recently, both the German army and the French Resistance had bases in the
tunnels during World War II. In this century, illegal art galleries and even
a movie theater have been found deep underground by the cataflics, the police
unit who patrol underground.
Officially, the catacombs are called the Ossuary of Denfert Rochereau, and
the entrance is directly across from the Denfert Rochereau Metro station.
Only a small section is open to the public; the tunnels are treacherous,
narrow, and prone to flooding and are riddled with potholes and wells.
And are the ideal hiding place for a Sleeping God.
A special preview of
THE
SORCERESS
Book Three of
Excerpt copyright 2008 by Michael Scott
Published by Delacorte Press
I am tired now, so tired.
And I am aging fast. There is a stiffness in my joints, my sight is no longer
sharp and I find I have to strain to hear. Over the past five days I have
been forced to use my powers, and that has speeded the aging process. I
estimate that I have aged by at least a decade perhaps more since last
Thursday. If I am to live, I have to retrieve the Book of Abraham, and I
cannot I dare not risk using my powers.
But Dee has the Codex, and I know that I will be forced yet again to use my
waning aura.
We are about to enter London. I fear this city above all others, for it is at
the very heart of Dee s power. London has attracted Elders from across the
globe: there are more of them in this city than in any other on earth. Elders
and Next Generation move freely and unnoticed through the streets, and I know
of at least a dozen Shadowrealms scattered across the British Isles. The last
time Perenelle and I were in this city, in September 1666, the Magician
almost burned it to the ground trying to capture us. We ve never been back.
However, a great number of ley lines meet and converge over these Celtic
lands, and I pray that with the twins Awakened powers, we can use those
lines to return to San Francisco and my Perenelle.
And here too is Gilgamesh the King, the oldest immortal human in the world.
His knowledge is incalculable and encyclopedic. It is said that he was once
the guardian of the Codex, that he even knew the mythical Abraham who created
the Book. Gilgamesh also knows all the elemental magics, though strangely, he
never possessed the power to use them. The King has no aura. I ve often
wondered what that must be like: to be aware of so many incredible things, to
have access to the wisdom of the ancients and yet be unable to use it.
I have told Sophie and Josh that I need Gilgamesh to train them in the Magic
of Water and find us a ley line that will take us home. What they do not know
is that it is a desperate gamble: if the King refuses, then we will be
trapped in the very heart of Dee s domain, with no possibility of escape.
Nor have I told them that Gilgamesh is quite, quite insane.
From the Day Booke of Nicholas Flamel, Alchemyst
Writ this day, Monday, 4th June,
in London, the city of my enemies
MONDAY,
4th June
CHAPTER ONE
I think I see them.
The young man in the green parka standing directly beneath the huge circular
clock in St. Pancras station took the phone away from his ear and checked a
blurred image on the screen. The English Magician had sent the image: the
picture was grainy, the colors washed and faded, and it looked liked it had
been taken from an overhead security camera. It showed an older man with
short gray hair, accompanied by two blond-haired teens, climbing onto a
train.
Rising up on his toes, the young man swiveled his head, looking for the trio
he d glimpsed. For a moment, he thought he d lost them in the milling crowd,
but even if he had, they wouldn't get far: one of his sisters was downstairs;
another was in the street outside, watching the entrance.
Now, where had the old man and the teenagers gone?
Narrow, pinched nostrils opened wide as the young man sorted through the
countless scents in the station. He identified and dismissed the mixed stink
of too many humani, the myriad perfumes and deodorants, the gels and pastes,
the greasy odor of fried food from the station s restaurants, the richer
aroma of coffee and the metallic oily tang of the train engines and
carriages. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The odors he was
seeking were older, wilder, unnatural .
There!
Mint: just the merest suggestion.
Orange: no more than the vaguest hint.
Vanilla: little more than a trace.
