Michael Scott - The Sorceress

Despite her warmth, a shiver ran up Perenelle's spine. "The Old Man of the Sea? But he lives in some distant watery Shadowrealm and only rarely ventures to this realm. He hasn't come to our world since 1912. What would possibly bring him back?"

Areop-Enap bared its teeth in a savage grin. "Why, you, Madame Perenelle. You are the prize. They want your knowledge and your memories. You and your husband are amongst the rarest of humans: you are immortals without Elder masters controlling you. And now that you are trapped on Alcatraz, the Dark Elders will do their utmost to ensure that you not leave here alive."

Blue and white static crackled down the length of Perenelle's hair, which slowly rose and extended out behind her in a shimmering black halo. Her eyes blazed cold and green and an ice white aura bloomed around her, filling the interior of the ruined house with stark light. A dark wave of spiders scuttled into the shadows. "Do you know how many Dark Elders and their kith and kin have attempted to kill me?" Perenelle demanded.

Areop-Enap shrugged, an ugly movement of all its legs. "Many?" it suggested.

"And do you know how many are still alive?"

"Few?" Areop-Enap suggested.

Perenelle smiled. "Very few." ait up. My phone is ringing."

Sophie ducked into a doorway, fished in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. The battery had died in Hekate's Shadowrealm, but the Comte de Saint-Germain had found her a charger that worked. Tilting the screen, she peered at the unusually long number. "I don't know who it is," she said, looking from her brother to Nicholas.

Josh looked over his sister's shoulder. "I don't recognize the number," he added

"What does it begin with?" Nicholas asked, squinting, trying to focus on the screen.

"Zero, zero, three, three…"

"That's the country code for France," Flamel said. "Answer it; it can only be Francis."

"Or Dee or Machiavelli," Josh said quickly. "Maybe we should-"

But before he could finish, Sophie had pressed the Answer button. "Hello?" she said cautiously.

"It's me!" Saint-Germain's voice was light and accentless, and Sophie could tell he was outside by all the noise in the background. "Let me speak to the old man. And don't tell him I said that!"

Sophie bit back a grin and handed the phone to the Alchemyst. "You were right; it's Francis. He wants to talk to you."

Nicholas pressed the phone to one ear and covered the other with his hand, trying to block out the noise of the traffic. "Allo?"

"Where are you?" Saint-Germain asked in Latin.

Nicholas looked around, trying to orient himself. "On Marylebone Road, just coming up to Regent's Park tube station."

"Hang on; I've got someone on the other line." Nicholas heard Saint-Germain move away from the phone and relay the information in rapid-fire archaic French. "OK," he said a moment later. "Continue straight down the road and then wait outside St. Marylebone Church. You will be picked up."

"How will I know the driver is working for you?" Nicholas asked.

"A good point. Do you have reason to believe this conversation may be monitored?"

"Both the Italian and the Englishman certainly have the resources," the Alchemyst said carefully.

"That is true."

"And there was an unwelcoming committee waiting for us. I would imagine they reported in before they came after us."

"Ah." Saint-Germain paused and then said carefully, "I am assuming you took care of the problem discreetly."

"Very discreetly. But…"

"But?" Saint-Germain asked.

"Although I used none of my aura, a certain amount of power was released. That's sure to have attracted attention, especially in this city."

There was another pause; then Saint-Germain said, "OK, I've just sent the driver a text. Let me remind you of a party I held in Versailles in February 1758. It was my birthday, and you gave me a vellum-bound book from your personal library as a present."

Nicholas's lips curled in a smile. "I remember."

"I still have the book. The driver will tell you the title," he continued, raising his voice over the rattle of hammering in the background.

"What's all the noise?" Flamel asked, slipping back into English.

"Workmen. We're trying to shore up the house. Apparently, there is the very real danger that it will collapse into the catacombs below, and probably take half the street with it."

Nicholas lowered his voice. "Old friend. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for the trouble I brought to your home. I will of course pay for the damage."

Saint-Germain chuckled. "Please do not trouble yourself. It's not costing me anything. I've sold the exclusive rights to the story to a magazine. The fee more than takes care of the repairs, and the press coverage is invaluable; my new album is shooting up the download charts… if that is not a contradiction," he added with a laugh.

"Which story?" Nicholas asked, glancing quickly at the twins.

"Why, the gas explosion that damaged my house, of course," Saint-Germain said lightly. "I must go. I will keep in touch. And old friend"-he paused-"be careful. If there is anything you need-anything-then you know how to get in touch with us."

Nicholas hit the Off button and handed the phone back to Sophie without a word. "He said-"

"We heard." The twins' Awakened senses had allowed them to clearly hear both sides of the conversation. "A gas explosion?" Sophie asked.

"Well, he could hardly say the damage was caused by some sort of primeval dinosaur, could he?" Josh teased. "Who'd believe him?" Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hurried after Flamel, who was already striding down the street. "Come on, sis."

Sophie nodded. Her brother had a point. But she was also beginning to see how the Elders had managed to keep their existence a secret for so long. Mankind simply didn't want to believe that there was magic in the world. Not in this age of science and technology. Monsters and magic belonged to the primitive uncivilized past, and yet in the last few days she'd seen that every day there was evidence for magic. People reported impossibilities all the time; they saw the strangest things, the most bizarre creatures… and no one believed them. They couldn't all be wrong, lying, confused or misguided, could they? If the Dark Elders and their servants were in positions of power, then all they would have to do was dismiss the reports, ignore them or-as had just happened in Paris-ridicule them in the media. Soon even the people who had made the reports, the very people who had seen something out of the ordinary, would begin to doubt the evidence of their own senses. Just yesterday the Nidhogg, a creature that supposedly existed only in legend, had rampaged through Paris's narrow streets, leaving a trail of devastation. It had crashed across the Champs-Elysees and ripped apart a section of the famous quayside before plunging into the river. Dozens of people must have seen it; but where were their stories, their statements? The press had reported the event as a gas explosion in the ancient catacombs.

And then all the gargoyles and grotesques on Notre Dame had come alive and crawled down the building. Using Josh's aura to enhance her own, Sophie had used Fire and Air magic to reduce the creatures to little more than shattered stone… and yet how had it been reported in the press?

The effects of acid rain.

As they'd sped through the French countryside on the Eurostar, they'd read the online coverage on Josh's laptop. Every news organization in the world had some story about the events, but they'd all told versions of the same lie. It was only on the wilder conspiracy Web sites and blogs that sightings of Nidhogg had been reported, along with shaky mobile-phone footage of the monster. Dozens of postings dismissed the videos and stills as fake, comparing them to images of Sasquatch and the Loch Ness monster that had been proven false. Only now, of course, Sophie was beginning to suspect that both of those creatures were probably real too.