Michael Scott - The Sorceress

"I caught glimpses of something moving as we drove through the maze," Sophie said.

Josh nodded. "Earlier, Palamedes told me that the houses in all the streets surrounding this place are empty. He owns them all. He said there are something called larvae and lemurs in them."

"Guardians."

"I saw a huge dog…" He nodded toward the pack of dogs lying completely still under the hut. "It was like those, only bigger, cleaner. It seemed to be patrolling the streets. And you've seen the defenses," he added excitedly. "There's a single heavily guarded entrance that funnels everything into a narrow alleyway. So no matter how big whatever army you have is, only two or three soldiers can attack at any one time. And they're also vulnerable from above because of the battlements."

Sophie reached out and squeezed her brother's arm tightly. "Josh," she said sharply, blue eyes wide with concern. She'd never heard her brother talk like this before. "Stop it. How come you know so much about castle defenses…?" Her voice trailed off, the ghost of an unsettling idea flickering at the corner of her mind.

"I don't know," Josh admitted. "I just… sort of… know it. It's like when we were in Paris-I knew that Dee and Machiavelli had to be on high ground controlling the gargoyles. And then, earlier today, when those three creatures were going to attack…"

"The Genuii Cucullati," Sophie murmured absently, turning to watch Nicholas climb stiffly out of the cab. When she saw him reach in to pull out Josh's backpack, she noticed that his knuckles looked slightly swollen. Aunt Agnes, back in Pacific Heights in San Francisco, had arthritis, and her knuckles were also swollen. The Alchemyst was aging fast.

"Yes, them. I knew that they were moving into an attack pattern by their body language. I knew that the center one would charge first and come at us straight on, while the other two would try to flank us. I knew if I could stop him, it might distract the others and give us a chance to escape." Josh stopped suddenly, realizing what he was saying. "How did I know that?" he wondered aloud.

"Mars," Sophie whispered. She nodded. "It has to have come from the God of War." The girl shuddered; she and her brother were changing. Then she shook her head slightly: they had already changed.

"Mars. I… I remember," Josh whispered. "When he was Awakening me he said something at the end, something about giving me a gift that I might find useful in the days to come. And then he rested his hand on the top of my head and I felt this incredible heat flow through me." He looked at his twin. "What did he give me? I don't have any strange memories, like the ones the Witch gave you."

"I think you should probably be grateful you don't have his memories," Sophie said quickly. "The Witch knew Mars and despised him. I would imagine most of his memories are foul. Josh, I think he's given you his military knowledge."

"He's made me a warrior?" Even though the thought was creepy, Josh was unable to keep the note of delight from his voice.

"Maybe even something better," Sophie said, her voice soft and distant, eyes flashing silver. "I think he's made you a strategist."

"And that's good?" He sounded disappointed

Sophie nodded quickly. "Battles are won by men. Wars are won by strategists."

"Who said that?" Josh asked, surprised.

"Mars did," Sophie said, shaking her head to clear the sudden influx of memories. "Don't you see? Mars was the ultimate strategist; he never lost a battle. It's an amazing gift."

"But why did he give it to me?" Josh asked the question Sophie was thinking.

Before she could answer, the door to the long metal hut suddenly creaked open and a figure in soiled mechanic's overalls bustled down the steps. Small and slight, with stooped shoulders and a long oval face, the man blinked nearsightedly at the cab. He had a wispy mustache, and although the top of his head was bald, the hair over his ears and at the back of his head flowed down onto his shoulders.

"Palamedes?" he snapped, clearly irritated. "What is the meaning of this?" His English was crisp and precise, each word enunciated clearly. He saw the twins and stopped short. Pulling a pair of oversized black-framed glasses from a top pocket, he pushed them onto his face. "Who are these people?" And then he turned and spotted Nicholas Flamel at about the same time the Alchemyst saw him.

Both men reacted simultaneously.

"Flamel!" The small man shrieked. He turned and darted back toward the hut, scrambling and falling on the metal steps.

Nicholas grunted something in archaic French, tore open Josh's backpack and wrenched Clarent from the cardboard map tube. Holding it in a tight two-handed grip, he swung it around his head, the edge of the blade keening and humming through the air. "Run," he shouted to the twins, "run for your lives! It's a trap!" efore Sophie or Josh could react, Palamedes reared up behind the Alchemyst and his two huge hands locked onto Flamel's shoulders. The two immortals' auras blazed and crackled, the Alchemyst's bright green mingling with the knight's darker olive green. The acrid metal-and-rubber-tainted air of the car yard was suffused with the clean odor of mint and the spicy warmth of cloves. Flamel struggled to swing Clarent around, but the knight tightened his grip and pushed, driving the Alchemyst to his knees, fingers biting into the flesh, pinching nerves. The sword dropped from Flamel's hand.

Sophie spread the fingers of her right hand wide and prepared to call up the element of fire, but Josh caught her arm and pulled it down. "No," he said urgently, just as the pack of dogs boiled out from beneath the hut and swarmed around them. The animals moved in complete silence, lips bared to reveal savage yellow teeth and lolling tongues that were forked like snakes'. "Don't move," he whispered, squeezing his twin's hand. The dogs were close enough for him to see that their eyes were completely red, without a trace of white or pupil. Teeth clicked, and he felt wet lips brush against his fingers. The animals exuded a stale musty odor like rotting leaves. Although the dogs weren't large, they were incredibly muscled-one bumped against Josh's legs, knocking him forward into Sophie. The twins' auras sparked and the dog pressing against Josh's legs tumbled away, hair bristling.

"Enough!" Palamedes' voice boomed and echoed across the car lot. "This is no trap." The knight leaned over Nicholas, his huge hands still locked onto each shoulder, pushing him into the ground. "I may not be your ally, Alchemyst," Palamedes rumbled, "but I am not your enemy. All I have left now is my honor, and I promised my friend Saint-Germain that I would take care of you. I'll not betray that trust."

Flamel tried to shake himself free, but Palamedes' grip was unbreakable. The Alchemyst's aura sparkled and flared, then suddenly fizzled out, and he slumped in exhaustion.

"Do you believe me?" Palamedes demanded.

Nicholas nodded. "I believe you-but, why is he here?" With a look of absolute disgust on his face, the Alchemyst raised his head to look at the small man cowering just inside the hut, peering around the corner of the door.

"He lives here," Palamedes said simply.

"Here! But he's-"

"My friend," the knight said shortly. "Much has changed." Loosening his grip, Palamedes caught Nicholas by both shoulders and heaved him to his feet. Spinning him around, the knight straightened his rumpled leather jacket; then he snapped a word in an incomprehensible language and the animals surging around the twins flowed back to the shelter of the hut.

Josh glanced down at the sword on the ground and wondered if he was fast enough to reach it. He looked up and found Palamedes' deep brown eyes watching him. The knight smiled with a flash of white teeth and dipped down to pluck Clarent from the mud. "I've not seen this for a long time," the knight said softly, his accent thickening, hinting again at his Middle Eastern origins. The moment he touched it, his aura bloomed into life around him, and for an instant he was sheathed in a long hauberk of black chain mail, complete with a close-fitting hood that covered his arms to his fingertips and finished low on his thighs. Each link of the chain mail winked with tiny reflections. As his aura faded, Clarent's stone blade shimmered red-black, like oil on water, and a sound, like the wind through long grass, sighed across the blade.