What s that? Saint-Germain asked.
Nicholas answered Saint-Germain but looked at the twins as he spoke. Once it
held the entire Codex, but now Dee has that. Josh managed to tear two pages
from the back of the book. They re in here. The pages contain the Final
Summoning, he added significantly. Dee and his Elders need these pages. He
smoothed the cloth and then suddenly handed the bag over to Josh. Keep these
safe, he said.
Me? Josh looked from the bag to Flamel s face but made no move to take it
from the man s hand.
Yes, you. Take it, Flamel commanded.
Reluctantly, the boy reached for the bag, the cloth crackling and sparking as
he shoved it under his T-shirt. Why me? he asked. He looked quickly at his
sister. I mean, Scathach or Saint-Germain would be better .
You rescued the pages, Josh. It s only right that you should guard them.
Flamel gripped Josh s shoulders and looked into the boy s eyes. I know I can
trust you to take care of them.
Josh pressed his hand against his stomach, feeling the cloth against his
skin. When Josh and Sophie had started working in the bookshop and the coffee
shop respectively, their father had used an almost identical phrase when
talking about Sophie. I know I can trust you to take care of her. In that
moment, he d felt both proud and a little bit frightened. Right now, he just
felt frightened.
The Mercedes driver s door opened and a man in a black suit climbed out,
mirrored shades reflecting the early-morning sky, making it look as if he had
two holes in his face.
Dagon, Scathach snarled, sharp teeth suddenly visible, and reached for a
weapon in her bag, but Nicholas caught her arm and squeezed it.
This is not the time.
Dagon opened the rear door and Niccol Machiavelli emerged. Although he was
at least a hundred yards away, they could clearly see the look of triumph on
his face.
Behind the Mercedes, the vans doors slid open simultaneously and heavily
armed and armored police jumped out and started jogging toward the tower. A
tourist screamed, and the dozens of people standing around the base of the
Eiffel Tower immediately swiveled their cameras in that direction.
Time to go, Flamel said quickly. You head across the river, I ll lead them
in the other direction. Saint-Germain, my friend, Nicholas whispered softly,
we re going to need a distraction to help us escape. Something spectacular.
Where will you go? Saint-Germain demanded.
Flamel smiled. This was my city long before Machiavelli came here. Perhaps
some of my old haunts still remain.
It has changed a lot since you were last here, Saint-Germain warned. As he
was speaking, he took Flamel s left hand in both of his, turned it over and
pressed the ball of his right thumb into the center of the Alchemyst s palm.
Sophie and Josh were close enough to see that when he took his hand away,
there was the impression of a tiny black-winged butterfly on Flamel s skin.
It will lead you back to me, Saint-Germain said mysteriously. Now, you
wanted something spectacular. He grinned and pushed back the sleeves of his
leather coat to reveal bare arms. His skin was covered in dozens of tiny
tattooed butterflies that wrapped around his wrists like bracelets, then
coiled up around his arm to the crook of his elbow. Lacing the fingers of his
hands together, he twisted his wrists and bent them outward with an audible
crack, like a pianist preparing to play. Did you ever see what Paris did to
celebrate the millennium?
The millennium? The twins looked at him blankly.
The millennium. The year 2000. Although the millennium should have been
celebrated in 2001, he added.
Oh, that millennium, Sophie said. She looked at her brother, confused. What
did the millennium have to do with anything?
Our parents took us to Times Square, Josh said. Why?
Then you missed something truly spectacular here in Paris. Next time you re
online, check out the pictures. Saint-Germain rubbed his arms briskly and
then, standing below the huge metal tower, he raised his hands high and
suddenly the scent of burnt leaves filled the air.
Both Sophie and Josh watched the butterfly tattoos spasm, then shiver and
pulse on Saint-Germain s arms. Gossamer wings trembled and vibrated, antennas
twitched and then the tattoos lifted away from the man s flesh.
An endless stream of tiny red and white butterflies peeled off
Saint-Germain s pale skin and curled into the cool Parisian air. They circled
upward, spinning away from the small man, a seemingly never-ending spiral of
crimson and ashen dots. The butterflies curled around the struts and spars,
the rivets and bolts of the metal tower, covering it in an iridescent,
shimmering skin.
Ignis, Saint-Germain whispered, throwing back his head and clapping his
hands together.
And the Tower exploded into a cracking, sparking fountain of light.
He laughed delightedly at the twins expressions and said, Know me: I am le
Comte de Saint-Germain. I am the Master of Fire!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
F ireworks, Sophie breathed in awe.
The Eiffel Tower lit up with a spectacular fireworks display. Blue and gold
traceries of light raced almost one thousand feet to the mast at the very top
of the tower, where they blossomed into fountains of blue globes. Sparking,
hissing, fizzing rainbow-colored threads wove through the struts, bursting
and snapping. The tower s thick rivets popped with white fire, while the
arching spars rained cool ice blue droplets into the street far below.
The effect was dramatic, but it became truly spectacular when Saint-Germain
snapped the fingers of both hands and the entire Eiffel Tower turned bronze,
then gold, then green and finally blue in the morning sun. Rattling traceries
of light darted up and down the metal. Catherine wheels and rockets,
fountains and Roman candles, flying spinners and snakes spun off from every
floor. The mast at the very tip of the tower fountained red, white and blue
sparks that cascaded like bubbling liquid down through the heart of the
tower.
The crowd was entranced.
People gathered at the base, oohing and aahing, applauding at each new
explosion, their cameras clicking furiously. Motorists stopped on the roads
and climbed out of their cars, holding camera phones to snap the stunning and
beautiful images. Within moments, the dozens of people around the tower had
grown to a hundred and then, within a matter of minutes, had doubled and then
doubled again as people came running from shops and homes to observe the
extraordinary display.
And Nicholas Flamel and his companions were swallowed up by the crowd.
In a rare display of emotion, Machiavelli hit the side of the car so hard it
hurt his hand. He watched the growing crowd of people and knew his men would
not be able to get through in time to prevent Flamel and the others from
escaping.
The air sizzled and spat with fireworks; rockets went whizzing high into the
air, where they exploded into spheres and streamers of light. Firecrackers
and sparklers rattled around each of the tower s four giant metal legs.
Sir! A young police captain stopped before Machiavelli and saluted. What