The creature laughed. “Oh, humani, I do not know, nor do I care. In my time, the word had meaning. A sorceress was someone with power, someone to fear, someone to respect. But here, in this time and in this world, the old words, the old titles, mean nothing. Why, a magician, I have discovered, is nothing more than a children’s entertainer, someone who pulls rabbits out of hats.”

Perenelle’s laugh shocked the Dark Elder to silence. “Then you should know this, Old Man: I am no entertainer. I’m surprised your Elder didn’t tell you who you were facing on this island. Or perhaps not so surprised. Maybe if you had known, you would not have embarked on this foolish venture.” Perenelle’s voice echoed down the shaft. “I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. I have lived upon this earth for nearly seven hundred years, and I carry within me the wisdom of the ages. I have trained with some of the finest sorcerers and magicians, wizards and enchanters who ever lived. Some even you will have heard of. I was apprenticed to the Witch of Endor and I am a pupil of two of the greatest sorceresses in history: Circe and Medea.”

“Circe?” Nereus rustled uncomfortably, legs quivering. “Medea?” he added, sounding miserable.

“You, above all others, should know my teachers’ reputations.”

“And were you a good pupil?” Nereus inquired cautiously.

“The best. Know this, Old Man of the Sea: I will never be your wife. I am wed to the Alchemyst, Nicholas Flamel.”

“Oh,” the Elder said very softly.

“I am the immortal human Perenelle Flamel.”

“Ah-that sorceress,” Nereus mumbled.

“Yes, that sorceress.” Perenelle wrenched a metal spike from the wall, concentrated her aura in the palm of her hand and watched the rusty metal twist and curl, then melt into dirty brown liquid. “Let me show you a trick Circe herself taught me.” Opening her hand, she allowed the metal droplets to dribble from her cupped palm. Scores of tiny golden-brown globes fell into the shadows. The molten rain hissed and sizzled as it scattered across Nereus’s flesh, and the air suddenly filled with the reek of frying fish. Octopus legs thrashed and pounded against the stones as the Old Man of the Sea howled and squealed in a score of human and inhuman languages. Perenelle flicked the last droplet off her fingertips. She followed the golden teardrop as it plunged straight down… and landed right in the center of Nereus’s forehead, just above his nose. This time he screamed so loudly Perenelle could actually hear the sudden explosion of wings as the thousands of seabirds gathered on the island above rose high into the air, crying and calling.

Nereus disappeared into the shadows, trailing the smell of burnt fish in his wake. “You have not heard the last of me, Sorceress Perenelle,” he sobbed. “You will never escape alive!”