"A fool," she snapped. "How do you hope to achieve all this?"

"Yesterday I saw an Archon."

Virginia blinked in surprise. "I've never seen one. I thought they were myth."

"I saw Cernunnos, the Horned G.o.d. I stood as close to it as I am standing to you. And then later, it came to me: it sent a thoughtform, a being created, controlled and held together entirely by the power of its imagination. Its power was incredible... and yet Cernunnos is one of the minor Archons."

Virginia started to shake her head. "And what has this got to do with you taking control of this Shadowrealm?"

"I have the four Swords of Power. I intend to raise Coatlicue, the greatest of all the Archons. She will serve me."

Virginia Dare drew in her breath in a quick gasp. "John, this is insanity," she said urgently. "And even if you could raise the Archon, why should she serve you? What have you got to trade that would even remotely interest her?"

"Coatlicue despises and loathes the Elders. Millennia ago, they sentenced her to an eternity of suffering-I would imagine she will want her revenge."

"Revenge drives us all," Virginia murmured. "But I still don't see how..."

The doctor's smile was terrifying. "I know the entrance to Xibalba here on earth. If she serves me, I will give her that location."

"And once she is in Xibalba...," Virginia whispered.

Dee nodded. "She will have access to the countless Shadowrealms. She can ravage her way through them, feasting off everything she finds."

The woman's laughter was shaky. "I have always admired your ruthless streak, John, but this is breathtaking. Even you, as powerful as you are, will not be able to raise an Archon. Especially the Mother of All the G.o.ds. As soon as she steps into this world, she'll feed off the first things she sees."

Dee shrugged. "It is true I am going to need something extraordinary, something powerful, to draw her and then distract her while I bind her in spells." He touched the swords under his coat. The answer flowed through his fingers and the air was suddenly filled with the sharp citrus scent of orange. His smile turned savage. "I will offer her a pure golden aura."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Sophie and Josh walked side by side on the quay in Sausalito, past the gently rocking houseboats. Each one was different, some small and squat, others tall and long. Most had small dinghies tied to the side, and one even had a seaplane moored off one end.

The twins had left Nicholas and Perenelle arguing with Aoife back on Niten's houseboat. The Swordsman remained silent, only occasionally stepping in to place his hands on the vampire's shoulder when her temper grew heated.

"What do we do now?" Josh asked.

Sophie looked at him. "Do? About what?"

"I mean, do we go home?"

"And then what? What are we going home to?"

Josh dug his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and walked on. He had no answer to that. "You know, it was only when I was leaving the house earlier to look for the Flamels that I realized how much we've lost," he said.

"What do you mean lost?" Sophie was confused.

"These last few days we've spent with the Flamels has cost us everything," Josh continued. "Everything we thought we knew-all the history, the mythology, even the archaeology-it all turns out to be a lie. Even our futures have been wiped out."

Sophie nodded. She'd already had the same thoughts, but wasn't surprised that it had taken her brother a little longer to come to them.

"So where do we go?" Josh stopped to look back toward Niten's houseboat. Although it was over a hundred yards away, he lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "What do we do, sis? I don't trust Flamel."

"Neither do I," she admitted.

"But we're sort of stuck with him."

Sophie nodded. "And I think we need to see this out to the end."

"What does that mean?" her brother asked desperately. "You've heard them-they're talking about attacking Alcatraz. That's just crazy!"

"But if they don't, then the creatures on the island will attack San Francisco." Sophie reached out to touch her brother and the air was suddenly filled with the sweet smell of vanilla. Her bright blue eyes flickered silver. "Have you ever thought that this is exactly where we're supposed to be? This is what we're supposed to be doing."

Josh took a step back, suddenly frightened of the intensity in his sister's voice. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Josh, ten thousand years ago, Abraham wrote about us..."

Josh shook his head quickly. "No. He wrote about twins... and there have been lots of twins."

"None like us."

"Lots like us," he insisted. "Remember? The Flamels have been collecting gold and silver twins for generations. And none of them survived their Awakening."

"We did," she reminded him.

"Barely."

"Josh, I've been trained in Air, Fire and Water magics and you've been Awakened and trained in Water magic. We can't just ignore those skills. We have an opportunity now to use them, to protect the city."

