Michael Scott - The Magician

“But I heard him calling to her for help…”

“You heard him call her name. He might have been calling out to her.”

Saint-Germain nodded. “It makes sense. The Disir only wanted Scathach. Nidhogg grabbed her and ran. Josh must have followed.”

“Maybe it grabbed him and she followed,” Sophie suggested. “That’s the sort of thing she’d do.”

“It had no interest in Josh. It would have just eaten him. No, he went of his own accord.”

“That shows great courage,” Joan said.

“But Josh isn’t brave…,” Sophie began. Yet even as she was saying it, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. He’d always stood up for her in school and protected her. But why would he go after Scatty? She knew he didn’t even like her.

“People change,” Joan said. “No one stays the same.”

The noise was louder now, a mingled cacophony of police, ambulance and fire sirens drawing closer. “Nicholas, Sophie, you’ve got to go,” Saint-Germain said urgently. “I think we’re about to have police, lots and lots of police with far too many questions. And we have no answers. If they find you here-without papers or passports-I’m afraid they’ll hold you for questioning.” He tugged out a leather wallet attached to his belt on a long chain. “Here’s some cash.”

“I cannot…,” the Alchemyst began.

“Take it,” Saint-Germain insisted. “Don’t use your credit cards; Machiavelli can track your movements,” he continued. “I don’t know how long the police will be here. If I’m free, I’ll meet you tonight at six at the glass pyramid outside the Louvre. If I’m not there at six, I’ll try and get there at midnight, or failing that, at six tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, old friend.” Nicholas turned to Sophie. “Grab your clothes, and Josh’s too, and whatever else you need; we’ll not be coming back here.”

“I’ll help you,” Joan said, hurrying out of the room with Sophie.

The Alchemyst and his former apprentice stood in the ruins of the kitchen, listening to the two women run upstairs.

“What are you going to do with the block of ice in the hall?” Nicholas asked.

“We’ve got a big chest freezer in the cellar. I’ll shove it in there until the police leave. What about the Disir, are they dead, do you think?”

“The Disir are practically impossible to kill. Just make sure that ice doesn’t melt anytime soon.”

“I’ll drive it to the Seine one evening and drop it in the river. With luck it won’t thaw till Rouen.”

“What are you going to tell the police”-Nicholas waved a hand at the devastation-“about all this?”

“Gas explosion?” Saint-Germain suggested.

“Lame,” Flamel said with a smile, remembering what the twins had said when he’d made the same suggestion.

“Lame?”

“Very lame.”

“Then I think I just came home and found it like this,” he said, “and it’s close enough to the truth. I’ve no idea how it happened.” He suddenly grinned mischievously. “I could sell the story and pictures to one of the tabloids. Mysterious Forces Destroy Rock Star’s House. ”

“Everyone would think it was a publicity stunt.”

“Yes, they would, wouldn’t they? And you know what: I just happen to have a new album out. It’ll be great advertising.”

The kitchen door opened and Sophie and Joan walked into the room. They had both changed into jeans and sweatshirts and were wearing matching backpacks.

“I’m going with them,” Joan said before Saint-Germain could ask the question that had started to form on his lips. “They’ll need a guide and a bodyguard.”

“Would it be worth my while arguing with you?” the count asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He hugged his wife. “Please be careful, be very careful. If Machiavelli or Dee is prepared to bring the Disir and Nidhogg into the city, then they are desperate. And desperate men do stupid things.”

“Yes,” Flamel said simply. “Yes, they do. And stupid men make mistakes.”

J osh kept looking over his shoulder, trying to orient himself. He was moving farther and farther away from Saint-Germain’s house and was worried that he was going to get lost. But he couldn’t turn back now; he couldn’t leave Scatty to the creature. And so long as he could find the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the Champs-Elysees, he figured he’d be able to get back to the house. Alternatively, all he had to do was to follow the steady stream of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances that were racing down the main street, heading in the direction he was running from.

He tried not to think too much about what he was doing because if he thought about it-he was chasing a dinosaur-like monster through Paris-then he’d stop, and Scatty would…well, he wasn’t sure what would happen to Scatty. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

Following Nidhogg was simplicity itself. The creature ran in a straight line, crashing through the countless small streets and alleyways that ran parallel to the Champs-Elysees. It left a trail of devastation in its wake, trampling through a side street filled with parked cars, running right over the top of them, leaving them crumpled, flattened wrecks. As it darted down a narrow alleyway, its wavering tail punched through the steel shutters on the fronts of shops on either side of the street, shattering the glass they protected. Burglar and car alarms added to the mayhem.

Suddenly, a flash of white ahead of him caught his attention.

Josh had briefly glimpsed the figure in white standing outside Saint-Germain’s house. He guessed it was one of the monster’s keepers. And now it looked as if they were also chasing the creature…which meant they had lost control. He glanced up, trying to gauge the time. Directly ahead of him, the sky was already paling toward the dawn, which meant that he was running east. What was going to happen when the city woke up to find a prehistoric monster rampaging through the streets? There’d be panic; no doubt the police and army would be brought in. Josh had hacked at it with his sword and that had done nothing-he had a horrible feeling that bullets would probably be just as useless.

The streets narrowed to little more than alleyways, and the creature was forced to slow down as he crashed off the walls. Josh discovered that he was catching up with the figure in white. He thought it was a man, but it was hard to be sure.

He was running easily now, not even breathing hard; he guessed all the weeks and months of football practice were paying off. His sneakers made no sound on the streets and he assumed that the figure in white didn’t even suspect they were being followed. After all, who would be crazy enough to run after a monster with nothing but a sword for protection? However, as he got closer, he could see that the figure was also carrying a sword in one hand and what looked like an oversized hammer in the other. He recognized the weapon from World of Warcraft: it was a war hammer, a ferocious and deadly variant of the mace. Drawing nearer still, he discovered that the person was wearing white chain-mail armor, metal boots and a rounded helmet with a veil of chain mail covering the neck. Somehow he wasn’t even surprised.

Then, abruptly, the figure changed.

Right before his eyes, the figure transformed from an armored warrior into a blond-haired young woman, not much older than himself, in a leather jacket, jeans and boots. Only the sword and war hammer in her hands marked her as extraordinary. She disappeared around a corner.

Josh slowed: he didn’t want to run into the woman with the sword and hammer. And, thinking about it, he guessed she probably wasn’t a young woman at all.