see people.
Josh shook his head. I don't understand.
Dee and the Elders he serves look at these people and see only slaves. He
paused, then quietly added, Or food.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
L ying flat on her back, Perenelle Flamel stared at the stained stone ceiling
directly above her head and wondered how many other prisoners incarcerated on
Alcatraz had done the same. How many others had traced the lines and cracks
in the stonework, seen shapes in the black water marks, imagined pictures in
the brown damp? Almost all of them, she guessed.
And how many had heard voices? she wondered. She was sure that many of the
prisoners had imagined they heard sounds in the dark whispered words, hushed
phrases but unless they possessed Perenelle s special gift, what they were
hearing did not exist outside their imaginations.
Perenelle heard the voices of the ghosts of Alcatraz.
Listening intently, she could distinguish hundreds of voices, maybe even
thousands. Men and women children, too clamoring and shouting, muttering and
crying, calling out for lost loved ones, repeating their own names again and
again, proclaiming their innocence, cursing their jailers. She frowned; they
weren t what she was looking for.
Allowing the voices to wash over her, she sorted through the sounds until she
picked up one voice louder than all the rest: strong and confident, it cut
through the babble, and Perenelle found herself concentrating on it, focusing
on the words, identifying the language.
This is my island.
It was a man, speaking Spanish in an old, very formal accent. Concentrating
on the ceiling, Perenelle tuned out the other voices. Who are you? In the
chill damp of the cell, her words puffed from her mouth like smoke and the
myriad ghosts fell silent.
There was a long pause, as if the ghost was surprised to be spoken to; then
he said proudly, I was the first European to sail into this bay, the first
to see this island.
A shape began to form on the roof directly over her head, the crude outline
of a face appearing in the cracks and spiderwebs, the black damp and the
green moss lending it shape and definition.
I called this place la Isla de los Alcatraces.
The Isle of the Pelicans, Perenelle said, her words the merest whispered
breath.
The face in the ceiling solidified briefly. It was that of a handsome man
with a long, narrow face and dark eyes. Water droplets formed and the eyes
blinked tears.
Who are you? Perenelle asked again.
I am Juan Manuel de Ayala. I discovered Alcatraz.
Claws click-clacked on the stones outside the cell, and the smell of snake
and rancid meat wafted down the corridor. Perenelle remained silent until the
scent and the footsteps retreated, and when she looked at the ceiling again,
the face had taken on more detail, the cracks in the stonework creating the
deep wrinkles on the man s forehead and around his eyes. A sailor s face, she
realized, the wrinkles caused by squinting toward distant horizons.
Why are you here? she wondered aloud. Did you die here?
No. Not here. Narrow lips curled in a smile. I returned because I fell in
love with this place from the very first moment I set eyes on it. It was in
the year of Our Lord 1775, and I was on the good ship San Carlos. I even
remember the month, August, and the date, the fifth.
Perenelle nodded. She had come across ghosts like de Ayala s before. Men and
women who had been so influenced or affected by a place that they returned to
it again and again in their dreams, and eventually, when they died, their
spirit returned to the same location to become a Guardian ghost.
I have watched over this island for generations. I will always watch over
it.
Perenelle stared up at the face. It must have saddened you to see your
beautiful island become a place of pain and suffering, she probed.
Something twisted in the shape s mouth, and a single drop of water fell from
its eye to spatter on Perenelle s cheek.
Dark days, sad days, but gone now thankfully, gone. The ghost s lips moved
and the words whispered in Perenelle s head. There has not been a human
prisoner on Alcatraz since 1963, and the island has been peaceful since
1971.
But now there is a new prisoner on your beloved island, Perenelle said
evenly. A prisoner guarded by a warden more terrible than any this island
has ever seen before.
The face in the ceiling altered, watery eyes narrowing, blinking. Who? You?
I am held here against my will, Perenelle said. I am Alcatraz s last
prisoner, and I am guarded by no human jailor, but by a sphinx.
No!
See for yourself!
The plaster crackled and damp dust rained down on Perenelle s face. When she
opened her eyes again, the face in the ceiling had gone, leaving nothing more
than a stain in its wake.
Perenelle allowed herself a smile.
What amuses you, humani? The voice was a slithering hiss, and the language
predated the human race.
Swinging herself into a sitting position, Perenelle focused on the creature
standing in the corridor less than six feet from her.
Generations of ancient humans had tried to capture the image of this creature
on cave walls and pots, etching her shape in stone, capturing her likeness on
parchments. And none of them had even come close to the true horror of the
sphinx.
