The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

steps.
    “What are you doing to do with that?”
    “Hel isn’t a vegetarian.” Odin grinned. “And she loves pork.”
    “Raw?”
    “Especially raw.”
    The Cherry-Headed Conure dropped out of the evening sky toward the Embarcadero, wings flapping tiredly, and alit on the Alchemyst’s head. Its red head dipped and it tapped his skull with its closed beak.
    Nicholas shuddered and drew in a deep breath, and Prometheus held him while he straightened and shook pins and needles from his fingertips. Then he lifted his right hand and the parrot hopped onto his fingers. “Thank you,” he breathed. Mint-green mist smoked off the red and green feathers. The bird shivered and took to the air, calling, “Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap, Areop-Enap.” Flamel’s eyes followed its path into the evening sky.
    “Within a couple of days every parrot on the Embarcadero will be screaming that,” the Alchemyst said.
    “Did you learn anything?” Perenelle asked.
    Nicholas nodded. “The monsters are in the main cell block. I saw Mars, Odin and Hel. There was no sign of Black Hawk anywhere, and Hel is injured. But we seem to have two new allies: Machiavelli and Billy the Kid were helping her.”
    Perenelle blinked in surprise. “Machiavelli has been no friend of ours.”
    “I know that. But he is an opportunist. Perhaps he realizes that it would be better to throw in with the winning side.”
    “Or maybe he just rediscovered his humanity,” Niten said quietly. “Maybe someone reminded him that he is human first, immortal second.”
    “You sound as if you are speaking from personal experience,” Perenelle said.
    “I am,” he said softly. “There was a time when I was . . . wild.”
    “What happened?”
    He smiled. “I met a redheaded Irish warrior.”
    “And fell in love?” she teased.
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to.” She turned back to Nicholas. “And what of Dee?”
    “That’s the odd thing: I could smell his aura, but it was old and fading. And it was entwined with Sophie’s vanilla and Josh’s orange. There was the odor of sage, too. . . .”
    “Virginia Dare,” Perenelle said.
    “They were all mixed up together, along with the energies from the four Swords of Power. But I don’t think Dee’s on the island anymore.”
    “Then where?” Niten asked.
    The Alchemyst started to shake his head, then stopped. “There was the impression of the four Swords of Power on the ground,” he said slowly. His hands described a square. “It looked like they were laid end to end, to create a rectangle.”
    “He’s made a gate,” Prometheus said. “I’ve never seen it done myself, though I know it is possible.”
    “A gate to where?” Nicholas asked. He looked at Perenelle and she shook her head.
    “Nowhere in this world, that’s for sure,” Prometheus said. “In fact, I can almost guarantee it will open up somewhere on Danu Talis. Dee has taken the twins back in time.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    SO THIS WAS how it felt to die.
    Dr. John Dee lay back on the silken grass and pulled the red fleece tightly around himself. He was cold, so, so cold, a profound chill that numbed his fingers and toes and settled deep in his stomach. There was a pain in his forehead, as if he’d eaten too much ice cream, and he could actually feel his heart beginning to slow, the beats becoming weak and irregular.
    He’d rolled over onto his back, and although his vision was blurred, he could make out the impossibly bright blue of the sky, and out of the corners of his eyes, the grass was still a shocking green.
    There were worse ways to go, he supposed.
    He’d lived a tumultuous life in a series of dangerous times. He’d survived wars, plagues, court intrigues and betrayal after betrayal. He’d traveled the world, been to just about every country on earth—except Denmark, a place he’d always wanted to visit—and explored many of the vast network of Shadowrealms.
    He’d made and lost fortunes and met with just about every leader, inventor, hero and villain to walk the planet. He’d advised kings and queens, fomented wars, brokered peace and been one of the handful of people who had nudged and urged the humani toward civilization. He had shaped the world, first in the Elizabethan Age and then on into the twenty-first century. That was something to be proud of.
    He’d lived almost five hundred years in the Earth Shadowrealm, and at least that lifetime again in some of the other Shadowrealms. So he really