The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

speak for them
.
    They need you
.
    Virginia’s tears sizzled and steamed off the stone.
    A white-robed shape moved in the alleyway and she quickly blinked away the tears. No man had ever seen her cry. She shoved the tablet under her shirt. The stone felt cool against her skin.
    “I got one too,” Marethyu said gently. “Abraham left them for those he loved or respected. Dee didn’t get one,” he added, eyes crinkling.
    “I don’t know this Abraham,” she said, eyes huge behind unshed tears.
    “He knows you,” Marethyu answered.
    “He said you also watched over me in the forest.”
    “I did.”
    “Why?”
    “To keep you safe. Abraham kept you out of trouble, made sure you were fed and clothed. I . . . well, I protected you.”
    “Why?”
    “You were kind to me once . . . or rather, you will be kind to me in the future.”
    “I know you, don’t I?” Virginia whispered. “I have met you before.”
    “Yes.”
    “Death was not always your name,” she said.
    “I have had many names.”
    “I will find out who you are,” she promised. “I will find out your real name.”
    “You can try. Perhaps you will succeed.”
    “I’ll hypnotize you with my flute,” she threatened, half seriously. “You’ll tell me then.”
    Marethyu shook his head. “None of the artifacts have any effect on me.”
    “Why?”
    “Because of what I am,” he said simply. “But I need to know: Will you stand with us, Virginia? Will you fight for the humans of Danu Talis and the future of your world?”
    “Do you have to ask?”
    “I need to hear you say yes.”
    “Yes,” she said simply.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
    SOPHIE NEWMAN STARED at her reflection in the polished-silver-framed mirror. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself.
    Memories flickered and danced.
    . . . of a girl in silver armor on the top of a pyramid
. . .
    She blinked and there was a rapid succession of images of girls and young women down through the ages, in a variety of costumes, some in battle, others in fields or classrooms, in caves and castles, in tents on windswept steppes . . .
    And while the faces were different, they all had her blond hair and blue eyes.
    Sophie reached out and touched the glass. She realized she was seeing the line of her ancestors across thousands of years and hundreds of generations. But was she the first . . . or the last of her line?
    She’d found the silver armor when she returned to the room. It was laid out on the bed like a three-dimensional metal jigsaw puzzle. She’d sat down on the end of the bed and looked at the armor and thought for a long time about whether she would put it on.
    And finally, for reasons she did not quite understand, she began to pull on the armor, piece by piece.
    The young woman who looked back at her from the mirror was dressed in semitransparent silver armor that was molded to the shape of her body. It fit her so precisely that it could have been made for no one else. The armor was unadorned and had been polished to a mirror sheen. Partially visible through the metal was the silk-soft chain-mail shirt beneath. She wore knee-high chamois-lined silver boots with wicked spiked toes, and her articulated silver gloves had been fitted with long extended nails, like claws. Sophie didn’t even like the look of them. Strapped to her back were two empty silver sheaths, and although she’d searched the room and gone through the wardrobe, she hadn’t been able to find weapons anywhere.
    There was a tap on the door. “It’s me,” Josh called.
    “It’s open,” Sophie answered.
    Josh stepped into the room, wearing an almost identical suit of armor. His was gold, as was the chain-mail vest he wore beneath. He was grinning, eyes sparkling with delight. “Did you ever think we’d get suits of armor?” He opened and closed his hands, flexing his fingers. The metal whispered like silk. “It’s metal, but it’s also glass. Sort of a ceramic or something. It has to be really high-tech.”
    Sophie watched her brother in the mirror. “Does yours fit?”
    “Like a glove,” he began, and then stopped. “Do you think these were made for us?”
    Sophie nodded. There was no question. “Just for us.”
    He turned slowly. “What do you think—fancy, right?”
    She smiled. “Very fancy. Did you have any problems putting it on?” she asked.
    He shook his head quickly. “You know, I was thinking about that. It was weird—I climbed into this as if I’d been wearing it all my