The body was that of a hugely muscled lion, the fur scarred and cut with the
evidence of old wounds. A pair of eagle s wings curled out of its shoulders
and lay flat against its back, the feathers ragged and filthy. And the small,
almost delicate-looking head was that of a beautiful young woman.
The sphinx stepped up to the bars of the cell, and a black forked tongue
wavered in the air in front of Perenelle. You have no reason to smile,
humani. I have learned that your husband and the Warrior are trapped in
Paris. Soon they will be prisoners, and this time Dr. Dee will ensure that
they never escape again. I understand the Elders have given the doctor
permission to finally slay the legendary Alchemyst.
Perenelle felt something twist in the pit of her stomach. For generations the
Dark Elders had been intent on capturing Nicholas and Perenelle alive. If she
was to believe the sphinx and they were prepared to kill Nicholas, then
everything had changed. Nicholas will escape, she said confidently.
Not this time. The lion s tail of the sphinx whipped excitedly back and
forth, raising plumes of dust. Paris belongs to the Italian, Machiavelli,
and soon he will be joined by the English Magician. The Alchemyst cannot
evade them both.
And the children? Perenelle asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. If anything
had happened to Nicholas or the children
The sphinx s feathers ruffled, raising a musty sour smell. Dee believes the
humani children are powerful, that they may indeed be the twins of prophecy
and legend. He also believes they can be convinced that they should serve us,
rather than following the ramblings of a mad old bookseller. The sphin
x took
a deep shuddering breath. But if they do not do as they are told, then they
too will perish.
And what about me?
The sphinx s pretty mouth opened to reveal a maw of savage, needle-pointed
teeth. Her long black tongue thrashed wildly in the air. You are mine,
Sorceress, she hissed. The Elders have given you to me as a gift for my
millennia of service to them. When your husband has been captured and slain,
then I will be given permission to eat your memories. What a feast it will
be. I intend to savor every last morsel. When I am finished with you, you
will remember nothing, not even your own name. The sphinx started to laugh,
the sound hissing and mocking, bouncing off the bare stone walls.
And then a cell door slammed.
The sudden sound shocked the sphinx into silence. Her small head turned, her
tongue flickering, tasting the air.
Another door boomed shut.
And then another.
And another.
The sphinx spun away, claws striking sparks off the floor. Who s there? Her
voice screeched off the damp stones.
Abruptly, all the cell doors in the upper gallery rattled open and closed in
quick succession, the sound a rumbling detonation that vibrated deep into the
heart of the prison, causing dust to rain from the ceiling.
Snarling and hissing, the sphinx bounded away, looking for the source of the
noise.
With an icy smile, Perenelle swung her feet back up on the bench, lay back
and rested her head on her laced fingers. The island of Alcatraz belonged to
Juan Manuel de Ayala, and it looked as though he was announcing his presence.
Perenelle heard cell doors clang, wood thump and walls rattle and knew what
de Ayala had become: a poltergeist.
A noisy ghost.
She also knew what de Ayala was doing. The sphinx fed off Perenelle s magical
energies; all the poltergeist had to do was to keep the creature away from
the cell for a little time and Perenelle s powers could begin to regenerate.
Raising her left hand, the woman concentrated hard. The tiniest ice white
spark danced between her fingers, then fizzled away.
Soon.
Soon.
The Sorceress closed her hand into a fist. When her powers had recovered, she
would bring Alcatraz tumbling down around the sphinx s ears.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T he beautifully intricate Eiffel Tower loomed more than nine hundred feet
over Josh s head. There was a time when he d compiled a list for a school
project of the Ten Wonders of the Modern World. The metal tower had been
number two on that list, and he d always promised himself that someday he d
get to see it.
And now that he was finally in Paris, he didn't even look up.
Standing almost directly beneath the center of the tower, he rose on his
toes, turning his head left and right, searching for his twin among the
surprisingly large number of early-morning tourists. Where was she?
Josh was scared.
No, more than scared he was terrified.
The last couple of days had taught him the true meaning of fear. Prior to the
events of Thursday, Josh had only ever really been afraid of failing a test
or being publicly humiliated in class. He had other fears too, those vague,
shivery thoughts that came in the dead of night, when he found himself lying
awake wondering what would happen if his parents had an accident. Sara and
Richard Newman both held PhD s in archaeology and paleontology, and while
that wasn't the most dangerous line of work, their research sometimes took
them into countries in the midst of religious or political turmoil, or they
conducted their digs in areas of the world ravaged by hurricanes or in
earthquake zones or close to active volcanoes. The sudden movements of the
earth s crust often threw up extraordinary archaeological finds.
But his deepest, darkest fear was that something would happen to his sister.
