Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician
( Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - 2 )
Michael Scott
After fleeing Ojai, Nicholas, Sophie, Josh, and Scatty emerge in Paris, the City of Lights. Home for Nicholas Flamel. Only this homecoming is anything but sweet. Perenell is still locked up back in Alcatraz and Paris is teeming with enemies. Nicollo Machiavelli, immortal author and celebrated art collector, is working for Dee. He’s after them, and time is running out for Nicholas and Perenell. For every day spent without the Book of Abraham the Mage, they age one year—their magic becoming weaker and their bodies more frail. For Flamel, the Prophesy is becoming more and more clear.
It’s time for Sophie to learn the second elemental magic: Fire Magic. And there’s only one man who can teach it to her: Flamel’s old student, the Comte de Saint-Germain—alchemist, magician, and rock star. Josh and Sophie Newman are the world’s only hope—if they don’t turn on each other first.
For Courtney and Piers
Hoc opus, hic labor est
I am dying.
Perenelle, too, is dying.
The spell that has kept us alive these six hundred years is fading, and now
we age a year for every day that passes. I need the Codex, the Book of
Abraham the Mage, to re-create the immortality spell; without it, we have
less than a month to live.
But much can be achieved in a month.
Dee and his dark masters have my dear Perenelle prisoner, they have finally
secured the Book, and they know that Perenelle and I cannot survive for much
longer.
But they cannot be resting easy.
They do not have the complete Book yet. We still have the final two pages,
and by now they must know that Sophie and Josh Newman are the twins described
in that ancient text: twins with auras of silver and gold, a brother and
sister with the power to either save the world or destroy it. The girl s
powers have been Awakened and her training begun in the elemental magics,
though, sadly, the boy s have not.
We are now in Paris, the city of my birth, the city where I first discovered
the Codex and began the long quest to translate it. That journey ultimately
led me to discover the existence of the Elder Race and revealed the mystery
of the philosopher s stone and finally the secret of immortality. I love this
city. It holds many secrets and is home to more than one human immortal and
ancient Elder. Here, I will find a way to Awaken Josh s powers and continue
Sophie's education.
I must.
For their sakes and for the continuance of the human race.
From the Day Booke of Nicholas Flamel, Alchemyst
Writ this day, Saturday, 2nd June,
in Paris, the city of my youth
SATURDAY,
2nd June
CHAPTER ONE
T he charity auction hadn't started until well after midnight, when the gala
dinner had ended. It was almost four in the morning and the auction was only
now drawing to a close. A digital display behind the celebrity auctioneer an
actor who had played James Bond on-screen for many years showed the running
total at more than one million euro.
Lot number two hundred and ten: a pair of early-nineteenth-century Japanese
Kabuki masks.
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowded room. Inlaid with chips of
solid jade, the Kabuki masks were the highlight of the auction and were
expected to fetch in excess of half a million euro.
At the back of the room the tall, thin man with the fuzz of close-cropped
snow white hair was prepared to pay twice that.
Niccol Machiavelli stood apart from the rest of the crowd, arms lightly
folded across his chest, careful not to wrinkle his Savile Row tailored black
silk tuxedo. Stone gray eyes swept over the other bidders, analyzing and
assessing them. There were really only five others he needed to look out for:
two private collectors like himself, a minor European royal, a once-famous
American movie actor and a Canadian antiques dealer. The remainder of the
audience were tired, had spent their budget or were unwilling to bid on the
vaguely disturbing-looking masks.
Machiavelli loved all types of masks. He had been collecting them for a very
long time, and he wanted this particular pair to complete his collection of
Japanese theater costumes. These masks had last come up for sale in 1898 in
Vienna, and he had then been outbid by a Romanov prince. Machiavelli had
patiently bided his time; the masks would come back on the market again when
the Prince and his descendents died. Machiavelli knew he would still be
around to buy them; it was one of the many advantages of being immortal.
Shall we start the bidding at one hundred thousand euro?
Machiavelli looked up, caught the auctioneer s attention and nodded.
The auctioneer had been expecting his bid and nodded in return. I am bid one
hundred thousand euro by Monsieur Machiavelli. Always one of this charity s
most generous supporters and sponsors.
A smattering of applause ran around the room, and several people turned to
look at him and raise their glasses. Niccol acknowledged them with a polite
smile.
Do I have one hundred and ten? the auctioneer asked.
One of the private collectors raised his hand slightly.
One-twenty? The auctioneer looked back to Machiavelli, who immediately
nodded.
Within the next three minutes, a flurry of bids brought the price up to two
hundred and fifty thousand euro. There were only three serious bidders left:
Machiavelli, the American actor and the Canadian.
