The Magician

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

J osh forced his eyes open. Black spots danced in front of them, and when he

raised his hand to his face, he could see the ghost of his own golden aura

still visible around his flesh. Reaching out, he found his sister s hand and

caught it. She squeezed gently, and he turned to find her blinking her eyes

open.

What happened? he mumbled, too shocked and numb to even be scared.

Sophie shook her head. It was like an explosion .

I heard Scathach scream, he added.

And I thought I saw someone coming out of the house , she added.

They both turned back to the town house. Scathach was at the door, her arms

wrapped around a young woman, holding her tightly, swinging her around in a

circle. Both women were laughing and squealing with delight, shouting at one

another in rapid-fire French. I guess they know each other, Josh said as he

helped his sister to her feet.

The twins turned to look at the Comte de Saint-Germain, who was standing to

one side, arms folded across his chest, smiling delightedly. They re old

friends, he explained. They ve not met in a long time a very long time.

Saint-Germain coughed. Joan, he said politely.

The two women broke apart and the woman he d called Joan turned to look at

Saint-Germain, her head tilted at a quizzical angle. It was impossible to

guess her age. Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, she was Sophie s height,

almost unnaturally slender, and her deeply tanned and flawless skin

emphasized huge gray eyes. Her auburn hair was cut in a short boyish style.

There were tears on her cheeks that she brushed away with a quick movement of

her palm. Francis? she asked.

And these are our visitors.

Holding Scathach s hand, the young woman stepped closer to Sophie. As the

woman approached, Sophie felt a sudden pressure in the air between them, as

if some invisible force was pushing her back, and then, abruptly, her aura

flared silver around her and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of

vanilla. Josh grabbed his sister s arm and his own aura crackled alight,

adding the scent of oranges to the air.

Sophie Josh , Saint-Germain began. The rich, sweet aroma of lavender filled

the courtyard as a hissing silver aura grew around the short-haired young

woman. It hardened and solidified, becoming metallic and reflective, molding

itself into a breastplate and greaves, gloves and boots, before finally

solidifying into a complete medieval suit of armor. I would like to

introduce my wife, Joan

Your wife! Scatty squealed, shocked.

whom you and history know as Joan of Arc.

Breakfast had been laid out on a long polished wooden table in the kitchen.

The air was rich with the odor of newly baked bread and brewing coffee.

Plates were piled high with fresh fruit, pancakes and scones, while sausages

and eggs sizzled in a pan on the old-fashioned iron range.

Josh s stomach started rumbling the moment he stepped into the room and saw

the food. His mouth filled with saliva, reminding him just how long it had

been since he d last eaten. He d only managed a couple of sips of the hot

chocolate at the caf earlier before the police arrived.

Eat, eat, Saint-Germain said, grabbing a plate in one hand and a thick

croissant in the other. He bit into the pastry, spilling wafer-thin flakes

onto the tiled floor. You must be famished.

Sophie leaned in close to her brother. Could you get me something to eat? I

want to talk to Joan. I need to ask her something.

Josh glanced quickly at the young-looking woman who was pulling cups from the

dishwasher. Her short haircut made it impossible to guess her age. Do you

really think she s Joan of Arc?

Sophie squeezed her brother s arm. After all we ve seen, what do you think?

She nodded toward the table. I just want fruit and cereal.

No sausage, no eggs? he asked, surprised. His sister was the only person he

knew who could eat more sausages than he could.

No. She frowned, blue eyes clouding. It s funny, but even the thought of

eating meat is making me feel sick. She grabbed a scone and turned away

before he could comment, and approached Joan, who was pouring coffee into a

tall glass cup. Sophie s nostrils flared. Hawaiian Kona coffee? she asked.

Joan s gray eyes blinked in surprise and she inclined her head. I m

impressed.

Sophie grinned and shrugged. I worked in a coffee shop. I d know the smell

of Kona anywhere.

I fell in love with it when we were in Hawaii, Joan said. She spoke English

with the merest hint of an American accent. I keep it for a special treat.

I love the smell; hate the taste. Too bitter.

Joan sipped a little more coffee. I ll bet you didn't come here to talk

about coffee?

Sophie shook her head. No, I didn't. I just She stopped. She had just met

this woman, yet she was about to ask her an incredibly personal question.

Can I ask you something? she said quickly.

Anything, Joan said sincerely, and Sophie believed her. She took a deep

breath and her words tumbled out in a rush.

Scathach once told me you were the last person to have a pure silver aura.

That s why yours reacted to mine, Joan said, wrapping both hands around the

cup and staring at the girl over the rim. I do apologize. My aura overloaded

yours. I can teach you how to prevent that from happening. She smiled,

revealing straight white teeth. Though the chances of meeting another pure

silver aura in your lifetime are incredibly slim.

Sophie nibbled nervously on the blueberry scone. Please excuse me for

asking, but are you really really Joan of Arc, the Joan of Arc?

Yes, I really am Jeanne d Arc. The woman gave a short bow. La Pucelle, the

Maid of Orl ans, at your service.

But I thought I mean, I always read that you died .

