The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

burnt leaves as a spiral of butterflies curled from his sleeve.
    Intense white-hot flame washed over the surface of the pyramid, melting the gold surface, turning it sticky and tacky. The sliding, spinning vimana instantly slowed in a shower of gold droplets. Saint-Germain snapped his fingers and the gold turned solid once again, bringing the craft to a shuddering, creaking halt about three feet from the edge of the roof.
    Will Shakespeare broke the long silence that followed. “Very impressive, Musician,” he said shakily. “I’ll make sure to thank you in my next play. In fact, I might even have to write you in.”
    Saint-Germain grinned. “A hero?”
    “Don’t you think villains are much more interesting?” Will asked. “They get all the best lines.”
    Prometheus and Palamedes kicked out the sides of the craft and hopped out. The Saracen Knight held out his hand and helped Joan out, followed by Shakespeare and finally Saint-Germain. Prometheus put his shoulder to the ruined vimana and heaved. It resisted for a moment, and then, pulling chunks of solidified gold from the top of the pyramid, it went over the side. It sailed out in a shallow arc and hit the steps in an explosion of wood, metal and glass.
    “That’ll be a surprise for someone down there,” Joan said as she peered after it. The steps stretched on forever, and the people far below were little more than specks.
    “I doubt there’ll be anything left by the time it hits the bottom.” Saint-Germain smiled. “Dust, probably.”
    Below them the rest of the vimana and the fliers were dropping out of the sky into the square, and faintly—very, very faintly—came the first sounds of battle.
    “Go down a few steps and take your positions,” Prometheus instructed. “Let no one onto the roof. Will and Palamedes, you take the north side. Saint-Germain, can you take the west? Joan, the east is yours. I’ll guard the south.”
    “How come you get the dangerous side?” Saint-Germain asked.
    The big Elder smiled. “They’re all dangerous sides.”
    The small group hugged one another quickly. Although nothing was said, they knew this could be the last time they ever saw one another again.
    Saint-Germain kissed Joan before they parted. “I love you,” he said softly.
    She nodded, slate-grey eyes shimmering behind tears.
    “When all this is over, I suggest we go on a second honeymoon,” he said.
    “I’d like that,” Joan smiled. “Hawaii is always nice at this time of year, and you do know I love it there.”
    Saint-Germain shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere that has a volcano.”
    “I love you,” she whispered, and turned away before they could see each other cry.
    “Am I in your new play?” Palamedes asked Shakespeare as they began to descend the steps on the north side of the pyramid.
    “Of course. I’m going to make you the hero.”
    “I thought you said the villains have all the best lines,” the knight complained.
    “They do.” Shakespeare winked. “But the heroes have the longest speeches.”
    “Do you have a title yet?”
    “A Midsummer Nightmare.”
    Palamedes laughed. “It’s not a comedy, then?”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
    NOT TOUCHING ANYONE , Scathach moved easily through the enormous chanting crowd gathered before the prison. She ran a practiced eye over the throng, gauging the numbers: ten thousand, perhaps, maybe even more. And not all were young, either. There were men and women of all ages gathered before the prison’s walls.
    She listened to them talk nervously, excitedly.
    They knew the dangers, but they were aware that this was the only chance they would ever have for freedom. If Aten died, then all hopes of a better future would die with him.
    And they had a champion—a voice.
    The stories had raced through the slums and backstreets of a raven-haired human who had mocked and chased off ten guards, or a hundred, or perhaps it was a thousand. She had turned a man into stone, or a beast, or she had shrunk him and then squashed him underfoot. The people of Danu Talis had flocked to see the woman who had the powers of an Elder.
    Scathach slipped to the front of the crowd and stopped as if she had run into a brick wall. She hadn’t known what—or who—was now leading the humans. But she would never, in all her ten thousand years, have expected to find herself facing Virginia Dare . . . and Dr. John Dee.
    The two were standing in front of and a little apart from the crowd, heads bent close, deep