Part 2 (2/2)
Whispered secrets...
Vague promises...
Hints of ancient knowledge, of hidden lore...
Dee jerked his hand away and the voices faded from his consciousness. His thin lips curled in a cruel smile: this sword might well prove his salvation. The Dark Elders would pay dearly for a weapon like this. He wondered if it might even be worth his immortal life.
The doctor's phone suddenly buzzed and vibrated in his pocket, startling him. Stepping away from the sword lying on the table, he slipped the phone out of his pocket and looked at the fingerprint-smudged screen. He'd been expecting to see his Elder master's impossibly long number on the screen, but it read Restricted. For a single instant he thought about not answering it, but then curiosity-always both his greatest strength and his worst failing-got the better of him and he pressed Answer.
”You recognize my voice?”
Dr. John Dee blinked in surprise. The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Niccol Machiavelli, who had gone to San Francisco. ”Yes,” he said cautiously.
”This is supposed to be a secure line, but you know my motto... trust no one.”
”A good motto,” Dee murmured.
”I understand you survived.”
”Barely.” The doctor hurried over to the security monitor and turned it on, quickly flipping through the channels. His suspicious mind wondered if this was a trap: was Machiavelli talking to him, distracting him, while the building was being surrounded? But the offices and its corridors were empty and the parking lot deserted. ”Why are you calling me?” he asked.
”To warn you.”
”Warn me!” Even though he had centuries of practice, he was still unable to keep the note of surprise from his voice.
”A few minutes ago, messengers flowed through Xibalba and out into the Shadowrealms. You know what that means?”
Almost unconsciously, Dee nodded. ”Xibalba?” he asked aloud.
On the other side of the world, a note of impatience crept into Machiavelli's voice. ”Yes, the Crossroads, the Place of Fright. It's one of the ancient Shadowrealms.”
”I know it,” Dee said tersely. ”The Morrigan took me there during the last Great Conclave.”
”You've been there?” Machiavelli sounded impressed.
”I have.”
Xibalba was a neutral ground, used when Elders and Dark Elders from various Shadowrealms needed to meet. Dee was one of only a handful of humans who had ever been there. He had even chosen his distinctive aura smell to match the Shadowrealms sulfurous stench. If the Dark Elders were sending messengers through Xibalba, it meant that they wanted to ensure that every Shadowrealm, even the most distant, was aware of their commands. ”I have been judged?” the Magician asked. In the aftermath of his failure, he had no doubts that his sentence had been handed down and that his Dark Elder masters were making sure he would not be able to hide in even the most distant Shadowrealm. He was stuck on earth. Stepping back from the monitor, he stared at his reflection in a mirror: he realized he was looking at a dead man.
”Judged and found guilty.”
Dee nodded but said nothing. He had given the Dark Elders a lifetime of service, and now they had condemned him to death.
”Did you hear me?” Machiavelli snapped.
”I heard you,” Dee said softly. A wave of exhaustion washed over him and he reached out to steady himself against the wall.
The transatlantic line crackled. ”All of the Next Generation or immortal humans you called to London to hunt for Nicholas Flamel and the twins will now turn on you... especially when they discover that the reward for you is double the reward you offered for the Alchemyst.”
”I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or not.”
”There's one difference.” The line crackled again and Machiavelli's voice faded in and out. ”Our masters will take Flamel dead or alive, but you they want alive. They have been very clear about that: anyone who kills you will suffer an appalling fate.”
Dee shuddered. He knew his masters wanted him alive so they could remove his immortality, watch him age before their eyes, and then make him immortal again. He would be cursed to endure an eternity of suffering as a very ancient humani. ”How do you know this?” he wondered.
Machiavelli's voice lowered to a whisper. ”My American companion was contacted by his master.”
”And why are you telling me?”
”Because, like you, I too have failed in my appointed task,” Machiavelli said urgently. ”Perenelle escaped the island. In fact, I am trapped on Alcatraz.”
Dee could not keep a smile from spreading across his face, but he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from speaking.
”There may come a time when you and I need one another, Doctor,” Machiavelli continued.
”The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Dee answered, using the ancient saying.
”Exactly. Doctor, it is time for you to run, to hide. Your masters have declared you utlaga.”
The line suddenly went dead. Dee slowly slipped his cell phone into his pocket and looked in the mirror one last time. He was utlaga, a wolf's head, an outlaw. And then he laughed aloud: the last being the Elders had declared utlaga was the Elder Mars Ultor.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
When Josh limped back to the house, Aunt Agnes was standing in the doorway, waiting for him. Her narrow face was fixed in a scowl and her thin lips had vanished completely. ”You flung the phone on the floor and then stormed out of the house,” she snapped as he started up the steps. ”I want an explanation, young man.”
”I don't have one. Sophie was...” He hesitated. ”Sophie was calling me.”
”You didn't have to throw the phone on the floor.”
”I'm sorry.” Josh took a deep breath, determined not to say anymore. He was worried about his sister; the last thing he needed was his aunt nagging him.
”Phones cost money...”
Josh slipped past his aunt. ”I'm going to finish talking to Dad.”
”He's gone. It was a bad line-and a lot worse after you dropped the phone,” she added. ”He said to tell you he'll call back later. Your mother said neither of you is to leave the house until she talks to you. She is very unhappy with the pair of you,” Aunt Agnes added ominously.
”I'm sure she is,” Josh muttered. He crossed the hall, making his way toward the stairs.
”And where's your sister?” Aunt Agnes demanded.
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