The Magician

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I guess I must still be on American time, Josh said.

Why? Scathach asked. They were standing in the fully equipped gym in the

basement of Saint-Germain s house. One wall was mirrored, and it reflected

the young man and the vampire, surrounded by the latest exercise equipment.

Josh glanced up at the clock on the wall. It s three a.m . I should be

exhausted, but I m still totally awake. It could be because it s only six at

night back home.

Scathach nodded. That s one of the reasons. Another is because you are

around people like Nicholas and Saint-Germain, and especially your sister and

Joan. Although your powers have not been Awakened, you are in the company of

some of the most powerful auras on the planet. Your own aura is picking up a

little of their power, and it is energizing you. But just because you don't

feel tired, that doesn t mean you should not rest, she added. Drink plenty

of water too. Your aura is burning through a lot of liquids. You need to keep

hydrated.

A door opened and Joan stepped into the gym. While Scathach was dressed in

black, Joan was wearing a long-sleeved white T-shirt over loose white

trousers and white sneakers. Like Scathach, however, she was carrying a

sword. I wondered if you needed an assistant, she said, almost shyly.

I thought you d gone to bed, Scathach said.

I don't sleep much these days. And when I do, my dreams are troubled. I

dream of fire. She smiled sadly. isn't it a wonderful irony: I m married to

a Master of Fire, yet I m terrified by dreams of fire.

Where is Francis?

In his office, working. He ll be there for hours. I m not sure if he ever

sleeps anymore. Now, she said, looking at Josh and changing the subject,

how are you getting on?

I m still learning how to hold the sword, Josh muttered, sounding vaguely

embarrassed. He d seen movies; he d thought he knew how people fought with

swords. He d never imagined, though, that just holding one would be so

difficult. Scathach had spent the past thirty minutes attempting to teach him

how to hold and move Clarent without dropping it. She hadn't had much

success; every time he spun the weapon, the weight dragged it from his grip.

The highly polished wooden floor was scratched and gouged where the stone

blade had struck it. It s harder than I thought, he finally admitted. I m

not sure I ll ever learn.

Scathach can teach you how to fight with a sword, Joan said confidently.

She taught me. She took a simple farm girl and turned her into a warrior.

She twisted her wrist, and her sword, which was almost as tall as she was,

moved and curled in the air with an almost human-sounding moan. Josh

attempted to copy the action and Clarent went spinning from his hand. It

buried itself point first in the floor, cracking the wood and swaying to and

fro.

Sorry, Josh muttered.

Forget everything you think you know about swordplay, Scathach said. She

glanced at Joan. He s watched too much TV. He thinks he can just twirl a

sword around like a cheerleader s baton.

Joan grinned. She deftly flipped her longsword and presented it to Josh, hilt

first. Take it.

Josh reached for the sword with his right hand.

You might think about using both hands, the small Frenchwoman suggested.

Josh ignored her. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of Joan s sword, he

attempted to lift it from her grasp. And failed. It was incredibly heavy.

You can see why we re still on the basics, Scatty said. She plucked the

sword from Josh s grip and tossed it to Joan, who caught it easily.

Let s start with how to hold a sword. Joan took up a position on Josh s

right, while Scathach stood to his left. Look straight ahead.

Josh looked into the mirror. While he and Scathach were clearly visible in

the glass, the faintest silver haze surrounded Joan of Arc. He blinked,

squeezing his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, the haze was still

there.

It s my aura, Joan explained, anticipating the question he was just about

to ask. It s usually invisible to the human eyes, but it ll sometimes turn

up on photos and in mirrors.

And your aura is like Sophie s, Josh said.

Joan of Arc shook her head. Oh no, not like your sister s, she said,

surprising him. Hers is much stronger.

Joan raised the longsword, spinning it around so that the point of the blade

was positioned between her feet and both hands rested on the pommel of the

hilt. Now, just do as we do and do it slowly. She stretched out her right

arm, holding the long blade steady. On Josh s left, the Shadow extended both

arms, holding her two short swords straight out in front of her.

Josh wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the stone sword and raised his

right arm. Even before he had it fully extended, it had begun to tremble with

the weight of the blade. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to keep his arm

steady. It s too heavy, he gasped as he lowered his arm and rotated his

shoulder; his muscles were burning. It felt a bit like the first day of

football practice after summer vacation.

Try it like this. Watch me. Joan showed him how to grip the handle with

both hands.

Using both hands, he found that it was easier to hold the sword straight out.

He tried it again, this time holding the sword with one hand. For about

thirty seconds the weapon remained still; then the tip began to tremble. With

a sigh, Josh lowered his arms. Can t do it with one hand, he muttered.

In time you will, Scathach snapped, losing patience. But in the meantime,

I ll teach you how to wield it using both hands, Eastern fashion.

Josh nodded. That might be easier. He d spent years studying tae kwon do,

and had always wanted to study kendo, Japanese fencing, but his parents had

refused, saying it was too dangerous.

All he needs is practice, Joan said seriously, looking at Scathach s

reflection in the mirror, her gray eyes bright and twinkling.

