sphinx, then she was powerless. He could not be more wrong.
Alcatraz was a place of ghosts.
And Perenelle Flamel would show him just how powerful she was.
Closing her eyes, relaxing, Perenelle listened to the ghosts of Alcatraz, and then slowly, her voice barely above a breathed whisper, she began to talk to them, to call them and to gather them all to her.
CHAPTER SIX
“I’m OK”, Sophie murmured sleepily, “really I am.”
“You don’t look OK”, Josh muttered through gritted teeth. For the second time in as many days, Josh was carrying his sister in his arms, one arm under her back, the other beneath her legs. He moved cautiously down the steps of Sacre -Coeur, terrified he was going to drop his twin. “Flamel told us every time you use magic it will steal a little of your energy”, he added. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine”, she muttered. “Let me down.” But then her eyes flickered closed once more.
The small group moved silently through the thick vanilla-scented fog, Scathach in the lead with Flamel taking up the rear. All around them they could hear the tramp of boots, the jingle of weapons, and the muted commands of the French police and special forces as they climbed the steps. Some of them came dangerously close, and twice Josh was forced to crouch low as a uniformed figure darted by.
Scathach suddenly loomed up out of the thick fog, a short, stubby finger pressed to her lips. Water droplets frosted her spiky red hair, and her white skin looked even paler than usual. She pointed to the right with her ornately carved nunchaku. The fog swirled and suddenly a gendarme was standing almost directly in front of them, close enough to touch, his dark uniform sparkling with beads of liquid. Behind him, Josh was able to make out a group of French police clustered around what looked like an old-fashioned merry-go-round. They were all staring upward, and Josh heard the word brouillard murmured again and again. He knew that they were talking about the strange fog that had suddenly descended over the church. The gendarme was holding his service pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed skyward, but his finger was lightly curled over the trigger and Josh was once again reminded just how much danger they were in not only from Flamel’s nonhuman and inhuman enemies, but from his all-too-human foes as well.
They walked perhaps another dozen steps and suddenly the fog stopped. One moment Josh was carrying his sister through the thick mist; then, as if he had stepped through a curtain, he was standing in front of a tiny art gallery, a cafee and a souvenir shop. He turned to look behind him and found that he was facing a solid wall of mist. The police were little more than indistinct shapes in the yellow-white fog.
Scathach and Flamel stepped out of the murk. “Allow me”, Scathach said, catching hold of Sophie and lifting her from Josh’s arms. He tried to protest Sophie was his twin, his responsibility but he was exhausted. The backs of his calves were cramping, and the muscles in his arms burned with the effort of carrying his sister down what had felt like countless steps.
Josh looked into Scathach’s bright green eyes. “She’s going to be OK?”
The ancient Celtic warrior opened her mouth to reply, but Nicholas Flamel shook his head, silencing her. He rested his left hand on Josh’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. If Flamel noticed the gesture, he ignored it. “She just needs to sleep. The effort of raising the fog so soon after melting the tulpa has completely drained the last of her physical strength”, Flamel said.
“You asked her to create fog”, Josh said quickly, accusingly.
Nicholas spread his arms. “What else could I do?”
“I I don’t know”, Josh admitted. “There must have been something you could do. I’ve seen you throw spears of green energy.”
“The fog allowed us to escape without harming anyone”, Flamel said.
“Except Sophie”, Josh replied