The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) (15 page)

“Anything,” Sophie said again. “Everything.”

“We will do anything—everything—to help those we love. That is what separates the humani from the Next Generation or the Elders or those who came before them. That is what makes us human. That is why the race thrives; it is why the race will always survive.”

“But that type of love requires sacrifice,” Tsagaglalal said slowly. “Sometimes extraordinary sacrifices …” The old woman’s gray eyes suddenly swam with huge tears.

And Sophie had a flickering memory of a woman—younger, so much younger, but with the same high cheekbones and gray eyes of Tsagaglalal—turning away from a tall golden statue. The woman stopped and looked back, and Sophie discovered that the statue’s bright gray eyes were alive and were following the woman. Then Tsagaglalal turned and raced down endless glass stairs. She was clutching a book in both hands: the Codex. And her tears dripped onto the metal surface
.

“Sophie,” Perenelle continued, “more than ten thousand years ago, Abraham the Mage foresaw all this, and he began to put in place a plan to help save the world. You and your twin were chosen for these roles long before you were born. You were spoken about in a prophecy that predates the Fall of Danu Talis and the Flood.”

“ ‘The two that are one, the one that is all. One to save the world, one to destroy it,’ ” Tsagaglalal quoted. “This is your destiny. And no one can escape their destiny.”

“My father says that all the time.”

“Your father is correct.”

“Are you saying that my brother and I are just puppets?” Sophie began, but her mouth was dry and she took a long swallow of the cold drink in front of her. “We don’t have free will?”

“Of course you do,” Perenelle said. “Josh made a choice, and all choices are made out of love or hate. He decided to go with Dee—not because he liked him, but because, when he saw you attack the Archon, he hated you. He saw Coatlicue as a beautiful young woman and not as the hideous creature that she really is. And you … well, now you need to decide what you are going to do.”

Perenelle’s words stung.
Josh hated her
. And yet Sophie knew it was true. She’d seen it in his eyes. But it didn’t matter what he thought of her—it didn’t change what she knew in her own heart and how she felt about him. “I’m going after Josh.”

“Even though he abandoned you?” Tsagaglalal asked gently.

“You said that all choices are made out of love or hate. He’s my brother. I’m going after him. That’s my choice.”

“And where will you go?” Perenelle asked.

Sophie looked at her blankly. She had no idea. “I’ll find him,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. “When … when he’s in trouble, or pain, I can usually feel it. Sometimes I even get flashes of what he’s seeing.”

“Can you feel him now?” Tsagaglalal asked, clearly curious.

Sophie shook her head. “But I have the Witch of Endor’s knowledge within me. Maybe I can draw on that.”

“I doubt the Witch foresaw this latest turn of events,” Tsagaglalal said. “I have known her throughout my long life, and while she was able to determine the grand sweeps of history, the movements of individuals always escaped her. Unlike her brother, Prometheus, or her husband, Mars Ultor, she never really understood the humani.”

“You could make another choice,” Perenelle said quietly. “You could choose to help us save the world. We need you,” she added urgently. “Right now, Machiavelli is on Alcatraz. We know he intends to release monstrous creatures into San Francisco. How do you think a modern city like this will react when the air fills with dragons and nightmares crawl up out of the sewers and down the streets?”

Sophie shook her head. The very idea was incomprehensible.

“How many will die?” Perenelle continued. “How many will be injured? How many more will be utterly traumatized by the experience?”

Numb with shock, Sophie shook her head again.

“And if you knew someone who could help—someone who had the power to fight these monsters—would you want them to stand and fight and protect tens of thousands, or would you want them to run away to help one person?”

Sophie was about to reply, when she realized she’d been cleverly maneuvered into a trap.

“We need you to fight with us, Sophie,” Tsagaglalal continued. “You remember Hekate, the Goddess with Three Faces?”

“Who lived in the Yggdrasill and Awakened me. How could I forget?” she said sarcastically.

“She was immeasurably powerful: maiden in the morning, matron in the afternoon and ancient in the evening. She represented the entire scope of woman’s knowledge and power.” Tsagaglalal leaned forward, her lined face inches from Sophie’s. “You are the maiden, Perenelle is the matron and I am the ancient crone. Together we have extraordinary knowledge and remarkable power. Together the three of us can stand and defend this city.”

“Will you stand with us, Sophie Newman?” Perenelle Flamel asked.

A window above their heads suddenly opened and Niten appeared. He did not speak a word, but the look on his face was enough.

“It is time to decide,” Perenelle said. “Time to choose a side.”

Sophie stood and watched the Sorceress help Tsagaglalal out of her seat and into the house. She wanted to run through the house and out into the street … and then what? Where would she go? She wanted to find Josh. But she had no idea how she was going to do that. And what would happen when the creatures invaded the city? Her aura and the Elemental Magics she’d learned would protect her … but who would protect everyone else?

It was indeed time to choose a side.

But which side?

In the distance a ship’s horn sounded, and it made Sophie think of Alcatraz. There were beasts on the island—creatures of nightmare. And Perenelle was right: if they were released on the city, there would be death and massive destruction … and no right-thinking person wanted that. No right-thinking person would deliberately bring that sort of chaos to a city.

But that was what Machiavelli, Dee and Dare—and Josh—were about to do.

Unconsciously, Sophie nodded, and suddenly the choice became very simple. She could work with the Sorceress and Tsagaglalal to prevent that from happening. Afterward, she would go in search of her brother.

