She felt her stomach flip-flop, and suddenly this didn't seem like such a
good idea anymore. Why would you say that?
Well, the chances of coming across another person whose magical abilities
have been Awakened are very slight, and those of finding someone with as pure
an aura as yours, next to impossible. A silver aura is incredibly rare. Joan
was the last humani to have one, and she was born in 1412. You are very
special indeed, Sophie Newman.
Sophie swallowed hard; she wasn't feeling very special.
Saint-Germain sat down on a simple wooden bench set back against the chimney
breast. Sit here beside me, and I ll tell you what I know.
Sophie sat beside the Comte de Saint-Germain and looked across the roof, out
over the city. Memories that were not hers flickered at the edge of her
consciousness, hinting at a city with a different skyline, a city of low
buildings clustered around a massive fortress, thousands of smoke trails
rising into the night. She deliberately shied away from the thoughts,
realizing she was seeing Paris as the Witch of Endor remembered it, sometime
in the past.
Saint-Germain shifted to look at the girl. Give me your hand, he said
softly. Sophie put her right hand in his, and immediately a feeling of warmth
coursed through her body, wiping out the chill. Let me tell you what my own
teacher taught me about fire. As he was speaking, the count moved his
glowing index finger across the girl s palm, following the lines and ridges
in the flesh, tracing a pattern on her skin. My teacher said that there are
those who will say that the Magic of Air or Water or even Earth is the most
powerful magic of all. They are wrong. The Magic of Fire surpasses all
others.
As he was speaking, the air directly in front of them began to glow, then
shimmer. As if through a heat haze, Sophie watched the smoke twist and dance
with the count s words, creating images, symbols, pictures. She wanted to
reach out and touch them, but she remained still. Then the rooftop faded and
Paris vanished; the only sound she could hear was Saint-Germain s softly
insistent voice, and all she could see were the burning cinders. But as he
spoke, images started to form in the fire.
Fire consumes air. It can heat water to mist and can crack open the earth.
She watched as a volcano spewed molten rock high into the air. Red-black lava
and white-hot cinders rained down on a town of mud and stone .
Fire destroys, but it also creates. A forest needs fire to thrive. Certain
seeds depend on it to germinate.
Flames twisted like leaves and Sophie saw a forest blackened and battered,
the trees scarred with the evidence of a terrible fire. But at the base of
the trees, brilliant green shoots poked through the cinders .
In ages past, fire warmed the humani, allowed them to survive in harsh
climates.
The fire revealed a desolate landscape, rocky and snow-covered, but she could
see that the cave-dotted cliff face was lit up with warm yellow-red flames .
There was a sudden crack and a pencil-thin finger of flame shot up into the
night sky. She craned her neck, following it up, up, up, until it disappeared
amongst the stars.
This is the Magic of Fire.
Sophie nodded. Her skin tingled and she looked down to see tiny yellow-green
flames curl off Saint-Germain s fingers. They flickered across her skin,
coiling around her wrist, feather-soft and cool, leaving faint black traces
on her flesh. I know how important fire is. My mother is an archaeologist,
she said dreamily. She told me once that man didn't begin on the road to
civilization until he started cooking his meat.
Saint-Germain flashed a smile. You have Prometheus and the Witch to thank
for that. They brought fire to the first primitive humani. Cooking made it
easier for mankind to digest the meat they hunted, allowed them to absorb the
nutrients more easily. It kept them warm and safe in their caves, and
Prometheus showed them how to use the same fire to harden their tools and
weapons. The count gripped Sophie s wrist with his hand, holding it as if he
were taking her pulse. Fire has driven every great civilization, from the
ancient world right up to the present day. Without the heat of the sun, this
planet would be nothing more than rock and ice.
again, formed from smoke drifting off his hands. They hung undulating in the
still air.
A gray-brown planet turning in space, a single moon spinning around it.
There were no white clouds, no blue water, no green continents or golden
deserts. Only gray. And the faintest outlines of land masses cut into the
solid rock. Sophie abruptly realized that she was looking at the earth,
perhaps far, far in the future. She gasped in shock and her breath blew the
smoke away, taking the image with it.
The Magic of Fire is strongest in sunlight. Saint-Germain moved his right
hand and traced a symbol with his index finger. It hung glowing in the air, a
circle with spikes radiating from it like a sunburst. The count blew on it
and it dissolved into sparkles. Without fire, we are nothing.
Saint-Germain s left hand was now completely wrapped in flame, but he still
clutched Sophie s wrist. Red-white ribbons of fire curled around the girl s
fingers and puddled in the palm of her hand. Each finger burned like a
miniature candle red, yellow, green, blue and white yet she felt no pain and
no fear.
