stopped. The smell was new; it wasn't the smell of the sphinx. Turning back
to the door, she went as close as she could to the web without touching it
and peered inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and a
moment longer to make sense of what she was seeing.
Vetala.
Perenelle s heart began to beat so strongly in her chest that she could
actually feel her flesh vibrating. Hanging upside down from the ceiling were
a dozen creatures. Talons that were a cross between human feet and birds
claws bit deep into the soft stone, while leathery bats wings wrapped around
skeletal human bodies. The upside-down heads were beautiful, with the faces
of young men and women not yet in their teens.
Vetala.
Perenelle mouthed the word silently. Vampires from the Indian subcontinent.
And unlike Scathach, this clan drank blood and ate flesh. But what were they
doing here, and more importantly, how had they gotten here? Vetala were
always linked to a region or tribe: Perenelle had never known one to leave
its homeland.
The Sorceress turned slowly to look at the other open doorways lining the
gloomy corridor. What else lay hidden in the cells beneath Alcatraz?
What was Dr. John Dee planning?
SUNDAY,
3rd June
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
S ophie s ragged scream pulled Josh from a deep and dreamless sleep and
rolled him out of bed, leaving him swaying on his feet, trying to get his
bearings in complete darkness.
Sophie screamed again, the sound raw and terrifying.
Josh blundered across the bedroom, banging his knees on a chair before he
discovered the door, visible only because of the thin strip of light beneath
it. His sister was in the room directly across the corridor.
Earlier, Saint-Germain had escorted them upstairs and given them their choice
of rooms on the top floor of the town house. Sophie had immediately picked
the one overlooking the Champs-Elys es from the bedroom window, she could
actually see the Arc de Triomphe over the rooftops while Josh had taken the
room across the hall, which looked over the dried-up rear garden. The rooms
were small, with low ceilings and uneven, slightly sloping walls, but each
had its own bathroom with a minuscule shower cubicle that had only two
settings scalding and freezing. When Sophie had run the water in her room,
Josh s shower stopped working altogether. And although he d promised his
sister that he would come talk to her after he d showered and changed, he d
sat on the edge of his bed and almost immediately fallen into an exhausted
sleep.
Sophie screamed for a third time, a shuddering sob that brought tears to his
eyes.
Josh jerked open his door and ran across the narrow corridor. He pushed open
the door to his sister s room and stopped.
Joan of Arc was sitting on the edge of his sister s bed, holding Sophie s
hand in both of hers. There were no lights in the room, but it was not in
total darkness. Joan s hand was glowing with cool silvery light and it looked
like she was wearing a soft gray glove. As he watched, his sister s hand took
on the same texture and color. The air smelled of vanilla and lavender.
Joan turned to look at Josh, and he was startled to discover that her eyes
were glowing silver coins. He took a step toward the bed, but she raised a
finger to her lips and shook her head slightly, warning him not to say
anything. The glow faded from her eyes. Your sister is dreaming, Joan said,
though he wasn't sure whether she had spoken aloud or if he was hearing her
voice in his head. The nightmare is already passing. It will not return,
she said, making the sentence into a promise.
Wood creaked behind Josh and he whirled to see the Comte de Saint-Germain
coming down a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. Francis gestured to
Josh from the bottom of the stairs, and although his lips didn't move, the
boy clearly heard his voice: My wife will take care of your sister. Come
away.
Josh shook his head. I should stay. He didn't want to leave Sophie alone
with the strange woman, but he also knew instinctively that Joan would never
harm his sister.
There is nothing you can do for her, Saint-Germain said aloud. Get dressed
and come up to the attic. I have my office there. He turned away and
disappeared back up the stairs.
Josh took a last look at Sophie. She was resting quietly, her breathing had
slowed and he noticed that the dark rings had disappeared from beneath her
eyes.
Go now, Joan said. There are some things I have to say to your sister.
Private things.
She s asleep , Josh began.
But I will still say them, the woman murmured. And she will still hear
me.
In his room, Josh dressed quickly. A bundle of clothes had been laid on a
chair beneath the window: underwear, jeans, T-shirts and socks. He guessed
the clothes belonged to Saint-Germain: they were about the count s size. Josh
dressed quickly in a pair of black designer jeans and a black silk T-shirt
before slipping into his own shoes and taking a quick look in the mirror. He
was unable to resist a smile; he d never imagined himself wearing such
expensive clothes. In the bathroom, he cracked open a new toothbrush from its
packaging, brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face and ran his
fingers through his overlong blond hair, pulling it back off his forehead.
Strapping on his watch, he was shocked to discover that it was a little after
midnight on Sunday morning. He d slept the entire day and most of the night.
