The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) (25 page)

As he was speaking, the air directly in front of them began to glow, then shimmer. As if through a heat haze, Sophie watched the smoke twist and dance with the count s words, creating images, symbols, pictures. She wanted to reach out and touch them, but she remained still. Then the rooftop faded and Paris vanished; the only sound she could hear was Saint-Germain’s softly insistent voice, and all she could see were the burning cinders. But as he spoke, images started to form in the fire.

“Fire consumes air. It can heat water to mist and can crack open the earth.”

She watched as a volcano spewed molten rock high into the air. Red-black lava and white-hot cinders rained down on a town of mud and stone.

“Fire destroys, but it also creates. A forest needs fire to thrive. Certain seeds depend on it to germinate.”

Flames twisted like leaves and Sophie saw a forest blackened and battered, the trees scarred with the evidence of a terrible fire. But at the base of the trees, brilliant green shoots poked through the cinders.

“In ages past, fire warmed the humani, allowed them to survive in harsh climates.”

The fire revealed a desolate landscape, rocky and snow-covered, but she could see that the cave-dotted cliff face was lit up with warm yellow-red flames.

There was a sudden crack and a pencil-thin finger of flame shot up into the night sky. She craned her neck, following it up, up, up, until it disappeared amongst the stars.

“This is the Magic of Fire.”

Sophie nodded. Her skin tingled and she looked down to see tiny yellow-green flames curl off Saint-Germain’s fingers. They flickered across her skin, coiling around her wrist, feather-soft and cool, leaving faint black traces on her flesh. I know how important fire is. “My mother is an archaeologist”, she said dreamily. “She told me once that man didn’t begin on the road to civilization until he started cooking his meat.”

Saint-Germain flashed a smile. “You have Prometheus and the Witch to thank for that. They brought fire to the first primitive humani. Cooking made it easier for mankind to digest the meat they hunted, allowed them to absorb the nutrients more easily. It kept them warm and safe in their caves, and Prometheus showed them how to use the same fire to harden their tools and weapons.” The count gripped Sophie’s wrist with his hand, holding it as if he were taking her pulse. “Fire has driven every great civilization, from the ancient world right up to the present day. Without the heat of the sun, this planet would be nothing more than rock and ice.”

As he was speaking, images crackled into existence before Sophie’s face again, formed from smoke drifting off his hands. They hung undulating in the still air.

A gray-brown planet turning in space, a single moon spinning around it. There were no white clouds, no blue water, no green continents or golden deserts. Only gray. And the faintest outlines of land masses cut into the solid rock. Sophie abruptly realized that she was looking at the earth, perhaps far, far in the future. She gasped in shock and her breath blew the smoke away, taking the image with it.

“The Magic of Fire is strongest in sunlight.” Saint-Germain moved his right hand and traced a symbol with his index finger. It hung glowing in the air, a circle with spikes radiating from it like a sunburst. The count blew on it and it dissolved into sparkles. “Without fire, we are nothing.”

Saint-Germain’s left hand was now completely wrapped in flame, but he still clutched Sophie’s wrist. Red-white ribbons of fire curled around the girl’s fingers and puddled in the palm of her hand. Each finger burned like a miniature candle red, yellow, green, blue and white yet she felt no pain and no fear.

“Fire can heal; it can seal a wound, can cut out disease”, Saint-Germain continued earnestly. Golden cinders of fire burned in his pale blue eyes. “It is unlike any other magic, because it is the only one directly linked to the purity and strength of your aura. Almost anyone can learn the basics of Earth, Air or Water magic. Spells and incantations can be memorized and written down in books, but the power to ignite fire comes from within. The purer the aura, the stronger the fire, and that means, Sophie, that you must be very careful, because your aura is so pure. When you unleash the Magic of Fire, it will be incredibly potent. Has Flamel warned you not to overuse your powers, lest you burst into flame?”

“Scatty told me what might happen”, Sophie said.

