The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (31 page)

Scathach had refused to join the others in the battered circular vimana. There was something she had to do—and she couldn’t afford to be trapped onboard the ship. She had insisted on strapping on the pair of glider wings and launching herself from a branch out into the sky, knowing with absolute confidence that she would be able to master the required skill. She had learned to swim the same way—by jumping into the icy depths off Skye and flapping about in the water until she started to float.

Scathach circled the vimana and waved again. Joan waved back. Prometheus was too busy struggling with the controls to notice; Will and Palamedes watched him anxiously. Only Saint-Germain seemed completely relaxed, hunched on the floor, writing in his notebook. Scathach hoped he survived to finish his symphony: she had a feeling it would be epic.

The Warrior took one last look at her friends, and then she allowed the wind to take her, pulling her higher and higher. When she knew the others would not be able to see her, she banked to the right and descended, falling through the sky, toward the outskirts of the city.

N
icholas Flamel’s hand flared into a green glove, and a solid ball of energy buzzed and spat in the palm of his hand. He drew back his arm and was about to throw the ball at the Morrigan when Perenelle suddenly grabbed his forearm. “Wait!”

“Wait?” Nicholas looked at his wife, confused.

The Sorceress was gazing intently at the black-cloaked figure. “You’re not the Morrigan, are you?”

“This is the Morrigan, the Crow Goddess,” Nicholas insisted. The ball of energy spinning in his hand was starting to shrink.

The hooded figure standing before them raised her head. Her pale face was framed by the hood, and when she spoke, traces of an Irish or Scottish accent were clearly audible. Her eyes were closed. “The Morrigan is still sleeping,” she said,
and opened her eyes. They were bloodred. “At this moment, I am the Badb.”

The creature’s eyes slowly closed, then blinked open. Now they were a bright yellow. “And now I am Macha.” The Celtic accent was even stronger, and deeper, harsher.

The creature’s eyes closed once more, and when they opened, one was a lustrous red, the other a brilliant yellow. Two voices rolled from the same mouth, the sounds buzzing slightly out of sync with one another.

“And we are the Morrigan’s sisters. We are the Crow Goddess.”

Nicholas looked from the creature to his wife, eyebrows arching in a question.

“They are three in one,” she explained. “Like the three aspects of Hekate, but the Morrigan, Macha and the Badb are three separate personalities existing within the same flesh. Centuries ago, the Morrigan took over the other two, trapped them within her.” She smiled. “I released them, and now it is the Morrigan who is trapped within.”

The Crow Goddess smiled, sharp white teeth pressing against her black lips. “You should hope that she never escapes, Sorceress. She is not very happy with you.”

Nicholas closed his hand into a fist and his green aura sank back into his flesh, emerald fluid running down his arm like ink.

“Thank you for saving me,” Perenelle said.

“Thank you for freeing us,” the Crow Goddess said quickly.

“To be truthful, I never thought I’d see you again”—the Sorceress spread her arms—“especially not back here.”

“We had not planned for it either,” the Crow Goddess said. She turned toward the Powerhouse, her feathered cloak whispering along the ground. “This is … 
wrong
.”

Nicholas and Perenelle looked at one another. “Wrong?”

“We are Next Generation,” the creature said. “We grew up in the terrible days after the Fall of Danu Talis. It was clear to us then—and it should have been clear to our sister—that the Elders were the architects of their own destruction. They had grown lazy and arrogant, and that helped destroy their world. They believed the people worshipped them as gods, but in reality, humankind despised and feared them. We weren’t there, but we heard the stories of the human uprising often enough.” A black-nailed claw pointed back toward the Powerhouse. “If these beasts get ashore, the Elders will return to this earth and the cycle of destruction will begin again.” She smiled, exposing her razor teeth, white against her black lips. “And despite our crowlike appearance, we were never the enemies of the humans. Many nations held us in honor. It seems we are allies once again, Sorceress.”

The immortal Frenchwoman nodded. “Thank you. And thank you for returning; your presence here makes all the difference. It gives us a chance.” She stretched out her hand.

The Crow Goddess looked at it and then slowly, almost tentatively, reached out and shook it. “Do you know,” she said, “we do not believe a human has ever voluntarily offered us their hand.”

