The Magician

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S ophie s ragged scream pulled Josh from a deep and dreamless sleep and

rolled him out of bed, leaving him swaying on his feet, trying to get his

bearings in complete darkness.

Sophie screamed again, the sound raw and terrifying.

Josh blundered across the bedroom, banging his knees on a chair before he

discovered the door, visible only because of the thin strip of light beneath

it. His sister was in the room directly across the corridor.

Earlier, Saint-Germain had escorted them upstairs and given them their choice

of rooms on the top floor of the town house. Sophie had immediately picked

the one overlooking the Champs-Elys es from the bedroom window, she could

actually see the Arc de Triomphe over the rooftops while Josh had taken the

room across the hall, which looked over the dried-up rear garden. The rooms

were small, with low ceilings and uneven, slightly sloping walls, but each

had its own bathroom with a minuscule shower cubicle that had only two

settings scalding and freezing. When Sophie had run the water in her room,

Josh s shower stopped working altogether. And although he d promised his

sister that he would come talk to her after he d showered and changed, he d

sat on the edge of his bed and almost immediately fallen into an exhausted

sleep.

Sophie screamed for a third time, a shuddering sob that brought tears to his

eyes.

Josh jerked open his door and ran across the narrow corridor. He pushed open

the door to his sister s room and stopped.

Joan of Arc was sitting on the edge of his sister s bed, holding Sophie s

hand in both of hers. There were no lights in the room, but it was not in

total darkness. Joan s hand was glowing with cool silvery light and it looked

like she was wearing a soft gray glove. As he watched, his sister s hand took

on the same texture and color. The air smelled of vanilla and lavender.

Joan turned to look at Josh, and he was startled to discover that her eyes

were glowing silver coins. He took a step toward the bed, but she raised a

finger to her lips and shook her head slightly, warning him not to say

anything. The glow faded from her eyes. Your sister is dreaming, Joan said,

though he wasn't sure whether she had spoken aloud or if he was hearing her

voice in his head. The nightmare is already passing. It will not return,

she said, making the sentence into a promise.

Wood creaked behind Josh and he whirled to see the Comte de Saint-Germain

coming down a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. Francis gestured to

Josh from the bottom of the stairs, and although his lips didn't move, the

boy clearly heard his voice: My wife will take care of your sister. Come

away.

Josh shook his head. I should stay. He didn't want to leave Sophie alone

with the strange woman, but he also knew instinctively that Joan would never

harm his sister.

There is nothing you can do for her, Saint-Germain said aloud. Get dressed

and come up to the attic. I have my office there. He turned away and

disappeared back up the stairs.

Josh took a last look at Sophie. She was resting quietly, her breathing had

slowed and he noticed that the dark rings had disappeared from beneath her

eyes.

Go now, Joan said. There are some things I have to say to your sister.

Private things.

She s asleep , Josh began.

But I will still say them, the woman murmured. And she will still hear

me.

In his room, Josh dressed quickly. A bundle of clothes had been laid on a

chair beneath the window: underwear, jeans, T-shirts and socks. He guessed

the clothes belonged to Saint-Germain: they were about the count s size. Josh

dressed quickly in a pair of black designer jeans and a black silk T-shirt

before slipping into his own shoes and taking a quick look in the mirror. He

was unable to resist a smile; he d never imagined himself wearing such

expensive clothes. In the bathroom, he cracked open a new toothbrush from its

packaging, brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face and ran his

fingers through his overlong blond hair, pulling it back off his forehead.

Strapping on his watch, he was shocked to discover that it was a little after

midnight on Sunday morning. He d slept the entire day and most of the night.

When he left the bedroom, he stopped at the door to his sister s room and

looked inside. The smell of lavender was so strong it made his eyes water.

Sophie lay unmoving on the bed, her breathing regular and even. Joan remained

beside her, holding her hand, murmuring softly, but not in any language he

could understand. The woman turned her head slowly to look at him, and he

discovered that her eyes were once again flat silver discs, without any hint

of white or pupil. She turned back to Sophie.

Josh stared at them for a moment before turning away. When the Witch of Endor

had instructed Sophie in the Magic of Air, he had been dismissed; now he d

been dismissed again. He was quickly realizing that in this new magical

world, there was no place for someone like him, someone without power.

