The man stepped back and executed a surprisingly elegant sweeping bow, leg outstretched, head bent almost to waist level. “Your servant, my lady.” The whole effect was slightly ruined by the stench of stale body odor that rolled off him. “Please call me Will.”

Sophie wasn’t sure how to react. “I’ve never met anyone famous before…,” she started, and then stopped when she realized what she was saying.

Shakespeare straightened. Josh coughed and backed away, eyes watering. “You have met Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel,” Shakespeare said in his precise English, “Dr. John Dee, the Comte de Saint-Germain and, of course, Niccolò Machiavelli,” he continued. “And no doubt you encountered the charming Jeanne d’Arc.”

“Yes,” Sophie said with a shy smile, “we met all of them. But none of them are as famous as you are.”

William Shakespeare took a moment to consider, and then he nodded. “I am sure Machiavelli and certainly Dee would disagree. But yes, you are correct, of course. None of them would have my”-he paused-“my profile. My work has thrived and survived, whereas theirs is not quite so popular.”

“And did you really serve Dee?” Josh asked suddenly, realizing that here was an opportunity to get some answers.

Shakespeare’s smile faded. “I spent twenty years in Dee’s service.”

“Why?” Josh asked.

“Have you ever met him?” Shakespeare replied.

Josh nodded.

“Then you will know that Dee is that most dangerous of enemies: he truly believes that what he is doing is right.”

“That’s what Palamedes said,” Josh murmured.

“And it’s true. Dee is a liar, but I came to understand that he believes the lies he tells. Because he wants to believe, he needs to believe.”

A quick spattering of rain rattled across the junkyard, pinging off the crushed metal cars.

“But is he right?” Josh asked quickly, ducking as big drops of rain hit the side of the metal hut. He reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, and instantly his aura flared bright brilliant orange, while a pale yellow aura outlined the man’s body. Orange and lemon mingled, and while the results should have been pleasant, the two odors were sour and tainted by Shakespeare’s unwashed smell.

Dee, younger, his face unlined, hair and beard dark, staring into an enormous crystal, a young wide-eyed William Shakespeare by his side.

Images in the crystal…

Lush green fields…

Orchards laden down with fruit…

Seas churning with fish…

“Wait-you think Dee should bring the Elders back to this world?”

William Shakespeare started for the stairs. “Yes,” he said, without turning around. “My own research has led me to believe it may be the right decision.”

“Why?” the twins demanded.