The Necromancer (28 page)

“I have a question,” Joan said quietly, and everyone turned to look at her. “What is your name? You know us—indeed, you seem very familiar with us—but we’ve no idea who you are.”

The hooded man nodded. “I have had many names through the centuries, but the one I prefer is the one I was first called on Danu Talis: Marethyu.”

Scathach gasped and the immortal humans turned to her. Joan laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “What does it mean?” She glanced over her shoulder at the hooded man.

“Tell them,” he said to the Shadow.

“In the language of Danu Talis, it means ‘death.’”

WEDNESDAY,

6th June

S
ophie Newman knew the moment she awoke in the tiny cramped bedroom that something was wrong. There was a vague fluttering in the pit of her stomach and a dull ache at the back of her head, and she was painfully aware that her heart was pounding. Wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, she attempted to control her suddenly frantic breathing. What was happening to her: was this a panic attack? She’d never had one before, but her friend Elle in New York has them all the time. Sophie felt light-headed and just a little sick, and when she rolled out of bed and came to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her.

Stepping out into the hallway, she stopped and listened carefully. The little guesthouse was quiet. And it felt empty. With her left hand brushing the wall, she walked down the corridor into the kitchen. The night outside had started to pale toward dawn. Perry had told her that Prometheus kept his Shadowrealm in synch with earth time and it had a regular cycle of day and night.

The crystal skull sat in the center of the kitchen table.

Last night, she’d watched the Flamels put their hands on it, allowing their auras to sink into it. The crystal had glowed dully, the hint of ice-white, the merest suggestion of pale green winking deep within its core, but nothing else had happened, and the effort had exhausted Nicholas.

Sophie hurried past it. She didn’t see the crystal as it pulsed silver and the eye sockets darkened, filling with shadow. The light faded as she moved away from the table and walked to the couch, where Josh had spent the night.

But the couch was empty.

“Josh?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or he’d probably gone up to the main house looking for food. Yet even as she was making excuses, she knew they weren’t true. When Josh had returned after learning the Magic of Fire from Prometheus, he had been ashen-faced, staggering with exhaustion. He’d fallen sound asleep the moment he’d crawled onto the couch.

“Josh?” she called again. “Josh?”

The fluttering in her stomach was worse now, like really bad indigestion, and her heart was racing so fast she was feeling breathless.

“Josh!” Louder now. “Where are you?” If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. “Josh Newman, you come here right this minute!”

She heard movement at the door and the handle turned. Spinning toward it, Sophie put her hands on her hips. “Just where have you—”

The door swung open and Aoife stepped into the room, followed by Niten. The Japanese immortal carried two swords, one much longer than the other, while Aoife clutched a long ugly leaf-bladed knife.

“It’s Josh,” Sophie began breathlessly. “He’s missing.”

They split up without a word, Niten moving to the right, Aoife to the left. The guest cottage was tiny and they were back in the kitchen within moments. “No sign of a struggle,” Niten said calmly. “Looks like he just walked out.” He turned and disappeared back into the night, leaving Sophie alone with Aoife.

“He’s gone,” Sophie whispered. “He’s gone.” It was all she could say as waves of panic began to wash over her.

Aoife returned the knife to the sheath strapped to her leg. “Talk to me,” she said. “What happened?”

Sophie shook her head. “When I woke up, I felt …” She pressed both hands to her stomach as she searched for the words.

“Empty,” Aoife suggested.

Sophie looked at the red-haired warrior. “Yes,” she breathed, suddenly able to identify the feeling. “I feel empty. I’ve never felt that way before.”

Aoife nodded, her pale face expressionless.

Niten opened the door and spoke quickly to the warrior in Japanese, then turned and raced away.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Sophie was starting to feel breathless with terror again. “What’s happened to my brother?” she asked. Static curled through her hair, and tendrils of her silver aura smoked off her skin. She began to shake, and Aoife stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. When Aoife spoke, her voice echoed inside Sophie’s head, and even though she used the ancient Irish tongue of her youth, Sophie understood every word. “Breathe deeply, calm yourself.… You need to be in control now. For your sake. For Josh’s sake.”

