The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) (9 page)

“I can see you,” Odin said.

The creature stood, dusted herself off and staggered toward the Elder in a peculiar stiff-legged walk. She had been beautiful once, but no longer. Her features were almost canine, with two thick fangs jutting from beneath her upper lip. Her eyes, sunk deep in her skull, perpetually leaked a foul-smelling black liquid down her face. Now and then her overlong tongue would dart out to lick the ichor. For as long as he had known her, she had dressed the same way: gray leather tunic, matching leather trousers and high boots with thick stacked heels and soles.

Odin noticed that while the sand about his feet formed smooth circles and spirals, the ground beneath the creature was patterned with jagged lightning bolts. The sand seemed
to be flowing toward him but away from this creature. “What do you want?” he called.

The creature’s mouth moved, but it took her a moment to form words, as if she was unused to speech. “I want what you want,” she mumbled. She staggered forward and almost fell on the shifting black sands.

Odin shook his head. “No.”

The creature attempted to climb the mound of sand, but her knees would not bend and she fell forward. Odin knew that the same terrible curse that had robbed her of her beauty had taken the flesh and muscle off her legs, and now they were little more than bare bones, fragile, hardly able to support her weight. Crawling again, painfully slowly, she inched up the hill toward the Elder. “I want what you want,” she repeated. “Justice for the death of my world. Revenge for the dead.”

Odin shook his head again. “No.”

The creature lay on the sand and raised her head to look up. “He destroyed our Shadowrealms. He attempted to loose Coatlicue,” she said, panting. “There are others hunting him. When Isis and Osiris declared Dee
utlaga
, they offered a huge reward for him. Shadowrealms. Immortality. Incalculable wealth and knowledge to the person who brings him in alive.” The creature attempted to clamber to her feet, but her stiff legs betrayed her and she fell back. “But you and I do not want to bring him back for trial and judgment. Our argument with this immortal humani is personal. He killed those we loved … and we will have our revenge.”

Odin took pity on the creature and stretched out his staff. She caught hold of it, fingers with broken black nails wrapping around the ancient wood. Her aura flared bloodred, and for a single heartbeat Odin caught a glimpse of the woman she had once been: tall, elegant and very, very beautiful, with eyes the color of a morning sky and hair like storm clouds. Then the image faded, leaving the stunted, mottled creature before him. Odin raised her up and set her down beside him. Even with the stacked heels, she barely came to his chest.

“Isis and Osiris came to me—both of them—and offered me my beauty if I would lead them to him.”

“Why did they ask you?”

“They knew I had sent the
Torbalan
—the Sack Men—after him.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said I did not exactly know where he was.”

“A lie?” he asked.

“Not the whole truth,” she said. “I did not want them to find him first.”

“Because he would be taken for judgment.”

The creature nodded. “Just so. Once they have him, he would be beyond my grasp.”

“It seems we are both in search of revenge.”

“I prefer to call it justice.”

“Justice. What an odd word to hear coming from you.” Odin put his hand under the creature’s chin and tilted it up. “How are you, Hel?”

“Angry, Uncle. And you?”

“Angry,” he agreed.

“I can help you,” Hel said.

“How?”

The creature produced a cell phone from a pouch on her belt and turned it toward the Elder. The screen showed a photograph of a black car. Dr. John Dee’s face was dimly visible through the darkened glass. “I know where Dr. Dee is right now. I can take you there.”

don’t want you to say anything that is going to upset my aunt,” Sophie said as they drew near the corner of Sacramento Street in Pacific Heights—Aunt Agnes’s house.

“I will say nothing,” Niten promised.

“If I can slip inside and get a change of clothes without seeing her, then that would be great, but she’s usually in the living room in the front of the house watching TV or staring out at the street,” she continued. She was red-faced and a little breathless from the walk from Coit Tower. “So I’ll probably have to introduce you to her. If she remembers you from yesterday, I’ll say you’re a friend.”

“Thank you,” Niten murmured, his features expressionless.

“Then, while you talk to her, I’ll slip upstairs and get a change of clothes. I’ll grab some things from Josh’s closet for you, though they may be a little big on you.”

“I would be grateful,” Niten said. He brought the sleeve of his ruined black suit to his nose and sniffed cautiously. “I stink of smoke and old magic. You too, miss,” he added. “You might think about taking a shower.”

Sophie’s cheeks bloomed red. “Are you saying I smell?”

“I’m afraid so.” Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and breathed deeply. “But that’s not the only odor in the air. Tell me, what can you smell?” he asked.

Sophie drew in a deep lungful of air. “I can smell the smoke in my clothes,” she said. “Salt in the air … car exhaust …,” she continued, and then stopped. “There’s something else.” She breathed deeply again and looked around at the gardens surrounding the homes they passed. “It’s like roses.”

“Not roses,” Niten said.

“And it’s really familiar,” she said. “What is it?”

“Jasmine.”

“Yes, that’s it—jasmine. Why does it smell like jasmine?”

“It is the odor of ancient power. Tsagaglalal has awakened.”

Unconsciously the girl shivered. Wrapping her arms around her body, she turned to look at Niten. “Who is she?
What
is she? Every time I try to access the Witch’s memories, nothing will come … not even fragments.”

