The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

eyes that seemed far too big for her head was standing beside the fountain. She had a younger child firmly by the hand. They were barefoot and dressed in scraps of clothes that had probably never been white. The two children stared up at the Shadow. “Are you lost?” the girl asked.
    Scathach looked down at the child. It was hard to tell her age—four or five, perhaps and the younger child was probably two. Crouching down, she looked at the girl, green eyes sparkling. “You know, I think I am. Maybe you can help.”
    “Everyone has gone to the prison,” the girl said.
    “Aten,” the boy added. He was sucking noisily on his thumb.
    The girl nodded solemnly. “Everyone has gone to rescue Aten. He is in prison.”
    “Bad men,” the boy said.
    “The bad men put him there,” the girl said.
    “Do you know which of these big buildings is the prison?” Scathach asked gently.
    The girl nodded. Rising up on her toes, she pointed high into the sky. “Can’t see,” she said.
    “Maybe if I lifted you . . .,” Scathach suggested.
    “And my brother, too,” the girl said immediately.
    “Of course.” Curling her arms under both children, the Shadow lifted them. The girl immediately put her arm around Scathach’s shoulder and brought her face close to her cheek. She pointed toward a sloping flat-roofed pyramid. “There. That’s the bad house.”
    “Bad house,” her little brother said.
    “Mama says if you’re bad, you’re taken to the bad house. Is that true?”
    “Sometimes,” Scathach said. She bent, placing both children back on the ground, and then knelt before them. She ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. She wished she had something to give the child, but all she had—all she ever had—were the clothes on her back and the weapons at her side. “Would you like to tell me your names?” she asked.
    “I’m Brigid and this is my brother Cermait. Mama calls him Milbel,” she added with a giggle.
    “Honey mouth,” Scathach whispered. She recognized the names from her time in ancient Ireland and Scotland; she knew who the children were and knew also that they would survive the Fall of Danu Talis.
    “Are you going to the bad house?” Brigid asked.
    “Yes.” Scathach nodded. “There’s someone I have to see.”
    “A bad person?”
    “I don’t know yet. I am going to find out.”
    Cermait tugged on Scathach’s robe and rattled off an incomprehensible sentence. “He wants to know if you are a bad person,” his sister translated.
    “Sometimes,” she whispered. “But only to bad people.”
    “Who are you?” Brigid asked.
    “I am Scathach the Shadow.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
    “NO!” BILLY SCREAMED , the sound high-pitched and anguished.
    The leaf-shaped blades came to glowing life as they spun through the air, slicing through the fog, trailing spirals of moisture in their wake.
    The American saw Perenelle’s eyes widen in shock, and in that moment they both knew she could not escape the blades.
    Time slowed
.
    Hel’s whip lashed out, but she was too far away and it missed.
    Machiavelli shouted and flung a wave of gray-white aura after the spearheads, but it stopped short.
    Nicholas Flamel roared, green light blazing from his hands, singeing the edges of the spears as they tumbled past.
    Juan Manuel de Ayala reached for them, but they cut through him in an explosion of water droplets.
    “No . . .” Billy the Kid staggered and would have fallen if Black Hawk had not caught him. “What have I done?” he gasped.
    Time stopped
.
    And then a figure darted in front of the Sorceress, wrapping arms around her, enfolding her, protecting her.
    The spearheads sliced through the cloak of black feathers in an explosion of cold fire. The force of the blow pushed the Crow Goddess into Perenelle’s arms, knocking her off balance and toward Nicholas. The Alchemyst grabbed both women, keeping them upright.
    The Sorceress looked into the Crow Goddess’s red and yellow eyes. “Why?” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around the creature, holding her tight, feeling her start to shake. “Why?”
    The Crow Goddess rested her chin on Perenelle’s shoulder. “You freed us,” she whispered, teeth chattering. “You released us from an eternity of suffering. In all the years of our long lives, that was the only kindness ever shown to us by a human. That is a gift worth repaying.”
    “You saved me,” Perenelle said, voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to.”
    “Yes, we