Sophie shook her head. “I can’t. You don’t know what it feels like.…”

“Yes,” Aoife said in a fierce whisper. “Yes. I do.”

And when Sophie looked up, she found the warrior’s green eyes sparkling and bright with tears. “I lost my own twin,” Aoife said. “I know exactly how you’re feeling.”

Sophie nodded. She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “What did Niten tell you just now?” she asked.

“He said the car is missing.”

Before Sophie could ask anything else, the door opened and Perenelle stepped into the cottage, followed by Nicholas and Prometheus, making the small room seem even tinier. Niten came last, but he remained in the open doorway, facing out into the night.

“Gone?” Nicholas snapped in French.

“Missing,” Aoife agreed.

“Was he taken?” Perenelle asked.

“Nothing can get into this Shadowrealm without my knowledge,” Prometheus said.

Perenelle went to Sophie and opened her arms, but the girl made no move to close the distance. She remained with the warrior. The Sorceress took a step back and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “So he went of his own accord?” she asked.

“There are no signs of a struggle,” Niten said from the doorway. “And only one set of footprints heading down the valley toward the car.”

“But the car was dead,” Nicholas answered, “the battery drained.”

Prometheus folded his arms across his massive chest. “Yes, but the boy has learned the Magic of Fire. All that raw energy is coursing through his aura right now. He could easily have sparked the car to life.”

“Where did he go?” Sophie asked. “I don’t understand. He wouldn’t have just left without telling me.” She looked at Prometheus. “Maybe something here took him? Maybe those mud people?”

Prometheus shook his head. “The First People will not approach the house. I agree with Perenelle: he went of his own accord.”

“But where has he gone?” Sophie asked again. “Home?” She shook her head. She had never, in all her life, been so confused or felt so lost. “He wouldn’t have left me.”

“Why is he gone, is the better question,” Aoife said.

But Perenelle shook her head. “No, the real question is, who called him? I wonder …,” she began, then stopped. The Sorceress turned and made her way to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she held her hands on either side of the crystal skull, not touching it, and looked over at Sophie. Her lips were drawn into a thin, almost bitter smile. “Perhaps you will lend us your aura now.”

“Why?” Sophie whispered, completely confused.

“So we can try to see your brother. See if he’s gone of his own accord or if he’s been kidnapped.”

Aoife rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “If you possess my grandmother’s memories, then you know just how dangerous the skull is, Sophie.” She lowered her voice. “While you’re looking into the skull, it is looking into you. Stare too long into its crystal depths and you can—quite literally—lose your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do,” Sophie said simply. She looked into the vampire’s eyes. “You said yourself that you would do everything in your power to get Scathach back.…”

Aoife started to nod.

“I’ll do the same for Josh.”

The warrior stared at her, and then she pulled out a chair. “That I truly understand. Sit. I will stand guard over you.” For an instant the hard lines of her face softened, and she was the image of her sister.

“Go raibh maith agat,” Sophie whispered in Irish, a language she had never learned. “Thank you.” She looked into the warrior’s face.

Aoife nodded. “Scathach would have done the same,” she murmured.

“Put your hands on the crystal skull,” Perenelle commanded.

J
osh knew it was a dream, nothing more than a particularly vivid dream.

He dreamt that he was driving Niten’s black limousine north along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. It was still night overhead, though the sky to his right was already starting to lighten.

It was one of those dreams that were perfect in every detail. Sometimes he dreamt in black-and-white and without sound, but this was in color, and he could even smell the polished leather interior of the car and the vaguely floral scent from some hidden air conditioner. He sniffed. There was another odor too: the smell of burning plastic. A curl of gray smoke drifted past his eyes and he looked down. At first he thought he was wearing red-gold gloves; then he realized that his hands were glowing hot and actually melting into the steering wheel. As he pulled them away, threads of sticky rubber and plastic, like chewing gum, stretched from the wheel.

