The Magician

CHAPTER SIX

I m OK, Sophie murmured sleepily, really I am.

You don't look OK, Josh muttered through gritted teeth. For the second time

in as many days, Josh was carrying his sister in his arms, one arm under her

back, the other beneath her legs. He moved cautiously down the steps of

Sacre -Coeur, terrified he was going to drop his twin. Flamel told us every

time you use magic it will steal a little of your energy, he added. You

look exhausted.

I m fine , she muttered. Let me down. But then her eyes flickered closed

once more.

The small group moved silently through the thick vanilla-scented fog,

Scathach in the lead with Flamel taking up the rear. All around them they

could hear the tramp of boots, the jingle of weapons, and the muted commands

of the French police and special forces as they climbed the steps. Some of

them came dangerously close, and twice Josh was forced to crouch low as a

uniformed figure darted by.

Scathach suddenly loomed up out of the thick fog, a short, stubby finger

pressed to her lips. Water droplets frosted her spiky red hair, and her white

skin looked even paler than usual. She pointed to the right with her ornately

carved nunchaku. The fog swirled and suddenly a gendarme was standing almost

directly in front of them, close enough to touch, his dark uniform sparkling

with beads of liquid. Behind him, Josh was able to make out a group of French

police clustered around what looked like an old-fashioned merry-go-round.

They were all staring upward, and Josh heard the word brouillard murmured

again and again. He knew that they were talking about the strange fog that

had suddenly descended over the church. The gendarme was holding his service

pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed skyward, but his finger was lightly

curled over the trigger and Josh was once again reminded just how much danger

they were in not only from Flamel s nonhuman and inhuman enemies, but from

his all-too-human foes as well.

They walked perhaps another dozen steps and suddenly the fog stopped. One

moment Josh was carrying his sister through the thick mist; then, as if he

had stepped through a curtain, he was standing in front of a tiny art

gallery, a caf and a souvenir shop. He turned to look behind him and found

that he was facing a solid wall of mist. The police were little more than

indistinct shapes in the yellow-white fog.

Scathach and Flamel stepped out of the murk. Allow me, Scathach said,

catching hold of Sophie and lifting her from Josh s arms. He tried to

protest Sophie was his twin, his responsibility but he was exhausted. The

backs of his calves were cramping, and the muscles in his arms burned with

the effort of carrying his sister down what had felt like countless steps.

Josh looked into Scathach s bright green eyes. She s going to be OK?

The ancient Celtic warrior opened her mouth to reply, but Nicholas Flamel

shook his head, silencing her. He rested his left hand on Josh s shoulder,

but the boy shrugged it off. If Flamel noticed the gesture, he ignored it.

She just needs to sleep. The effort of raising the fog so soon after melting

the tulpa has completely drained the last of her physical strength, Flamel

said.

You asked her to create fog, Josh said quickly, accusingly.

Nicholas spread his arms. What else could I do?

I I don't know, Josh admitted. There must have been something you could

do. I ve seen you throw spears of green energy.

The fog allowed us to escape without harming anyone, Flamel said.

Except Sophie, Josh replied bitterly.

Flamel looked at him for a long moment and then turned away. Let s go. He

nodded toward a side street that sloped sharply downward, and they hurried

into the night, Scathach effortlessly carrying Sophie, Josh struggling to

keep up. He was not going to leave his sister s side.

Where to? Scathach asked.

We need to get off the streets, Flamel murmured. It looks like every

gendarme in the city has descended on Sacre -Coeur. I also saw special forces

and plainclothes police that I guess are secret service. Once they realize

we re not in the church, they ll probably cordon off the area and do a

street-by-street search.

Scathach smiled quickly, her long incisors briefly visible against her lips.

And let s face it: we re not exactly inconspicuous.

We need to find a place to Nicholas Flamel began.

The police officer who came racing around the corner looked to be no more

than nineteen tall, thin and gangly with bright red cheeks and the fuzzy

beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip. One hand was on his holster; the

other was holding on to his hat. He skidded to a halt directly in front of

them and managed a quick yelp of surprise as he fumbled for the gun in its

holster. Hey! Arr tez!

Nicholas lunged forward and Josh actually saw the green mist flow from the

Alchemyst s hand before his fingers brushed against the gendarme s chest.

Emerald light flared around the police officer s body, outlining it in

brilliant green, and then the man simply folded to the ground.

What did you do? Josh asked in a horrified whisper. He looked at the young

police officer lying still, and was suddenly chilled and sickened. You

didn't you didn't kill him?

No, Flamel said tiredly. Just overloaded his aura. Bit like an electric

shock. He ll awaken shortly with a headache. He pressed his fingertips to

his forehead, massaging just over his left eye. I hope it ll not be as bad

as mine, he added.

You do know, Scathach said grimly, that your little display will have

alerted Machiavelli to our position. Her nostrils flared and Josh breathed

deeply; the air around them stank of peppermint: the distinctive odor of

Nicholas Flamel s power.

What else could I do? Nicholas protested. You had your hands full.

Scatty curled her lips in disgust. I could have taken him. Remember, who got

you out of Lubyanka Prison with both hands manacled behind my back?

What are you talking about? Where s Lubyanka? Josh asked, confused.

Moscow. Nicholas glanced sidelong at Josh. don't ask; it s a long story,

he murmured.

He was going to be shot as a spy, Scathach said gleefully.

A very long story, Flamel repeated.

Following Scathach and Flamel through the winding streets of Montmartre, Josh

thought back to how John Dee had described Nicholas Flamel to him only the

day before.

He has been many things in his time: a physician and a cook, a bookseller, a

soldier, a teacher of languages and chemistry, both an officer of the law and

a thief. But he is now, and has always been, a liar, a charlatan and a

crook.

And a spy, Josh added. He wondered if Dee knew that. He peered at the rather

ordinary-looking man: with his close-cropped hair and his pale eyes, in his

black jeans and T-shirt under a battered black leather jacket, he would have

passed unnoticed on any street in any city in the world. And yet he was

anything but ordinary: born in the year 1330, he claimed to be working for

the good of humanity, by keeping the Codex away from Dee and the shadowy and

terrifying creatures he served, the Dark Elders.

But whom did Flamel serve? Josh wondered. Just who was the immortal Nicholas

Flamel?