01_-_The_Alchemyst

thousands of years: they were the source of every zombie and walking-dead
story ever created. Dee himself had told the story of the greatest of all the
Golems, the Red Golem of Prague, to Mary Shelley one cold winter’s
evening when she, Lord Byron, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley and the
mysterious Dr. Polidori were visiting his castle in Switzerland in 1816. Less
than six months later, Mary created the story of The Modern Prometheus, the
book that became more commonly known as Frankenstein. The monster in
her book was just like a Golem: created of spare parts and brought to life by
magical science. Golems were impervious to most weapons, though a sudden
fall or blow could shatter their mud skin, especially if it was dry and
hardening. In a damp climate, their skins rarely dried out and could absorb
incredible punishment, but this warm climate made them brittle—which was
why they had fallen so easily to the concealed blades. Some sorcerers used
glass or mirrors for their eyes, but Dee preferred highly polished black
stones. They enabled him to see with almost razor-sharp clarity, albeit in
monochrome.
Dee caused the Golem to tilt his head upward. Directly above him, on a
narrow balcony overlooking the dojo, were the pale and terrified faces of the
teens. Dee smiled and the Golem’s lips mimicked the movement. He’d deal
with Flamel first; then he’d take care of the witnesses.
Suddenly, Nicholas Flamel’s head appeared, followed, a moment later,
by the distinctive spiky hair of the Warrior Maid, Scathach.
Dee’s smile faded and he could feel his heart sink. Why did it have to
be Scathach? He’d had no idea that the red-haired warrior was in this city, or
even on this continent, for that matter. Last he’d heard of her, she was singing
in an all-girl band in Berlin.
Through the Golem’s eyes, Dee watched both Flamel and Scathach leap
over the railing and float down to stand directly in front of the mud man.
Scathach spoke directly to Dee—but this particular Golem had no ears and
couldn’t hear, so he had no idea what she had just said. A threat probably, a
promise certainly.
Flamel drifted away, moving toward the door, which was now dark and
heaving with rats, leaving Scatty to face him and the Golem alone.