The Magician

by Michael Scott

  “And now one of those terrible wonders is coming to my island,” Juan said sadly. “I can feel it approach. Who is it?”

  “The Morrigan, the Crow Goddess.”

  Juan turned to Perenelle. “I’ve heard of her; some of the Irish and Scottish sailors in my crews feared her. She’s coming for you, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.” The Sorceress smiled grimly.

  “What will she do?”

  Perenelle tilted her head to one side, considering. “Well, they’ve tried imprisoning me. That’s failed. I imagine Dee’s masters have finally sanctioned a more permanent solution.” She laughed shakily. “I’ve been in trickier situations….” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard and tried again. “But I’ve always had Nicholas by my side. Together we were undefeatable. I wish he were here with me now.” She took a deep breath, steadying her breathing and raising both hands in front of her face. Smoking wisps of her ice white aura curled off her fingertips. “But I am the immortal Perenelle Flamel, and I will not go down without a fight.”

  “Tell me how I can help you,” de Ayala said formally.

  “You have done enough for me already. Because of you I escaped the Sphinx.”

  “This is my island. And you are under my protection now.” He smiled ruefully. “However, I’m not sure the birds will be frightened by a few banging doors. And there’s not a lot else I can do.”

  Perenelle carefully picked her way from one side of the ruined house to the other. Standing in one of the tall rectangular windows, she stared back at the prison. Now that night had fallen, it was little more than a vague and ominous outline against the purple sky. She took stock of her situation: she was trapped on an island crawling with spiders, there was a sphinx wandering loose in the corridors below, and the cells were filled with creatures from some of the darkest myths she had ever encountered. Plus, her powers were incredibly diminished and the Morrigan was coming. She’d told de Ayala that she’d been in trickier situations, but right now she couldn’t remember one.

  The ghost appeared alongside Perenelle, its outline distorting the shape of the building beyond. “What can I do to help?”

  “How well do you know this island?” she asked.

  “Ha! I know every inch. I know the secret places, the half-completed tunnels dug by the prisoners, hidden corridors, walled-up rooms, the old Indian caves cut deep into the rock below. I could hide you and no one would ever find you.”

  “The Morrigan is resourceful…and then there are the spiders. They’d find me.”

  The ghost floated around to place himself directly in front of her again. Only his eyes—a deep rich brown—were visible in the night. “Oh, the spiders are not under Dee’s control.”

  Perenelle took a step back in surprise. “They’re not?”

  “They only began to appear a couple of weeks ago. I started to notice the webs over the doors, coating the stairs. Every morning, there were more and more spiders. They’d float in on the wind, carried by strands of thread. There were humanlike guards on the island then…though they were not human,” he added quickly. “Terrible blank-faced creatures.”

  “Homunculi,” Perenelle said with a shudder. “Creatures Dee grows in bubbling vats of fat. What happened to them?”

  “They were given the task of sweeping clean the spiders’ webs, keeping the doors clear. One stumbled and fell into a web,” de Ayala said, his teeth appearing out of the gloom in a quick smile. “All that was left of it were scraps of cloth. Not even bones,” he told her in a horrified whisper.

  “That’s because homunculi have no bones,” she said absently. “So what is calling the spiders here?”

  De Ayala turned to look at the prison. “I’m not sure….”

  “I thought you knew all there was to know about this island?” Perenelle said with a smile.

  “Far below the prison, cut deep into the bedrock by the waves, is a series of subterranean caves. I believe the first native inhabitants of the island used them for storage. About a month ago, the small Englishman—”

  “Dee?”

  “Yes, Dee, brought something to the island in the dead of night. It was sealed away in those caves, and then he blanketed the entire area with magical sigils and Wards. Even I cannot penetrate the layers of protection. But I am convinced that whatever is drawing the spiders to the island is locked in those caves.”

  “Can you get me to the caves?” Perenelle asked urgently. She could hear the rasp and clatter of thousands of birds’ wings, drawing ever closer.

  “No,” de Ayala snapped. “The corridor is thick with spiders, and who knows what other traps Dee has put into place.”

  Perenelle automatically reached for the sailor’s arm, but her hand passed right through him, leaving a swirl of water droplets in her wake. “If Dee has buried something in Alcatraz’s hidden dungeons, and then protected it with magic so potent that even an insubstantial spirit cannot get through it, then we need to know what it is.” She smiled. “Have you never heard the saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

  “No, but I have heard ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’”

  “Come, then—quickly, before the Morrigan arrives. Take me back into Alcatraz.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Disir’s sword flashed toward Josh’s head.

  Everything was happening so fast, he didn’t have time to be afraid. Josh saw the flicker of movement and reacted instinctively, bringing Clarent up and around, holding it horizontally over his head. The Disir’s broadsword struck the short stone blade and screamed along it in an explosion of sparks. They rained down over Josh’s hair, stinging where they touched his face. The pain made him angry, but the force of the blow drove him to his knees, and then the Disir stepped back and brought her weapon around in a wide sweeping cut. It whined as it sliced through the air toward him…and Josh knew with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would not be able to avoid it.

