Michael Scott - The Necromancer

From the corner of his eye, Dee saw Josh stoop and reach for the sword and his heart stopped. If the square was broken, then Coatlicue would be free… and all would be lost.

Niten, realizing that Dee was distracted, attacked again. Both swords hammered into Dee’s chest. And shattered. Niten blinked in surprise. “You forget who I am,” the Magician snarled. He wrapped a burning fist in Niten’s shirt, lifted him high and flung him across the room. The immortal hit a leather sofa and bounced off.

Sophie saw Dare raise the tomahawk over the fallen Aoife and sent a curl of leather whip at Dee’s cohort. It seared Dare’s flesh as it wrapped around the weapon, jerking it out of her hand.

Virginia snarled in rage, a cry that was cut short as Aoife’s hand shot up and clutched her throat.

And Josh lifted Clarent off the floor and broke the square.

The wash of energy picked the boy up off the ground, jerked him free of Coatlicue’s grip and flung him back against Dee, slamming them both against the wall. It ripped Virginia from Aoife’s grasp, sending the immortal tumbling over and over across the floor. It buffeted Sophie to the ground, stripping away her armor, completely draining her aura in an instant.

With a hiss of triumph, Coatlicue stepped into the world.

“Oh, but I have waited a long time for this. A new world to conquer. Fresh meat. Fresh blood.” The twin snake heads turned, fixed on Sophie. “You first. Your little toy stung me.” All the snakes in her dress raised their tiny heads, and thousands of forked tongues flickered, tasting the air. “A silver aura. It will be an appetizer before I devour the gold.” Coatlicue took a step toward Sophie.

And staggered.

And stopped.

“I don’t think so,” Aoife said very quietly. She had leapt up onto the Archon’s back and wrapped her arms around the two snake heads. Coatlicue struggled, trying to pry Aoife’s fingers free, but the warrior’s grip tightened. All the snakes in the Archon’s dress struck out at Aoife, biting her again and again and the warrior grimaced in pain. “Let’s see who dies first,” she said, mouth opening to reveal her savage teeth. “You created my race. We are from your DNA. So you know how strong the Clan Vampire are.” She jerked the Archon back, away from Sophie, jerked her again, pulling her toward the three swords and the ragged smoking curtain. Then her bright green eyes locked on Sophie’s face. “You saved my life.”

Sophie staggered to her feet. “Aoife?”

“Aoife. One of the Next Generation. It seems I will devour you first. You are weakening.” Coatlicue’s voice was triumphant. More and more of the serpents bit into the warrior, and her skin was wet with their pale venom.

Sophie realized what was happening and lifted the whip, but she didn’t dare crack it toward Coatlicue in case she hit the warrior. “Aoife, let her go, step away from her…”

The warrior jerked the Archon again, pulling her back, and the creature’s claws left deep scratches in the floor.

Sophie saw an opening and lashed out at Coatlicue, but her arms were leaden with exhaustion and the whip only scratched the Archon’s foot.

Coatlicue lifted her foot and Aoife took the opportunity to pull her back once more. Off balance, Coatlicue staggered and fell, but the warrior never released her hold on the two snapping snake heads. The snakes went into a frenzy of biting and spitting. Aoife’s eyes locked on Sophie’s. “When you find my twin,” she whispered, “tell her… tell Scathach that I did this… for her.” And then, with a final massive effort, Aoife hauled Coatlicue back into the broken square of swords and through the torn curtain of dirty smoke.

The curtain winked out of existence in a detonation that shattered every piece of glass in the building. The hanging television sets crashed to the floor; pipes burst, spraying water into the room; and a huge crack ran up one wall, raced across the ceiling and brought part of the floor above thundering down into the room. A dozen fires started as broken wires rained sparks everywhere.

Shocked and numb, deaf and unable to move, Sophie Newman watched as Dee clambered to his feet. She saw him haul Virginia Dare from the floor, then pick up Josh.

Josh stood and stared at her… but all she could see were his bloodred eyes… and the look of absolute loathing on his pale face.

Dee darted forward to gather the three swords. He tossed Josh a second sword and picked his way across the devastated floor to lift the Codex off the table.

Sophie tried to say her brother’s name, but her mouth was full of grit and she couldn’t shape the word. And when she stretched out her hand to him, he slowly and deliberately turned his back on her and followed John Dee and Virginia Dare out of the burning building.

He did not look back.

“I t’s a henge,” William Shakespeare said, looking at two tall standing stones topped with a massive slab. “Just like Stonehenge.”

“I modeled it on Stonehenge,” Marethyu agreed. “Every Shadowrealm is connected to another by at least one gate. Some have two, and the bigger realms, the huge planet-sized worlds, have multiple gates. When I created this world, I needed just two gates. One to connect to the leygate in Paris-”

“So you knew we were going to use that gate?” Scathach interrupted.

“I knew.”

“One day you’re going to tell me how you knew that,” Scathach said seriously.

“Maybe I will. One day.”

“This is the second gate?” Joan asked, looking at the standing stones. “Where does it lead?”

“To the Crossroads of the Shadowrealms,” Marethyu said, then stepped between the two uprights… and vanished.

“I hate leygates,” Scatty muttered. “Just let me make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting for us on the other side.” Drawing her swords, she darted through. A second later, her slightly green-looking disembodied face appeared in midair. “All clear.”

Shakespeare went next, followed by Joan and Saint-Germain, hand in hand. Palamedes was the last to step from the Pleistocene Shadowrealm. He turned to look back and realized that the world was beginning to fade and die. Colors were leaching away, paling to grays, and the edge of the horizon was drifting off into a fine sparkling dust. As he watched, it swirled away into the cloudless sky and then the sky itself dissolved into utter darkness. One by one, the moons winked out. Palamedes shivered. The world and all it contained-all the extraordinary flora and diverse fauna-was dying because the hook-handed man had no further use for it. This realm had been created for one purpose, and one purpose only: to ensnare-or was it to save?-Scathach and Joan. Marethyu must have known that Saint-Germain would come after his wife. The big knight frowned: had he also known that Palamedes and Will would come after their friend? Marethyu said he was from the past… how, then, did he know so much about the future?

Who was the hook-handed man?

The Saracen Knight leapt through the henge in the last moments before the gates themselves dissolved to dust.

The hook-handed man waited until Palamedes had appeared. “Glad you could join us,” he said. “I was hoping you would not linger too long.” Then he turned to the small group and lifted his left arm. The hook glowed with warm golden light, partially illuminating the massive cave. “Welcome to Xibalba,” Marethyu said. “Thankfully, there is no time for sightseeing. We need to get out of here right now,” he added, and set off at a run. “Our body heat and auras will attract some spectacularly foul guardians. Follow in my footsteps. And do not, whatever you do, step off the path.”

“I hate this place,” Scathach grumbled, holding her nose shut in an attempt to block out the stink of sulfur.