Michael Scott - The Magician

Standing before her brother, desperately trying to shield him, Sophie loosed a series of small whirlwinds. They bounced harmlessly off most of the stones and did nothing more than send a newspaper spiraling high into the sky.

“Nicholas,” Saint-Germain said desperately as the circle of stone creatures drew even closer. “A little magic, some alchemy, would be good now.”

Nicholas held out his right hand. A tiny sphere of green glass formed in it. Then it cracked and the liquid contents flowed back into his skin. “I’m not strong enough,” the Alchemyst answered sadly. “The transmutation spell in the catacombs exhausted me.”

The gargoyles shuffled closer, stone grinding, cracking with every step. Small grotesques were pulverized to dust if they were caught under the bigger creatures’ feet.

“They’ll just roll right over us,” Saint-Germain muttered.

“Dee must be controlling them,” Josh mumbled. He slumped against his sister, hands pressed against his ears. Every grinding footstep, every crack of stone, was agony to his Awakened hearing.

“There’s too many here for just one man,” Joan said. “It has to be Dee and Machiavelli.”

“But they must be close by,” Nicholas said.

“Very close,” Joan agreed.

“A commander always takes the high ground,” Josh said suddenly, surprising himself with the knowledge.

“Which means they’re on the roof of the cathedral,” Flamel concluded.

Then Joan pointed. “I see them. There, between the towers, directly above the center of the West Rose Window.” She tossed her sword to her husband, and then her aura flowed silver around her body and the air filled with the scent of lavender. Her aura hardened, taking on shape and substance, and suddenly a longbow grew out of her left hand while a shining arrow appeared in her right. Drawing back her right arm, she sighted and loosed the arrow, sending it arcing high into the air.

“They’ve spotted us,” Machiavelli said. Huge beads of sweat rolled down his face, and his lips were blue with the effort of controlling the stone creatures.

“It is no matter,” Dee said, peering over the edge. “They are powerless.” In the square below, the five humans were standing in a circle as the crushing stone statues closed in.

“Then let us finish it,” Machiavelli said through gritted teeth. “But remember, we need the children alive.” He broke off as something slender and silver arced through the air before his face. “It’s an arrow,” he began in wonder, and then stopped and grunted as the arrow plunged deep into his thigh. His entire leg from hip to toe went dead. He staggered back and fell onto the cathedral roof, hands pressed against his leg. Surprisingly, there was no blood, but the pain was excruciating.

On the ground far below, at least half the creatures suddenly froze or toppled over. They crashed to the ground, and those behind tumbled over them. Rock shattered, weathered stone exploding to dust. But still the rest of the creatures pressed on, closing in.

Another dozen silver arrows arced up from below. They pinged and shattered harmlessly against the brickwork.

“Machiavelli!” Dee howled.

“I can’t…” The pain in his leg was indescribable, and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t concentrate…”

“Then I’ll finish it myself.”

“The boy and girl,” Machiavelli said weakly. “We need them alive…”

“Not necessarily. I am a necromancer. I can reanimate their corpses.”

“No!” Machiavelli screamed.

Dee ignored him. Focusing his extraordinary will, the Magician issued the gargoyles a single command. “Kill them. Kill them all.”

The creatures surged forward.

“Again, Joan!” Flamel shouted. “Fire again!”

“I cannot.” The tiny Frenchwoman was gray with exhaustion. “The arrows are shaped from my aura. I have nothing left.”

The gargoyles pressed in, closer and closer, stone grinding and scraping as they shuffled on. Their range of movement was limited; some had claws and teeth, others horns or barbed tails, but they would simply crush the humans.

Josh picked up a small round grotesque that was so weathered it was little more than a squat lump of stone and heaved it back into the mass of creatures. It struck a gargoyle, and both shattered. He winced with the sound, but he also realized that they could be destroyed. Pressing his hands against his ears, he squinted at the broken creature, his Awakened sight taking in every detail. The stone creatures were invulnerable to steel and magic…but then he noted that the stone was weathered and fragile. What destroyed stone?

…There was a flash of memory…except it wasn’t his memory…of an ancient city, walls crumbling, pulverized to dust…

“I’ve got an idea,” he shouted.

“Make it a good one,” Saint-Germain called. “Is it magic?”

“It’s basic chemistry.” Josh looked at Saint-Germain. “Francis, how hot can you make your fire?”

“Very hot.”

“Sophie, how cold a wind can you create?”

“Very cold,” she said, nodding. She suddenly knew what her brother was suggesting: she’d done the same experiment in chemistry class.

“Do it now,” Josh shouted.

A carved dragon with a chipped bat’s wing lurched forward. Saint-Germain unleashed the full force of his Fire magic against the creature’s head, bathing it in flame, baking it cherry red. And then Sophie let loose a puff of arctic air.

The dragon’s head cracked and exploded into dust.

“Hot and cold,” Josh shouted, “hot and cold.”

“Expansion and contraction,” Nicholas said with a shaky laugh. He looked up to where Dee’s head was just visible over the edge of the roof. “One of the basic principles of alchemy.”

Saint-Germain bathed a boar galloping toward them in scalding heat, and Sophie washed icy air over it. Its legs snapped off.

“Hotter!” Josh shouted. “It needs to be hotter. And yours need to be colder,” he said to his sister.

“I’ll try,” she whispered. Her eyes were already leaden with exhaustion. “I don’t know how much more I can do.” She looked at her brother. “Help me,” she said. “Let me draw on your strength.”

Josh stood behind Sophie and placed both hands on her shoulders. Silver and gold auras sparked alight, mixing, entwining. Realizing what they were doing, Joan immediately gripped her husband’s shoulders and both their auras-red and silver-crackled around them. When Saint-Germain shot a plume of fire over the approaching gargoyles, it was white-hot, strong enough to start melting the stones even before subarctic freezing winds and icy fog rolled from Sophie’s hands. Saint-Germain turned in a slow circle, and Sophie followed him. First stone cracked, ancient brick exploded, and rock melted beneath the intense heat, but when the icy winds followed, the effect was dramatic. The hot stone statues exploded and split apart, shattering into gritty, stinging dust. The first row fell, and then the next and the next, until a wall of shattered and cracked stone built up in a circle around the trapped humans.

And when Saint-Germain and Joan slumped, Sophie and Josh continued, blasting icy air over the few remaining creatures. Because the gargoyles had spent centuries as water spouts, the stone was soft and porous. Using her brother’s energy to boost her powers, Sophie froze the moisture trapped within the stone and the creatures shattered.

“The two that are one,” Nicholas Flamel whispered, crouching exhausted on the cobblestones. He looked at Sophie and Josh, their auras blazing wildly about them, silver and gold intermixed, traces of ancient armor visible against their skin. Their power was incredible-and seemingly inexhaustible. He knew that power like this could control, reshape or even destroy the world.