The Magician | Page 7

open, cool night air rushing in, dispelling the
cloying odor of melted wax.
We could have done with a little help, you know, Scatty grumbled.
Flamel grinned and wiped his fingers on his jeans, leaving traces of green
light on the cloth. I knew you had it well under control, he said, stepping
out of the basilica. Scathach and the twins followed.
The sounds of police sirens were louder now, but the area directly in front
of the church was empty. Sacr -Coeur was set on a hill, one of the highest
points in Paris, and from where they stood, they had a view of the entire
city. Nicholas Flamel s face lit up with delight. Home!
What is it with European magicians and Golems? Scatty asked, following him.
First Dee and now Machiavelli. Have they no imaginations?
Flamel looked surprised. That wasn t a Golem. Golems need to have a spell on
their body to animate them.
Scatty nodded. She knew that, of course. What, then ?
That was a tulpa.
Scatty s bright green eyes widened in surprise. A tulpa! Is Machiavelli that
powerful, then?
Obviously.
What s a tulpa? Josh asked Flamel, but it was his sister who answered, and
Josh was once again reminded of the huge gulf that had opened up between them
the moment her powers had been Awakened.
A creature created and animated entirely by the power of the imagination,
Sophie explained casually.
Precisely, Nicholas Flamel said, breathing deeply. Machiavelli knew there
would be wax in the church. So he brought it to life.
But surely he knew it would not be able to stop us? Scatty asked.
Nicholas walked out from under the central arch that framed the front of the
basilica and stood at the edge of the first of the two hundred and twenty-one
steps that led down to the street far below. Oh, he knew it wouldn t stop
us, he said patiently. He just wanted to slow us down, to keep us here
until he arrived. He pointed.
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Far below, the narrow streets of Montmartre had come alive with the sounds
and lights of a fleet of French police cars. Dozens of uniformed gendarmes
had gathered at the bottom of the steps, with more arriving from the narrow
side streets to form a cordon around the building. Surprisingly, none of them
had started climbing.
Flamel, Scatty and the twins ignored the police. They were watching the tall
thin white-haired man in the elegant tuxedo slowly make his way up the steps
toward them. He stopped when he saw them emerge from the basilica, leaned on
a low metal railing and raised his right hand in a lazy salute.
Let me guess, Josh said, that must be Niccol Machiavelli.
The most dangerous immortal in Europe, the Alchemyst said grimly. Trust
me: this man makes Dee look like an amateur.
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CHAPTER FOUR
W elcome back to Paris, Alchemyst.
Sophie and Josh jumped. Machiavelli was still far away to be heard so
clearly. Strangely, his voice seemed to be coming from somewhere behind them,
and both turned to look, but there were only two stained green metal statues
over the three arches in front of the church: a woman on a horse to their
right, her raised arm holding a sword, and a man holding a scepter on their
left.
I ve been waiting for you. The voice seemed to be coming from the statue of
the man.
It s a cheap trick, Scatty said dismissively, picking strips of wax off the
front of her steel-toed combat boots. It s nothing more than ventriloquism.
Sophie smiled sheepishly. I thought the statue was talking, she admitted,
embarrassed.
Josh started to laugh at his sister and then immediately reconsidered. I
guess I wouldn t be surprised if it did.
The good Dr. Dee sends his regards. Machiavelli s voice continued to hang
in the air around them.
So he survived Ojai, then, Nicholas said conversationally, not raising his
voice. Standing tall and straight, he casually put both hands behind his back
and glanced sidelong at Scatty. Then the fingers of his right hand started
dancing against the palm and fingers of his left.
Scatty drew the twins away from Nicholas and slowly retreated under the
shadowed arches. Standing between them, she put her arms around their
shoulders both their auras crackling silver and gold with her touch and drew
their heads together.
Machiavelli. The master of lies. Scatty s whisper was the merest breath
against their ears. He must not hear us.
I cannot say I am pleased to see you, Signor Machiavelli. Or is it Monsieur
Machiavelli in this age? the Alchemyst said quietly, leaning against the
balustrade, looking down the white steps to where Machiavelli was still small
in the distance.
This century, I am French, Machiavelli replied, his voice clearly audible.
I love Paris. It is my favorite city in Europe after Florence, of course.
While Nicholas talked to Machiavelli, he kept his hands behind his back, out
of sight of the other immortal. His fingers were moving in an intricate
series of taps and beats.
Is he working a spell? Sophie breathed, watching his hands.
No, he s talking to me, Scatty said.
How? Josh whispered. Magic? Telepathy?
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ASL: American Sign Language.
The twins