what s in that book. Dee said it could be used to turn this world into a
paradise, that it could cure all disease, even repair the environment. He
found it incomprehensible that someone would not want to do that.
Flamel stopped in front of Josh. His eyes were almost on a level with the
boy's. Yes, there are spells in the Book which would do all that and much,
much more, he said seriously. I've glimpsed spells in the Book that could
reduce this world to a cinder, others that would make the deserts bloom. But
Josh, even if I could work those spells which I cannot the material in the
Book is not mine to use. Flamel's pale eyes bored into Josh s, and Josh had
no doubt now that the Alchemyst was telling the truth. Perenelle and I are
only the Guardians of the Book. We are simply holding it in trust until we
can pass it on to its rightful owners. They will know how to use it.
But who are the rightful owners? Where are they?
Nicholas Flamel put both hands on Josh s shoulders and stared into his bright
blue eyes. Well, I was hoping, he said very softly, that it might be you
and Sophie. In fact, I m gambling everything my life, Perenelle's life, the
survival of the entire human race that you are.
Standing on the Rue de Dunkerque, looking into the Alchemyst's eyes, reading
the truth in them, Josh felt the people fade away until it was as if they
were standing alone on the street. He swallowed hard. And you believe that?
With all my heart, Flamel said simply. And everything I have done, I ve
done to protect you and Sophie and to prepare you for what is to come. You
have to believe me, Josh. You must. I know you re angry because of what has
happened with Sophie, but I would never let her come to harm.
She could have died or fallen into a coma, Josh muttered.
Flamel shook his head. If she were an ordinary human, then yes, that could
have happened. But I know she isn't ordinary. Nor are you, he added.
Because of our auras? Josh asked, digging for as much information as he
could get.
Because you are the twins of legend.
And if you re wrong? Have you thought about that: what happens if you re
wrong?
Then the Dark Elders return.
Would that be so bad? Josh wondered aloud.
Nicholas opened his mouth to reply and quickly pressed his lips tightly
together, biting back whatever he had been about to say, but not before Josh
saw the quick flash of anger that darted across his face. Finally, Nicholas
forced his lips into a smile. Gently, he turned Josh around so that he was
facing the street. What do you see? he asked.
Josh shook his head and shrugged. Nothing just a bunch of people heading off
to work. And the police looking for us, he added.
Nicholas caught Josh s shoulder and urged him down the street. don't think
of them as a bunch of people, Flamel admonished sharply. That s how Dee and
his kind see humankind: what they call the humani. I see individuals, with
worries and cares, with family and loved ones, with friends and colleagues. I
see people.
Josh shook his head. I don't understand.
Dee and the Elders he serves look at these people and see only slaves. He
paused, then quietly added, Or food.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
L ying flat on her back, Perenelle Flamel stared at the stained stone ceiling
directly above her head and wondered how many other prisoners incarcerated on
Alcatraz had done the same. How many others had traced the lines and cracks
in the stonework, seen shapes in the black water marks, imagined pictures in
the brown damp? Almost all of them, she guessed.
And how many had heard voices? she wondered. She was sure that many of the
prisoners had imagined they heard sounds in the dark whispered words, hushed
phrases but unless they possessed Perenelle s special gift, what they were
hearing did not exist outside their imaginations.
Perenelle heard the voices of the ghosts of Alcatraz.
Listening intently, she could distinguish hundreds of voices, maybe even
thousands. Men and women children, too clamoring and shouting, muttering and
crying, calling out for lost loved ones, repeating their own names again and
again, proclaiming their innocence, cursing their jailers. She frowned; they
weren t what she was looking for.
Allowing the voices to wash over her, she sorted through the sounds until she
picked up one voice louder than all the rest: strong and confident, it cut
through the babble, and Perenelle found herself concentrating on it, focusing
on the words, identifying the language.
This is my island.
It was a man, speaking Spanish in an old, very formal accent. Concentrating
on the ceiling, Perenelle tuned out the other voices. Who are you? In the
chill damp of the cell, her words puffed from her mouth like smoke and the
myriad ghosts fell silent.
There was a long pause, as if the ghost was surprised to be spoken to; then
he said proudly, I was the first European to sail into this bay, the first
to see this island.
A shape began to form on the roof directly over her head, the crude outline
of a face appearing in the cracks and spiderwebs, the black damp and the
green moss lending it shape and definition.
I called this place la Isla de los Alcatraces.
The Isle of the Pelicans, Perenelle said, her words the merest whispered
breath.
The face in the ceiling solidified briefly. It was that of a handsome man
with a long, narrow face and dark eyes. Water droplets formed and the eyes
blinked tears.
Who are you? Perenelle asked again.
I am Juan Manuel de Ayala. I discovered Alcatraz.
Claws click-clacked on the stones outside the cell, and the smell of snake
and rancid meat wafted down the corridor. Perenelle remained silent until the
scent and the footsteps retreated, and when she looked at the ceiling again,
the face had taken on more detail, the cracks in the stonework creating the
deep wrinkles on the man s forehead and around his eyes. A sailor s face, she
realized, the wrinkles caused by squinting toward distant horizons.
Why are you here? she wondered aloud. Did you die here?
No. Not here. Narrow lips curled in a smile. I returned because I fell in
love with this place from the very first moment I set eyes on it. It was in
the year of Our Lord 1775, and I was on the good ship San Carlos. I even
remember the month, August, and the date, the fifth.
Perenelle nodded. She had come across ghosts like de Ayala s before. Men and
women who had been so influenced or affected by a place that they returned to
it again and again in their dreams, and eventually, when they died, their
spirit returned to the same location to become a Guardian ghost.
I have watched over this island for generations. I will always watch over
it.
Perenelle stared up at the face. It must have saddened you to see your
beautiful island become a place of pain and suffering, she probed.