The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

whispered. “Go, Prometheus, go and bring Aten home.”
    “And if it means war?”
    “Then so be it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
    VIRGINIA DARE WAS standing in a huge market square directly in front of a spectacularly ugly pyramid-shaped building protected by high walls: she guessed it was either an army barracks or a prison. Prison, she decided, judging by the number of jackal-headed guards who were facing inward. The massive sloping walls were lined with anpu, and there were more of the red-eyed creatures guarding the solid stone gates. Behind the walls, the pyramid had a flattened top, similar to those she had seen in South America. Narrow, steeply sloped steps led up to the top of the structure. The top steps, she noted, lips curling with disgust, were dark with stains.
    The immortal suddenly felt her skin start to crawl with static. The same instincts that had kept her alive and out of danger for centuries were vibrating through her, warning her that something was going to happen. Pressing her hand against her white robe, she felt the flute warm and safe in its bag against her flesh. A spark snapped from the wood through the cloth and stung her finger.
    Virginia was already moving out into the middle of the courtyard, away from walls and statues and milling people, and had crouched down, both hands pressed flat against the ground, when the earthquake rumbled through the city.
    The ground vibrated strongly enough to send dust spiraling upward. The crowd around her moaned aloud, a single exhalation, the sound of abject terror. Their reaction puzzled her. It was not a large earthquake—a four, perhaps—and the only damage had been the upsetting of some of the carefully built piles of fruit in the market stalls. Glancing around, she realized that everyone had turned to look toward the huge volcano that dominated the island. Thin gray-white plumes shot toward the sky, and even as she watched, a column of black smoke belched into the heavens.
    There was a second rumble and gray-black smoke boiled into the skies over the volcano. The dark cloud flattened and spread across the mouth of the volcano, then quickly dissipated.
    In the silence that followed, Virginia heard a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh; then, suddenly, all the sounds of the city came rushing back. The crowd surged toward the prison gates and someone began a low chant. “Aten . . . Aten . . . Aten . . .”
    Curious, Virginia moved off to one side, circling around the back of the ever-growing crowd. These seemed to be the ordinary people of Danu Talis—short, dark-skinned, dark-haired. No one showed signs of wealth. Many were barefoot, none wore jewelry or ornamentation and most were wearing the usual costume of simple white shifts and robes, though some of the stall holders wore leather aprons. Almost everyone wore a conical straw hat for protection from the blistering sun. Looking around, Virginia noticed no human-animal hybrids in with the people; however, none of the guards, she observed, were human. Most were jackal-headed anpu, while others had horns and seemed to have the heads of bulls or boars.
    One of the massive prison doors opened and a dozen enormous anpu in full black armor charged out. They carried narrow bamboo canes and slashed and cut their way through the screaming crowd, driving them back.
    A young man in a dirty white robe—Virginia thought he looked to be no more than thirteen—threw a handful of rotten fruit. It sailed through the air and exploded across an anpu’s breastplate. The crowd erupted into cheers. A troop of guards immediately shoved through the knot of people and grabbed the young man. They lifted him off the ground and carried him, kicking and screaming, back toward the prison. A grief-stricken woman raced after them, obviously pleading with them to release the boy. An anpu turned, raised its bamboo cane and bared its fangs, and the woman shrank back, terrified.
    “Oh, I don’t think so,” Virginia murmured. Her hand closed over the flute tingling warm against her chest and she started forward.
    “You cannot fight them all.”
    Virginia spun around. She was facing a tall young man wrapped in a long white robe. The bottom part of the robe was thrown back across his left shoulder, concealing the lower half of his face, and he was wearing a large straw hat that threw much of his face into shadow. His eyes were a brilliant blue.
    “I don’t have to,” she snapped. “Just those bullies.”
    “There