Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  Scatty leaned forward and dropped her voice. You need to give yourselves

  time to recuperate from all the stresses you've been through. Traveling from

  one side of the world to the other via a leygate takes its toll it feels like

  massive jet lag, I m told.

  And I guess you don't get jet lag? Josh muttered. There was a joke in the

  family that he could get jet lag on a car trip from one state to the next.

  Scatty shook her head. No, I don't get jet lag. I don't fly, she explained.

  You d never get me up in one of those things. Only creatures with flapping

  wings are meant to be in the skies. Though I did ride a lung once.

  A lung? Josh asked, confused.

  Ying lung, a Chinese dragon, Sophie said.

  Scathach turned to look at the girl. Calling up the fog must have burned

  through a lot of your aura s energy. It s important that you not use your

  power again for as long as possible.

  The trio sat back as Roux came out from behind the counter with a tall glass

  of water. He placed it on the edge of the table, attempted a nervous smile at

  Scatty and then backed away.

  I think he likes you, Sophie said with a weak grin.

  Scatty turned to glare at the assistant again, but the twins saw her lips

  twist in a smile. He s got piercings, she said, loud enough for him to

  hear. I don't like boys with piercings.

  Both girls smiled as the back of Roux s neck flared bright red.

  Why is it important that Sophie not use her powers? Josh asked, bringing

  the conversation back to Scatty s earlier comment. An alarm had gone off at

  the back of his mind.

  Scathach leaned forward across the table, and both Sophie and Josh moved in

  to hear her. Once a person uses all their natural auric energy, then the

  power starts to feed off their flesh for its fuel.

  What happens then? Sophie asked.

  Have you ever heard of spontaneous human combustion?

  Sophie s expression was blank, but Josh nodded. I have. People just bursting

  into flames for no reason: it s an urban legend.

  Scatty shook her head. It s no legend. Many cases have been recorded

  throughout history, she said evenly. I ve even witnessed a couple myself.

  It can happen in a heartbeat, and the fire, which usually starts in the

  stomach and lungs, burns so fiercely that it leaves little more than ash

  behind. You have to be careful now, Sophie: in fact, I d like you to promise

  me not to use your power again today, no matter what happens.

  And Flamel knew this, Josh said quickly, unable to keep the anger from his

  voice.

  Of course, Scatty said evenly.

  And he didn't think it was worth telling us? Josh snapped. Roux looked over

  at the raised voice, and Josh took a deep breath and continued in a hoarse

  whisper. What else isn't he telling us? he demanded. What else comes with

  this gift? He almost spat out the last word.

  Everything has happened so fast, Josh, Scatty said. There simply hasn t

  been time to train or instruct you properly. But I want you to remember that

  Nicholas has your best interests at heart. He is trying to keep you safe.

  We were safe until we met him, Josh said.

  The skin tightened across Scatty s cheekbones and the muscles in her neck and

  shoulders twitched. Something dark and ugly flickered behind her green eyes.

  Sophie reached out and put a hand on both Scatty s and Josh s arms. Enough,

  she said tiredly. We shouldn't fight with each other.

  Josh was about to respond, but the look on his sister s exhausted face scared

  him, and he nodded. OK. For now, he added.

  Scatty nodded too. Sophie is correct. She turned to look at Josh. It is

  unfortunate that everything has fallen on Sophie at the moment. It s a pity

  your powers weren t Awakened.

  You re not half as sorry as I am, he said, unable to keep the note of

  bitterness from his voice. Despite all that he had seen, and even knowing the

  dangers, he wanted the powers his twin had. It s not too late, though, is

  it? he asked quickly.

  Scatty shook her head. You can be Awakened at any time, but I don't know who

  would have the power to Awaken you. It needs to be done by an Elder, and

  there are only a handful with that particular skill.

  Like who? he demanded, looking at Scathach, but it was his sister who

  answered, dreamily.

  In America, Black Annis or Persephone could do it.

  Josh and Scatty turned to look at her.

  Sophie blinked in surprise. I know the names, but I don't even know who they

  are. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. I have all these memories that

  aren t even mine.

  Josh took his sister s hand and squeezed it gently.

  They are all the Witch of Endor s memories, Scathach said softly. And be

  glad you don't know who Black Annis or Persephone is. Especially Black

  Annis, she added grimly. I m surprised that if my grandmother knew where

  she was, she let her live.

  She s in the Catskills, Sophie began, but Scathach reached over and pinched

  the back of her hand. Ouch!

  I just wanted to distract you, Scathach explained. don't even think about

  Black Annis. There are some names that should never be spoken aloud.

  That s like saying don't think of elephants, Josh said, and then all you

  can think of are elephants.

  Then let me give you something else to think about, Scathach said softly.

  There are two police officers in the window staring at us. don't look, she

  added urgently.

