Michael Scott - The Necromancer

And every inch of their carved clay bodies was covered in the same spiraling script that decorated the front of the building.

Prometheus’s burning aura washed over the closest statues, red sparks running across the designs, crimson fire crawling along the archaic writing, bringing the lines of curling text to life.

“Prometheus…,” Zephaniah whispered.

Then the statue closest to Prometheus, a statuesque female, moved. A sliver of hardened clay fell away and shattered on the ground, revealing dark flesh beneath. Behind the Elder a second statue, a male, shifted slightly, and more clay fell away to expose rich golden skin.

“Little Brother…”

The Elder’s fiery aura blazed higher, leaping from statue to statue, igniting the script with threads of fire. Crackling balls of it dripped off Prometheus’s skin like sweat and rolled along the floor. When they reached a statue, they hissed and surged, and lines of flame crawled up the clay, igniting the writing. When all the writing was burning and the statue was bright with fire, the figure moved, hardened clay cascading off its body to shatter on the floor.

Zephaniah was suddenly aware that her brother’s aura had changed color. It had become darker, almost ugly, and the bitter-sweet smell of anise had become sharp and sour.

“Prometheus!” she shouted in alarm, but he could not hear her. She knew what was happening: his aura had started to consume him.

The Elder’s aura was an inferno now, a solid pillar of fire stretching up to the apex of the pyramid, and Prometheus was almost invisible in the middle of the flames. Fire bounced off the ceiling and fell onto the carvings like burning rain. The heat was overwhelming, washing over the thousands of figures, burning away clay to reveal the flesh beneath.

Zephaniah knew she needed to distract her brother, to disrupt his aura before the fire destroyed him. She desperately pushed her way through the statues. Some toppled and fell, and where the clay shells had not been touched by Prometheus’s aura, they shattered to dust when they hit the floor. When Zephaniah was close enough, she uncoiled the whip and lashed out at her brother, catching him around an outstretched arm. The metal and leather of the weapon instantly glowed bright red and started to burn. She pulled with all her might, and he staggered.

Prometheus’s aura flickered, darkened, then blazed back even brighter. The smell of anise had turned unmistakably foul. Bitter.

Jerking the burning whip free, Zephaniah lashed out again, this time catching him around the throat. Gripping the whip with both hands, she jerked hard and managed to tug Prometheus off balance. He staggered, and then his aura flickered and died as he folded to his knees.

“Prometheus…” Zephaniah dropped to the ground, cradling her brother, ignoring the heat that burned her flesh and seared her clothes. He opened his green eyes and looked up at her.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

Zephaniah tore her gaze from her brother to look up. What had once been statues were now living beings. They crowded around, still and silent, and she realized to her horror that their once-formless faces had altered to take on a semblance of her brother’s features.

“I think you’ve become a father,” she said in awe. “Little Brother, they all look like you.”

“Oh dear.” He coughed. “Even the women?”

“Especially the women,” Zephaniah said, closing her eyes.

Sophie Newman opened her eyes and instantly recognized the face glaring in through the window at them. “Prometheus,” she breathed. “Little Brother.”

The huge ravens Huginn and Muninn, each as big as a horse, fell toward Dee and Virginia Dare, razor-sharp talons splayed wide. Their instructions were clear: lift both of the immortals high into the air and, once they were over the Thames, drop the woman into the river as punishment for aiding the Magician.

Dr. John Dee shoved Virginia to one side, sending her sliding across the frozen pool, her flute spinning from her hand. The Magician tried to run but lost his footing, his feet shooting out from under him. The fall saved his life.

The two monstrous crows crashed into the ice, talons and beaks shattering the surface. Huginn disappeared under the water with a startled squawk, then reappeared a moment later in an explosion of glistening shards. Muninn slid across the slippery pool, scrambling to gain purchase.

Dee staggered to his feet and stood swaying as the ice shattered all around him. He felt water soak into his expensive shoes and, with a surge of annoyance, stamped his foot down hard. The surface froze again, trapping Huginn partially under water and immobilizing Muninn’s feet.

The howling of the cucubuths was closer now.

Virginia Dare had clambered to her feet and retrieved her flute by the time Dee made his way across the frozen pool to her side. “Time to go,” he snapped.

Muninn’s huge head jerked toward them, jabbing its spearlike beak as the immortals tried to get past. Dee reached under his coat and pulled out the sword. The weapon crackled, red-blue fire running along the stone blade as he waved it in the air before the huge bird. The raven jerked its head back and then its beak opened and closed.

“Magician.”

The voice that came from the bird was raw with disuse. It spoke in the ancient language of Danu Talis.

Virginia Dare stopped at this sound, shocked. “I’ve seen some strange things in my time…”

“Huginn and Muninn have the power of human speech,” Dee reminded her. He lifted the sword. The blade brightened as he brought it close to the bird’s head, the red-blue fire reflected in its huge eyes. “But I don’t think it’s the raven that is speaking to us now,” he added, catching the bird’s gaze, carefully inspecting the creature.

“Magiker…”

“No, this is something older, something foul,” Dee said quietly. He suddenly swung the sword and the heavy lock barring the entrance to the Traitor’s Gate pool fell away. “Odin, the ravens’ master, speaks.”

“You cannot escape me. There is nowhere in this Shadowrealm where you can hide from me.”

“I am sorry if I destroyed your Shadowrealm, but you can create another,” Dee began.

“You killed the woman I loved.”

Dee was about to turn away, but he stopped to look at the trapped raven. “I am sorry about that too. She was a warrior; she died bravely in battle.”

“You know what it is like to lose a loved one, Majiker?”

Surprised, Dee said honestly, “Yes, I know. I buried my wives and children. I watched them age, wither and die.”

“I am going to destroy your world, Dee, before I destroy you. I will kill everything you hold dear.”

“There is little I hold dear anymore.”

“Not even this woman?”

Dee suddenly lashed out at the bird, the tip of his blade slicing through a single black feather on its neck. “Don’t threaten me,” Dee snarled. “I defeated you before. I will do it again.” He held up the sword, moving it before the bird’s eyes. “And last time, I did not have this!”

“It is as dangerous to you as it is to me,” Odin said through the bird’s mouth. Then there was a horrible coughing sound. It took Dee a few moments before he realized that Odin was laughing. “That is the sword that killed Hekate; I think it will be your downfall too, Magiker.”

“Doctor, we need to go.” Virginia grasped his hand in hers and pulled him through the open gate into the smaller pool. “I hate to break up your chat, but we have company, lots of company, none of it friendly. And while they want you alive, the same rule does not apply to me.”

The cucubuth howls were all around them, bouncing and echoing off the stones.