Michael Scott - The Magician

“Now, Sophie,” Nicholas resumed. “I need you to find your brother.”

“How?”

“I’m hearing sirens,” Joan said urgently, looking back down the alley. “Lots of sirens.”

Flamel ignored her. He stared deep into Sophie’s bright blue eyes. “You can find him,” he insisted. “You are his twin; it is a connection that goes even deeper than blood. You’ve always known when he was in trouble, haven’t you?”

Sophie nodded.

“Nicholas…,” Joan prodded, “we are running out of time.”

“You’ve always felt his pain, known when he was unhappy or upset?”

Sophie nodded again.

“You are connected to him, you can find him.” The Alchemyst turned the girl around so that she was facing down the alleyway. “Josh was standing here,” he said, pointing. “Dee and Machiavelli were standing about here.”

Sophie was confused and getting irritated. “But they’re gone now. They took him away.”

“I don’t think they forced him to go anywhere, I think he went with them of his own free will,” Nicholas said very softly.

The words hit Sophie like a blow. Josh wouldn’t leave her, would he? “But why?”

Flamel shrugged slightly. “Who knows? Dee has always been very persuasive, and Machiavelli is a master manipulator. But we can find them, I’m sure of it. Your senses have been Awakened, Sophie. Look again; imagine Josh standing in front of you, see him…”

Sophie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then opened them again. She could see nothing out of the ordinary; she was standing in a dirty trash-strewn alley, the walls covered with curling ornate graffiti, with the smoke of the burning car whirling around her.

“His aura is gold,” Flamel continued. “Dee’s is yellow…Machiavelli’s gray or dirty white…”

Sophie started to shake her head. “I can’t see anything,” she began.

“Then let me help you.” Nicholas put his hand on her shoulder and suddenly the stink of the burning car was replaced with the fresh sharp smell of mint. Instantly, her aura flared around her body, crackling and spitting like a firework, the pure silver now tinged with the emerald green of Flamel’s aura.

And then she saw… something.

Directly in front of her she could make out the merest hint of Josh’s outline. It was ghostly and insubstantial, composed of little more than threads and sparkling dust motes of gold, and when he moved he trailed streaked lines of gossamer color in the air behind him. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could also make out the traces of Dee’s and Machiavelli’s outlines in the air.

She blinked slowly, afraid that the images would vanish, but they remained hanging in the air before her, and if anything, the colors grew even more intense. Josh’s aura was the brightest of all. She reached out blindly, her fingers touching the golden edge of her brother’s arm. The smoky outline twisted away as if blown by a breeze.

“I see them,” she said in awe, her voice barely above a whisper. She’d never imagined she’d be able to do anything like this. “I can see their outlines.”

“Where did they go?” Nicholas asked.

Sophie followed the colored streaks in the air; they led to the end of the alley. “This way,” she said, and set off down the alleyway toward the street, with Nicholas close on her heels.

Joan of Arc took one last lingering look at her battered car and then followed.

“What are you thinking?” Flamel asked.

“I’m thinking that when this is all over, I’m going to return the car to its former pristine condition. And then never take it out of the garage again.”

“Something’s wrong,” Flamel said as they wove their way through the streets.

Sophie was concentrating fiercely on following her twin and ignored him.

“I’ve just been thinking the same thing,” Joan said. “The city is too quiet.”

“Exactly.” Flamel looked around. Where were the Parisians on their way to work and the tourists determined to get to see the sights before the city grew stifling hot and crowded? The few people on the street hurried past, talking excitedly together. The air was filled with sirens, and there were police everywhere. And then Nicholas realized that Nidhogg’s rampage through the city had probably hit the news and people were being warned to stay off the streets. He wondered what excuse the authorities would make to explain the chaos.

Sophie pushed her way blindly down the street, following the gossamer threads that Josh’s, Dee’s and Machiavelli’s auras had left in the air behind them. She kept bumping into people and apologizing, but she never took her eyes off the sparkles of light. And then she noticed that as the sun rose higher in the heavens, it was becoming harder and harder to make out the pinpoints of colored light. She realized she was running out of time.

Joan of Arc caught up with the Alchemyst. “Can she really see the afterimages left by their auras?” she asked in archaic French.

“She can,” Nicholas replied in the same language. “The girl is extraordinarily powerful: she has no idea of the extent of her powers.”

“Have you any clue where we’re going?” Joan asked, looking around. She thought they were somewhere in the vicinity of the Palais de Tokyo, but she’d been concentrating on the marks on the road left by the police car and hadn’t been paying too much attention to their whereabouts.

“None,” Nicholas said, frowning. “I’m just wondering why we seem to be heading into the back streets. I would have thought that Machiavelli would want to take the boy into custody.”

“Nicholas, they want the boy for themselves, or rather, the Elders do. What does the prophecy say? ‘The two that are one, the one that is all.’ One to save the world, one to destroy it. The boy is a prize.” Without moving her head, her eyes flickered toward Sophie. “And the girl, too.”

“I know that.”

Joan rested her hand lightly on the Alchemyst’s arm. “You know that we must never allow both of them to fall into Dee’s hands.”

Flamel’s face hardened into a mask. “I know that, too.”

“What will you do?”

“Whatever is necessary,” he said grimly.

Joan pulled out a black cell phone. “I’m calling Francis; I’ll let him know we’re OK.” She looked around for a landmark. “Maybe he’ll know where we are.”

Sophie turned into a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for two people to pass side by side. In the gloom, she could see the threads and speckled light more clearly now. She even caught ghostly flashes of her brother’s outline. She felt her spirits lift; maybe they were going to catch up with him.

Then, abruptly, the auras vanished.

She stopped, confused and frightened. What had happened? Looking back down the alley, she could see the traces of their auras in the air, gold and yellow-Josh and Dee, side by side-Machiavelli’s gray following along behind. They reached the center of the alleyway and stopped, and she could distinctly see the outline of her brother’s body picked out in gold standing almost directly in front of her. Squinting, concentrating hard, she attempted to bring his aura into focus…

He was looking down, mouth open.

Sophie stepped back. Directly under her feet was a large manhole cover, with the letters IDC pressed into the metal. Tiny speckles of the three auras were streaked across the cover, outlining each letter in a different color.

“Sophie?” Nicholas began.

She felt a rush of excitement: relief that she hadn’t lost him. “They’ve gone down,” she said.

“Down?” he asked, turning a sickly pale color. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she said, alarmed at the expression on his face. “Why, what’s wrong? What’s down there? Sewers?”