Michael Scott - The Magician

“Is that like a bank?” Josh asked.

Scatty’s lips curled in a tiny smile that exposed her overlong vampire incisors. “It means the General Board of External Security. It is the French secret service.”

“The secret service! Oh, that’s just great,” Josh said sarcastically.

“The smell is getting stronger,” Sophie said, her Awakened senses acutely aware of the odor. Concentrating hard, she allowed a little of her power to trickle into her aura, which bloomed into a ghostly shadow around her. Crackles of lustrous silver threads sparkled in her blond hair, and her eyes turned to reflective silver coins.

Almost unconsciously, Josh stepped away from his sister. He’d seen her like this before, and she’d scared him.

“That means he’s close by. He’s working some magic,” Scatty said. “Nicholas…?”

“I just need another minute.” Flamel’s fingertips glowed emerald green, smoking as they traced a pattern around the lock. A solid click sounded from within, but when the Alchemyst tried the handle, the door didn’t move. “Maybe more than a minute.”

“Too late,” Josh whispered, raising an arm and pointing. “Something’s here.”

At the opposite end of the great basilica, the banks of candles had gone out. It was as if an unfelt breeze was sweeping down the aisles, snuffing out the flickering circular night-lights and thicker candles as it passed, leaving curls of gray-white smoke hanging on the air. Abruptly, the smell of candle wax grew stronger, much, much stronger, almost obliterating the odor of serpent.

“I can’t see anything…,” Josh began.

“It’s here!” Sophie shouted.

The creature that flowed up off the cold flagstones was only marginally human. Standing taller than a man, broad and grotesque, it was a gelatinous white shape with only the vaguest hint of a head set directly onto broad shoulders. There were no visible features. As they watched, two huge arms separated from the trunk of the body with a squelch and grew handlike shapes.

“Golem!” Sophie shouted in horror. “A wax Golem!” She flung out her hand and her aura blazed. Ice-cold wind surged from her fingertips to batter the creature, but the white waxy skin simply rippled and flowed beneath the breeze.

“Protect Nicholas!” Scathach commanded, darting forward, her matched swords flickering out, biting into the creature, but without any effect. The soft wax trapped her swords, and it took all her strength to pull them free. She struck again and chips of wax sprayed into the air. The creature struck at her, and she had to abandon her grip on her swords as she danced backward to avoid the crushing blow. A bulbous fist thundered into the floor at her feet, spattering globules of white wax in every direction.

Josh grabbed one of the folding wooden chairs stacked outside the gift shop at the back of the church. Holding it by two legs, he slammed it into the creature’s chest…where it stuck fast. As the wax shape turned toward Josh, the chair was wrenched from his hands. He grabbed another chair, darted around behind the creature and slammed the chair down. It shattered across the creature’s shoulders, leaving scores of splinters protruding like bizarre porcupine spines.

Sophie froze. She desperately tried to recall some of the secrets of Air magic that the Witch of Endor had taught her only a few hours ago. The Witch said it was the most powerful of all magics-and Sophie had seen what it had done to the undead army of long-deceased humans and beasts Dee had raised in Ojai. But she had no idea what would work against the wax monster before her. She knew how to raise a miniature tornado, but she couldn’t risk calling it up in the confined space of the basilica.

“Nicholas!” Scatty called. With her swords stuck in the creature, the Warrior was using her nunchaku-two lengths of wood attached by a short chain-to batter at the Golem. They left deep indentations in its skin but otherwise seemed to have no effect. She delivered one particularly fierce blow that embedded the polished wood in the creature’s side. Wax flowed around the nunchaku, trapping them. When the creature twisted toward Josh, the weapon was ripped from the Warrior’s hands, sending her spinning across the room.

A hand that was only thumb and fused fingers, like a giant mitten, caught Josh’s shoulder and squeezed. The pain was incredible and drove the boy to his knees.

“Josh!” Sophie screamed, the sound echoing in the huge church.

Josh tried to pull the hand away, but the wax was too slippery and his fingers sank into the white goo. Warm wax began to flow off the creature’s hand, then curl and wrap around his shoulder and roll down onto his chest, constricting his breathing.

“Josh, duck!”

Sophie grabbed a wooden chair and swung it through the air. It whistled over her brother’s head, the wind ruffling his hair, and she brought it down hard-edge-first-on the thick wax arm where the elbow should have been. The chair stuck halfway through, but the movement distracted the creature and it abandoned Josh, leaving him bruised and coated in a layer of candle wax. From his place kneeling on the ground, Josh watched in horror as two gelatinous hands reached for his twin’s throat.

Terrified, Sophie screamed.

Josh watched as his sister’s eyes flickered, the blue replaced with silver, and then her aura blazed incandescent the moment the Golem’s paws came close to her skin. Immediately, its waxy hands began to run liquid and spatter to the floor. Sophie stretched out her own hand, fingers splayed, and pressed it against the Golem’s chest, where it sank, sizzling and hissing, into the mass of wax.

Josh crouched on the ground, close to Flamel, his hands thrown up to protect his eyes from the brilliant silver light. He saw his sister step closer to the creature, her aura now painfully bright, arms spread wide, an invisible unfelt heat melting the creature, reducing the wax to liquid. Scathach’s swords and nunchaku clattered to the stone floor, followed, seconds later, by the remains of the wooden chair.

Sophie’s aura flickered and Josh was on his feet and by her side to catch her as she swayed. “I feel dizzy,” she said thickly as she slumped into his arms. She was barely conscious, and she felt ice cold, the usually sweet vanilla scent of her aura now sour and bitter.

Scatty swooped in to gather up her weapons from the pile of semiliquid wax that now resembled a half-melted snowman. She fastidiously wiped her blades clean before she slipped them back into the sheaths she wore on her back. Picking curls of white wax off her nunchaku, she slipped them back into their holster on her belt; then she turned to Sophie. “You saved us,” she said gravely. “That’s a debt I’ll not forget.”

“Got it,” Flamel said suddenly. He stood back, and Sophie, Josh and Scathach watched as curls of green smoke seeped from the lock. The Alchemyst pushed the door and it clicked open, cool night air rushing in, dispelling the cloying odor of melted wax.

“We could have done with a little help, you know,” Scatty grumbled.

Flamel grinned and wiped his fingers on his jeans, leaving traces of green light on the cloth. “I knew you had it well under control,” he said, stepping out of the basilica. Scathach and the twins followed.

The sounds of police sirens were louder now, but the area directly in front of the church was empty. Sacre-Coeur was set on a hill, one of the highest points in Paris, and from where they stood, they had a view of the entire city. Nicholas Flamel’s face lit up with delight. “Home!”

“What is it with European magicians and Golems?” Scatty asked, following him. “First Dee and now Machiavelli. Have they no imaginations?”

Flamel looked surprised. “That wasn’t a Golem. Golems need to have a spell on their body to animate them.”