The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

the gloom. “Run along now. Make sure they see you. Then send them across the bridge into the city.”
    “But how do we let Flamel and his companions know they’re coming?”
    “I’ll take care of it.” Bastet shook her head. “You really didn’t think this through, did you? What would you have done without me?”
    “Sent in a messenger?” he suggested.
    “Exactly. What sort of messenger? I imagine you still use snakes and birds as your couriers.”
    Quetzalcoatl reached into his pocket and handed over a cell phone. “There are some Sack Men in the city watching them right now,” he said, his face expressionless. “You’ll find the number on speed dial. You do know how to use a cell, don’t you?”
    Bastet’s long nails scraped grooves in the back of the plastic phone as she scrolled through the menu and found the speed dial. Her call was answered on the first ring, and she recognized the peculiar liquid breathing of the creatures known as the
Torbalan
, the Sack Men.
    “You are keeping four people under observation. Here is what I want you to do. . . .”
    Two swords appeared in Niten’s hands even before the shape loomed silently out of the fog. Prometheus moved to stand before Nicholas and Perenelle, while the Japanese immortal faded into the night.
    The fog-wrapped figure looked like a young man. He was wearing shabby green combat trousers, thick-soled biker boots without laces and a coat that might once have been green but which was now streaked and indescribably filthy. The youth’s head was shaven except for an inch-thick strip that stretched from ear to ear. His skin was poor, and his eyes were hidden behind badly scratched mirrored sunglasses. He carried an ornately stitched leather knapsack flung over his right shoulder. The bag slowly rippled and pulsed, as if a nest of snakes moved within it.
    “What do you want, Torbalan?” Perenelle asked.
    The figure reached for his coat pocket and Niten’s katana appeared out of the gloom to lie flat across the knapsack. “Move very slowly,” the Japanese immortal instructed. “If I see anything that even vaguely resembles a weapon, I will slice this bag open.” His second short sword came to rest on the youth’s shoulder. “Then I’ll take your head. And you do not want that—do you?”
    With infinite care, the Torbalan lifted a cell phone from his coat and tossed it to Prometheus. The big man snatched it out of the air, glanced at the screen and then handed it back to Perenelle.
    “And what are we supposed to do with this?” she asked, looking from the Torbalan to Nicholas.
    The phone began to chirp the theme to Looney Tunes.
    “Answer it?” Nicholas suggested.
    Perenelle hit Answer and put the phone to her ear. She did not speak.
    The voice on the other end of the phone was female. It was low and husky, touched by an indefinable accent, and spoke in a language that had been ancient long before the rise of Egypt. “I think it unlikely that either of the warriors would have taken this phone. They would have wanted to keep their hands free for their weapons. I know the Alchemyst is uncomfortable with technology, so I would imagine I am speaking to the Sorceress, Perenelle Delamere Flamel.”
    “Very impressive,” Perenelle said.
    “I am Bastet.”
    Perenelle turned to Nicholas and mouthed the creature’s name, then spoke into the phone. “You have returned.”
    “I never really went away.” The Elder’s chuckle turned into a deep rumbling purr. “The end is here. You fought well, some would say bravely, but now there is little left to do . . . except die, of course.”
    “We will not go down without a fight.”
    “I would expect no less. But the outcome will be the same: you will still die.”
    “Sooner or later we all die, Elder. Even you.”
    “I do not think so.”
    “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to talk to me,” Perenelle said. “Say your piece, so I can dismiss your . . .” Her eyes flickered over the Sack Man. “. . . your messenger. This one looks almost human. The sunglasses are a nice touch.”
    “I assure you they are not my creatures. I have better taste. However, I’ve just fed some Drakon’s teeth into the ground, Sorceress—and you know what that means. Even now they are gathering on the Golden Gate Bridge. The Spartoi are coming.” Bastet started to laugh, and then the line clicked and went dead.
    Perenelle instantly hit Call and the phone dialed the last number received. The call