“Areop-Enap can take care of itself,” Perenelle said. “They’d best hope they’re not on the island when it awakes. It’ll be hungry, and the Old Spider has a voracious appetite.”

A tiny distant shout made her turn. Machiavelli and his companion were on the docks. The Italian was standing still, and the smaller man was waving his arms, sunlight glinting off a knife in his hand.

“Will they not use their magic?” de Ayala asked.

“Magic is not really effective over running water.” Perenelle grinned.

“I fear I must leave you, madame. I need to return to the island.” The ghost’s face started to dissolve into spray.

“Thank you, Juan, for all that you have done,” Perenelle said sincerely in formal Spanish. “I am in your debt.”

“Will you be back to Alcatraz?”

Perenelle looked over her shoulder at the prison. Knowing now that the cells held a collection of nightmares, she thought the island itself looked almost like a sleeping beast. “I will.” Someone would have to do something about the army before it was awakened. “I will be back. And soon,” she promised.

“I will be waiting,” de Ayala said, and vanished.

Perenelle angled the boat in toward the pier and eased back on the throttle. A delighted smile crept across her face. She was free.

Niccolò Machiavelli took a deep breath and calmed himself. Anger clouded judgment, and right now he needed to be thinking clearly. He had underestimated the Sorceress, and she’d made him pay for that mistake. It was unforgivable. He’d been sent to Alcatraz to kill Perenelle and he’d failed. Neither his master nor Dee’s master was going to be happy, though he had a feeling that Dee himself would not be too upset. The English Magician would probably gloat.

Although he feared the Sorceress, Machiavelli had really wanted to fight the woman. He had never forgiven her for defeating him on Mount Etna and over the centuries had spent a fortune collecting spells, incantations and cantrips that would destroy her. He was determined to have his revenge. And she had cheated him. Not with magic, or with the power of her aura. But with cunning… and that was supposed to be his specialty.

“Stop her,” Billy shouted. “Do something!”

“Will you be quiet for a moment?” he snapped at the American. He pulled out his phone. “I need to make a report, and I’m really not looking forward to it. One should never be the bearer of bad news.”

And then, across the bay, the Old Man of the Sea exploded out of the water, directly in front of the boat. Octopus tentacles wrapped tightly around the small craft, bringing it to a shuddering halt. Perenelle disappeared, flung back by the sudden stop.

Machiavelli put his phone back in his pocket; maybe he would have some good news to report after all.