"Have you ever wondered," Josh asked suddenly, "if we're fighting for the right side? If maybe Flamel is the enemy and Dee is the good guy?"

They both caught the flicker of movement at the same time and whirled around to face Niten. Even though the early afternoon was still and quiet, they hadn't heard the Swordsman approach. He bowed slightly. "They are calling for you," he said, glancing back at the boat. He turned and walked away, then stopped to glance over his shoulder, and the light washed over his face, turning his brown eyes into mirrors. "I could not help overhearing your last question. I am immortal, and though I have not lived as long as Nicholas or Perenelle, I am now, and have always been, a warrior. And if that life has taught me anything, it is that in every war, both sides believe they are in the right."

"And what about us, Niten?" Josh asked. "Are we on the right side?"

"You are on a side, and that is important. You don't have to stay on that side. Often the greatest act of courage is admitting that one has made a mistake." He paused, then added, "Follow your hearts. Protect one another, trust one another, because, at the end of the day, all of these people want something from you, or want you to do something for them, or be something that you are not. Your only responsibility is to one another." Then he turned and walked away.

Nicholas and Perenelle were waiting on the dock. Sophie felt Perenelle's eyes searching their faces, almost as if she were reading their thoughts. The Sorceress stepped forward and Sophie realized with a sudden clarity that Perenelle-and not Nicholas-was in charge. It dawned on her that the woman had probably always been the boss.

"It is decision time," Flamel said with a wry smile.

"Well, we've been talking about-" Josh began.

"The time for talking is over," Perenelle said abruptly. "This is the time for action. Are you with us?" she asked.

"Do we have a choice?" Josh replied.

Perenelle opened her mouth to answer, but Nicholas tugged at her sleeve and shook his head slightly. Looking at the twins, he said, "There are always choices." He held up three bony fingers. "You can fight with us, you can side with Dee, or you can do nothing." The expression on his face turned cruel. "If you side with Dee, then this city and ultimately this world are doomed. If you do nothing, then this city and this world are still doomed. But if you fight with us, then there is a chance-a small chance, but a chance nonetheless-for humankind."

"But-" Josh began.

Sophie reached out and caught her brother's arm, pinching hard enough to silence his response. "We're with you," Sophie said. She looked at her brother and he nodded once. "We're both with you." She looked from Nicholas to Perenelle. "Now, what do we do?"

The Sorceress bowed her head slightly, but not before Sophie caught the hint of a smile. "Josh needs to learn at least one more Elemental Magic," Perenelle said. "If we had time we could find someone to train him in Earth, Air and Fire, but we don't. I think he will be able to learn one more magic in the time left for us."

"But which one?" Josh asked.

Perenelle swiveled around to look at the Alchemyst, her fine eyebrows raised in a silent question. No words pa.s.sed between them, but the Sorceress nodded and turned back with a smile on her face. "We will train Josh in the Magic of Fire," she said.

Josh looked at Sophie and grinned. "Fire. I like that." He turned back to Perenelle. "But who's going to train me?"

Sophie knew the answer even before the Sorceress spoke. "We will go and see Prometheus, the Master of Fire."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

Niccol Machiavelli sat in the pa.s.senger seat of the stripped-down army surplus jeep, clutching the bar welded onto the dashboard in a white-knuckled grip. Billy sat in the back and whooped delightedly with each b.u.mp and dip on the unpaved road. Black Hawk drove the narrow country lanes at high speed, foot pushed hard to the floor, a ferocious grin on his face.

"I think," Machiavelli said, shouting to be heard over the noise of the engine, "I think that your master would probably prefer us alive so he can kill us himself. He might be irritated if you do the job for him. Slow down."

"This isn't fast," Black Hawk said. The jeep lurched forward, engine howling as all four wheels left the ground. "Now, this is fast."

"I'll be sick," Machiavelli promised, "and when I am, I'm going to be sick in your direction. Yours too," he added, looking back over his shoulder at Billy the Kid.

Black Hawk reluctantly eased his foot off the accelerator.

"I've not lived through more than five hundred years of Europe's most turbulent history only to die in a car crash."

"Black Hawk could drive these roads wearing a blindfold," Billy said.

"I'm sure he could, though why he would want to do something like that is beyond me."

"Have you never done something purely for the thrill of it?" Black Hawk asked.

