The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

turn the ship into gold. I doubt that even at the height of my power I could have done that. Besides, I have always preferred to work small. . . .”
    The Alchemyst’s words trailed off and the air was touched with the scent of mint. Slowly the edges of the brick in the palm of his hand started to crumble, dissolving into gritty powder.
    “Put your hand on my right shoulder, Perenelle; lend me some strength. You too, Crow Goddess,” he instructed. “Come stand behind me.”
    “I really prefer not to touch humankind . . .,” the goddess grumbled, but took a step closer.
    “And I prefer not to be touched by something older than humanity, but these are strange and unusual times,” Nicholas answered.
    The Crow Goddess and Perenelle positioned themselves behind the Alchemyst and allowed a little of their auras to flow into him. The smell of mint intensified, but it was slightly sour and bitter.
    “Hurry, Nicholas,” Perenelle urged. “Someone—or something—is sure to notice.”
    “First, one has to focus. . . .” The Alchemyst gazed intently at the powdered brick in his hand. Slowly the dust began to dribble off his hand, flowing like water. “Once the desired result is achieved, then one must simply project the creative or destructive energy. Observation, then application.”
    Somewhere in the night, something cracked, the sound like a gunshot.
    Stones ground together, grating and squealing.
    “Is it another earthquake?” Perenelle asked.
    The ground vibrated as a new series of popping crunches echoed through the night. Onboard the heavily laden ship and within the Powerhouse and the nearby Quartermaster Warehouse, beasts roared and screamed.
    The fog cleared momentarily to reveal the tall smokestack jutting up behind the Powerhouse. The hulking chimney shuddered and swayed as all around the base of the tower, bricks exploded, spraying grit in all directions.
    Nicholas brought his hand to his face and blew gently, scattering the rest of the dust on his palm into the night air.
    The trio watched as the tower folded in two and, almost slowly, trailing fog like smoke, crashed down onto the back of the docked boat, driving it deep below the water and sending the bow shooting up into the air. Metal screeched and the boat snapped in two. A cascade of water washed over the docks and walkways, sweeping a handful of anpu onto the rocks and out to sea. The front end of the broken boat crashed back into the water, sending another wave washing over the docks. The two halves of the shattered craft immediately listed to one side, and the air was filled with the sound of metal grating against the island’s stones as the pieces sank.
    Nicholas brushed off his hands. “And all I had to do was crush half a dozen bricks. The weight of the chimney did the rest.”
    Perenelle leaned in and kissed her husband’s cheek.
“Magnifique,”
she whispered.
    “A triumph,” the Crow Goddess agreed. “You’ll pardon us if we do not kiss you.”
    “And you will pardon me if I tell you that I’d prefer you did not.”
    “We are about to have some very irritated company,” Perenelle said.
    A blaze of light cut into the fog as the doors to the Quartermaster Warehouse were flung open. Anpu poured out into the night and took up positions around the door, snouts raised to the air, sniffing. The figure that then stepped into the opening bore only the vaguest resemblance to anything human. A multicolored hooded and feathered cloak was wrapped around a skeleton. A gust of wind blew back the robe to reveal polished white bones encasing the vital organs of a man. Unlike the rest of the body, the head was covered in flesh and fur and was that of a long-snouted pointy-eared dog. Its skin was speckled with mange, and one of its ears looked torn. The creature moved awkwardly, and as it approached it became clear that its feet were reversed, heels to the front, long black-nailed toes facing away.
    Throwing its head back, the creature sniffed the air like the anpu. Its jaws worked, and when it spoke, its speech was a liquid gargle. “What is this I smell?” it growled. “Ah, mint, the stench of the infamous Alchemyst. My brother told me he would ensure that you never made it to the island. But I told him you would be here. I am Xolotl, brother of Quetzalcoatl, son of Coatlicue, and I have come to claim this city for the Elders.”
    When there was no reply, he shuffled closer, one skeletal hand clutching the cloak around his neck,