Michael Scott - The Sorceress

Shakespeare bent down and roughly patted the dog's head. He was about to turn and climb the steps when he spotted the twins. The dull evening light reflected off his overlarge glasses, turning them to silver mirrors. "There was a little mishap with our evening meal," he said, a quick smile revealing his bad teeth.

"That's OK. We weren't that hungry," Sophie said quickly. "And I'm trying to give up meat."

"Vegetarians?" Shakespeare asked.

"Sort of," Sophie said, and Josh nodded in agreement.

"There might be some salad inside," the immortal said vaguely. "Neither Palamedes nor I are vegetarians. There's fruit," he added. "Lots of fruit."

Josh nodded. "Fruit would be perfect." Even the thought of meat set his stomach churning.

Shakespeare seemed to notice the sword in Josh's hand for the first time. "Keep up your bright swords," he murmured. Stepping forward, he produced a surprisingly pristine white handkerchief, pulled off his glasses and started to polish them. Without the thick lenses, Sophie noticed, he looked more like the image of the famous playwright she'd seen in her textbooks. He put his glasses back on and looked at Josh. "It is Clarent?"

Josh nodded. He could feel it tremble slightly in his hands and was aware of a slow warmth soaking into his flesh.

Shakespeare leaned forward, his long narrow nose inches from the tip of the blade, but he made no attempt to touch it. "I saw its twin many times," he said absently. "The blades are identical, but the hilts are slightly different."

"Was this when you were with Dee?" Sophie asked shrewdly.

Shakespeare nodded. "When I was with the doctor," he agreed. He reached out and tentatively touched the tip of the blade with his index finger. The dark stone sparkled and rippled with a tracery of pale yellow, as if a liquid had been poured down the blade, and there was a hint of lemon in the air. "Dee inherited Excalibur from his predecessor, Roger Bacon, but this was really the weapon he wanted to find. The twin blades are older than the Elders and were ancient long before Danu Talis was raised from the seas. Individually, the swords are powerful, but legend has it that together they have the power to destroy the very fabric of the earth itself."

"I'm surprised Dee didn't find it," Josh said a little breathlessly. He could feel the sword buzzing in his hands, and strange images floated at the edge of his consciousness. Somehow he knew that these were Shakespeare's memories.

A circular building in flames…

A pitifully small grave, and a young girl standing over the opening, tossing in a handful of dirt…

And Dee. A little younger than Josh remembered him; his face unlined, his hair dark and full, his goatee without a hint of gray.

"The Magician always believed the sword had been lost in a lake deep in the Welsh mountains," Shakespeare continued. "He spent decades hunting for it there."

"Flamel found it in a cave in Andorra," Sophie said. "He believed Charlemagne hid it there in the ninth century."

Shakespeare smiled. "So the Magician was wrong. It is gratifying to know that the doctor is not always correct."

Sophie stepped out from behind Josh and pushed down his arm. The wind coming across the sword blade moaned. "Are you really… really William Shakespeare? The Bard?" she asked. Even after all she had seen and experienced over the past few days, she still found the idea awe-inspiring.

The man stepped back and executed a surprisingly elegant sweeping bow, leg outstretched, head bent almost to waist level. "Your servant, my lady." The whole effect was slightly ruined by the stench of stale body odor that rolled off him. "Please call me Will."

Sophie wasn't sure how to react. "I've never met anyone famous before…," she started, and then stopped when she realized what she was saying.

Shakespeare straightened. Josh coughed and backed away, eyes watering. "You have met Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel," Shakespeare said in his precise English, "Dr. John Dee, the Comte de Saint-Germain and, of course, Niccolo Machiavelli," he continued. "And no doubt you encountered the charming Jeanne d'Arc."

"Yes," Sophie said with a shy smile, "we met all of them. But none of them are as famous as you are."

William Shakespeare took a moment to consider, and then he nodded. "I am sure Machiavelli and certainly Dee would disagree. But yes, you are correct, of course. None of them would have my"-he paused-"my profile. My work has thrived and survived, whereas theirs is not quite so popular."

"And did you really serve Dee?" Josh asked suddenly, realizing that here was an opportunity to get some answers.

Shakespeare's smile faded. "I spent twenty years in Dee's service."

"Why?" Josh asked.

"Have you ever met him?" Shakespeare replied.

Josh nodded.

"Then you will know that Dee is that most dangerous of enemies: he truly believes that what he is doing is right."

"That's what Palamedes said," Josh murmured.

"And it's true. Dee is a liar, but I came to understand that he believes the lies he tells. Because he wants to believe, he needs to believe."

A quick spattering of rain rattled across the junkyard, pinging off the crushed metal cars.

"But is he right?" Josh asked quickly, ducking as big drops of rain hit the side of the metal hut. He reached out and grabbed the man's arm, and instantly his aura flared bright brilliant orange, while a pale yellow aura outlined the man's body. Orange and lemon mingled, and while the results should have been pleasant, the two odors were sour and tainted by Shakespeare's unwashed smell.

Dee, younger, his face unlined, hair and beard dark, staring into an enormous crystal, a young wide-eyed William Shakespeare by his side.

Images in the crystal…

Lush green fields…

Orchards laden down with fruit…

Seas churning with fish…

"Wait-you think Dee should bring the Elders back to this world?"

William Shakespeare started for the stairs. "Yes," he said, without turning around. "My own research has led me to believe it may be the right decision."

"Why?" the twins demanded.

The Bard rounded on them. "Most of the Elders have abandoned this world. The Next Generation toy with humani and use the earth as both a playground and a battleground, but the most dangerous of all are we humani. We are destroying this world. I believe we need the Dark Elders to return so that they can save the earth from our destruction."

Stunned, the twins looked at one another, completely confused now. Josh spoke first. "But Nicholas said the Dark Elders want humans as food."

"Some do. But not all Elders eat flesh; some feed off memories and emotions. It seems a small price to pay for a paradise without famine, without disease."

"Why do we need the Dark Elders?" Sophie asked. "Between the Alchemyst and Dee and the others like them, surely they must possess enough power and knowledge to save the world?"

"I do not believe so."

"But Dee is powerful…," Josh began.

"You cannot ask me anything about Dee; I have no answers."

"You spent twenty years with him; you must know him better than anyone on this earth," Sophie protested.

"No one truly knows the Magician. I loved him like a father, like an older brother. He was all that I admired, all that I wanted to be." A single tear suddenly appeared under the immortal's thick glasses and rolled down his cheek. "And then he betrayed me and killed my son." n the catacombs deep beneath the city of Paris, Dr. John Dee fastidiously brushed dust off the arm of his suit, tugged at his cuffs and straightened his bow tie. He snapped his fingers and a sulfurous yellow ball blossomed before him, bobbing at head height. It exuded the smell of rotten eggs, but its stench was so familiar that Dee no longer even registered the foul odor. Dirty yellow light splashed across two arching columns of polished bones that had been shaped to resemble a doorframe. Beyond the opening there was utter blackness.