The Necromancer (22 page)

“Scathach the Shadow and Joan of Arc. Where have you been? I have been waiting for you for such a long time. Welcome to my world.” The hooded man stood, and as he spread his arms wide, they saw the curved metal hook that took the place of his left hand.

S
ophie opened her eyes and Josh’s face swam into view. She watched the relief wash over his features. His blue eyes were suddenly magnified by tears.

“Hi, sis,” he whispered, but there was a tremble in his voice, and he coughed and tried again. “Hi, sis. How do you feel?”

Sophie drew in a slow deep breath as she thought about his question. She felt … actually, she felt fine. More than fine; she felt great—alert, strong and clearheaded. Sitting up, she looked around. She’d been lying on a narrow couch in a tiny cramped room that looked like it had been decorated sometime in the 1960s. The walls were covered in a hideous brown wallpaper inscribed with black and red circles that matched the curtains and the brown linoleum on the floor. A bright red plastic cloth covered a small kitchen table, and only two of the four chairs matched. The room was gloomy and smelled stale and unused, and the only light came from a cobwebbed lamp on a table in the corner. “I’m good,” she said, standing up and turning to look out the windows. She was surprised to discover that night had fallen and automatically looked at her wrist, but her watch was missing. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Over four hours …”

“Four hours! What time it is?” she wondered. The last thing she remembered was looking at Prometheus.…

Josh handed Sophie her watch, which he’d been holding in his hand. “I was using yours. The battery in mine is dead,” he explained. “It’s just after eight now.” He looked closely at his sister. “Are you sure you’re OK? When I heard the Witch’s voice coming out of your mouth, I thought she’d finally taken you over completely.”

“Don’t worry, Josh. That’s not going to happen,” Sophie said gently. She laughed at his astonished expression. “Nicholas was wrong. Perenelle told me that the Witch’s memories can never take over mine.”

“And you believe her?” Josh said cautiously. He was watching his sister closely. If he half closed his eyes, he thought he could see the faintest hint of her silver aura—and was it his imagination, or was it tinged with just the faintest hint of brown … the color of the Witch of Endor’s?

“Yes. I believe her,” Sophie said.

Josh shook his head. “Soph, be careful. I don’t think we should trust either of them. And the more I learn about Mrs. Flamel, the less I trust her.”

Sophie felt a vague twinge of annoyance at her brother’s caution. Yes, Nicholas was not to be trusted; they’d discovered that he’d kept information from them. But with the Witch of Endor’s memories and knowledge swirling inside her, surely she’d know if Perenelle was lying to her. “Perry was apprenticed to Dora for something like ten years. She said that if the Witch had wanted to take over my thoughts, she could have just done it when she Awakened me.” Sophie smiled at her brother again. “So we were worried about nothing: Nicholas was wrong. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”

Josh blinked, confused. That didn’t sound right; when Nicholas had been talking to them in London about the power of the Witch’s memories, he’d sounded so sure that he’d even sounded a little frightened himself. “So … tell me, what exactly did Perenelle say?” he asked.

“She told me …” Sophie frowned, trying to remember the exact words. “She said that Nicholas had told us what he believed to be true, and then she added that he was often wrong. She said he makes mistakes. Her exact words were ‘Nicholas is often wrong.’”

“Often wrong?” Josh repeated. “Wow … that’s something—especially coming from his wife.” He sat back in the couch his sister had vacated and tried to absorb this new piece of information. “Can we believe her?”

Sophie shrugged. “I do,” she said simply, then looked quickly at her brother, reading the expression in his eyes. “But you don’t.”

“Why should I?” he asked. “I know you like Perenelle, but don’t let that influence you. I liked Nicholas—really, I did—but once I discovered that he’d been lying to us and that he’d put us in danger, I knew I could never trust him again.”

“That was Nicholas … not Perenelle. She was a prisoner on Alcatraz.”

Josh shook his head in frustration. “Sis, remember, it’s the Flamels—both of them—who’ve been collecting twins for centuries. And we both saw that Perenelle seems to be in charge. I think she’s as guilty as he is. I just don’t trust her.”

“Were you always this suspicious?” Sophie asked.

