The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

they’re older, far, far older. These are the Words of Power, ancient Symbols of Binding, drawn from a language that was little more than a memory even before Danu Talis rose from the waves. Legend has it that the Archons used these words to protect something incredibly valuable or guard against something extraordinarily dangerous.”
    Billy grinned. “And we know which one it’s going to be in this case.”
    Machiavelli spun the spear in his left hand. It hummed and vibrated and the square symbol glowed dully. The three immortals’ auras flickered. “Do you feel that?” he asked, something like awe in his voice.
    Billy and Black Hawk both nodded: their mouths were suddenly numb and the air felt thick. Billy rubbed his hand over his left eyebrow at the abrupt pressure of a headache. The Italian stretched out his arm and the head of the spear brushed against the cobwebs, instantly shriveling them to nothing. “Gather as many spears as you can,” Machiavelli snapped. Then he brushed past the two Americans and disappeared into the gloom.
    “Hey, when did we become your porters?” Billy called after him. He looked at Black Hawk. “Can you believe these European immortals?”
    Machiavelli’s voice drifted back down the tunnel. “I would be quite happy to carry the spears, Billy. But then
you’d
have to investigate this interesting-looking cave.”
    “I was going to mention the cave,” Black Hawk said before Billy could answer. “I saw it as I passed.”
    “But you didn’t go in?” Machiavelli asked.
    “Do I look stupid?”
    The globe of light flared at Machiavelli’s fingers, revealing a black opening in the wall. The entrance to the cave was artificial—a large rectangular doorway had been cut into the solid rock. Machiavelli waved a hand and his globe rose to the lintel. The faintest outline of shifting, shimmering symbols bloomed under the gray light, and the immortal stood on his toes to look at the topmost row. “I am guessing that the lintels and doorposts would have been completely painted with Words of Power. They’ve been covered with mud or washed off. Recently, too,” he added, pointing to the dried streaks on the wall. “Quetzalcoatl went to a lot of trouble to trap whoever—whatever—was in the cave. This was a prison.” Machiavelli disappeared into the blackness, and the interior filled with wan light. “And remember, Billy . . .” His voice echoed. “The enemy of my enemy—”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You need a new catchphrase,” Billy mumbled.
    Machiavelli reappeared at the entrance a moment later. In the reflected light from his globe and Black Hawk’s green light, his skin looked pale and unhealthy, but his gray eyes glittered with excitement. “It’s empty.”
    “That’s good,” Billy said. He looked at Black Hawk. “Isn’t it?”
    Black Hawk smiled. “I think our European friend has a plan.”
    “Grab the spears,” Machiavelli said. “I know what was in the cave . . . and I know why it was there. And I think I know how to defeat the monsters. We need to get topside.”
    And then the entire island trembled.
    The ground shifted, water sloshing up the tunnel walls. Dust and grit cascaded from the ceiling in a gritty rain. Bricks cracked; one exploded under the pressure, spraying powder into the air, and ice water suddenly rushed into the tunnel, rising quickly to knee level.
    “What manner of beast is this?” Machiavelli demanded.
    “No beast!” Billy shouted. He caught one of Machiavelli’s arms, and Black Hawk grabbed the other. They dragged him down the tunnel.
    “Worse,” Black Hawk shouted.
    “What, then?”
    “It’s an earthquake,” Billy and Black Hawk said together. Behind them the roof of the tunnel cracked. Then it collapsed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
    THE GOLDEN GATE Bridge swayed.
    “Earthquake,” Prometheus said. “I wonder if that means Ruaumoko has finally sided with the Dark Elders.”
    “No, I’m afraid our fiery friend is trapped in a Shadowrealm,” Niten said with a shy smile. “He had a little disagreement with Aoife and lost.”
    A second aftershock rumbled and the metal bridge hummed.
    The cold salty air was touched with the bittersweet odor of anise, and in the space of a single step Prometheus flickered into gleaming red armor. An enormous broadsword was strapped across his back, and he carried a war hammer in one hand and a battle-ax in the other.
    Niten was still dressed in his black suit, but now he openly carried