Michael Scott - The Magician

When the woman smiled, Josh saw that her teeth were thin needle points. “Easy. Too easy. A legendary sword does not make you a swordsman.” Hefting the broadsword, she advanced on the boy, driving him right up against Nidhogg’s stone-flesh. Josh squeezed his eyes shut as she raised her arms high and screamed a hideous war cry. “Odin!”

“Sophie,” he whispered.

“Josh!”

Two blocks away, stuck in unmoving traffic, Sophie Newman sat bolt upright in the backseat of the car, a sudden stomach-churning feeling of terror catching her in her chest, setting her heart pounding madly.

Nicholas spun around and caught the girl’s hand. “Tell me!”

Tears filled her eyes. “Josh,” she gasped, almost unable to speak with the lump in her throat. “Josh is in danger, terrible danger.” The car filled with the overpowering smell of rich vanilla as her aura blossomed. Tiny sparks danced on the end of her blond hair, crackling like cellophane. “We’ve got to get to him!”

“We’re going nowhere,” Joan said grimly. Traffic on the narrow street was at a complete standstill.

A chill settled in Sophie’s stomach: it was the appalling fear that her brother was going to die.

“Sidewalk,” Nicholas said decisively. “Take it.”

“But the pedestrians-”

“Can get out of the way. Use your horn.” He swiveled back around to Sophie. “We’re minutes away,” he said as Joan bumped the small car up off the pavement and roared down the sidewalk, horn squeaking plaintively.

“That’s going to be too late. There must be something you can do?” Sophie pleaded desperately. “Anything?”

Looking old and tired, lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes, Nicholas Flamel shook his head miserably. “There is nothing I can do,” he admitted.

Sparking, crackling, snapping, a sheet of stinking yellow-white flame winked into existence between Josh and the Disir. The heat was so intense it drove him back onto Nidhogg’s clawed feet and crisped his hair, scorching his eyebrows and eyelashes. The Disir too staggered back, blinded by the foul flames.

“Josh!”

Someone called his name, but the terrifying flames were roaring right in front of his face.

The proximity of the fire roused the monster. It took a shuddering step, the movement of its leg thrusting Josh forward onto his hands and knees, pitching him dangerously close to the flames…which died as abruptly as they had risen. He hit the ground hard, hands and knees stinging with the contact. The smell of rotten eggs was appalling and his eyes and nose were streaming, but through his tears, he saw Clarent and attempted to reach for it just as someone shouted at him again.

“Josh!”

The Disir threw herself at Josh once more, sword thrusting at him. A solid spear of yellow flame struck the woman, exploding over her chain mail, which immediately started to rust and fall away. And then another wall of flame roared into existence between the boy and the warrior.

“Josh.” A hand fell on Josh’s shoulder and he jumped, shouting aloud with fright and the pain in his bruised shoulder. He looked up to find Dr. John Dee leaning over him.

Dirty yellow smoke dribbled from the Magician’s hands, which were barely covered in torn gray gloves, and his once-elegant suit was now a ruined mess. Dee smiled kindly. “It would be best if we left right now.” He gestured toward the flames. “I can’t keep this up forever.” Even as he was speaking, the Disir’s blade cut blindly through the fire, flames curling around the metal as it sought a target. Dee hauled Josh to his feet and dragged him backward.

“Wait,” Josh said hoarsely, voice raw with a combination of fear and the smoke. “Scatty…” He coughed and tried again. “Scatty is trapped…”

“Escaped,” Dee said quickly, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulder, supporting him, leading him toward a police car.

“Escaped?” Josh mumbled, confused.

“Nidhogg lost its grip on her when I created the curtain of fire between you and the Disir. I saw her roll away from its claws, jump to her feet and race down the quay.”

“She ran…she ran away?” That didn’t sound right. She’d been limp and unconscious the last time he’d seen her. He tried to concentrate, but his head was throbbing, and the flesh on his face felt tight from the flames.

“Even the legendary Warrior could not stand against Nidhogg. Heroes survive to fight again because they know when to run.”

“She left me?”

“I doubt she even knew you were there,” Dee said quickly, bundling Josh into the back of a badly parked police car and sliding in beside him. He tapped the white-haired driver on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Josh sat up straight. “Wait…I dropped Clarent,” he said.

“Trust me,” Dee said, “you don’t want to return for it.” He leaned back so that Josh could look out the window. The Disir, her once-pristine white chain mail now hanging in tattered and rotting shreds about her, strode through the dying yellow flames. She spotted the boy in the back of the car and raced toward it, shouting unintelligibly in a language that sounded like wolves howling.

“Niccolo,” Dee said quickly. “She’s rather upset. We really should be going now, right now.”

Josh looked away from the approaching Disir at the driver and was horrified to discover that it was the same man he’d seen on Sacre-Coeur’s steps.

Machiavelli turned the key in the ignition so savagely that the starter screeched. The car lurched, jerked forward, then died.

“Oh great,” Dee muttered. “That’s just great.” Josh watched as the Magician leaned out the window, brought his hand to his mouth and blew sharply into it. A yellow sphere of smoke rolled from his palm and dropped onto the ground. It bounced twice like a rubber ball, then exploded at head height just as it reached the Disir. Thick, sticky strands the color and consistency of dirty honey splashed over the Disir, then dripped down in long streamers, gluing her to the ground. “That should hold her…,” Dee began. The Disir’s broadsword sliced easily through the strands. “Or maybe not.”

Through his pain, Josh realized that Machiavelli had tried-and failed-to get the car started again. “Let me,” he muttered, scrambling over the back of the seat as Machiavelli slid over to the passenger side. His right shoulder was still aching, but at least feeling had returned to his fingers, and he didn’t think anything was broken. He was going to have a massive bruise to add to his growing collection. Turning the key in the ignition, he floored the accelerator and simultaneously slammed the car into reverse just as the Disir reached it. He was suddenly thankful that he’d learned to drive a stick shift on his father’s old battered Volvo. The warrior’s flailing sword struck the door, puncturing the metal, the tip of the blade inches from Josh’s leg. As the car screeched backward, the Disir set her feet firmly and held on to her sword with both hands. The blade tore a horizontal rip right across the door and into the wing over the engine, peeling back the metal as if it were paper. It also tore apart the front driver’s-side tire, which exploded with a dull bang.

“Keep going!” Dee shouted.

“I’m not stopping,” Josh promised.

With the engine whining in protest and the front tire flapping and banging off the ground, Josh tore away from the quayside…

…just as Joan wheeled the slightly scratched Citroen in at the other end.

Joan hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt on the morning-wet stones. Sophie, Nicholas and Joan watched in confusion as Josh reversed a battered police car at high speed away from Nidhogg and the Disir. They could clearly see Dee and Machiavelli in the car as he executed a clumsy handbrake turn and sped from the parking lot.