01_-_The_Alchemyst

CHAPTER EIGHT
Dr. John Dee crouched in the back of the car and attempted, not entirely
successfully, to control his temper. The air was heavy with the odor of sulfur,
and thin tendrils of yellow-white fire crackled around his fingertips and
puddled on the floor. He had failed, and while his masters were particularly
patient—they often instigated plans that took centuries to mature—their
patience was now beginning to run out. And they were definitely not known
for their compassion.
Unmoving, held by the warding spell, Perenelle Flamel watched him,
eyes blazing with a combination of loathing and what might even have been
fear.
“This is becoming complicated,” Dee muttered, “and I hate
complications.”
Dee was holding a flat silver dish in his lap, into which he had poured a
can of soda—the only liquid he had available. He always preferred to work
with pure water, but technically any fluid would do. Crouched over the dish,
he stared into the liquid and allowed a little of his own auric energy to
trickle across the surface as he muttered the first words of the spell of
scrying.
For a single moment there was just his own reflection in the dark liquid,
then it shuddered and the soda began to bubble and boil furiously. When the
liquid settled, the image in the bowl no longer reflected Dee’s face, but
showed a curiously flat image, rendered in shades of purple-gray and
greenish black. The viewpoint was close to the ground, shifting and moving
with sickening rapidity.
“Rats,” Dee murmured, thin lips curling with distaste. He hated using
rats as Eyes.