“A major security operation closed down the city yesterday. The BBC were reporting that the same terrorist cell that had been operating in Paris were now in London.” Gripping the big steering wheel tightly, he glanced at his passenger. “You did hear about what happened in Paris?”

“I read all about it,” the Magician murmured, unconsciously shaking his head. Machiavelli controlled Paris-how could he have let Flamel and the twins slip through the net?

“These are dangerous times.”

“They are indeed,” Dee said. “But you would not want to believe everything you read in the press,” he added.

There were roadblocks in place on all the major roads leading into the capital, but the police barely glanced at the battered car carrying the two older men before waving it through.

The vicar dropped Dee in Mayfair in the heart of the city, and the doctor walked down to Green Park Station. He caught the tube on the Jubilee Line, and took it right into the heart of Canary Wharf, where Enoch Enterprises had its UK headquarters. The doctor was taking a calculated gamble. His Dark Elder master might have the building under observation, but Dee was hoping everyone would think he had run away and wouldn’t be so foolish as to return to his own headquarters.

Entering unseen through the underground parking garage, he made his way up to his offices at the top of the building, where he took a long luxurious shower in his private bathroom, washing away the grime and filth of the past few hours. The hot water eased the pain in his right shoulder, which he rotated carefully. Josh had flung Clarent at him during the battle at the barn, and although Dee had managed to turn his aura into a shield before the stone sword hit him, the force of the blow had driven him to the ground. He’d been sure he had dislocated it; only later had he realized that his shoulder was badly bruised but not broken, and for that he was grateful. A break wasn’t serious-his enhanced metabolism would work quickly to repair any damage, or he could use a little of his aura to repair it instantly, but that would draw the Dark Elders and their minions to him.

The Magician changed into fresh clothes, a nondescript dark blue two-piece suit, a dark blue shirt and a tie with the discreet gold pattern of the fleur-de-lis of St. John’s College, Cambridge. While the kettle in the tiny kitchen boiled water for tea, Dee emptied his safe, stuffing wads of sterling, euros and dollars into a money belt he wore around his waist, hidden under his shirt. There were a dozen passports in as many names at the back of the safe. Dee shoved them into his suit coat pockets. He had been collecting these passports for years and wasn’t about to abandon them now.