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

Nicholas urged the bird upward with a single thought and it flew in slow circles over the bookshop and Building 64. Going higher still took him over the ruined Warden’s House, and for the first time since reaching the island, he spotted a
low pulse of light. The conure landed on one of the metal beams that supported the ruined house, then sidled along the bar, claws scratching on the metal, and peered down. In the corner of the ruins, covering the tumbled walls and gaping floor, was an enormous mass. It looked like a ball of hardened mud. With the parrot’s enhanced sight, Nicholas could just about make out a shape within the mud: a massive creature, tightly curled into a ball wrapped around with too many legs. It was a spider. It throbbed with a slow, regular light: Areop-Enap was still alive.

Yet where was everyone?

Black Hawk had dropped Mars, Odin and Hel on the island. They couldn’t all be dead, could they? And where were the monsters? Perenelle had spotted boggarts, trolls and cluricauns in the cells. She’d seen a child minotaur, at least one Windigo and an oni. Another corridor held dragon-kin, wyverns and firedrakes.

The parrot was tiring now, and Nicholas knew he’d have to get it back to the mainland soon. He would have one quick look around and then head back before night fell. He circled the lighthouse, then, catching a sudden spark of light, soared over the prison building and dropped into the recreation yard.

The yard was awash with energy.

The ghostly remains of incredibly powerful auras snaked and coiled across the huge flagstones, writhing like serpents. There was pure gold and shining silver, the stinking yellow of sulfur and a thread of pale green scattered across the ground.
And in the center of the yard, there was the fading impression of a rectangle, shimmering with the remnants of ancient energies. The merest hint of the outlines of four swords was etched into the stones.

A door slammed open. The parrot started upward as light blazed, and Nicholas turned to see Odin race through a narrow doorway and down a flight of stone steps. The one-eyed Elder stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face the way he had come, a short spear in either hand.

Mars appeared in the door and held it open, and then Machiavelli and Billy the Kid raced through, carrying Hel between them. The Elder’s arms were draped over both immortals’ shoulders, and her legs were dragging on the ground, trailing a dark liquid in their wake. Mars slammed the metal door shut and put his back to it. The warrior’s black leather jacket hung in shreds, and the short sword in his hand dripped a bright blue liquid. Even in the gathering gloom, Nicholas could see that his eyes were bright with excitement. The door behind Mars shuddered in its frame, but the Elder braced himself and held it shut until Machiavelli and Billy had reached the end of the steps and Odin stepped out to protect their back.

The one-eyed Elder gestured to Mars and the big man launched himself away from the door—just as a spiky tusk burst through the metal and ripped upward, shredding it like paper.

Mars and Odin took up positions at the bottom of the steps, protecting Machiavelli and Billy, who were tending to Hel’s wounds on the steps of the exercise yard. Billy had
pulled off his belt and wrapped it around the Elder’s torn legs, and his hands were dark with her blood.

Silent and invisible, the parrot circled overhead.

Nicholas tried to make sense of what he was seeing: Mars and Odin working together with Billy and Machiavelli, protecting them while the American worked on Hel’s wounds. Nicholas was confused: the Italian was no friend to the Flamels or their cause and had fought on the side of the Dark Elders all his long life. Maybe Machiavelli had somehow tricked the others? The Alchemyst shook his head and the parrot mimicked the movement. Fooling Mars was a possibility; maybe Hel, too. But no one could fool Odin. Maybe Machiavelli and Billy had finally chosen the right side. What was it Shakespeare had said about misery making strange bedfellows?

It took an enormous effort of the Alchemyst’s will to urge the parrot to drop lower. The bird’s every instinct was to flee. The yard was now alive with buzzing colored auras, the stink of Elder blood and the stench of beasts.

The creature that filled the shattered doorway was huge. It looked like a boar, but it was the size of a bull and its tusks were the length of a man’s arm.

“Hus Krommyon,” Mars said. “The Crommyonian Boar. Not the original, of course. Theseus killed that one.”

Odin’s single eye blinked. “It’s big,” he muttered. “Strong.”

The beast came slowly down the steps. It was so broad that its flanks rubbed against the wall on either side, coarse hair rasping against the stones.

