“The Sorceress is in a cell in D Block,” the Crow Goddess said. “This way.” She stood back and allowed Machiavelli and Billy the Kid to precede her. Then she turned her head and looked over her shoulder, up at the watchtower, red and yellow eyes bright against her pale skin. She raised her pencil-thin eyebrows, her black lips curled in a slight smile and then she dropped her sunglasses on her face. The Crow Goddess tugged her black feathered cloak high on her shoulders and strode after the two immortals, boot heels clicking on the damp stones.

“What just happened?” de Ayala asked, confused.

“A debt was paid,” Perenelle said softly, her eyes following the creature as she disappeared directly below the watchtower. “Unasked and unexpected,” she added with a smile. The Sorceress grabbed her spear, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and climbed down the metal ladder onto the wharf. She breathed deeply; there were traces of Machiavelli’s serpent odor and his companion’s scent-red pepper-lingering on the air. She would not forget them.

“You should wait until they are in the cells below before attacking,” de Ayala said, materializing beside her. He was now wearing the more formal costume of a lieutenant in the Spanish navy. “Take them unawares. Is your aura strong?”

“As strong as it is going to get, I believe. Why?”

“Strong enough to bring the ceiling down on top of them?”

Perenelle leaned on the spear and stared at the sea-rotted buildings. “Yes, yes, I could do that,” she said carefully. The onshore breeze whipped strands of hair across her face. She brushed them away, realizing there was more silver than black in them. “I need to conserve my aura, but I’m sure I could find a little spell to eat away at the concrete and metal supports…”

The ghost rubbed his hands gleefully. “All the spirits of Alcatraz will assist you, of course, madame. Just tell us what we need to do.”

“Thank you, Juan. They have already helped enough.” Perenelle took off after the trio, moving silently in her battered shoes. She stopped at the corner of a building and peered around. The Crow Goddess and the immortals had vanished.

De Ayala floated up. “And what of the ice you used against the sphinx? That was successful; how about sealing the entire corridor in solid ice?”

“That might be a little trickier,” the Sorceress admitted, turning and heading purposefully back toward the wharf, past the bookshop. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “However, there is something I can do that will most certainly upset them.”

“Which is?” de Ayala asked eagerly.

Perenelle pointed with the wooden spear. “I’m going to steal their boat.” The ghost looked so disappointed that the Sorceress laughed for the first time in days.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Mint green light blazed through the barn’s warped walls, incandescent shafts and bars lighting up the interior in solid beams.