Michael Scott - The Magician

Taking a deep breath, Josh scrambled to his feet and snatched up the sword. Instantly, he felt power buzz through his body, heightening every sense. He stood swaying as raw power energized him; then he turned and raced after the monster. He felt amazing. Even though it was still not quite dawn, he could see clearly, though the colors were slightly off. He could smell the myriad scents of the city through the rancid serpent-stink of the creature. His hearing was so acute he could differentiate the sirens of the many different emergency services; he could even distinguish individual cars. He could actually feel the irregular indentations in the pavement beneath his feet through the rubber soles of his sneakers. He waved the sword in the air before him. It keened and hummed, and instantly, Josh imagined he could hear distant whispers and make out words he could almost understand. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alive: and he knew then that this was how Sophie had felt when she’d been Awakened. But whereas she’d been frightened, confused by the sensations…he felt exhilarated.

He wanted this. More than anything else in the world.

Dagon padded into the alleyway, scooped up the Disir’s fallen war hammer and raced after the boy.

Dagon had seen the flare of the boy’s aura and knew that it was indeed powerful, though whether the boy and girl were the twins of legend was a different matter. Obviously, the Alchemyst, and Dee, too, seemed convinced that they were. But Dagon knew that even Machiavelli-one of the most brilliant humani he’d ever associated with-was unsure, and the brief glimpse he’d caught of the boy’s aura wasn’t enough to convince him either way. Gold and silver auras were rare-though not as rare as the black aura-and Dagon had encountered at least four sets of twins down through the ages with the sun and moon auras, as well as dozens of individuals.

But what neither Dee nor Machiavelli knew was that Dagon had seen the original twins.

He’d been on Danu Talis at the very end, for the Final Battle. He’d worn his father’s armor on that auspicious day, when all knew that the fate of the island hung in the balance. Like everyone else, he’d cowered in terror as silver and gold lights blazed from the top of the Pyramid of the Sun in a display of primal power. The elemental magics had lain waste to the ancient landscape and sundered the island at the heart of the world.

Dagon rarely slept anymore; he didn’t even possess a bed. Like a shark, he could sleep and continue to move about. He rarely dreamed, but when he did, the dreams were always the same: a vivid nightmare of those times when the skies had burned with gold and silver lights and the world had ended.

He’d spent many years in Machiavelli’s service. He’d seen both wonders and terrors during those centuries, and together, they’d been present for some of the most significant and interesting moments in the earth’s recent history.

And Dagon was beginning to think that this night might be one of the most memorable.

“Now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Dee muttered.

The Magician and Machiavelli watched Nidhogg burst through a building on the left side of the Champs-Elysees, trample the trees that lined the street and career across the road. It still held red-haired Scatty in its claws, and the Disir was clinging to its back. The two immortals watched the huge swinging tail turn a set of traffic lights into a mangled ruin as the creature darted down another street.

“It’s heading for the river,” Machiavelli said.

“But what happened to the boy, I wonder?” Dee mused aloud.

“Maybe he got lost,” Machiavelli began, “or was trampled by Nidhogg. Or maybe not,” he added as Josh Newman stepped through the uprooted trees and out into the broad road. He looked left and right, but there was no traffic, and he didn’t even glance at the police car badly parked against the curb. He darted across the wide avenue, the sword in his hand streaming smoky gold threads behind him.

“The boy’s a survivor,” Dee said admiringly. “Brave, too.”

Seconds later, Dagon burst out of the side street, following Josh. He was carrying a war hammer. Spotting Dee and Machiavelli in the car, he raised his other hand in what might have been a greeting, or a farewell.

“Now what?” Dee demanded.

Machiavelli turned the key in the ignition and wrenched the car into first gear. It jerked forward, bouncing a little; then the engine howled as he put his foot to the floor. “The Rue de Marignan comes out onto the Avenue Montaigne. I think I can get there before Nidhogg does.” He hit the sirens.

Dee nodded. “Perhaps you might think about changing gear.” His lips moved in a barely discernable smile. “You’ll find the car will go faster that way.”

“Y our garage isn’t attached to your house?” Sophie asked, climbing into the back of a small red and black Citroen 2CV, taking up a position behind Nicholas, who was sitting up front with Joan.

“These are converted stables. In previous centuries, the stables were never too close to the house. I guess the rich didn’t like living with the smell of horse manure. It’s not so bad, though it can be a bit of an inconvenience on a rainy night, knowing you have to run three blocks home. If Francis and I go out for an evening, we usually take the Metro.”

Joan eased the car out of the garage and turned right, moving away from the damaged house, which was quickly being surrounded by fire trucks, ambulances, police cars and press. When they’d left, Francis had been going upstairs to change; he reasoned that all the publicity would do wonders for the sale of his new album.

“We’ll cut across the Champs-Elysees and then head down toward the river,” Joan said, expertly maneuvering the Citroen through the narrow cobbled alleyway. “Are you sure that’s where Nidhogg will go?”

Nicholas Flamel sighed. “I’m only guessing,” he admitted. “I’ve never actually seen it-I don’t know of anyone who has and lived-but I’ve come across creatures like it in my travels, and they are all related to the marine lizards, like the mosasaur. It’s scared, maybe it’s hurt. It’ll head to the water, seeking cool, healing mud.”

Sophie leaned forward between the front seats. She deliberately focused on Nidhogg, desperately sorting through the Witch’s memories, looking for something that might help her. But even the Witch knew little about the primal creature except that it was locked in the roots of the World Tree, the tree that Dee had destroyed with…

“Excalibur,” she whispered.

The Alchemyst swiveled in the seat to look at her. “What about it?”

Sophie frowned, trying to remember. “Josh told me earlier that Dee had destroyed Yggdrasill with Excalibur.”

Flamel nodded.

“And you told me that Clarent is Excalibur’s twin.”

“It is.”

“Does it share the same powers?” she asked.

Flamel’s cool gray eyes flashed. “And you’re wondering, if Excalibur could destroy something as ancient as the World Tree, could Clarent destroy Nidhogg?” He was nodding even as he was speaking. “The ancient weapons of power predate the Elders. No one has any idea where they came from, though we do know that the Elders used some of them. The fact that the weapons are still around today proves just how indestructible they are.” He nodded. “I’m sure Clarent could hurt and possibly even kill Nidhogg.”

“And you believe Nidhogg is hurt now?” Joan spotted an opening in the light early-morning traffic and slotted neatly into it. Car horns blared behind her.

“Something drove it from the house.”

“Then you know what you’ve just confirmed?” she said.