The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

did. It was the right thing to do.”
    “And you have always done the right thing,” Perenelle realized with a start.
    “We have . . . though the Morrigan, not so much.” The Elder’s voice grew weaker as she spoke. “Now, Sorceress, you have work to do. Do not let our sacrifice be in vain.”
    The Sorceress stroked the creature’s short hair. “If we succeed here tonight, it will be because of you.”
    The Crow Goddess was shaking so violently now that Perenelle could barely hold her. The Elder’s voice was changing, flickering between Macha’s and the Badb’s. “And do not think too badly of our younger sister. She was led astray.” She suddenly lifted her chin and looked into Perenelle’s eyes and the Sorceress saw that the once red and yellow eyes had turned solid black. The Morrigan had awakened. Her mouth opened, savage teeth inches from Perenelle’s throat.
    Every instinct in the Sorceress told her to pull away, but she continued to hold the shivering creature.
    And then the Morrigan’s mouth closed and her black eyes softened. “I hated you for what you did to me,” she breathed, “but no more. Thank you, Sorceress, for reuniting me with my sisters.” Her eyes started to flicker, black and red and yellow, but the colors were fading.
    “I will remember you,” Perenelle promised. “All three of you: Macha, the Morrigan and the Badb.”
    And then the Crow Goddess crumpled to black dust in the Sorceress’s arms. The only sound in the night was the noise of the metal spearheads clanging onto the stones.
    Perenelle Flamel took Billy the Kid by the hands and pulled him up off the ground. The young immortal was shaking and his face was damp. She ran her palms across his cheeks, leaving black streaks of what was left of the Crow Goddess on his white flesh, then caught his chin in one hand and used the edge of her shirt to wipe his cheeks. “Billy, do not reproach yourself. You did nothing wrong.”
    “I could have killed you.”
    “But you did not.”
    “But I killed the Morrigan. . . .”
    “That was not just the Morrigan. That was Macha and the Badb, her sisters. They sacrificed themselves willingly. And at the end, the Morrigan awoke: I do not think she was unhappy. They died together, as one.”
    “I reacted,” he whispered.
    Perenelle’s fingers tightened on his chin, forcing him to look up. “We will grieve for the Crow Goddess later. Now we should honor her memory and destroy the monsters on the island.” She pressed the two spearheads back into his hand. “You’re going to need these. Come now, let us awaken Areop-Enap.”
    Billy’s hand shot out and he grabbed the Sorceress’s arm. Wisps of his reddish aura coiled around his fingertips. “I swear I will protect you for all the days of your life,” he said sincerely.
    “Thank you, Billy,” she said. “But my life is now measured in hours, not days.”
    “I’ll still look after you,” he said quickly.
    Perenelle Flamel smiled. “I know you will.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
    “IT SHOULDN’T BE on fire, should it?” William Shakespeare asked, leaning away from the curl of smoke leaking from the control panel.
    “No, it should not.” Prometheus grunted. “So why don’t you do something useful and put it out?”
    “How?” Shakespeare demanded. He started patting his body. “Do I look like I carry a fire extinguisher with me?”
    Palamedes leaned between the Elder and the immortal to rip away a smoking panel, and a tongue of fire shot out, singeing off his eyebrows. “Glad I’ve got no hair,” he said lightly. The flames died down and he peered inside as best he could. “It’s a mess,” he announced. The air filled with the scent of cloves, and a cloud of olive green dripped from his hand and washed over the fire, extinguishing it.
    The vimana’s humming engine slowed to a whine.
    Shakespeare looked up in alarm, and even Saint-Germain raised his head from his book.
    “We’re fine,” Prometheus said as the engine resumed its high-pitched buzzing. “Some of these early vimanas can repair themselves.”
    Joan peered through the empty porthole. The city was much closer now, a brown smear of slums and narrow streets giving way to broad avenues and golden terraces, the sparkling circles of canals and the spectacular profusion of assorted buildings. Directly ahead, rising like a solid gold mountain at the precise center of the vast city, was the Pyramid of the Sun. “Where will we land?” she