The Magician

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

F ireworks, Sophie breathed in awe.

The Eiffel Tower lit up with a spectacular fireworks display. Blue and gold

traceries of light raced almost one thousand feet to the mast at the very top

of the tower, where they blossomed into fountains of blue globes. Sparking,

hissing, fizzing rainbow-colored threads wove through the struts, bursting

and snapping. The tower s thick rivets popped with white fire, while the

arching spars rained cool ice blue droplets into the street far below.

The effect was dramatic, but it became truly spectacular when Saint-Germain

snapped the fingers of both hands and the entire Eiffel Tower turned bronze,

then gold, then green and finally blue in the morning sun. Rattling traceries

of light darted up and down the metal. Catherine wheels and rockets,

fountains and Roman candles, flying spinners and snakes spun off from every

floor. The mast at the very tip of the tower fountained red, white and blue

sparks that cascaded like bubbling liquid down through the heart of the

tower.

The crowd was entranced.

People gathered at the base, oohing and aahing, applauding at each new

explosion, their cameras clicking furiously. Motorists stopped on the roads

and climbed out of their cars, holding camera phones to snap the stunning and

beautiful images. Within moments, the dozens of people around the tower had

grown to a hundred and then, within a matter of minutes, had doubled and then

doubled again as people came running from shops and homes to observe the

extraordinary display.

And Nicholas Flamel and his companions were swallowed up by the crowd.

In a rare display of emotion, Machiavelli hit the side of the car so hard it

hurt his hand. He watched the growing crowd of people and knew his men would

not be able to get through in time to prevent Flamel and the others from

escaping.

The air sizzled and spat with fireworks; rockets went whizzing high into the

air, where they exploded into spheres and streamers of light. Firecrackers

and sparklers rattled around each of the tower s four giant metal legs.

Sir! A young police captain stopped before Machiavelli and saluted. What

are your orders? We can push through the crowd, but there may be injuries.

Machiavelli shook his head. No, do not do that. Dee would do it, he knew.

Dee would not hesitate to level the entire tower, killing hundreds just to

capture Flamel. Drawing himself up to his full height, Niccol could just

about make out the shape of the leather-clad Saint-Germain and the lethal

Scathach herding the young man and woman away. They melted into the now-huge

crowd and disappeared. But surprisingly, shockingly, when he looked back,

Nicholas Flamel remained where he had first seen him, standing almost

directly beneath the center of the tower.

Flamel raised his right hand in a mocking salute, the silver-link bracelet he

wore reflecting the light.

Machiavelli caught the police captain s shoulder, spun him around with

surprising strength and pointed with his long narrow fingers. That one! If

you do nothing else today, get me that one. And I want him alive and

unharmed!

As they both watched, Flamel turned and hurried toward the west leg of the

Eiffel Tower, toward the Pont d I na, but whereas the others had run across

the bridge, Flamel turned to the right, onto the Quai Branly.

Yes, sir! The captain struck out at an angle, determined to cut off Flamel.

Follow me, he shouted, and his troops spread out in a line behind him.

Dagon stepped up to Machiavelli. Do you want me to track Saint-Germain and

the Shadow? His head turned, nostrils flaring with a wet sticky sound. I

can follow their scent.

Niccol Machiavelli shook his head slightly as he climbed back into the car.

Get us out of here before the press turns up. Saint-Germain is nothing if

not predictable. He s undoubtedly heading to one of his homes, and we have

them all under observation. All we can do is hope we capture Flamel.

Dagon s face was impassive as he slammed the car door closed behind his

master. He turned in the direction Flamel had run and saw him disappear

amongst the crowd. The police were close behind, moving fast even though they

were weighed down by their body armor and weapons. But Dagon knew that over

the centuries Flamel had escaped both human and inhuman hunters, had slipped

past creatures that had been myth before the evolution of the apes and had

outwitted monsters that had no right to exist outside of nightmares. Dagon

doubted that the police would catch the Alchemyst.

Then he cocked his head, nostrils flaring again, catching the scent of

Scathach. The Shadow had returned!

The enmity between Dagon and the Shadow went back millennia. He was the last

of his kind because she had destroyed his entire race one terrible night two

thousand years ago. Behind his wraparound mirrored sunglasses, the creature s

eyes filled with sticky colorless tears, and he swore that, no matter what

happened between Machiavelli and Flamel, this time he would have his revenge

on the Shadow.

Walk, don't run, Scathach commanded. Saint-Germain, take the lead, Sophie

and Josh in the middle, I ll take up the rear. Scatty s tone left no room

for argument.

They darted across the bridge and turned right onto the Avenue de New York. A

series of lefts and rights brought them to a narrow side street. It was still

early, and the street was entirely in shadow. The temperature dropped

dramatically, and the twins immediately noticed that the fingers of

Saint-Germain s left hand, which were gently brushing against the dirty wall,

left tiny sparks in their wake.