“It will rush us,” Mars warned.

“And we’re not going to be able to stop it,” Odin added. “I’ve hunted boar. It will attack with its head down and then rip upward. The muscles around its neck and shoulders are especially thick. I doubt our swords or spears will be able to do anything against it.”

“And if we use our auras, that will draw the sphinx and she will feast off our energies,” Mars said. He gently pushed Odin to one side. “Both of us do not have to die here. Let it charge me. I’ll grab its head and hold on. You take it from the side with your spears. See if you can get in underneath. The flesh there is softer.”

Odin nodded. “It’s a good plan, except …”

“Except?”

“You will not be able to hold its head. It will gore you.”

“Yes. Probably. And then you stab it.”

“And you saw what it did to the metal door,” Odin said quietly.

“I’m tough.” Mars grinned.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“I’ve spent millennia trapped within a hardened shell, unable to move.” He flicked his wrist and spun the short sword. “I haven’t had this much fun since … well … I can’t remember.”

The Hus Krommyon’s hooves scrambled on the steps, striking sparks off the stones, and then it charged.

There was a sudden flash of green and red, and what appeared to be a small parrot darted in front of the beast, claws raking along its snout and up between its ears. The boar
squealed, slowed and raised its head, jaws snapping, spraying thick saliva. The bird swooped in again, its powerful beak nipping a chunk out of the creature’s hairy ear. The Hus Krommyon bellowed and reared up on its hind legs to snap and bite at the darting creature.

And Odin’s spear took the monster through its exposed throat. It was dead before it hit the ground.

“Way to go!” Billy hollered.

“Billy, why don’t you shout a little louder. I’m sure you can bring some more monsters down on us,” Machiavelli said quietly.

The American punched his shoulder. “Sometimes you just have to loosen up and celebrate.” He looked down at Hel. “Did you see the size of that thing!”

“I’ve seen bigger,” she lisped.

The parrot flapped down to land on the Hus Krommyon’s head. It tilted its tiny red head to one side, looking first at Mars and then Odin.

“Who are you, little bird?” Mars asked, and then his nostrils flared. “Mint.” he said in astonishment. “Nicholas?”

The conure’s beak opened and closed and then it squawked, “Flamel.”

Mars saluted the little bird with his sword. “Alchemyst. It is good to … ahem … see you. We are alive, as you can see. Our numbers have swelled by two, but we are in dire straits. There are too many of them, far too many, and the sphinx is prowling.” He stopped, then added, “I cannot believe I am giving a report to a parrot.”

“Areop-Enap,” the bird chirruped.

Mars looked at the one-eyed Elder. “Did it just say ‘Areop-Enap’?”

The parrot danced from foot to foot. “Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap.”

Odin nodded. “It said ‘Areop-Enap.’ ”

“Where? Here?” Mars demanded.

The bird flew into the air and circled the two Elders. “Here, here, here.”

“That’s a yes,” Odin said. “What an ally, if she’ll fight with us.” He clapped Mars on the back. “Go get the Old Spider. She can’t be that hard to find. Let me tend to Hel’s injuries.” He grabbed the Hus Krommyon by one massive tusk and dragged it off the steps.

“What are you doing to do with that?”

“Hel isn’t a vegetarian.” Odin grinned. “And she loves pork.”

“Raw?”

“Especially raw.”

The Cherry-Headed Conure dropped out of the evening sky toward the Embarcadero, wings flapping tiredly, and alit on the Alchemyst’s head. Its red head dipped and it tapped his skull with its closed beak.

Nicholas shuddered and drew in a deep breath, and Prometheus held him while he straightened and shook pins and needles from his fingertips. Then he lifted his right hand and the parrot hopped onto his fingers. “Thank you,” he breathed. Mint-green mist smoked off the red and green feathers. The
bird shivered and took to the air, calling, “Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap.” Flamel’s eyes followed its path into the evening sky.

“Within a couple of days every parrot on the Embarcadero will be screaming that,” the Alchemyst said.

“Did you learn anything?” Perenelle asked.

Nicholas nodded. “The monsters are in the main cell block. I saw Mars, Odin and Hel. There was no sign of Black Hawk anywhere, and Hel is injured. But we seem to have two new allies: Machiavelli and Billy the Kid were helping her.”