  Too late. Josh turned to look, and whatever expression crossed his

  face shock, horror, guilt or fear brought both officers racing into the caf ,

  one pulling his automatic from its holster, the other speaking urgently into

  his radio as he drew his baton.

  CHAPTER NINE

  W ith hands pushed deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, still wearing

  his none-too-clean black jeans and scuffed cowboy boots, Nicholas Flamel

  didn't look out of place with either the early-morning workers or the

  homeless beginning to appear on the streets of Paris. The gendarmes gathered

  in small groups on the corners were talking urgently together or listening to

  their radios and didn't even give him a second glance.

  This wasn't the first time he had been hunted in these streets, but it was

  the first time without allies and friends to help him. He and Perenelle had

  returned to their home city at the end of the Seven Years War in 1763. An

  old friend needed their help, and the Flamels never refused a friend.

  Unfortunately, however, Dee had discovered their whereabouts and had chased

  them through the streets with an army of black-clad assassins, none of whom

  was entirely human.

  They had escaped then. Escaping now might not be so easy. Paris had changed

  utterly. When Baron Haussmann had redesigned Paris in the nineteenth century,

  he had destroyed a huge portion of the medieval section of the city, the city

  Flamel was so familiar with. All the Alchemyst s hiding places and safe

  houses, the secret vaults and hidden attics, were gone. He had once known

  every street and alley, each twisting lane and hidden courtyard of Paris; now

  he knew as much as the average tourist.

  An
d at that moment, not only did he have Machiavelli chasing them, the entire

  French police force was also on the lookout for them. And Dee was on his way.

  Dee, as Flamel well knew, was capable of just about anything.

  Nicholas breathed in the cool predawn Parisian air and glanced at the cheap

  digital watch he wore on his left wrist. It was still set to Pacific time,

  where it was now twenty minutes past eight in the evening, which meant he did

  a quick calculation in his head that it was five-twenty a.m. in Paris. He

  thought briefly about resetting the watch to Greenwich Mean Time, but quickly

  decided against it. A couple of months ago, when he d tried resetting the

  watch for daylight savings, it had started madly blipping and flashing. He d

  worked on it for over an hour without any success; it had taken Perenelle

  thirty seconds to fix it. He only wore it because it came with a countdown

  timer. Every month, when he and Perenelle created a new batch of the

  immortality potion, he reset the counter to 720 hours and allowed it to count

  down to zero. With the passing of years, they had discovered that the potion

  was timed to a lunar cycle and lasted roughly thirty days. Over the course of

  the month, they would age slowly, almost imperceptibly, but once they drank

  the potion, the effects of the aging process would quickly reverse hair would

  darken, wrinkles soften and disappear, aching joints and stiff muscles become

  supple again, eyesight and hearing sharpen.

  Unfortunately, it was not a recipe that could be copied down; each month the

  formula was unique, and each recipe only worked once. The Book of Abraham the

  Mage was written in a language that predated humanity, and in an

  ever-changing, always-moving script, so that entire libraries of knowledge

  were held within the slender volume. But every month, on page seven of the

  copper-bound manuscript, the secret of Life Eternal appeared. The crawling

  script remained static for less then an hour before it shifted, twisted and

  trickled away.

  The one and only time the Flamels had tried using the same recipe twice, it

  had actually sped up the aging process. Luckily, Nicholas had taken only a

  sip of the colorless, rather ordinary-looking potion when Perenelle noticed

  that lines were appearing around his eyes and on his forehead and that the

  hair from his full beard was falling away from his face. She d knocked the

  cup from his hand before he d taken another mouthful. However, the lines

  remained etched on his face, and the thick beard he had been so proud of had

  never grown again.

  Nicholas and Perenelle had brewed the most recent batch of the potion at

  midnight the past Sunday, just under a week ago. He pressed the left-hand

  button on the watch and called up the stopwatch function: 116 hours and 21

  minutes had passed. Another press of the button brought up the time

  remaining: 603 hours, 39 minutes, or about 25 days. As he watched, another

  minute ticked away: 38 minutes. He and Perenelle would age and weaken, and of

  course, every time either of them used their powers, that would only quicken

  the onset of old age. If he did not retrieve the Book before the end of the

  month and create a new batch of the potion, then they would both rapidly age

  and die.

  And the world would die with them.

  Unless

  A police car roared past, siren howling. It was followed by a second and a

  third. Like everyone else on the street, Flamel turned to follow their

  progress. The last thing he needed to do was to attract attention to himself

  by standing out from the crowd.