  Clarent trembled in Josh’s palm.

  Twitched.

  And moved.

  A surge of tingling heat shot into his hand, shocking him, the spasm tightening his fingers around the hilt. Then the sword jerked, shooting out to meet the Disir’s metal blade, turning it aside at the last moment in another explosion of sparks.

  Blue eyes wide with shock, the Disir danced away. “No humani possesses such skill,” she wondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”

  Josh got shakily to his feet, not entirely sure what had just happened, knowing only that it was something to do with the sword. It had taken control; it had saved him. His eyes went to the terrifying warrior maid, flickering between her masked face and her gleaming silver sword. He held Clarent before him in both hands, trying to mimic the stance he’d seen Joan and Scatty use, but the sword kept shifting in his grip, moving and shivering of its own accord. “I am Josh Newman,” he said simply.

  “Never heard of you,” the woman said dismissively. She snapped a quick look over her shoulder to where Nidhogg was crawling toward the water. Its tail was now so heavily encrusted with black stone that it could barely move.

  “Maybe you’ve never heard of me,” Josh said, “but this”—he tilted the sword blade upward—“is Clarent.” He watched the woman’s bright blue eyes widen slightly. “And I see you have heard of it!”

  Spinning her sword loosely in one hand, the Disir began to edge around Josh. He kept turning to face her. He knew what she was doing—moving him so that his back would be to the monster—but he didn’t know how to prevent it from happening. When his back was almost touching Nidhogg’s stone skin, the Disir stopped.

  “In the hands of a master, the sword might be dangerous,” the Disir said.

  “I’m no master,” Josh said loudly, delighted that his voice didn’t tremble. “But I don’t need to be. Scathach told me that this weapon really could kill her. I didn’t understand what she meant, but now I do. And if it could kill her, then I’m guessing it could d
o the same to you.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Look what I did to this monster with just a single cut. All I have to do is to scratch you with it.” The blade actually shivered in his hands, humming in what almost sounded like agreement.

  “You could not even get close to me,” the Disir mocked, swooping in, the broadsword weaving before her in a mesmerizing pattern. She suddenly attacked with a quick flurry of blows.

  Josh didn’t even have time to catch his breath. He managed to stop three of them, Clarent moving to intercept each strike, the Disir’s metal blade slamming off his stone sword in a shower of sparks, each blow driving him back, the force vibrating through his entire body. The Disir was just too fast. The next swipe struck his bare arm between the shoulder and elbow. Clarent managed to nudge the sword at the last instant, so it was only the flat of the blade, rather than the razor-sharp edge, that hit him. Instantly, his entire arm went numb from shoulder to fingertips and he felt a sudden wash of nausea from the pain, the fear and the sudden realization that he was going to die. Clarent fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

  When the woman smiled, Josh saw that her teeth were thin needle points. “Easy. Too easy. A legendary sword does not make you a swordsman.” Hefting the broadsword, she advanced on the boy, driving him right up against Nidhogg’s stone-flesh. Josh squeezed his eyes shut as she raised her arms high and screamed a hideous war cry. “Odin!”

  “Sophie,” he whispered.

  “Josh!”

  Two blocks away, stuck in unmoving traffic, Sophie Newman sat bolt upright in the backseat of the car, a sudden stomach-churning feeling of terror catching her in her chest, setting her heart pounding madly.

  Nicholas spun around and caught the girl’s hand. “Tell me!”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Josh,” she gasped, almost unable to speak with the lump in her throat. “Josh is in danger, terrible danger.” The car filled with the overpowering smell of rich vanilla as her aura blossomed. Tiny sparks danced on the end of her blond hair, crackling like cellophane. “We’ve got to get to him!”

  “We’re going nowhere,” Joan said grimly. Traffic on the narrow street was at a complete standstill.

  A chill settled in Sophie’s stomach: it was the appalling fear that her brother was going to die.

  “Sidewalk,” Nicholas said decisively. “Take it.”

  “But the pedestrians—”

  “Can get out of the way. Use your horn.” He swiveled back around to Sophie. “We’re minutes away,” he said as Joan bumped the small car up off the pavement and roared down the sidewalk, horn squeaking plaintively.

  “That’s going to be too late. There must be something you can do?” Sophie pleaded desperately. “Anything?”

  Looking old and tired, lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes, Nicholas Flamel shook his head miserably. “There is nothing I can do,” he admitted.

  Sparking, crackling, snapping, a sheet of stinking yellow-white flame winked into existence between Josh and the Disir. The heat was so intense it drove him back onto Nidhogg’s clawed feet and crisped his hair, scorching his eyebrows and eyelashes. The Disir too staggered back, blinded by the foul flames.

  “Josh!”

  Someone called his name, but the terrifying flames were roaring right in front of his face.

  The proximity of the fire roused the monster. It took a shuddering step, the movement of its leg thrusting Josh forward onto his hands and knees, pitching him dangerously close to the flames…which died as abruptly as they had risen. He hit the ground hard, hands and knees stinging with the contact. The smell of rotten eggs was appalling and his eyes and nose were streaming, but through his tears, he saw Clarent and attempted to reach for it just as someone shouted at him again.