When he left the bedroom, he stopped at the door to his sister s room and
looked inside. The smell of lavender was so strong it made his eyes water.
Sophie lay unmoving on the bed, her breathing regular and even. Joan remained
beside her, holding her hand, murmuring softly, but not in any language he
could understand. The woman turned her head slowly to look at him, and he
discovered that her eyes were once again flat silver discs, without any hint
of white or pupil. She turned back to Sophie.
Josh stared at them for a moment before turning away. When the Witch of Endor
had instructed Sophie in the Magic of Air, he had been dismissed; now he d
been dismissed again. He was quickly realizing that in this new magical
world, there was no place for someone like him, someone without power.
Josh slowly climbed the narrow winding stairs that led up to Saint-Germain s
office. Whatever Josh had been expecting to find in the attic, it was not the
huge brightly lit white wood and chrome room. The attic ran the length of the
entire house and had been remodeled into one vast open space, with an arched
window looking over the Champs-Elys es at one end. The enormous room was
filled with electronics and musical instruments, but there was no sign of
Saint-Germain.
Against the right wall, a long table stretched from one end of the space to
the other. It was piled high with computers, both desktops and laptops,
screens of all shapes and sizes, synthesizers, a mixing desk, keyboards and
electro
nic drum kits.
On the opposite side of the room a trio of electric guitars were perched on
stands, while an assortment of keyboards were arranged around an enormous LCD
screen.
How do you feel? Saint-Germain asked.
It took Josh a second to identify where the voice was coming from. The
musician was lying flat on his back under the table, a bundle of USB cables
in his hands. Good, Josh said, and was surprised to find that it was true.
He felt better than he had in a long time. I don't even remember lying
down .
You were both exhausted, physically and mentally. And I understand the
leygates suck every last drop of energy from you. Not that I ve ever traveled
through one, he added. To be truthful, I was surprised you were still on
your feet, Saint-Germain muttered as he dropped the cables. you've slept
for about fourteen hours.
Josh knelt alongside Saint-Germain. What are you trying to do?
I moved a monitor and the cable fell out; I m not sure which one it is.
You should color code them with tape, Josh said. That s what I do.
Straightening, he caught the end of the cable that was attached to the
wide-screen monitor and jerked it up and down. It s this one. The cable
twitched in Saint-Germain s hands.
Thanks!
The monitor suddenly flickered to life, displaying a screen filled with
sliders and knobs.
Saint-Germain climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. He was wearing
clothes identical to Josh s. They fit. He nodded. And they look good on
you. You should wear black more often.
Thanks for the clothes . He stopped. I don't know how we re going to be
able to pay you back, though.
Francis laughed quickly. They weren t a loan, they were a gift. I don't want
them back.
Before Josh could thank him again, Saint-Germain hit the keyboard and Josh
jumped as a series of heavy piano chords thumped out from hidden speakers.
don't worry, the attic is soundproofed, Saint-Germain said. It ll not wake
Sophie.
Josh nodded at the screen. Do you write all your music on computer?
Just about. Saint-Germain looked around the room. Anyone can make music
now; you don't need much more than a computer, some software, patience and a
lot of imagination. If I need some real instruments for a final mix, I ll
hire musicians. But I can do most things here.
I downloaded some beat-detection software once, Josh admitted. But I could
never get it right.
What do you compose?
Well, I m not sure you d call it composing . I put together some ambient
mixes.
I d love to listen to anything you have.
It s all gone. I lost my computer, my cell phone and my iPod when Yggdrasill
was destroyed. Even saying it aloud made him feel sick. And the worst part
was that he really had no idea exactly what he d lost. I lost my summer
project and all my music, and that was about ninety gigs. I had some great
bootlegs. I ll never be able to replace them. He sighed. I also lost
hundreds of photos; all the places Mom and Dad took us. Our parents are
scientists they re archaeologists and paleontologists, he added, so we ve
seen some amazing places.
Lost everything! That s got to be tough, Saint-Germain sympathized. What
about backups?
The stricken look on Josh s face was all the answer the count needed.
Were you a Mac or a PC user?
Both, actually. Dad uses PCs at home, but most of the schools Sophie and I
have gone to use Macs. Sophie loves her Macs, but I prefer a PC, he said.
If anything goes wrong, I can usually pull it apart and fix it myself.
Saint-Germain walked to the end of the table and rummaged around underneath
it. He pulled out three laptops, different brands and screen sizes, and lined
them up on the floor. He gestured dramatically. Take one.
Josh blinked at him in surprise. Take one?
They re all PCs, Saint-Germain continued, and they re no use to me. I ve
completely switched over to Macs now.