Hidden behind small rectangular sunglasses, blue-black eyes opened wide and
his head swiveled, following the gossamer threads of scent through the vast
train station. He had them now!
The gray-haired older man, wearing black jeans and a scuffed leather jacket,
was striding down the station concourse directly toward him. There was a
small overnight case in his left hand. He was followed by the two teenagers,
alike enough to be brother and sister. The boy was taller than the girl, and
they were both wearing backpacks.
The young man snapped a quick picture with his cell phone camera and sent it
to Dr. John Dee. Although he had nothing but contempt for the English
Magician, there was no point in making an enemy of him. Dee was the agent of
the most dangerous of all the Elders.
Pulling the hood of his parka over his head, he turned away as the trio drew
level with him, and dialed his sister, who was waiting downstairs. It s
definitely Flamel and the twins, he murmured into the phone, speaking the
ancient language that had eventually become Gaelic. They re heading in your
direction. We ll take them when they get onto the Euston Road.
The young man in the hooded parka set off after the Alchemyst and the
American twins. He moved easily through the early-afternoon crowd, looking
like just another teenager, anonymous and unnoticed in his sloppy jeans,
scuffed sneakers and overlarge coat, his head and face concealed by the hood,
his eyes invisible behind the sunglasses.
Despite his form, the young man had never been remotely human. He and his
sisters had first come to this land when it was still joined to the European
continent, and for generations they had been worshipped as gods. He bitterly
resented being ordered about by Dee who was, after all, nothing more than a
humani. But the English Magician had promised the hooded boy a delectable
prize: Nicholas Flamel, the legendary Alchemyst. Dee s instructions were
clear; he and his sisters could have Flamel, but the twins must not be
touched. The boy s thin lips twisted. His sisters would take the boy and
girl, while he would have the honor of killing Flamel. A coal-black tongue
licked cracked dry lips. He and his sisters would feast for weeks. And, of
course, they would keep the tastiest morsels for Mother.
Nicholas Flamel slowed, allowing Sophie and Josh to catch up with him.
Forcing a smile, he pointed to the thirty-foot-tall bronze statue of a couple
embracing beneat
h the clock. It s called The Meeting Place, he said loudly,
and then added in a whisper, We re being followed. Flamel grasped Josh s
arm with iron-hard fingers. don't even think about turning around.
Who? Sophie asked.
What? Josh said tightly. He was feeling nauseated; his newly Awakened
senses were overwhelmed by the scents and sounds of the train station. The
light was so sharp he wished he had a pair of sunglasses to shield his eyes.
What? is the better question, Nicholas said grimly. He raised a finger to
point up to the clock, as if he were talking about it. I m not sure what it
is, he admitted. Something ancient. I felt it the moment we stepped off the
train.
Felt it? Josh asked.
A tingle, like an itch. My aura reacted to the aura of whoever whatever is
here. When you have a little more control of your own auras, you ll be able
to do the same.
Tilting her head back, as if she were admiring the latticework of the
metal-and-glass ceiling, Sophie slowly turned. Crowds swirled around them.
Most seemed to be locals, though there were plenty of tourists, many stopping
to have their photographs taken in front of The Meeting Place or the huge
clock. No one seemed to be paying them any particular attention.
What can we do? Josh asked. I can boost Sophie s powers .
No, Flamel snapped. You can only use your powers as an absolute last
resort. As soon as you activate your aura, it will alert every Elder, Next
Generation and immortal within a ten-mile radius, and here, just about every
immortal you encounter is allied to the Dark Elders. Also, in this land, it
could awaken others, creatures best left sleeping.
But you said we re being followed, Sophie protested. That means Dee knows
we re here.
Flamel urged the twins to the left, away from the statue, hurrying them
toward the exit. I would imagine there are watchers in every airport,
seaport and railway station across Europe. Although Dee might have suspected
that we were heading to London, the instant either of you activates your
aura, he ll know for certain.
