Michael Scott - The Magician

“So the catacombs of Paris have yet another mysterious bone statue,” the Italian said mildly. Dee turned away. “First you kill Hekate and now Mars,” Machiavelli continued. “And I thought you were supposed to be on our side. You do realize,” he called after Dee, “that we are both dead men. We’ve failed to capture Flamel and the twins. Our masters will not forgive us.”

“We’ve not failed yet,” Dee called back. He was almost at the end of the corridor. “I know where this tunnel comes out. I know how we can capture them.” He stopped and looked back, and when he spoke, the words came slowly, almost reluctantly. “But…Niccolo…we will need to work together. We will need to combine our powers.”

“What do you intend to do?” Machiavelli asked.

“Together, we can loose the Guardians of the City.”

T he Morrigan managed to struggle to her feet, but a spiderweb as thick as her arm wrapped around her waist and twisted between her legs, entangling them, and she fell. She started to slide over the side of the water tower when a second and then a third web caught her, curling around her body, wrapping it from neck to toes in a thick mummylike shell. Perenelle leapt off Areop-Enap’s back and crouched beside the Crow Goddess. The head of her spear vibrated with energy, and red and white smoke coiled into the damp night air. “You probably feel like screaming right now,” Perenelle said with a wry smile. “Go ahead.”

The Morrigan obliged. Her jaws unhinged, black lips parted to reveal her savage teeth and she howled.

The nerve-shattering cry echoed across the island. Every unbroken pane of glass on Alcatraz shattered into powder, and the entire water tower swayed. Across the bay, the city came awake as business, house and car alarms along the waterfront burst into cacophonous life. Every dog within a hundred-mile radius of the island started yowling piteously.

But the scream also brought the rest of the huge flock of gathered birds surging into the night sky in a thunderous explosion of flapping wings and raucous cries. Most were immediately entangled and brought down by a thick cloud of spiderwebs hanging in the air between the desolate buildings, draped across every open window, spun from pole to pole. The moment the ensnared birds hit the ground, spiders of every shape and size swarmed over them, cocooning them in thick silver webs. Within moments, the island fell silent again.

A handful of Dire-Crows escaped. Six of the huge birds swooped low over the island, avoiding the festoons and nets of sticky web. The birds curled out over San Francisco Bay toward the bridge, soared high and then swung back to attack. Now they were above the entangling spiderwebs. They circled over the water tower. Twelve pitch-black eyes fixed on Perenelle, and razor beaks and dagger-tipped claws opened as they dropped silently toward the woman.

Crouched over the Morrigan, Perenelle caught the flickering hint of movement reflected in her adversary’s black eyes. The Sorceress brought the spearhead to blazing life with a single word and spun it in her hand, leaving a red triangle burning in the foggy air. The savage birds flew through the red fire…and changed.

Six perfect eggs dropped out of the sky and were plucked out of midair by strands of gossamer-thin spiderweb. “Breakfast,” Areop-Enap said delightedly, clambering down the side of the tower.

Perenelle sat down beside the struggling Crow Goddess. Resting the spear on her knees, she looked out across the bay in the direction of the city she called home.

“What will you do now, Sorceress?” the Morrigan demanded.

“I have no idea,” Perenelle said truthfully. “It seems Alcatraz is mine.” She sounded almost bemused by the idea. “Well, mine and Areop-Enap’s.”

“Unless you’ve managed to master the art of flight, you are trapped here,” the Morrigan snarled. “This is Dee’s property. No tourists come here now; there are no sightseers, no fishing boats. You are still as much a prisoner as when you were in your cell. And the sphinx patrols the corridors below. She’ll be coming for you.”

The Sorceress smiled. “She can try.” She twirled the spear. It hummed in the air. “I wonder what this would turn her into: baby girl, lion cub or bird egg.”

“You know that Dee will return-and in force. He’ll want his army of monsters.”

“I’ll be waiting for him, too,” the Sorceress promised.

“You cannot win,” the Morrigan spat.

“People have been telling Nicholas and me that for centuries. And yet, we’re still here.”

“What will you do with me?” the Crow Goddess asked eventually. “Unless you kill me, you know I’ll never rest until you are dead.”

Perenelle smiled. She brought the spearhead close to her lips and blew gently on it until it glowed white-hot. “I wonder what this would turn you into?” she asked absently. “Bird or egg?”

“I was born, not hatched,” the Morrigan said simply. “You cannot threaten me with death. It holds no fear for me.”

Perenelle got to her feet and planted the butt of the spear on the ground. “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve got a much more suitable punishment in store for you.” She looked toward the skies, and the wind took her long hair, blowing it straight out behind her. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be able to fly, to soar silently through the heavens.”

“There is no greater feeling,” the Morrigan said honestly.

Perenelle’s smile was icy. “That’s what I thought. So I’m going to take away that which you hold most precious: your freedom and your ability to fly. I have the most wonderful cell just for you.”

“No prison can hold me,” the Morrigan said contemptuously.

“It was designed to hold Areop-Enap,” Perenelle said. “Deep underground, you will never see the sunlight or fly in the air again.”

The Morrigan howled again and thrashed from side to side. The water tower shifted and trembled, but the Old Spider’s web was unbreakable. Then the Crow Goddess abruptly fell silent. The wind picked up, and fog swirled around the two women. They could hear the clanging of distant alarms from San Francisco.

The Morrigan began to heave a series of hacking coughs, and it took Perenelle a moment before she realized that the Crow Goddess was laughing. Although she had an idea she was not going to like the answer, Perenelle asked, “And do you want to tell me what you find so amusing?”

“You may have defeated me,” the Morrigan heaved, “but you are already dying. I can see the age on your face and hands.”

Perenelle raised her hand to her face and moved the spearhead so that it shed light on her flesh. She was shocked to discover a speckling of brown spots on the back of her hand. She touched her face and neck, fingers tracing the lines of new wrinkles.

“How long before the alchemical formula wears off, Sorceress? How long before you wither into shriveled old age? Is it measured in days or weeks?”

“A lot can happen in a few days.”

“Sorceress, listen to me now. Listen to the truth. The Magician is in Paris. He has captured the boy and loosed Nidhogg on your husband and the others.” She coughed another laugh. “I was sent here to kill you because you and your husband are worthless. The twins are the key to the future.”

Perenelle leaned close to the Morrigan. The spearhead shed a crimson glow over both their faces, making them look like hideous masks. “You’re right. The twins are the key to the future-but whose: the Dark Elders’ or humankind’s?”

N iccolo Machiavelli took a tentative step forward and looked down over the city of Paris. He was standing on the roof of the great Gothic cathedral of Notre Dame; below was the river Seine and the Pont au Double, and directly spread out before him was the broad parvis, the square. Holding tightly to the ornate brickwork, he drew in a deep shuddering breath and willed his thumping heart to slow. He had just climbed one thousand and one steps up out of the catacombs onto the roof of the cathedral, following a secret route Dee claimed he’d used before. His legs were trembling with the effort and his knees ached. Machiavelli liked to think that he kept himself in good condition-he was a strict vegetarian and exercised every day-but the climb had exhausted him. He was also vaguely irritated that the strenuous climb hadn’t affected Dee in the slightest. “When did you say you were last up here?” he asked.