How much practice? Josh asked.

At least three years.

Three years? Taking a deep breath, he wiped first one palm and then the

other on his pants and gripped the hilt again. Then he looked at himself in

the mirror and stretched out both arms. I hope Sophie is doing better than I

am, he muttered.

The Comte de Saint-Germain had brought Sophie up to the house s tiny roof

garden. The view of Paris was spectacular, and she leaned on the balustrade

to look down onto the Champs-Elys es. Traffic had finally faded to little

more than a sparse trickle, and the city was still and silent. She breathed

deeply; the air was cool and damp, the slightly sour smell of the river

masked by the herbal scents coming from the dozens of overflowing pots and

fancy containers scattered across the roof. Sophie wrapped her arms around

her body, vigorously rubbed her forearms and shivered.

Cold? Saint-Germain asked.

A little, she said, though she wasn't sure if she was cold or nervous. She

knew Saint-Germain had brought her up here to teach her Fire magic.

After tonight, you will never feel the chill again, Saint-Germain promised.

You could walk across Antarctica wearing shorts and a T-shirt and feel

nothing. Brushing his long hair off his forehead, he plucked a leaf from a

pot and curled it between the palms of his hands, then rubbed them together.

The crisp odor of spearmint filled the air. Joan loves to cook. She grows

all her herbs up here, he explained, breathing deeply. There are a dozen

different types of mint, oregano, thyme, sage and basil. And of course

lavender. She loves lavender; it reminds her of her youth.

Where did you meet Joan? Here, in France?

I finally got together with her here, but believe it or not, I first met her

in California. It was 1849; I was making a little gold and Joan was working

as a missionary, running a soup kitchen and hospital for those who d gone

west in search of gold.

Sophie frowned. You were making gold during the Gold Rush? Why?

Saint-Germain shrugged and looked vaguely embarrassed. Like just about

everyone else in America in 48 and 49, I went west in search of gold.

I thought you could make gold. Nicholas said he can.

Making gold is a long, laborious process. I thought it would be far easier

to dig it up out of the ground. And once an alchemist has a little gold, he

can use that to grow more. That s what I thought I d do. But the land I

bought turned out to be useless. So I started planting a few fragments of

gold on the land and then I d sell the property to those people who had just

arrived.

But that s just wrong, Sophie said, shocked.

I was young then, Saint-Germain said. And hungry. But that s no excuse,

he added. Anyway, Joan was working in Sacramento, and she kept meeting

people who had bought useless land from me. She thought I was a

charlatan which I was and I took her for one of those dreadful do-gooders.

Neither of us knew the other was immortal, of course, and we hated one

another on sight. We kept bumping into one another over the years, and then,

during the Second World War, we met again, here in Paris. She was fighting

with the Resistance and I was spying for the Americans. That s when we

realized that we were different. We survived the war, and we ve been

inseparable ever since, though Joan keeps very much to the background. None

of my fan blogs or the gossip magazines even know we re married. We could

probably have sold the wedding pictures for a fortune, but Joan prefers to

keep a very low profile.

Why? Sophie knew that celebrities valued their privacy, but to remain

completely invisible seemed just strange.

Well you have to remember that the last time she was famous, people tried to

burn her at the stake.

Sophie nodded. Suddenly, remaining invisible sounded perfectly reasonable.

How long have you known Scathach? she asked.

Centuries. When Joan and I got together, we discovered that we knew a lot of

people in common. All immortal, of course. Joan s known her a lot longer than

I have. Though I m not sure if anyone really knows the Shadow, he added with

a wry smile. She always seems so He paused, hunting for the right word.

Lonely? she suggested.

Yes. Lonely. He gazed out across the city and then shook his head sadly and

looked back over his shoulder at Sophie. Do you know how often she has stood

alone against the Dark Elders, how many times she has put herself in terrible

danger to keep this world safe from them?

Even as Sophie started to shake her head, a series of images flashed through

her consciousness, fragments from the Witch s memories:

Scathach, wearing leather and chain mail, standing alone on a bridge, two

blazing swords in her hands, waiting as enormous sluglike monsters gathered

at one end.

Scathach in full armor, standing in the door of a great castle, arms folded

across her chest, her swords stuck into the ground at her feet. Facing her

was an army of huge lizardlike creatures.

Scathach, clad in sealskin and furs, balanced on a shifting ice floe as

creatures that looked as if they had been carved out of the ice itself

surrounded her.

Sophie licked her lips. Why why does she do it?

Because that is who she is. That is what she is. The count looked at the

girl and smiled sadly. And because it is all she knows. Now, he said

briskly, rubbing his hands together again, sparks and cinders spiraling up

into the night air. Nicholas wants you to learn the Magic of Fire. Nervous?

he asked.

A little. Have you ever taught anyone else? Sophie asked hesitantly.

Saint-Germain grinned, showing his uneven teeth. No one. You will be my

first student and probably my last.

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.

As he was speaking, images crackled into existence before Sophie s face

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.