“Even without the Codex, the Dark Elders could begin the process if they had the twins,” Gilgamesh said, voice calm and even. “The Final Summoning is designed to open all the doors to the Shadowrealms simultaneously.”

“What would happen to us afterward?” Josh asked, breaking the long silence that followed. He pressed his hands against his chest, feeling beneath his T-shirt, where he carried the two pages he’d torn from the Book of Abraham.

“There is no afterward, not for you or for any other human.”

Palamedes drove for nearly ten minutes in silence, and then Gilgamesh cleared his throat and said, “I will train you in the Magic of Water on one condition.”

“What condi-” Josh began.

“Agreed,” Sophie interrupted. She turned to look at her brother. “There are no conditions.”

“When all of this is over, and if we have survived, then I want you to promise that you will return here to me with the Book of Abraham,” the king told them.

Josh was about to ask another question, but Sophie squeezed his fingers as hard as she could. “We’ll come back, if we can.”

“There is a spell in the Codex right on page one.” The king closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His words were precise, his voice little more than a whisper. “I stood by Abraham’s shoulder and watched him transcribe it. It is the formula of words that confers immortality. Bring that to me.”

“Why?” Josh asked, puzzled. “You’re already immortal.”

Gilgamesh opened his eyes and looked at Sophie and she suddenly realized why he wanted the Book. “The king wants us to create the formula in reverse,” she said softly. “He wants to become mortal again.”

Gilgamesh bowed. “I want to live out my life and die. I want to be human again. I want to be normal.”

Sitting facing him, Sophie Newman nodded in silent agreement.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Even though the late-afternoon sun was warm on her face, Perenelle suddenly felt chilled. “What do you mean, you’re not with Nicholas and the children?” she asked in alarm, staring intently into the flat metal plate filled with faintly discolored water. Wisps of her white aura crawled across the surface of the liquid.

Grass green eyes, huge, magnified and unblinking, stared out of the water. “We got separated.” Even though it was barely audible, Scathach’s voice sounded miserable. “I had a spot of bother,” she admitted, embarrassment thickening her Celtic accent.