Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician

was going to die, he d do it with his eyes open.

It was like playing a video game, he thought except that this game was

deadly. Almost in slow motion, he saw the two ends of the forked tongue wrap

around the blade as if it was going to wrench it from Josh s hand. He

tightened his grip, determined not to let the sword go.

When the flesh of the creature s tongue touched the stone blade, the effect

was immediate.

The creature froze, then convulsed and hissed, the sound like escaping steam.

The acid from its tongue bubbled on the blade as the sword trembled in Josh s

hand, vibrating like a tuning fork, growing warm, then hot, and started to

glow with a stark white light. He squeezed his eyes shut

and behind his closed eyes, Josh glimpsed a series of flickering images: a

blasted and ruined landscape of black rock, pockmarked with pools of bubbling

red lava, while overhead, the sky boiled with filthy clouds that rained ash

and cinders. Spread across the sky, dangling from the clouds, were what

looked like the roots of a huge tree. The roots were the source of the bitter

white ash: they were dissolving, withering, dying .

Nidhogg jerked its blackened tongue free.

Josh gasped and opened his eyes just as his aura flared again,

stronger brighter this time, blinding him. Panicked, waving the sword before

him, he backed up until he felt the kitchen wall against his shoulder blades.

He kept blinking furiously, wanting to rub his eyes, but he didn't dare

loosen his grip on the sword. All around him, he heard stones fall, plaster

split, wood creak and snap, and he hunched his shoulders, expecting something

to come crashing down on his head. Scatty? he called.

But there was no reply.

His voice rose. Scatty!

Squinting hard, blinking away the spots dancing before his eyes, he saw the

monster dragging Scathach out of the house. Its tongue, now black and brown,

was hanging loosely out of the side of its mouth. Holding the Warrior in a

crushing grip, it turned on its own length and pushed through the devastated

garden, its long tail slicing chunks out of the side of the house, smashing

through the only unbroken window. Then the creature rose up on its two hind

legs, like a collared lizard, and clattered down the alleyway, almost

trampling underfoot the figure in white chain-mail armor standing guard.

Without hesitation the figure disappeared after the creature.

Josh stumbled through the gaping hole in the side of the house and stopped.

He glanced over his shoulder. The once-neat kitchen was a shredded ruin. Then

he looked at the sword in his hand and smiled. He d stopped the monster. His

smile widened to a broad grin. He d fought it off and saved his sister and

everyone else in the house except Scatty.

Taking a deep breath, Josh jumped down the steps and raced across the garden

and out into the alley, following the monster. I can t believe I m doing

this, he muttered. I don't even like Scatty. Well not that much, he

amended.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

N iccol Machiavelli had always been a careful man.

He had survived and even thrived in the dangerous and deadly Medici court in

Florence in the fifteenth century, a time when intrigue was a way of life and

violent death and assassination was commonplace. His most famous book, The

Prince, was one of the first to suggest that the use of subterfuge, lies and

deceit was perfectly acceptable for a ruler.

Machiavelli was a survivor because he was subtle, cautious, clever and, above

all else: cunning.

So what had possessed him to call upon the Disir? The Valkyries had no word

for subtle in their language and didn't know the meaning of the word caution.

Their idea of clever and cunning was to bring Nidhogg an uncontrollable

primeval monster into the heart of a modern city.

And he had allowed them.

Now the street echoed with the sounds of breaking glass, snapping wood and

tumbling stone. Every car and house alarm in the district was blaring, and

there were lights on in all the other houses lining the alleyway, though no

one had ventured out yet.

What is going on in there? Machiavelli wondered aloud.

Nidhogg is feasting off Scathach? Dee suggested absently. His cell had

started to buzz, distracting him.

No, it s not! Machiavelli suddenly shouted. He pushed open the car door,

leapt out, grabbed Dee by the collar and dragged him out into the night.

Dagon! Out!

Dee attempted to find his feet, but Machiavelli continued to drag him

backward, away from the car. Are you out of your mind? the doctor shrieked.

There was a sudden explosion of glass as Dagon threw himself through the

windshield. He slithered off the hood and landed alongside Machiavelli and

Dee, but the Magician didn't even glance in his direction. He saw what had

startled the Italian.

Nidhogg raced down the narrow alley toward them, standing tall on two

powerful hind legs. A limp red-haired figure hung from its front claws.

Back! Machiavelli shouted, flinging himself to the ground, dragging Dee

with him.

Nidhogg trampled over the long black German car. One hind paw landed directly

in the center of the roof, crushing it to the pavement. Windows popped,

spraying glass like shrapnel as the car buckled in the middle, the front and

rear wheels lifting off the ground.

The creature disappeared into the night.

A heartbeat later, a white-clad Disir practically flew over the remains of

the car, clearing it in a single leap, following the creature.

Dagon? Machiavelli whispered, rolling over. Dagon, where are you?

I m here. The driver came smoothly to his feet, brushing shards of

sparkling glass from his black suit. He pulled off his cracked sunglasses and

dropped them on the ground. Rainbow colors ran across round unblinking eyes.

It was holding Scathach, he said, loosening his black tie and popping open

the top button of his white shirt.

Is she dead? Machiavelli asked.