The Necromancer (13 page)

Sophie felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “So her memories and my memories will stay separate.”

“They are separate,” Perenelle assured her. “You know when you are experiencing the Witch’s memories, don’t you?”

Sophie nodded. “But Nicholas said—”

“Nicholas is often wrong,” Perenelle interrupted, a touch of ice in her voice. “I love him, I have loved him for centuries, and while he is extraordinary and brilliant, he is still human, with all the faults and foibles of a human. He makes mistakes,” she added. “We both do.” Shaking her head, she smiled, and a warmth returned to her voice. “So, no, I do not think the Witch’s memories will overcome yours. You are too strong-willed—you must be, to have survived the Awakening and learned Air, Fire and Water magic so quickly. And to be truthful,” she added with a smile, “I do not think the Witch would have been able to plan something quite so sophisticated. She was never subtle.”

Niten and Josh appeared from belowdecks. There was a broad grin stretched across Josh’s face. “We will return in a few moments,” Niten called. “We’re going to get the car. We need something slightly less conspicuous than that red monstrosity you arrived in.”

Sophie and Pernelle stood in silence and watched as Josh and the Japanese man climbed onto the dock and disappeared through the tangle of houseboats.

“Nicholas and I are going to ask Prometheus to gift Josh with the Magic of Fire,” Perenelle continued. “But the experience must be new to your brother; he cannot be warned about the Master of Fire.”

Sophie was about to ask why, when the memories suddenly popped into her head. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face: Josh definitely wanted the Magic of Fire, but he was not going to be happy with the process of acquiring it. She nodded. “I won’t tell him anything.”

“Good.”

“Who is Niten?” Sophie asked. The name was unfamiliar to the Witch, and Sophie had been waiting for the opportunity to find out about the Japanese man.

The Sorceress’s green eyes clouded and she raised them to follow the man’s progress. “He is undoubtedly the greatest swordsman in the world—the only humani ever to defeat Scathach in single combat. But if you ask him what he is, he will tell you that he is an artist. And that also is true: his skill with the brush is legendary. Nicholas and I had one of his original bird paintings in our apartment in New York, before Dee burned it to the ground. Niten has traveled this world and the nearby Shadowrealms in search of opponents to fight simply to hone his skills. He was supposed to have been made immortal sometime in the seventeenth century by Benzaiten, who many—including the Witch—believe may even be one of the ancient Great Elders. Niten was also known as Miyamoto Musashi.”

Sophie caught her breath. The names Miyamoto Musashi and now Benzaiten sent dozens of images flickering through her head. She stared at the gently lapping water, and the ripples dissolved into …

Niten, dressed in the exotic armor of a samurai, racing through a dense bamboo forest. Hundreds of snarling beast-faced monsters chased him. Most of the creatures were pink-and blue-skinned, though some were bright red. They were all horned and three-eyed, their mouths filled with savage teeth, their hands tipped with claws. The samurai broke out of the forest and stopped, swaying, on the edge of a sheer cliff that fell away to a raging sea and jagged rocks far below. He whirled to face the monsters, a sword in either hand. Howling savagely, hungrily, the beasts appeared and closed in on the human.…

And then Benzaiten appeared.

She rose from the sea behind Niten: tiny, ethereal and beautiful, riding on the back of an enormous pink-scaled dragon. She tapped the dragon on the back of its head with an ornate fan and the creature spread gossamer wings, opened its mouth to reveal hundreds of ragged teeth and a long black forked tongue … and the horned monsters turned and fled into the bamboo.

One remained. A huge blue-skinned creature with downward-curling tusks. Lifting a bow as tall as itself, it fired a long black-tipped arrow directly toward the tiny Elder.

Niten’s swords flashed, impossibly fast … and sliced the arrow out of the air.

Sophie shuddered and drew in a great ragged breath. “Yes, Benzaiten made him immortal.…”

“What did the Witch think of Benzaiten?” Perenelle asked curiously.

Sophie nodded. “The Witch believes she is one of the Great Elders.”

“See?” Perenelle smiled delightedly. “You can draw upon selective memories when you need them. You are controlling the memories, they are not controlling you.”

