Dee nodded gravely, filing away the information that iron was not toxic to all Elders. He’d always assumed that it was the coming of iron that had driven the Elders out of this world. After more than four hundred years in their service, there was still so much he did not know about them.

The car slowed, then stopped. Through the dark tinted window Dee could just about make out the glowing red traffic light. He waited until the light changed to green before trusting himself to speak again. “Can I ask what I have done to anger you?” he murmured, pleased that he’d managed to keep his voice from trembling. Bastet was a First Generation Elder and one of the original rulers of Danu Talis. After the sinking of the island, she had been worshipped for generations in Egypt, and countries and peoples from the Incas to the Chinese honored cats in memory of the time she had walked the ancient humani world.

Dee heard paper rustle and pages turn and he realized that the Elder was reading in complete darkness.

“You are trouble incarnate, Dr. Dee. I can smell it coming off you like that ridiculous sulfur aura you prefer.” There was the sound of paper being slowly and methodically shredded. “I have perused your file. It does not make for inspiring reading. You may be our premier agent in this world, but I would argue you have been particularly useless. You have failed again and again in your mission to capture the Flamels, and have left a trail of death and destruction in your wake. You are tasked with protecting the Elders’ existence, and yet three days ago you destroyed not just one but three interlinked Shadowrealms. This latest adventure in Paris has come close-dangerously close-to revealing our presence to the humani. You even permitted the Nidhogg to rampage through the streets.”

“Well, that really was Machiavelli’s idea…,” the Magician began.

“Many Elders have called for your destruction,” Bastet continued in a deep growl.

The sentence shocked Dee into silence. “But I serve the Dark Elders loyally. I have done so for centuries,” he argued plaintively.

“Your methods are crude, antiquated,” the cat-headed Elder went on. “Consider Machiavelli: he is a scalpel, neat and precise; you are a broadsword, crude and blundering. You once almost burned this very city to the ground. Your creatures killed a million humani in Ireland. One hundred and thirty thousand died in Tokyo. And despite this loss of humani life, you still failed to secure the Flamels.”

“I was told to capture the Flamels and the Codex by any means possible. That was the priority,” Dee snapped, anger making him reckless. “I did what I had to do to achieve that goal. And three days ago, let me remind you, I delivered the Book of Abraham the Mage.”