The Magician

by Michael Scott

  “So nice to be in demand,” Perenelle said, looking up the length of the shaft into the darkness. She glanced sidelong at Areop-Enap. “I wonder if she knows you’re here.”

  “Unlikely,” Old Spider said. “Dee would have no reason for telling her, and with so many magical and mythical creatures on the island, she’ll not be able to pick out my aura.”

  Perenelle’s lips twisted in a quick smile that lit up her face. “Shall we surprise her?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Josh Newman stopped and swallowed hard. Any moment now, he was going to throw up. Although it was cool and damp underground, he was sweating, his hair plastered to his skull, his shirt lying icy and clinging along the length of his spine. He had gone beyond frightened, past terrified and straight to petrified.

  Descending into the sewers had been bad enough. Dee had wrenched the manhole cover out of the ground without any effort, and they’d jerked back as a plume of filthy, foul-smelling gas vented into the street. When it had drifted away, Dee had slipped into the opening, followed a moment later by Josh and finally Machiavelli. They’d climbed down a short metal ladder and ended up standing in a tunnel that was so narrow they had to march single file and so low that only Dee could walk upright. The tunnel dipped, and Josh gasped as ice-cold water suddenly flooded his sneakers. The smell was appalling, and he desperately tried not to think about what he might be wading through.

  The rotten-egg stink of sulfur briefly masked the smells in the sewer as Dee created a globe of cold blue-white light. It hovered and danced in the air about twelve inches in front of the Magician, painting the interior of the narrow arched tunnel in stark ashen light and deep impenetrable shadows. As they sloshed forward, Josh could hear things moving and glimpsed sparkling points of red light shifting in the blackness. He hoped they were only rats.

  “I don’t…,” Josh began, his voice echoing distortedly in the narrow tunnel. “I really don’t like small spaces.”

  “Neither do I,” Machiavelli added tightly. “I spent a little time in prison, a long time ago. I’ve never forgotten it.”

  “Was it as bad as this?” Josh asked shakily.

  “Worse.” Machiavelli was walking behind Josh and he leaned forward to add, “Try and stay calm. This is just a maintenance tunnel; we’ll get into the proper sewers in a few moments.”

  Josh took a deep breath and gagged on the smell. He had to remember to breathe only through his mouth. “And how is that going to help?” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  “The sewers of Paris are mirrors of the streets above,” Machiavelli explained, his breath warm against Josh’s ear. “The bigger sewers are fifteen feet high.”

  Machiavelli was correct; moments later they came out of the cramped and claustrophobic service tunnel into a tall arched sewer wide enough to drive a car through. The high brick walls were brightly lit and lined with black pipes of various thicknesses. Somewhere in the distance, water splashed and gurgled.

  Josh felt the claustrophobia ease a little. Sophie sometimes got scared in wide-open spaces; he was afraid of tightly enclosed spots. Agoraphobia and claustrophobia. He took a deep breath; the air was still tainted with effluent, but at least it was breathable. He lifted the front of his black T-shirt to cover his face and breathed in: it stank. When he got out of here—if he got out of here—he’d have to burn everything, including the fancy designer jeans Saint-Germain had given him. He quickly dropped the shirt, realizing that he’d nearly exposed the bag he wore on the cord around his neck containing the pages from the Codex. No matter what happened now, he was determined that he wasn’t going to give up the pages to Dee, not until he was sure—very, very, very sure—that the Magician’s motives were honest.

  “Where are we?” he wondered aloud, looking back at Machiavelli. Dee had walked out into the center of the sewer, the solid white ball now spinning just above the palm of his outstretched hand.

  The tall Italian glanced around. “I’ve no idea,” he admitted. “There are about twenty-one hundred kilometers of sewers—around thirteen hundred miles,” he amended, seeing the blank look on Josh’s face. “But don’t worry, we’ll not get lost. Most have their own street signs.”

  “Street signs in the sewers?”

  “The sewers of Paris are one of the great wonders of this city.” Machiavelli smiled.

