The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

I ate something just before we came out. And besides, I’m on a diet. And I’m vegetarian. Vegan, even.”
    Machiavelli caught Billy’s arm and eased him out into the center of the exercise yard. He pointed to the tracery of lines on the flagstones. “What do you smell?” he asked.
    “You mean besides the butchered—”
    “Focus, Billy.”
    The American immortal breathed in. “Salt air . . .”
    “More.”
    “Oranges, vanilla, sulfur and . . .” He took another deep breath. “And sage. That’s my girl, Virginia,” he added.
    “The sulfur is Dee.” Machiavelli traced the outline of a rectangle with the toe of his scuffed boot. “And the twins of legend were here also.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “Gone.”
    “Gone?”
    “I believe Dee activated the four ancient Swords of Power to create a leygate to go back in time.”
    “How far back?” Billy wondered aloud.
    “All the way,” the Italian said grimly. “If I were a gambling man, which I am not, I’d say he’s gone back to Danu Talis.”
    Billy wrapped his arms around his body and shivered. “I’m guessing that’s not good.”
    Machiavelli shook his head. “No. No doubt he has some master plan to take over Danu Talis and rule the world. The doctor was always coming up with mad schemes like that. He always played by his own rules.”
    “I figured.”
    “And he’s usually been wrong. Dee has an overinflated impression of his own importance. The doctor is intelligent, but he’s survived because he was cunning rather than clever. And he’s always been lucky.”
    “You can’t be lucky all the time,” Billy said. “Sooner or later your luck runs out.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the monster-filled jailhouse. “Maybe ours has. We’re trapped on a island filled with monsters and”—he lowered his voice and nodded toward Hel and Odin—“until a few hours ago, they were our enemies.”
    “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Machiavelli reminded him.
    “Yes, and the enemy of my enemy can still be my enemy. And I should remind you that most people are killed by someone they know. I learned that the hard way—I knew Pat Garrett.”
    The Italian put his hands on Billy’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. The roiling milky fog turned his gray eyes to alabaster, making him look blind. “Did we make the right decision to try to prevent Dee from loosing the monsters onto the city?” he demanded.
    “Absolutely,” Billy said without hesitation.
    “Did we make the right decision to stand and fight with these Elders against the monsters?”
    “Yes, without a doubt,” Billy said again.
    “Consider this.” Machiavelli smiled. “What would have happened if you and I had chosen to stand with Dee and the monsters?”
    Billy’s expression went blank. “I don’t really know.”
    “Dee and Dare would still be gone, and we would have been left on the island to face Mars, Odin and Hel. And while you may be a good fighter, Billy, I am not. How long do you think we would have survived against any of those three?”
    “Well, I think I could have taken the one-eyed guy. . . .”
    Machiavelli sighed. “The one-eyed guy is Odin.”
    Billy looked at him blankly.
    “You must have had a dog when you were growing up?” the Italian asked.
    “Sure.”
    “What did you call it?”
    “Kid.”
    “You called your dog Kid?”
    Billy grinned. “That was before I got my nickname.”
    Machiavelli nodded. “Odin—the one-eyed guy—keeps two wolves. Geri and Freki.”
    “Good names. Strong.”
    “The words mean ‘ravenous’ and ‘greedy’—and their names are perfect descriptions for them. They are as big as small donkeys. He walks them on a single leash.”
    Billy turned to look at the man with the patch over his right eye. “Did he lose the eye in a fight?”
    Machiavelli shook his head. “No. He plucked it out himself. Used it to pay off a giant. Do you still think you could take him?”
    “Maybe not.”
    The Italian pointed toward the doorway with his chin. “And how long do you think you could stand against the ultimate warrior, Mars Ultor?”
    Billy flattened his right hand, palm down, and rocked it from side to side.
    “Or Hel, who rules a kingdom of the dead?”
    “Not long,” Billy admitted.
    “Not long,” Machiavelli agreed. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth close to the American’s ear. “And remember, Hel isn’t fussy about the type of meat she eats.”
    Billy swallowed hard.