Free The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) by Michael Scott Page A

standing in the center of the room said absently. He was concentrating on a blue and white globe rotating in front of him in midair.
    “I thought there were more. Always feel like I’m climbing for ages.”
    Abraham half turned, light from the spinning globe spilling over the right side of his face, lending his chalk-colored skin an unhealthy blue glow. “You have stepped in and out of at least a dozen Shadowrealms on the way up here, Prometheus, old friend. Why do you think I’ve told you never to linger on the stairs?” he added with a sly smile. “You have news for me?” Abraham the Mage turned to fully face the tall warrior.
    Prometheus straightened, his warrior’s discipline ensuring that when he looked at the Mage, his face was impassive. Before he could speak, the blue globe drifted down and floated directly in front of him, hanging in the air between the two men.
    “What do you see, old friend?”
    Prometheus blinked and focused on the ball. “The world …,” he began, then frowned. “But there is something wrong with it. There’s too much water,” he said slowly, watching the globe revolve. Realization struck home whenhe began to make out the shapes of some of the continents. “Danu Talis is gone.”
    Abraham raised a metal-gloved hand and stuck his forefinger into the sphere: it burst like a bubble. “Danu Talis is gone,” he agreed. “This is the world not as it will be, but as it could be.”
    “How soon?” Prometheus asked.
    “Soon.”
    Prometheus found himself looking directly at Abraham the Mage. Even before he’d first met him, the Elder had heard the legends of the mysterious wandering teacher, a figure who was rumored to be neither Elder nor Archon but older than either, older even than the Earthlords. It was said that he was from the Time Before Time, but Abraham never discussed his age. Prometheus’s sister, Zephaniah, had told him that the history of every race mentioned a teacher, a wise seer, who had brought knowledge and wisdom to the natives in the distant past. There were very few descriptions of the scholar … but many stories mentioned a figure who might have been Abraham the Mage.
    The Mage’s pale blond hair, gray eyes and ashen skin suggested that he was from one of the distant northlands, but he was much taller than the Northern Folk, and his features were finer, with high prominent cheekbones and slightly uptilted eyes. He also had an extra finger on each hand.
    Over the last few decades, the Change had started to overtake Abraham.
    Prometheus knew that there were accounts that it happened to all the Great Elders—so perhaps Abraham was ofthat race—but since so few of them survived and none ever appeared in public, no one knew the truth. Zephaniah had explained to him that when extreme old age overtook the Great Elders, what might have been a disease or mutation, or perhaps even a regeneration, began to work on their DNA.
    The Great Elders Changed. And each Change was different.
    Some of them transformed completely into monsters, sprouting fur and fangs; others became hybrid creatures, growing wings or fins on their bodies. Some shrank, while others grew monstrously tall. Many went mad.
    Abraham was slowly turning into a beautiful statue. His gold aura no longer glowed over and above his skin. It had actually settled onto the surface of his flesh, coating it, turning it metallic. The left side of his face from forehead to chin and from nose to ear was a solid gold mask. Only his eye remained untouched, although the white had turned a pale saffron with threads of gold twisted through the gray iris. The upper and lower teeth on the left side of his face were solid gold, and his left hand was covered in what looked like a golden glove, though Prometheus knew it was actually his flesh.
    Prometheus suddenly realized that Abraham was staring at him. A curl of a smile appeared on his thin lips. “You saw me yesterday,” the Mage said gently. “I’ve not changed since