01_-_The_Alchemyst

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Perenelle Flamel was moved from her tiny underground cell by four
small guards dressed entirely in black leather, their heads and faces
concealed behind motorcycle helmets. She wasn’t entirely sure they were
human—certainly she could detect no trace of an aura, a heartbeat or even
breathing from the figures. As they crowded around her, she caught the
faintest hint of something old and dead, like rotten eggs and overripe fruit.
She thought they might be simulacra, artificial creatures grown in vats of
putrid bubbling liquid. Perenelle knew that Dee had always been fascinated
by the idea of creating his own followers and had spent decades
experimenting with Golems, simulacra and homunculi.
Without saying a word, and with jerky gestures, the four figures ushered
her out of the cell and down a long, narrow, dimly lit corridor. Perenelle
deliberately moved slowly, giving herself time to gather her strength and
absorb impressions of the place. Jefferson Miller, the ghost of the security
guard, had told her that she was in the basement of Enoch Enterprises, west
of Telegraph Hill, close to the famous Coit Tower. She knew she was deep
underground: the walls ran with moisture, and the air was so cold that it
plumed in clouds before her face. Now that she was out of the cell and away
from its protective spells and charms, she felt a little of her strength begin to
return. Perenelle desperately tried to think of a spell she could use on the
guards, but contact with the ghost of Mr. Miller had left her exhausted, and
she had a headache pulsing at the back of her eyes that made it hard to
concentrate.
A shape suddenly flickered into existence directly ahead of her. Her
breath, a foggy white in the chilly air, had briefly formed a face.
Perenelle glanced at her guards on either side, but they hadn’t reacted.
She drew in a deep lungful of breath, held it, allowing her body to warm it,