George Frideric Handel, 1749, Music for the Royal Fireworks. What a night
that was! What music! Saint-Germain s fingers moved across a keyboard,
filling the room with a tune Josh thought sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe
he d heard it on a TV ad. Good old George, Saint-Germain said. I never
liked him.
The Witch of Endor doesn t like you, Josh said hesitantly. Why?
Saint-Germain grinned. The Witch doesn t like anyone. She especially doesn t
like me because I became immortal through my own efforts and, unlike Nicholas
and Perry, I don't need any recipe from a book to remain undying.
Josh frowned. You mean there are different types of immortality?
Many different types, and as many different types of immortals. The most
dangerous are those who became immortal because of their loyalty to an Elder.
If they fall from favor with the Elder, the gift is rescinded, of course. He
snapped his fingers and Josh jumped. The result is instant old age. Ancient
age. It s a great way of ensuring loyalty. He turned back to the keyboard
and his fingers drew a haunting breathy sound from the speakers. He looked up
as Josh joined him in front of the screen. But the real reason the Witch of
Endor doesn t like me is because I an ordinary mortal became the Master of
Fire. He held up his left hand and a different-colored flame danced at the
tip of each finger. The attic studio suddenly smelled of burnt leaves.
And why would that bother her? Josh asked, staring entranced at the dancing
flames. He wanted desperately wanted to be able to do something like that.
Maybe because I learned the secret of fire from her brother. The music
changed, becoming discordant and harsh. Well, when I say learned, I should
really say stole.
You stole the secret of fire! Josh said.
The Comte de Saint-Germain nodded happily. From Prometheus.
And one of these days my uncle will want it back. Scathach s voice made
them both jump. Neither had heard her enter the room. Nicholas is here, she
said, and turned away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
N icholas Flamel was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, both hands
wrapped around a steaming mug of soup. In front of him was a half-empty
bottle of Perrier, a tall glass and a plate piled high with thick-crust bread
and cheese. He looked up, nodded and smiled as Josh and Saint-Germain
followed Scathach into the room.
Sophie was sitting on one side of the table, facing Joan of Arc, and Josh
quickly slid into the seat beside his sister while Saint-Germain took the
seat alongside his wife. Only Scathach remained standing, leaning against the
sink behind the Alchemyst, staring out into the night. Josh noted that she
was still wearing the bandana she had cut from Flamel s loose black T-shirt.
Josh turned his attention to the Alchemyst. The man looked exhausted and old,
and there seemed to be a dusting of silver in his close-cropped hair that
hadn't been there earlier. His skin was also shockingly pale, emphasizing the
bruise-black circles beneath his eyes and the deep lines in his forehead. His
clothes were rumpled and speckled with rain, and there was a long muddy
streak on the sleeve of the jacket he d hung off the back of the wooden
chair. Water droplets sparkled on the worn leather.
No one spoke while the Alchemyst finished the soup and then broke off chunks
of the cheese and bread. He chewed slowly and methodically, then poured water
from the green bottle into the glass and drank in short sips. When he was
finished, he wiped his lips on a napkin and allowed himself a sigh of
satisfaction. Thank you. He nodded to Joan. That was perfect.
There is a larder full of food, Nicholas, she said, her gray eyes huge and
concerned. You really should have more than soup, bread and cheese.
It was enough, he said gently. Right now I need to rest, and I didn't want
to put a lot of food in my stomach. We shall have a big breakfast in the
morning. I ll even cook it myself.
I didn't know you could cook, Saint-Germain said.
He can t, Scathach muttered.
I thought eating cheese late at night gave you nightmares, Josh said. He
glanced at his watch. It s close to one in the morning.
Oh, I don't need cheese to see nightmares. I ve seen them in the flesh.
Nicholas smiled, though there was no humor in it. They re not so scary. He
looked from Josh to Sophie. You re safe and well?
The twins glanced at one another and nodded.
And rested?
They slept all day and most of the night, Joan said.
Good, Flamel nodded. You re going to need all your strength. And I like
the clothes. While Josh was dressed identically to Saint-Germain, Sophie was
wearing a heavy white cotton blouse and blue jeans with the ends turned up to
reveal ankle-high boots.
Joan gave them to me, Sophie explained.
Almost a perfect fit, the older woman said. We ll go through my wardrobe
shortly, get you some changes for the rest of your journey.
Sophie smiled her thanks.
Nicholas turned to Saint-Germain. The fireworks on the Eiffel Tower
yesterday: inspired, just inspired.
The count bowed. Thank you, Master, he said, looking tremendously pleased
with himself.
Joan s giggle was a low purr. He s been looking for an excuse to do
something like that for months. You should have seen the display he set off
in Hawaii when we were married. We waited until the sun went down; then
Francis lit up the sky for nearly an hour. It was so beautiful, though the
effort exhausted him for a week, she added with a grin.
Two spots of color touched the count s cheeks and he reached over to squeeze
his wife s hand. It was worth it to see the look on your face.
You hadn't mastered fire the last time we met, Nicholas said slowly. If I
recall, you had some little ability with it, but nothing like the power you
demonstrated yesterday. Who trained you?
I spent some time in India, in the lost city of Ophir, the count responded,
glancing quickly at the Alchemyst. They still remember you there. Did you
know they erected a statue to you and Perenelle in the main square?
I didn't. I promised Perenelle I d take her back there someday, Nicholas
said wistfully. But what has that got to do with your mastery of fire?
I met someone there someone who trained me, Saint-Germain said
enigmatically. Showed me how to use all the secret knowledge I d gleaned
from Prometheus
Stolen, Scathach corrected.
Well, he stole it first, Saint-Germain snapped.
Flamel s hand hit the table with enough force to rattle the bottle of water.
Only Scathach didn't jump. Enough! he barked, and for an instant, the
planes and angles of his face altered, cheekbones suddenly prominent, hinting
at the skull beneath the flesh. His almost colorless eyes visibly darkened,
turning gray, then brown and finally black. Resting his elbows on the table,
he rubbed his face with the palms of both hands and took a deep shuddering
breath. There was the faintest hint of mint in the air, but it was a sour
bitter odor. I m sorry. That was inexcusable. I should not have raised my
voice, he said quietly into the shocked silence that followed. When he took