Michael Scott - The Alchemyst

She wondered what he was doing right now. He would be looking for her, ofcourse, but he would also need to protect the twins and the pages that Joshhad torn from the Codex. She needed to get a message to him, she had to lethim know that she was fine and to warn him about the danger they were in.

One of the earliest gifts the young woman known as Perenelle Delamere haddiscovered when she was growing up was her ability to talk to the shades ofthe dead. It wasn t until her seventh birthday that she realized that noteveryone could see the flickering black-and-white images she encountereddaily. On the eve of her seventh birthday, her beloved grandmother, Mamom,died. Perenelle watched as the withered body was gently lifted from the bedwhere she had spent the last ten years of her life and laid in the coffin.The small girl had followed the funeral procession through the tiny town ofQuimper and out into the graveyard that overlooked the sea. She had watchedthe little rough-hewn box as it was lowered into the earth, and then she hadreturned to her home.

And Mamom was sitting up in the bed, eyes bright with their usual mischief.The only difference was that Perenelle could no longer see her grandmotherclearly. There was no color to her everything was in black-and-white and herimage kept flickering in and out of focus.

In that instant Perenelle realized she could see ghosts. And when Mamomturned in her direction and smiled, she knew that they could see her.

Sitting in the small windowless cell, Perenelle stretched her legs out infront of her and pressed both hands to the cold concrete floor. Over theyears she had developed a series of defenses to protect herself from theunwanted intrusions of the dead. If there was one thing she had learned earlyon about the dead particularly the old dead it was that they wereextraordinarily rude, popping up at the most inopportune and inappropriatemoments. The dead particularly liked bathrooms it was a perfect location forthem: quiet and still, with lots of reflective surfaces. Perenelle recalled atime she d been brushing her teeth when the ghost of an American presidenthad appeared in the mirror in front of her. She d almost swallowed thetoothbrush.

Perenelle had quickly come to understand that ghosts could not see certaincolors blues and greens and some tints of yellow and so she deliberatelyencouraged those colors into her aura, carefully creating a shield thatrendered her invisible in the particular Shadowrealm where the shades of thedead gathered.

Opening her eyes wide, Perenelle concentrated on her own aura. Her naturalaura was a pale ice white, which acted like a beacon for the dead, drawingthem to her. But over it, like layers of paint, she had created auras ofbright blue, emerald green, and primrose yellow. Now, one by one, Perenelleshut off the colors yellow first, then green, then the final blue defense.

The ghosts came then, drawn to her ice white aura like moths to a flame. Theyflickered into existence around her: men, women and children, wearing clothesfrom across the decades. Perenelle moved her green eyes over the glisteningimages, not entirely sure what she was looking for. She dismissed women andgirls in the flowing skirts of the eighteenth century and men in the bootsand gun belts of the nineteenth and concentrated on those ghosts wearing the clothing of the twentieth century. She finally picked out an elderly manwearing a modern-looking security guard s uniform. Gently easing the othershades aside, she called the figure closer.

Perenelle understood that people particularly in modern, sophisticatedsocieties were frightened of ghosts. But she knew that there was no reason tofear them: a ghost was nothing more than the remnants of a person s aura thatremained attached to a particular place.

Can I help you, ma am? The shade s voice was strong, with a touch of theEast Coast in it: Boston perhaps. Standing tall and straight, like an oldsoldier, the ghost looked about sixty, though he could have been older.

Could you tell me where I am? Perenelle asked.

You re in the basement of the corporate headquarters of Enoch Enterprises,just to the west of Telegraph Hill. We got Coit Tower almost directlyoverhead, he added proudly.

You seem very sure.

Should be. I worked here for thirty years. Wasn t always Enoch Enterprises,of course. But places like this always need security. Never one break-in onmy watch, he informed her.

That s an achievement to be proud of, Mr.

It surely is. The ghost paused, his image flickering wildly. Miller. That was my name. Jefferson Miller. Been a while since anyone asked for it. Howcan I help you? he asked.

Well, you ve been of great assistance already. At least I know I am still inSan Francisco.

The ghost continued to look at her. Did you expect not to be?

I think I may have slept earlier; I was afraid I might have been moved outof the city, she explained.

Are you being held against your will, ma am?

I am.

Jefferson Miller drifted closer. Well, that s just not right. There was a long pause while his image flickered. But I m afraid I can t help you I m aghost, you see.

Perenelle nodded. I know that. She smiled. I just wasn t sure if youknew. She knew that one of the reasons ghosts often remained attached tocertain places was because they simply did not know that they were dead.

The old security guard wheezed a laugh. I ve tried to leave but somethingkeeps pulling me back. Maybe I just spent too much time here when I wasalive.

Perenelle nodded again. I can help you leave, if you would like to. I can dothat for you.

Jefferson Miller nodded. I think I would like that very much. My wife,Ethel, she passed on ten years before me. Sometimes I think I hear her voicecalling me across the Shadowrealms.

Perenelle nodded. She is trying to call you home. I can help you cut theties that bind you to this place.

Is there anything I can do for you in return?

Perenelle smiled. Well, there is one thing. Perhaps you could get a messageto my husband.

S ophie and Josh followed Scathach through Hekate s house. There werereminders everywhere that they were inside a tree: everything floors, wallsand ceilings was wooden, and in places, little buds and shoots of greenleaves dappled the walls, as if the wood was still growing.

With her hand resting lightly on her brother s shoulder, Sophie lookedaround. The house seemed to be composed of a series of circular rooms thatflowed, almost imperceptibly, into one another. She caught glimpses as sheand Josh passed them; almost all the rooms were bare, and most of them hadtall red-barked trees growing through the center of the floor. One room, offto the side and much larger than the rest, had a large oval-shaped pool inthe middle of the floor. Startlingly large white-flowered water liliesclustered in the center of the pool, giving it the appearance of a hugeunblinking eye. Another room was filled entirely with wooden wind chimesdangling from the branches of its red tree. Each set of chimes was adifferent size and shape, some etched and carved with symbols, othersunadorned. They hung still and quiet until Sophie looked into the room, andthen they slowly, melodically began to rattle together. It sounded likedistant whispers. Sophie squeezed Josh s shoulder, trying to attract hisattention, but he was staring straight ahead, forehead creased inconcentration.

Where is everyone? Josh finally asked.

There is only Hekate, Scathach said. Those of the Elder Race are solitarycreatures.

Are there many still alive? Sophie wondered aloud.

Scathach paused by an open door and turned to look back over her shoulder.More than you might think. The majority of them want nothing to do with thehumani and rarely venture from their individual Shadowrealms. Others, likethe Dark Elders, want a return to the old ways, and work through agents likeDee to make it happen.