  “Come!” Dee’s voice cracked out, echoing in the chamber.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Josh asked quietly. He knew from experience that he needed to keep distracted; once he started thinking about the narrowness of the tunnels and the weight of the earth above him, his claustrophobia would reduce him to a wreck.

  “We’re going down, into the deepest, oldest part of the catacombs. You’re going to be Awakened.”

  “Do you know who we’re going to see?”

  Machiavelli’s usually impassive face twitched in a grimace. “Yes. By reputation only. I’ve never seen it.” He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper and caught Josh’s sleeve, pulling him back. “It’s not too late to turn back,” he said.

  Josh blinked in surprise. “Dee wouldn’t like that.”

  “Probably not,” Machiavelli agreed with a wry smile.

  Josh was puzzled. Dee had said Machiavelli wasn’t his friend, and it had been obvious that the two men didn’t agree. “But I thought you and Dee were on the same side.”

  “We are both in the service of the Elders, it is true…but I have never approved of the English Magician and his methods.”

  Ahead of them, Dee turned into a smaller tunnel and stopped before a narrow metal door that was secured by a thick padlock. He pinched through the hasp of the metal lock with fingernails that stank of foul yellow power and pulled open the door. “Hurry,” he called back impatiently.

  “This…this person we’re going to see,” Josh said slowly, “can they really Awaken my powers?”

  “I have no doubt about it,” Machiavelli said softly. “Is the Awakening so important to you?” he asked, and Josh was aware that Machiavelli was watching him closely.

  “My sister was Awakened—my twin sister,” he explained slowly. “I want…I need to have my powers Awakened so we’re alike again.” He looked at the tall white-haired man. “Does that make sense?”

  Machiavelli nodded, his face an unreadable mask. “But is that the only reason, Josh?”

  The boy looked at him for a long moment before he turned away. Machiavelli was right; it wasn’t the only reason. When he’d held Clarent, he’d briefly experienced a hint of what it must be like to have Awakened senses. For a few moments, he’d felt truly alive, he’d felt complete…and more than anything else, he wanted to experience that feeling again.

  Dee led them into another tunnel, which was, if anything, even narrower than the first. Josh felt his stomach clench and his heart start to thump. The tunnel turned and twisted downward in a series of slender stairs. The stones here were older, the steps irregularly shaped, the walls soft and crumbling as they brushed past. In some places it was so narrow that Josh had to turn sideways to slip through. He got stuck in a particularly confined corner and immediately started to feel breathless panic bubbling in his chest. Then Dee caught one arm and unceremoniously yanked him through, tearing a long strip off the back of his T-shirt. “Nearly there,” the Magician muttered. He raised his arm slightly and the bobbing ball of silver light rose higher into the air, revealing the tunnel’s pitted brickwork.

  “Hang on a second; let me catch my breath.” Josh bent over, hands on his knees, breathing deeply. He realized that as long as he concentrated on the ball of light and didn’t think about the walls and ceiling closing in on him, he was OK. “How do you know where we’re going?” he panted. “Have you been here before?”

  “I was here once before…a long time ago,” Dee said with a grin. “Right now, I’m just following the light.” The harsh white light turned the Magician’s smile into something terrifying.

  Josh remembered a tri
ck his football coach had taught him. He wrapped his hands around his stomach and squeezed hard as he breathed in and straightened up. The feeling of queasiness immediately eased. “Who are we going to see?” he asked.

  “Patience, humani, patience.” Dee looked past Josh to where Machiavelli was standing. “I’m sure our Italian friend will agree. One of the great advantages of immortality is that one learns patience. There is a saying: ‘good things come to those who wait.’”

  “Not always good things,” Machiavelli muttered as Dee turned away.

  At the end of the narrow tunnel was a low metal door. It looked as if it hadn’t been opened in decades and had rusted solid into the weeping limestone wall. In the white light, Josh saw that the rust had stained the off-white stone the color of dried blood.

  The ball of light bobbed in the air while Dee ran his glowing yellow fingernail around the edge of the door, cutting it out of the frame, the stink of rotten eggs blanketing the odor of sewage.

