And somewhere at the back of his mind, in that dark and secret place where only the most hurtful memories are buried, lurked those three bitter words.

A flawed tool.

No matter what he achieved-his extraordinary successes, his amazing discoveries and uncannily accurate predictions, even his immortality and his association with figures who had been worshipped by generations as gods and myths-those three words mocked him, because he was secretly afraid that his father had been correct about that too. Perhaps he was a flawed tool.

Clearing his throat, he lifted his forehead from the window, fixed a quizzical smile on his face and turned back to the dark interior of the car. “I was not aware that you had a file on me.”

Leather squeaked as Bastet changed position. “We have files on every immortal and mortal humani who is in our service. Yours happens to be bigger than all the rest combined.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. It is, as I have said, a litany of failures.”

“I am disappointed that you should view it that way,” Dee said softly. “Luckily, I do not answer to you. I answer to a higher authority,” he added, with the smile still fixed on his face.

Bastet hissed like a cat with its tail caught.

“But enough of these pleasantries,” the Magician continued, rubbing his hands quickly together. “What brings you to London? I thought you had returned to your Bel Air mansion after our adventure in Mill Valley.”

“Earlier today I was contacted by someone from my past.” The Dark Elder’s voice was a low angry rumbling. “Someone I thought long dead, someone I never wanted to talk to again.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me…,” the Magician began.

“Mars Ultor made contact with me.”

Dee straightened. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he could just about make out Bastet’s cat head silhouetted in black against the lighter rectangle of the window. “Mars spoke to you?”

“For the first time in centuries. And he asked me to help you.”

Dee nodded. When he had left the catacombs earlier, the Elder had still not responded to his offer to bring the twins back to Paris and force Sophie to lift the curse.

Cloth rustled and the cat smell of the Goddess grew stronger. “Is it true?” she asked, close enough to make Dee recoil from her foul breath.

The Magician turned away, blinking tears from his eyes. “Is…” He coughed. “Is what true?”

“Can you release him? The Witch cursed him; that is a curse she will not lift.”