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Chapters (73)
  1. =Table of Contents=
  2. CHAPTER ONE
  3. CHAPTER TWO
  4. CHAPTER THREE
  5. CHAPTER FOUR
  6. CHAPTER FIVE
  7. CHAPTER SIX
  8. CHAPTER SEVEN
  9. CHAPTER EIGHT
  10. CHAPTER NINE
  11. CHAPTER TEN
  12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  13. CHAPTER TWELVE
  14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  21. CHAPTER TWENTY
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  31. CHAPTER THIRTY
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER FORTY
  42. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  43. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  44. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  51. CHAPTER FIFTY
  52. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  53. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  61. CHAPTER SIXTY
  62. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  63. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  64. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
  71. CHAPTER SEVENTY
  72. EPILOGUE
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE

“And that means?” Josh asked.

Flamel’s grin was savage. “The living cannot touch the waters of the Styx. The shock overloads their systems and knocks them unconscious.”

“For how long?” Sophie asked, glancing back at what looked like a bundle of cloth in the middle of the alleyway.

“According to the legends-a year and a day.”

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

The enormous dining room shimmered in the late-afternoon sunshine. Slanting sunbeams ran golden on polished wood panels and bounced off the waxed floor, sparking highlights from a full suit of armor standing in the corner and picking out spots of color from display cases of coins that traced more than two millennia of human history. One wall was entirely covered with masks and helmets from every age and continent, their empty eye sockets looking down over the room. The masks surrounded an oil painting by Santi di Tito that had been stolen from the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence centuries earlier. The painting that now hung in Florence was a perfect forgery. The center of the room was dominated by a huge scarred table that had once belonged to the Borgia family. Eighteen high-backed antique chairs were arranged around the time-stained table. Only two were occupied, and the table was bare except for a large black phone, which looked out of place in the antique-filled room.

Dr. John Dee sat on one side of the table. Dee was a small neat Englishman, pale-skinned and gray-eyed. He was wearing his customary charcoal three-piece suit, the only touch of color in the pattern of tiny gold crowns on his gray bow tie. He usually wore his iron gray hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, but it now hung loose around his shoulders, curling down to touch his triangular goatee. His dark-gloved hands rested lightly on the wooden table.

Niccolò Machiavelli sat facing John Dee. The physical difference between the two men was startling. While Dee was short and pale, Machiavelli was tall, his complexion deeply tanned, emphasizing the one trait both men shared: cold gray eyes. Machiavelli kept his snow-white hair short and had always been clean-shaven, and his tastes tended toward a more elegant style. His black suit and white silk shirt were clearly custom-made, and his deep crimson tie was woven through with threads of pure gold. It was his portrait on the wall behind him and he looked little older now than he had when it had been painted, more than five hundred years before. Niccolò Machiavelli had been born in 1469; technically he was fifty-eight years older than the Englishman. He had actually died the year Dee was born, in 1527. Both men were immortal, and they were two of the most powerful figures on the planet. Over the centuries of their long lives, the immortals had learned to detest one another, though now circumstances required them to be uneasy allies.