The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

asked.
    “Because it is the right thing to do.” He shook his head slowly. “Abraham and Marethyu showed us the future,” he added, “and the world without humankind is not a pretty one. Not all Elders are monsters. We are not many, but we are powerful, and we will do whatever we can to save the world.”
    “And if you cannot save the world?” Scathach asked.
    “Then we will save as much of the human race as we can.”
    “And we are here to help you,” the Shadow said.
    “Why?” Huitzilopochtli demanded. “This is not your fight.”
    “You are mistaken. This is more than just our fight. This is our future.”
    “You would think,” William Shakespeare wheezed, pressing his left hand to his side, “that a place as sophisticated as this would have an escalator.” He slowed to a stop and leaned forward, arms and hands straight on the wooden steps in front of him.
    Palamedes waved Joan and Saint-Germain on and stopped. He sat down on the step and waited for the Bard to catch his breath. “We’re nearly there.”
    “This place will be the death of me,” Shakespeare muttered.
    The Saracen Knight reached out a hand. Shakespeare took it and Palamedes hauled him upright. “But this is wonderful research, Will. I’ve seen you making notes. Think of the play you’ll get out of it!”
    “No one would believe me. I am serious, old friend, I fear I will die here.” He climbed up a step.
    The Knight stopped and looked at the Bard, who was one step above him. Their faces were level. “Death comes to all of us. And you and I, we’ve lived way beyond our allotted span of years. We should have few regrets.”
    “What’s done is done,” Shakespeare agreed.
    “And we are here for a reason,” Palamedes added.
    “You know this for certain?”
    “Marethyu would not have brought us back here if we did not have roles to play.” Something shifted behind the knight’s dark eyes and the Bard reached out to take hold of his friend’s arm.
    “What are you not telling me?”
    “You are as observant as ever,” the knight said.
    “Tell me,” Will insisted.
    “The emerald tablet Tsagaglalal gave me earlier . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Was it only earlier today? It seems so long ago.”
    The Bard nodded. At the impromptu garden party in San Francisco, Tsagaglalal had presented everyone with an emerald tablet. Each tablet contained a personal message from Abraham the Mage.
    “What did it say?” Shakespeare asked urgently.
    “It showed me scenes from my past, of battles fought, some won, some lost. It showed me the last battle, when the Once and Future King fell and I briefly claimed Excalibur. And it showed me standing over you,” he finished in a rush.
    “Tell me!”
    “I saw the death of us, Bard. The death of all of us.” He glanced up to where Saint-Germain and Joan were patiently waiting at the top of the steps. “I saw Scathach and Joan of Arc, bloodied and filthy, standing back to back on the steps of a pyramid surrounded by huge dog-headed monsters. I saw Saint-Germain raining fire down from the skies. I saw Prometheus and Tsagaglalal facing off against a swarming army of monsters. . . .”
    “And us?” Will asked. “What of us?”
    “We were on the steps of a huge pyramid, overrun by monsters. You were lying at my feet and I was holding a lion-headed eagle at arm’s length.”
    The Bard’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “Well, then it ends well.”
    The Saracen Knight blinked in surprise. “Which part of what I’ve just described suggests a good ending? There is death and destruction in our immediate future.”
    “But we are all together. And if we die—you or I, Scathach, Joan or Saint-Germain—then we will not die alone. We will die in the company of our friends, our family.”
    Palamedes nodded slowly. “I always imagined I would die alone, on some foreign battlefield, my body unmourned and unclaimed.”
    “And we’re not dead yet,” Shakespeare said. “You did not see me dead, did you?”
    “No. But your eyes were closed.”
    “Maybe I was sleeping,” Shakespeare said, turning away and running up the steps. He stopped and glanced back at the Saracen Knight. “But you should know this, Palamedes—I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
    “It will be an honor to die with you, William Shakespeare,” the Saracen Knight said very softly. He hurried up the irregular steps after the immortal Bard.
    “There is a chess term that I believe is