“Why not?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh …” The Elder let out a gentle laugh. “I suppose sometimes we really do bite the hand that feeds us.”

“So what do we do now?” Nicholas asked. “Are the three of us strong enough to attack whatever is inside either building?”

The Crow Goddess shook her head and her feathered cloak rasped as it settled back in place. “We have seen what is within. Every great beast of human legend, every monster imaginable, and a host of anpu. They’re under the command of Xolotl,” she added significantly.

Nicholas and Perenelle shook their heads, not recognizing the name.

“Quetzalcoatl’s twin brother,” the Crow Goddess explained. “The evil twin.” She smiled. “They were once identical, but the Change has been particularly unkind to Xolotl: there is no flesh on his skeleton—his bones are bare, and he now has the head of a dog. Quite an ugly dog too. The anpu worship him as one of their own. We are powerful, but we are Next Generation and we could not defeat him. Only an enormously powerful Elder might stand a chance. And we do not know where to find one.”

“But I do,” Perenelle said answered quickly. “Areop-Enap is here. If we could awaken the Old Spider, she would stand with us.”

“But while we’re doing that, the boat will sail,” Nicholas protested.

“You are the Alchemyst,” the Crow Goddess said. “Master
of the arcane arts. And you”—she nodded at Perenelle—“are a sorceress. Surely there is something you can do?”

“We’re already weakened …,” Nicholas began.

Perenelle laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Think simple, Nicholas. Keep it simple.”

“And fast,” the Crow Goddess added. “The boat is getting ready to cast off for shore.”

Nicholas looked around desperately. “If I had more time I could alter the structure of the metal and turn it porous, or magnetize the hull and pull every piece of metal toward it.”

“We don’t have time for something so complex,” Perenelle said.

The Crow Goddess gathered her cloak about her as she turned to look toward the shore. “As a last resort, we could drop onto the boat and kill a few of the guards, maybe the captain or the wheelman.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance,” Perenelle said. Despite her ferocious appearance, the Crow Goddess had a bird’s brittle bones; she might get one or two anpu before she was overwhelmed. The Sorceress looked back at her husband. “Could we try freezing the sea again?”

“I doubt I have the strength for it, and besides, you saw how quickly it melted earlier.”

“We could toss a few fireballs onto the boat. That would cause some chaos, maybe panic the creatures aboard. If they stampeded it might tilt the boat—upend it.”

“Let’s keep that as a last resort,” Nicholas said. And then his eyes lit up and he smiled. “Simple. You’re right—sometimes simple is best.” Nicholas crouched down and
scooped up a handful of pebbles. He rubbed them between his hands, grinding them to dust; then he brought his palms to his lips and tasted the powder with the tip of his tongue.

“Ugh. That’s disgusting,” the Crow Goddess said.

“Not enough cement,” he observed. “The buildings here are old. Eaten with salt, ravaged by the weather.” He bent to lift a piece of a brick off the ground and held it at arm’s length in the palm of his hand. “The structure of the bricks is already falling apart. The molecular bonds holding them together are parting. A long time ago, whenever Perenelle and I needed some money, we would take a lump of coal and transform it into a piece of gold.”

“You’re going to turn the ship into gold?” the Crow Goddess asked in astonishment. “That would be spectacular!” She frowned. “It would sink, wouldn’t it?”

The Alchemyst shook his head. “No, I’m not going to turn the ship into gold. I doubt that even at the height of my power I could have done that. Besides, I have always preferred to work small….”

The Alchemyst’s words trailed off and the air was touched with the scent of mint. Slowly the edges of the brick in the palm of his hand started to crumble, dissolving into gritty powder.

“Put your hand on my right shoulder, Perenelle; lend me some strength. You too, Crow Goddess,” he instructed. “Come stand behind me.”

“I really prefer not to touch humankind …,” the goddess grumbled, but took a step closer.

“And I prefer not to be touched by something older than
humanity, but these are strange and unusual times,” Nicholas answered.

The Crow Goddess and Perenelle positioned themselves behind the Alchemyst and allowed a little of their auras to flow into him. The smell of mint intensified, but it was slightly sour and bitter.

“Hurry, Nicholas,” Perenelle urged. “Someone—or something—is sure to notice.”

