Michael Scott - The Magician

There was an explosion of brick and glass ahead of him and Josh picked up his pace and darted around the corner, then stopped. The creature was stuck in an alley. Josh moved forward cautiously; it looked as if the monster had run down what looked like another arrow-straight street. But this particular street curved at the end and then narrowed, the upper stories of the two houses on either side projecting out over the sidewalk below. The monster had slammed into the opening, tearing a chunk out of both buildings. Attempting to push ahead, it had suddenly found itself wedged in. It thrashed from side to side, brick and glass raining down into the street below. There was a flash of movement in a nearby window, and Josh caught a glimpse of a man peering from one of the windows, eyes and mouth round with horror, frozen in place by the monster directly outside his window. A slab of concrete the size of a sofa fell on the creature’s head, but it didn’t even seem to notice.

Josh had no idea what to do. He needed to get to Scatty, but that meant getting around the creature, and there was simply no room. He watched as the blond woman raced down the alley. Without hesitation she leapt onto the monster’s back and climbed nimbly toward its head, arms stretched out on either side, weapons poised.

She was going to kill it, Josh decided, relief washing over him. Maybe then he could get in and grab Scatty.

Sitting astride the creature’s broad neck, the woman reached down and lashed out at Scathach’s limp and unmoving body.

Josh’s cry of horror was lost in the wail of sirens.

“Sir, we have a report of an…incident.” The ashen-faced police officer handed the phone to Niccolo Machiavelli. “The RAID officer asked to speak to you personally.”

Dee caught the man by the arm and spun him around. “What is it?” he demanded in perfect French as Machiavelli listened intently to the call, one finger in his ear, trying to drown out the noise.

“I’m not sure, sir. A mistake, certainly.” The police officer attempted a shaky laugh. “A few streets down, people are reporting that there is…a monster stuck in a house. Impossible, I know…” His voice trailed off as he turned to look toward what had once been a substantial three-story house that now had a gaping hole plowed through the side.

Machiavelli tossed the phone back to the police officer. “Get me a car.”

“A car?”

“A car and a map,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. You can take mine.” The police officer had been one of the first on the scene following dozens of calls from alarmed citizens. He’d spotted Machiavelli and Dee hurrying from the alley close to the source of the noise and had stopped them, convinced that they had something to do with what was being reported as an explosion. His bluster had turned to dismay when he’d discovered that the mud-spattered older man with white hair in the torn suit was actually the head of the DGSE.

The officer handed over his car key and a battered and torn Michelin map of Paris’s city center. “I’m afraid this is all I have.”

Machiavelli snatched it from his hand. “You’re dismissed.” He gestured toward the street. “Go and direct traffic; let no press or public near the house. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The police officer raced away, thankful that he still had his job; no one wanted to upset one of the most powerful men in France.

Machiavelli spread the map across the hood of the car. “We’re here,” he explained to Dee. “Nidhogg is heading directly east, but at some stage, it’s got to cross the Champs-Elysees and make for the river. If it continues on its present course, I’ve a reasonably good idea it will come out”-his finger stabbed the map-“close to here.”

The two men climbed into the small car and Machiavelli looked around for a moment, trying to make sense of the controls. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven a car; Dagon had always looked after that. Finally, with a grinding crunch of gears, he got the car moving and made an illegal turn that sent them fishtailing across the road, then roared down the Champs-Elysees, leaving rubber in their wake.

Dee sat silently in the passenger seat, one hand wrapped around the seat belt, the other braced against the dashboard. “Who taught you to drive?” he asked shakily as they bounced off the curb.

“Karl Benz,” Machiavelli snapped. “A long time ago,” he added.

“And how many wheels did that car have?”

“Three.”

Dee squeezed his eyes shut as they roared across an intersection, barely missing a lumbering road-sweeper truck. “So what do we do when we get to Nidhogg?” he asked, focusing on the problem, trying to keep his mind off Machiavelli’s terrible driving.

“That’s your problem,” Machiavelli retorted. “After all, you’re the one who freed it.”

“But you invited the Disir here. So it’s partially your fault.”

Machiavelli hit the brakes hard, sending the car into a long screeching slide. The engine cut out and the car jerked to a halt.

“Why have we stopped?” Dee demanded.

Machiavelli pointed out the window. “Listen.”

“I can’t hear anything over the noise of the sirens.”

“Listen,” Machiavelli insisted. “Something’s coming.” He pointed to the left. “Over there.”

Dee rolled down his window. Over the police, ambulance and fire sirens, they could hear stones grinding, bricks falling and the sharp snap-crackle of breaking glass…

Josh watched, powerless, as the woman sitting atop the monster lashed at Scatty with her sword.

At that moment the monster shrugged, still trying to free itself from the building that encased it, and the blade missed, whistling dangerously close to the unconscious Warrior’s head. Edging higher on the monster’s broad neck, the woman gripped a clump of thick skin, leaned sideways across a huge unblinking eye and jabbed the point of her sword at Scatty. Again the creature moved and the sword bit into its arm, close to the claw wrapped around the Warrior. The monster didn’t react, but Josh saw how close the blade had come to Scatty. The woman leaned down again, and this time, Josh knew, she’d hit the Warrior.

He had to do something! He was Scatty’s only hope. He couldn’t just stand here and watch someone he knew get killed. He started running. Back at the house, when he’d slashed at the creature, nothing had happened, but when he’d plunged the sword point first into its thick hide…

Holding Clarent in the two-handed grip Joan had taught him, Josh put on a final burst of speed and raced up to the creature. He could feel the sword humming in his hands just before he stabbed it into the monster’s tail.

Instantly, heat flowed up through his arms and blossomed in his chest. The air filled with the tart smell of oranges in the heartbeat before his aura flared briefly golden and then faded to the same reddish-orange glow that was streaming off the sword protruding from the creature’s thick knobbled skin.

Josh twisted Clarent and pulled it free. In the grayish brown hide, the wound burned bright red and immediately started to hardened into a black crust. It took a moment for the sensation to travel through the creature’s primitive nervous system. Then the monster abruptly reared up on its hind legs, hissing and squealing in agony. It wrenched itself free of the house, the sudden rain of bricks, roof tiles and wooden beams sending Josh scrambling back, out of harm’s way. He hit the ground, covering his head as debris crashed about him. He thought it would be just his luck to be killed by a roof tile. The unexpected movement almost dislodged the woman on the monster’s back. Swaying, she dropped the war hammer and desperately grabbed at the creature’s back to prevent herself from being thrown down directly in front of it. Lying on the ground, bricks raining around him, Josh watched as the thick black crust began to spread out from the wound and creep up the monster’s tail. It reared again and then plowed right through the corner of the house and out across the Champs-Elysees. Josh was relieved to see that Scatty’s limp form was still gripped in his front claws.