Josh slowly climbed the narrow winding stairs that led up to Saint-Germain s

office. Whatever Josh had been expecting to find in the attic, it was not the

huge brightly lit white wood and chrome room. The attic ran the length of the

entire house and had been remodeled into one vast open space, with an arched

window looking over the Champs-Elys es at one end. The enormous room was

filled with electronics and musical instruments, but there was no sign of

Saint-Germain.

Against the right wall, a long table stretched from one end of the space to

the other. It was piled high with computers, both desktops and laptops,

screens of all shapes and sizes, synthesizers, a mixing desk, keyboards and

electronic drum kits.

On the opposite side of the room a trio of electric guitars were perched on

stands, while an assortment of keyboards were arranged around an enormous LCD

screen.

How do you feel? Saint-Germain asked.

It took Josh a second to identify where the voice was coming from. The

musician was lying flat on his back under the table, a bundle of USB cables

in his hands. Good, Josh said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

He felt better than he had in a long time. I don't even remember lying

down .

You were both exhausted, physically and mentally. And I understand the

leygates suck every last drop of energy from you. Not that I ve ever traveled

through one, he added. To be truthful, I was surprised you were still on

your feet, Saint-Germain muttered as he dropped the cables. you've slept

for about fourteen hours.

Josh knelt alongside Saint-Germain. What are you trying to do?

I moved a monitor and the cable fell out; I m not sure which one it is.

You should color code them with tape, Josh said. That s what I do.

Straightening, he caught the end of the cable that was attached to the

wide-screen monitor and jerked it up and down. It s this one. The cable

twitched in Saint-Germain s hands.

Thanks!

The monitor suddenly flickered to life, displaying a screen filled with

sliders and knobs.

Saint-Germain climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. He was wearing

clothes identical to Josh s. They fit. He nodded. And they look good on

you. You should wear black more often.

Thanks for the clothes . He stopped. I don't know how we re going to be

able to pay you back, though.

Francis laughed quickly. They weren t a loan, they were a gift. I don't want

them back.

Before Josh could thank him again, Saint-Germain hit the keyboard and Josh

jumped as a series of heavy piano chords thumped out from hidden speakers.

don't worry, the attic is soundproofed, Saint-Germain said. It ll not wake

Sophie.

Josh nodded at the screen. Do you write all your music on computer?

Just about. Saint-Germain looked around the room. Anyone can make music

now; you don't need much more than a computer, some software, patience and a

lot of imagination. If I need some real instruments for a final mix, I ll

hire musicians. But I can do most things here.

I downloaded some beat-detection software once, Josh admitted. But I could

never get it right.

What do you compose?

Well, I m not sure you d call it composing . I put together some ambient

mixes.

I d love to listen to anything you have.

It s all gone. I lost my computer, my cell phone and my iPod when Yggdrasill

was destroyed. Even saying it aloud made him feel sick. And the worst part

was that he really had no idea exactly what he d lost. I lost my summer

project and all my music, and that was about ninety gigs. I had some great

bootlegs. I ll never be able to replace them. He sighed. I also lost

hundreds of photos; all the places Mom and Dad took us. Our parents are

scientists they re archaeologists and paleontologists, he added, so we ve

seen some amazing places.

Lost everything! That s got to be tough, Saint-Germain sympathized. What

about backups?

The stricken look on Josh s face was all the answer the count needed.

Were you a Mac or a PC user?

Both, actually. Dad uses PCs at home, but most of the schools Sophie and I

have gone to use Macs. Sophie loves her Macs, but I prefer a PC, he said.

If anything goes wrong, I can usually pull it apart and fix it myself.

Saint-Germain walked to the end of the table and rummaged around underneath

it. He pulled out three laptops, different brands and screen sizes, and lined

them up on the floor. He gestured dramatically. Take one.

Josh blinked at him in surprise. Take one?

They re all PCs, Saint-Germain continued, and they re no use to me. I ve

completely switched over to Macs now.

Josh looked from Saint-Germain to the laptops and back to the musician again.

He d just met this man, didn't know him, and here he was offering Josh a

choice of three expensive laptops. He shook his head. Thanks, but I

couldn't.

Why not? Saint-Germain demanded.

And Josh had no answer for that.

You need a computer. I m offering you one of these. I would be pleased if

you took it. Saint-Germain smiled. I grew up in an age when gift giving was

an art. I have found that people in this century really do not know how to

accept a gift gracefully.

I don't know what to say.

How about thank you? Saint-Germain suggested.

Josh grinned. Yes. Well thank you, he said hesitantly. Thank you'very

much. Even as he was speaking, he knew which machine he wanted: the tiny

one-inch-thick laptop with an eleven-inch screen.