Although Sophie was twenty-eight seconds older, he always thought of her as
his baby sister. He was bigger and stronger, and it was his job to protect
her.
And now, in a way, something terrible had happened to his twin.
She had changed in ways he could not even begin to comprehend. She had become
more like Flamel and Scathach and their kind than like him: she had become
more than human.
For the first time in his life, he felt alone. He was losing his sister. But
there was one way to be her equal again: he had to have his own powers
Awakened.
Josh turned just as Sophie and Scathach appeared, hurrying across a broad
bridge that led directly to the tower. Relief washed over him. They re
here, he said to Flamel, who was facing the opposite direction.
I know, Nicholas said, his French accent sounding stronger than usual. And
they re not alone.
Josh tore his gaze away from his approaching sister and Scathach. What do
you mean?
Nicholas inclined his head slightly and Josh turned. Two tourist buses had
just arrived at the Place Joffre and were disgorging their passengers. The
tourists Americans, Josh guessed by their clothing milled around, chatting
and laughing, cameras and videos already whirring while their guides tried to
gather them together. A third bus, bright yellow, pulled up, spilling dozens
of excited Japanese tourists out on the pavement. Confused, Josh looked at
Nicholas: did he mean the buses?
Josh turned and spotted the man in black striding toward them, moving swiftly
through the holiday crowd. None of the tourists even glanced at the stranger
weaving his way among them, twisting and turning like a dancer, taking care
to not so much as brush against them. Josh guessed the man was probably about
his own height, but it was impossible to make out his body shape because he
was wearing a three-quarter-length black leather coat that flapped about him
as he walked. The collar was turned up, and his hands were pushed deep into
the pockets. Josh felt his heart sink: now what?
Sophie raced up and punched her brother in the arm. You got here, she said
breathlessly. Any trouble?
Josh tilted his head toward the approaching man in the leather coat. I m not
sure.
Scathach appeared beside the twins. She wasn't even breathing hard, Josh
noted. In fact, she wasn't breathing at all.
Trouble? Sophie asked, looking at Scathach.
The Warrior smiled, tight-lipped. Depends how you define trouble, she
murmured.
On the contrary, Nicholas said, smiling broadly. He heaved a sigh of
relief. It s a friend. An old friend. A good friend.
The man in the black coat was closer now, and the twins could see that he had
a small, almost round face, deeply tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. Thick
shoulder-length black hair was swept back off his high forehead. Mounting the
steps, he pulled both hands out of his pockets and spread his arms wide,
silver rings winking on every finger and on his thumbs, matching the silver
studs in both ears. A broad smile revealed misshapen, slightly yellowed
teeth.
Master, he said, wrapping both arms around Nicholas and kissing him quickly
on both cheeks. You have returned. The man blinked, eyes moist, and for an
instant the pupils winked red. There was a sudden hint of burnt leaves in the
air.
And you never left, Nicholas said warmly, holding the man at arm s length
and examining him critically. You look well, Francis. Better than the last
time I saw you. He turned, putting his arm around the man s shoulder.
Scathach you know, of course.
Who could forget the Shadow? The blue-eyed man stepped forward, caught the
Warrior s pale hand in his and brought it to his lips in an old-fashioned
courtly gesture.
Scathach leaned forward and pinched the man s cheek hard enough to leave a
red mark. I told you last time; don't do that to me.
Admit it you love it. He grinned. And this must be Sophie and Josh. The
Witch told me about them, he added. The man s bright blue eyes remained wide
and unblinking as he regarded the two in turn. The twins of legend, he
murmured, frowning a bit as he stared hard at them. You re sure?
I m sure, Nicholas said firmly.
The stranger nodded and bowed slightly. The twins of legend, he repeated.
I am honored to make your acquaintance. Allow me to introduce myself. I am
le Comte de Saint-Germain, he announced dramatically, and then paused,
almost as if he expected them to know the name.
The twins looked at him blankly, identical expressions on their faces.
But you must call me Francis; all my friends do.
My favorite student, Nicholas added fondly. Certainly my best student.
We ve known one another a long time.
How long? Sophie asked automatically, although even as she was asking the
question, the answer popped into her head.
For about three hundred years or so, Nicholas said. Francis trained to be
an alchemist with me. He quickly surpassed me, he added. He specialized in
creating jewels.
I learned everything I know about alchemy from the master: Nicholas Flamel,
Saint-Germain said quickly.
In the eighteenth century, Francis was also an accomplished singer and
musician. And what are you this century? Nicholas asked.
Well, I have to say I am disappointed you've not heard of me, the man said
in accentless English. you've obviously not been keeping up with the charts.
I ve had five number-one hits in the States and three in Germany, and I won