Nicholas squinted at Josh, his pale eyes looking somewhat unfocused. “You could eat now if you wish, but by the time you’ve finished, Prometheus might have changed his mind.” He smiled and asked lightly. “So, Josh, Fire magic or food?”

“What’s it to be?” Perenelle demanded, but there was no humor in her voice.

Josh looked from the Sorceress to the Alchemyst. Something had happened between them. He’d seen his parents like this on occasion when they were arguing. They would be polite but brittle with one another and would lash out at anyone who irritated them. He wondered what the immortals had been arguing about. And at the back of his mind, he kept remembering that when Perenelle had trained with the Witch of Endor, she’d used her maiden name. She hadn’t admitted she was the Alchemyst’s wife. “Fire magic,” he said quietly.

The Alchemyst nodded in agreement. “Fire magic it is.”

“I thought Prometheus said he would never train anyone again,” Sophie said.

“The Elder had a change of heart,” Perenelle answered, looking at the girl as she spoke.

“Prometheus will always do the right thing,” Sophie said quietly, and Josh was startled to hear just a hint of the Witch’s accent in her voice. Then she turned to look at Josh. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. “I think so…”

“Come on, then, let’s go.”

The Alchemyst shook his head. “The Elder just wants Josh,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He said that he doesn’t want to see you again.”

Sophie looked surprised. A feeling of extraordinary sadness washed over her.

“I think you frighten him,” Perenelle added.

Nicholas looked at Josh. “The Elder has agreed to train you. This is quite an honor; it’s been a long time since Prometheus had a student.”

“I thought Saint-Germain learned Fire magic from him,” Josh said.

Nicholas shook his head and laughed. His chuckle came from deep in his chest and sounded wet and wheezy. “Saint-Germain stole fire from the Elder. Whatever you do, try not to mention his name. Prometheus hates him. In fact, I think most of the Elders hate Saint-Germain. He has a gift for irritating people.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Saint-Germain raised both hands and spread his fingers wide. Each fingertip popped alight, flickering with varicolored flames. In the dancing firelight, the immortal’s face was savage. “Don’t threaten me, Green Man,” he snarled, his accent pronounced. “I will burn this forest to the ground without a second thought.”

Tammuz drew back, reflected light running liquid across the silver mask, making it look as if the carved leaves were trembling in a breeze.

The dryads, their drawn bows nocked with black-tipped arrows, looked at the Green Man, awaiting his instructions.