“Yes,” Dee had said, and for a single instant, Josh had thought he’d heard Nicholas and Perenelle screaming “No!” Then he realized that that was what they probably would say. If he could learn necromancy, he would be able to find out the truth about the Flamels and the Elders and more, much, much more. He’d be able to talk to all the great men and women of history, ask them questions, discover their secrets, find out where they had hidden their treasures. He could resurrect dinosaurs from single bones, even-and the thought was shocking-re-create primitive men so that his parents could study them firsthand. And somewhere, at the back of his mind, he wondered why, if Dee was a necromancer, he had not used the power in the same way. Just what had the Magician used necromancy for?

“Coatlicue…” Josh focused on the swords. Clarent was at the bottom of the square, the blade pointing to the left. Durendal was on the left-hand side, its blade pointing up; Excalibur was on top, its blade pointing right, toward Joyeuse, whose blade was pointing down. The stone swords were trailing fire into the air, and the colors had started to weave and entwine in the middle of the square.

She slept.

And her sleep lasted eons.

She dreamt.

And her dreams lasted centuries.

But the nightmares lasted millennia.

And in this place without light, without sound, without sensation, she did not know whether she woke or slept. She simply existed.

Red. A spot of color.

But in this foul prison, there was no light.

Another speck: white. Tiny, distant.

The Elders had bound her in utter darkness. There had never been light. Until now.

A third spot: brown.

And now a fourth light, and it was green.

She turned toward the lights.

The smoke from the blades wavered, twisted, as if blown by a breeze.

Virginia’s fingers bit deeply into Dee’s arm. “Something’s happening.”

“When she comes we’ll have to be quick,” the Magician said. “As soon as she appears in the square, we shove the boy in with her. So long as the square is not broken, she’ll be trapped within.”

“And if it is broken?” Virginia asked.

“That would not be good,” he said.

“Is she not hideous?”

“In the Nahuatl language, she is called the One with the Skirts of Serpents.”

“Nice!” Virginia said. “How’s he going to react to that?”

“When I touched him a moment ago, I implanted a simple spell. He will see only a beautiful young woman. I’m not sure how long the spell will last, but even if he hesitates, I want you to push him in with her. Once she feeds, we’ll be able to deal with her.”

“And if she refuses?” Virginia asked quietly.

“You lull her to sleep with your flute and we send her back to her prison,” he said calmly.