The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

the water.
    The fog thickened.
    A foghorn bellowed.
    An opaque cloud bank gathered out over the Pacific, dark—almost black—at the bottom, then visibly raced toward land in a solid wall of mist. The thick advection fog boiled over the land, flowed under the Golden Gate Bridge, then blossomed to swallow it, rising higher and higher, until the amber lights along the towers faded to tiny spots of color. The flashing red beacons atop the towers, almost seven hundred and fifty feet above the water, briefly lit up the fog with bloodred splashes, but they too faded to dull smudges. And as the fog coalesced, the lights completely disappeared.
    Street and house lights came on. For a short while, the red and white lights of cars illuminated the fog and the buildings seemed to pulse and glow. The fog continued to grow and darken, dulling the lights, blanketing them, robbing them of all luster. It took less than thirty minutes—from the time the first wisps swirled across the bay to the arrival of the impenetrable fog bank—for visibility to drop from tens of yards to little more than a few feet.
    Sounds grew muffled, and slowly, the entire city fell silent. Only the moan of the foghorn remained, and it was a forlorn, lonely voice.
    The fog did not smell of sea and salt—it stank with the odor of something long dead and rotting.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    SOPHIE SCREAMED .
    A stocky, dark-skinned man in a filthy white robe darted out of an alleyway and grabbed a handful of hair, jerking her backward, almost pulling her off her feet. Sophie’s Tae Kwan Do training took over. She grabbed the hand, gripping it tighter, locking it in place, then shifted her weight, spun her body ninety degrees and snapped out her right leg in a
yeop chagi
—a thrusting side kick. The heel of her heavy hiking boot caught her assailant on the kneecap with devastating force.
    The attacker’s eyes bulged; his wide mouth opened and closed, revealing rotten teeth, but before he could draw breath to scream, Josh darted in, punching hard with a four-knuckle strike. He caught the man in the center of the chest and, as the man folded forward, brought a hammer fist down on the back of his head, driving him to the ground.
    “Okay, that’s impressive,” Virginia Dare murmured. “I’m not sure you two need my protection.”
    Josh looked at Sophie. “Are you okay?”
    Gingerly, she ran a shaking hand across the top of her head where she’d been grabbed. Strands of blond hair came away on her fingers. “Looks like all those years of martial arts training weren’t entirely wasted.” She smiled shyly. “Thank you for . . . well, you know, rescuing me.”
    Josh waved a hand. “You didn’t need it. The kick was enough, but I wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on my sister.”
    “Thank you,” she said again.
    “Always said I’d protect you,” he said, a touch of color on his cheeks.
    “Yes, you did. But the last time I saw you . . .”
    His color darkened and he shrugged uncomfortably. “I know.” The last time he’d seen his sister, he’d watched her savagely attack the beautiful Coatlicue. He’d turned and run from her in horror. He shook his head. “I still don’t know what to think. . . .”
    Sophie let out a deep breath. “I know. Neither do I.”
    “But here—in this place—it’s just you and me, Sis.”
    “It’s always been just you and me,” she reminded him. “Even growing up on Earth . . . back home . . . wherever that is, it was always you and me against the world.”
    “I know.” Then Josh suddenly grinned and Sophie was reminded of the brother she’d always known. “And now it’s literally you and me against the world.”
    She nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Josh.”
    “You too,” he said.
    “I’ve been so worried about you.”
    “Things have been . . .” He paused, hunting for the right word.
    “Crazy?” Sophie suggested.
    He nodded. “There has to be a better word, though. Crazy doesn’t even come close.”
    “This is all very heartwarming,” Virginia said. “But can I suggest we have this conversation later?” She nudged the fallen man with the toe of her boot. He groaned. “It’s clear these people are no fans of your parents. And this sorry fellow is sure to have friends.”
    Sophie looked at her brother. “Are they our parents?” she asked.
    “I know. They look like Mom and Dad . . . but . . .”
    She nodded. “But they’re not Mom and Dad.”
    “Then who are