Read The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) Online
Authors: Michael Scott
The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (17 page)
Sophie glanced quickly at her brother. He was watching Saint-Germain carefully, listening to every word. She noted the tension in his neck and jaw from how he was squeezing his mouth shut.
“You should have rested for at least twenty-four hours to allow your conscious and subconscious time to sort through the sudden influx of alien memories, thoughts and ideas.”
“There wasn’t time”, Sophie muttered.
“Well, there is now. Eat up; then I’ll show you to your rooms. Sleep as long as you like. You’re completely safe. No one even knows you’re here.”
“T
hey’re in Saint-Germain’s town house off the Champs-Elys es.” Machiavelli pressed the phone to his ear and leaned back in the black leather chair, swiveling to look through the tall window. In the distance, across the slanted tile rooftops, he could make out the tip of the
Machiavelli held the phone away from his ear as static rippled and crackled. Dee’s jet was just taking off from a small private airfield north of L.A. It would stop in
“And the Alchemyst?”
“Lost in Paris. My men had him on the ground at gunpoint, but he somehow coated them in sugar and then unleashed every ant in the city onto them. They panicked; he escaped.”
“Transmutation”, Dee remarked. “Water is composed of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen: sucrose has the same ratio. He changed the water into sugar; it’s a parlor trick I would have expected more of him.”
Machiavelli ran his hand across his short snow white hair. “I though it was rather clever myself”, he said mildly. “He hospitalized six police officers.”
“He will return to the twins”, Dee snapped. “He needs them. He’s been waiting all his life to find them.”
“We’ve all been waiting”, Machiavelli reminded the Magician quietly. “And right now, we know where they are, which means we know where Flamel will go.”
“Do nothing until I get there”, Dee commanded.
“And have you any idea when that might…” Machiavelli began, but the line was dead. He was unsure whether Dee had hung up or the call had dropped. Knowing Dee, he guessed he’d hung up; that was his usual style. The tall, elegant man tapped the phone against his thin lips before replacing the handset. He had no intention of following Dee’s orders; he was going to capture Flamel and the twins before Dee’s plane touched down in Paris. He would do what Dee had failed to do for centuries, and in return, the Elders would grant him anything he desired.
Machiavelli’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. An unusually long string of numbers scrolled across it, looking like no other number he’d ever seen before. The head of the DGSE frowned. Only the president of France, a few highly placed cabinet ministers and his own personal staff had this number. He hit Answer but didn’t speak.
“The English Magician believes you will try and capture Flamel and the twins before he arrives.”
The voice on the other end spoke Greek in a dialect that had not been used in millennia.
Niccol Machiavelli sat bolt upright in his chair. “Master?” he said.
“Give Dee your full support. Do not move against Flamel until he arrives.”
The line went dead.
Machiavelli carefully placed his cell phone on the bare desk and sat back. Holding both hands up before his face, he was unsurprised to find that they were shaking slightly. The last time he’d spoken to the Elder he called Master had been more than a century and a half ago. This was the Elder who had granted him immortality at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Had Dee somehow contacted him? Machiavelli shook his head. Highly unlikely; probably Dee had contacted his own master and asked him to make the request. But Machiavelli’s master was one of the most powerful of the Dark Elders . That brought him back to a question that had troubled him down through the centuries: who was Dee’s master?
Every human granted immortality by an Elder was bound to that Elder. An Elder who bestowed immortality could just as easily revoke it. Machiavelli had even seen it happen: he’d watched a healthy-looking young man wither and age in a matter of heartbeats, eventually collapsing into a pile of crackling bones and dusty skin.
Machiavelli’s dossier of immortal humans was cross-linked to the Elder or Dark Elder they served. There were only a very few humani like Flamel, Perenelle and Saint-Germain who owed no loyalty to an Elder, because they had become immortal by their own efforts.
No one knew whom Dee served. But it was obviously someone more powerful than Machiavelli’s own Dark Elder master. And that made Dee all the more dangerous.
Leaning forward, Machiavelli pressed a button on his desk phone. The door immediately opened and Dagon stepped into the room, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting the bare walls.
“Any reports on the Alchemyst?”
“Nothing. We’ve accessed the video from the security cameras in the Pont de l Alma station and every station it connects with and we’re analyzing it now, but it’s going to take time.”
Machiavelli nodded. Time was something he did not have. He waved a long-fingered hand in the air. “Well, we might not know where he is now, but we know where he’s going: to Saint-Germain’s house.”
Dagon’s lips parted stickily. “The house is under observation. All entrances and exits are secured; there are even men in the sewers beneath the building. No one can get in or out without us observing them. There are two RAID units in vans in nearby side streets and a third unit in the house next to Saint-Germain’s property. They can be over the wall in moments.”
Machiavelli stood up and stepped out from behind the desk. With his hands behind his back, he walked around the tiny anonymous office. Although it was his official address, he rarely used this room, and it held nothing but the desk, two chairs, and the telephone. “But is it enough, I wonder? Flamel has escaped from six highly trained officers who were holding him at gunpoint, facedown on the pavement. And we know Saint-Germain the Master of Fire is inside this property. We had a little example of his abilities this morning.”
“The fireworks were harmless”, Dagon said.
