Free The Magician (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #2) by Michael Scott Page A

foot against the seat of a chair and shoved hard. The wooden chair skipped across the floor and slammed into the two police officers as they pushed through the door. They crashed to the ground, a radio flying from the hand of one, a baton from the hand of the other. The squawking radio skidded to a halt at Josh’s feet. He leaned over and poured his hot chocolate on it. It died in a fizz of sparks.
    Scathach surged to her feet. Without turning her head, she raised an arm and pointed at Roux. “You. Stay right where you are. And don’t even think about phoning for the police.”
    Heart hammering, Josh grabbed Sophie and pulled her away from the table, toward the back of the shop, shielding her with his body from the police at the door.
    One of the officers raised a gun. And Scatty’s nunchaku struck it in the barrel with enough force to bend the metal and send the weapon spinning from the man’s hand.
    The second officer scrambled to his feet, pulling out a long black baton. Scathach’s right shoulder dipped and the nunchaku reversed direction in midair, the twelve-inch length of hardened wood striking the police baton just above its short handle. The baton shattered into ragged splinters. Scathach flipped the nunchaku back and it dropped into her outstretched hand.
    “I’m in a really bad mood”, she said in perfect French. “Believe me when I tell you that you really do not want to fight me.”
    “Scatty”, Josh hissed in alarm.
    “Not now”, the Warrior snapped in English. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
    “Yeah, well, you’re about to get busier”, Josh shouted. “A lot busier. Look outside.”
    A police riot squad, in black body armor, full-face helmets and shields, armed with batons and assault rifles, were racing down the street, straight for the cafe.
    “RAID”, the shop assistant whispered in horror.
    “Just like SWAT”, Scathach said in English, “only tougher.” She sounded almost pleased. Glancing sidelong at Roux, she snapped in French, “Is there a back door?”
    The shop assistant was shocked into immobility, staring at the approaching squad, and didn’t react until Scathach whipped out the nunchaku and the rounded end whistled past his face, the breeze making him blink.
    “Is there a back door?” she demanded again, but in English.
    “Yes, yes, of course.”
    “Then get my friends out.”
    “No”, Josh began.
    “Let me do something”, Sophie said, a dozen wind spells flickering into her consciousness. “I can help”.
    “No”, Josh protested, and reached for his twin just as her blond hair crackled, sparkling silver.
    “Out!” Scatty shouted, and suddenly it was as if the planes and angles of her face had altered, cheekbones and chin becoming prominent, green eyes turned to reflective glass. For an instant, there was something ancient and primeval and totally alien in her face. “I can take care of this.” She started spinning the nunchaku, creating an impenetrable shield between her and the two policemen. One officer picked up a chair and flung it at her, but the nunchaku turned it to matchwood.
    “Roux get them out now !” Scatty snarled.
    “This way”, the terrified clerk said in American-accented English. He pushed past the twins and led them down a narrow chilly corridor and out into a small foul-smelling yard piled high with trash cans, bits of broken restaurant furniture and the skeleton of a long-abandoned Christmas tree. Behind them came the sound of breaking wood.
    Roux pointed to a red gate and continued in English. His face was the color of chalk. “That leads to the alleyway. Turn left for the Rue de Dunkerque; right will bring you down to the Gare du Nord Metro station.” Behind them there was a tremendous smash, followed by the sound of breaking glass. “Your friend, she is in so much trouble”, he moaned miserably. “And RAID will wreck the shop. How am I going to explain that to the owner?”
    There was another crash from inside. A slate tile