remained unmoving.
Hekate used the Disir. Their feud with the Shadow goes back to the time just
after the sinking of Danu Talis. Putting his hands on the creature s
shoulders, Machiavelli stepped close to Dagon, taking care to breathe through
his mouth. Dagon exuded a fishy odor; it coated his pale skin like oily,
rancid sweat. I know you hate the Shadow, and I have never asked you why,
though I have my suspicions. It is obvious that she has caused you much pain.
However, I want you to put aside your feelings; hate is the most useless of
all emotions. Success is the best revenge. I need you focused and by my side.
We are close now, so close to victory, close to returning the Elder Race to
this world. Leave Scathach to the Disir. But if they fail, then she is yours.
I promise you.
Dagon opened his mouth to reveal the circle of needle-pointed teeth. They
will not fail. The Disir intend to bring Nidhogg.
Niccol Machiavelli blinked in surprise. Nidhogg it s free? How?
The World Tree was destroyed.
If they loose Nidhogg on Scathach, then you are right. They will not fail.
They cannot.
Dagon reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His huge bulbous fish eyes
were wide and staring. And if they lose control of Nidhogg, it could devour
the entire city.
Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he nodded. It would be a small
price to pay to destroy the Shadow.
You sound just like Dee.
Oh, I am nothing like the English Magician, Machiavelli said feelingly.
Dee is a dangerous fanatic.
And you re not? Dagon asked.
I m only dangerous.
Dr. John Dee sat back into the soft leather seat and watched the sparkling
grid of L.A. s lights fall away beneath him. Checking an ornate pocket watch,
he wondered if Machiavelli had received the phone call from his master yet.
He imagined he had. Dee grinned, wondering what the Italian would make of
that. If nothing else, it would at least show Machiavelli who was in charge.
It didn't take a genius to realize that the Italian would go after Flamel and
the children himself. But Dee had spent too long chasing the Alchemyst to
lose him at the very end especially to someone like Niccol Machiavelli.
He closed his eyes as the plane rose and his stomach twitched. He
automatically reached for the paper bag on the seat beside him: he loved
flying, but his stomach always protested. If everything went as planned, then
he would soon be the ruler of the entire planet and he d never need to fly
again. Everyone would come to him.
The jet climbed at a steep angle and he swallowed hard; he d had a chicken
wrap in the airport and was regretting it now. The fizzy drink had been a
definite mistake.
Dee was looking forward to the time when the Elders returned. Perhaps they
could reestablish the network of leygates across the world and make flying
unnecessary. Closing his eyes, Dee concentrated on the Elders and the many
benefits they would bring to the planet. In the distant past, he knew the
Elders had created a paradise on earth. All the ancient books and scrolls,
the myths and legends of every race, spoke about that glorious time. His
master had promised him that the Elders would use their powerful magic to
