Michael Scott - The Sorceress

The Alchemyst laughed, though there was nothing humorous in the sound. "Aren't you forgetting something, John?"

The Magician tilted his head to one side. "You seem to be trapped, Nicholas, behind flames, and surrounded by the Wild Hunt." He jerked his thumb at the huge figure standing by his side. "And, of course, Cernunnos. This time, there is no escape. Not even for you."

"We three immortals are not without power," Flamel said quietly. "Can you stand against all of us?"

"Oh, I don't have to," Dee said. "All I have to do is douse the fire. Even you cannot prevail against an Archon and the Wild Hunt."

Josh stepped forward, Clarent a blaze of black light in his left hand, the dancing shadows making his face look older than its fifteen years. "And what about us? It would be a mistake to forget about us," he snapped. "You were in Paris. You saw what we did to the gargoyles."

"And Nidhogg," Sophie added, at his side.

Clarent moaned and then Josh snapped it forward toward Excalibur. The swords met in the circular opening in the midst of the fire, the two blades crossing in an explosion of black and blue sparks.

And Dee's thoughts washed over Josh.

Fear. A terrible all-consuming fear of beastlike creatures and shadowy humans.

Loss. Countless faces, men, women and children, family, friends and neighbors. All dead.

Anger. The overriding emotion was one of anger-a simmering all-consuming rage.

Hunger. An insatiable hunger for knowledge, for power.

Cernunnos. The Horned God. The Archon. Lying dead in the mud with Dee standing over him, holding Clarent and Excalibur in either hand, the swords blazing red-black and blue-white flames.

The thoughts and emotions came at Josh like blows. He felt his head jerk with each startling image. But the most shocking of all was the sight of the Archon lying in the mud. Dee intended to kill Cernunnos. But to do that he needed Clarent. And Josh was not giving up the Sword of Fire. He tightened his grip on the hilt and pushed hard against Excalibur, but it was like pushing against a rock wall. Holding the sword in both hands, he pressed back against Dee's sword again, stone grating and sparking, but it didn't move. The reflected light turned Dee's face into a grinning skull.

Josh had seen Sophie focus her aura, had watched her shape it around her body; he'd felt its healing properties on his own skin, but he had no idea how she did it. Joan had trained her. But he'd had no one to train him. "Sis…?"

"I'm here." Sophie was instantly by his side.

"How did you…" He groped for the right word. "How do you get your aura to focus?"

"I don't know. I just… I guess I just concentrate really hard."

Josh took a deep breath and frowned, forehead creasing, eyebrows knitting together, concentrating as hard as he could.

Nothing happened.

"Close your eyes," Sophie said. "Visualize really clearly what you want to see happen. Start with something small, tiny…"

Josh nodded. He took another deep breath and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Sophie could focus her aura into her little finger, so why couldn't he just-

There was an instant when he felt something churn in his stomach; then it surged up through his chest, down along both arms, into his hands, which were wrapped around the hilt of the sword. His aura exploded into blazing, blinding light that flowed down the weapon.

Clarent moaned, the sound one of pure agony as the stone blade turned to solid gold. The instant it touched Dee's sword, it doused Excalibur's cold blue-white fire, turning it back to plain gray stone.

Josh blinked in surprise.

And his aura winked out of existence.

Instantly, the gold fire faded from Clarent and was replaced with crimson-black fire. Excalibur reignited in a huge explosion of sparks. Staggered and shaking, Josh managed to retain his grip on Clarent, but the shocking force had sent Dee flying backward, sending up a geyser of mud. He then slid on his back across the filthy oily ground, and Excalibur tumbled through the air to fall point-first into the mud close to his head.

It took a tremendous effort for Josh to pull Clarent back out of the fire. Immediately, the circular window in the flames snapped shut. The boy's face was ghastly, deep blue-black shadows under his eyes, but he still managed a shaky smile for his twin. "See: that was no problem."

Sophie reached out for her brother and put her hand on his shoulder. He felt a trickle of energy from her aura flow into his body, steadying his wobbly legs.

"I wonder what Dee will do next?" she said.

A heartbeat later, thunder boomed and rumbled and lightning flashed almost directly overhead. The rain that followed was torrential. erenelle sloshed through the muddy tunnel, heading back toward the ladder. In one hand she carried the spear; the other was clamped over her nose, but she could feel the nauseating fishy smell coating her tongue and taste it in her throat every time she swallowed.

Juan Manuel de Ayala floated beside her, facing back down the tunnel. There was no sign of the Crow Goddess.

"What are you frightened of?" Perenelle demanded. "You're a ghost; nothing can harm you." Then she smiled, and her voice softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I know what an extraordinary effort it took for you to reach the cave mouth and warn me."

"It was easier once you broke the Spell of Binding," the ghost said. Much of his essence had dissipated, leaving only the merest hint of his face and the outline of his head hanging in the air. His dark shining eyes were brilliant in the gloom. "Nereus is every sailor's nightmare," he admitted. "And I am not frightened for myself I fear for you, Sorceress."

"What's the worst that can happen?" Perenelle asked lightly. "He can only kill me. Or try to."

The ghost's eyes turned liquid. "Oh, he'll not kill you. Not immediately. He'll drag you down to some undersea kingdom and keep you alive for centuries. And when he is finished with you, he'll turn you into some sea creature-like a sea cow or a dugong."

"That's just a story…," Perenelle began, and then stopped, realizing just how ridiculous her statement was: she was running down an underground tunnel accompanied by a ghost, pursuing an ancient Celtic goddess and being followed by the Old Man of the Sea. Reaching the end of the tunnel, she craned her neck and looked up. Far above her, she could see a circle of blue sky.

She tore a narrow strip off the ragged hem of her dress and tied it around her waist. Shoving the spear into the back of the makeshift belt, she reached up to grab the slimy metal rungs of the rusting ladder.

"Perenelle!" de Ayala howled as he flowed upward.

"Leaving so soon, Sorceress?" The voice echoed down the corridor, liquid and bubbling, a gurgling, gargling sound.

Perenelle turned and tossed a tiny spark of light down the tunnel. Like a rubber ball, it bounced off the ceiling, hit a wall, then the ground, and bounced up again.

Nereus filled the darkness.

The instant before he reached out and crushed the light in his web-fingered hand, Perenelle caught a glimpse of a stocky, surprisingly normal-looking man, a head of thick curly hair flowing to his shoulders, mingling with a short beard that was twisted into two tight curls. He was wearing a sleeveless jerkin of overlapping kelp leaves and strands of green seaweed, and in his left hand he held a wickedly spiked stone trident. As the light faded and the tunnel plunged back into darkness, Perenelle realized that the Old Man of the Sea had no lower limbs. Below the waist, eight octopus legs writhed and coiled across the corridor.

The stink of rotting fish intensified, there was a flicker of movement and then one suckered leg wrapped itself around Perenelle's ankle and held fast. A second, sticky and slimy, attached itself to her shin.