Michael Scott - The Magician

Soon.

Soon.

The Sorceress closed her hand into a fist. When her powers had recovered, she would bring Alcatraz tumbling down around the sphinx’s ears.

T he beautifully intricate Eiffel Tower loomed more than nine hundred feet over Josh’s head. There was a time when he’d compiled a list for a school project of the Ten Wonders of the Modern World. The metal tower had been number two on that list, and he’d always promised himself that someday he’d get to see it.

And now that he was finally in Paris, he didn’t even look up.

Standing almost directly beneath the center of the tower, he rose on his toes, turning his head left and right, searching for his twin among the surprisingly large number of early-morning tourists. Where was she?

Josh was scared.

No, more than scared-he was terrified.

The last couple of days had taught him the true meaning of fear. Prior to the events of Thursday, Josh had only ever really been afraid of failing a test or being publicly humiliated in class. He had other fears too, those vague, shivery thoughts that came in the dead of night, when he found himself lying awake wondering what would happen if his parents had an accident. Sara and Richard Newman both held PhD’s in archaeology and paleontology, and while that wasn’t the most dangerous line of work, their research sometimes took them into countries in the midst of religious or political turmoil, or they conducted their digs in areas of the world ravaged by hurricanes or in earthquake zones or close to active volcanoes. The sudden movements of the earth’s crust often threw up extraordinary archaeological finds.

But his deepest, darkest fear was that something would happen to his sister. Although Sophie was twenty-eight seconds older, he always thought of her as his baby sister. He was bigger and stronger, and it was his job to protect her.

And now, in a way, something terrible had happened to his twin.

She had changed in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. She had become more like Flamel and Scathach and their kind than like him: she had become more than human.

For the first time in his life, he felt alone. He was losing his sister. But there was one way to be her equal again: he had to have his own powers Awakened.

Josh turned-just as Sophie and Scathach appeared, hurrying across a broad bridge that led directly to the tower. Relief washed over him. “They’re here,” he said to Flamel, who was facing the opposite direction.

“I know,” Nicholas said, his French accent sounding stronger than usual. “And they’re not alone.”

Josh tore his gaze away from his approaching sister and Scathach. “What do you mean?”

Nicholas inclined his head slightly and Josh turned. Two tourist buses had just arrived at the Place Joffre and were disgorging their passengers. The tourists-Americans, Josh guessed by their clothing-milled around, chatting and laughing, cameras and videos already whirring while their guides tried to gather them together. A third bus, bright yellow, pulled up, spilling dozens of excited Japanese tourists out on the pavement. Confused, Josh looked at Nicholas: did he mean the buses?

“In black,” Flamel said enigmatically, pointing by lifting his chin.

Josh turned and spotted the man in black striding toward them, moving swiftly through the holiday crowd. None of the tourists even glanced at the stranger weaving his way among them, twisting and turning like a dancer, taking care to not so much as brush against them. Josh guessed the man was probably about his own height, but it was impossible to make out his body shape because he was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat that flapped about him as he walked. The collar was turned up, and his hands were pushed deep into the pockets. Josh felt his heart sink: now what?

Sophie raced up and punched her brother in the arm. “You got here,” she said breathlessly. “Any trouble?”

Josh tilted his head toward the approaching man in the leather coat. “I’m not sure.”

Scathach appeared beside the twins. She wasn’t even breathing hard, Josh noted. In fact, she wasn’t breathing at all.

“Trouble?” Sophie asked, looking at Scathach.

The Warrior smiled, tight-lipped. “Depends how you define trouble,” she murmured.

“On the contrary,” Nicholas said, smiling broadly. He heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s a friend. An old friend. A good friend.”

The man in the black coat was closer now, and the twins could see that he had a small, almost round face, deeply tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. Thick shoulder-length black hair was swept back off his high forehead. Mounting the steps, he pulled both hands out of his pockets and spread his arms wide, silver rings winking on every finger and on his thumbs, matching the silver studs in both ears. A broad smile revealed misshapen, slightly yellowed teeth.

“Master,” he said, wrapping both arms around Nicholas and kissing him quickly on both cheeks. “You have returned.” The man blinked, eyes moist, and for an instant the pupils winked red. There was a sudden hint of burnt leaves in the air.

“And you never left,” Nicholas said warmly, holding the man at arm’s length and examining him critically. “You look well, Francis. Better than the last time I saw you.” He turned, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder. “Scathach you know, of course.”

“Who could forget the Shadow?” The blue-eyed man stepped forward, caught the Warrior’s pale hand in his and brought it to his lips in an old-fashioned courtly gesture.

Scathach leaned forward and pinched the man’s cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. “I told you last time; don’t do that to me.”

“Admit it-you love it.” He grinned. “And this must be Sophie and Josh. The Witch told me about them,” he added. The man’s bright blue eyes remained wide and unblinking as he regarded the two in turn. “The twins of legend,” he murmured, frowning a bit as he stared hard at them. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Nicholas said firmly.

The stranger nodded and bowed slightly. “The twins of legend,” he repeated. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Allow me to introduce myself. I am le Comte de Saint-Germain,” he announced dramatically, and then paused, almost as if he expected them to know the name.

The twins looked at him blankly, identical expressions on their faces.

“But you must call me Francis; all my friends do.”

“My favorite student,” Nicholas added fondly. “Certainly my best student. We’ve known one another a long time.”

“How long?” Sophie asked automatically, although even as she was asking the question, the answer popped into her head.

“For about three hundred years or so,” Nicholas said. “Francis trained to be an alchemist with me. He quickly surpassed me,” he added. “He specialized in creating jewels.”

“I learned everything I know about alchemy from the master: Nicholas Flamel,” Saint-Germain said quickly.

“In the eighteenth century, Francis was also an accomplished singer and musician. And what are you this century?” Nicholas asked.

“Well, I have to say I am disappointed you’ve not heard of me,” the man said in accentless English. “You’ve obviously not been keeping up with the charts. I’ve had five number-one hits in the States and three in Germany, and I won an MTV Europe Best Newcomer award.”

“Best New comer?” Nicholas grinned, emphasizing the word new. “You!”

“You know that I have always been a musician, but in this century, Nicholas, I’m a rock star!” he said proudly. “I am Germain!” He looked at the twins as he spoke, eyebrows raised, nodding, waiting for them to react to the announcement.