The Saracen Knight nodded. His dented armor formed and re-formed around his body, turning smooth, black and reflective. Gripping his huge longsword in both his hands, he launched himself toward the wolves and black cats. Gabriel led the surviving Ratchets after him.

Shakespeare supported the Alchemyst and Josh held Sophie upright, and the four made their way between two tall sandstone columns into the heart of Stonehenge.

The moment Josh stepped into the circle, he felt the ancient buzz of power. It reminded him of the sensations he’d experienced when he’d held Clarent in his hands, the feeling that there were voices just at the edge of his hearing. He looked around, but it was hard to make out the shapes of the stones in the night.

“How old is this place?” he asked.

“The earliest site is perhaps five thousand years old, but it may be older,” Shakespeare answered. He suddenly bumped into a stone lying flat on the ground. “Here’s the Altar Stone,” he said to the Alchemyst.

Nicholas Flamel sank onto the stone, breathing heavily, one hand pressed against his chest. “Orient me,” he wheezed. “Which way is north?”

Both Shakespeare and Josh instinctively looked to the heavens, searching for the polestar.

A huge black cat suddenly leapt through the gates, mouth gaping, paws extended toward the Alchemyst. Flamel threw up his hands and razor-sharp claws scored his palm; then Shakespeare’s police baton snapped out, knocking the creature out of the air. The cat crashed onto the huge stone and dissolved to dust. “Like metal, the stones are poisonous to them,” the Bard said quickly. “They cannot touch them; that’s why they’re not rushing us. Alchemyst, if you are going to do anything, then you need to do it now.” He pointed. “This way is north.”

“Look for the third perfect trilithon to the left,” Flamel whispered.

“The third what?” Josh asked, confused.

“Trilithon. Two uprights and a lintel,” Shakespeare explained. “Greek for ‘three stones.’”

“I knew that… I think,” Josh whispered. He counted. “This one,” he said decisively, pointing. “Now what?”

“Help me,” Nicholas said.

Shakespeare caught the Alchemyst and half carried him to the two huge uprights. Pushing into the narrow gap between the stones, Nicholas put a hand on each, reaching as high as he could, then stretched his legs wide until he had assumed an X shape in the middle of the stone.

The faintest hint of mint touched the cold night air.

A huge bear reared up, claws slashing toward the Alchemyst’s head. And then the creature was jerked back by the Saracen Knight and tossed to the Gabriel Hounds. They fell on it with savage howls. Dust billowed.

A trio of wolves raced toward Flamel. Josh caught one with the shamshir sword and Gabriel brought down another. Josh sliced out at the third wolf and it ducked the blow, but in avoiding the blade it brushed against the tall stone-and crumbled to powder.