  “What’s through here?” Josh asked. Now that he’d started to get his fear under control, he was beginning to feel a little excitement. Once he was Awakened, he’d slip away and get back to Sophie. He turned to look at Machiavelli, but the Italian shook his head and pointed to Dee. “Dr. Dee?” Josh asked.

  Dee broke open the low door and jerked it out of its frame. Soft stone crumbled and flaked away around it. “If I am correct—and I almost always am,” the Magician added, “then this will lead us into the Catacombs of Paris.” Dee leaned the door against the wall and then stepped through the opening.

  Josh ducked to follow him. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Few people outside Paris have,” Machiavelli said, “and yet, along with the sewers, they are one of the marvels of this city. Over a hundred seventy miles of mysterious and labyrinthine tunnels. The catacombs were once limestone quarries. And now they are filled…”

  Josh stepped through the opening, straightened up and looked around.

  “…with bones.”

  The boy felt something twist in the pit of his stomach and he swallowed hard, a sour and bitter taste at the back of his throat. Directly ahead, as far as he could see in the gloomy tunnel, the walls, the curved ceiling and even the floor were composed of polished human bones.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Nicholas had just levered up the manhole cover when Joan’s phone rang, the high-pitched warbling scale making them all jump with fright. The Alchemyst dropped the cover back into place with a clang, dancing back before it fell on his toes.

  “It’s Francis,” Joan told them, flipping open the phone. She spoke to Saint-Germain in rapid-fire French and then snapped the cell closed. “He’s on his way,” she said. “He said that on no account are we to go down into the catacombs without him.”

  “But we can’t wait,” Sophie protested.

  “Sophie’s right. We should—” Nicholas started to say.

  “We wait,” Joan said firmly in the voice that had once commanded armies. She placed her tiny foot on the manhole cover.

  “They’ll get away,” Sophie said desperately.

  “Francis said he knows where they’re going,” Joan said very softly. She turned to look at the Alchemyst. “He said you do too. Do you?” she demanded.

  Nicholas took a deep breath and then nodded grimly. The early-morning light washed all the life from his face, leaving it the color of faded parchment. The circles beneath his eyes were bruise dark and baggy. “I believe so.”

  “Where?” Sophie asked. She tried to stay calm. She’d always been better at controlling her temper than her brother was, but right now she was close to throwing back her head and screaming in frustration. If the Alchemyst knew where Josh was going, why weren’t they heading there now?

  “Dee is taking Josh to have his powers Awakened,” Flamel said slowly, obviously choosing his words with care.

  Sophie frowned, confused. “Is that so bad? Isn’t that what we wanted?”

  “Yes, it’s what we wanted, but not how we wanted it.” Although his face was expressionless, there was pain in his eyes. “Much depends on who—or what—Awakens a person’s powers. It is a dangerous process. It can even be deadly.”

  Sophie slowly turned to look at him. “And yet you were willing to allow Hekate to Awaken both Josh and me.” Her brother had been right all along: Flamel had put them both in danger. She could see that now.

  “It was necessary for your own protection. There were dangers, yes, but neither of you was in any danger from the Goddess herself.”

  “What sort of dangers?”

  “Most of the Elders were never generous toward what they called humani. Very few of them were prepared to give without attaching some sort of conditions,” Flamel explained. “The greatest gift the Elders can bestow is that of immortality. Humans want to live forever. Both Dee and Machiavelli are in service to their Dark Elders who gifted them with immortality.”

  “In service?” Sophie asked, looking from the Alchemyst to Joan.

  “They are servants,” Joan said gently, “some would say slaves. It is the price of their immortality and powers.”

  Joan’s phone rang again with the same ring tone and she flipped it open. “François?”

  “Sophie,” Flamel continued quietly, “the gift of immortality can be withdrawn from a person at any time, and if that happens then all of their unnatural years will catch up with them in a matter of moments. Some Elders enslave the humani they Awaken, turn them into little better than zombies.”