“I’m sure he could have just as easily turned the tower to liquid. Remember, he makes diamonds from coal.”
Dagon nodded.
Machiavelli continued. “We also know that the American girl’s powers have been Awakened, and we’ve seen a little of what she can do. The fog at Sacr -Coeur was an impressive feat for someone untrained and so young.”
“And then there is the Shadow”, Dagon added.
Niccol Machiavelli’s face turned into an ugly mask. “And then there is the Shadow”, he agreed.
“She took out twelve heavily armed officers in the coffee shop this morning”, Dagon said emotionlessly. “I’ve watched her face down entire armies, and she survived for centuries in an Underworld Shadowrealm. Flamel is obviously using her to protect the twins. She must be destroyed before we move against any of the others.”
“Indeed.”
“You will need an army.”
“Perhaps not. Remember,
Cunning and deceit will every time serve a man better than force”,
he quoted.
“Who said that?” Dagon asked.
“I did, in a book, a long time ago. It was true in the court of the Medicis, and it is true now. He looked up. Did you send for the Disir?”
“They’re on their way.” Dagon’s voice turned sticky. “I don’t trust them.”
“No one trusts the Disir.” There was no humor in Machiavelli’s smile. “Did you ever hear the story of how Hekate trapped Scathach in that Underworld?”
Dagon remained unmoving.
“Hekate used the Disir. Their feud with the Shadow goes back to the time just after the sinking of Danu Talis.” Putting his hands on the creature’s shoulders, Machiavelli stepped close to Dagon, taking care to breathe through his mouth. Dagon exuded a fishy odor; it coated his pale skin like oily, rancid sweat. “I know you hate the Shadow, and I have never asked you why, though I have my suspicions. It is obvious that she has caused you much pain. However, I want you to put aside your feelings; hate is the most useless of all emotions. Success is the best revenge. I need you focused and by my side. We are close now, so close to victory, close to returning the Elder Race to this world. Leave Scathach to the Disir. But if they fail, then she is yours. I promise you.”
Dagon opened his mouth to reveal the circle of needle-pointed teeth. “They will not fail. The Disir intend to bring Nidhogg.”
Niccol Machiavelli blinked in surprise. “Nidhogg it’s free? How?”
“The World Tree was destroyed.”
“If they loose Nidhogg on Scathach, then you are right. They will not fail. They cannot.”
Dagon reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His huge bulbous fish eyes were wide and staring. “And if they lose control of Nidhogg, it could devour the entire city.”
Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he nodded. “It would be a small price to pay to destroy the Shadow.”
“You sound just like Dee.”
“Oh, I am nothing like the English Magician”, Machiavelli said feelingly.
“Dee is a dangerous fanatic.”
“And you’re not?” Dagon asked.
“I’m only dangerous.”
Dr. John Dee sat back into the soft leather seat and watched the sparkling grid of L.A.s lights fall away beneath him. Checking an ornate pocket watch, he wondered if Machiavelli had received the phone call from his master yet. He imagined he had. Dee grinned, wondering what the Italian would make of that. If nothing else, it would at least show Machiavelli who was in charge.
It didn’t take a genius to realize that the Italian would go after Flamel and the children himself. But Dee had spent too long chasing the Alchemyst to lose him at the very end especially to someone like Niccol Machiavelli.
He closed his eyes as the plane rose and his stomach twitched. He automatically reached for the paper bag on the seat beside him: he loved flying, but his stomach always protested. If everything went as planned, then he would soon be the ruler of the entire planet and he’d never need to fly again. Everyone would come to him.
The jet climbed at a steep angle and he swallowed hard; he’d had a chicken wrap in the airport and was regretting it now. The fizzy drink had been a definite mistake.
Dee was looking forward to the time when the Elders returned. Perhaps they could reestablish the network of leygates across the world and make flying unnecessary. Closing his eyes, Dee concentrated on the Elders and the many benefits they would bring to the planet. In the distant past, he knew the Elders had created a paradise on earth. All the ancient books and scrolls, the myths and legends of every race, spoke about that glorious time. His master had promised him that the Elders would use their powerful magic to return the planet to that paradise. They would reverse the effects of global warming, repair the hole in the ozone layer and bring the deserts to life. The Sahara would bloom; the polar ice caps would melt away, revealing the rich land beneath. Dee thought he would found his capital city in Antarctica on the shores of
Of course, Dee knew that the human population would become slaves, and some would become food for those Elders who still needed to eat, but that was a small price to pay for the many other benefits.
The jet leveled and he felt his stomach settle. Opening his eyes, he breathed deeply and checked his watch again. He found it hard to believe that he was hours literally hours away from finally capturing the Alchemyst, Scathach and, now, the twins. They were an added bonus. Once he had Flamel and the pages from the Codex, the world would change.
He would never understand why Flamel and his wife had worked so hard to prevent the Elders from bringing civilization back to earth. But he’d be sure to ask him just before he killed him.
N
icholas Flamel paused on the Rue Beaubourg and turned slowly, pale eyes scanning the street. He didn’t think he was being followed, but he needed to be certain. He’d taken the train to the Saint-Michel Notre-Dame station and crossed the Seine on the Pont d Arcole, heading in the direction of the glass-and-steel monstrosity that was the