The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (28 page)

She was running down the corridor past Flamel’s room when the door opened. For a single instant she almost didn’t recognize the confused-looking old man standing in the doorway. The rings under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises, and his skin was an unhealthy yellowish hue. “What’s happening?” he mumbled, but Sophie hurried past: she had no answers for him. All she knew was that her brother was downstairs.

And then the entire house shook again.

She felt the vibration through the floors and walls. All the pictures on the wall to her left shifted and tilted off center.

Terrified, Sophie raced down the stairs to the first floor just as a bedroom door opened and Joan appeared. One moment the small woman was wearing shiny blue-green satin pajamas and the next she was clad in full metal armor, a long broad-bladed sword in her gloved hands. “Get back”, Joan snapped, her French accent pronounced.

“No”, Sophie shouted. “It’s Josh he’s in trouble!”

Joan fell into step beside her, armor clinking and rasping. “OK then, but stay behind me and to my right, so I always know where you are”, Joan commanded. “Did you see Nicholas?”

“He’s awake. But he looked sick.”

“Exhaustion. He daren’t try any more magic in his condition. It could kill him.”

“Where’s Francis?”

“Probably in the attic. But the room is soundproofed and he’ll have his headphones on and the bass pumped up; I doubt he’s heard anything.”

“I’m sure he felt the house shake.”

“Probably thought it was a good bass line.”

“I don’t know where Scatty is”, Sophie said. She was fighting hard to keep the bubbling panic inside from overwhelming her.

“With any luck, she’s downstairs in the kitchen with Josh. If she is, then he’s OK”, Joan added. “Now follow me.” Holding the sword upright in both hands, the woman moved cautiously down the last flight of stairs and stepped into the broad marbled hallway at the front of the house. She stopped so suddenly that Sophie almost walked into her. Joan pointed toward the front door. Sophie spotted the ghostly white shape behind the stained-glass panels, and then there was a crunching snap and the head of an axe appeared through the door. Then, with a crack, the front door was smashed open in a shower of wood and glass fragments.

Two figures stepped into the hallway.

In the light of the ornate crystal chandelier, Sophie saw that they were young women in white chain-mail armor, their faces hidden behind helmets, one wielding a sword and an axe, the other carrying a sword and a spear. She reacted instinctively. Gripping her right wrist with her left hand, she splayed open her fingers, palm outward. Crackling blue-green flames splashed across the floor directly in front of the two girls, shooting upward in a solid sheet of wavering emerald fire.

The women stepped through the flames without even pausing but stopped when they spotted Joan in her armor. They looked at one another, obviously confused. “You’re not the silver humani. Who are you?” one demanded.

“This is my house, and I think that’s my question”, Joan said grimly. She turned sideways, left shoulder toward the women, holding her sword in both hands, the point moving in a slow figure eight between the warriors.

“Stand aside. We have no argument with you”, one said.

Joan lifted the sword, bringing the hilt close to her face, the tip of the long sword pointing straight up. “You come into
my
home and tell me to stand aside”, she said incredulously. “Who are you
what
are you?” she demanded.

“We are the Disir”, the woman with the sword and spear said softly. “We are here for Scathach. Our argument is only with her. But do not stand in our way or it will become your argument.”

“The Shadow is my friend”, Joan said.

“Then that makes you our enemy.”

Without warning, the Valkyries attacked together, one lunging with sword and spear, the other with sword and axe. Joan’s heavy blade shifted, metal clanging, the movement almost too fast to see as she blocked sword thrusts, turned aside the axe and batted down the spear.

The Disir backed away and spread out until they were standing on either side of Joan. She had to keep turning her head to be able to watch them both.

“You fight well.”

Joan’s lips pulled away from her teeth in a savage smile. “I was taught by the best. Scathach herself trained me.”

“I thought I recognized the style”, the second Disir said.

Only Joan’s gray eyes moved as she tracked the two warriors. “I didn’t think I had a style.”

“Neither has Scathach.”

“Who are you?” the Disir on the right asked. “In my lifetime I’ve known only a handful who could stand against us. And none of them were humani.”

“I am Joan of Arc”, she replied simply.

“Never heard of you”, the Disir said, and while she was speaking, her sister, standing to Joan’s left, drew back her arm, poised to throw the spear

The weapon burst into white-hot flames.

With a savage howl, the Disir flung the spear to one side; by the time it hit the ground, the wooden shaft was little more than ash and the wickedly pointed metal head was melting into a bubbling puddle.

Standing on the bottom step, Sophie blinked in surprise. She hadn’t known she could do that.

The Disir to Joan’s right darted forward, sword and axe weaving a deadly humming pattern in the air before her, battering at Joan’s sword, driving her back under the vicious onslaught.

The second Disir rounded on Sophie.

Setting the spear shaft alight and melting the head had exhausted her, and she slumped against the banister. But she needed to help Joan; she needed to get to Josh. Pressing hard on the underside of her wrist, Sophie attempted to call upon her Fire magic. Smoke curled from her hand, but there was no fire.

The Disir strode forward until she was standing directly in front of the girl. Sophie was standing on a step, and the girls faces were almost level. “So, you are the silver humani the English Magician wants so desperately.” Behind her metal mask, the Valkyrie s violet eyes were contemptuous.

Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, Sophie straightened. She stretched out both arms, fingers closed into tight fists. Closing her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm her thundering heart, she visualized gloves of flame; she saw herself bringing her hands together, shaping a ball of fire in her fists like dough and then flinging it at the figure standing before her. But when she opened her eyes, only the merest hints of gossamer blue flames danced over her flesh. She clapped her hands together and sparks danced harmlessly across the warrior’s chain mail.

The Disir tapped her sword against her gloved hand. “Your petty fire tricks do not impress me.”

A tremendous crash from the kitchen shook the house again. The ornate chandelier over the center of the hallway started to sway to and fro, tinkling musically as the shadows danced.

“Josh”, Sophie whispered. Her fear turned to anger: this creature was preventing her from getting to her brother. And the anger gave her strength. Remembering what Saint-Germain had done on the roof, the girl pointed her index finger at the warrior and unleashed her rage in a single focused beam.

A dirty yellow-black spear of solid fire leapt from Sophie’s finger and exploded against the Disir’s chain mail. Fire splashed all over the warrior, and the force of the blow drove her to her knees. She shouted an incomprehensible word that sounded like a wolf’s howl.

Across the hall, Joan took advantage of the distraction and pressed her attacker hard, pushing her back toward the gaping ruin of a door. The two women were evenly matched, and while Joan’s sword was longer and heavier than her opponent’s, the Disir had the advantage of wielding two weapons. In addition, it had been a long time since Joan had worn armor and fought with a sword. She could feel the burn in the muscles of her shoulders, and her hips and knees were aching from the weight of the metal she was carrying. She had to finish this.

The fallen Valkyrie climbed to her feet in front of Sophie. The front of her chain mail had taken the full force of the fire bolt, and the links had melted and run like softened wax. The warrior grabbed a handful of the mail and ripped it away from her body, flinging it aside. The plain white robe underneath was scorched and blackened, with sparkling chunks of metal melted into the cloth. “Little girl”, the Disir whispered, “I am going to teach you never to play with fire.”

N
idhogg’s sticky tongue unfurled through the air toward Scathach, who was still pinned against the kitchen wall, wrapped tightly in the creature’s claws. The Warrior fought in complete silence, struggling in the monster’s grip, wrenching herself from side to side, boot heels scrambling for purchase on the slippery tiled floor. With her arms pinned to her sides, she was unable to use her short swords.

Josh knew that if he even paused for thought, he was not going to be able to go through with what he meant to do. The smell of the creature was making him sick to his stomach, and his heart was thumping so hard he could barely catch his breath.

The forked tongue brushed across the table, leaving a deep burn mark on the wood. It punched right through a wooden chair as it headed straight for the Warrior’s head.

All he had to do, Josh kept reminding himself, was to think of his sword as a football. Holding Clarent high above his head in the two-handed grip Joan had shown him earlier, he launched himself forward in a move that the coach at his last school had spent an entire season trying and failing to teach him.

But even as he was jumping, he knew he’d miscalculated. The tongue was moving too fast, and he was too far away. With a last desperate effort, he flung the sword from his hand.

The flat of the blade struck the side of Nidhogg’s meaty tongue. And stuck fast.

Years of tae kwon do training took over as Josh crashed onto the tiled floor. He hit it hard but still managed to slap it with the palm of his hand, sending his body forward into a neat roll that brought him back to his feet within inches of the meaty acid-dripping tongue. And the sword.

Catching hold of the hilt, he used all his strength to pull it away from the tongue it came free with a sticky Velcro sound, and the tongue sizzled and hissed as it snapped back into the monster’s mouth. Josh knew that if he stopped, both he and Scatty were dead. He plunged Clarent point first into the serpent’s arm just above the wrist joint. As the blade sank smoothly into the alligator-like hide, it began to vibrate, a high-pitched keening sound that set Josh’s teeth on edge. He felt a rush of warmth flowing up his arm and into his chest. A heartbeat later, a surge of strength and energy wiped away his aches and pains. His aura blossomed bright blinding gold, and there was a tracery of light curling around the gray stone blade when he wrenched it out of the creature.

“The claws, Josh. Cut off a claw”, Scathach grunted as Nidhogg shook her hard. The two swords fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

Josh lashed out at the monster, trying to cut off a claw, but the heavy stone blade turned at the last moment and bounced harmlessly off its foot. He tried again, and this time the sword struck sparks off the creature’s armored hide.

“Hey! Be careful”, Scathach yelped as the swinging blade came dangerously close to her head. “That’s one of the few weapons that really can kill me.”

“Sorry”, Josh muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” He slashed out at the claw again. Sparks flew into the Warrior’s face. “Why do we want a claw?” he grunted, hacking at the iron-hard skin.

“It can only be killed with one of its own claws”, Scathach said, her voice surprisingly calm. “Look out! Get back!”

Josh turned just as the thing’s huge head lunged forward, pushing into the side of the ruined house, its white tongue darting forward again. It was coming for him. It was moving too fast; there was nowhere to go and if he did move, it would just hit Scatty. Planting his feet firmly, both hands wrapped tightly around Clarent s hilt, he held the sword before his face. He closed his eyes at the approaching horror and immediately opened them again. If he 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 wraparound 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 as hand 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.