Michael Scott - The Magician

No one knew whom Dee served. But it was obviously someone more powerful than Machiavelli’s own Dark Elder master. And that made Dee all the more dangerous.

Leaning forward, Machiavelli pressed a button on his desk phone. The door immediately opened and Dagon stepped into the room, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting the bare walls.

“Any reports on the Alchemyst?”

“Nothing. We’ve accessed the video from the security cameras in the Pont de l’Alma station and every station it connects with and we’re analyzing it now, but it’s going to take time.”

Machiavelli nodded. Time was something he did not have. He waved a long-fingered hand in the air. “Well, we might not know where he is now, but we know where he’s going: to Saint-Germain’s house.”

Dagon’s lips parted stickily. “The house is under observation. All entrances and exits are secured; there are even men in the sewers beneath the building. No one can get in or out without us observing them. There are two RAID units in vans in nearby side streets and a third unit in the house next to Saint-Germain’s property. They can be over the wall in moments.”

Machiavelli stood up and stepped out from behind the desk. With his hands behind his back, he walked around the tiny anonymous office. Although it was his official address, he rarely used this room, and it held nothing but the desk, two chairs, and the telephone. “But is it enough, I wonder? Flamel has escaped from six highly trained officers who were holding him at gunpoint, facedown on the pavement. And we know Saint-Germain-the Master of Fire-is inside this property. We had a little example of his abilities this morning.”

“The fireworks were harmless,” Dagon said.

“I’m sure he could have just as easily turned the tower to liquid. Remember, he makes diamonds from coal.”

Dagon nodded.

Machiavelli continued. “We also know that the American girl’s powers have been Awakened, and we’ve seen a little of what she can do. The fog at Sacre-Coeur was an impressive feat for someone untrained and so young.”

“And then there is the Shadow,” Dagon added.

Niccolo Machiavelli’s face turned into an ugly mask. “And then there is the Shadow,” he agreed.

“She took out twelve heavily armed officers in the coffee shop this morning,” Dagon said emotionlessly. “I’ve watched her face down entire armies, and she survived for centuries in an Underworld Shadowrealm. Flamel is obviously using her to protect the twins. She must be destroyed before we move against any of the others.”

“Indeed.”

“You will need an army.”

“Perhaps not. Remember, ‘Cunning and deceit will every time serve a man better than force,’ ” he quoted.

“Who said that?” Dagon asked.

“I did, in a book, a long time ago. It was true in the court of the Medicis, and it is true now.” He looked up. “Did you send for the Disir?”

“They’re on their way.” Dagon’s voice turned sticky. “I don’t trust them.”

“No one trusts the Disir.” There was no humor in Machiavelli’s smile. “Did you ever hear the story of how Hekate trapped Scathach in that Underworld?”

Dagon remained unmoving.

“Hekate used the Disir. Their feud with the Shadow goes back to the time just after the sinking of Danu Talis.” Putting his hands on the creature’s shoulders, Machiavelli stepped close to Dagon, taking care to breathe through his mouth. Dagon exuded a fishy odor; it coated his pale skin like oily, rancid sweat. “I know you hate the Shadow, and I have never asked you why, though I have my suspicions. It is obvious that she has caused you much pain. However, I want you to put aside your feelings; hate is the most useless of all emotions. Success is the best revenge. I need you focused and by my side. We are close now, so close to victory, close to returning the Elder Race to this world. Leave Scathach to the Disir. But if they fail, then she is yours. I promise you.”

Dagon opened his mouth to reveal the circle of needle-pointed teeth. “They will not fail. The Disir intend to bring Nidhogg.”

Niccolo Machiavelli blinked in surprise. “Nidhogg…it’s free? How?”

“The World Tree was destroyed.”

“If they loose Nidhogg on Scathach, then you are right. They will not fail. They cannot.”

Dagon reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His huge bulbous fish eyes were wide and staring. “And if they lose control of Nidhogg, it could devour the entire city.”

Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he nodded. “It would be a small price to pay to destroy the Shadow.”

“You sound just like Dee.”

“Oh, I am nothing like the English Magician,” Machiavelli said feelingly. “Dee is a dangerous fanatic.”

“And you’re not?” Dagon asked.

“I’m only dangerous.”

Dr. John Dee sat back into the soft leather seat and watched the sparkling grid of L.A.’s lights fall away beneath him. Checking an ornate pocket watch, he wondered if Machiavelli had received the phone call from his master yet. He imagined he had. Dee grinned, wondering what the Italian would make of that. If nothing else, it would at least show Machiavelli who was in charge.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that the Italian would go after Flamel and the children himself. But Dee had spent too long chasing the Alchemyst to lose him at the very end…especially to someone like Niccolo Machiavelli.

He closed his eyes as the plane rose and his stomach twitched. He automatically reached for the paper bag on the seat beside him: he loved flying, but his stomach always protested. If everything went as planned, then he would soon be the ruler of the entire planet and he’d never need to fly again. Everyone would come to him.

The jet climbed at a steep angle and he swallowed hard; he’d had a chicken wrap in the airport and was regretting it now. The fizzy drink had been a definite mistake.

Dee was looking forward to the time when the Elders returned. Perhaps they could reestablish the network of leygates across the world and make flying unnecessary. Closing his eyes, Dee concentrated on the Elders and the many benefits they would bring to the planet. In the distant past, he knew the Elders had created a paradise on earth. All the ancient books and scrolls, the myths and legends of every race, spoke about that glorious time. His master had promised him that the Elders would use their powerful magic to return the planet to that paradise. They would reverse the effects of global warming, repair the hole in the ozone layer and bring the deserts to life. The Sahara would bloom; the polar ice caps would melt away, revealing the rich land beneath. Dee thought he would found his capital city in Antarctica on the shores of Lake Vanda. The Elders could reestablish their ancient kingdoms in Sumer, Egypt, Central America and Angkor, and with the knowledge contained in the Book of Abraham, it would be possible to raise Danu Talis again.

Of course, Dee knew that the human population would become slaves, and some would become food for those Elders who still needed to eat, but that was a small price to pay for the many other benefits.

The jet leveled and he felt his stomach settle. Opening his eyes, he breathed deeply and checked his watch again. He found it hard to believe that he was hours-literally hours-away from finally capturing the Alchemyst, Scathach and, now, the twins. They were an added bonus. Once he had Flamel and the pages from the Codex, the world would change.

He would never understand why Flamel and his wife had worked so hard to prevent the Elders from bringing civilization back to earth. But he’d be sure to ask him…just before he killed him.

N icholas Flamel paused on the Rue Beaubourg and turned slowly, pale eyes scanning the street. He didn’t think he was being followed, but he needed to be certain. He’d taken the train to the Saint-Michel Notre-Dame station and crossed the Seine on the Pont d’Arcole, heading in the direction of the glass-and-steel monstrosity that was the Pompidou Center. Taking his time, stopping often, darting from one side of the road to the other, pausing at a newsstand to buy the morning paper, stopping again for some foul coffee in a cardboard cup, he kept checking for anyone paying close attention to his movements. But as far as he could determine, there was no one following him.