The Sorceress sotinf-3

by Michael Scott

  However, whereas Nicholas was wily, even he admitted that Perenelle was far cleverer than he was. Machiavelli's smile faltered: this was the woman he had been sent to kill, the woman his own Dark Elder master had described as being infinitely more dangerous than the Alchemyst. He sighed. Killing someone as powerful as the Sorceress was not going to be easy. But he had absolutely no doubt that he could do it. He had failed once before, but that was because he'd made the same grave error Dee had just made: he had underestimated his enemy.

  This time Machiavelli would be ready for the Sorceress. This time he would kill her.

  But first he had to get to America. Machiavelli's fingers flew across the keys as he logged on to a travel Web site. Unlike Dee, who preferred to use his private jet, Machiavelli had decided to take a commercial flight to America. He could use one of the French government jets, but that would attract attention, and Machiavelli had always preferred to work behind the scenes.

  He needed a direct flight to San Francisco. His options were limited, but there was a nonstop out of Paris at 10:15 a.m. the following morning. The flight was just over eleven hours long, but the nine-hour time difference meant that he would arrive on the West Coast at around 12:30 p.m. local time.

  The Air France flight had no First Class seats so he booked l'Espace Affaires-Business Class. It was certainly appropriate. This trip was, after all, business. Machiavelli clicked forward through his purchase and chose seat 4A. It was at the back of the Business Class cabin, but when the plane landed and the door opened, he would be first off. When the e-mail confirmation popped into his in-box, he forwarded a copy of his flight details to the Dark Elders' principal agent on the West Coast of America: the immortal human Henry McCarty.

  Machiavelli had researched the man thoroughly. During his brief life McCarty had been better known as William H. Bonney or Billy the Kid. Born in 1859, immortal at twenty-two years old-or dead, according to the history books. Machiavelli shook his head in wonder. It was very unusual for a human to become immortal at such an early age; most of the immortals he'd encountered through the centuries were older. Despite years of research, Machiavelli still had no idea why certain people were chosen by the Elders to receive the gift. There had to be a pattern or a reason, but he had come across kings, princes, vagabonds and thieves who had nothing in common except that they had been granted immortality-and therefore were in the employ of the Elders. Less than a handful had become immortal before they were in their forties. So, to have been granted immortality at twenty-two, Billy the Kid must be very special indeed.

  A flash of movement caught his attention and Machiavelli looked up at the screen tracking Dee.

  The cars had stopped, and even as Machiavelli watched, Dee climbed out of the back of the limousine without giving the driver time to scuttle around to open the door. The Magician walked away from the limousine, then paused and turned to look back at the car behind him. In the instant when Dee gazed directly into the camera, Machiavelli realized he'd known he was being followed. The Magician smiled, then disappeared out of frame, and the Italian hit a speed dial that connected him with the driver of the second car. "Status?" he snapped. There was no need to identify himself.

  "We've stopped, sir. The subject has just exited the vehicle."

  "Where?"

  "We're on the Pont au Double. The subject is heading for Notre Dame."

  "Notre Dame!" Machiavelli said softly. Only yesterday, he had stood on the roof of the great cathedral with Dee, and together, they had brought the gargoyles and grotesques to terrifying life and watched them crawl down the wall to where Flamel, the twins, Saint-Germain and a mysterious woman had crouched on the parvis in front of the cathedral. The animated stone creatures should have crushed the humans, but the attack had not gone according to plan.

  Flamel and his companions had fought back. Absently, the Italian rubbed his leg where he'd been struck by a silver arrow of pure auric energy. A star-shaped black bruise covered his thigh from knee to hip, and he knew he would be walking with a limp for weeks. It had been the twins who had saved them, the twins who had destroyed the gargoyles and grotesques of Notre Dame.

  Machiavelli had stood in silence, seeing for himself the evidence that Sophie and Josh were indeed the twins of legend. It had been an amazing demonstration of power. Although the girl had learned only the very basics in two of the elemental magics-Wind and Fire-it was obvious that her natural skill was extraordinary. And when the twins had combined their auras to heighten and intensify the girl's powers, he had realized that Sophie and Josh Newman were truly exceptional.