It wasn’t a scary dream. It was just … odd.

He wondered where he was going.

“Think of your brother,” Perenelle commanded.

Sophie took a deep breath and rested both hands on the skull. Instantly the crystal turned a rich metallic silver, making it appear as if it had been carved out of metal.

“Think of Josh,” Nicholas said.

Sophie concentrated on visualizing her brother, determined to see him in every detail. The skull’s empty eye sockets turned dark, then mirror bright, and abruptly an image formed in the air above the crystal, but it was vague and fragmented, little more than a smear of colors.

Sophie felt Aoife’s fingers tighten on her shoulders, and a cool strength soaked into her flesh. She realized that the warrior was giving her some of the strength of her gray aura, and then she felt the woman’s breath warm against her right ear. “Think of your twin,” Aoife commanded.

Her twin brother: the same blond hair, the same blue eyes. Twenty-eight seconds her junior. Until they were three, no one had been able to tell them apart.

And suddenly the shifting colors floating above the skull whirled and settled, taking on shape and definition. They were looking at the image of a melting steering wheel. They were seeing through Josh’s eyes.

After a while, the dream became boring.

Josh wished he could wake himself up.

He drove for a long time on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, then turned right onto Highway 1 and then Shoreline Highway. It was a narrow two-lane road, wreathed in early-morning mist that bounced off his headlights, but he wasn’t concerned. Nothing could happen to him in a dream. If he crashed, he’d wake up. Still, it was a shame it was a driving dream; it would have been much better if it had been a flying dream. He loved those.

“How is he doing this?” Sophie whispered. “Is he awake or asleep?”

Nicholas leaned forward, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his cupped hands. He stared hard at the images hovering in the air over the skull. “He is probably aware on some level, but something has taken control of him. I believe that something—someone—has called to him.”

Prometheus eyed the skull with an expression of profound disgust. “If I’d known you had that abominable thing, I would not have allowed you to bring it into this Shadowrealm. My sister spent most of her life and squandered the family fortune destroying these Archon toys.”

Nicholas glanced sidelong at Perenelle before looking up at Prometheus. “Archon? I thought these were Elder.”

Prometheus ignored the question, concentrating his attention on the perfect three-dimensional image floating above the skull. “We could possibly shock him awake.”

“No!” Sophie said immediately, instinct warning her that it would be the wrong thing to do.

“No,” Aoife agreed. “He could lose control of the car.”

“So we sit and wait for him to reach his destination?” Prometheus asked.

“Well.” Perenelle spoke without removing her gaze from the image above the skull. “I believe our first duty is to try to ensure that he reach his destination safely. If he crashes, he could be badly injured or killed. Sophie”—the tone of the Sorceress’s voice softened—“concentrate on your brother, make him focus on his driving.”

“How?” she asked desperately. She was having a hard time controlling the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “How do I do that?”

Perenelle looked blank. She turned to Nicholas, but he shook his head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Just don’t let him do anything stupid.”

“This is Josh we’re talking about,” Sophie muttered. “He does stupid things all the time.” And always when she wasn’t there.

He was thinking about driving really fast.

This section of Shoreline Highway was relatively straight, and the fog wasn’t too thick. He could put his foot to the floor and just roar down the road.

Sophie wouldn’t like that.

The thought popped into his head even as his foot was pressing on the accelerator.

This was a dream.

Sophie wouldn’t like that.

His foot eased off the accelerator. He shook his head. Even in his dreams, she still tried to be the boss.

The group had been sitting around the table for more than ninety minutes, and Sophie was shaking with fatigue.

Aoife stood over her, both hands on her shoulders, pouring strength into her, but Sophie’s silver aura was now almost entirely the same pewter gray as the warrior’s, and the images hovering over the skull had faded and become almost transparent. “I’m not sure … how much longer … I can keep this up,” Sophie whispered. Her head was thumping and there were solid bars of pain across her taut shoulders and down her spine.