Michael Scott - The Magician

She bent down, scooped up some of the mud and splashed it over the letters, erasing them. Only when she had completely cleaned away the primeval Words of Power did she step forward and send the globe of light twisting and bobbing into the cell.

It took Perenelle a single heartbeat to make sense out of what she was seeing. And in that moment, she realized that dismantling the protective pattern of power might indeed have been a terrible mistake.

The entire cell was a thick cocoon of spiders’ webs. In the center of the cell, dangling from a single strand of silk no thicker than her index finger, was a spider. The creature was enormous, easily the same size as the huge water tower that dominated the island above her head. It vaguely resembled a tarantula but bristling purple hair tipped with gray covered its entire body. Each of its eight legs was thicker than Perenelle. Set in the center of its body was a huge, almost human head. It was smooth and round, with no ears, no nose and only a horizontal slash for a mouth. Like a tarantula, it had eight tiny eyes set close to the top of the skull.

And one by one, the eyes slowly opened, each the color of an old bruise. They fixed on the woman’s face. Then the mouth widened, and two long spearlike fangs appeared. “Madame Perenelle. Sorceress,” it lisped.

“Areop-Enap,” she said in wonder, acknowledging the ancient spider Elder. “I thought you were dead.”

“You mean you thought you’d killed me!”

The web twitched and suddenly the hideous creature launched itself at Perenelle.

D r. John Dee leaned across the backseat of the police car. “Turn here,” he said to Josh. He saw the expression on the young man’s face and added, “Please.”

Josh hit the brakes and the car slid and screeched, the front tire now completely torn away and the wheel running on the metal rim, kicking up sparks.

“Now here.” Dee pointed to a narrow alleyway lined on both sides with rows of plastic trash cans. Watching him in the rearview mirror, Josh could see that he kept twisting in the seat to look behind him.

“Is she following?” Machiavelli asked.

“I can’t see her,” Dee said crisply, “but I think we need to get off the streets.”

Josh struggled to control the car. “We won’t get much farther in this,” he began, and then hit the first trash can, which toppled into a second and then a third, scattering rubbish across the alley. He turned the steering wheel sharply to avoid running over one of the fallen bins and the engine began to bang alarmingly. The car wobbled and then suddenly stopped, smoke billowing from the hood. “Out,” Josh said quickly. “I think we’re on fire.” He scrambled out of the car, Machiavelli and Dee exiting on the other side. Then they turned and ran down the alley, away from the car. They had taken perhaps half a dozen steps when there was a dull thump and the car burst into flames. Thick black smoke began spiraling upward into the sky.

“Wonderful,” Dee said bitterly. “So now the Disir definitely knows where we are. And she’s not going to be happy.”

“Well, not with you, that’s for sure,” Machiavelli said with a wry smile.

“Me?” Dee looked surprised.

“I’m not the one who set fire to her,” Machiavelli reminded him.

It was like listening to children. “Enough, already!” Josh rounded on the two men. “Who was that…that woman?”

“That,” Machiavelli said with a grim smile, “was a Valkyrie.”

“A Valkyrie?”

“Sometimes called a Disir.”

“A Disir?” Josh found that he wasn’t even surprised by the response. He didn’t care what the woman was called; all he cared about was that she’d tried to slice him in two with a sword. Maybe this was a dream, he thought suddenly, and everything that had happened from the moment Dee and the Golems had stepped into the bookshop was nothing more than a nightmare. And then he moved his right arm and his bruised shoulder protested. He winced in pain. The skin on his burned face felt tight and stiff, and when he licked his dry, cracked lips, he realized that this was no dream. He was wide awake-this was a living nightmare.

Josh stepped back from the two men. He looked up and down the narrow alley. There were tall houses on one side, and what looked like a hotel was on the other. The walls were daubed with layers of cursive and ornate graffiti, some of which had even been sprayed onto the trash cans. Standing on his toes, he tried to see the skyline, looking for the Eiffel Tower or Sacre-Coeur, something to give him an idea where he was. “I’ve got to get back,” he said, edging farther from the two disheveled men. According to Flamel, they were the enemy-especially Dee. And yet Dee had just saved him from the Disir.

Dee turned to look at him, gray eyes twinkling kindly. “Why, Josh, where are you going?”

“Back to my sister.”

“And Flamel and Saint-Germain too? Tell me; what are they going to do for you?”

Josh took another step backward. He had seen Dee throw spears of fire on two occasions-in the bookshop and at the Disir-and he was unsure how far the Magician could actually toss them. Not far, he figured. Another step or two and he would turn and run down the alleyway. He could stop the first person he met and ask directions to the Eiffel Tower. He thought the French for “where is?” was “ou est?” or maybe it was “qui est?” Or did that mean “who is?” He shook his head slightly, regretting not having paid attention in French class. “Don’t try and stop me,” he began, turning away.

“What did it feel like?” Dee asked suddenly.

Josh slowly turned to look at the Magician. He knew instantly what he was talking about. He found that his fingers had automatically curled, as if he were holding the hilt of a sword.

“What was it like holding Clarent, feeling that raw power running through you? What was it like knowing the thoughts and emotions of the creature you’d just stabbed?” Dee reached under his tattered suit coat and pulled out Clarent’s twin: Excalibur. “It is an awe-inspiring feeling, is it not?” He turned the blade in his hand, a blue-black trickle of energy shivering across the stone sword. “I know you must have experienced Nidhogg’s thoughts…emotions…memories?”

Josh nodded. They were still fresh-startlingly vivid-in his head. The thoughts, the sights, were so alien, so bizarre, that he knew he’d never have been able to imagine them himself.

“For an instant you knew what it was to be godlike: to see worlds beyond imagination, to experience alien emotions. You saw the past, the very distant past…you might even have seen Nidhogg’s Shadowrealm.”

Josh nodded slowly, wondering how Dee knew.

The Magician took a step closer to the boy. “For an instant, Josh, the merest instant, it was like being Awakened-though nowhere near as intense,” he added quickly. “And you do want to have your powers Awakened?”

Josh nodded. He felt breathless, his heart hammering in his chest. Dee was right; in those moments he’d held Clarent, he’d felt alive, truly alive. “But it can’t be done,” he said quickly.

Dee laughed. “Oh yes, it can. It can be done here, today,” he finished triumphantly.

“But Flamel said…,” Josh began, and then stopped, realizing what he’d just said. If he could be Awakened…

“Flamel says many things. I doubt even he knows what is the truth anymore.”

“Do you?” Josh snapped.

“Always.” Dee jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Machiavelli. “The Italian is no friend of mine,” he said quietly, staring directly into Josh’s troubled eyes. “So ask him the question: ask him if your powers could be Awakened this very morning.”