back as insects crawled along his spine. He ran his hand across his head and
felt it dislodge at least a dozen ants. They fell across his face and he
squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the prisoner was strolling
towards the Pont de l Alma train station, hands in his pockets, looking as if
he hadn't a care in the world.
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.