The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

troops mustering.”
    “Not a war. A rescue mission. Though I fear it will not end well.” The aging woman turned to look at Prometheus. “Is all in readiness?”
    “Yes, my lady.” The Elder nodded. “We await your command.”
    The first wrinkles had appeared on Hekate’s face: creases on her high forehead, almost invisible against her black skin. She frowned and the lines deepened. “Do you know the greatest gift a parent can give to a child?” she asked, looking around the room.
    No one answered.
    “Independence. To allow them go out into the world and make their own decisions, travel their own paths. We Elders inherited a paradise from the Archons and the Great Elders. We have not treated it well, and it is clear to everyone with eyes to see that this world is doomed if we continue as we are. And we will continue—there is no appetite for change. Do you know the greatest mistake a parent can make?” she asked.
    No one moved.
    The Elder looked around the room again. “Have any of you children?” she asked.
    William Shakespeare stepped back from the window. “I had. Two girls and a boy,” he said proudly.
    “You are the storyteller, the Bard?”
    Shakespeare nodded. “I was once. A long time ago.”
    “Tell me, then, storyteller—what is the greatest mistake a parent can make?” she asked.
    “To believe that your children will be just like you.”
    Hekate nodded. “The world is changing. It belongs to the next generation.” She reached out and rested a hand on Prometheus’s arm “It belongs to humankind. But there are Elders led by Isis and Osiris or those who follow Bastet who cannot conceive of a world they do not rule. So they have schemed to remain in control. They will destroy us. All of us—Elder and humans alike. And that I will not allow.” The rapidly aging woman stood. “Earlier today, just as I grew into this form, I learned that Bastet and Anubis have moved against Aten. The end must be very close indeed. It is time.”
    The faintest vibration trembled along the height of the Yggdrasill, a buzzing that shivered up through the thick wood. The candle flame danced. Prometheus immediately leaned over, lifted the glass globe and extinguished the flame between thumb and forefinger.
    Hekate dipped her head and held up her right hand. “Listen,” she whispered.
    “Will, what’s happening out there?” Palamedes called.
    “The lights are going out,” the Bard whispered, looking into the empty heart of the tree. “Leaves are falling like snow.”
    One by one, all the lights in the World Tree winked out. Voices stilled.
    The creaking, cracking, and sighing of the Yggdrasill were clearly audible.
    “She is in pain,” Hekate whispered.
    A second vibration rattled through the tree.
    “Earthquake,” Scathach whispered. She felt it tremble up her spine.
    “They have become increasingly regular in the last few days,” Prometheus said. He made no move to relight the candle. “Also in the last few days, Elders—and even some Great Elders—have returned from their Shadowrealms and congregated in the Earth Shadowrealm. It has been many centuries since so much power was gathered together in one place.”
    “The facts cannot be unconnected,” Saint-Germain said.
    “Is it unusual to have so many Elders in the city?” Joan asked.
    “It is. We are . . .” Hekate paused and glanced at Prometheus. “We are solitary by nature. Especially those whom the Change has radically altered.”
    Prometheus leaned forward. “The Ruling Council of Danu Talis sits tonight. And now that Bastet has removed Aten from control of the council, who knows what will transpire. She will seek to have Anubis appointed the Lord of Danu Talis. He created and controls the anpu. They will support him.”
    “They will sentence Aten to the volcano,” Hekate said, her voice beginning to crack. Her face was now lined with deep wrinkles and her breathing had become ragged. “And that I will not allow either,” she breathed.
    “So we go to Aten’s aid?” Prometheus asked. “To rescue him?”
    The old woman looked at him, frowning. “Who?”
    “Aten,” he said patiently, “the rightful Lord of Danu Talis. Only you can command it.” He was clearly struggling to keep the note of panic from his voice. “And if you do not give the order now, then by the time you resume your second aspect tomorrow afternoon, it will be too late.”
    “I fear it is already too late for Danu Talis,” the old woman