The Sorceress (55 page)

Authors: Michael Scott

Published by Delacorte Press,

an imprint of Random House Children’s Books,

a division of Random House, Inc., New York

I am frightened.

Not for myself, but for those I will leave behind: Perenelle and the twins. I am resigned that we will not recover the Codex in time to save my wife. I have perhaps a week left, certainly no more than two, before old age claims me; Perenelle has no more than two weeks.

I do not want to die. I have lived upon this earth for six hundred and seventy-six years, and there is still so much that I have never done, so much that I wish I still had time to do.

I am grateful, though, that I have lived long enough to discover the twins of legend, and proud that I began their training in the elemental magics. Sophie has mastered three, Josh just one, but he has demonstrated other skills, and his courage is extraordinary.

We have returned to San Francisco, having left Dee for dead in London. I am hoping we have seen the last of him. I am disturbed, however, that Machiavelli is here in the city. Perenelle trapped him and his companion on Alcatraz along with the other monsters, but I am unsure how long the Rock can hold someone like the Italian immortal.

And both Perenelle and I are agreed that Alcatraz is a threat we will have to deal with while we still can. Just knowing that the cells are full of monsters is chilling.

More disturbing, however, is the news that Scathach and Joan of Arc have gone missing. The Notre Dame leygate should have brought them to Mount Tamalpais, but they never turned up. Saint-Germain is frantic with worry, but I reminded him that Scathach is over two and a half thousand years old, and she is the ultimate warrior.

My real concern lies with the twins. I am no longer sure how
they view me. I always knew Josh harbored reservations about me, but now I am sensing that they are both fearful and mistrustful. It is true that they discovered portions of my history I would have preferred left uncovered. I am not proud of some of the things I did, but I regret nothing. I did what I had to do to ensure the survival of the entire human race, and I would do it all again.

The twins have gone back to their aunt’s house in Pacific Heights. I will give them a day or two to rest and recuperate. Then we will begin again. Their training needs to be completed; they need to be ready when the Dark Elders return.

Because that day is almost upon us.

From the Day Booke of Nicholas Flamel, Alchemyst
Writ this day, Tuesday, 5th June, in
San Francisco, my adopted city

“Never thought I’d see this place again,” Sophie Newman said.

“Never thought I’d be so happy to see it,” Josh added. “It looks … I don’t know. Different.”

“It looks the same,” his twin said. “We’re the ones who have changed.”

Sophie and Josh Newman walked down Scott Street in Pacific Heights, heading for their aunt Agnes’s house on the corner of Sacramento Street. Five days ago—Thursday, May 31—they had left for work, Sophie at the coffee shop, Josh at the bookstore. It had been just an ordinary day … and yet it had been the last ordinary day they would ever experience.

That day their world had changed forever; they too had changed, both physically and mentally.

“What do we tell her?” Josh asked nervously. Aunt Agnes was eighty-four, and although they called her aunt, she was not actually related to them by blood. Sophie thought she might have been their grandmother’s sister … or cousin, or maybe just a friend, but she wasn’t sure. She was a sweet but irascible old lady who fussed and worried if the twins were even five minutes late. She drove them both crazy, and reported back to their parents about every single thing they did.

“We keep it simple,” Sophie said. “We stick to the story we told Mom and Dad—first the bookshop closed because Perenelle wasn’t feeling well, and then, when she got out of the hospital, the Flamels—”

“The
Flemings
” Josh corrected her.

“The
Flemings
invited us to stay with them in their house in the desert.”

“And why did the bookshop close?”

“Gas leak.”

Josh nodded. “Gas leak. And where’s the house in the desert?”

“Joshua Tree.”

“OK, I got it.” He grinned. “You know we’re going to get a grilling.”

“I know. And that’s even before we talk to Mom and Dad.”

Josh nodded. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “Maybe we should just tell them the truth.”

The twins walked across Jackson Street. They could see their aunt’s white wooden Victorian house three blocks away.

Sophie nodded. “Let me get this straight. You want to tell Mom and Dad that their entire life’s work has been for nothing. That everything they have ever studied—history, archaeology and paleontology—is wrong.” She grinned. “Great idea. You go ahead and do that. I’ll watch.”

Josh shrugged uncomfortably. “OK, OK, so we don’t tell them.”

“Not just yet, in any case.”

“Agreed, but it’ll come out sooner or later. You know how impossible it is to keep secrets from them.”

A sleek black stretch limousine with tinted windows drove slowly past them, the driver leaning forward, checking house
numbers on the tree-lined street. The car signaled and pulled in farther down.

Josh indicated the limo with a jerk of his chin. “It looks like it’s stopping outside Aunt Agnes’s.”