  Machiavelli's public relations department had released the story that the destruction of the cathedral's stonework was caused by acid rain and global warming. And even now teams of archaeologists and students from the universities of Paris were working to clear the parvis. The square was sealed off behind strips of tape and metal barricades.

  The Italian stared hard at the screen, but it revealed nothing. Why had Dee gone back to that place?

  "Should we follow?" The driver's voice crackled with static.

  "Yes," Machiavelli said quickly. "Follow, but do not approach and do not apprehend. Keep this line open."

  "Yes, sir."

  Machiavelli waited impatiently, eyes fixed on the static image of the car on the screen. The driver spoke urgently to the men in the other two cars, ordering them to take up positions by the side entrances to the great cathedral. The main doors, which opened out onto the square, were closed. The immortal watched as the driver passed in front of the dashboard camera and disappeared off to the left, phone pressed to his ear. "He's heading for the cathedral," the driver said breathlessly. "He's gone inside. There's no way out," he added quickly.

  The ambient sound changed as the man ran indoors. Footsteps echoed, doors slammed; then Machiavelli heard the tinny sounds of excited voices. He listened to the driver grow louder, more demanding, more insistent, but he could not make out the words. Moments later, the driver came back on the phone. "Sir: there are some architects and planners here to examine the damage. The subject would have had to come right past them, but they say no one has entered the cathedral in the last hour." A note of fear crept into the man's voice; Machiavelli's reputation for ruthlessness was legendary, and no one wanted to report a failure. "I know it's impossible, but I think… we-we've lost him." The man's voice faltered. "I… I have no idea how, but it looks like… he's not in the cathedral. We'll seal off the building and get some more men for a search…"

  "Negative. Let him go. Return to base," Machiavelli said very softly, and hung up. He knew where Dee was. The Magician wasn't in the cathedral. He was under it. He'd returned to the catacombs beneath the city. But the only thing in the ancient City of the Dead was the Elder Mars Ultor.

  And yesterday, Dee had entombed the Elder in bone. he stink of frying food wafted across the junkyard, completely dispelling the odors of metal and oil and the wet musky scent of the dogs.

  Flamel was standing on the bottom step to the hut. Even with the extra height, he had to look up into the knight's face. The man the Alchemyst had introduced as William Shakespeare had gone inside and slammed the door with enough force to shake the entire building. Moments later black smoke had started to leak from the chimney. "He cooks when he's upset," Palamedes had explained.

  Josh swallowed hard, then pinched his nose shut, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth as the smoke from the building drifted around them. Already sickened by his Awakened senses, he knew that he had to get away from the smell of smoke and grease or he was going to throw up. He saw his sister looking at him, eyes wide with concern, and he jerked his head to one side. She nodded, then coughed, eyes watering as more smoke eddied around them. Stepping carefully, avoiding the booby-trapped potholes in the muddy ground, the twins quickly moved away from the dilapidated metal building. Josh rubbed the heel of his hand across his lips. He could actually taste the cooking oil and grease on his tongue. "Whatever it is," he muttered,
"I'm not eating it." He glanced sideways at his sister. "I guess there are a few disadvantages to having Awakened senses."

  "Just a few." She smiled. "I thought I was getting used to it," she added.

  "Well, I'm not," Josh sighed. "Not yet, anyway." The Elder Mars had Awakened him only the previous day-though it felt like a lifetime ago-and he was still completely overwhelmed by the assault on his senses. Everything was brighter, louder and a lot smellier than it had ever been before. His clothing felt harsh and heavy against his skin, and even the air left a bitter taste on his lips.

  "Joan told me that after a while, we'll be able to blank out most of the sensations and only concentrate on what we need to know," Sophie said. "Remember how sick I was when Hekate first Awakened me?"

  He nodded. Sophie had been so weak that he'd had to carry her.

  "It doesn't seem to have hit you so hard," she said. "You look pale, though."

