it until it was directly in front of the boy s face. Josh went crosseyed
looking at the blade. It was so close that he could see where the edge was
chipped and pitted and was able to make out the faintest trace of a spiraling
pattern down the center of the sword.
What are your clan name and your parents names?
Josh s mouth was so dry he could barely speak. The clan name? Oh, the family
name is Newman. My father is Richard and my mother is Sara. He had a sudden
memory of Hekate asking Sophie the same questions. It had been only a couple
of days ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime.
The timbre of the god s voice changed, becoming stronger, loud enough for
Josh to feel the vibrations in his bones. Josh, son of Richard and Sara of
the Clan Newman, of the race humani, I will grant you an Awakening. You have
acknowledged that this is no gift and there will be a price to pay. If you do
not pay it, I will destroy you and everything you hold dear.
I ll pay, Josh said thickly, blood thundering in his head, adrenaline
coursing through his body.
I know you will. The huge sword moved, first touching Josh s right
shoulder, then his left before moving back to his right. The faintest outline
of his aura winked into existence around his body. Wisps of gold smoke
started to curl off his blond hair, and the scent of citrus grew stronger.
Hence-forth you will see with acuity .
Josh s bright blue eyes turned into solid gold discs. Immediately, tears
gathered and ran down his face. They were the color and texture of liquid
gold.
You will hear with clarity .
Smoke coiled from the boy s ears.
You will taste with purity .
Josh opened his mouth and coughed. A puff of saffron-colored mist appeared,
and tiny amber sparks danced between his tongue and teeth.
You will touch with sensitivity .
The boy brought his hands up to his face. They were glowing so brightly that
they were almost transparent. Sparks leapt and curled between each finger,
and his badly chewed fingernails were polished mirrors.
You will smell with intensity .
Josh s head was almost completely enveloped in golden smoke now. It trickled
from his nostrils, making it look as if he were breathing fire. His aura had
thickened, solidified around his shoulders and across his chest, becoming
shiny and reflective.
The god s sword moved again, tapping lightly against the boy s shoulders.
Truly, yours is one of the most powerful auras I have ever encountered,
Mars said quietly. There is something else I can give you a gift and this I
give freely. You may find it of use in the days to come. Stretching out his
left hand, he rested it on top of the boy s head. Instantly, Josh s aura
burst into incandescent light. Streamers and globes of yellow fire curled
from his body and bounced around the room. Phobos and Deimos were caught by
the blast of light and heat, and it sent them squealing and scrambling behind
the stone plinth, but not before their pale skin had reddened and the tips of
their snow white hair had darkened and crisped. The searing light drove Dee
to his knees, gloved hands pressed against his eyes. He rolled over, burying
his face in his hands as spheres of fire bounced off the floor and ceiling,
spattering against the walls, leaving scorch marks on the polished bone.
Only Machiavelli had escaped the full force of the explosion of light. He d
turned away and ducked out of the room in the last instant before Mars had
touched the boy. Curling up in a ball, he hid in the deep shadows outside the
door while streamers of yellow light ricocheted off the walls and hissing
balls of solid energy blazed out into the corridor. He blinked hard, trying
to clear the streaked afterimages seared onto his retinas. Machiavelli had
seen Awakenings before, but never anything this dramatic. What was Mars doing
to the boy, what gift was he giving him?
Then, through his blurring vision, he saw a vague silvery shape materialize
at the other end of the corridor.
And the scent of vanilla filled the catacombs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
P erched on top of the water tower on Alcatraz, surrounded by huge
Dire-Crows, the Morrigan sang softly to herself. It was a song first heard by
the most primitive of ancient men, now imprinted deep into humankind s DNA.
It was slow and gentle, lost and plaintive, beautiful and utterly terrifying.
It was the Song of the Morrigan: a cry designed to inspire fear and terror.
And on battlefields across the world and down through time, it was often the
last sound a human heard in this life.
The Morrigan drew her black feathered cloak about her and gazed out across
the fog-locked bay toward the city. She could feel the heat of the mass of
humani, could see the seething glow of almost a million auras within San
Fancisco itself. And every aura was wrapped around a humani, each one rich
with fears and worries, filled with succulent, tasty emotions. She pressed
her hands together and brought the tips of her fingers to her thin black
lips. Her ancestors had fed off humankind, had drunk their memories, savored
their emotions like fine wines. Soon oh, so very soon, she would be free to
do it again.
But before that she had a banquet to enjoy.
Earlier, she d received a call from Dee. Finally, he and his Elders had been
forced to agree that it was now too dangerous to allow both Nicholas and
Perenelle to survive; he had given her permission to slay the Sorceress.
The Morrigan had an eyrie high in the San Bernardino Mountains. She would
carry Perenelle there and over the next few days drain every last one of the
woman s memories and emotions. The Sorceress had lived for almost seven
hundred years; she had traveled across the globe and into Shadowrealms, had
seen wonders and experienced terrors. And the woman had an extraordinary
memory; she would have remembered everything, every emotion, every thought
and fear. And the Morrigan would relish them all. When she was finished, the
legendary Perenelle Flamel would be little more than a mindless babe. The
Crow Goddess threw back her head and opened her mouth wide, her long incisors
white and stark against her dark lips, her tongue tiny and black. Soon.
The Morrigan knew that the Sorceress was in the tunnels beneath the water
tower. The only other entrance was through a tunnel that was accessible only
at low tide. And although the tide would not turn for hours, the rocks and
cliff face around the cave mouth were covered with razor-billed crows.
Then the Morrigan s nostrils flared.
Over the salt and iodine smell of the sea, the metallic stink of rusted metal
and rotting stone and the musty scent of countless birds, she suddenly
smelled something else something that didn't belong, not in this place, not
in this age. Something ancient and bitter.
The wind shifted, and the fog curled with it. Beads of salty moisture
suddenly glistened on a thread of silver hanging in the air before her. The
Morrigan blinked her jet-black eyes. Another thread wavered in the air, and
then another and another, crisscrossed in a series of circles. They looked
like webs.
They were webs.