01_-_The_Alchemyst

CHAPTER SIX
Although there were other ways he could have used to communicate,
Dr. John Dee preferred this century’s method of choice: the cell phone.
Settling back into the cool leather interior of the limousine, he flipped open
the phone, pointed it to where Perenelle Flamel was slumped unconscious
between two dripping Golems and took a quick picture.
Madame Perenelle Flamel. His prisoner. Now, that was certainly
something for the photo album.
Dee keyed in a number and hit Send, then he tilted his head, looking at
the graceful woman across from him. Capturing Perenelle had been an
extraordinary stroke of good fortune, but he knew he’d only managed it
because she’d used up so much energy destroying his Golem. He stroked his
small triangular beard. He was going to have to make more Golems soon. He
looked at the two opposite: in the brief time they had been outside in the
early-afternoon sun, they had started to crack and melt. The big one on
Perenelle’s left was dripping black river mud across the leather seat.
Perhaps he would choose something other than Golems next time. The
brutish creatures worked fine in damper climates, but were especially
unsuited to a West Coast summer. He wondered if he still had the recipe to
create a ghoul.
It was Perenelle who presented him with a problem, however—a
serious problem: he simply wasn’t sure how powerful she was.
Dee had always been rather in awe of the tall, elegant Frenchwoman.
When he’d first apprenticed himself to Nicholas Flamel, the Alchemyst, he’d
made the mistake of underestimating her. He’d quickly found that Perenelle
Flamel was at least as powerful as her husband—in fact, there were some
areas in which she was even more powerful. Those traits that made Flamel
such a brilliant alchemyst—his attention to detail, his knowledge of ancient