The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

idea.”
    “I got tea,” Niten said.
    “And I left the coffee black. There’s some sugar in the bag”
    “Thank you.” Perenelle wrapped her hands around the white cup and sipped cautiously, then dipped her head so he would not see the look of disgust on her face. “Needs sugar,” she murmured.
    “What did you find out?” Nicholas asked. He sipped. “Not bad. Needs sugar.” He lined up three brown packages and tore them open, spilling crystals into the coffee.
    “The city is closing down,” Prometheus said. He ran his hand through his hair. Yesterday it had been red; now it was a dirty gray-white, speckled with water droplets. “Look around you: it’s June and we’re on Pier Thirty-Nine. This place should be bright with lights and teeming with people. It’s practically deserted. There was a TV on in the restaurant. There have been dozens of crashes on the roads, the airport is closed and all sea traffic has been halted. There’s talk of closing both the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridges. The news anchor was calling it the worst fog in a century.”
    Nicholas breathed in. “And it is no ordinary sea fog. What—or should that be
who
—are we smelling?” he asked.
    Niten shook his head. “Something dead and rotten.”
    Nicholas glanced at his wife. “Do you recognize it?”
    She shook her head. She moved the cup away from her face so she could take a deep breath. “Rotting meat.” She quickly brought the cup back to her face to banish the scent with the clean odor of coffee. “That could be any one of half a dozen Elders. Some of them smell very odd indeed, and a lot of them seem to prefer a meat odor.” She smiled at Prometheus. “No offense.”
    “None taken. I was never that fond of it myself.” Prometheus finished his coffee in a single swallow, then crumpled the cup and pitched it into a trash can. “There are two possibilities on the West Coast,” he said quietly. “It could be Quetzalcoatl, or, worse, it could be Bastet. Both prefer the perfume of spoiled meat.”
    “Who do you think it is?” Perenelle asked.
    Prometheus shook his head. “Earlier, I thought it might be Quetzalcoatl. I caught a slightly exotic, spicy tang in the air.”
    Niten breathed deeply. “I don’t get that. All I can smell is rancid meat and maybe—just maybe—the hint of cat. Though that might be from a real cat close by,” he added.
    “Or it could be both Elders,” Perenelle suggested.
    Prometheus shook his head firmly. “No, that’s not going to happen. They were always bitter enemies.”
    “Why?” Niten asked.
    “Something that happened a long time ago, before Danu Talis fell. There is no way they will join forces.”
    A foghorn sounded and they stopped to listen to the long slow bellow. “Something wicked this way comes,” Nicholas whispered. He put his cup on the ground and rubbed his hands quickly together. “Did you manage to contact anyone?”
    Prometheus shook his head slightly. “Some. But not enough. Those loyal to the humani are already aware of the disturbance here and I’m hoping are on the way. Of course, that also applies to those loyal to the Dark Elders. However, I spoke to Barbarossa . . .”
    “The emperor or the pirate?”
    “The emperor,” the Elder clarified. “He’s in Chicago, but will come in on the first flight in the morning. If there are flights . He’s already put the word out to immortals and Elders living on the East Coast. He’ll bring as many as he can.”
    “They’ll be too late,” Perenelle said. “We need them here now.”
    “He did say that the immortal Zenobia and the Elder Pyrgomache are on the way here. They’re coming in on a Greyhound bus.”
    “Not in this fog, they aren’t,” Perenelle said. “And I don’t trust Zenobia. Never did.”
    “I spoke to Khutulun,” Niten said. “She breeds horses in Kentucky.”
    The Flamels shook their heads simultaneously. “Who is she?” Nicholas asked.
    Niten smiled. “Probably the most famous warrior you’ve never heard of. She was the niece of Kublai Khan, and so directly related to Genghis Khan. She was trained first by Scathach and then later by Aoife. Aoife called her Shining Moon and said she was the daughter she always wanted. Khutulun said she’d leave within the hour.”
    “She’s driving?” Perenelle asked.
    “Khutulun does not fly.”
    “Even if she doesn’t stop to sleep, that’s at least a two-day drive across country,” Perenelle said. “It’ll be all over by