Machiavelli s thin lips twisted into a rare smile; his patience was about to
be rewarded, and finally the masks would be his. Then the smile faded as he
felt the cell phone in his back pocket buzz silently. For an instant he was
tempted to ignore it; he d given his staff strict instructions that he was
not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely critical. He also knew they were
so terrified of him that they would not phone unless it was an emergency.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ultraslim phone and glanced down.
A picture of a sword pulsed gently on the large LCD screen.
Machiavelli s smile vanished. In that second he knew he was not going to be
able to buy the Kabuki masks this century. Turning on his heel, he strode out
of the room and pressed the phone to his ear. Behind him, he could hear the
auctioneer s hammer hit the lectern Sold. For two hundred and sixty thousand
euro
I m here, Machiavelli said, reverting to the Italian of his youth.
The line crackled and an English-accented voice responded in the same
language, using a dialect that had not been heard in Europe for more than
four hundred years. I need your help.
The man on the other end of the line didn't identify himself, nor did he need
to; Machiavelli knew it was the immortal magician and necromancer Dr. John
Dee, one of the most powerful and danger
ous men in the world.
Niccolo Machiavelli strode out of the small hotel into the broad cobbled
square of the Place du Tertre and stopped to breathe in the chill night air.
What can I do for you? he asked cautiously. He detested Dee and knew the
feeling was mutual, but they both served the Dark Elders, and that meant they
had been forced to work together down through the centuries. Machiavelli was
also slightly envious that Dee was younger than he and looked it. Machiavelli
had been born in Florence in 1469, which made him fifty-eight years older
than the English Magician. History recorded that he had died in the same year
that Dee had been born, 1527.
Flamel is back in Paris.
Machiavelli straightened. When?
Just now. He got there through a leygate. I ve no idea where it comes out.
He s got Scathach with him .
Machiavelli s lips curled into an ugly grimace. The last time he'd
encountered the Warrior, she d pushed him through a door. It had been closed
at the time, and he d spent weeks picking splinters from his chest and
shoulders.
There are two humani children with him. Americans, Dee said, his voice
echoing and fading on the transatlantic line. Twins, he added.
Say again? Machiavelli asked.
Twins, Dee added, with pure gold and silver auras. You know what that
means, he snapped.
Yes, Machiavelli muttered. It meant trouble. Then the tiniest of smiles
curled his thin lips. It could also mean opportunity.
Static crackled and then Dee s voice continued. The girl s powers were
Awakened by Hekate before the Goddess and her Shadowrealm were destroyed.
Untrained, the girl is no threat, Machiavelli murmured, quickly assessing
the situation. He took a breath and added, Except perhaps to herself and
those around her.
Flamel took the girl to Ojai. There, the Witch of Endor instructed her in
the Magic of Air.
No doubt you tried to stop them? There was a hint of amusement in
Machiavelli s voice.
Tried. And failed, Dee admitted bitterly. The girl has some knowledge but
is without skill.
What do you want me to do? Machiavelli asked carefully, although he already
had a very good idea.
Find Flamel and the twins, Dee demanded. Capture them. Kill Scathach if
you can. I m just leaving Ojai. But it s going to take me fourteen or fifteen
hours to get to Paris.
What happened to the leygate? Machiavelli wondered aloud. If a leygate
connected Ojai and Paris, then why didn't Dee ?
Destroyed by the Witch of Endor, Dee raged, and she nearly killed me, too.
I was lucky to escape with a few cuts and scratches, he added, and then
ended the call without saying good-bye.
Niccol Machiavelli closed his phone carefully and tapped it against his
bottom lip. Somehow he doubted that Dee had been lucky if the Witch of Endor
had wanted him dead, then even the legendary Dr. Dee would not have escaped.
Machiavelli turned and walked across the square to where his driver was
patiently waiting with the car. If Flamel, Scathach and the American twins
had come to Paris via a leygate, then there were only a few places in the
city where they could have emerged. It should be relatively easy to find and
capture them.
And if he could capture them tonight, then he would have plenty of time to
work on them before Dee arrived.
Machiavelli smiled; he d only need a few hours, and in that time they would
tell him everything they knew. Half a millennium on this earth had taught him
how to be very persuasive indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
J osh Newman reached out and pressed the palm of his right hand against the
cold stone wall to steady himself.
What had just happened?