And what will he do then? Josh asked, turning to look at Flamel. In the
harsh overhead light, the new lines on the Alchemyst s forehead and around
his eyes were clearly visible.
Flamel shrugged. Who knows what he is capable of doing? He is desperate, and
desperate men do terrible things. Remember, he was on top of Notre Dame. He
now has some inkling of your powers; he s also confirmed that you are the
twins of legend. He has to have you. The Alchemyst reached out and poked
Josh in the chest. Paper rustled. Beneath his T-shirt, in a cloth bag hanging
around his neck, Josh carried the two pages he d torn from the Codex. And,
above all else, he must have these pages.
They followed the signs for the Euston Road exit and were swept along by a
crowd of commuters heading in the same direction. I thought you said there
would be someone to meet us, Sophie said.
Saint-Germain said he d try and contact an old friend, Flamel muttered.
Maybe he couldn't get in touch.
They stepped out of the ornate redbrick station onto Euston Road and stopped
in surprise. When they d left Paris nearly three hours ago, the skies had
been cloudless, the temperature already creeping into the high sixties; but
in London it was raining hard, and the wind whipping down the road was cold
enough to make the twins shiver. They turned and immediately ducked back into
the shelter of the station.
And that was when Sophie saw him.
A boy in a green parka, with the hood pulled up, she said suddenly, turning
to Nicholas and concentrating fiercely on his pale eyes, knowing that if she
looked away, she would involuntarily glance at the young man who had been
hurrying after them. She could see him from the corner of her eye. He was
loitering close to a pillar, staring at the cell phone in his hand, fiddling
with it. There was something wrong about the way he was standing. Something
unnatural. And she thought she caught the faintest taint of spoiled meat in
the air.
The smile on the Alchemyst s face grew strained. Wearing a hood? Yes, that s
who s been following us. The twins caught the faintest tremor in his voice.
Except he s not a boy, is he? Sophie asked.
Nicholas shook his head. Not even close.
Josh took a deep breath. So should I point out that I can see two more
people wearing green hooded parkas, and they re both heading in our
direction?
Grabbing the twins arms, he pulled them out into the driving rain, turned to
the right and dragged them down the street.
The rain was so cold it took Josh s breath away. Pellets of hard water stung
his face. Who are they? he demanded, blinking water from his eyes, brushing
his hair back out of his face.
The Hooded Ones, the Alchemyst said bitterly. Dee must be desperate, and
more powerful than I thought if he can command them. They are the Genii
Cucullati.
Sophie shivered as memories suddenly flickered at the edges of her
consciousness. She felt something sour at the back of her throat, and her
stomach twisted in disgust. The Witch of Endor had known the Genii
Cucullati and she had loathed them. Sophie looked sidelong at her brother.
Flesh-eaters.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The list grows ever longer, but The Magician would not have happened without
the support of so many people
Krista Marino, Beverly Horowitz, Jocelyn Lange and Christine Labov at
Delacorte Press, without whose help, patience, perseverance
Barry Krost at BKM and Frank Weimann at the Literary Group, for continued
support and advice
A particular mention must go to:
Libby Lavella, who gave Perenelle a voice
Sarah Baczewski, who gives the best notes
Jeromy Robert, who created the image
Michael Carroll, who reads it first and last
And finally there are:
Claudette, Brooks, Robin, Mitch, Chris, Elaine, David, Judith, Trista, Cappy,
Andrea, Ron and, of course, Ahmet, for everything else!
Now, I know I ve forgotten someone .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An authority on mythology and folklore, Michael Scott is one of Ireland s
most successful authors. A master of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and
folklore, he has been hailed by the Irish Times as the King of Fantasy in
these isles. He lives and writes in Dublin, where he is at work on the third
book in The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series The Sorceress.
Visit him at www.dillonscott.com.
ALSO BY MICHAEL SCOTT
The Alchemyst
The Magician
Copyright 2008 by Michael Scott
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