Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician

settlement went back more than two thousand years, though there had been

humans living on the island in the Seine for generations before that. And

like many of the earth s oldest cities, it had been sited where groups of ley

lines met.

Machiavelli hit a keystroke, which laid down a complicated pattern of ley

lines over the map of the city. He was looking for a line that connected with

the United States. He finally managed to reduce the number of possibilities

to six. With a perfectly manicured fingernail, he traced two lines that

directly linked the West Coast of America to Paris. One finished at the great

cathedral of Notre Dame, the other in the more modern but equally famous

Sacre -Coeur basilica in Montmartre.

But which one?

Suddenly, the Parisian night was broken by a series of howling alarms.

Machiavelli hit the control for the electric window and the darkened glass

whispered down. Cool night air swirled into the car. In the distance, rising

high above the rooftops on the opposite side of the Place du Tertre, was

Sacre -Coeur. The imposing domed building was always lit up at night in stark

white light. Tonight, however, red alarm lights pulsed around the building

That one. Machiavelli s smile was terrifying. He called up a program on the

laptop and waited while the hard drive spun.

Enter password.

His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed: Discorsi sopra la prima deca

di Tito Livio. No one was going to break that password. It wasn't one of his

better-known books.

A rather ordinary-looking text document appeared, written in a combination of

Latin, Greek and Italian. Once, magicians had had to keep their spells and

incantations in handwritten books called grimoires, but Machiavelli had

always used the latest technology. He preferred to keep his spells on his

hard drive. Now he just needed a little something to keep Flamel and his

friends busy while he gathered his forces.

Josh s head snapped up. I hear police sirens.

There are twelve police cars headed this way, Sophie said, her head tilted

to one side, eyes closed as she listened intently.

Twelve? How can you tell?

Sophie looked at her twin. I can distinguish the different locations of the

sirens.

You can tell them apart? he asked. He found himself wondering, yet again,

at the full extent of his sister s senses.

Each one, she said.

We must not be captured by the police, Flamel interjected sharply. We' ve

neither passports nor alibis. We ve got to get out of here!

How? the twins asked simultaneously.

Flamel shook his head. There has to be another entrance , he began, and

then stopped, nostrils flaring.

Josh watched uneasily as both Sophie and Scatty suddenly reacted to something

he could not smell. What what is it? he demanded, and then he suddenly

caught the faintest whiff of something musky and rank. It was the sort of

smell he d come to associate with a zoo.

Trouble, Scathach said grimly, putting away her nunchaku and drawing her

swords. Big trouble.

CHAPTER THREE

W hat? Josh demanded, looking around. The smell was stronger now, stale and

bitter, and almost familiar .

Snake, Sophie said, breathing deeply. It' s a snake.

Josh felt his stomach lurch. Snake. Why did it have to be snakes? He was

terrified of snakes though he d never admit it to anyone, especially not his

sister. Snakes , he began, but his voice sounded high-pitched and

strangled. He coughed and tried again. Where? he asked, looking around

desperately, imagining them everywhere, sliding out from under the pews,

curling down the pillars, dropping down from the light fixtures.

Sophie shook her head and frowned. I don't hear any . I'm just smelling

them. Her nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath. No, there' s just

one .

Oh, you re smelling a snake, all right but one that walks on two legs,

Scatty snapped. You re smelling the rank odor of Niccol Machiavelli.

Flamel knelt on the floor in front of the massive main doors and ran his

hands over the locks. Wisps of green smoke curled from his fingers.

Machiavelli! he spat. Dee didn't waste any time contacting his allies, I

see.

You can tell who it is from the smell? Josh asked, still surprised and a

little confused.

Every person has a distinctive magical odor, Scatty explained, standing

with her back to the Alchemyst, protecting him. You two smell of vanilla ice

cream and oranges, Nicholas smells of mint

And Dee smelled of rotten eggs , Sophie added.

Sulfur, Josh said.

Which was once known as brimstone, Scatty said. Very appropriate for Dr.

Dee. Her head was moving from side to side as she paid particular attention

to the deep shadows behind the statues. Well, Machiavelli smells of snakes.

Appropriate too.

Who is he? Josh asked. He felt as if he should know the name, almost as if

he d heard it before. A friends of Dee' s?

Machiavelli is an immortal allied to the Dark Elders, Scatty explained,

and no friend to Dee, though they are on the same side. Machiavelli is older

than the Magician, infinitely more dangerous and certainly more cunning. I

should have killed him when I had the chance, she said bitterly. For the

past five hundred years he has been at the heart of European politics, the

puppet master working in the shadows. The last I heard, he had been appointed

the head of the DGSE, the Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure.

Is that like a bank? Josh asked.

Scatty's lips curled in a tiny smile that exposed her overlong vampire

incisors. It means the General Board of External Security. It is the French

secret service.

The secret service! Oh, that s just great, Josh said sarcastically.