The ghost of Juan Manuel de Ayala floated silently through the ruins of Alcatraz. The Spanish lieutenant had been the first European to discover the small island in 1775 and had named it after the vast number of pelicans that claimed the rock as their own: La Isla de los Alcatraces. By the time it was sold to the American government in 1854, it was called Alcatraz.
When de Ayala had died, his shade had returned to the island, and he had haunted and protected it ever since.
He’d seen the nature of the island change and change again over the centuries: it was the site of the first lighthouse on the coast of California; then it held a military garrison that soon became a prison, which from 1861 to 1963 was home to some of America’s most violent and dangerous criminals.
More recently it had been a popular tourist attraction, and de Ayala had delighted in drifting unseen through the crowds of visitors, listening to their excited comments. He particularly loved to follow those who spoke his native tongue, Spanish.
In the last couple of months, however, the nature of Alcatraz had changed yet again. The island had been sold to a private company, Enoch Enterprises, which had immediately stopped all tours of the island. And quite soon afterward, new prisoners had arrived. None of which were human. There were creatures de Ayala vaguely recognized from sailors’ tales-werewolves and dragons, wyverns and worms-and some he knew from myth, like the minotaur and the sphinx, but most were completely alien to him.
And then Perenelle Flamel had been incarcerated on the island.
De Ayala had helped her escape her cell and was more delighted when she managed to flee the island altogether, leaving the two dangerous newcomers, Machiavelli and Billy the Kid, stranded with the monsters. He had hoped that they would remain overnight so he and the island’s other ghosts might have a little fun with them. But the two men had been rescued by a Native American, and as de Ayala watched their boat head toward the city, he wondered what would become of his beloved Isla de los Alcatraces. The sphinx still walked the prison’s corridors, the hideous spider Areop-Enap was wrapped in an enormous cocoon in the ruins of the Warden’s House and the Old Man of the Sea and his foul daughters patrolled the waters.
The ghost drifted to the top of the watchtower and turned to look toward the city he could never visit. What was it like, he wondered, this huge city on the edge of the continent? He could see its towers rising into the skies, and the fabulous orange bridge spanning the bay. He watched the boats cruise the waters, saw the metal birds in the skies and could just make out the metallic glitter of cars moving on the shore. When he had discovered Alcatraz, Philadelphia had been the largest city in the United States, with a population of thirty-four thousand. Now, over eight hundred thousand people lived in San Francisco-an inconceivable figure-and more than thirty-six million lived in the state of California. What would happen to them when the monsters were loosed into the city’s streets and sewers?
Unconsciously, de Ayala drifted out over the water toward the city, and then the invisible ties that bound him to Alcatraz drew him back. He protected the island-but for how much longer? he wondered. The forces of the humani and the Elders were gathering, and no matter how it ended, de Ayala did not think his beloved Alcatraz would survive the coming war.
And with no Rock to watch over, he too would finally cease to exist.