  “Josh!”

  The Disir threw herself at Josh once more, sword thrusting at him. A solid spear of yellow flame struck the woman, exploding over her chain mail, which immediately started to rust and fall away. And then another wall of flame roared into existence between the boy and the warrior.

  “Josh.” A hand fell on Josh’s shoulder and he jumped, shouting aloud with fright and the pain in his bruised shoulder. He looked up to find Dr. John Dee leaning over him.

  Dirty yellow smoke dribbled from the Magician’s hands, which were barely covered in torn gray gloves, and his once-elegant suit was now a ruined mess. Dee smiled kindly. “It would be best if we left right now.” He gestured toward the flames. “I can’t keep this up forever.” Even as he was speaking, the Disir’s blade cut blindly through the fire, flames curling around the metal as it sought a target. Dee hauled Josh to his feet and dragged him backward.

  “Wait,” Josh said hoarsely, voice raw with a combination of fear and the smoke. “Scatty…” He coughed and tried again. “Scatty is trapped….”

  “Escaped,” Dee said quickly, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulder, supporting him, leading him toward a police car.

  “Escaped?” Josh mumbled, confused.

  “Nidhogg lost its grip on her when I created the curtain of fire between you and the Disir. I saw her roll away from its claws, jump to her feet and race down the quay.”

  “She ran…she ran away?” That didn’t sound right. She’d been limp and unconscious the last time he’d seen her. He tried to concentrate, but his head was throbbing, and the flesh on his face felt tight from the flames.

  “Even the legendary Warrior could not stand against Nidhogg. Heroes survive to fight again because they know when to run.”

  “She left me?”

  “I doubt she even knew you were there,” Dee said quickly, bundling Josh into the back of a badly parked police car and sliding in beside him. He tapped the white-haired driver on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  Josh sat up straight. “Wait…I dropped Clarent,” he said.

  “Trust me,” Dee said, “you don’t want to return for it.” He leaned back so that Josh could look out the window. The Disir, her once-pristine white chain mail now hanging in tattered and rotting shreds about her, strode through the dying yellow flames. She spotted the boy in the back of the car and raced toward it, shouting unintelligibly in a language that sounded like wolves howling.

  “Niccolò,” Dee said quickly. “She’s rather upset. We really should be going now, right now.”

  Josh looked away from the approaching Disir at the driver and was horrified to discover that it was the same man he’d seen on Sacré-Coeur’s steps.

  Machiavelli turned the key in the ignition so savagely that the starter screeched. The car lurched, jerked forward, then died.

  “Oh great,” Dee muttered. “That’s just great.” Josh watched as the Magician leaned out the window, brought his hand to his mouth and blew sharply into it. A yellow sphere of smoke rolled from his palm and dropped onto the ground. It bounced twice like a rubber ball, then exploded at head height just as it reached the Disir. Thick, sticky strands the color and consistency of dirty honey splashed over the Disir, then dripped down in long streamers, gluing her to the ground. “That should hold her…,” Dee began. The Disir’s broadsword sliced easily through the strands. “Or maybe not.”

  Through his pain, Josh realized that Machiavelli had tried—and failed—to get the car started again. “Let me,” he muttered, scrambling over the back of the seat as Machiavelli slid over to the passenger side. His right shoulder was still aching, but at least feeling had returned to his fingers, and he didn’t think anything was broken. He was going to have a massive bruise to add to his growing collection. Turning the key in the ignition, he floored the accelerator and simultaneously slammed the car into reverse just as the Disir reached it. He was suddenly thankful that he’d learned to drive a stick shift on his father’s old battered Volvo. The warrior’s flailing sword struck the door, puncturing the metal, the tip of the blade inches from Josh’s leg. As the car screeched backward, the Disir set her feet firmly and held on to her sword with both hands. The blade tore a horizontal rip right across
the door and into the wing over the engine, peeling back the metal as if it were paper. It also tore apart the front driver’s-side tire, which exploded with a dull bang.

  “Keep going!” Dee shouted.

  “I’m not stopping,” Josh promised.

  With the engine whining in protest and the front tire flapping and banging off the ground, Josh tore away from the quayside…

  …just as Joan wheeled the slightly scratched Citroën in at the other end.

  Joan hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt on the morning-wet stones. Sophie, Nicholas and Joan watched in confusion as Josh reversed a battered police car at high speed away from Nidhogg and the Disir. They could clearly see Dee and Machiavelli in the car as he executed a clumsy handbrake turn and sped from the parking lot.

  For a single heartbeat, the Disir stood on the quayside, looking lost and bewildered. Then she spotted the newcomers. Turning, she raced toward them, sword held high over her head, screeching a barbaric war cry.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “I’ll take care of this,” Joan said, sounding almost pleased at the prospect. She touched Flamel’s sleeve and nodded to where the Warrior was still wrapped in Nidhogg’s claws. “Get Scathach.” The monster was now less than six feet from the edge of the quay and edging ever closer to the safety of the water.