Calling the flies had been relatively easy; an Indian shaman had taught him that trick, and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. Poisoning the flies had been his Elder master’s suggestion, and his master had even supplied the pool of poisoned water in Solano County, north of the city. The plan was to destroy Areop-Enap’s army of spiders and murder the Elder. And it had almost succeeded. The mass of spiders were dead, and the Old Spider was very close to death. But at the last minute something had drawn the flies away from Alcatraz in a great pulsing cloud. In the oily liquid in the scrying bowl, the young man had seen the silver-white flicker of Perenelle’s aura, and knew she’d been responsible. His thin face twisted in a grimace and he bit nervously into his bottom lip. He’d been assured that she was weakened, incapable of any display of her powers. Obviously, that information had been incorrect.

The thick liquid began to bubble and cloud, then to hiss and steam away; the scrying spell had a limited life span. Slipping off the hood of the car, the young man tossed the sticky remnants onto the ground, then carefully washed out the bowl with a bottle of water and dried it with a chamois cloth before putting it in the trunk of the car, nestling it in a small foam-filled metal suitcase. The bowl was one of the most precious objects he owned, and even when he’d been desperately poor, he’d never thought about selling it.

Sitting in the red leather interior of the car, he opened a manila envelope and read through the file he’d been sent by encrypted e-mail. A severe-looking white-haired man glared out of a black-and-white photograph. He’d been caught mid-stride as he crossed a street. The Eiffel Tower loomed over the rooftops in the background, and the date stamp on the bottom of the photograph revealed that it had been taken on Christmas Eve, six months ago. Idly, the young man wondered why the Dark Elders were watching one of their most trusted agents. This was the man they were sending to work with him: the European immortal Niccolò Machiavelli. The Elders’ instructions had been unambiguous-he was to offer Machiavelli every assistance. He wondered if the Italian was anything like John Dee. He’d met Dee briefly and didn’t like him; he was one of those arrogant European immortals who thought they were better than anyone else, just because they were older than the United States. But reading through Machiavelli’s file, he found himself liking the man more and more. Ruthless, cunning and scheming, he was described as the most dangerous man in Europe.