The Alchemyst (20 page)

And even though Josh knew Flamel had placed them in terrible danger, he had no doubts that the Alchemyst would watch his back. He nodded, then turned and burst through the curtain of vines and ran, clutching his sister tightly to his chest. Away from the shelter of the tree, the noise of battle was incredible, but he concentrated on the ground directly ahead of him, watching for roots or other irregularities in the earth that could trip him. In his arms, Sophie stirred; her eyes flickered, and she started to move. Josh tightened his grip. “Stay still,” he said urgently, though he wasn’t sure if she could hear him. He shifted direction, moving to the right, away from the struggling creatures, but he couldn’t help noticing that when they were badly injured, they reverted to their original bird and cat shapes. Two bemused-looking cats and three ragged crows picked themselves out of the dirt and watched him run past. Josh could hear Flamel running behind him, could smell the mint on the morning air as the Alchemyst worked his magic. Another ten or fifteen footsteps would take him to Scatty, and Josh knew that once he was with her, he was safe. But when he reached Scatty, he was just in time to see her eyes widen in horror. He looked over his shoulder and saw a tall woman with the head and claws of a sleek feline, wearing the robes of ancient Egypt, leap at least twenty feet and land squarely on Nicholas Flamel’s back, driving him into the ground. A curved, sicklelike claw shot out and sliced his short staff neatly in two, then the creature threw back her head and hissed and spat triumphantly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

P
erenelle Flamel was moved from her tiny underground cell by four small guards dressed entirely in black leather, their heads and faces concealed behind motorcycle helmets. She wasn’t entirely sure they were human—certainly she could detect no trace of an aura, a heartbeat or even breathing from the figures. As they crowded around her, she caught the faintest hint of something old and dead, like rotten eggs and overripe fruit. She thought they might be simulacra, artificial creatures grown in vats of putrid bubbling liquid. Perenelle knew that Dee had always been fascinated by the idea of creating his own followers and had spent decades experimenting with Golems, simulacra and homunculi.

Without saying a word, and with jerky gestures, the four figures ushered her out of the cell and down a long, narrow, dimly lit corridor. Perenelle deliberately moved slowly, giving herself time to gather her strength and absorb impressions of the place. Jefferson Miller, the ghost of the security guard, had told her that she was in the basement of Enoch Enterprises, west of Telegraph Hill, close to the famous Coit Tower. She knew she was deep underground: the walls ran with moisture, and the air was so cold that it plumed in clouds before her face. Now that she was out of the cell and away from its protective spells and charms, she felt a little of her strength begin to return. Perenelle desperately tried to think of a spell she could use on the guards, but contact with the ghost of Mr. Miller had left her exhausted, and she had a headache pulsing at the back of her eyes that made it hard to concentrate.

A shape suddenly flickered into existence directly ahead of her. Her breath, a foggy white in the chilly air, had briefly formed a face.

Perenelle glanced at her guards on either side, but they hadn’t reacted. She drew in a deep lungful of breath, held it, allowing her body to warm it, and then breathed out in a long, slow exhalation. A face formed in the white mist: that of Jefferson Miller.

Perenelle frowned; his ghost should be long gone by now. Unless…unless he had come back to tell her something.

Nicholas!

Instantly, she knew her husband was in danger. Perenelle breathed in another great lungful of air and held it. She concentrated hard on Nicholas, seeing him clearly in her mind’s eye, with his narrow, rather mournful-looking face, pale eyes and closely cropped hair. She smiled, remembering him when he’d been younger and his hair, thick and dark, had been longer than hers. He’d always worn it tied back at the nape of his neck with a purple velvet ribbon. She breathed out and the air turned into a white cloud that instantly formed into Jefferson Miller’s face again. Perenelle stared into the ghost’s eyes, and there, reflected in his pupils, she could see her husband trapped beneath the paw of the cat-headed goddess.

Rage and terror blossomed within her, and suddenly, her headache and exhaustion left her. Her silver-threaded black hair rose from her head as if blown in a strong breeze, sparks of blue and white static snapping along its length. Her ice-white aura flared around her body like a second skin. Too late the guards realized that something was wrong. They reached for her, but the moment their hands touched the glowing edges of her aura, they were catapulted away as if they’d received an electric shock. One guard even threw himself onto her body, but before he could lay a finger on her, Perenelle’s aura caught him and propelled him high into the wall with enough force to knock the motorcycle helmet off his head. The figure slid down the wall, arms and legs twisted in awkward positions. When Perenelle looked at his face, she realized that the creatures were indeed simulacra. This one was unfinished: his face and head were simply smooth flesh, bald, without eyes, nose, mouth or ears.