  He had to retrieve the Codex. The rest of the Codex, he reminded himself, his

  hand absently touching his chest. Hidden beneath his T-shirt, dangling on a

  leather cord, he wore a simple square cotton bag that Perenelle had stitched

  for him half a millennium ago, when he had first found the Book. She had

  created it to hold the ancient volume; now all it contained were two pages

  Josh had managed to tear out. The book was still incredibly dangerous in the

  hands of Dee, but it was the last two pages, which contained the spell known

  as the Final Summoning, that Dee needed to bring his Dark Elder masters back

  to this world.

  And Flamel would not could not allow that.

  Two police officers turned a corner and strolled down the center of the

  street. They stared hard at some of the pedestrians and peered into the shop

  windows, but they walked past Nicholas without even looking at him.

  Nicholas knew that his priority now was to find a safe haven for the twins.

  And that meant he had to find an immortal living in Paris. Every city in the

  world had its share of humans with life spans that extended into centuries or

  even millennia, and Paris was no exception. He knew that immortals liked the

  big anonymous cities, where it was easier to disappear amongst an

  ever-changing population.

  Long ago, Nicholas and Perenelle had come to realize that at the heart of

  every myth and legend was a grain of truth. And every race told stories of

  people who lived exceptionally long lives: the immortals.

  Over the centuries, the Flamels had come into contact with three entirely

  different types of immortal humans. There were the Ancients of whom there

  were now perhaps no more than a handful still alive who hailed from earth's

  very distant past. Some had witnessed the entire span of human history, and

  it had made them more, and less, than human.

  Then there were a few others who, like Nicholas and Perenelle, had discovered

  for themselves how to become immortal. Down through the millennia, the

  secrets of alchemy had been discovered, lost and rediscovered countless

  times. One of the greatest secrets of alchemy was the formula for

  immortality. And all alchemy and possibly even modern science had one single

  source: the Book of Abraham the Mage.

  Then there were those who had been given the gift of immortality. These were

  humans who had, either accidentally or deliberately, come to the attention of

  one or other of the Elders who had remained in this world after the Fall of

  Danu Talis. The Elders were always on the lookout for people of exceptional

  or unusual ability to recruit to their cause. And in return for their

  service, the Elders granted their followers extended life. It was a gift very

  few humans could refuse. It was also a gift that ensured absolute, unswerving

  loyalty because it could be withdrawn as quickly as it had been given.

  Nicholas knew that if he encountered immortals in Paris even if he had known

  them in the past there would now be a very real danger that they were in the

  service of the Dark Elders.

  He was passing an all-night video store that advertised high-speed Internet

  when he noticed the sign in the window, written in ten languages: NATIONAL &

  INTERNATIONAL CALLS. CHEAPEST RATES. Pushing open the door, he suddenly

  breathed in the sour odor of unwashed bodies, stale perfume, greasy food and

  the ozone of too many computers packed tightly together. The store was

  surprisingly busy: a group of students who looked like they d been up all

  night clustered around three computers displaying the
World of Warcraft logo,

  while most of the other machines were taken up by serious-faced young men and

  women staring intently at the screens. As he made his way to the counter at

  the back of the shop, Nicholas could see that most of the young people were

  e-mailing and instant-messaging. He smiled briefly; only a few days ago, on

  Monday afternoon, when the bookshop was quiet, Josh had spent an hour

  explaining to him the difference between the two methods of communication.

  Josh had even set him up with his own e-mail account which Nicholas doubted

  he would ever use though he could see a use for the instant-messaging

  programs.

  The Chinese girl behind the counter was dressed in ragged and torn clothes

  that Nicholas thought looked fit only for the trash but that he guessed had

  probably cost a fortune. She was in full goth makeup and was busy painting

  her nails when Nicholas stepped up to the desk.

  Three euro for fifteen minutes, five for thirty, seven for forty-five, ten

  for an hour, she rattled off in atrocious French without looking up.

  I want to make an international call.

  Cash or credit card? She still hadn't raised her head, and Nicholas noticed

  that she was blackening her nails not with polish but with a felt-tip marker.

  Credit card. He wanted to conserve the little cash he had to buy some food.

  Although he rarely ate, and Scathach never ate, he would need to feed the

  children.

  Use booth number one. Instructions are on the wall.

  Nicholas slipped into the glass-fronted booth and pulled the door closed

  behind him. The shouts of the students faded, but the booth smelled strongly

  of stale food. He quickly read the instructions as he fished the credit card

  he d used to buy hot chocolate for the twins from the back of his wallet. It

  was in the name of Nick Fleming, the name he d been using for the past ten

  years, and he briefly wondered whether Dee or Machiavelli had the resources

  to track him through it. He knew that of course they did, but a quick smile

  curled Flamel s thin lips; what did it matter? All it would tell them was

  that he was in Paris, and they already knew that. Following the instructions

  on the wall, he dialed the international access code and then the number

  Sophie had recalled from the Witch of Endor s memories.

  The line crackled and clicked with transatlantic static, and then, more than