The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

the Lord of Danu Talis,” John Dee explained simply. “An Elder, but sympathetic to the humani. Humans,” the doctor corrected himself. “Now he is a prisoner and awaiting execution.”
    “Doctor,” Virginia asked, “do you want to tell me what’s going on?
    “I wish I knew.” Dee attempted a smile. “All I know is that I’ve spent centuries planning and scheming. I thought I was clever, making plans that would take years or even decades to bring to fruition. Little did I know I was part of something bigger, plotted by creatures who had never been human, whose plans encompassed millennia. Today I learned that everything I did was either already set or permitted. I was only allowed to do whatever fit into their plans,” he finished, a note of outrage in his voice.
    “Shame,” Virginia murmured. “Though you’ll get no sympathy from me.”
    “Oh, but you’re not exempt either. How would you feel if I told you that you too were part of this extraordinary plan? It spans millennia.”
    Virginia looked closely at the stooped immortal, his eyes bright in the gloom. She’d never noticed it before, but she suddenly realized that his eyes were the same color as hers. She frowned, remembering. The same color as Machiavelli’s. “Part of a plan?”
    “A little while ago, I spoke to an Elder who was slowly turning into a gold statue,” Dee said. He reached under his robe and pulled out a slender rectangle wrapped in a palm leaf. “He asked me to give this to you.”
    Virginia turned it over in her hands. “What is it?” she asked.
    “He said it was a message.”
    “For me?”
    Dee nodded. “For you.”
    “That’s impossible. How did he know I was going to be here?”
    “And how did he know I was going to be here?” Dee asked. “Because he planned it. He and Marethyu planned everything.”
    “Planned what?” she demanded.
    “Why, Virginia, nothing less than the destruction of the world.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
    “OH, I HATE trolls,” Perenelle Flamel groaned.
    The creature that click-clacked down the narrow stone path looked like a primitive human. Short and squat, it had flat brutish features, and its entire body was covered with greasy red hair that was almost indistinguishable from the animal skins covering it. It carried a blade carved from the shinbone of an animal that had gone extinct before dinosaurs walked the earth. The creature’s eyes were the color of dirty snow, and when it smiled, its pointed teeth were appalling.
    “Did that thing just lick its lips?” the Sorceress asked, disgusted.
    “Dinner,” the troll said, in a surprisingly pure and clear voice. There was the trace of an accent.
    “They rarely travel alone . . .,” Nicholas began.
    There was a clicking, like claws scrabbling, and then two more—one unmistakably female, with her wild red hair tied in two pigtails—appeared out of the swirling fog. Even over the smell of the sea and the meaty odor of the fog, the stink wafting off the creatures was overwhelming.
    “Not trolls.” The female’s face twisted in disgust. “They’re filthy beasts. We’re Fir Dearg,” she said proudly.
    “Well, technically, we’re the Fir Dearg,” one of the creatures said. “We’re male. You’re Mna Dearg. Female.”
    Sighing, the Sorceress leaned on the stone trident and turned the three creatures to stone with a single gesture of her hand. “At least trolls just want to eat you and not talk you to death.”
    “Could have been worse,” Nicholas said. He stepped toward the frozen creatures and tapped one—the female—as he moved past. Yellow eyes glared at him through a stone face. “They could have been leprechauns.”
    Perenelle shuddered. “You know I hate leprechauns more than almost anything.”
    Moving cautiously, the Alchemyst and the Sorceress followed the narrow pathway around the island to the quayside. They could hear the Nereids following their progress, splashing invisibly in the sea to their right.
    “Dee is not a fool,” Nicholas said. He stopped when they reached the jetty where the tourist boats once docked, and turned to look at the empty pier. “He gathered these creatures on the island. . . .”
    A rat-faced boy appeared out of the night, running at the Alchemyst, hands hooked into claws. Perenelle spun around and stamped on his tail as he passed her, bringing him to a squealing halt. He rounded on the Sorceress and she repeated the spell she’d just used, turning him to stone. He was