Perenelle blinked in surprise. “Machiavelli has been no friend of ours.”

“I know that. But he is an opportunist. Perhaps he realizes that it would be better to throw in with the winning side.”

“Or maybe he just rediscovered his humanity,” Niten said quietly. “Maybe someone reminded him that he is human first, immortal second.”

“You sound as if you are speaking from personal experience,” Perenelle said.

“I am,” he said softly. “There was a time when I was … wild.”

“What happened?”

He smiled. “I met a redheaded Irish warrior.”

“And fell in love?” she teased.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” She turned back to Nicholas. “And what of Dee?”

“That’s the odd thing: I could smell his aura, but it was old and fading. And it was entwined with Sophie’s vanilla and Josh’s orange. There was the odor of sage, too….”

“Virginia Dare,” Perenelle said.

“They were all mixed up together, along with the energies from the four Swords of Power. But I don’t think Dee’s on the island anymore.”

“Then where?” Niten asked.

The Alchemyst started to shake his head, then stopped. “There was the impression of the four Swords of Power on the ground,” he said slowly. His hands described a square. “It looked like they were laid end to end, to create a rectangle.”

“He’s made a gate,” Prometheus said. “I’ve never seen it done myself, though I know it is possible.”

“A gate to where?” Nicholas asked. He looked at Perenelle and she shook her head.

“Nowhere in this world, that’s for sure,” Prometheus said. “In fact, I can almost guarantee it will open up somewhere on Danu Talis. Dee has taken the twins back in time.”

S
o this was how it felt to die.

Dr. John Dee lay back on the silken grass and pulled the red fleece tightly around himself. He was cold, so, so cold, a profound chill that numbed his fingers and toes and settled deep in his stomach. There was a pain in his forehead, as if he’d eaten too much ice cream, and he could actually feel his heart beginning to slow, the beats becoming weak and irregular.

He’d rolled over onto his back, and although his vision was blurred, he could make out the impossibly bright blue of the sky, and out of the corners of his eyes, the grass was still a shocking green.

There were worse ways to go, he supposed.

He’d lived a tumultuous life in a series of dangerous times. He’d survived wars, plagues, court intrigues and betrayal after betrayal. He’d traveled the world, been to just about
every country on earth—except Denmark, a place he’d always wanted to visit—and explored many of the vast network of Shadowrealms.

He’d made and lost fortunes and met with just about every leader, inventor, hero and villain to walk the planet. He’d advised kings and queens, fomented wars, brokered peace and been one of the handful of people who had nudged and urged the humani toward civilization. He had shaped the world, first in the Elizabethan Age and then on into the twenty-first century. That was something to be proud of.

He’d lived almost five hundred years in the Earth Shadowrealm, and at least that lifetime again in some of the other Shadowrealms. So he really didn’t have too much to complain about. But there were still so many things he wanted to do, so many places he needed to visit, so many worlds still to explore.

He tried to raise his arms, but there was no feeling in them now. No feeling in his legs either, and his sight was beginning to dim. His Elder masters might have aged his body, but his brain was still as alert as ever. Perhaps that was their greatest cruelty. They had left him alert in this useless shell. He suddenly thought of Mars Ultor, trapped for millennia in his hardened aura deep beneath Paris, his body inert but his brain alive, and for the first time in centuries the English Magician experienced the alien emotion of pity.

Dee wondered how much longer he would survive.

Night would fall, and this was Danu Talis, a world where creatures long extinct in the Earth Shadowrealm and
monsters drawn from the myriad other Shadowrealms wandered freely.

He didn’t want to be eaten by monsters.

When he’d imagined his death—and he’d often thought of it, given the nature of what he did and the capricious humor of his employers—he’d always hoped it would be glorious. He wanted it to have meaning. It had always needled him that so much of his work had been done in secret and the world remained ignorant of his genius. During the Elizabethan Age, everyone had known his name. Even the Queen had feared and respected him. When he’d become immortal he had faded into the shadows, and he had lurked there ever since.

There was not a lot of meaning in lying shriveled and ancient on a Danu Talis hillside.

He heard movement, a dull thump. Close by. To his right.