In the heart of the Catacombs beneath Paris, the Elder Mars Ultor awoke. For a single instant his eyes were a brilliant blue, but they quickly turned an ugly burning red.
The boy, the twin, the one he had Awakened, the one he was connected to, had mastered his second magic, the Magic of Fire.
Closing his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the pain that ate away at his entire body, he looked through the boy’s eyes and found he was staring into the face of his wife’s brother: Prometheus. He broke the connection instantly, afraid that the Elder would sense his presence. Mars Ultor, the Avenger, who feared nothing and no one, was terrified of the Firelord.
Then, almost reluctantly, he concentrated on visualizing the English Magician’s face, and when Dee turned his head to look up with wide gray eyes, the Elder said: “It is done.”
“It is done.” John Dee jerked awake with such force that he fell out of the chair and sprawled on his burnt hands. The pain was excruciating, but he ignored it: his dreamless sleep had been interrupted by the image of the Sleeping God, Mars Ultor, trapped in his bone prison deep beneath Paris. In his dream the Elder’s eyes had opened and looked at him, and Dee heard him speak behind the mask.
“It is done. The boy has mastered fire.”
Climbing to his feet, Dee cradled his arms across his chest and pressed his forehead against the cool glass wall. Focusing, he visualized Mars Ultor’s prison in precise detail, until he could actually see the imprisoned Elder. “I want the boy,” he said aloud.
And on the other side of the world, bloodred smoke curled from the Sleeping God’s eyes. “Josh,” Mars whispered. “Josh.”
Exhausted and sore, Josh Newman lay back on the hard uncomfortable bed and closed his eyes. A single heartbeat later, he was asleep.
And then his eyes snapped open.
No longer blue, they were the same color as Mars Ultor’s.