“This last week has made me think twice about everything and everyone,” Josh said. “What was it Scatty said to us on the very first day: follow your hearts, trust no one …”

“… except each other,” Sophie finished. “I remember.”

“And I’m right to be suspicious. I was right about Nicholas from the very beginning.”

“Yes, you were. But we know so much more now. And I know all that the Witch knows, so that has to give us an advantage. And I know that the Witch trusted Perenelle, so I do too. But Josh, listen to me—if we’re going to survive, we have to learn to trust people.”

“But which people?” he asked, watching her closely, trying to keep his temper in check. Why couldn’t she see that the Flamels were dangerous? “Who do we trust? Nicholas and Perenelle? They’ve both lied to us. Scathach? Even her own sister told us that she’s a liar. Saint-Germain? We know he’s a thief. And Soph, these are supposed to be the good guys. Then there’s Dee, who everyone says is insane, and Machiavelli, who is … well, I don’t know what he is, but I sort of liked him. He was the only one who was straight with me.”

“And don’t forget Gilgamesh,” Sophie added with a small sad smile.

“Well, I liked him, too, but he was crazy,” he reminded her.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Sophie wandered around the room, running her fingertips over the plastic chairs, the Formica tabletop and the squat rectangular box that was the radio. She turned the dial and the radio hissed static that was touched with just the hint of voices. She clicked it off, leaned back against a bulky cream-colored Prestcold fridge and looked at her brother. “Now that I know the Witch’s memories are safe and can’t hurt me, I’ve been trying to remember everything she knew about Gilgamesh … but there are big blanks.”

“Blanks? What sort of blanks?”

“You know when you’re trying to remember the words of a song? You sort of know what it sounds like, you can hum the tune, but the whole thing just won’t come out. It’s like that.”

Josh nodded. “Happens to me all the time during finals. I know that I know the answer, I just can’t get at it.”

Sophie took a deep breath. “I’m concentrating on Gilgamesh now, for example. I can almost remember what he looks like, I can even picture him as a young man—I can see black curly hair and eyes the color of the ocean—but I can’t remember anything else.” She shook her head, frustrated. “It’ll come, I’m sure.”

“Can you remember anything about the Flamels?” Josh asked.

“Only bits and pieces. The Witch didn’t know a lot about them. She’d heard of them, of course. All the Elders and Dark Elders knew about the Flamels, but the Witch hasn’t had much contact with them … or with anyone, for that matter. For generations, she’s lived a very reclusive life. She’s wandered alone through the Middle East and the Russian steppes, and she lived in Transylvania, Greece, Switzerland and France before she came over to America sometime toward the end of the nineteenth century.”

“And Perenelle was apprenticed to the Witch?” Josh asked. “Where?”

“In France. But apparently Perenelle didn’t tell the Witch that she was married to Nicholas. She went by her maiden name. It was only later, much, much later, that the Witch discovered the truth.”

“That seems odd. Why did she do that?” Josh asked.

Sophie shook her head. “The Witch didn’t know.”

Josh stood up and ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back off his forehead; then he rubbed his palms against his jeans. His hair felt greasy and he realized how badly he needed a shower. “Look, it’s clear that Nicholas isn’t in charge anymore—”

“Josh,” Sophie interrupted with a laugh. “I don’t think he’s ever been in charge! Perenelle admitted that she was the one who convinced Nicholas to hire you. Apparently your interview wasn’t great,” she added. Before her brother could respond, she continued, “And she was the one who suggested to Bernice that she hire me at the Coffee Cup.”

“So who is Perenelle Flamel?” Josh asked. He walked to his sister and looked into her eyes. “What does the Witch remember about the Sorceress?” Even as he was asking the question, he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Sophie grimaced in frustration. “I’ve been trying to remember … but that’s one of the blanks.”

Josh nodded. He wasn’t surprised. “But the Witch must remember Perenelle.”

Sophie nodded. “She must. She spent ten years with her.”

“And you can’t remember anything from that time?” Josh asked incredulously.

“Nothing.” She frowned. “The memories are there—I can almost grasp them, but they just slip away when I try to focus on them.”

“I wonder why,” Josh murmured, pacing the room.