Saint-Germain dug around under the table and extracted three power cords that

he dropped onto the floor alongside the machines. I m not using them.

They ll probably never be used again. I ll end up reformatting the hard

drives and giving the machines to the local schools. Take whichever one you

like. You ll find a backpack under the table too. He paused, blue eyes

twinkling, and tapped the back of the machine Josh was looking at, then added

with a grin, I ve a spare long-life battery for this one. That was my

favorite.

Well, if you re really not using them

Saint-Germain ran a finger across the back of the small laptop, tracing a

line in the dust, holding it up so that Josh could see the black mark on his

fingertip. Trust me: I m not using them.

OK thanks. I mean, thank you. No one s ever given me a present like this

before, he said, picking up the small computer and turning it over in his

hands. I ll take this one if you re really sure .

I m sure. It s fully loaded; got wireless, too, and it ll autoconvert the

power for European and American current. Plus, it s got all my albums on it,

Saint-Germain said, so you can start your music collection again. You ll

also find an mpeg of the last concert. Check it out; it s really good.

I ll do that, Josh said, plugging in the laptop to charge the battery.

Let me know what you think. And you can be honest with me, Saint-Germain

added.

Really?

The count took a moment to consider, and then he shook his head. No, not

really. Only tell me if you think I m good. I don't like negative reviews,

though you d think that after nearly three hundred years, I d be used to

them.

Josh opened the laptop and turned it on. The machine whined and flickered to

life. Leaning forward, he gently blew dust off the keyboard. When the laptop

booted, the screen flickered and showed an image of Saint-Germain onstage,

surrounded by a dozen instruments. You have a picture of yourself for your

wallpaper? Josh asked incredulously.

It s one of my favorites, the musician said.

Josh nodded toward the screen and then looked around the room. Can you play

all these?

Every one. I started on the violin a long time ago, then moved on to

harpsichord and flute. But I ve kept up with the times, always learning new

instruments. In the eighteenth century, I was using the latest technology the

new violins, the latest keyboards and here I am, nearly three hundred years

later, still doing that. This is a great time to be a musician. And with

technology, I can finally play all the sounds I hear in my head. His fingers

brushed a keyboard and a full choir sang from the speakers.

Josh jumped. The voices were so clear that he actually looked over his

shoulder.

I load up the computer with sound samples, so I can use anything in my

work. Saint-Germain turned back to the screen and his fingers danced on the

keys. don't you think those fireworks yesterday morning made some great

sounds? Crackling. Snapping. Maybe it s time for another Fireworks Suite.

Josh walked around the room, looking at the framed gold records, the signed

posters and CD sleeves. I didn't know there was one already, he said.

George Frideric Handel, 1749, Music for the Royal Fireworks. What a night

that was! What music! Saint-Germain s fingers moved across a keyboard,

filling the room with a tune Josh thought sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe

he d heard it on a TV ad. Good old George, Saint-Germain said. I never

liked him.

The Witch of Endor doesn t like you, Josh said hesitantly. Why?

Saint-Germain grinned. The Witch doesn t like anyone. She especially doesn t

like me because I became immortal through my own efforts and, unlike Nicholas

and Perry, I don't need any recipe from a book to remain undying.

Josh frowned. You mean there are different types of immortality?

Many different types, and as many different types of immortals. The most

dangerous are those who became immortal because of their loyalty to an Elder.

If they fall from favor with the Elder, the gift is rescinded, of course. He

snapped his fingers and Josh jumped. The result is instant old age. Ancient

age. It s a great way of ensuring loyalty. He turned back to the keyboard

and his fingers drew a haunting breathy sound from the speakers. He looked up

as Josh joined him in front of the screen. But the real reason the Witch of

Endor doesn t like me is because I an ordinary mortal became the Master of

Fire. He held up his left hand and a different-colored flame danced at the

tip of each finger. The attic studio suddenly smelled of burnt leaves.

And why would that bother her? Josh asked, staring entranced at the dancing

flames. He wanted desperately wanted to be able to do something like that.

Maybe because I learned the secret of fire from her brother. The music

changed, becoming discordant and harsh. Well, when I say learned, I should

really say stole.

You stole the secret of fire! Josh said.

The Comte de Saint-Germain nodded happily. From Prometheus.

And one of these days my uncle will want it back. Scathach s voice made

them both jump. Neither had heard her enter the room. Nicholas is here, she

said, and turned away.