Michael Scott - The Magician

He stopped at the bottom step and automatically straightened a picture that was hanging crooked on the wall. He took another step and realized that a framed gold disc was also slightly askew. Looking down the corridor, he suddenly noticed that all the pictures were at odd angles. Frowning, he pulled out his earphones…

And heard Josh call Scatty’s name…

And heard the clatter of metal…

And realized that the air stank of vanilla and lavender…

Saint-Germain raced down the stairs to the next floor. He found the Alchemyst slumped, exhausted, in the door to his room, and slowed, but Nicholas waved him on. “Quickly,” he whispered. Saint-Germain darted past him and continued down the corridor and on to the stairs…

The hallway was in ruins.

The remnants of the hall door hung off its hinges. All that remained of the antique crystal chandelier was a single buzzing lightbulb. Wallpaper hung in huge curling strips, revealing the cracked plaster beneath. Banisters were chopped through, tiles scored and chipped.

And there was a solid lump of ice sitting squarely in the center of the hall. Saint-Germain approached it cautiously and ran his fingers down the smooth surface. It was so cold his flesh stuck to it. He could make out two white-clad figures entwined within the block, faces frozen in ugly snarls; their startling blue eyes followed him.

Wood snapped in the kitchen and he turned and darted toward it, gloves of solid blue-white flame growing on his hands.

And if Saint-Germain thought that the damage to the hallway was bad, nothing prepared him for the devastation in the kitchen.

The entire side of the house was missing.

Sophie and Joan stood in the midst of the ruin. His wife was holding the shaking girl tightly, supporting her. Joan was wearing shiny blue-green satin pajamas and was still holding her sword in a metal gauntlet. She turned to look over her shoulder as her husband stepped into the room. “You missed the fun,” she said in French.

“I heard nothing,” he apologized, in the same language. “Tell me.”

“It was all over in minutes. Sophie and I heard a disturbance at the back of the house. We ran downstairs just as two women smashed their way in through the hall door. They were Disir, they said they had come for Scathach. One attacked me, the other turned her attention to Sophie.” Even though she was speaking an obscure variant of the French language, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Francis…this girl. She is extraordinary. She combined the magics: she used Fire and Air to defeat the Disir. Then she wrapped them in fog and froze it to a lump of ice.”

Saint-Germain shook his head. “It is physically impossible to use more than one magic at a time…,” he said, but his voice trailed away to a whisper. The evidence of Sophie’s powers sat in the center of the hallway. There was a legend that the most powerful Elders were able to use all the elemental magics simultaneously. According to the most ancient myths, this was the reason-one of the reasons-that Danu Talis sank.

“Josh is gone.” Sophie suddenly shook herself free of Joan’s grip and spun around to face the count. Then she looked over his shoulder to where an ashen-faced Flamel stood leaning in the doorway. “Something’s taken Josh,” she said, desperately frightened now. “And Scatty’s gone after him.”

The Alchemyst shuffled into the center of the room, wrapped his hands around his body as if he was freezing and looked around. Then he bent to scoop up the Shadow’s matching short swords from where they lay amongst the rubble. When he turned to look back at the others, they were all startled to see that his eyes were bright with tears. “I am sorry,” he said, “so terribly, terribly sorry. I have brought this terror and destruction to your home. It is unforgivable.”

“We can rebuild,” Saint-Germain said airily. “This will give us the excuse we needed to remodel.”

“Nicholas,” Joan said very seriously, “what happened here?”

The Alchemyst dragged up the only unbroken chair in the room and slumped into it. He hunched forward, elbows on his knees, looking at the Shadow’s gleaming swords, turning them over and over in his hands. “Those are Disir in the block of ice. Valkyries. Scathach’s sworn enemies, though she’s never told me why. I know they have pursued her down through the centuries and have always allied themselves with her enemies.”

“They did this?” Saint-Germain looked around the ruined kitchen.

“No. But they obviously brought something with them that did.”

“What’s happened to Josh?” Sophie demanded. She shouldn’t have left him alone in the kitchen, she should have waited with him. She would have defeated whatever had attacked the back of the house.

Nicholas held up Scathach’s weapon. “I think you should be asking what’s happened to the Warrior. In the centuries I’ve known her, she’s never let her swords out of her grasp. I fear she’s been taken…”

“Swords…swords…” Sophie pulled away from Joan and began desperately searching through the rubble. “When I went to bed, Josh had just come back from sword practice with Scatty and Joan. He had the stone sword you gave him.” She summoned a wind to raise a chunk of heavy masonry and toss it aside, revealing the floor beneath. Where was the sword? She felt a flicker of hope. If he’d been captured, then surely the sword would be on the floor? She straightened and looked around the room. “Clarent isn’t here.”

Saint-Germain walked to the hole where the back door had been. The garden was a ruin. A chunk of stone had been ripped out of the fountain and the bowl cracked in half. It took him a moment to recognize the U-shaped hunk of metal that had been his back gate. Only then did it sink in that the entire back wall was missing. The nine-foot-tall wall was now little more than a stump. There were powdered and crushed bricks scattered all across the garden, almost as if the wall had been pushed down from outside.

“Something big-very big-has been in the garden,” he said to no one in particular.

Flamel looked up. “Can you smell anything?” he asked.

Saint-Germain breathed deeply. “Snake,” he said firmly. “But that’s not Machiavelli’s odor.” He stepped out into the garden and drew in a deep lungful of cool air. “It’s stronger out here.” Then he coughed. “This stench is fouler, much fouler…,” he called. “This is the stink of something very, very old…”

Drawn by the wailing car alarms, Saint-Germain crossed the garden, clambered over the broken wall and looked up and down the alley. House and car alarms were ringing, mainly to his left, and there were lights on in the houses at that end of the street. In the mouth of the narrow alleyway, he could see the crushed remains of a black car.

“Whatever it was attacked this house,” he said, darting back into the kitchen. “There’s a two-hundred-thousand-euro car at the end of the street that’s only fit for the scrap yard.”

“Nidhogg,” Flamel whispered in horror. He nodded; it made sense now. “The Disir brought Nidhogg,” he said. Then he frowned. “But even Machiavelli wouldn’t bring something like that into a major city. He’s too cautious.”

“Nidhogg?” Joan and Sophie asked simultaneously, looking at one another.

“Think of it as a cross between a dinosaur and a snake,” Flamel explained. “But probably older than this planet. I think it’s got Scathach and Josh went after it.”

Sophie shook her head firmly. “He wouldn’t do that-he couldn’t-he’s terrified of snakes.”

“Then where is he?” Flamel asked. “Where is Clarent? It’s the only explanation: he’s taken the sword and gone in search of the Shadow.”