The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

Abraham. The Lord of Danu Talis was arrogant—dangerously so—and impulsive, but unlike many of the other Elders, he recognized that the world was changing and that if Danu Talis—and indeed, the Elders themselves—were to survive, it had to change also. The world belonged to the new races, especially the humans. Aten worked with Abraham, Prometheus, Huitzilopochtli and Hekate to prepare a future in which the Elders and the humans could live together. Chronos had shown them many terrible versions of the future, but he had been able to show them wonders, too.
    Tsagaglalal vividly recalled one particular possibility. In that time line, an incredibly advanced civilization of humans and Elders had rediscovered and then surpassed the Earth-lords’ knowledge. They had gone beyond this planet and begun to colonize the worlds around them. The empire of Danu Talis stretched over not a single planet, but entire galaxies. And at the heart of this huge galactic empire was the circular city of Danu Talis on a tiny blue-green planet at the edge of the Milky Way.
    “A golden age,” Abraham had said, unconsciously tapping his skin, which was even then beginning to thread with hard gold.
    “Sadly, it will never come to pass,” Chronos had gargled. “This is simply a shade of what might be.”
    “And why not?” Abraham had asked.
    “Because Bastet and the others like her, those who live in the dark past, will not permit it. They believe that by empowering the humans they become weaker.”
    “Dark Elders,” Abraham had murmured.
    It was the first time Tsagaglalal had heard the term.
    A shadow moved out of the park to her left and spread across the street. It rippled and flowed, water droplets shimmering on filthy black fur and long snaking tails. Tsagaglalal’s mouth twisted in disgust. She had no feelings one way or another about rats, but these were obviously under the control of a Dark Elder. She waded into the middle of the heaving mass and they immediately swarmed her, scrambling over her feet, trying to crawl up her legs, but could find no purchase on her armor. Teeth screamed on her metal greaves like fingernails on a blackboard.
    Tsagaglalal’s aura flared, a brilliant blazing white. It pulsed out around her body in a series of concentric circles and the rats turned to red and black cinders, which spiraled up in the fog. The sudden throb of power also broke the controlling spell, and the surviving vermin disappeared squealing into the gutters.
    Without breaking stride, Tsagaglalal turned right and continued down the street, heading for the water.
    Danu Talis could have continued on to a golden age, but Bastet’s greed overpowered all common sense. And on one terrible evening, Anubis and a troop of anpu staged a revolt and imprisoned Aten. The Lord of Danu Talis was accused of plotting to destroy the island empire.
    Tsagaglalal suddenly stopped in the middle of Jefferson and threw back her head. There was a new odor on the air. Something ancient and appalling drifting over her left shoulder. She turned her head: it was coming off the Golden Gate Bridge. She smelled burnt enamel, rotting earth and blood and the unmistakable stench of a Drakon.
    “Spartoi,” she said, the word foul in her mouth.
    She knew instinctively that this was why Bastet had returned.
    “What to do?” she asked aloud.
    The Flamels needed her help to contain the monsters on the island, but the threat on the bridge was the more immediate danger. If the Spartoi got into the city, there would be chaos. She had seen their work before. Each creature would kill hundreds—thousands—and those they did not eat would lurch back to a semblance of life as zombies, with an extra twenty-four hours of shambling movement before their bodies fell apart. The poor creatures were harmless, but their appearance was shocking and utterly terrifying. All would be lost.
    With a heavy heart, Tsagaglalal turned back toward the Golden Gate Bridge. She could do nothing to help the Flamels. They were on their own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
    “HOW MANY MORE?” Dee gasped.
    The immortal had started out well, but he’d managed barely fifty steps before he had to stop, lungs heaving for air, heart hammering.
    Marethyu’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “In total: two hundred and forty-eight from bottom to top. You have about two hundred left.”
    “Two forty-eight. One of the untouchable numbers. Why am I not surprised?”
    “We need to press on,