Fire can heal; it can seal a wound, can cut out disease, Saint-Germain
continued earnestly. Golden cinders of fire burned in his pale blue eyes. It
is unlike any other magic, because it is the only one directly linked to the
purity and strength of your aura. Almost anyone can learn the basics of
Earth, Air or Water magic. Spells and incantations can be memorized and
written down in books, but the power to ignite fire comes from within. The
purer the aura, the stronger the fire, and that means, Sophie, that you must
be very careful, because your aura is so pure. When you unleash the Magic of
Fire, it will be incredibly potent. Has Flamel warned you not to overuse your
powers, lest you burst into flame?
Scatty told me what might happen, Sophie said.
Saint-Germain nodded. Never create fire when you are tired or weakened. If
you lose control of this element, it will snap back on you and burn you to a
crisp in a heartbeat.
A solid ball of flame now burned steadily in Sophie s right hand. She became
aware that her left hand was tingling and quickly lifted it off the bench. It
left the smoking, blackened impression of a hand burned into the wood. With a
dull pop, a puddle of blue flame appeared in her left hand and each finger
sparked alight.
Why can t I feel it? Sophie wondered aloud.
You are protected by your aura, Saint-Germain explained. You can shape the
fire, in the same way that Joan showed you how to shape your aura into silver
objects. You can create globes and spears of fire. He snapped his fingers
and a scattering of thick round sparks bounced across the roof.
He then
pointed his index finger and a little jagged spearlike flame darted toward
the nearest spark, striking it with deadly accuracy. When you are in full
control of your powers, you will be able to draw upon the Magic of Fire at
will, but until then you will need a trigger.
A trigger?
Normally it would take hours of meditation to focus your aura to the point
at which you could bring it alight. But sometime in the very distant past,
someone discovered how to create a trigger. A shortcut. you've seen my
butterflies?
Sophie nodded, remembering the dozens of tiny tattooed butterflies that
wrapped around the count s wrists and coiled up his arm.
They are my trigger. Saint-Germain lifted the girl s hands. And now you
have yours.
Sophie looked down at her hands. The fire had gone out, leaving black sooty
streaks on her flesh and around her wrists. She brushed her hands together,
but succeeded only in smearing the dust.
Allow me. Saint-Germain lifted a watering can and shook it. Liquid sloshed
inside. Hold out your hands. He poured water over her palms it sizzled as
it touched her flesh washing away the black streaks. The count pulled a
spotless white handkerchief from his back pocket, dipped it into the watering
can and carefully wiped off the remainder of the soot. But around her right
wrist, where Saint-Germain had held it, the soot refused to wash away. A
thick black band encircled her wrist like a bracelet.
Saint-Germain snapped his fingers and his index and little finger lit up. He
brought the light close to Sophie s hand.
She looked down to discover that a tattoo was burned into her skin.
Silently lifting her arm, she twisted her wrist to examine the ornate band
twisted around it. Two strands, gold and silver, entwined and curled around
one another to form an intricate, almost Celtic-looking pattern. On the
underside of her wrist, where Saint-Germain had pressed his thumb, was a
perfect gold circle with a red dot in the center.
When you wish to trigger the Magic of Fire, press your thumb against the
circle and focus your aura, Saint-Germain explained. That will bring the
fire alive instantly.
And that s it? Sophie asked, sounding surprised. That s all?
Saint-Germain nodded. That s it. Why, what were you expecting?
Sophie shook her head. I don't know, but when the Witch of Endor taught me
Air magic, she wrapped me in bandages like a mummy.
Saint-Germain smiled shyly. Well, I m not the Witch of Endor, of course.
Joan tells me the Witch imbued you with all of her memories and knowledge.
I've no idea why she did that; it certainly wasn't necessary. But no doubt
she had her reasons. Besides, I don't know how to do that and I m not sure
I'd want you knowing all my thoughts and memories, he added with a grin.
Some of them are not very nice.
Sophie smiled. I m relieved another batch of memories wouldn't be that great
to deal with. Holding up her hand, she pressed the circle on her wrist and
her little finger smoked; then the nail glowed dull orange for a moment
before it popped alight with a slender, wavering flame. How did you know
what to do?
Well, I was first and foremost an alchemist. I suppose you d call me a
scientist today. When Nicholas asked me to train you in the Magic of Fire,
I'd no idea how to do it, so I just approached this like any other
experiment.
An experiment? Sophie blinked. Could it have gone wrong?
The real danger was that it simply would not have worked.
Thank you, she said finally, and then she grinned. I was expecting the
process to be a lot more dramatic. I m really glad it was so she paused,
looking for the right word ordinary.
Well, maybe not that ordinary. It s not every day you learn how to master
fire. How about extraordinary? Saint-Germain suggested.
Well, that too.
