The Warlock (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #5) Read Online Free PDF

damp cocoon, and Prometheus turned on the wipers, clearing the windshield. “We’re nearly there,” he said, and then, as they left the Shadowrealm and returned to Point Reyes, the fog lifted and the world exploded into colors so bright they were almost painful to look upon. The Elderslammed on the brakes and the heavy Wagoneer skidded to a halt on the dirt road. He turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Standing with one arm on the roof, he turned to look back at the fog banks, watching as they swirled and shifted, paling to gossamer threads.
    He had spent an eternity creating this world, shaping it. It was part of him. But now his own Shadowrealm was collapsing into nothing, and his aura was so depleted, his memories stripped and ravaged by the crystal skull, that he knew he would never be able to re-create it. There was a moment when the fog twisted away, giving him a last image of his beautiful and serene Shadowrealm.…
    It was gone.
    Prometheus climbed back into the car and swiveled around to look at Perenelle and Nicholas. “So the end is upon us? Abraham spoke of this time.”
    “Soon,” Perenelle said, “but not yet. There is one thing more we must do.”
    “You have always known it would end this way,” Prometheus said.
    “Always,” she said confidently.
    The Elder sighed. “You have the Sight.”
    “Yes,” Perenelle agreed, “but more than that. Some of this I was told about.” She looked at Prometheus, her green eyes glowing in the shadows. “My poor Nicholas. He never really had a chance: his destiny was shaped the moment the one-handed man sold him the Codex. The book changed the course of his life—of both our lives—and together we changed the course of human history. When I was still a child, andbefore Nicholas was even born, the same man who would eventually sell him the book let me see my future and the future of the world. Not an absolute future, but a possible future, one of many possibilities. And over the years, I’ve watched many of those possibilities come true. The one-handed man told me what must happen—what I had to do, what my future husband would have to do—if the human race was to survive. He has been the puppeteer down through the millennia, nudging, shifting, moving us—all of us—toward this point. Even you, Prometheus.”
    The Elder shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Even you. Who do you think encouraged your friend Saint-Germain to steal fire from you; who do you think taught him its secrets?”
    The Elder opened his mouth to speak but closed it again without saying a word.
    “The hook-handed man told me he was there at the beginning and said that he would be there at the end.” Perenelle leaned forward. “You were there, Prometheus; you were on Danu Talis for the Final Battle. He claimed he was there—you must have seen him.”
    Prometheus slowly shook his huge head. “I cannot recall him.” He smiled ruefully. “The crystal skull fed off my oldest and earliest recollections. I am sorry, Sorceress, but I have no memory of the hook-handed man.” His smile faded, turning bitter. “But there is so much about that day that was lost or confused to me even before the skull took my memories.”
    “Have you no recollection of him—bright blue eyes, a silver hook replacing his left hand?”
    Prometheus shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I remember the faces of the good friends I lost, though I no longer recall their names. I remember those who stood against me, and those whom I slew.” He frowned and his voice grew soft and distant. “I remember the screams and shouts, the sounds of battle, the clash of metal, the stink of ancient magic. I remember there was fire in heaven … and then the world was split asunder and the sea roared in.”
    “He was there.”
    “This was the Final Battle, Sorceress.
Everyone
was there.”
    Perenelle sat back into the seat. “When I first met him, I was little more than a child. I asked his name. He