Sophie frowned, sorting through her memories the Witch of Endor s memories,

she reminded herself of the Comte de Saint-Germain. She caught her brother

looking sidelong at her and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

Your eyes turned silver. Just for a second, he said.

Sophie glanced over her shoulder to where Scathach was trailing behind and

then looked at the man in the leather coat. They were both out of earshot,

she thought. I was trying to remember what I knew . She shook her head.

What the Witch knew about Saint-Germain.

What about him? Josh said. I ve never heard of him.

He is a famous French alchemist, she whispered, and along with Flamel,

probably one of the most mysterious men in history.

Is he human? Josh wondered aloud, but Sophie pressed on.

He s not an Elder or Next Generation. He s human. Even the Witch of Endor

didn't know a lot about him. She met him for the first time in London in

1740. She knew immediately that he was an immortal human, and he claimed he d

discovered the secret of immortality when he was studying with Nicholas

Flamel. She shook her head quickly. But I don't think the Witch quite

believed that. He told her that while traveling in Tibet he had perfected a

formula for immortality that didn't need to be renewed each month. But when

she asked him for a copy, he told her he d lost it. Apparently, he spoke

every language in the world fluently, was a brilliant musician and had a

reputation as a jewel maker. Her eyes blinked silver again as the memories

faded. And the Witch didn't like or trust him.

Then neither should we, Josh whispered urgently.

Sophie nodded, agreeing. But Nicholas likes him, and obviously trusts him,

she said slowly. Why is that?

Josh s expression was grim. I ve told you before: I don't think we should be

trusting Nicholas Flamel, either. Something s not right about him I m

convinced.

Sophie bit back her response and looked away. She knew why Josh was angry

with the Alchemyst; her brother was envious of her Awakened powers, and she

knew he blamed Flamel for putting her in danger. But that didn't mean he was

wrong.

The narrow side street led onto a broad tree-lined avenue. Although it was

still too early for rush-hour, the spectacular light and fireworks display

around the Eiffel Tower had brought any traffic in the area to a standstill.

The air was filled with the blare of car horns and the whooping of police

sirens. A fire truck was caught in the traffic jam, its wails rising and

falling, though there was nowhere for it to go. Saint-Germain strode across

the road, looking neither left nor right as he dug in his pocket for a

slender black cell phone. He flipped it open and hit speed dial. Then he

spoke in rapid-fire French.

Are you calling for help? Sophie asked when he had closed the phone.

Saint-Germain shook his head. Ordering breakfast. I m famished. He jerked

his thumb back in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, which was still erupting

fireworks. Creating something like that if you ll pardon'the pun burns a lot

of calories.

Sophie nodded, understanding now why her stomach had been rumbling with

hunger since she d created the fog.

Scathach caught up with the twins and fell into step alongside Sophie as they

hurried past the American Cathedral. I don't think we re being followed,

she said, sounding surprised. I would have expected Machiavelli to send

someone after us. She rubbed the edge of her thumb against her bottom lip,

chewing on her ragged nails.

Sophie automatically brushed Scatty s hand away from her mouth. don't bite

your nails.

Scathach blinked at her in surprise, then self-consciously put her hand down.

An old habit, she muttered. A very old habit.

What happens now? Josh asked.

We get off the streets and rest, Scathach said grimly. Have we much

farther to go? she called out to Saint-Germain, who was still in the lead.

A few minutes, he said, without turning around. One of my smaller town

houses is nearby.

Scathach nodded. Once we get there, we ll lie low until Nicholas returns,

get some rest and a change of clothes. She wrinkled her nose in Josh s

direction. And a shower, too, she added significantly.

Color touched the young man s cheeks. Are you saying I smell? he asked,

both embarrassed and angry.

Sophie laid her hand on her brother s arm before the Warrior could answer.

Just a little, she said. We probably all do.

Josh looked away, clearly upset, then glanced back at Scathach. I don't

suppose you smell, he snapped.

No, she said. No sweat glands. The Vampire are a much more evolved species

than the humani.

They continued in silence until the Rue Pierre Charron opened out onto the

broad Champs-Elys es, Paris s main thoroughfare. To their left they could see

the Arc de Triomphe. Traffic on both sides of the street was stopped, with

drivers standing alongside their cars chatting animatedly, gesticulating

wildly. All eyes were turned to the rippling fireworks still exploding over

the Eiffel Tower.

How do you think this will be reported on the news? Josh said. The Eiffel

Tower suddenly erupting with fireworks.