Joan dipped her head and smiled. Scathach rescued me. She reached out and

touched Sophie s arm, and immediately, flickering images of Scathach on a

huge black horse, wearing white and jet armor and wielding two blazing

swords, danced behind her eyes.

The Shadow single-handedly fought her way through the huge crowd who had

gathered to watch my execution. No one could stand against her. In the panic,

chaos and confusion, she snatched me right out from under the noses of my

executioners.

The images flashed in Sophie s head: Joan, wearing ragged and scorched

clothing, clinging to Scathach as the Warrior maneuvered her armored black

horse through the panicking crowd, the blazing swords in either hand clearing

their path.

Of course, everyone had to say they saw Joan die, Scatty said, joining

them, carefully slicing a pineapple into neat chunks with a curved knife. No

one neither English nor French was going to admit that the Maid of Orl ans

had been snatched out from under the noses of perhaps five hundred heavily

armed knights, rescued by a single female warrior.

Joan reached out and took a cube of pineapple from Scathach s fingers and

popped it into her mouth. Scatty took me to Nicholas and Perenelle, she

continued. They gave me shelter, looked after me. I d been injured in the

escape and was weakened from months of captivity. But despite Nicholas s best

attention, I would have died if it had not been for Scatty. She reached over

and squeezed her friend s hand again, not seeming to notice the tears on her

cheeks.

Joan had lost a lot of blood, Scathach said. No matter what Nicholas or

Perenelle did, she was not getting any better. So Nicholas performed one of

the first-ever blood transfusions.

Whose blood Sophie started to ask, until she suddenly realized she knew

the answer. Your blood?

Scathach s vampire blood saved me. And kept me alive, too made me immortal.

Joan grinned. Sophie noted that her teeth were normal, not pointed like

Scatty s. Luckily, it has none of the vampire side effects. Though I am

vegetarian, she added. Have been for the last few centuries.

And you re married, Scathach said accusingly. When did that happen, and

how, and why wasn't I invited? she demanded, all in one breath.

We got married four years ago on Sunset Beach in Hawaii, at sunset, of

course. We looked everywhere for you when we decided, Joan said quickly. I

really wanted you there; I wanted you to be my maid of honor.

Scathach s green eyes narrowed, remembering. Four years ago I think I was in

Nepal chasing down a rogue Nee-gued. An abominable snowman, she added,

seeing Sophie s and Joan s blank looks.

We d no way of contacting you. Your cell wasn't working, and e-mails bounced

back saying your mailbox was full. Joan caught Scathach s hand. Come, I

have photos I can show you. The woman turned back to Sophie. You should eat

now. You need to replace the energy you've burned up. Drink plenty of

liquids. Water, fruit juices, but no caffeine no tea and no coffee, nothing

that s going to keep you awake. Once you've eaten, Francis will show you to

your rooms, where you can shower and rest. She slowly looked Sophie up and

down. I ll get you some clothes. You re about my size. And then later we ll

talk about your aura. Joan held up her left hand and spread her fingers. An

articulated metal glove sparkled into existence over her flesh. I ll show

you how to control it, how to shape it, make it into anything you wish. The

glove turned into a metal raptor's claw complete with curved talons before it

faded back to Joan s tanned flesh. Only her fingernails remained silver. She

leaned in and kissed Sophie quickly on each cheek. But first you must rest.

Now, she said, looking at Scathach, let me show you the photos.

The two women hurried from the kitchen, and Sophie made her way back down the

long room to where Saint-Germain was talking earnestly to her brother. Josh

handed her a plate piled high with fruit and bread. His own plate was heaped

with eggs and sausages. Sophie felt her stomach object at the sight and she

forced herself to look away. She nibbled on the fruit, listening to the

conversation.

No, I m human, I cannot Awaken your powers, Saint-Germain was saying as she

joined them. For that you need an Elder or one of the handful of Next

Generation who could do it. He smiled, showing his misshapen teeth. don't

worry, Nicholas will find someone to Awaken you.

Is there anyone here, in Paris, who could do it?

Saint-Germain took a moment to consider. Machiavelli would know someone, I m

sure. He knows everything. But I don't. He turned to Sophie, bowing

slightly. I understand you were lucky enough to be Awakened by the legendary

Hekate and then trained in the Magic of Air by my old teacher, the Witch of

Endor. He shook his head. How is the old witch? She never liked me, he

added.

Still doesn t, Sophie said quickly, then blushed. I m sorry. I don't know

why I said that.

The Count laughed. Oh, Sophie, you didn't say it well, not really. The Witch

did. It s going to take some time for you to sort through her memories. I got

a call from her this morning. She told me how she imbued you not only with

the Magic of Air, but with her entire body of knowledge. The mummy technique

hasn t been used in living memory; it is incredibly dangerous.

Sophie glanced quickly at her brother. He was watching Saint-Germain

carefully, listening to every word. She noted the tension in his neck and jaw

from how he was squeezing his mouth shut.

You should have rested for at least twenty-four hours to allow your

conscious and subconscious time to sort through the sudden influx of alien

memories, thoughts and ideas.

There wasn't time, Sophie muttered.

Well, there is now. Eat up; then I ll show you to your rooms. Sleep as long

as you like. You re completely safe. No one even knows you re here.