The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

and pulled open the double doors to the enormous wardrobe. She gasped in surprise: neatly lined up on two rails topped by shelves were all the clothes she’d left in San Francisco: jeans, sweatshirts, dresses, underwear. But when she ran her fingers across a pair of jeans, she discovered that they were stiff and realized they were unworn. All the clothes were brand-new, some still with the labels attached. Stepping into the deep wardrobe, she walked between the rails, trailing her fingers across the clothes. She recognized everything: every piece of clothing she had bought or that her mother or aunt had given her as presents over the past year was here, even the green, white and gold Oakland A’s sweatshirt Josh had given her. Shoes, boots and sneakers were lined up in racks on the floor. She suddenly laughed out loud: she never would have guessed that UPS delivered to Danu Talis.
    “Hello?” There was a knock on the door and she turned as Isis—or was it Sara, her mother?—slid open the door and peered into the room. “There you are. I was just hoping you were finding everything okay.”
    “Yes . . . yes, everything’s . . . fabulous,” Sophie said, though her voice was less than enthusiastic. “I was just looking at the clothes.”
    “Your father thought it might be an easier transition if you had all your familiar stuff around you.”
    “Thank you. It’s just a little overwhelming. Well,” she added, “maybe more than a little.”
    “Oh, Sophie.” Isis stepped into the room. She’d taken off the white ceramic armor and was wearing a simple linen shirt and pants. Her tiny feet were bare, and Sophie noticed that her toenails were painted black to match her fingernails. She’d never known her mother to paint her toenails before. “I know—truly I know—how hard this must be for you.”
    Sophie’s laugh was shaky. She was suddenly angry. Did they expect her to just accept all this without question? “Unless you’ve recently discovered that your mother is a ten-thousand-year-old Elder from Danu Talis named after an Egyptian goddess, I don’t think you have any idea how I’m feeling.”
    “Actually, I wasn’t named after the Egyptian goddess; I
was
the Egyptian goddess.” The woman smiled, and in that moment, with the corners of her mouth and eyes crinkling, she looked like Sara Newman. “But I am your mother, Sophie, and I want you to know that all of this was done to protect you and your brother.”
    “Why?” Sophie demanded.
    Isis crossed the room, her bare feet leaving damp footprints on the silver tiles, and slid open the glass wall that led outdoors. A wash of exotic perfumes flooded the room. Water tinkled, and in the distance there was the vague murmur of Osiris’s voice and Virginia Dare’s brittle laughter. “You have the Witch of Endor’s knowledge within you?” Isis asked.
    Sophie nodded slowly. Even as her mother was speaking, flickering alien images danced just at the periphery of her vision, and Sophie knew that these were not her own memories.
    . . . Isis and Osiris in white armor at the head of an army of anpu, on the backs of huge lizards, riding out of a blazing city. None of the bearlike corpses littering the road were human, and none of them were armed
.
    . . . Isis and Osiris in the costumes of ancient Egypt—though this landscape was a lush, verdant jungle rather than desert—overseeing long lines of human slaves dragging slabs of stone toward a half-finished pyramid
.
    . . . Isis and Osiris in white smocks and masks standing in a gleaming laboratory watching creatures resembling huge hairless rats crawl from bubbling vats of viscous pink liquid
.
    Isis smiled, lips pressed tightly closed. “And I suppose I better warn you that Zephaniah the Witch was never our friend, so no doubt you’ll learn some unpleasant truths about us. But remember, what you are experiencing—
remembering
—those are the Witch’s interpretations. They’re not necessarily the truth. There are two sides to every story.” The woman’s eyes closed and the dry hint of cinnamon seeped into the room. “Sometimes all one needs is a little perspective.”
    Sophie shuddered as new memories tumbled and spun through her mind.
    . . . Isis and Osiris in white armor at the head of an army of anpu, riding on the back of huge lizards, protecting a village overflowing with small bearlike humans against a vast army of slavering lizardlike monsters
.
    . . . Isis and Osiris in the