The Magician

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T hey re in Saint-Germain s town house off the Champs-Elys es. Machiavelli

pressed the phone to his ear and leaned back in the black leather chair,

swiveling to look through the tall window. In the distance, across the

slanted tile rooftops, he could make out the tip of the Eiffel Tower. The

fireworks had finally stopped, but a pall of rainbow-colored clouds still

hung in the air. don't worry, Doctor, we have the house under observation.

Saint-Germain, Scathach and the twins are inside. There are no other

occupants.

Machiavelli held the phone away from his ear as static rippled and crackled.

Dee s jet was just taking off from a small private airfield north of L.A. It

would stop in New York to refuel, then fly transatlantic to Shannon in

Ireland and refuel again before continuing on to Paris. The crackling faded

and Dee s voice, strong and clear, came through the phone.

And the Alchemyst?

Lost in Paris. My men had him on the ground at gunpoint, but he somehow

coated them in sugar and then unleashed every ant in the city onto them. They

panicked; he escaped.

Transmutation, Dee remarked. Water is composed of two parts hydrogen and

one part oxygen: sucrose has the same ratio. He changed the water into sugar;

it s a parlor trick I would have expected more of him.

Machiavelli ran his hand across his short snow white hair. I though it was

rather clever myself, he said mildly. He hospitalized six police officers.

He will return to the twins, Dee snapped. He needs them. He s been waiting

all his life to find them.

We ve all been waiting, Machiavelli reminded the Magician quietly. And

right now, we know where they are, which means we know where Flamel will go.

Do nothing until I get there, Dee commanded.

And have you any idea when that might Machiavelli began, but the line was

dead. He was unsure whether Dee had hung up or the call had dropped. Knowing

Dee, he guessed he d hung up; that was his usual style. The tall, elegant man

tapped the phone against his thin lips before replacing the handset. He had

no intention of following Dee s orders; he was going to capture Flamel and

the twins before Dee s plane touched down in Paris. He would do what Dee had

failed to do for centuries, and in return, the Elders would grant him

anything he desired.

Machiavelli s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at

the screen. An unusually long string of numbers scrolled across it, looking

like no other number he d ever seen before. The head of the DGSE frowned.

Only the president of France, a few highly placed cabinet ministers and his

own personal staff had this number. He hit Answer but didn't speak.

The English Magician believes you will try and capture Flamel and the twins

before he arrives. The voice on the other end spoke Greek in a dialect that

had not been used in millennia.

Niccol Machiavelli sat bolt upright in his chair. Master? he said.

Give Dee your full support. Do not move against Flamel until he arrives.

The line went dead.

Machiavelli carefully placed his cell phone on the bare desk and sat back.

Holding both hands up before his face, he was unsurprised to find that they

were shaking slightly. The last time he d spoken to the Elder he called

Master had been more than a century and a half ago. This was the Elder who

had granted him immortality at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Had

Dee somehow contacted him? Machiavelli shook his head. Highly unlikely;

probably Dee had contacted his own master and asked him to make the request.

But Machiavelli s master was one of the most powerful of the Dark Elders .

That brought him back to a question that had troubled him down through the

centuries: who was Dee s master?

Every human granted immortality by an Elder was bound to that Elder. An Elder

who bestowed immortality could just as easily revoke it. Machiavelli had even

seen it happen: he d watched a healthy-looking young man wither and age in a

matter of heartbeats, eventually collapsing into a pile of crackling bones

and dusty skin.

Machiavelli s dossier of immortal humans was cross-linked to the Elder or

Dark Elder they served. There were only a very few humani like Flamel,

Perenelle and Saint-Germain who owed no loyalty to an Elder, because they had

become immortal by their own efforts.

No one knew whom Dee served. But it was obviously someone more powerful than

Machiavelli s own Dark Elder master. And that made Dee all the more

dangerous.

Leaning forward, Machiavelli pressed a button on his desk phone. The door

immediately opened and Dagon stepped into the room, his mirrored sunglasses

reflecting the bare walls.

Any reports on the Alchemyst?

Nothing. We've accessed the video from the security cameras in the Pont de

l Alma station and every station it connects with and we re analyzing it now,

but it s going to take time.

Machiavelli nodded. Time was something he did not have. He waved a

long-fingered hand in the air. Well, we might not know where he is now, but

we know where he s going: to Saint-Germain s house.

Dagon s lips parted stickily. The house is under observation. All entrances

and exits are secured; there are even men in the sewers beneath the building.

No one can get in or out without us observing them. There are two RAID units

in vans in nearby side streets and a third unit in the house next to

Saint-Germain s property. They can be over the wall in moments.

Machiavelli stood up and stepped out from behind the desk. With his hands

behind his back, he walked around the tiny anonymous office. Although it was

his official address, he rarely used this room, and it held nothing but the

desk, two chairs, and the telephone. But is it enough, I wonder? Flamel has

escaped from six highly trained officers who were holding him at gunpoint,

facedown on the pavement. And we know Saint-Germain the Master of Fire is

inside this property. We had a little example of his abilities this morning.

The fireworks were harmless, Dagon said.

