Michael Scott - The Necromancer

Machiavelli blinked in surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not.”

“What about a duel? Didn’t you have duels in Europe-swords and pistols at dawn, that sort of thing?”

The Italian nodded. “I’ve attended some.”

“I bet you always knew who was going to lose.”

Machiavelli considered, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“How could you tell?” Billy asked.

“From the expression on their face, the way they stood, the set of their shoulders…”

“Exactly. They expected to lose. And therefore, they lost. Now, I was never a great shot, and never very fast. All that quick-draw nonsense comes from books written about me, and most of those are lies. But I always expected to win. Always. And I made sure to associate with others who expected to win.” He paused and added, “People who start thinking deep dark thoughts in the middle of a war start expecting to lose. And they end up dead because they’re not thinking straight, they’re not focused.”

Machiavelli’s head tilted in a slight bow. “That is a very astute observation. And do you have a suggestion?”

Billy nodded toward the island. “Let’s stay focused on the task at hand. Let’s do what our Elder masters have commanded and awaken these sleeping beasts, before we start thinking deep dark thoughts.”

“We?”

“We.” Billy smiled. “I bet you could teach me a lot.”

Machiavelli nodded, surprised. “And I believe I could learn a lot from you.”

The boat bumped against the dock and Black Hawk pulled them in against the wooden pilings. “All ashore,” he called.

Billy the Kid leapt onto the wooden gangway and then stooped to offer his hand to the Italian. Machiavelli hesitated a moment, then took it, and Billy hauled him up. Black Hawk immediately revved the engine, water churning white as he backed away.

“Are you not joining us?” Billy asked.

“You must be joking! I wouldn’t set foot on this island. It is a cursed place.” Even as he was speaking, dozens of women’s faces appeared just below the surface of the water. Iridescent fishtails flickered. “Call me when you’re done. Will you be long?”

Billy looked at Machiavelli and raised his eyebrows.

“A couple of hours.”

Billy the Kid grinned. “Time enough to change the world.”

Sitting alone at the kitchen table with the crystal skull between them, Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel looked at one another. The Alchemyst’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion clear on his face and in his sunken eyes. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his wife and said, “So what do we do now?”

Perenelle absently reached out to stroke the skull. She could actually feel the vague tingling residue of Sophie’s and Aoife’s auras on the crystal. “This changes nothing,” she said finally. “We fight.”

Nicholas wheezed a laugh. “Look at us… well, look at me. I can’t help you.”

“Between us we have more than a millennium of knowledge,” Perenelle reminded him gently. “We use our brains; that’s all we need.”

The door opened and Prometheus stepped back into the room. “Niten and Aoife have gone with Sophie. I’ve given them a car,” he said. “But it’ll take them two and a half, maybe three hours to get into the city.”

“Three hours?” Perenelle looked at Nicholas. “Could Dee teach Josh anything about necromancy in that time?”

“Last night, Josh learned Fire magic in a couple of hours…”

“He learned the basics. But it will take him a lifetime to master it,” Prometheus said.

“And who knows what Dee can do,” Nicholas added. “How he got here from London is beyond me.”

“He’s been declared utlaga,” the Elder said. “The message rippled through the Shadowrealms yesterday. His own masters have put an enormous price on his head.”

“They want him dead?” Nicholas was shocked.

There was only pity in Prometheus’s laugh. “They want him alive first.”

The Alchemyst sat back into the creaking kitchen chair and rubbed his face with his hands. “But this changes everything,” he said. “If Dee is no longer working for the Dark Elders, why does he need Josh? Why would he want to teach him necromancy?”

Prometheus moved away from the door. “Dee obviously has his own plans,” he said.

“Dee and Dare,” Perenelle reminded them. “A dangerous combination.”

“And now Josh, too,” Nicholas whispered. “A gold twin, trained in Water and Fire magics.”

Prometheus pulled out a chair and spun it around so that he could straddle it. It creaked ominously under his weight.

Nicholas squinted into the Elder’s face. “What happens if a pure gold twin, knowledgeable in the Magics of Water and Fire, is trained in necromancy?”

Prometheus shook his head. “It has never happened before, to the best of my knowledge. It is a powerful combination, but the real potential lies in the strength of his aura. The boy is extraordinarily powerful… he simply does not realize that yet.”

“Dee does,” Nicholas muttered.

“So Josh is more powerful than Dee?” Perenelle asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Much more powerful,” Prometheus agreed. “Just untrained.”

“And necromancy raises the dead, and with Josh’s power…” Perenelle began slowly.

Nicholas finished the thought. “So whom-or what-does Dee want to raise from the dead?” He placed his hand flat on top of the crystal skull. “If we could only see what’s happening…” A pale green light pulsed once deep within the skull and then faded. Perenelle placed her hand on top of her husband’s. Speckles of white crawled along her fingertips, sank through Flamel’s wrinkled flesh and seeped into the crystal. A white light tinted with the hint of green throbbed in the eye sockets. Then it faded. “We’re not strong enough.” Nicholas slumped back into the chair, though Perenelle kept his hand pressed to the crystal.

“Why did you bring this evil thing?” Prometheus asked.

“We were going to use it to try to control the monsters on Alcatraz,” Perenelle explained. “Areop-Enap is still on the island. I thought if we could see through the Old Spider’s eyes, we would be able to turn the creatures against one another. Many of them are natural enemies. I thought it might buy us a little time until Sophie and Josh were fully trained.”

“A good plan,” Prometheus agreed. “But you need to fuel the skull with your auras.”

“We were rather counting on Sophie and Josh to help us.”

The Elder looked at each of them in turn. “You do realize that when you are feeding the skull, it is feeding off you, drinking your auras, your memories, your emotions,” he said slowly. “The skulls are true vampires. The twins are young; the process would have taken a few years off their lives, but they would have survived. In your present state, you would not.”

“We have spent our entire lives fighting for the survival of the human race,” Perenelle said quietly. “We cannot stop now. We will fight to our last breaths to protect it from the Dark Elders.”

“You would have paid a heavy price.”

“Everything has a price,” Nicholas said simply. “And some prices are worth paying.” He drew in a deep breath and looked at the Elder. “You paid a heavy price for bringing the humani to life.”

Prometheus nodded.

“Have you ever regretted it?”

“Not for a moment.” Prometheus stared at the skull. “Not for a single moment,” he said softly, and then grunted a bitter laugh. “Crystal libraries, my sister called these. She suspected that they might even have been partially responsible for the annihilation of the Archon race, and she destroyed as many as she could. Some knowledge should not be passed on, she said. And there was one piece of advice she gave me time and again: an Elder must never, ever, touch the skulls.”