Saint-Germain nodded. “Never create fire when you are tired or weakened. If you lose control of this element, it will snap back on you and burn you to a crisp in a heartbeat.”

A solid ball of flame now burned steadily in Sophie’s right hand. She became aware that her left hand was tingling and quickly lifted it off the bench. It left the smoking, blackened impression of a hand burned into the wood. With a dull pop, a puddle of blue flame appeared in her left hand and each finger sparked alight.

“Why can’t I feel it?” Sophie wondered aloud.

“You are protected by your aura”, Saint-Germain explained. “You can shape the fire, in the same way that Joan showed you how to shape your aura into silver objects. You can create globes and spears of fire.” He snapped his fingers and a scattering of thick round sparks bounced across the roof. He then pointed his index finger and a little jagged spearlike flame darted toward the nearest spark, striking it with deadly accuracy. “When you are in full control of your powers, you will be able to draw upon the Magic of Fire at will, but until then you will need a trigger.”

“A trigger?”

“Normally it would take hours of meditation to focus your aura to the point at which you could bring it alight. But sometime in the very distant past, someone discovered how to create a trigger. A shortcut. You’ve seen my butterflies?”

Sophie nodded, remembering the dozens of tiny tattooed butterflies that wrapped around the count s wrists and coiled up his arm.

“They are my trigger.” Saint-Germain lifted the girl’s hands. “And now you have yours.”

Sophie looked down at her hands. The fire had gone out, leaving black sooty streaks on her flesh and around her wrists. She brushed her hands together, but succeeded only in smearing the dust.

“Allow me.” Saint-Germain lifted a watering can and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside. “Hold out your hands.” He poured water over her palms it sizzled as it touched her flesh washing away the black streaks. The count pulled a spotless white handkerchief from his back pocket, dipped it into the watering can and carefully wiped off the remainder of the soot. But around her right wrist, where Saint-Germain had held it, the soot refused to wash away. A thick black band encircled her wrist like a bracelet.

Saint-Germain snapped his fingers and his index and little finger lit up. He brought the light close to Sophie’s hand.

She looked down to discover that a tattoo was burned into her skin.

Silently lifting her arm, she twisted her wrist to examine the ornate band twisted around it. Two strands, gold and silver, entwined and curled around one another to form an intricate, almost Celtic-looking pattern. On the underside of her wrist, where Saint-Germain had pressed his thumb, was a perfect gold circle with a red dot in the center.

“When you wish to trigger the Magic of Fire, press your thumb against the circle and focus your aura”, Saint-Germain explained. “That will bring the fire alive instantly.”

“And that’s it?” Sophie asked, sounding surprised. “That’s all?”

Saint-Germain nodded. “That’s it. Why, what were you expecting?”

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t know, but when the Witch of Endor taught me Air magic, she wrapped me in bandages like a mummy.”

Saint-Germain smiled shyly. “Well, I’m not the Witch of Endor, of course. Joan tells me the Witch imbued you with all of her memories and knowledge. I’ve no idea why she did that; it certainly wasn’t necessary. But no doubt she had her reasons. Besides, I don’t know how to do that and I’m not sure I’d want you knowing all my thoughts and memories”, he added with a grin. “Some of them are not very nice.”

Sophie smiled. “I’m relieved another batch of memories wouldn’t be that great to deal with.” Holding up her hand, she pressed the circle on her wrist and her little finger smoked; then the nail glowed dull orange for a moment before it popped alight with a slender, wavering flame. “How did you know what to do?”

“Well, I was first and foremost an alchemist. I suppose you’d call me a scientist today. When Nicholas asked me to train you in the Magic of Fire, I’d no idea how to do it, so I just approached this like any other experiment.”

“An experiment?” Sophie blinked. “Could it have gone wrong?”

“The real danger was that it simply would not have worked.”

“Thank you”, she said finally, and then she grinned. “I was expecting the process to be a lot more dramatic. I’m really glad it was so” she paused, looking for the right word “ordinary.”