I m sure he could have just as easily turned the tower to liquid. Remember,

he makes diamonds from coal.

Dagon nodded.

Machiavelli continued. We also know that the American girl s powers have

been Awakened, and we ve seen a little of what she can do. The fog at

Sacre -Coeur was an impressive feat for someone untrained and so young.

And then there is the Shadow, Dagon added.

Niccol Machiavelli s face turned into an ugly mask. And then there is the

Shadow, he agreed.

She took out twelve heavily armed officers in the coffee shop this morning,

Dagon said emotionlessly. I ve watched her face down entire armies, and she

survived for centuries in an Underworld Shadowrealm. Flamel is obviously

using her to protect the twins. She must be destroyed before we move against

any of the others.

Indeed.

You will need an army.

Perhaps not. Remember, Cunning and deceit will every time serve a man

better than force, he quoted.

Who said that? Dagon asked.

I did, in a book, a long time ago. It was true in the court of the Medicis,

and it is true now. He looked up. Did you send for the Disir?

They re on their way. Dagon s voice turned sticky. I don't trust them.

No one trusts the Disir. There was no humor in Machiavelli s smile. Did

you ever hear the story of how Hekate trapped Scathach in that Underworld?

Dagon remained unmoving.

Hekate used the Disir. Their feud with the Shadow goes back to the time just

after the sinking of Danu Talis. Putting his hands on the creature s

shoulders, Machiavelli stepped close to Dagon, taking care to breathe through

his mouth. Dagon exuded a fishy odor; it coated his pale skin like oily,

rancid sweat. I know you hate the Shadow, and I have never asked you why,

though I have my suspicions. It is obvious that she has caused you much pain.

However, I want you to put aside your feelings; hate is the most useless of

all emotions. Success is the best revenge. I need you focused and by my side.

We are close now, so close to victory, close to returning the Elder Race to

this world. Leave Scathach to the Disir. But if they fail, then she is yours.

I promise you.

Dagon opened his mouth to reveal the circle of needle-pointed teeth. They

will not fail. The Disir intend to bring Nidhogg.

Niccol Machiavelli blinked in surprise. Nidhogg it s free? How?

The World Tree was destroyed.

If they loose Nidhogg on Scathach, then you are right. They will not fail.

They cannot.

Dagon reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His huge bulbous fish eyes

were wide and staring. And if they lose control of Nidhogg, it could devour

the entire city.

Machiavelli took a moment to consider. Then he nodded. It would be a small

price to pay to destroy the Shadow.

You sound just like Dee.

Oh, I am nothing like the English Magician, Machiavelli said feelingly.

Dee is a dangerous fanatic.

And you re not? Dagon asked.

I m only dangerous.

Dr. John Dee sat back into the soft leather seat and watched the sparkling

grid of L.A. s lights fall away beneath him. Checking an ornate pocket watch,

he wondered if Machiavelli had received the phone call from his master yet.

He imagined he had. Dee grinned, wondering what the Italian would make of

that. If nothing else, it would at least show Machiavelli who was in charge.

It didn't take a genius to realize that the Italian would go after Flamel and

the children himself. But Dee had spent too long chasing the Alchemyst to

lose him at the very end especially to someone like Niccol Machiavelli.

He closed his eyes as the plane rose and his stomach twitched. He

automatically reached for the paper bag on the seat beside him: he loved

flying, but his stomach always protested. If everything went as planned, then

he would soon be the ruler of the entire planet and he d never need to fly

again. Everyone would come to him.

The jet climbed at a steep angle and he swallowed hard; he d had a chicken

wrap in the airport and was regretting it now. The fizzy drink had been a

definite mistake.

Dee was looking forward to the time when the Elders returned. Perhaps they

could reestablish the network of leygates across the world and make flying

unnecessary. Closing his eyes, Dee concentrated on the Elders and the many

benefits they would bring to the planet. In the distant past, he knew the

Elders had created a paradise on earth. All the ancient books and scrolls,

the myths and legends of every race, spoke about that glorious time. His

master had promised him that the Elders would use their powerful magic to

return the planet to that paradise. They would reverse the effects of global

warming, repair the hole in the ozone layer and bring the deserts to life.

The Sahara would bloom; the polar ice caps would melt away, revealing the

rich land beneath. Dee thought he would found his capital city in Antarctica

on the shores of Lake Vanda. The Elders could reestablish their ancient

kingdoms in Sumer, Egypt, Central America and Angkor, and with the knowledge

contained in the Book of Abraham, it would be possible to raise Danu Talis

again.

Of course, Dee knew that the human population would become slaves, and some

would become food for those Elders who still needed to eat, but that was a

small price to pay for the many other benefits.

The jet leveled and he felt his stomach settle. Opening his eyes, he breathed

deeply and checked his watch again. He found it hard to believe that he was

hours literally hours away from finally capturing the Alchemyst, Scathach

and, now, the twins. They were an added bonus. Once he had Flamel and the

pages from the Codex, the world would change.

He would never understand why Flamel and his wife had worked so hard to

prevent the Elders from bringing civilization back to earth. But he d be sure

to ask him just before he killed him.