are your orders? We can push through the crowd, but there may be injuries.
Machiavelli shook his head. No, do not do that. Dee would do it, he knew.
Dee would not hesitate to level the entire tower, killing hundreds just to
capture Flamel. Drawing himself up to his full height, Niccol could just
about make out the shape of the leather-clad Saint-Germain and the lethal
Scathach herding the young man and woman away. They melted into the now-huge
crowd and disappeared. But surprisingly, shockingly, when he looked back,
Nicholas Flamel remained where he had first seen him, standing almost
directly beneath the center of the tower.
Flamel raised his right hand in a mocking salute, the silver-link bracelet he
wore reflecting the light.
Machiavelli caught the police captain s shoulder, spun him around with
surprising strength and pointed with his long narrow fingers. That one! If
you do nothing else today, get me that one. And I want him alive and
unharmed!
As they both watched, Flamel turned and hurried toward the west leg of the
Eiffel Tower, toward the Pont d I na, but whereas the others had run across
the bridge, Flamel turned to the right, onto the Quai Branly.
Yes, sir! The captain struck out at an angle, determined to cut off Flamel.
Follow me, he shouted, and his troops spread out in a line behind him.
Dagon stepped up to Machiavelli. Do you want me to track Saint-Germain and
the Shadow? His head turned, nostrils flaring with a wet sticky sound. I
can follow their scent.
Niccol Machiavelli shook his head slightly as he climbed back into the car.
Get us out of here before the press turns up. Saint-Germain is nothing if
not predictable. He s undoubtedly heading to one of his homes, and we have
them all under observation. All we can do is hope we capture Flamel.
Dagon s face was impassive as he slammed the car door closed behind his
master. He turned in the direction Flamel had run and saw him disappear
amongst the crowd. The police were close behind, moving fast even though they
were weighed down by their body armor and weapons. But Dagon knew that over
the centuries Flamel had escaped both human and inhuman hunters, had slipped
past creatures that had been myth before the evolution of the apes and had
outwitted monsters that had no right to exist outside of nightmares. Dagon
doubted that the police would catch the Alchemyst.
Then he cocked his head, nostrils flaring again, catching the scent of
Scathach. The Shadow had returned!
The enmity between Dagon and the Shadow went back millennia. He was the last
of his kind because she had destroyed his entire race one terrible night two
thousand years ago. Behind his wraparound mirrored sunglasses, the creature s
eyes filled with sticky colorless tears, and he swore that, no matter what
happened between Machiavelli and Flamel, this time he would have his revenge
on the Shadow.
Walk, don't run, Scathach commanded. Saint-Germain, take the lead, Sophie
and Josh in the middle, I ll take up the rear. Scatty s tone left no room
for argument.
They darted across the bridge and turned right onto the Avenue de New York. A
series of lefts and rights brought them to a narrow side street. It was still
early, and the street was entirely in shadow. The temperature dropped
dramatically, and the twins immediately noticed that the fingers of
Saint-Germain s left hand, which were gently brushing against the dirty wall,
left tiny sparks in their wake.
Sophie frowned, sorting through her memories the Witch of Endor s memories,
she reminded herself of the Comte de Saint-Germain. She caught her brother
looking sidelong at her and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
Your eyes turned silver. Just for a second, he said.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder to where Scathach was trailing behind and
then looked at the man in the leather coat. They were both out of earshot,
she thought. I was trying to remember what I knew . She shook her head.
What the Witch knew about Saint-Germain.
What about him? Josh said. I ve never heard of him.
He is a famous French alchemist, she whispered, and along with Flamel,
probably one of the most mysterious men in history.
Is he human? Josh wondered aloud, but Sophie pressed on.
He s not an Elder or Next Generation. He s human. Even the Witch of Endor
didn't know a lot about him. She met him for the first time in London in
1740. She knew immediately that he was an immortal human, and he claimed he d
discovered the secret of immortality when he was studying with Nicholas
Flamel. She shook her head quickly. But I don't think the Witch quite
believed that. He told her that while traveling in Tibet he had perfected a
formula for immortality that didn't need to be renewed each month. But when
she asked him for a copy, he told her he d lost it. Apparently, he spoke
every language in the world fluently, was a brilliant musician and had a
reputation as a jewel maker. Her eyes blinked silver again as the memories
faded. And the Witch didn't like or trust him.
Then neither should we, Josh whispered urgently.
Sophie nodded, agreeing. But Nicholas likes him, and obviously trusts him,
she said slowly. Why is that?
Josh s expression was grim. I ve told you before: I don't think we should be
trusting Nicholas Flamel, either. Something s not right about him I m
convinced.
Sophie bit back her response and looked away. She knew why Josh was angry
with the Alchemyst; her brother was envious of her Awakened powers, and she
knew he blamed Flamel for putting her in danger. But that didn't mean he was
wrong.
The narrow side street led onto a broad tree-lined avenue. Although it was
still too early for rush-hour, the spectacular light and fireworks display
around the Eiffel Tower had brought any traffic in the area to a standstill.
The air was filled with the blare of car horns and the whooping of police
sirens. A fire truck was caught in the traffic jam, its wails rising and
falling, though there was nowhere for it to go. Saint-Germain strode across
the road, looking neither left nor right as he dug in his pocket for a
slender black cell phone. He flipped it open and hit speed dial. Then he
spoke in rapid-fire French.
Are you calling for help? Sophie asked when he had closed the phone.
Saint-Germain shook his head. Ordering breakfast. I m famished. He jerked
his thumb back in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, which was still erupting
fireworks. Creating something like that if you ll pardon'the pun burns a lot
of calories.
Sophie nodded, understanding now why her stomach had been rumbling with
hunger since she d created the fog.
Scathach caught up with the twins and fell into step alongside Sophie as they
hurried past the American Cathedral. I don't think we re being followed,
she said, sounding surprised. I would have expected Machiavelli to send
someone after us. She rubbed the edge of her thumb against her bottom lip,
chewing on her ragged nails.
Sophie automatically brushed Scatty s hand away from her mouth. don't bite
your nails.
Scathach blinked at her in surprise, then self-consciously put her hand down.
An old habit, she muttered. A very old habit.
What happens now? Josh asked.