“Well, maybe not that ordinary. It’s not every day you learn how to master fire. How about extraordinary?” Saint-Germain suggested.

“Well, that too.”

“That’s all. Oh, there are tricks I can and will teach you. Tomorrow, I’ll show you how to create globes, donuts and rings of fire. But once you have the trigger, you can call upon fire at any time.”

“But do I need to say anything?” Sophie asked. “Do I need to learn any words?”

“Like what?”

“Well, when you lit up the
Eiffel
Tower
, you said something that sounded like
eggness.”

“Ignis”,
the count said. “Latin for
fire.
No, you don’t need to say anything.”

“Why did you do it, then?”

Saint-Germain grinned. “I just thought it sounded cool.”

P
erenelle Flamel was puzzled.

Creeping along the dimly lit corridors, she’d discovered that all the lower cells of the island prison were filled with creatures from the darker edges of myth. The Sorceress had encountered a dozen different vampire breeds and various werebeasts, as well as boggarts, trolls and cluricauns. One cell held nothing but a sleeping child minotaur, while in the cell opposite, two cannibal Windigo lay unconscious alongside a trio of oni. An entire corridor of cells was given over to dragon-kin, wyverns and firedrakes.

Perenelle didn’t think they were prisoners none of the cells were locked yet they were all asleep, and they were secured behind the shining silver spider’s web. Still, she wasn’t sure whether that was to keep the creatures prisoners or keep them apart. None of the creatures she’d discovered were allies. She passed one cell where the web hung in ragged tatters. The cell was empty, but the web and floor were clogged with bones, none of them even vaguely human.

These were creatures from a dozen lands and as many mythologies. Some like the Windigo she had only heard of, but at least they were native to the American continent. Others, as far as she knew, had never traveled to the New World and had remained safe and secure in their homelands or in Shadowrealms that bordered those lands. Japanese oni should not coexist alongside Celtic peists.

There was something terribly wrong here.

Perenelle rounded a corner and felt a breeze ruffle her hair. She turned her face to it, nostrils flaring, smelling salt and seaweed. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she hurried down the corridor.

Dee had to be collecting these creatures, had to be gathering them together, but why? And more importantly, how? Capturing a single vetala was unheard of, but a dozen? And how had they managed to get a baby minotaur away from its mother? Even Scathach, as fearless and deadly as she was, would never facedown one of the bull-headed race if she could help it.

Perenelle came to a flight of steps. The smell of salt air was stronger now, the breeze cooler, but she hesitated before putting her foot down and bent to check the stair for silver strands. There were none. She still hadn’t spotted whatever had spun the webs that festooned the lower cells, and it was making her incredibly nervous. It suggested that the web creators were probably sleeping which meant that they would wake up sooner or later. When they did, the entire prison would be swarming with spiders or maybe worse and she didn’t want to be out in the open when that happened.

A little of her power had returned certainly enough to defend herself, though the moment she used her magic, it would draw the sphinx to her and simultaneously weaken and age her. Perenelle knew she would only get one chance to face down the creature, and she wanted
needed
to be as powerful as possible for that encounter. Darting up the creaking metal stairs, she stopped at the rust-eaten door. Pushing back her hair, she placed her ear against the corroded metal. All she could hear was the dull pounding of the sea as it continued to eat away at the island. Gripping the handle in both hands, she gently bore down on it and pushed the door open, gritting her teeth as old hinges squeaked and squalled, the sound echoing through the corridors.

Perenelle stepped out into a broad courtyard surrounded by ruined and tumbled buildings. To the right the sun was sinking in the west, and it painted the stones in a warm orange light. With a sigh of relief, she spread her arms wide, turned her face to the sun, threw her head back and closed her eyes. Static crackled and ran along the length of her black hair, lifting it off her shoulders as her aura immediately began to recharge. The wind whipping in off the bay was cool, and she breathed deeply, ridding her lungs of the stench of rot, mildew and the monsters below.