Michael Scott - The Magician

Flamel nodded. “We know Scatty would never touch Clarent. Therefore, Josh wounded the creature-enough to send it careering madly across Paris. And now he’s chasing it.”

“And Machiavelli and Dee?” Joan asked.

“Probably chasing him.”

Joan cut across two lanes of traffic and roared down the Champs-Elysees. “Let’s hope they don’t catch up with him.”

A sudden thought struck Sophie. “Dee met Josh…” She stopped, realizing what she’d just said.

“In Ojai. I know,” Flamel said, surprising her. “He told me.”

Sophie sat back, surprised that her twin had told the Alchemyst. Color touched her cheeks. “I think Dee made an impression on him.” She felt almost embarrassed saying this to the Alchemyst, as if she was betraying her brother, but she pressed on. This was no time for secrets. “Dee told him some things about you. I think…I think Josh sort of believed him,” she finished in a rush.

“I know,” Flamel said softly. “The English Magician can be very persuasive.”

Joan slowed the car to a stop. “This isn’t good,” she muttered. “There should be virtually no one on the road at this hour.”

They had driven right into a huge traffic jam. It stretched down the Champs-Elysees directly ahead of them. For the second day in a row, traffic on Paris’s main thoroughfare had come to a complete halt. People were standing beside their cars looking at the gaping hole in the side of the building across the street. Police had just arrived and were quickly trying to take control, urging traffic to move on and allow the emergency services to get through to the building.

Joan of Arc leaned across the steering wheel, cool gray eyes assessing the situation. “It crossed the street and went this way,” Joan said, signaling quickly and turning right, into the narrow Rue de Marignan, driving past a pair of mangled traffic lights. “I don’t see them.”

Nicholas rose in the seat, trying to see as far as possible down the long straight street. “Where does this come out?”

“On the Rue Francois, just before the Avenue Montaigne,” Joan answered. “I’ve walked, cycled and driven through these streets for decades. I know them like the back of my hand.” They drove past a dozen cars, each one bearing the marks of Nidhogg: metalwork crumpled like tinfoil, windows spiderwebbed and smashed. A ball of metal that had once been a bicycle was now pressed deeply into the pavement, still attached to a railing by a length of chain.

“Joan,” Nicholas said very softly, “I think you should hurry up.”

“I don’t like driving fast.” She glanced sidelong at the Alchemyst, and whatever expression she saw on his face made her push her foot to the floor. The small engine howled and the car lurched forward. “What is it?” she demanded.

Nicholas chewed his bottom lip. “I’ve just thought of a potential problem,” he admitted finally.

“What sort of problem?” Joan and Sophie asked simultaneously.

“A serious problem.”

“Bigger than Nidhogg?” Joan jerked the stick shift and slammed the car into top gear. Sophie couldn’t see that it made any difference; she still felt she could be walking faster. She pounded the back of the seat, frantic with worry. They needed to get to her brother.

“I gave Josh the two missing pages from the Codex,” Flamel said. He twisted around in the seat to look at Sophie. “Do you think your brother has them with him?”

“Probably,” she said immediately, and then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he does. The last time we talked he was wearing the bag under his shirt.”

“So how did Josh end up guarding the pages of the Codex?” Joan asked. “I thought you never let the book out of your sight.”

“I gave them to him.”

“You gave them?” she asked, surprised. “Why?”

Nicholas turned away and looked out at the street, now littered with the evidence of Nidhogg’s passing. When he looked back at Joan, his face was set in a grim mask. “I figured that since he was the only person amongst us who was neither immortal, Elder nor Awakened, he would not be involved in any of the conflicts we’d face, nor would he be a target: he’s just a humani. I thought the pages would be safe with him.”

Something about the statement bothered Sophie, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Josh wouldn’t give the pages to Dee,” she announced confidently.

Nicholas twisted around to face the girl again, and the look in his pale eyes was terrifying. “Oh, believe me: Dee always gets what he wants,” he said bitterly, “and what he cannot have-he destroys.”

M achiavelli slid the car to a stop, half on, half off the curb. He pulled up the brake but left the car in gear, and it jerked forward and cut out. They were in a parking lot on the banks of the river Seine, close to where he’d anticipated Nidhogg would appear. For a moment, the only sound was the engine ticking softly, and then Dee let out his breath in a long sigh. “You are the worst driver I’ve ever come across.”

“I got us here, didn’t I? You do know that explaining all this is going to be very difficult,” Machiavelli added, moving off the subject of his terrible driving. He had mastered the most arcane and difficult arts, had manipulated society and politics for half a millennium, was fluent in a dozen languages, could program in five different computer languages and was one of the world’s experts on quantum physics. And he still couldn’t drive a car. It was embarrassing. Rolling down the driver’s window, he allowed cold air to wash into the vehicle. “I can impose a press blackout, of course, claiming it’s a national security issue, but this is getting too public and way too messy.” He sighed. “Video of Nidhogg is probably on the Internet right now.”

“People will dismiss it as a prank,” Dee said confidently. “I thought we were in trouble when Bigfoot was caught on camera. But that was quickly rejected as a hoax. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it is that the humani are masters at ignoring what is right in front of their noses. They’ve disregarded our existence for centuries, dismissing the Elders and their times as little more than myth and legend, despite all the evidence. Besides,” he added smugly, absently stroking his short beard, “everything is coming together. We have most of the book; once we get the two missing pages, we will bring back the Dark Elders and return this world to its proper state.” He waved a hand airily. “You’ll not have to worry about minor issues like the press.”

“You seem to be forgetting that we have some other problems, like the Alchemyst and Perenelle. They are not so minor.”

Dee pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and waved it in the air. “Oh, I’ve taken care of that. I made a call.”

Machiavelli glanced sidelong at the Magician but said nothing. In his experience, people often spoke merely to fill a silence in a conversation, and he knew that Dee was a man who liked to hear the sound of his own voice.

John Dee stared through the dirty windshield toward the Seine. A couple of miles downriver, just around the bend, the huge Gothic cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris would be slowly taking shape in the early dawn light. “I first met Nicholas and Perenelle in this city almost five hundred years ago. I was their student-you didn’t know that, did you? That’s not in your legendary files. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, laughing at Machiavelli’s stunned expression. “I’ve known about your files for decades. And my copies are even more up-to-date,” he added. “But yes, I studied with the legendary Alchemyst, here in this very city. I knew within a very short time that Perenelle was more powerful-more dangerous-than her husband. Have you ever met her?” he asked suddenly.