The girl followed the two older women back into the house, through the kitchen and up the stairs.

Prometheus was waiting for them at the bedroom door. He stood back and allowed them to file into the room and gather around the bed holding Nicholas Flamel. The Alchemyst looked shrunken and frail, his skin the same color as the white sheets. Only the tiniest movement in his chest indicated that he was still breathing. “His time has come,” Prometheus whispered.

And Perenelle buried her face in her hands and wept.

lying saucers?” William Shakespeare asked. He pushed his glasses up onto his nose and grinned delightedly. “Flying saucers.” He nudged Palamedes with his elbow. “I told you they were real. I told you there were more things in—”

“Vimanas,” Scathach corrected. “The legendary flying ships of Danu Talis.” Tilting her head back and shielding her eyes, she watched as another six spinning silver craft swept out of the clear blue sky to hover in the air above them. Four of the craft descended to settle just above the ground, bobbing gently, like boats on the surface of a river. There was the faintest trembling in the air, and the grass beneath the vehicles developed a thin sheen of ice.

The glass domes on top of each vimana opened and the anpu appeared. Tall and muscular, dressed in black armor etched with silver and gold threads and armed with curved metal sickle-swords—the lethal kopesh—the jackal-headed
warriors took Marethyu first. The hooded man had not regained consciousness and remained on the ground, continuing to twitch and shake as blue-white sparks crackled off his hook and arced into the green grass. Three of the anpu bundled him into the largest of the ships, which instantly hummed away.

Scathach turned to track its progress across the mazelike city, the silver disc reflected in the canals while simultaneously casting shadows across the streets below. She saw it fly over the huge pyramid at the heart of the city and then dip down to settle into the courtyard of a vast glittering silver and gold palace spread out behind it.

Scathach turned back to the gathered anpu. She’d encountered the anpu in a score of Shadowrealms, and though she had never fought them, she knew their fearsome reputation. They were deadly warriors … but the Shadow was deadlier. The Warrior readied herself to fight. Rubbing the palms of her hands against her legs, she twisted her head from side to side, working the stiffness from her neck. The anpu had made a cardinal mistake: they had not disarmed their enemy yet. Scathach still had her swords, knives and nunchaku. Lifetimes of combat had honed her fighting instincts: she would take the nearest anpu first, using her weapon to sweep its legs out from under it. She’d catch it as it fell and spin its body into those of its two companions, taking them down. The distraction would be enough for Joan and Palamedes to join in, at which point she’d toss swords to Saint-Germain and Shakespeare. It would all be over in a matter of minutes. Then they’d commandeer a vimana and …

Scathach caught Palamedes looking over at her. “It would be a mistake,” the knight murmured in the ancient language of his homeland. He turned away and shielded his eyes, looking at the city as he continued to speak to her. “There is none better than you, Warrior, but the anpu will not fall so easily. There will be casualties. Saint-Germain perhaps, Joan possibly, Will certainly. These are unacceptable losses. Besides, if the anpu’s masters had wanted us dead, they could have killed us from the sky.”

Scathach’s vampire teeth bit into her lip. Palamedes was correct. If even one of them was killed or injured, then the price of escape was too high. The Warrior’s head had moved almost imperceptibly, but she knew the Saracen Knight had seen her. “There will be another time,” she said.

“Always,” he agreed.

The anpu moved among them, collecting their weapons, and then divided them into groups. The bulky Palamedes was pushed toward one craft, while the smaller Saint-Germain and Shakespeare were urged toward a second. Scathach and Joan were escorted to a silver vimana by three heavily armed anpu. Scathach climbed aboard first, the craft dipping slightly with her weight. The interior of the craft was practically bare, empty except for four long narrow seats that were designed for canine anatomy. One of the anpu, shorter and broader than the others, with the faintest tracery of white scars across its snout, wordlessly pointed at the seats, then gestured at the two women. Scathach tried sitting but almost slid off the seat before she discovered that lying down was more comfortable.
Joan followed her example, and the anpu fixed three metal bands around each of them, locking them down.

“How much trouble are we in?” Joan asked lightly in French.

The scarred anpu glared at her, its long canine mouth opening to reveal a maw of teeth. It pressed a claw to its lips to signal silence. Joan ignored it.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Scathach said, “we’re heading toward twelve.”

The scarred anpu leaned over the Warrior, huge black eyes locked on hers. Ropey saliva dripped off its teeth.

“Do they not talk?” Joan asked.

“Only when they charge into battle,” Scatty said. “And then their screams are bone-chilling. It often shocks their prey motionless.”

“What are they?”

“I believe they are kin in some way to the Torc clans. Another Elder experiment gone wrong.”

Finally, after realizing that the women were not going to obey, the scarred anpu swung away in disgust.

“Are they friend or foe?” the Frenchwoman asked.

“Hard to say,” Scathach admitted. “Even I don’t know who’s who anymore.” She was looking straight up through the opening of the roof at the blue sky. The vimana dipped as the two large anpu warriors climbed inside, and then a glass dome slid over the top, sealing off all outside sound. Scathach noticed that the dome was speckled and smeared with crushed flies.

“They knew who Marethyu was, though,” Joan said.

“It seems everyone but us knows who he is. And it’s clear he is the puppet master behind all this. I really hate the idea that we have all been manipulated,” Scatty said grimly. “I promise you that the hook-handed man and I will meet again. And then I’ll ask him some hard questions.”