Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician

another creature s pain. It is what lifted humani above the Elders, it is

what made them great.

And it s the weakness that will ultimately destroy them, Dee said simply.

Let me remind you that this creature is not human. It could crush you

underfoot and not even notice. However, let us not argue now; not when we re

about to be victorious. The boy might have solved our problem for us, Dee

said. Nidhogg is slowly turning to stone. He laughed delightedly. If it

jumps into the river now, the weight of its tail will drag it to the

bottom and take Scathach with it. He looked slyly at Machiavelli. I take it

your humanity does not extend to feeling sorry for the Shadow.

Machiavelli grimaced. Knowing Scathach is lying at the bottom of the Seine

wrapped in the creature s claws would make me very happy indeed.

The two immortals sat unmoving in the car, watching as the creature lurched

forward, moving more slowly now, the weight of its tail dragging behind it.

All that stood between it and the water was one of the glass-enclosed

boats the bateaux-mouches that took tourists up and down the river.

Dee nodded toward the boat. Once it climbs onto that, the boat will sink,

and Nidhogg and Scathach will disappear into the Seine forever.

And what about the Disir?

I m sure she can swim.

Machiavelli allowed himself a wry smile. So all we re waiting for now

is for it to reach the boat, Dee finished, just as Josh appeared through

the gaping hole in the tree-lined quayside and darted across the parking lot.

As Josh raced up to the creature, the sword in his right hand began to burn,

long streamers of orange fire curling off the blade. His aura started to

crackle a matching golden color, suffusing the air with the smell of oranges.

Abruptly, the Disir slid off the monster s back, flickering back into her

white chain mail in the instant before her feet touched the ground. She

rounded on Josh, her features locked into an ugly, savage mask. You are

becoming a nuisance, boy, she snarled in barely comprehensible English.

Lifting her great broadsword in both hands, she threw herself toward Josh.

This will just take a moment.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

H uge sweeping banks of fog rolled across San Francisco Bay.

Perenelle Flamel folded her arms across her chest and watched the night sky

fill with birds. A great wheeling flock rose over the city, gathered in a

thick moving cloud, and then, like tendrils of spilled ink, three separate

streams of birds set out across the bay, heading directly for the island. And

she knew that somewhere in the heart of the great flock was the Crow Goddess.

The Morrigan was coming to Alcatraz.

Perenelle was standing in the burned-out ruins of the warden s house, where

she d finally managed to escape the masses of spiders. Although it had burned

more than three decades ago, she could smell the ghost-odors of charred wood,

cracked plaster and melted piping lingering in the air. The Sorceress knew

that if she lowered her defenses and concentrated, she would be able to hear

the voices of the wardens and their families who had occupied the building

through the years.

Shading her bright green eyes and squinting hard, Perenelle concentrated on

the approaching birds, trying to distinguish them from the night and work out

just how much time she had before they arrived. The flock was huge, and the

thickening fog made it impossible to guess either size or distance. But she

guessed she had perhaps ten or fifteen minutes before they reached the

island. She brought her little finger and thumb close together. A single

white spark cracked between them. Perenelle nodded. Her powers were

returning, just not fast enough. They would continue to strengthen now that

she was away from the sphinx, but her aura would recharge more slowly at

night. She also knew that she was still nowhere near strong enough to defeat

the Morrigan and her pets.

But that didn't mean she was defenseless; a lifetime of study had taught her

many useful things.

The Sorceress felt a chill breeze ruffle her long hair in the instant before

the ghost of Juan Manuel de Ayala flickered into existence beside her. The

ghost hung in the air, taking substance and definition from a host of dust

particles and water droplets in the gathering fog. Like many of the ghosts

she d encountered, he was wearing the clothes he had felt most comfortable in

while he was alive: a loose white linen shirt tucked into knee-length

trousers. His legs tapered away below his knees, and, like a lot of spirits,

he had no feet. While they were alive, people rarely looked down at their

feet. This was once the most beautiful spot on this earth, was it not? he

asked, flat moist eyes fixed on the city of San Francisco.

It still is, she said, turning to look across the bay to where the city

sparkled and glittered with countless tiny lights. Nicholas and I have

called it home for many years.

Oh, not the city! de Ayala said dismissively.

Perenelle glanced sidelong at the ghost. What are you talking about? she

asked. It looks beautiful.

I once stood here, close to this very spot, and watched perhaps a thousand

fires burning on the shores. Each fire represented a family. In time I came

to know all of them. The Spaniard s long face grimaced in what might have

been pain. They taught me about the land, and about this place, spoke to me

of their gods and spirits. I think it was those people who bound me to this

land. All I see now are lights; I cannot see the stars, I cannot see the

tribes or individuals huddling around their fires. Where is the place I

loved?

Perenelle nodded toward the distant lights. It s still there. Just grown.

It s changed out of all recognition, de Ayala said, and not for the

better.

I ve watched the world change too, Juan. Perenelle spoke very softly. But

I like to believe that it has changed for the better. I am older than you. I

was born into an age when a toothache could kill you, when life was short and

brutal and death was often painful. Around the same time you were discovering

this island, the average life expectancy of a healthy adult was no more than

thirty-five years. Now it is double that. Toothaches no longer kill well, not