Michael Scott - The Necromancer

“I learned the tune from a German,” she said between breaths. “He used to be a rat catcher.”

“What made you choose my side?” Dee asked.

“You promised me a world,” Virginia Dare said seriously. “You better keep that promise,” she added. “I learned some other tunes from the rat catcher, and believe me, you do not want me to play them.”

The Magician attempted a laugh. “Why, that sounds almost like a threat…,” he began.

“It was,” she said, then grinned. “Actually, it was more than a threat. It’s a promise.”

The ravens watched the slender female figure step out of the shadows, a long wooden flute pressed to her lips.

Vaguely-more a sensation in their bones than a vibration in the air-they experienced the ghost of a sound. Ancient instincts sent them soaring upward, higher and higher, away from the deathly noise.

From their great height, they watched the cucubuths fall like grass flattened by a wind. And they saw Dee and the woman move through the bodies, strolling unhurriedly away from the chaos.

In his Shadowrealm, Odin watched the couple through the raven’s eyes. Who was this woman and how had she rendered the cucubuths unconscious?

The Elder frowned, trying to focus on the female humani. There was something about her, something almost familiar. She was obviously an ally of Dee’s, and she possessed what looked like one of the ancient artifacts of power.

And suddenly, the name came to him in a flood of bitter memories, and he threw back his head and howled in delight. Virginia Dare: one of the few immortals who had slain their master and survived. He had known her master and counted him a friend. Now he could avenge the death of his love and his friend.

“Bring Dee to me,” he instructed the ravens. “Kill the female.”

High above the city, the ravens followed the immortal humani and the Elder watched through their eyes.

“W hen we first saw her, we thought it was Scatty,” Josh said.

“Aoife of the Shadows,” Perenelle said, “Scathach’s twin sister.”

“Younger or older?” Josh asked. He was twenty-eight seconds younger than his sister, and although he was a head taller, he still felt like the little brother. Perenelle and Josh had climbed down the metal fire escape and were standing in the alleyway behind the shop, waiting for Nicholas to join them.

“Well that depends on whom you talk to,” Perenelle said with a smile. “Scathach says she is the elder, but Aoife claims that she was born first.”

Nicholas appeared at the top of the stairs and started to climb down. He was moving slowly and awkwardly because of the wooden box strapped to his back.

“Scatty never said anything about having a sister,” Josh said. He found the concept hard to believe. He couldn’t imagine ever not acknowledging his sister, his twin.

“Yes, well, they had a terrible argument a long time ago. There was a boy they both loved. Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster. And despite his name, he was completely human.”

“What happened?” Josh asked.

“He died,” Perenelle said shortly, then she sighed. “Scatty will not speak of it, but Cuchulain died a hero’s death. The sisters blamed one another for it, though as far I can see, neither was entirely to blame. Cuchulain was young and headstrong. No one could control him. He was also one of the finest warriors who ever lived, and the last to be trained by both Aoife and Scathach. The sisters have not spoken in a very long time. In the early days, Scatty remained in Europe and the Americas while Aoife traveled south into Africa, where she was worshipped as a goddess. Then Aoife went east into the Orient, where she now spends most of her time. I doubt they have met in the last four or five centuries.”

“Was Aoife responsible for Cu… Coo…”

“Cuchulain.”

“For his death?” Josh asked.

“As responsible as Scathach. If they had fought by his side, he would not have died.”

Nicholas reached the end of the ladder and Perenelle and Josh helped him down the last steps. He stood leaning against the wall, his breath coming in great heaving gasps, and Josh suddenly realized that the Alchemyst was now an old man. He looked at Flamel closely, and as he did it became clear just how much the events of the past week had aged the man-his close-cropped hair was now almost bone white, and wrinkles were etched deeply into his forehead and cheeks. The veins on the back of his hands were prominent, and the skin speckled with age spots. Josh turned to look at the Sorceress. She too had aged, though not quite so dramatically as her husband. Perenelle caught him staring at her and her smile turned wistful. Reaching out, she pressed her forefinger to Josh’s chest. Paper crinkled under his T-shirt. “Unless we get the Codex and renew the immortality spell, we will be dead of old age within a matter of days.” Abruptly, her green eyes grew huge with tears. “Nicholas first, then me.”

Josh felt his breath catch in his throat. Although he didn’t trust Nicholas and was unsure how he felt about Perenelle, the thought of them dying filled him with terror. He and Sophie needed the Flamels.

“We must get the Book of Abraham the Mage,” Perenelle repeated.

“Dee has the Codex,” Josh said. “He’s probably passed it on to his masters by now.”

Nicholas shook his head. “I doubt he’s had time to do that. Everything has happened so fast.” He handed Josh the carved wooden box. “Carry that for me, would you?” Josh grunted with the weight of the box; it was surprisingly heavy. “Think-the Magician has been close behind us from the moment he got the Codex last week. I don’t think he would have had time to give it to his Elder masters. And I think it unlikely he would carry it to England with him in his luggage. Logic says it’s probably still here in San Francisco.”

“Where?” Josh asked quickly. “Maybe we could steal it back…” He stopped. Both Perenelle and Nicholas were shaking their heads.

“Even if we could,” the Sorceress said, “I’ll wager it is protected by more than human guards. Also”-she tapped the box in Josh’s arms-“we have more important things to do.”

“We have to find your sister,” Nicholas said.

“And destroy the creatures on Alcatraz,” Perenelle added.

Josh looked at them both in alarm. “But how are you going to do that? Won’t that use all your powers and age you? And kill you?” He added in a whisper.

“Yes,” Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel said in unison.

“And it is a price we are willing to pay,” Perenelle declared.

Sophie regained consciousness, but she remained still, her eyes closed. Concentrating on her Awakened senses, she tried to create a mental picture of her surroundings from the sounds, smells and sensations that engulfed her. There was salt in the air, which wasn’t unusual in San Francisco, but this was a bitter, slightly sour odor, as if she was very close to the sea. The salt smell was touched with the tang of diesel fuel, which suggested that she might be in a port. Oddly, there was also the crisp smell of wood and the hint of spices in the warm, close air. Even before she felt the slight shifting movements beneath her and heard the faint slap of water against wood, she knew she was on a boat. She was lying down, not on a bed, but on something soft that held her tightly and raised her head and feet.

“I know you’re awake.”

The voice brought Sophie’s eyes open. Scathach! The shock of red hair was the only point of color in the dark room, and for a single instant, Sophie thought the woman was floating in midair. She struggled to sit up-she’d been lying in a hammock, she realized-and discovered that the woman was sitting cross-legged on a wooden box, her black clothing helping her to blend in with the darkened room. But as Sophie straightened, memories flooded back and she knew that this was not the Shadow. This was Aoife of the Shadows.