That s all. Oh, there are tricks I can and will teach you. Tomorrow, I ll
show you how to create globes, donuts and rings of fire. But once you have
the trigger, you can call upon fire at any time.
But do I need to say anything? Sophie asked. Do I need to learn any
words?
Like what?
Well, when you lit up the Eiffel Tower, you said something that sounded like
eggness.
Ignis, the count said. Latin for fire. No, you don't need to say
anything.
Why did you do it, then?
Saint-Germain grinned. I just thought it sounded cool.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
P erenelle Flamel was puzzled.
Creeping along the dimly lit corridors, she d discovered that all the lower
cells of the island prison were filled with creatures from the darker edges
of myth. The Sorceress had encountered a dozen different vampire breeds and
various werebeasts, as well as boggarts, trolls and cluricauns. One cell held
nothing but a sleeping child minotaur, while in the cell opposite, two
cannibal Windigo lay unconscious alongside a trio of oni. An entire corridor
of cells was given over to dragon-kin, wyverns and firedrakes.
Perenelle didn't think they were prisoners none of the cells were locked yet
they were all asleep, and they were secured behind the shining silver
spider s web. Still, she wasn't sure whether that was to keep the creatures
prisoners or keep them apart. None of the creatures she d discovered were
allies. She passed one cell where the web hung in ragged tatters. The cell
was empty, but the web and floor were clogged with bones, none of them even
vaguely human.
These were creatures from a dozen lands and as many mythologies. Some like
the Windigo she had only heard of, but at least they were native to the
American continent. Others, as far as she knew, had never traveled to the New
World and had remained safe and secure in their homelands or in Shadowrealms
that bordered those lands. Japanese oni should not coexist alongside Celtic
peists.
There was something terribly wrong here.
Perenelle rounded a corner and felt a breeze ruffle her hair. She turned her
face to it, nostrils flaring, smelling salt and seaweed. With a quick glance
over her shoulder, she hurried down the corridor.
Dee had to be collecting these creatures, had to be gathering them together,
but why? And more importantly, how? Capturing a single vetala was unheard of,
but a dozen? And how had they managed to get a baby minotaur away from its
mother? Even Scathach, as fearless and deadly as she was, would never face
down one of the bull-headed race if she could help it.
Perenelle came to a flight of steps. The smell of salt air was stronger now,
the breeze cooler, but she hesitated before putting her foot down and bent to
check the stair for silver strands. There were none. She still hadn't spotted
whatever had spun the webs that festooned the lower cells, and it was making
her incredibly nervous. It suggested that the web creators were probably
sleeping which meant that they would wake up sooner or later. When they did,
the entire prison would be swarming with spiders or maybe worse and she
didn't want to be out in the ope
n when that happened.
A little of her power had returned certainly enough to defend herself, though
the moment she used her magic, it would draw the sphinx to her and
simultaneously weaken and age her. Perenelle knew she would only get one
chance to face down the creature, and she wanted needed to be as powerful as
possible for that encounter. Darting up the creaking metal stairs, she
stopped at the rust-eaten door. Pushing back her hair, she placed her ear
against the corroded metal. All she could hear was the dull pounding of the
sea as it continued to eat away at the island. Gripping the handle in both
hands, she gently bore down on it and pushed the door open, gritting her
teeth as old hinges squeaked and squalled, the sound echoing through the
corridors.
Perenelle stepped out into a broad courtyard surrounded by ruined and tumbled
buildings. To the right the sun was sinking in the west, and it painted the
stones in a warm orange light. With a sigh of relief, she spread her arms
wide, turned her face to the sun, threw her head back and closed her eyes.
Static crackled and ran along the length of her black hair, lifting it off
her shoulders as her aura immediately began to recharge. The wind whipping in
off the bay was cool, and she breathed deeply, ridding her lungs of the
stench of rot, mildew and the monsters below.
And then she suddenly realized what all the creatures in the cells had in
common: they were monsters.
Where were the gentler spirits, the sprites and fey, the huldra and the
rusalka, the elves and the inari? Dee had only gathered the hunters, the
predators: the Magician was assembling an army of monsters.
A savage howling shriek ripped through the island, vibrating the very stones
beneath her feet. Sorceress!
The sphinx had discovered Perenelle was missing.
Where are you, Sorceress? The fresh sea air was suddenly tainted with the
stink of the sphinx.
Perenelle was turning back to close the door when she spotted movement in the
shadows below. She d looked into the sun too long, and the golden ball had
left burning afterimages on her retina. She squeezed her eyes shut for a
moment; then she opened them again to peer into the gloom.
The shadows were moving, flowing down the walls, gathering at the bottom of
the steps.
Perenelle shook her head. These were no shadows. This was a mass of