“First, one has to focus….” The Alchemyst gazed intently at the powdered brick in his hand. Slowly the dust began to dribble off his hand, flowing like water. “Once the desired result is achieved, then one must simply project the creative or destructive energy. Observation, then application.”

Somewhere in the night, something cracked, the sound like a gunshot.

Stones ground together, grating and squealing.

“Is it another earthquake?” Perenelle asked.

The ground vibrated as a new series of popping crunches echoed through the night. Onboard the heavily laden ship and within the Powerhouse and the nearby Quartermaster Warehouse, beasts roared and screamed.

The fog cleared momentarily to reveal the tall smokestack jutting up behind the Powerhouse. The hulking chimney shuddered and swayed as all around the base of the tower, bricks exploded, spraying grit in all directions.

Nicholas brought his hand to his face and blew gently, scattering the rest of the dust on his palm into the night air.

The trio watched as the tower folded in two and, almost slowly, trailing fog like smoke, crashed down onto the back of the docked boat, driving it deep below the water and sending the bow shooting up into the air. Metal screeched and the boat snapped in two. A cascade of water washed over the docks and walkways, sweeping a handful of anpu onto the rocks and out to sea. The front end of the broken boat crashed back into the water, sending another wave washing over the docks. The two halves of the shattered craft immediately listed to one side, and the air was filled with the sound of metal grating against the island’s stones as the pieces sank.

Nicholas brushed off his hands. “And all I had to do was crush half a dozen bricks. The weight of the chimney did the rest.”

Perenelle leaned in and kissed her husband’s cheek.
“Magnifique,”
she whispered.

“A triumph,” the Crow Goddess agreed. “You’ll pardon us if we do not kiss you.”

“And you will pardon me if I tell you that I’d prefer you did not.”

“We are about to have some very irritated company,” Perenelle said.

A blaze of light cut into the fog as the doors to the Quartermaster Warehouse were flung open. Anpu poured out into the night and took up positions around the door, snouts raised to the air, sniffing. The figure that then stepped into the opening bore only the vaguest resemblance to anything human. A multicolored hooded and feathered cloak was
wrapped around a skeleton. A gust of wind blew back the robe to reveal polished white bones encasing the vital organs of a man. Unlike the rest of the body, the head was covered in flesh and fur and was that of a long-snouted pointy-eared dog. Its skin was speckled with mange, and one of its ears looked torn. The creature moved awkwardly, and as it approached it became clear that its feet were reversed, heels to the front, long black-nailed toes facing away.

Throwing its head back, the creature sniffed the air like the anpu. Its jaws worked, and when it spoke, its speech was a liquid gargle. “What is this I smell?” it growled. “Ah, mint, the stench of the infamous Alchemyst. My brother told me he would ensure that you never made it to the island. But I told him you would be here. I am Xolotl, brother of Quetzalcoatl, son of Coatlicue, and I have come to claim this city for the Elders.”

When there was no reply, he shuffled closer, one skeletal hand clutching the cloak around his neck, his other hand held high, each bony finger tipped with a dancing yellow flame like a candle. When he peered out into the gloom, his eyes burned red and round, reflecting the flames. He barked like a dog, then reverted to English. “Where are you, Nicholas Flamel? Let me see you before you die.”

The Alchemyst stepped forward and allowed his green aura to illuminate him. “What will you do, monster, with no boat to bring your beasts ashore? It seems you are trapped on the island with me.”

Xolotl waved his burning hand vaguely toward the city of
San Francisco, scattering flame. “There are more boats, Alchemyst. Dee purchased a small fleet of the tourist boats for this eventuality. Even as we speak, they are making their way toward us, or they will when the fog clears.” He shook his head. “I did tell my brother that the fog was a mistake. But until the boats arrive, how shall we amuse ourselves?” The dog’s jaw gaped in a grin. “Why, by hunting you down.” He pointed toward the Alchemyst with his burning hand and a dozen silent anpu raced to his side. “Bring them to me. Alive! I will have the pleasure of killing you myself, Alchemyst,” Xolotl promised.

Nicholas clapped his hands together and a wall of green flame sprang up on the hard earth directly in front of him. The intense heat drove the jackal-headed warriors back, their fur singed and smoking.