Josh looked from Saint-Germain to the laptops and back to the musician again.
He d just met this man, didn't know him, and here he was offering Josh a
choice of three expensive laptops. He shook his head. Thanks, but I
couldn't.
Why not? Saint-Germain demanded.
And Josh had no answer for that.
You need a computer. I m offering you one of these. I would be pleased if
you took it. Saint-Germain smiled. I grew up in an age when gift giving was
an art. I have found that people in this century really do not know how to
accept a gift gracefully.
I don't know what to say.
How about thank you? Saint-Germain suggested.
Josh grinned. Yes. Well thank you, he said hesitantly. Thank you'very
much. Even as he was speaking, he knew which machine he wanted: the tiny
one-inch-thick laptop with an eleven-inch screen.
Saint-Germain dug around under the table and extracted three power cords that
he dropped onto the floor alongside the machines. I m not using them.
They ll probably never be used again. I ll end up reformatting the hard
drives and giving the machines to the local schools. Take whichever one you
like. You ll find a backpack under the table too. He paused, blue eyes
twinkling, and tapped the back of the machine Josh was looking at, then added
with a grin, I ve a spare long-life battery for this one. That was my
favorite.
Well, if you re really not using them
Saint-Germain ran a finger across the back of the small laptop, tracing a
line in the dust, holding it up so that Josh could see the black mark on his
fingertip. Trust me: I m not using them.
OK thanks. I mean, thank you. No one s ever given me a present like this
before, he said, picking up the small computer and turning it over in his
hands. I ll take this one if you re really sure .
I m sure. It s fully loaded; got wireless, too, and it ll autoconvert the
power for European and American current. Plus, it s got all my albums on it,
Saint-Germain said, so you can start your music collection again. You ll
also find an mpeg of the last concert. Check it out; it s really good.
I ll do that, Josh said, plugging in the laptop to charge the battery.
Let me know what you think. And you can be honest with me, Saint-Germain
added.
Really?
The count took a moment to consider, and then he shook his head. No, not
really. Only tell me if you think I m good. I don't like negative reviews,
though you d think that after nearly three hundred years, I d be used to
them.
Josh opened the laptop and turned it on. The machine whined and flickered to
life. Leaning forward, he gently blew dust off the keyboard. When the laptop
booted, the screen flickered and showed an image of Saint-Germain onstage,
surrounded by a dozen instruments. You have a picture of yourself for your
wallpaper? Josh asked incredulously.
It s one of my favorites, the musician said.
Josh nodded toward the screen and then looked around the room. Can you play
all these?
Every one. I started on the violin a long time ago
, then moved on to
harpsichord and flute. But I ve kept up with the times, always learning new
instruments. In the eighteenth century, I was using the latest technology the
new violins, the latest keyboards and here I am, nearly three hundred years
later, still doing that. This is a great time to be a musician. And with
technology, I can finally play all the sounds I hear in my head. His fingers
brushed a keyboard and a full choir sang from the speakers.
Josh jumped. The voices were so clear that he actually looked over his
shoulder.
I load up the computer with sound samples, so I can use anything in my
work. Saint-Germain turned back to the screen and his fingers danced on the
keys. don't you think those fireworks yesterday morning made some great
sounds? Crackling. Snapping. Maybe it s time for another Fireworks Suite.
Josh walked around the room, looking at the framed gold records, the signed
posters and CD sleeves. I didn't know there was one already, he said.
George Frideric Handel, 1749, Music for the Royal Fireworks. What a night
that was! What music! Saint-Germain s fingers moved across a keyboard,
filling the room with a tune Josh thought sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe
he d heard it on a TV ad. Good old George, Saint-Germain said. I never
liked him.
The Witch of Endor doesn t like you, Josh said hesitantly. Why?
Saint-Germain grinned. The Witch doesn t like anyone. She especially doesn t
like me because I became immortal through my own efforts and, unlike Nicholas
and Perry, I don't need any recipe from a book to remain undying.
Josh frowned. You mean there are different types of immortality?
Many different types, and as many different types of immortals. The most
dangerous are those who became immortal because of their loyalty to an Elder.
If they fall from favor with the Elder, the gift is rescinded, of course. He
snapped his fingers and Josh jumped. The result is instant old age. Ancient
age. It s a great way of ensuring loyalty. He turned back to the keyboard
and his fingers drew a haunting breathy sound from the speakers. He looked up
as Josh joined him in front of the screen. But the real reason the Witch of
Endor doesn t like me is because I an ordinary mortal became the Master of
Fire. He held up his left hand and a different-colored flame danced at the
tip of each finger. The attic studio suddenly smelled of burnt leaves.
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