“Tsagaglalal is a mystery,” Niten admitted. “She is neither Elder nor Next Generation, not immortal and not entirely human, but as old as Gilgamesh the King. Aoife once told me that Tsagaglalal knows everything and has been on this Shadowrealm from the beginning, watching, waiting.”

“Watching what, waiting for what?” Sophie pressed. She
tried again to call up the Witch’s memories of Tsagaglalal. But she got nothing.

Niten shrugged. “It is impossible to tell. These are creatures who do not think like humans. Tsagaglalal and others who have been on this earth for millennia have seen entire civilizations rise and fall. So why should they care for individual human lives? We—humani—mean nothing to them.”

They continued in silence down Scott Street and then Sophie breathed the air again. The smell of jasmine seemed to have grown even stronger.

“Immortality changes the way people think,” Niten said suddenly, and the girl abruptly realized that he rarely instigated a conversation. “Not only about themselves, but about the world around them. I know what it is like to live for hundreds of years, I have observed the effect it has had on me … and I cannot help wondering what effect it must have on those who live a thousand, two thousand, ten thousand years.”

“My brother and I met Gilgamesh the King in London. Nicholas said he was the oldest humani on the planet.” She felt a sudden wash of emotion just remembering the King. She had never felt so sorry for anyone in her life.

Niten glanced sidelong at the girl, a rare flicker of emotion on his face. “You met the Ancient of Days? That is a rare honor. We fought together once. He was an extraordinary warrior.”

“He was lost and lonely,” Sophie said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Yes, that too.”

“You are immortal, Niten. Do you regret it?”

Niten looked away, his face impassive.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie said quickly, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“There is no need to apologize. I was considering your question. It is something I think about every day of my life,” he admitted with a brief sad smile. “It is true that I regret what immortality has cost me: the opportunity for family, for friends, even for a country. It has made me a loner, an outcast, a wanderer—though in truth, I was all of those before I became immortal. But that same longevity has shown me wonders,” he added, and for the first time, Sophie saw the Swordsman become animated. “I have seen marvels and endured so much. The humani lifespan is not long enough to experience a fraction of what this world alone has to offer. I have visited every corner of every continent on this planet and explored Shadowrealms both terrifying and awe-inspiring. And I have learned so much. Immortality is a gift beyond imagining. If you are offered it: take it. The benefits far outweigh the disadvantages.” He stopped suddenly. It was probably the longest speech Sophie had ever heard him make.

“Scathach told me that immortality was a curse.”

“Immortality is what you make of it,” Niten said. “A curse or a blessing—yes, it can be both. But if you are brave and curious, then there is no greater gift.”

“I’ll remember that if someone offers it to me,” she said.

“And of course, it all depends on who is doing the offering!”

Sophie took a deep breath when she saw her aunt’s white wooden house appear on the corner. What was she going to
say to Aunt Agnes? First she had gone missing; now she was back, but her brother was gone. Agnes might be old, but she was no fool: she knew the twins were always together. Finding one without the other was very rare. Sophie knew she’d have to be careful. Everything she told Aunt Agnes would go straight back to their mother and father. And how was she going to begin to explain what had happened to Josh? She didn’t even know where he was. The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t been the brother she’d grown up with. He’d looked like Josh, but his eyes, which had always been the mirror of hers, had looked like those of a stranger.

She swallowed hard and blinked away more tears. She would find him. She
had
to find him.

Sophie saw the white net curtains twitch as she approached the steps and knew her aunt was watching her. She glanced back at Niten and he nodded slightly. He too had seen the movement. “Whatever you say, keep it simple,” he advised.

The door opened and Aunt Agnes appeared, a tiny frail figure, slight and bony, with knobby knees and swollen arthritic fingers. Her face was all angles and planes, with a sharp chin and straight cheekbones that left her eyes deeply sunk. Steel-gray hair was combed straight back off her face and held in a tight bun at the back of her head. It pulled the skin on her face taut.

“Sophie,” the woman said very softly. She leaned forward and squinted short-sightedly. “And where is your brother?”

“Oh, he’s coming, Auntie,” Sophie said, mounting the steps to the front door. When she reached the top she leaned in and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “How have you been?”

“Waiting for you to come back to me,” the old woman said, sounding tired.

Sophie felt a pang of guilt. Although the twins’ aunt drove them insane, they both knew that she had a good heart. “Auntie, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. This is—”

“Miyamoto Musashi,” Aunt Agnes said very quietly, a subtle change altering her voice, deepening it, making it powerful, commanding. “We meet again, Swordsman.”

Sophie had stepped past her aunt into the darkened hallway, but at the woman’s strange words she stopped and spun around. Her aunt had just spoken in Japanese! And she somehow knew Niten’s name—his real name. Sophie hadn’t even introduced him! The girl blinked: the faintest wisp of white smoke was curling off the old woman. And suddenly the smell of jasmine was very strong.

Jasmine …

Memories gathered.

Dark and dangerous memories: of fire and flood, of a sky the color of soot and a sea thick with wreckage
.

“And where is the redoubtable Aoife of the Shadows?” Agnes continued, slipping from Japanese back into English.

Memories of a crystal tower, lashed by a boiling sea. Long ragged cracks raced across the surface of the tower, only to instantly heal again. Lightning wrapped around the tower in huge spirals. And a woman, running, running, running up an endless flight of stairs
.