  "I feel sick," Josh said. He nodded toward the hut, where a plume of gray-black smoke was curling from the crooked chimney, leaking the stink of bubbling fat and rancid oil into the air. "And that's not helping. I wonder, would it smell as bad if our senses weren't Awakened?"

  "Probably not." She attempted a joke. "Maybe this was why human senses dulled over time. It was all just too much to handle."

  Flamel suddenly looked over at the twins and raised an arm. "Stay close; don't wander off," he called. Then, followed by Palamedes, he climbed the remainder of the steps and jerked open the door. The two immortals disappeared into the gloomy interior and slammed the door behind them.

  Sophie glanced at her twin. "Looks like we're not invited." Although she kept her voice carefully neutral, Josh could tell she was angry; she always sucked in her lower lip when she was irritated or upset.

  "Guess not." Josh pulled the neck of his T-shirt up over his nose and mouth. "What do you think's going on in there? You think if we got closer we'd be able to hear what they're talking about?"

  Sophie looked quickly at him. "I'm sure we would, but do you really want to get any closer to that stink?"

  Josh's eyes narrowed as a thought struck him. "I wonder…"

  "What?"

  "Maybe that's why the smell is so bad," he said slowly. "They must know we won't be able to take it and it'll keep us away."

  "You really think they'd go to all that trouble? What-so they can talk about us?" Sophie looked at her brother again and her eyes winked briefly silver. "That's not your idea, Josh."

  "What do you mean it's not my idea?" he demanded. "I thought of it." He paused and then added, "Didn't I?"

  "For one, it's too smart," Sophie argued. "And it sounds like something Mars would think. From what I can tell from my memories-or the Witch's-there was a time when he thought everyone was after him."

  "And were they?" Josh asked. Although the Elder was terrifying, he couldn't help feeling incredibly sorry for him. When Mars Ultor had touched him, Josh had felt the smallest bit of the warrior's unending pain. It was unbearable.

  "Yes," Sophie said, eyes blinking silver, her voice now little more than a whisper. "Yes, they were. By the time he became Mars Ultor-the Avenger-he was one of the most hated and feared men on the planet."

  "Those are the Witch's memories," Josh said. "Try not to think about them."

  "I know." She shook her head. "But I can't help it. It all sort of creeps in around the edges of my mind." She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her body. "It's scaring me. What happens… what happens if her thoughts take over mine? What happens to me?"

  Josh shook his head. He had no idea. Even the thought of losing his twin was terrifying. "Think about something else," Josh insisted. "Something the Witch couldn't know."

  "I'm trying, but she knows so much," Sophie said miserably. She spun around, trying to focus on their surroundings and ignore the strange and foreign thoughts at the back of her mind. She knew she should be strong, she needed to be strong for her brother, but she couldn't get past the Witch's memories. "Everyone I look at, everything I see, reminds me how things have changed. How am I supposed to think of something ordinary when all this is happening? Look at us, Josh: look at where we are, look at what's happened to us. Everything has changed… changed completely."

  Josh nodded. He shifted the map tube on his shoulder, the heavy sword rattling inside. From that very first moment back in the bookshop when he'd popped his head up over the edge of the cellar and seen Flamel and Dee fighting with spears of green and yellow energy, he'd known the world would never be the same again. That had been-what?-four days ago, but in those four days, the world had turned upside down. Everything he'd thought he knew was a lie. They had met myths, fought legends; they had traveled halfway around the world in the blink of an eye to fight a primeval monster and watch stone carvings come to lumbering life.

  "You know," Sophie said suddenly, "we really should have taken last Thursday off."

  Josh couldn't resist a grin. "Yeah, we should have." He'd spent weeks trying to talk Sophie into taking a day off so they could visit the Exploratorium, the science museum close to the Golden Gate Bridge. Ever since he'd heard about it, he'd desperately wanted to see Bob Miller's famous Sun Painting, a creation of sunlight, mirrors and prisms. Then his smile faded. "If we'd done that, then none of this would have happened."

