you?
Josh took another step backward. He had seen Dee throw spears of fire on two
occasions in the bookshop and at the Disir and he was unsure how far the
Magician could actually toss them. Not far, he figured. Another step or two
and he would turn and run down the alleyway. He could stop the first person
he met and ask directions to the Eiffel Tower. He thought the French for
where is? was o est? or maybe it was qui est? Or did that mean who
is? He shook his head slightly, regretting not having paid attention in
French class. don't try and stop me, he began, turning away.
What did it feel like? Dee asked suddenly.
Josh slowly turned to look at the Magician. He knew instantly what he was
talking about. He found that his fingers had automatically curled, as if he
were holding the hilt of a sword.
What was it like holding Clarent, feeling that raw power running through
you? What was it like knowing the thoughts and emotions of the creature you d
just stabbed? Dee reached under his tattered suit coat and pulled out
Clarent's twin: Excalibur. It is an awe-inspiring feeling, is it not? He
turned the blade in his hand, a blue-black trickle of energy shivering across
the stone sword. I know you must have experienced Nidhogg s
thoughts emotions memories?
Josh nodded. They were still fresh startlingly vivid in his head. The
thoughts, the sights, were so alien, so bizarre, that he knew he d never have
been able to imagine them himself.
For an instant you knew what it was to be godlike: to see worlds beyond
imagination, to experience alien emotions. You saw the past, the very distant
past you might even have seen Nidhogg s Shadowrealm.
Josh nodded slowly, wondering how Dee knew.
The Magician took a step closer to the boy. For an instant, Josh, the merest
instant, it was like being Awakened though nowhere near as intense, he added
quickly. And you do want to have your powers Awakened?
Josh nodded. He felt breathless, his heart hammering in his chest. Dee was
right; in those moments he d held Clarent, he d felt alive, truly alive. But
it can t be done, he said quickly.
Dee laughed. Oh yes, it can. It can be done here, today, he finished
triumphantly.
But Flamel said , Josh began, and then stopped, realizing what he d just
said. If he could be Awakened
Flamel says many things. I doubt even he knows what is the truth anymore.
Do you? Josh snapped.
Always. Dee jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Machiavelli. The Italian
is no friend of mine, he said quietly, staring directly into Josh s troubled
eyes. So ask him the question: ask him if your powers could be Awakened this
very morning.
Josh turned to regard Niccol Machiavelli. The tall white-haired man looked
vaguely troubled, but he nodded in agreement. The English Magician is
correct: your powers could be Awakened today. I imagine we could probably
find someone to do it within the hour.
Smiling triumphantly, Dee turned back to Josh. It s your choice. So, give me
your answer do you want to go back to Flamel and his vague promises, or do
you want to have your powers Awakened?
Even as he was turning to follow the black threads of dark energy that
drifted off Excalibur s stone blade, Josh knew the answer. He remembered the
feelings, the emotions, the power, that had coursed through his body when
he d held Clarent. And Dee had said those feelings were nowhere near as
intense as being Awakened.
I need an answer, Dee said.
Josh Newman took a deep breath. What do I have to do?
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
J oan swung the battered Citro n into the mouth of the alleyway and eased the
car to a halt, blocking the entrance. Leaning over the steering wheel, she
scoured the alley, looking for movement, wondering if this was a trap.
Following Josh had been remarkably easy; all she d had to do was to follow
the gouge cut into the street by the metal rim of his car s front wheel.
She d had a brief moment of panic when she d lost him in a maze of back
streets, but then a thick plume of black smoke rose over the rooftops and
she d followed that: it had led her to the alley and the burning police car.
Stay here, she commanded the exhausted Flamel and the ashen-faced Sophie as
she climbed out of the car. She carried her sword loosely in her right hand
as she walked down the alley, tapping the blade gently against the palm of
her left hand. She was fairly sure that they were too late and that Dee,
Machiavelli and Josh were gone, but she wasn't prepared to take any risks.
Padding silently down the center of the alley, wary of the piles of trash
cans that could be hiding an assailant, Joan realized she was still in a
state of shock following Scatty s disappearance. One moment Joan had been
standing in front of her old friend, and the next, the creature that was more
fish than man had reared up out of the water and dragged Scatty down with
him.
Joan blinked away tears. She had known Scathach for more than five hundred
years. In those early centuries they d been inseparable, adventuring together
across the world into countries yet to be explored by the West, encountering
tribes that still lived as their ancestors had thousands of years in the
past. They d discovered lost islands, hidden cities and forgotten countries,
and Scatty had even taken her into some of the Shadowrealms, where they had
fought creatures that had long been extinct on the earth. In the
Shadowrealms, Joan had seen her friend fight and defeat creatures that
existed only in the darkest human myths. Joan knew that nothing could stand
against the Shadow and yet Scatty herself had always said that she could be
defeated, that she was immortal but not invulnerable. Joan had always
imagined that when Scatty finally laid down her life it would be in one final
dramatic and extraordinary event not by being dragged into a dirty river by
an overgrown fish-man.
Joan grieved for her friend, and she would weep for her, but not now. Not
yet.
Joan of Arc had been a warrior from the time she was barely a teenager,
riding into battle at the head of a massive French army. She had seen too
many friends fall in battle and had learned that if she concentrated on their
deaths she would be incapable of fighting. Right now she knew she needed to
protect Nicholas and the girl. Later, there would be time to grieve for
Scathach the Shadow, and there would also be time to go in search of the
creature Flamel had called Dagon. Joan hefted the sword in her hand. She
would avenge her friend.
The petite Frenchwoman walked past the blazing remains of the police car and
crouched on the ground, expertly reading the traces and signs on the damp
stones. She heard Nicholas and Sophie climb out of the battered Citro n and
walk down the alley, stepping around puddles of oil and dirty water. Nicholas
was carrying Clarent. Joan distinctly heard it buzz as he approached the
burning car, and she wondered if it was still connected to the boy.
They ran from the car and stopped here, she said, without looking up, as
they stopped beside her. Dee and Machiavelli were facing Josh. He stood over