"No," Machiavelli said. "Not for a long time."

Black Hawk looked shocked. "But that seems like such a waste of immortality. I pity you," he added.

"You pity me?"

"You are not living, you are surviving."

Niccol Machiavelli stared at the Native American immortal for a long time before he finally nodded and looked away. "You may be right," he murmured.

The house was set back off the road.

At first glance it looked like a small, ordinary timber cottage, similar to so many others scattered across the United States. It was only when one approached closer that the truth was revealed: the house was enormous, much of it built into the side of the hill behind it.

Machiavelli felt his skin p.r.i.c.kle and crawl the moment the car turned off the rough track onto a narrow rutted drive: the telltale signs of warding spells. There was old magic here, ancient eldritch power. He caught glimpses of arcane symbols cut into trees, spirals daubed on rocks, stick figures carved into fence posts. The track cut straight across a field of gra.s.s that grew as high as the car doors. The blades rasped and hissed against the metal, sounding like a thousand warning whispers. The Italian caught flickers of movement all around him, and glimpses of snakes, toads, and quick, scurrying lizards. A gangling misshapen scarecrow dominated the field on the left-hand side of the track. Its head was a huge gnarled dried pumpkin that had been carved in a round-eyed face with a protruding tongue.

The gra.s.sy field stopped abruptly, as if a line had been drawn in the earth, and the rest of the approach to the house was across perfectly flat land. Machiavelli nodded his approval: nothing could get through the field without setting off countless alarms or being attacked by a poisonous lurking guardian. Getting close to the house undetected would be impossible. An enormous lynx, bigger than any he had ever seen before, lay on the ground before the open front door, regarding the car impa.s.sively, only the tiny movements of its black-tufted ears betraying that it was real and not a carving.

Black Hawk pulled the jeep up in front of the house, but kept the engine running and made no move to climb out. "End of the road," he said without a trace of a smile.

Niccol climbed out gratefully and started to brush the dirt and grit off his expensive handmade suit, then gave up. The suit was ruined. He had a closetful of identical suits in his home in Paris, but he doubted he'd ever get a chance to wear them again.

Looking around, he breathed in the warm gra.s.sy air. Whenever he thought about dying-which he did with remarkable regularity-he imagined it would take place in a European city, Paris perhaps, maybe even Rome or his beloved Florence. He'd never thought he was going to end his days in California. However, he wasn't dead yet, and he wasn't going down without a fight.

As soon as Billy leapt out of the jeep, Black Hawk put it in gear and skidded away, showering him and Machiavelli in stones and grit, enveloping them in a cloud of dust. Billy grinned. "I knew he was going to do that."

"You seem remarkably cheerful for someone who may be about to die," Machiavelli said.

"I've seen men go to their deaths laughing, I've seen others wail and cry. They all died in the end, but those who were laughing seemed to have an easier time of it."

"Do you expect to die here today?"

Billy laughed. "Dying's not something I ever think about," Billy said. "But no, I don't think it's going to happen today. We haven't done anything wrong."

The Italian immortal nodded but said nothing.

"Mr. Machiavelli doesn't think I have the authority to remove his immortality. He's incorrect." The man who stepped out of the house was short and slender, his skin the color of brightly polished copper, his face bisected by an enormous hawklike nose and dominated by a full white beard that reached to his chest. His eyes were solid black with no whites showing. He was dressed simply in white linen trousers and shirt and his feet were bare. He smiled, revealing that every one of his teeth had been filed to razor-sharp points. "I am Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent."

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Quez... Quet... Quaza...," Machiavelli began.

"Oh, call me Kukulkan, everyone else does," the Elder said, and headed back into the house. Machiavelli blinked in surprise: a long serpent's tail, bright with multicolored feathers, trailed behind the Elder.

Billy caught Machiavelli by the arm. "Whatever you do," he whispered urgently, "don't mention the tail."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

The ghost of Juan Manuel de Ayala floated silently through the ruins of Alcatraz. The Spanish lieutenant had been the first European to discover the small island in 1775 and had named it after the vast number of pelicans that claimed the rock as their own: La Isla de los Alcatraces. By the time it was sold to the American government in 1854, it was called Alcatraz.

When de Ayala had died, his shade had returned to the island, and he had haunted and protected it ever since.