Michael Scott - The Magician

Perenelle knew that she needed to get to an upper level and out into the sunshine, where her aura would recharge more quickly. Once she was in the open air, she could use any of a dozen simple spells, cantrips and incantations she knew that would make the sphinx’s existence a misery. A Scythian mage, who’d claimed to have helped build the pyramids for the survivors of Danu Talis who had settled in Egypt, had taught her a very useful spell for melting stone. Perenelle would not hesitate to use it to bring the entire building down on top of the sphinx. It would probably survive-sphinxes were practically impossible to kill-but it would certainly be slowed down.

Perenelle spotted rusting metal stairs and darted toward them. She was just about to put her foot on the bottom step when she noticed the gray thread spilling across the metal. Perenelle froze, foot raised in the air…and then she slowly and carefully stepped back. Crouching down, she looked at the metal steps. From this angle, she could see the threads of spiderwebs crisscrossing and weaving through the stairs. Anyone who stepped onto the metal staircase would be caught. She backed away, staring hard into the gloomy shadows. The threads were too thick to have been made by any normal spider and were dotted with tiny globules of liquid silver. Perenelle knew a dozen creatures that could have spun the webs, and she didn’t want to meet any of them, not here and now, while she was so drained of her power.

Turning, she darted down a long corridor lit only by a single bulb at either end. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see the silver webs everywhere, stretched across the ceiling, spreading across the walls, and there were huge nests knotted in corners, growing in the deepest shadows. The webs’ presence might explain why she had encountered no vermin in the prison-no ants, flies, mosquitoes or rats. Once the nests hatched, the building would come alive with spiders…if indeed that’s what the spinners were. Over the centuries, Perenelle had encountered Elders who were associated with spiders, including Arachne and the mysterious and terrifying Spider Woman, but as far as she knew, none of them was aligned with Dee and the Dark Elders.

Perenelle was hurrying past an open door, a perfect spiderweb framed in the opening, when she caught the hint of a sour bitter stench. She slowed, then stopped. The smell was new; it wasn’t the smell of the sphinx. Turning back to the door, she went as close as she could to the web without touching it and peered inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and a moment longer to make sense of what she was seeing.

Vetala.

Perenelle’s heart began to beat so strongly in her chest that she could actually feel her flesh vibrating. Hanging upside down from the ceiling were a dozen creatures. Talons that were a cross between human feet and birds’ claws bit deep into the soft stone, while leathery bats’ wings wrapped around skeletal human bodies. The upside-down heads were beautiful, with the faces of young men and women not yet in their teens.

Vetala.

Perenelle mouthed the word silently. Vampires from the Indian subcontinent. And unlike Scathach, this clan drank blood and ate flesh. But what were they doing here, and more importantly, how had they gotten here? Vetala were always linked to a region or tribe: Perenelle had never known one to leave its homeland.

The Sorceress turned slowly to look at the other open doorways lining the gloomy corridor. What else lay hidden in the cells beneath Alcatraz?

What was Dr. John Dee planning?

3rd June

S ophie’s ragged scream pulled Josh from a deep and dreamless sleep and rolled him out of bed, leaving him swaying on his feet, trying to get his bearings in complete darkness.

Sophie screamed again, the sound raw and terrifying.

Josh blundered across the bedroom, banging his knees on a chair before he discovered the door, visible only because of the thin strip of light beneath it. His sister was in the room directly across the corridor.

Earlier, Saint-Germain had escorted them upstairs and given them their choice of rooms on the top floor of the town house. Sophie had immediately picked the one overlooking the Champs-Elysees-from the bedroom window, she could actually see the Arc de Triomphe over the rooftops-while Josh had taken the room across the hall, which looked over the dried-up rear garden. The rooms were small, with low ceilings and uneven, slightly sloping walls, but each had its own bathroom with a minuscule shower cubicle that had only two settings-scalding and freezing. When Sophie had run the water in her room, Josh’s shower stopped working altogether. And although he’d promised his sister that he would come talk to her after he’d showered and changed, he’d sat on the edge of his bed and almost immediately fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Sophie screamed for a third time, a shuddering sob that brought tears to his eyes.

Josh jerked open his door and ran across the narrow corridor. He pushed open the door to his sister’s room…and stopped.

Joan of Arc was sitting on the edge of his sister’s bed, holding Sophie’s hand in both of hers. There were no lights in the room, but it was not in total darkness. Joan’s hand was glowing with cool silvery light and it looked like she was wearing a soft gray glove. As he watched, his sister’s hand took on the same texture and color. The air smelled of vanilla and lavender.

Joan turned to look at Josh, and he was startled to discover that her eyes were glowing silver coins. He took a step toward the bed, but she raised a finger to her lips and shook her head slightly, warning him not to say anything. The glow faded from her eyes. “Your sister is dreaming,” Joan said, though he wasn’t sure whether she had spoken aloud or if he was hearing her voice in his head. “The nightmare is already passing. It will not return,” she said, making the sentence into a promise.

Wood creaked behind Josh and he whirled to see the Comte de Saint-Germain coming down a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. Francis gestured to Josh from the bottom of the stairs, and although his lips didn’t move, the boy clearly heard his voice: “My wife will take care of your sister. Come away.”

Josh shook his head. “I should stay.” He didn’t want to leave Sophie alone with the strange woman, but he also knew instinctively that Joan would never harm his sister.

“There is nothing you can do for her,” Saint-Germain said aloud. “Get dressed and come up to the attic. I have my office there.” He turned away and disappeared back up the stairs.

Josh took a last look at Sophie. She was resting quietly, her breathing had slowed and he noticed that the dark rings had disappeared from beneath her eyes.

“Go now,” Joan said. “There are some things I have to say to your sister. Private things.”

“She’s asleep…,” Josh began.

“But I will still say them,” the woman murmured. “And she will still hear me.”

In his room, Josh dressed quickly. A bundle of clothes had been laid on a chair beneath the window: underwear, jeans, T-shirts and socks. He guessed the clothes belonged to Saint-Germain: they were about the count’s size. Josh dressed quickly in a pair of black designer jeans and a black silk T-shirt before slipping into his own shoes and taking a quick look in the mirror. He was unable to resist a smile; he’d never imagined himself wearing such expensive clothes. In the bathroom, he cracked open a new toothbrush from its packaging, brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face and ran his fingers through his overlong blond hair, pulling it back off his forehead. Strapping on his watch, he was shocked to discover that it was a little after midnight on Sunday morning. He’d slept the entire day and most of the night.