  "Exactly," Sophie said. She looked at the towering metal walls of rusting cars, the pockmarked muddy landscape and the red-eyed dogs. "Josh, I want things the way they were. Ordinary." She turned back to her twin, her eyes catching and holding his. "But you don't," she said flatly.

  Josh didn't even bother trying to deny it. His sister would know he was lying; she always did. And she was right: even though he was exhausted and barely able to cope with his Awakened senses, he didn't want things to go back to the way they'd been; he didn't want to go back to being ordinary. He'd been ordinary all his life-and when people did notice him, they only saw him as half of a set of twins. It was always Josh and Sophie. They went to summer camp together, went to concerts and movies together and had never spent a holiday apart. Birthday cards were always addressed to the two of them; party invitations came with both of their names on them. Usually, it didn't really bother him, but over the past few months, it had all started to grate on him. What would it be like to be seen as an individual? What if there were no Sophie? What if he was just Josh Newman, not half of the Newman twins?

  He loved his sister, but this was his chance to be different, to be an individual.

  He'd been jealous of Sophie when her senses had been Awakened and his hadn't. He'd been scared of her when he'd seen her do battle, in control of impossible powers. He'd been terrified for her when he'd seen the pain and confusion the Awakening had caused. But now that his own senses were Awakened and the world had turned sharp and brilliant, he'd had a momentary glimpse of his potential and he was beginning to understand what he might become. He'd experienced the Nidhogg's thoughts and Clarent's impressions, he'd caught fleeting glimpses of worlds beyond his imagination. He knew-beyond any shadow of a doubt-that he wanted to go to the next stage and be trained in the elemental magics. He just wasn't sure he wanted to do it with the Alchemyst. There was something wrong with Nicholas Flamel. The revelation that there had been other twins before them had been shocking and disturbing, and Josh had questions-hundreds of questions-but he knew he wasn't going to get a straight answer from the Alchemyst. Right now he didn't know who to trust-except Sophie-and the realization that she would prefer not to have her powers was a little frightening. Even though his Awakened senses had given him a pounding headache and a sick sour stomach, had made his throat raw and his eyes gritty, he wouldn't give them up. Unlike his twin, he realized, he was glad he hadn't taken Thursday off.

  Josh pressed his hand to his chest. Paper rustled under his T-shirt, where he still wore the two pages he'd snatched from the Codex. A thought occurred to him. "You know," he said softly, "if we had gone to the Exploratorium, then Dee would have kidnapped Nicholas and Perenelle
and he'd have the entire Codex. He probably would've already brought the Dark Elders back from their Shadowrealms. The world might have already ended. There's no ordinary to go back to, Soph," he finished in an awed whisper.

  The twins stood in silence, trying to comprehend it all. The very idea was terrifying: it was almost incomprehensible that the world they knew could end. Back on Wednesday they would have laughed at the idea. But now? Now they both knew that it could have happened. And worse-they knew it might still happen.

  "Or at least, that's what Nicholas says," Josh added, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  "And you believe him?" Sophie asked, curious. "I thought you didn't trust him."

  "I don't," Josh said firmly. "You heard what Palamedes said about him. Because of Flamel, because of what he did and didn't do, hundreds of thousands of people have died."

  "Nicholas didn't kill them," Sophie reminded him. "Your friend," she said sarcastically, "John Dee, did that."

  Josh turned away and looked at the metal hut. He had no answer to that because it was the truth. Dee himself had admitted to setting fire and plague loose on the world in an attempt to stop the Flamels. "All we know is that Flamel has lied to us right from the very beginning. What about the other twins?" he asked. "Palamedes said Flamel and Perenelle had been collecting twins for centuries." Even saying the word collecting made him feel queasy and uncomfortable. "Whatever happened to them?"

  A gust of icy wind whipped across the junkyard, and Sophie shivered, though not because of the cold air. Staring hard at the metal hut, not looking at her brother, she spoke very slowly, picking her words with care. She could feel herself growing angry. "Since the Flamels are still looking for twins, that means all the others… what?" She spun around to look at her brother and found he was already nodding in agreement.