The woman raced down the corridor, only pausing when she came to an oily-looking puddle on the floor. Crouching over the puddle, she concentrated hard and touched the murky water with her index and little fingers. Her white aura sizzled when it touched the liquid, and the water briefly smoked before it cleared and Perenelle found she was looking at the scene she had briefly glimpsed in the ghost’s eyes. Her husband was lying under Bastet’s claws. Behind them, Scatty was struggling to hold off the attacking cats and birds, while Josh stood with his back to a tree, awkwardly clutching a branch like a baseball bat, striking out at anything that came too close. Sophie lay at his feet, moving slowly, blinking in confusion.

Perenelle glanced up and down the corridor. She could hear noises in the distance, footsteps against stone, and she knew more guards were approaching. She could run and hide or she could fight the guards; she had a little of her strength back. But that wasn’t going to help Nicholas and the children.

Perenelle looked back into the puddle. In the distance she could see Hekate withstanding the combined attack of the Morrigan and her birds and Bastet’s cats. Perenelle also spotted Dee moving around behind Hekate, the sword in his hand glowing bright, poisonous blue, while behind them the Yggdrasill burned with fierce red and green flames.

There was one other thing she could do. Something desperate and dangerous, and if it succeeded, it would leave her utterly exhausted and completely defenseless. Dee’s creatures would simply be able to pick her up and carry her away.

Perenelle didn’t think twice.

Crouching over the puddle of dirty water, she placed her right hand, palm up, in her left hand and concentrated fiercely. Perenelle’s aura began to shift and move, flowing down her arms like drifting smoke, gathering in the palm of her hand, running like liquid along the creases and lines in her flesh. A tiny speck of silver-white light appeared in the folds of skin. It solidified into a perfect sphere and then it started to spin and grow, and now the ice white threads of her aura flowed more swiftly down her arms. Within a heartbeat the sphere was the size of an egg, and then Perenelle suddenly reversed her palm and thrust the ball of pure auric energy into the water. She uttered three words.

“Sophie. Wake up!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“S
ophie. Wake up!”

Sophie Newman’s eyes snapped open. And then she squeezed them shut again and pressed her hands against her ears. The lights were so bright, so vivid, the sounds of battle so incredibly clear and distinct.

“Sophie. Wake up!”

The shock of hearing the voice again forced her to open her eyes and look around. She could hear Perenelle Flamel as clearly as if she were standing beside her, but there was no one there. She was lying propped against the rough bark of an oak tree, with Josh standing beside her, a thick branch clutched in both hands, desperately beating back terrifying creatures.

Sophie slowly pushed herself to her feet, holding on to the tree for support. The last thing she clearly remembered was the bitter odor of rich green wood burning. She remembered saying “Fire!” and then the rest was a series of confused images—a narrow tunnel, creatures with bird heads and cat skulls—that might have been dreams.

As Sophie’s eyes adjusted and she looked around, she realized that they had not been dreams.

They were completely surrounded by birds and cats: hundreds of them. Some of the cat-headed humans lurked in the long grass and attempted to creep toward them on all fours or on their bellies, spitting and clawing. There were birdmen in the branches of the tree overhead, maneuvering to get close enough to drop down, while others kept hopping in, jabbing at Josh with their evil-looking beaks.

On the opposite side of the field, the Yggdrasill burned. The ancient wood snapped and cracked, plumes of white-hot sap boiling up into the pristine air like fireworks. But even as the burnt wood fell away, new growth appeared, fresh and green, in its place. Sophie was conscious of another sound too, and realized she was listening to the Yggdrasill. And now, with her incredibly sensitive hearing, she thought she could make out phrases and words, snatches of songs and fragments of poems within the agonized cries of the burning tree. In the distance, she could see Hekate desperately trying to put out the fires, but she was also fighting the Morrigan, the cats and the birds at the same time. Sophie also noticed that there were no more nathair in the skies, and very few of the Torc Allta remained to guard their ancient mistress.

Closer, Sophie spotted Scatty’s bright red hair. She, too, was surrounded by dozens of birds and cats. The Warrior was moving in what looked like an intricate dance, twin swords flashing, sending the creatures howling back from her. Scatty was trying to fight her way over to where Nicholas Flamel was lying facedown on the ground beneath the claws of the most terrifying creature Sophie had ever seen: Bastet, the Cat Goddess. With her incredibly sharp eyesight, the girl could make out the individual whiskers on Bastet’s feline face, and she actually saw a droplet of saliva gather on the overlarge fangs and drip onto the man below.

Flamel saw Sophie looking in his direction. He tried to draw a breath, but it was difficult with the heavy creature standing on top of him. “Run,” he whispered, “run.”

“Sophie, I only have a few moments…”
Perenelle’s voice echoed inside the girl’s head, shocking her to full alertness.
“This is what you must do. You must let me speak through you….”

