She had no doubts that they had tried, and she knew that only something terrible could have kept them away. But she was also a little annoyed with herself for getting her hopes up.

“Boat coming!” de Ayala’s voice whispered behind her left ear, startling her.

“Juan!” she snapped. “You’re going to be the death of me!” She pushed to the edge of the watchtower, feeling a wave of relief wash over her, along with the tiniest twinge of guilt that she had ever doubted her friends. The Sorceress’s face broke into a cruel smile; with Joan of Arc and Scathach the Shadow by her side, nothing-not even the sphinx and the Old Man of the Sea-would be able to stand against her.

Huge black wings flapped and snapped, and she watched the Crow Goddess come spiraling down off the top of the lighthouse and float gently to the wharf almost directly below her. Perenelle frowned; what was the creature thinking? Scathach would probably feed her to the Nereids, who were none too fussy about what they ate.

She was just about to stand up and climb out of the tower when de Ayala’s face partially materialized in front of her. The ghost’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Down. Stay down.”

Perenelle flattened herself against the floor. She heard the bubbling of an outboard motor and the scrape of wood against wood as the boat bumped up against the dock. And then a voice spoke. A male voice.

“Madam, it is an honor to find you are here.”

There was something about the voice, something dreadfully familiar… Perenelle crept over to the edge of the watchtower and peered down. Almost directly below her, the Italian immortal Niccolò Machiavelli was bowing deeply to the Crow Goddess. The Sorceress recognized the young man who climbed out of the boat as the immortal she’d caught spying on her the previous day.

Machiavelli straightened and held up an envelope. “I have instructions from our Elder master. We are to awaken the sleeping army and kill the Sorceress. Where is she?” he demanded.

The Crow Goddess’s smile was savage. “Let me show you.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

The twins slept, and their dreams were identical.

They dreamt of rain and pounding water, towering waterfalls, vast curling waves and a flood that had once almost destroyed the earth.

The dreams left them twitching and mumbling in their sleep, muttering in a variety of languages, and once, Sophie and Josh simultaneously called out for their mother in a tongue Gilgamesh recognized as Old Egyptian, a language first spoken more than five thousand years ago.