green eyes. Her red hair was so vibrant that Sophie wondered if she had dyed it that color.
“The Codex?” The accent was definitely Irish, Sophie decided. “The Book of Abraham the Mage?”
Nicholas Flamel nodded.
“Then you’re right, we do have a problem.”
Flamel reached into his pocket and pulled out the two pages Josh had torn from it. “Well, nearly all of the book. He’s missing the Final Summoning.”
The young woman hissed, the sound like that of water boiling, and a quick smile flickered across her face. “Which he will want, of course.”
“Of course.”
Josh was watching the red-haired young woman intently, noting how she stood perfectly still, like most of the martial arts teachers he knew. He glanced sidelong at his sister and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he inclined his chin slightly toward the girl. Sophie shook her head. They were curious why Nicholas Flamel treated her with such obvious respect. Sophie had also come to the conclusion that there was something
wrong
about the girl’s expression, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was an ordinary face—perhaps the cheekbones were a little too prominent, the chin a little too pointed—but the emerald-colored eyes caught and held one’s attention…and then Sophie realized with a start that the irl didn’t blink.
The young woman suddenly threw back her head and breathed deeply, her nostrils flaring. “Is that why I can smell Eyes?”
Flamel nodded. “Rats and crows everywhere.”
“And you brought them here?” There was a note of accusation in her voice. “I’ve spent years building this place.”
“If Dee has the Codex, then you know what he will do with it.”
The young woman nodded. She turned her wide green eyes on the twins. “And these two?” she asked, finally acknowledging their presence.
“They were there when Dee attacked. They fought for me, and this young man managed to tear the pages from the book. This is Sophie and this is her twin, Josh.”
“Twins?” The young woman stepped forward, and looked at each of them in turn. “Not identical, but I can see the resemblance now.” She turned to Flamel. “You’re not thinking…?”
“I’m thinking it’s an interesting turn of events,” Flamel said mysteriously. He looked at the twins. “I would like to introduce you to Scathach. She’ll probably not tell you much about herself, so I’ll tell you that she is of the Elder Race and has trained every warrior and hero of legend for the past two thousand years. In mythology she is known as the Warrior Maid, the Shadow, the Daemon Slayer, the King Maker, the—”
“Oh, just call me Scatty,” the young woman said, her cheeks turning the same color as her hair.
CHAPTER EIGHT
D r. John Dee crouched in the back of the car and attempted, not entirely successfully, to control his temper. The air was heavy with the odor of sulfur, and thin tendrils of yellow-white fire crackled around his fingertips and puddled on the floor. He had failed, and while his masters were particularly patient—they often instigated plans that took centuries to mature—their patience was now beginning to run out. And they were definitely not known for their compassion.
Unmoving, held by the warding spell, Perenelle Flamel watched him, eyes blazing with a combination of loathing and what might even have been fear.
“This is becoming complicated,” Dee muttered, “and I hate complications.”
Dee was holding a flat silver dish in his lap, into which he had poured a can of soda—the only liquid he had available. He always preferred to work with pure water, but technically any fluid would do. Crouched over the dish, he stared into the liquid and allowed a little of his own auric energy to trickle across the surface as he muttered the first words of the spell of scrying.
For a single moment there was just his own reflection in the dark liquid, then it shuddered and the soda began to bubble and boil
“The Codex?” The accent was definitely Irish, Sophie decided. “The Book of Abraham the Mage?”
Nicholas Flamel nodded.
“Then you’re right, we do have a problem.”
Flamel reached into his pocket and pulled out the two pages Josh had torn from it. “Well, nearly all of the book. He’s missing the Final Summoning.”
The young woman hissed, the sound like that of water boiling, and a quick smile flickered across her face. “Which he will want, of course.”
“Of course.”
Josh was watching the red-haired young woman intently, noting how she stood perfectly still, like most of the martial arts teachers he knew. He glanced sidelong at his sister and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he inclined his chin slightly toward the girl. Sophie shook her head. They were curious why Nicholas Flamel treated her with such obvious respect. Sophie had also come to the conclusion that there was something
wrong
about the girl’s expression, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was an ordinary face—perhaps the cheekbones were a little too prominent, the chin a little too pointed—but the emerald-colored eyes caught and held one’s attention…and then Sophie realized with a start that the irl didn’t blink.
The young woman suddenly threw back her head and breathed deeply, her nostrils flaring. “Is that why I can smell Eyes?”
Flamel nodded. “Rats and crows everywhere.”
“And you brought them here?” There was a note of accusation in her voice. “I’ve spent years building this place.”
“If Dee has the Codex, then you know what he will do with it.”
The young woman nodded. She turned her wide green eyes on the twins. “And these two?” she asked, finally acknowledging their presence.
“They were there when Dee attacked. They fought for me, and this young man managed to tear the pages from the book. This is Sophie and this is her twin, Josh.”
“Twins?” The young woman stepped forward, and looked at each of them in turn. “Not identical, but I can see the resemblance now.” She turned to Flamel. “You’re not thinking…?”
“I’m thinking it’s an interesting turn of events,” Flamel said mysteriously. He looked at the twins. “I would like to introduce you to Scathach. She’ll probably not tell you much about herself, so I’ll tell you that she is of the Elder Race and has trained every warrior and hero of legend for the past two thousand years. In mythology she is known as the Warrior Maid, the Shadow, the Daemon Slayer, the King Maker, the—”
“Oh, just call me Scatty,” the young woman said, her cheeks turning the same color as her hair.
CHAPTER EIGHT
D r. John Dee crouched in the back of the car and attempted, not entirely successfully, to control his temper. The air was heavy with the odor of sulfur, and thin tendrils of yellow-white fire crackled around his fingertips and puddled on the floor. He had failed, and while his masters were particularly patient—they often instigated plans that took centuries to mature—their patience was now beginning to run out. And they were definitely not known for their compassion.
Unmoving, held by the warding spell, Perenelle Flamel watched him, eyes blazing with a combination of loathing and what might even have been fear.
“This is becoming complicated,” Dee muttered, “and I hate complications.”
Dee was holding a flat silver dish in his lap, into which he had poured a can of soda—the only liquid he had available. He always preferred to work with pure water, but technically any fluid would do. Crouched over the dish, he stared into the liquid and allowed a little of his own auric energy to trickle across the surface as he muttered the first words of the spell of scrying.
For a single moment there was just his own reflection in the dark liquid, then it shuddered and the soda began to bubble and boil
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