Josh became aware that his sister was climbing to her feet, swaying slightly, hands pressed to her ears as if the sounds were too much, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He saw her lips move, as if she were talking to herself. He lashed out at a pair of humans with mockingbird heads as they darted forward. The heavy branch caught one of the creatures squarely on the beak, and it staggered back, dazed and stunned. The other continued to circle Josh, who realized that it was not coming for him—it was trying to get to Sophie. He turned and lashed out at it, but at that moment, a tall, slender man with a tabby cat’s head came bounding toward him. Josh tried to swing the branch, but he was off balance and the catman ducked under the blow. Then it leapt into the air, mouth gaping, claws extended. With a sour taste at the back of his throat, Josh admitted to himself that he and Sophie were in desperate trouble. He needed to get to his sister, he had to protect her…and in that instant, he knew he was not going to make it. He closed his eyes at the last minute as the savage cat-headed creature slammed into his chest, expecting to feel the sting of its claws, to hear its squalling roar in his face…but all he heard was a gentle purring. He blinked his eyes open and found he was holding a fluffy kitten in his arms.

Sophie! He turned around…and stopped in awe.

Sophie’s aura had flared pure silver around her body. It was so dense in places that it even reflected the sunlight, making it appear like a medieval suit of armor. Silver sparks crackled through her hair and dripped from her fingers like liquid.

“Sophie?” Josh whispered, elated. His sister was fine.

And then Sophie slowly turned her head to look at Josh, and he experienced the shocking, sickening realization that she did not recognize him.

The birdman that had been moving in to attack the girl suddenly darted forward, beak stabbing at her eyes. Sophie snapped her fingers: tiny droplets of silver spun away from her hands to splash against the creature. Instantly, it folded and twisted in on itself and became a disorientated hermit thrush.

Sophie walked past her brother and stepped toward Bastet.

“No farther, little girl,” Bastet commanded, raising a clawed hand.

Sophie’s eyes opened wide and she smiled, and Josh suddenly found that, for the first time in his life, he was frightened of his own sister. He knew that this wasn’t his Sophie; this terrifying creature could not be his twin.

When the girl spoke, her voice was a harsh croak.
“You have no idea what I can do to you.”

Bastet’s huge feline eyes blinked in surprise. “You can do nothing to me, little girl.”

“I am no girl. You may be ancient, but you have never encountered anything like me. I possess the raw power that can nullify your magic. I can use it to return the birds and cats to their natural forms.”
Sophie’s head titled to one side, a gesture Josh knew well; his sister did it when she was listening intently to someone. Then she stretched out her hands toward the Dark Elder.
“What do you think would happen if I were to reach out and touch you?”

Bastet hissed a command, and a trio of huge catmen raced toward the girl. Sophie flung out her arm, and a long, whip-like, snaking coil of silver energy flowed from her hand. It touched each of the cats, crackling across their haunches and shoulders, and they immediately came to stumbling halts, rolling and twisting on the ground as they transformed into ordinary everyday cats, two shorthairs and a ragged-looking Persian. The cats bounded to their feet and streaked off, howling piteously.

Sophie spun the whip above her head, scattering drops of liquid silver in every direction.
“Let me give you a taste of what I can do….”
The silver whip cracked and snapped as she approached.

Scatty suddenly found that three of her adversaries had transformed into an American robin, a house finch, and a song sparrow, while the exotic-looking catman directly in front of her warped into a confused Siamese.

Sophie cracked the silver whip again and again, beating away their attackers, droplets of silver splashing everywhere, and more and more of the cat-and birdmen returned to their natural forms.
“Get away from Nicholas,”
she said, her lips not moving in synch with her words,
“or we will find out what your true shape is, Bastet, who is also Mafdet, Sekhmet and Menhit.”

Bastet slowly stepped away from Flamel and raised herself to her full towering height. Her slit-pupiled eyes were wide, her mouth tightly closed. “It has been a long time since anyone has called me by those names. Who are you—certainly no modern humani girl?”

Sophie’s mouth moved, the words taking a moment or two to follow.
“Beware this girl, Bastet. She is your doom.”

Bastet’s fur was bristling and her bare arms dimpled with goose bumps. Then she slowly backed away, turned and raced toward the burning Yggdrasill. For the first time in millennia, she was frightened.

Nicholas dragged himself to his feet and staggered toward Sophie, Josh and Scatty. He stepped up to Sophie. “Perenelle?” he whispered.

Sophie turned her head to him, eyes blank and unseeing. Her mouth worked, and then, as in a badly dubbed movie, the words came.
“I’m in San Francisco, held in the basement of Enoch Enterprises. I’m safe and well. Take

the children south, Nicholas.”
There was a long moment of silence; then, when she spoke again, the words came quicker than Sophie’s lips could move, and the girl’s silver aura began to fade and her eyes started to close.
“Take them to the Witch.”