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

then.”
    The Elder nodded, his cheeks turning the same color as his fiery hair.
    The transformation was both horrible and beautiful. Andalthough Abraham never spoke of it, both he and Prometheus knew that it could only end one way: the Change would turn the Mage into a living statue, incapable of speech or movement, though his mind would remain alert and curious. He had never asked, but Prometheus suspected that Abraham knew exactly how much time he had left.
    “Tell me the news,” Abraham said.
    “It’s not good,” Prometheus warned him. He saw the look of pain cross the fleshy part of the Mage’s face but pressed on quickly. “The strangers appeared—as you said they would—on the hills south of the city. But the anpu were waiting for them. They were captured and were taken away in the vimanas. I’ve no idea where they are now, but I’m guessing they’re in the dungeons below the imperial court.”
    “Then they are lost to us and we are doomed.” Abraham turned away. He raised both hands and the blue-green globe once again appeared in the air. Wisps of white cloud spun around the sphere, floating over the green and brown landmasses. And in the center of the globe was the Isle of Danu Talis.
    “What happens now?” Prometheus asked.
    Abraham brought both hands—metal and flesh—together, enclosing the floating world. Then he squeezed. Grains of blue and white, green and brown, dribbled like sand between his fingers. He turned to the Elder, light flowing off the metallic side of his face. “Now the world ends.”

his is Nereus,” Niccolò Machiavelli said quickly to Billy the Kid. His left hand was resting lightly on the young man’s shoulder, but his fingers were locked over the nerve in the side of his neck. Every time Billy opened his mouth to say something, Machiavelli squeezed, silencing him. “Billy, this is the Old Man of the Sea, one of the most powerful of all the Elders.” He released the pressure on the American immortal’s neck for an instant.
    “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Billy squawked.
    The harsh white light Machiavelli had created still lit up the tunnel. It revealed a short broad man with a head of thick shoulder-length hair and a tightly curled beard. An ugly burn marred his deeply tanned forehead, and there was a smattering of similar burns across his chest and shoulders. A sleeveless jerkin of overlapping kelp leaves held together with seaweed covered his chest, and he held a spiked stone tridentin his left hand. He moved forward and the white light dipped and illuminated the lower half of his body. Machiavelli felt Billy draw in a shocked breath, and once more his fingers tightened on the nerve in the American’s neck to prevent him from commenting. The Old Man of the Sea was only human from the waist up; overlong octopus legs twisted and writhed beneath him.
    “It is an honor to meet you,” Machiavelli offered.
    “And you are the immortal human the Italian.” Nereus’s voice was a liquid bubbling. “The one they call the King Maker.”
    Machiavelli bowed. “That is a title I have not heard in a long time.”
    “That is what your master called you,” the Old Man of the Sea continued.
    “My master is very generous,” the immortal said smoothly.
    “Your master is very dangerous. And not very pleased with you. However, that is not my concern. I have been instructed to assist you, King Maker. What do you want?”
    “I was sent here to loose the creatures in the cells into San Francisco. My instructions are to start with the amphibious creatures and release them into the bay. I was told that you or your daughters would guide them toward the city.”
    Nereus’s voice was wet and sticky. “You have the words to awaken the creatures?”
    Machiavelli held up a high-resolution color photograph. “My master sent this to me. It is from the Pyramid of Unas.”
    Nereus nodded. Three of his legs rose into the air and waved in front of the Italian. “Let me