Michael Scott - The Sorceress

"Nicholas and the children escaped to London. He was taking the twins to see Gilgamesh."

Perenelle nodded. "I know that. Nicholas told me. He also said that both twins have been Awakened," she added.

"Both," Scatty agreed. "The girl has been trained in two of the elemental magics, but the boy has no training. However, he has Clarent."

"Clarent," Perenelle murmured. She'd watched her husband sink the ancient blade into the lintel over the window of their home on the Rue du Montmorency. She'd wanted to destroy it; he'd refused. He'd argued that it was older than a score of civilizations and they had no right to break it; he'd also argued that it was probably impossible to harm the blade anyway.

"So where are you?" Perenelle asked.

"Paris." Scathach's face swam in and out of focus. "It's a very long story. Parts of it are quite boring. Especially the bit where I was dragged into the Seine by Dagon…"

"You were dragged into the Seine!" Nicholas hadn't told her that.

Scatty nodded. "That happened just after I'd been rescued from the Nidhogg, which had rampaged through the streets of Paris."

Perenelle stared at her openmouthed. Finally, she said, "And where were Nicholas and the twins while all this was happening?"

"They were the ones who chased the Nidhogg through the streets and rescued me."

The Sorceress blinked in surprise. "That does not sound like my Nicholas."

"I think it was more the twins' doing," Scathach said. "Especially the boy, Josh. He saved my life. I think he slew the dragon."

"And then you fell into the river," Perenelle said.

"I was pulled," Scathach corrected her immediately. "Dagon came up like a crocodile and grabbed me."

"Did you not once fight him and a school of Potamoi fishmen on the Isle of Capri?"

Scatty's savage vampire teeth flashed again. "Now, that was a good day." Then her smile vanished. "Anyway, he turned up working with Machiavelli in Paris."

"I'd heard the Italian was in Paris." Perenelle nodded.

"Head of the secret service or something. I was only semiconscious when Dagon pulled me into the water. But the Seine was so cold that the shock brought me wide awake. We fought for hours while the currents dragged us downriver. It wasn't the toughest battle I've ever fought, but Dagon was in his element and the water took a lot of the force out of my blows."

"I see he managed to scratch you."

"Lucky hits," Scatty snorted, dismissing them. "I lost him somewhere around Les Damps, and it took me two days to get back to the city."

"Are you safe now?"

"I'm with Joan." The Shadow smiled. "And Saint-Germain, too." Her smile broadened. "They got married!"

She pulled her head back and a second face swam into view in the water, huge gray eyes dominating a small boyish face. "Madame Flamel."

"Joan!" Perenelle smiled. If she considered Scatty to be a niece, then Joan was the daughter she never had. "You finally married Francis?"

"Well, we have been seeing one another for centuries. It was time."

"It was. Joan, it is good to see you," Perenelle continued. "I just wish it were in better circumstances."

"I agree," Joan of Arc said. "These are indeed desperate times. Especially for Nicholas and the children."

"Are they the twins of legend?" Perenelle asked, curious to hear what her friend thought.

"I am convinced of it," Joan of Arc said immediately. "The girl's aura is stronger and purer than mine."

"Can you get to London?" the Sorceress asked.

The tiny face in the water blurred as the woman on the other side of the world shook her head. "Impossible. Machiavelli controls Paris, and he has locked this city down tightly, claiming a matter of national security. The borders are closed. All flights, ferry sailings and trains are being carefully monitored, and I'm sure they have our descriptions-Scatty's certainly. There are police everywhere; they're stopping people on the streets, demanding to see identification, and there is a nine o'clock curfew in effect. The police have released grainy security-camera video of Nicholas, the twins, Scatty and me taken from in front of Notre Dame."

Perenelle shook her head. "Do I want to know what you were doing in front of the cathedral?"

"Battling the gargoyles," Joan said lightly.

"I knew I shouldn't have asked. I'm concerned about Nicholas and the children. Knowing Nicholas's sense of direction, they're probably lost. And Dee's spies are everywhere," Perenelle added miserably. "No doubt he knew the moment they arrived."

"Oh, don't worry, Francis arranged for Palamedes to pick them up. He's protecting them. He's good," Joan assured her.

Perenelle nodded in agreement. "Not as good as the Shadow."

"Well, no one is," Joan declared. "Where are you now, madame?"

"Trapped on Alcatraz. And I'm in trouble," she admitted.

Scatty's face pushed in alongside her friend's. "What sort of trouble?"

"The cells are full of monsters, the seas are full of Nereids. Nereus guards the water and a sphinx roams the corridors. That sort of trouble."

Joan of Arc's smile turned brilliant. "Why, if you are in trouble, then we must help you!"

"That, I fear, is impossible," Perenelle said.

"Ah, but madame, you were the one who taught me a long time ago that the word impossible is meaningless."

Perenelle smiled. "I did say that. Scatty, is there anyone you know in San Francisco who could help me? I need to get off this island. I need to get to Nicholas."

"No one I trust. Maybe some of my students-"

"No," Perenelle interrupted. "I'll not endanger any humans. I mean any Elders loyal to us, any of the Next Generation?"

Scatty considered for a minute, then slowly shook her head. "No one I trust," she repeated. She turned her head to listen to a conversation behind her, and when she looked back, her savage smile was brilliant. "We've a plan. Or rather, Francis has a plan. Can you hang on for a little while longer? We're on our way."

"We? Who's we?" Perenelle asked.

"Joan and I. We're coming to Alcatraz."

"How can you get here if you cannot even get to London?" Perenelle began, but then the water shivered and trembled and suddenly the myriad ghosts of Alcatraz rose around her, clamoring and crying out for attention. The connection was lost. r. John Dee stood before the huge plate-glass window on one of the topmost floors of the Canary Wharf Tower, the London headquarters of Enoch Enterprises. Sipping a steaming mug of herbal tea, he watched the first glimmers of dawn appear on the eastern horizon.

Freshly showered, hair pulled back off his face, dressed in a tailored gray three-piece suit, he looked nothing like the filthy vagabond who had arrived at the parking-lot security booth less than an hour earlier. The Magician had taken great care to avoid the cameras, and a simple mesmerizing spell had focused the guard's attention on the black-and-white squares of his newspaper's crossword puzzle. Even if he'd wanted to, the man wouldn't have been able to look away from it. Sticking to the shadows in the empty parking lot, Dee had made his way into the private elevator and used his personal security code-13071527-to go straight up to the penthouse suites.

Dee's Enoch Enterprises occupied an entire floor of the Canary Wharf Tower, the tallest building in Britain, right in the heart of London's financial district. He had similar offices scattered around the world, and although he only rarely visited them, the Magician kept a luxurious private suite in every one. Built into each office was a tall safe that opened only to Dee's handprint and retina scan. It contained clothes, cash in assorted currencies, credit cards and a variety of passports in a dozen different names. He'd been trapped without money and clothes in the past and had sworn it would never happen again.