One moment he d been standing in the Witch of Endor s shop in Ojai,
California. His sister, Sophie, Scathach and the man he now knew to be
Nicholas Flamel had been in the mirror looking out at him. And the next thing
he knew, Sophie had stepped out of the glass, taken his hand and pulled him
through it. He d squeezed his eyes shut and felt something icy touch his skin
and raise the small hairs on the back of his neck. When he d opened his eyes
again, he was standing in what looked like a tiny storage room. Pots of
paint, stacked ladders, broken pieces of pottery and bundled paint-spattered
cloths were piled around a large, rather ordinary-looking grimy mirror fixed
to the stone wall. A single low-wattage lightbulb shed a dim yellow glow over
the room. What happened? he asked, his voice cracking. He swallowed hard
and tried again. What happened? Where are we?
We re in Paris, Nicholas Flamel said delightedly, rubbing his dusty hands
against his black jeans. The city of my birth.
Paris? Josh whispered. He was going to say Impossible, but he was
beginning to understand that that word had no meaning anymore. How? he
asked aloud. Sophie? He looked to his twin sister, but she had pressed her
ear against the room's only door and was listening intently. She waved him
away. He turned to Scathach, but the red-haired warrior just shook her head,
both hands covering her mouth. She looked as if she was about to throw up.
Josh finally turned to the legendary Alchemyst, Nicholas Flamel. How did we
get here? he asked.
This planet is crisscrossed with invisible lines of power sometimes called
ley lines or cursus, Flamel explained. He crossed his index fingers. Where
two or more lines intersect a gateway exists. Gates are incredibly rare now,
but in ancient times the Elder Race used them to travel from one side of the
world to the other in an instant just as we did. The Witch opened the leygate
in Ojai and we ended up here, in Paris. He made it sound so matter-of-fact.
Leygates: I hate them, Scatty mumbled. In the gloomy light, her pale,
freckled skin looked green. You ever been seasick? she asked.
Josh shook his head. Never.
Sophie looked up from her spot leaning against the door. Liar! He gets
seasick in a swimming pool. She grinned, then pressed the side of her face
back against the cool wood.
Seasick, Scatty mumbled. That s exactly what it feels like. Only worse.
Sophie turned her head again to look at the Alchemyst. Do you have any idea
where we are in Paris?
Someplace old, I m guessing, Flamel said, joining her at the door. He put
the side of his head back against the door and listened.
Sophie stepped back. I m not so sure, she said hesitantly.
Why not? Josh asked. He glanced around the small untidy room. It certainly
looked as though it was part of an old building.
Sophie shook her head. I don't know it just doesn t feel that old. She
reached out and touched the wall with the palm of her hand, then immediately
jerked it back again.
What s wrong? Josh whispered.
Sophie placed her hand against the wall again. I can hear voices, songs and
what sounds like organ music.
Josh shrugged. I can t hear anything. He stopped, abruptly conscious of the
huge difference between himself and his twin. Sophie s magical potential had
been Awakened by Hekate,
and she was now hypersensitive to sights and sounds,
smells, touch and taste.
I can. Sophie lifted her hand from the stone wall and the sounds in her
head faded.
You re hearing ghost sounds, Flamel explained. They re just noises
absorbed by the building, recorded into the very structure itself.
This is a church, Sophie said decisively, then frowned. It s a new
church modern, late nineteenth century, early twentieth. But it s built on a
much, much older site.
Flamel paused at the wooden door and looked over his shoulder. In the dim
overhead light, his features were suddenly sharp and angular, disturbingly
skull-like, his eyes completely in shadow. There are many churches in
Paris, he said, though there is only one, I believe, which matches that
description. He reached for the door handle.
Hang on a second, Josh said quickly. don't you think there ll be some sort
of alarm?
Oh, I doubt it, Nicholas said confidently. Who would put an alarm on a
storeroom in a church? he asked, jerking the door open.
Immediately an alarm pealed through the air, the sound echoing and reechoing
off the flagstones and walls. Red security lights strobed and flashed.
Scatty sighed and muttered something in an ancient Celtic language. Didn't
you tell me once to wait before moving, to look before stepping and to
observe everything? she demanded.
Nicholas shook his head and sighed at the stupid mistake. Getting old, I
guess, he said in the same language. But there was no time for apologies.
Let's go! he shouted over the shrieking alarm, and darted down the
corridor. Sophie and Josh followed close behind, while Scatty took up the
rear, moving slowly and grumbling with every step.
The door opened onto a short narrow stone corridor that led to another wooden
door. Without pausing, Flamel pushed through the second door and immediately
a new alarm began to shriek. He turned left into a huge open space that
smelled of old incense, floor polish and wax. Banks of lit candles shed a
golden yellow light over walls and floor and, combined with the security
lights, revealed a pair of enormous doors with the word EXIT above them.
Flamel raced toward it, his footsteps echoing.