“Names seem to make me remember. When we were in Paris, Joan did something to help me while I slept. When the Witch first gave me her memories, I felt as if my skull were about to explode. The noises in my head were incredible. I kept hearing voices speaking a hundred different languages, snatches of songs and sounds that were so alien they were terrifying. After a couple of days, I discovered that I’d started to understand what they were saying,” she added, a note of awe in her voice. “When Joan was finished, the voices were still there, but they were like distant whispers. Now, if I concentrate, I can focus on a name and the memories appear. But I’ve been trying to ignore them.”

“Do not. The memories are knowledge, and knowledge is power. It is an extraordinary gift the Witch gave you.” Perenelle’s expression grew distant. “I just wish I knew why she gave it to you.”

“Why?” Sophie didn’t understand.

“She must have seen something in your future that suggested that you would need that knowledge,” Perenelle said. “She could easily have taught you the Magic of Air without gifting you her memories.”

Something about this revelation disturbed Sophie, but she wasn’t sure how or why. She’d talk to Josh about it later; maybe he’d be able to help. “So the memories aren’t going to control me?”

“No.” Perenelle smiled kindly. “You have no idea just how strong you are. You survived a terrible Awakening, and you have been trained in three of the Elemental Magics in a matter of days.” Perenelle’s voice was soft, touched with what Sophie recognized as sadness, and she wondered if the woman was thinking about the other twins who had not survived. “You should know that what you have achieved has never been done before. Never.” She reached out to place her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “You have no idea how proud I am of you. I knew you and your brother were the ones.”

The long black limousine appeared on the dock and came to a halt in a cloud of dust. Josh climbed out of the driver’s seat, grinning delightedly. Niten emerged from the passenger side; he’d obviously allowed Josh to drive.

Sophie raised her hand and waved to her twin. Without looking at the Sorceress, she said, “You planned all this, didn’t you?”

Perenelle did not reply.

Still not looking at the woman, Sophie continued. “That day when Josh went for the job in the bookshop and you met me in the Coffee Cup. The moment you learned that we were twins … you knew then, didn’t you, that we were …”

“… the twins of legend? I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. I have the gift of foresight. The instant I saw you I knew you were special; the minute you stepped in the door I caught the faintest glimmer of your aura, just the hint of silver. When I discovered you were a twin, my suspicions were heightened, and when I saw Josh and saw the glimmer of gold on his skin, I knew for certain. I told Nicholas to employ Josh—he was just about to reject him,” she added with a wry smile. “Your brother did not have a good interview! I don’t think he really wanted the job.”

“He didn’t.” Sophie glanced at her quickly. “And you made Bernice hire me at the Coffee Cup.” It was a statement, not a question, but she wanted to hear the Sorceress admit the truth.

Perenelle’s head moved in the tiniest of nods. “I suggested that she needed you, that is true.”

“Suggested?”

“I can be very forceful.”

“When were you and Nicholas planning on telling us?” Sophie asked, a note of anger in her voice. The idea that she and her brother had been manipulated by the Flamels for months was chilling.

“Actually, we were going to break the news to you in a couple of weeks’ time: at the summer solstice.”

“Litha.” The name popped into Sophie’s head.

“Yes, the ancients called it Litha. And it is the time of year when your auras—the gold and silver—will be at their strongest. We thought that would be the best time to Awaken you with the least danger to yourselves.”

“But there would be dangers.…”

“There are always dangers.”

Sophie looked into Perenelle’s cold green eyes. “And you would still have gone through with it?”

“Yes.”

Sophie felt sick. This woman, whom she had liked, admired, even respected, had just admitted that she’d been prepared to put her and Josh in terrible danger. Sophie saw the Sorceress in a new light. Perenelle’s cool beauty suddenly took on an almost threatening aspect.

“Do you smell that?” Perenelle asked suddenly.

“What?” Sophie said, drawing in a deep lungful of air. “Vanilla,” she answered. “It smells sour.”

