“Yes. They do prefer the warmer waters of the Mediterranean, but the oceans of the world are their home. I’ve encountered them everywhere, even amongst the icebergs of the Antarctic. There are fifty Nereids, and they always travel together… which suggests to me that this island is most likely completely surrounded. We’ll not escape by sea. But that is not the greatest of our concerns,” Areop-Enap lisped. “If the Nereids are here, then that probably means that their father, Nereus, is close as well.”

Despite her warmth, a shiver ran up Perenelle’s spine. “The Old Man of the Sea? But he lives in some distant watery Shadowrealm and only rarely ventures to this realm. He hasn’t come to our world since 1912. What would possibly bring him back?”

Areop-Enap bared its teeth in a savage grin. “Why, you, Madame Perenelle. You are the prize. They want your knowledge and your memories. You and your husband are amongst the rarest of humans: you are immortals without Elder masters controlling you. And now that you are trapped on Alcatraz, the Dark Elders will do their utmost to ensure that you not leave here alive.”

Blue and white static crackled down the length of Perenelle’s hair, which slowly rose and extended out behind her in a shimmering black halo. Her eyes blazed cold and green and an ice white aura bloomed around her, filling the interior of the ruined house with stark light. A dark wave of spiders scuttled into the shadows. “Do you know how many Dark Elders and their kith and kin have attempted to kill me?” Perenelle demanded.

Areop-Enap shrugged, an ugly movement of all its legs. “Many?” it suggested.

“And do you know how many are still alive?”

“Few?” Areop-Enap suggested.

Perenelle smiled. “Very few.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

“Wait up. My phone is ringing.”

Sophie ducked into a doorway, fished in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. The battery had died in Hekate’s Shadowrealm, but the Comte de Saint-Germain had found her a charger that worked. Tilting the screen, she peered at the unusually long number. “I don’t know who it is,” she said, looking from her brother to Nicholas.

Josh looked over his sister’s shoulder. “I don’t recognize the number,” he added

“What does it begin with?” Nicholas asked, squinting, trying to focus on the screen.

“Zero, zero, three, three…”

“That’s the country code for France,” Flamel said. “Answer it; it can only be Francis.”

“Or Dee or Machiavelli,” Josh said quickly. “Maybe we should-”

But before he could finish, Sophie had pressed the Answer button. “Hello?” she said cautiously.

“It’s me!” Saint-Germain’s voice was light and accentless, and Sophie could tell he was outside by all the noise in the background. “Let me speak to the old man. And don’t tell him I said that!”