  “But Hekate didn’t make me immortal when she Awakened me,” Sophie argued.

  “Unlike the Witch of Endor, Hekate had no interest in humani for countless generations. She always remained neutral in the wars between those of us who defend humanity and the Dark Elders.” A bitter smile twisted his thin lips. “Perhaps if she had chosen a side, she would still be alive today.”

  Sophie looked into the Alchemyst’s pale eyes. She was thinking that if Flamel had not gone into Hekate’s Shadowrealm, the Elder would still be alive. “You’re saying Josh is in danger,” she said finally.

  “Terrible danger.”

  Sophie’s gaze never left Flamel’s face. Josh was in danger not because of Dee or Machiavelli, but because Nicholas Flamel has placed the two of them in this terrible situation. He was protecting them, he said, and once she had believed that without question. But now…now she didn’t know what to think.

  “Come.” Joan snapped her phone shut, caught Sophie’s hand and dragged her down the alleyway toward the street. “Francis is on the way.”

  Flamel took one final look at the manhole cover, then tucked Clarent under his coat and hurried after them.

  Joan led them out of the narrow side street onto the Avenue du President Wilson, then quickly turned left onto Rue Debrousse and headed back toward the river. The air was filled with the sounds of countless police and ambulance sirens, and in the skies overhead police helicopters buzzed low over the city. The streets were almost completely empty, and no one paid any attention to three people running for shelter.

  Sophie shivered; the whole scene was so surreal. It was like something she’d see in a war documentary on the Discovery Channel.

  At the bottom of the Rue Debrousse, they found Saint-Germain waiting in a nondescript black BMW badly in need of washing. The front and rear passenger doors were open slightly, and the tinted driver’s window hummed down as they approached. Saint-Germain was grinning delightedly. “Nicholas, you should come home more often; the city is in chaos. It’s all terribly exciting. I’ve not had so much fun in centuries.”

  Joan slid in beside her husband, while Nicholas and Sophie climbed into the back. Saint-Germain gunned the engine, but Nicholas leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Not so fast. We don’t need to draw any attention to ourselves,” he warned.

  “But with the panic on the streets, we shouldn’t be driving slowly, either,” Saint-Germain pointed out. He eased the car away from the cu
rb and set off down the Avenue de New York. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the seat as he kept twisting around to talk to the Alchemyst.

  Completely numb, Sophie slumped against the window, staring out at the river flashing by on her left. In the distance, on the opposite side of the Seine, she could make out the now familiar shape of the Eiffel Tower rising over the rooftops. She was exhausted and her head was spinning. She was confused about the Alchemyst. Nicholas couldn’t be bad, could he? Saint-Germain and Joan—Scatty, too—obviously respected him. Even Hekate and the Witch liked him. Flickering thoughts that she knew were not hers hovered at the very edge of her consciousness, but when she tried to focus, they drifted away. They were the Witch of Endor’s memories, and she knew instinctively that they were important. They were something to do with the catacombs, and the creature who lived in the depths….

  “Officially, the police are reporting that a portion of the catacombs has caved in and brought down some houses with it,” Saint-Germain was saying. “They’re claiming that the sewers have ruptured and that methane, carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide gas have escaped into the city. The center of Paris is being sealed off and evacuated. People are being advised to remain indoors.”

  Nicholas leaned back against the leather seats and closed his eyes. “Has anyone been injured?” he asked.

  “A few cuts and bruises, but nothing more serious has been reported.”

  Joan shook her head in amazement. “Considering what’s just tromped through the city, that’s a minor miracle.”

  “Any sightings of Nidhogg?” Nicholas asked.

  “Not on any of the main news channels yet, but some grainy cell phone images have turned up on blogs, and Le Monde and Le Figaro are both claiming to have exclusive images of what they are calling ‘The Creature from the Catacombs’ and ‘The Beast from the Pit.’”

  Sophie leaned forward, following the conversation. She looked from Nicholas to Saint-Germain and then back at the Alchemyst. “Soon the whole world will know the truth. What happens then?”