“Your anger has tainted your aura. You must learn to control that. And before you rush to judgment,” the Sorceress continued with an icy smile, “ask yourself what you would have done if you and Josh were in our position. Nicholas and I have spent centuries looking for the two people who can save this world from total destruction. And yes, we have made mistakes, terrible mistakes,” she added sadly, “and we will live with those mistakes for the rest of our lives. But I ask you, what other option had we? Would it have been better if we had not looked for those two people? We were given a terrible responsibility: we accepted it.”

“Gilgamesh said those other twins didn’t survive the Awakening. You Awakened them knowing that they would most likely die.”

“Some survived,” Perenelle said coldly. “But we never forced anyone to go through the Awakening. We explained the risks. All of those twins accepted those risks—accepted them gladly, too,” she added.

“Well, I wasn’t warned,” Sophie said angrily.

“Was there time?” Perenelle asked. “From the moment Dee burst into the shop last Thursday, events have moved at such a pace.”

“I should have been warned,” Sophie persisted.

“And if you had been warned about the risks, how would you have decided? What would you have done?” Perenelle took a step closer, looking into Sophie’s eyes. “You are a good person, Sophie Newman. You are Silver—just like Joan. Like her, you are caring and considerate, and like her, you would have wanted to do what was right. If Nicholas and I had waited until Litha and explained the situation to you, as we’d planned, I believe you would have gone ahead with the Awakening.”

Sophie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. Perenelle was right; even if she had known the risks, she would have gone through with it.

“Would Josh?” Perenelle asked, her voice so soft that Sophie had to strain to hear it.

Sophie turned to look at her brother. She didn’t have to think about an answer: if he had known the risks, Josh would not have even attempted the Awakening. Despite his bluster and bravado, he wasn’t brave. But then she thought about him in Paris and London: he had shown extraordinary courage in both cities. This was a new Josh, a Josh she’d never really seen before. The old Josh, her brother of last week, would never have been able to do those things. He wouldn’t even have tried.

“So I think it best that you not tell him about Prometheus,” Perenelle finished. “Let’s not scare him.”

T
he security guards fell at the almost inaudible sounds from Virginia Dare’s wooden flute. She kept one awake, mesmerizing him with an ancient Native American lullaby, and he obediently turned off the security cameras, disarmed the alarms and opened the gates to allow her and Dee inside. The soothing lullaby ended with a single piercing note, which dropped the guard unconscious to the floor, face twisted in agony.

The Magician stepped over the crumpled body, looked around at the sleeping guards and nodded in approval. He turned to regard the flute, tilting his head to one side to look at the hints of a spiral design running the length of the instrument. “I’ve always been fascinated by your flute,” he said. “You never told me where you got it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dare said firmly, and turned away, forestalling the discussion.

Dee followed the woman through the empty Tower of London. “A gift from your master, perhaps?” he persisted.

“I don’t have a master,” she said slowly; then she glanced over her shoulder, eyes cold and angry. “But you know that, of course.”

“Oh, that’s right: you killed him.”

“Only a fool kills an Elder,” she snapped. “And I’m not a fool … unlike you!”

Dee shrugged. “You’re referring to Hekate? What’s done is done and cannot be undone. And technically, I did not kill her—the Yggdrasill fell on her.”

“You always were a master of weasel words, John,” Virginia said softly. “Even Shakespeare said you should have been a playwright. I heard you had an encounter with him and the Saracen Knight, and that you didn’t come off too well,” she added with a sly smile.

Dee fell into step beside the immortal. “You knew they were in the city?”

“I make it my business to know whom I’m sharing the city with.” They were back outside under the night sky, and directly ahead of them was a red-and-black-paneled Tudor building. The sound of water slapping against stone was clearly audible, and the air smelled damp. “Shakespeare has been here since the sixteenth century; Palamedes comes and goes.” Dare walked across the flagstones, completely silent in flat leather moccasins. She leaned on the metal rail and looked down into a pool of black water; then she pointed over to where an arched opening in the opposite wall had been sealed with a heavy-looking metal gate. The two halves of the gate sagged in the middle, and through the struts a second black pool rippled like oil. “And you are now about to tell me that the entrance to the Shadowrealm is in the pool behind that gate?”

“It is. You’ve never been here?” Dee asked, surprised.