“I’m not worried. It’ll come to me. It’s been less than a week since Hekate Awakened me and the Witch gave me her memories. I think they’re just settling down.”

Josh stopped in front of the old-fashioned fridge, pulled it open and peered inside. Flickering yellow light washed into the room. “Could someone be stopping you from remembering?” he asked, trying to pretend it was just a casual question.

“Like the Sorceress?” Sophie asked, the tiniest thread of doubt in her voice.

“Like the Sorceress,” Josh echoed. He straightened and turned to face his sister. “Nicholas tells us the Witch’s memories can take you over. Perenelle says they can’t. But you can’t remember what the Witch knew about the Sorceress. That’s really odd, don’t you think?”

“Really odd,” Sophie agreed uncomfortably. “You think Perenelle is lying to me?”

“Sophie, I think everyone is lying to us. Remember what Scatty said—trust no one …” His sister nodded and they finished the sentence together. “… except each other.”

Josh closed the fridge door. “Completely empty. I wonder what an Elder eats.”

“Most don’t,” Sophie said immediately. She frowned as the knowledge popped into her head. Why could she remember this and not something more important? “They’ve got a different metabolism than the humani.…”

Josh turned to look at his twin before she could finish explaining. “That’s interesting.”

Sophie jumped, surprised by the anger in her brother’s voice. “What is?”

“You called the human race humani,” he said quietly. “I’ve never heard you call them—us—that before.”

“That’s what the Witch called them,” she said.

“Exactly. Maybe it’s not Nicholas who’s wrong—maybe it’s Perenelle.”

Sophie shook her head. “I believe the Sorceress,” she said firmly, and before her brother could respond, she folded her arms and turned away, looking around the room. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Josh took a deep breath and thought about trying to continue the conversation, but he knew from experience that once Sophie folded her arms and turned her back on him, she’d made a decision. If he pushed, they’d fight, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. All he could hope was that she’d think a little more carefully about everything the Sorceress told her.

“Prometheus’s house in Point Reyes. I caught a glimpse of it earlier. We’re really isolated. There’s a main house and about a dozen small cabins scattered around it. We’re in one of the cabins, and I have to tell you—it’s a dump.” He started looking through drawers. One held a mismatched assortment of knives, forks and spoons, but they were all dull and tarnished, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Another drawer was stuffed with linen tea towels. Josh pulled out a handful: they were all gray and stiff with age, and showed tourist scenes from cities across Europe: Buckingham Palace in London, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, the Royal Palace in Madrid, the Acropolis in Greece and finally, at the bottom of the pile, the pyramids in Egypt. Josh opened one and a fine cloud of dust filled the air. “I wonder when the last time anyone actually stayed here was,” he said. A blast of chill air made him turn. Sophie had pushed open the kitchen door and stepped out into the damp night. The lights of San Francisco filled the sky to the south with an orange glow.

“Where is the Elder?” she asked quietly, without looking around.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him—I haven’t seen anyone—since you fainted or collapsed, or whatever you did earlier. The car was dead, so Prometheus carried you up here. Then, when we got here, all he said was ‘Let her sleep. She’ll be fine when she wakes,’ and he left.” Josh shrugged. “I’ve been sitting here for the past four hours waiting for you to wake up.” He paused and added, “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

Sophie took a moment to consider. “No,” she said, “not really.” She knew she should be hungrier—the only food she’d had all day was the fruit she’d eaten with Aoife on the houseboat—but for some reason she felt fine. “We don’t have to stay here,” she said. “We could go looking for them.”

“This is a Shadowrealm,” Josh reminded her. “And the mud people are out there. I’ll bet there are other guardians too.”

“So where is everyone?” she asked, but even as she was speaking, two figures materialized out of the night. As they approached, Sophie could see it was Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, arm in arm, walking slowly toward the house. “We’ve got company,” she said softly.

Josh stepped outside and stood beside his sister on the wooden deck. “He looks older,” he said quietly. “Older than Perenelle for sure.”

“And she’s ten years older than him,” Sophie reminded her brother.

“So why isn’t she aging as fast?”

“Maybe she hasn’t used her aura as much as he has,” Sophie suggested.