Josh sat beside Niten, who steered the black town car with his left hand. His right hand cradled a long dagger in a black-lacquered case that rested on his lap. In the seats behind, Nicholas was slumped beside Perenelle; Sophie and Aoife sat facing them. The Alchemyst’s eyes were closed and his head was resting on Perenelle’s shoulder, his fingers lightly touching the back of her hand.
“How long has he left?” Aoife asked bluntly.
Flamel’s pale eyes opened and he straightened. “Long enough,” he answered, his voice cracking. He coughed and tried again, his voice stronger. “And he’s not dead yet, and certainly not deaf.”
Aoife bared her teeth in a quick smile and, in that instant, was the image of her sister.
“Why are you here?” Perenelle snapped.
“I want my sister back,” Aoife said, her voice as icy as the Sorceress’s.
“It seems she may be trapped in the past,” Nicholas said.
“My uncle Prometheus will take me to Chronos; I’ll have him pull Scathach-”
“And Joan,” Perenelle said quickly.
“And Joan,” Aoife added reluctantly. “I’ll have him pull them both from the past and bring them back here.”
Sophie pushed up against the door and turned in her seat to look at the warrior. The name Chronos had filled her head with the Witch’s thoughts. The Witch of Endor knew the Elder Chronos, knew what he was and what he was capable of doing. She had bargained with him before and paid a terrible price. “Will Chronos not want some sort of payment?” she asked carefully, struggling to keep her voice level.
“He will.” Aoife shrugged and pushed her dark glasses up onto her nose again. “My uncle will take care of it. He is one of the most powerful of all the Elders,” she added proudly.
“And you expect Chronos to bring your sister and Joan through time because Prometheus asks him?” Flamel coughed a laugh. He tried to smile, but failed. “And if he refuses?”
Aoife exposed her savage vampire teeth. “Then I will speak with him myself. No one has ever refused me anything.”
“Except Scathach,” Sophie said very softly.
The red-haired warrior turned to look at the girl, and for a long time the only sound in the car was the humming of the tires on the road. “Except Scathach,” she acknowledged finally, a note of terrible loss in her voice.
“What happened?” Sophie asked.
Aoife blinked, and for an instant, her green eyes winked bloodred. Then she swiveled in her seat to look at Josh. “He is your twin,” she said. “What would you do if you lost him?”
“Lost him?” Sophie shook her head, not understanding. “What do you mean, lost him?”
“If he turned against you, hated you…”
Josh started to laugh, until he realized that the vampire wasn’t joking. “I would never…,” he began.
“That’s what Scathach said,” Aoife interrupted. She fixed her eyes on Sophie. “You did not answer my question: what would you do if you lost your brother, if he suddenly hated you? Would you give up on him?”
“Never,” Sophie whispered. The very thought was chilling and made her feel sick to her stomach.
Aoife nodded slowly, then sat back and closed her eyes, the palms of her hands resting flat on her thighs. “I lost Scathach, but I never gave up on her. I have spent ten thousand years in this Shadowrealm waiting for that single moment to tell her, to show her, that I never stopped loving her.”
The car turned onto the 101 heading north and picked up speed, the only sound the thrumming of the wheels on the road. Then Perenelle leaned forward and touched the vampire’s knee. The air crackled with static.
“You love your sister?”
“Yes.”
“She does not love you,” the Sorceress said quietly.
“It does not matter.”
They continued in silence and then Perenelle spoke very softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes shining wetly. “Perhaps we have misjudged you, and if we have, then I apologize.”
Aoife grunted a laugh. “No, you did not misjudge me, Sorceress. I am as bad as I’m made out to be.”
Josh turned in the front seat. “Hey, did you just say you’ve spent ten thousand years on this earth?”
Sophie nodded. She knew exactly what he was about to ask, and knew the answer.
“But you’re Scatty’s twin, and she said she was two thousand five hundred and seventeen years old. How can you be ten thousand?”
“Scathach lies,” Aoife said simply. She shook her head. “She’s a terrible liar. You wouldn’t want to believe a single word she tells you.”