Sophie looked up disinterestedly. “I just wish there were someone we could talk to,” she said. “Someone like Gilgamesh.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I hope he’s OK.” The last time she had seen the immortal, he had been wounded by an arrow fired by the Horned God. She looked at her brother, irritated. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“That car
did
stop outside Agnes’s house,” Josh said slowly. He watched a slender black-suited driver get out of the car and climb the steps, black-gloved hand trailing lightly on the metal rail.

The twins’ Awakened hearing clearly picked up the knock on the door. Unconsciously, they both increased their pace.

Aunt Agnes opened the door. She was a slight, bony woman, all angles and planes, with knobby knees and swollen arthritic fingers. Josh knew that in her youth she had been considered a great beauty. He was guessing that her youth had been a long time ago. She had never married, and there was a family story that she had been left at the altar when she was eighteen.

“Something’s not right,” Josh muttered. He broke into a jog, Sophie easily keeping up.

The twins saw the driver’s hand move and Aunt Agnes take something from him. She leaned forward, squinting at what looked like a photograph. When the woman had looked
down, the driver had slipped around behind her and darted into the house.

“Don’t let the car leave!” Josh shouted at Sophie, racing across the street and darting up the steps and into the house. “Hi, Aunt Agnes, we’re home,” he called as he ran past her.

The old woman turned in a complete circle, the photograph fluttering from her fingertips.

Sophie raced across the road, stooped down and pressed her fingertips against the rear passenger tire. Her thumb brushed the circle on the back of her wrist and her fingers glowed white-hot. She pushed, and with five distinct popping sounds, they punctured the rubber tire. Air hissed out and the car sank onto the metal rim.

“Sophie!” the old woman shrieked as the girl darted up the steps and grabbed her confused aunt. “What’s going on? Where have you been? Who was that nice young man? Was that Josh I just saw?”

Without a word Sophie drew her aunt away from the door just in case Josh or the driver came rushing out and she was pushed down the steps.

Josh stepped into the darkened hallway and then pressed flat against the wall, waiting until his eyes had adjusted to the light. Last week he wouldn’t have known to do that, but then last week he wouldn’t have run into a house after an intruder. He would have done the sensible thing and dialed 911. He reached into the umbrella stand behind the door and lifted out one of his aunt’s thick walking sticks. It wasn’t Clarent, but it would have to do.

Josh remained still, head tilted to one side, listening. Where was the intruder?

There was a creak on the landing, and then a slender young man in a simple black suit, white shirt and narrow black tie came hurrying down the stairs from the second floor. He slowed when he spotted Josh, but kept coming. He smiled, but it was a reflex and didn’t move past his lips. Now that the man was closer, Josh saw that he was Asian; Japanese, maybe.

Josh stepped forward, the walking stick held out in front of him like a sword. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Past you or through you, makes no difference to me,” the young man said in perfect English, but with a strong Japanese accent.

“What are you doing here?” Josh demanded.

“Looking for someone.”

The intruder stepped off the bottom stair into the hall and went to walk out the front door. Josh barred the man’s route with the stick. “You owe me an answer.”

The black-suited young man grabbed the stick, yanking it from Josh’s grip, and snapped it across his knee. Josh grimaced; that had to hurt. The man tossed the two pieces on the floor. “I owe you nothing.”

He swept from the house and moved swiftly down the steps, but stopped when he spotted the punctured back tire. Sophie smiled and waggled her fingers at him.

The rear passenger window eased down a fraction and the Japanese man spoke urgently into it, gesturing toward the tire.

Abruptly, the door opened and a young woman climbed out. She was dressed in a beautifully tailored black suit over a white silk shirt. She was wearing black gloves, and there were tiny round black sunglasses perched on her nose. But it was her spiky red hair and pale freckled skin that gave her away.

“Scathach!” both Sophie and Josh cried in delight.

The woman smiled, revealing a mouthful of vampire teeth. She pushed down the glasses to reveal brilliant green eyes. “Hardly,” she snapped. “I am Aoife of the Shadows. And I want to know what you have done with my twin sister.”

To acknowledge everyone would be to create a list of names longer than the book.
The Sorceress
would not have happened without the help, support, guidance, cajoling and understanding of so many people.

Especially and particularly:

Beverly Horowitz, Krista Marino and Colleen Fellingham at Delacorte Press

And

Barry Krost at BKM and Frank Weimann at The Literary Group

Then are the others who make it possible:

Claudette Sutherland and Michael Carroll

Those who make it easier:

Patrick Kavanagh, Libby Lavella and Sarah Baczewski

Those who make it interesting:

Simon and Wendy Wells, Hans and Suzanne Zimmer, Kelli Bixler, Kristofer Updike and Richard Thompson

And of course:

Julie Blewett-Grant, Tammy Weisensel, Marci Kennedy, Jeffrey Smith, Sean Gardell, Jamie Krakover, Roxanne Renaud-Coderre and Kristen Winsko-Nolan