Saint-Germain glanced over his shoulder. Truth is, it s not that out of the

ordinary. The tower is often lit up with fireworks on New Year s Eve and

Bastille Day, for example. I would imagine it will be reported that next

month s Bastille Day fireworks went off prematurely. He stopped and looked

around, hearing someone call out his name.

don't look , Scatty began, but it was too late: the twins and Saint-Germain

had turned in the direction of the shouts.

Germain

Hey, Germain

Two young men who were standing next to their unmoving car were pointing at

Saint-Germain and shouting his name.

Both men were dressed in jeans and T-shirts and looked alike, with

slicked-backed hair and overlarge sunglasses. Abandoning their car in the

middle of the road, they wove through the stalled traffic, both holding what

Josh thought looked like long, narrow blades in their hands.

Francis, Scatty warned urgently, her hands locking into fists. She moved

forward just as the first man reached Saint-Germain, let me .

Gentlemen. Saint-Germain turned toward the two men, smiling widely, though

the twins, who were behind him, saw yellow-blue flames dance across his

fingertips.

Great concert last night, the first man said breathlessly, speaking English

with a strong German accent. He pushed back his sunglasses and held out his

right hand, and Josh realized that what he d first imagined was a knife was

nothing more than a fat pen. Any chance I could get an autograph?

The flames on Saint-Germain s fingers winked out. Of course, he said,

smiling delightedly, reaching for the pen and pulling a spiral-bound notebook

from an inner pocket. Did you get the new CD? he asked, flipping open the

notebook.

The second man, wearing identical glasses, plucked a black and red iPod from

the back pocket of his jeans. Got it on iTunes yesterday, he answered in

the same distinctive accent.

And don't forget to check out the DVD of the show when it comes out in a

month s time. Got some great extras, a couple of remixes and a great mashup,

Saint-Germain added as he signed his name with an elaborate flourish and

pulled the pages from the notebook. I d love to chat, guys, but I m in a

rush. Thanks for stopping, I appreciate it.

They shook hands quickly and the two men hurried back to their car,

high-fiving one another as they compared their autographs.

Smiling broadly, Saint-Germain took a deep breath and turned to look at the

twins. Told you I was famous.

And you ll soon be dead famous if we don't get off this street, Scathach

reminded him. Or maybe just dead.

We re just here, Saint-Germain muttered. He led them across the

Champs-Elys es and down a side street, then ducked into a narrow, high-walled

cobbled lane that snaked around the backs of the buildings. Stopping halfway

down the alley, he slid a key into an anonymous-looking door set flush with

the wall. The wooden door was chipped and scarred, foul green paint peeling

in long strips to reveal blistered wood beneath; the bottom was splintered

and cracked from rubbing the ground.

May I suggest a new gate? Scathach said.

This is the new gate. Saint-Germain smiled quickly. The wood is just a

disguise. Beneath it is a slab of solid steel with a five-point dead bolt.

He stepped back and allowed the twins to precede him through the entrance.

Enter freely and of your own will, he said formally.

The twins stepped forward and were vaguely disappointed with what they found.

Behind the gate was a small courtyard and a four-story building. To the left

and right, tall spike-tipped walls separated the house from its neighbors.

Sophie and Josh had been expecting something exotic or even dramatic, but all

they saw was an unkempt leaf-strewn rear garden. A huge and hideous stone

birdbath was set in the center of the courtyard, but instead of water, the

bowl was filled with dead leaves and the remains of a bird s nest. All the

plants in the pots and baskets surrounding the fountain at its center were

dead or dying.

The gardener s away, Saint-Germain said without a trace of embarrassment,

and I m really not very good with plants. He held up his right hand and

spread his fingers. Each one popped alight with a different-colored flame. He

grinned and the colored flames painted his face in flickering shadows. Not

my specialty.

Scathach paused by the gate, looking up and down the alleyway, head tilted to

one side, listening. When she was satisfied that they were not being

followed, she closed the door and turned the key in the lock. The dead bolts

slid into place with a satisfying thunk.

How will Flamel find us? Josh asked. Even though he was wary and fearful of

the Alchemyst, he felt even more nervous around Saint-Germain.

I gave him a little guide, Saint-Germain explained.

Will he be all right? Sophie asked Scathach.

I m sure he will be, she said, though the tone of her voice and the look in

her eyes betrayed her fears. She was turning away from the gate when she

stiffened, jaw unhinging, vampire teeth suddenly terrifyingly visible.

The door to the rear of the house had opened suddenly, and a figure stepped

out into the courtyard. Abruptly, Sophie s aura blazed silver-white, the

shock sending her spinning back into her brother, bringing his aura to

crackling life as well, outlining his body in gold and bronze. And as the

twins held on to one another, blinded by the silver and gold light of their

own auras, they heard Scathach scream. It was the most terrifying sound they

had ever heard.