Michael Scott - The Necromancer

“What do we do now?” Dare demanded. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

“This,” Dee said, taking the sword and plunging it point-first into the frozen pool. Ice shattered, water steamed and hissed, and then the couple fell into the inky black depths.

“K illing me,” Billy the Kid said slowly, “or even trying to kill me, would be a mistake.” There was no humor in his voice now, and his accent had turned hard and clipped. “Lots of men have tried, and lots have failed.”

Kukulkan wheezed a laugh. “I am not a man.”

The immortal edged away from the Elder.

“Billy,” Machiavelli said softly, a note of warning in his voice.

Billy looked at the Italian and caught the hint of movement behind him. He turned to see the huge lynx standing in the doorway, its wide green eyes fixed on him.

“This one,” Kukulkan said, pointing at the Italian, “I have chosen to keep alive. But why should I keep you alive?”

“Have you forgotten that I rescued you, saved your life?”

“And have you forgotten that I repaid that debt by making you immortal?”

“I’ve done your dirty work ever since,” Billy said quickly.

“And now you have embarrassed me before my fellow Elders. I assured them you would be perfect for this small task,” Kukulkan said. “And you failed me.”

“Personally, I think you failed me,” the American snapped, stepping away from the door. “You sent me out to perform a dangerous job without telling me what I was getting into.” Still moving slowly around the room, he stabbed a finger at the Elder. “You underestimated the Sorceress.”

“You are not the first,” Machiavelli offered quickly. “Perenelle has chosen to live in her husband’s shadow, and yet I have always believed she was the cleverer of the two. There is so much about her that is unknown.”

Kukulkan came slowly to his feet and glared at the Italian. “Do not speak again,” he hissed, “lest I change my mind and kill you too.” He turned to focus again on Billy. “I gave you three simple tasks: escort this man to the island, kill the Sorceress and free the beasts. You failed.”

“Well, one down, two to go. That ain’t so bad!” Billy said. Then he suddenly lunged toward the shelf that held the Elder’s collection of ancient artifacts and grabbed the jade club studded with volcanic glass. It was a Macuahuitl, an Aztec sword. As he lifted the club, the black obsidian shards sparkled in the afternoon light.

“How dare you raise a weapon in my presence.” Kukulkan’s head suddenly jutted forward and an unnaturally long black forked tongue flickered toward the outlaw.

But instead of pulling away, Billy took a step toward the Elder, slashing out with the Macuahuitl. The razor-sharp glass whistled as it cut through the air. Kukulkan immediately sucked his tongue back in and then coughed and gagged, choking on it. The Macuahuitl had missed it by inches.

“Do that again and I’ll cut it off!” Billy yelled. “I know you’ll grow a new one, but I bet it’ll hurt.”

The huge lynx padded silently toward the American, its jaws opening to reveal savage teeth.

“And you better tell your kitty cat to step outside,” the American added, without looking away from the Elder. He tilted the Macuahuitl and sent sparkles of reflected light around the room, shining it into the cat’s eyes.

The lynx stopped and fixed its narrow head on the Elder; then it turned and moved silently from the room.

“You have made an enemy of me,” Kukulkan said.

“Well, I’m not feeling too friendly toward you right now either. You were talking about killing me,” Billy reminded him. “That can upset a man.”

“Am I the only adult here?” Machiavelli said suddenly. He had not moved from the chair and had watched the Elder with fascination: he was behaving like a spoiled child. “Enough of this nonsense; we are supposed to be on the same side.”

“No humani threatens me…,” Kukulkan began.

“And no one-Elder, immortal, human or monster-threatens me,” Billy said.

“OK, we’ve established that neither of you likes to be threatened,” Machiavelli said mildly, “so let us now return to the business at hand. It seems to me,” he continued quickly, looking at each of them in turn, forcing them to focus on him, “that we have all disappointed someone or other. However, we have an opportunity to make amends.” He looked at the Feathered Serpent evenly. “We are grateful-both of us-to still be alive. We know we’ve failed; now let us see how we can make amends.”

“I didn’t f-” Billy began, but a look from the Italian silenced him.

“We are aware that our failure reflects poorly on you,” Machiavelli said, deliberately accepting blame in an attempt to calm Kukulkan. “But who else is aware that Billy and I have failed?” The Italian knew that if he could keep the Elder thinking and talking, then there was a chance he could resolve this situation.

Kukulkan returned to his curved stone stool. “You mean other Elders?”

The Italian nodded.

“No one else; I am sure the news has not even percolated through to the Shadowrealms yet. Well, reasonably sure,” he added, “though there may be spies in the city that I do not know about.”

Billy the Kid returned to stand behind Machiavelli. “Do you people trust anyone?”

“No,” Kukulkan said simply.

“So if Billy and I were to return to Alcatraz, awaken the army and set it loose on the city, then our mission would be considered a success. And no one would be the wiser.”

Kukulkan thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “That is true.”

Machiavelli spread his arms wide. “And no one would need to know about our failure… and you would be spared any embarrassment.”

“You were also tasked with killing Perenelle, and she has escaped,” the Elder reminded him. “How do you intend to find her?”

“I will not need to.” Machiavelli’s smile turned icy. “I know the Flamels. I have spent centuries studying them-especially the woman.” Almost unconsciously, he rubbed his left hand, which bore a faint pattern of white scars, the reminders of their last encounter. “I can almost guarantee you that they will return to the island to try to stop us. It is their nature, and all men and women are slaves to their nature.”

Kukulkan’s feathered tail beat a gentle tattoo on the floor as he considered the idea. “Are you confident that you can defeat the Alchemyst and the Sorceress if they come back to Alcatraz?”

Machiavelli bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. He knew he’d won. “The Flamels are weak and aging fast. There is a sphinx on the island that will drain their powers, and I can use some of the creatures already there to help me.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, forcing the Elder to lean forward as well. It was a trick he had learned half a millennium previously. “Any help you could give us would, of course, be gratefully appreciated.”

Kukulkan nodded. “Of course. Yes, I can help.” His smile revealed his black forked tongue. Running his fingers through his white beard, he added, “there are some creatures I can call upon to assist you.”

“And what about me?” Billy asked softly.

“Go with the Italian,” Kukulkan snapped. “Maybe he can teach you some manners.”

“So you’re not going to try to kill me today…,” Billy teased.

“Billy!” Machiavelli glared at the American, who was in danger of irritating the Elder again.

“Not today,” Kukulkan whispered, “but someday, yes. I have a long memory and I’ll not forget what you did here.” The Elder stood and padded to the door, then stopped and turned his head at an impossible angle to look back at the American. “You can put the Macuahuitl back where you found it. And be careful with it; it is older than the humani.” With that he turned and strode out toward the field of tall grass. The lynx fell into step alongside.