01_-_The_Alchemyst

“I didn’t think there were any wild boars in America,” Josh said, “and
certainly not in Mill Valley, California.”
“There are wild boars and pigs all over the Americas,” Flamel said
absently. “They were first brought over by the Spanish in the sixteenth
century.”
Josh shifted gears, eased off the accelerator and allowed the car to
move forward at a crawl. The road had come to a dead end. The barrier of
bushes, thorns and trees now stretched across the path. “End of the road,” he
announced, putting the car into park and setting the emergency brake. He
looked left and right. The boars had also stopped moving, and he could see
them, four to a side, watching. In the rearview mirror, he could see that the
two larger boars had stopped too. They were boxed in. What now, he
wondered, what now? He looked at his sister and knew she was thinking
exactly the same thing.
Nicholas Flamel leaned forward between the seats and looked at the
barrier. “I believe this is here to discourage the foolhardy who have traveled
this far. And if one were exceptionally foolish, one might be tempted to get
out of one’s vehicle.”
“But we are neither foolhardy nor foolish,” Scatty snapped. “So what
do we do?” She nodded at the boars. “I haven’t seen this breed in centuries.
They look like Gaulish war boars, and if they are, then they are virtually
impossible to kill. For every one we can see, there are probably at least
three more in the shadows, and that’s not counting their handlers.”
“These are not Gaulish; this particular breed has no need of handlers,”
Flamel said gently, the merest hint of his French accent surfacing. “Look at
their tusks.”
Sophie, Josh and Scatty turned to look at the tusks of the huge creatures
standing in the middle of the track behind them. “They’ve got some sort of
carvings on them,” Sophie said, squinting in the late-afternoon light. “Curls.”
“Spirals,” Scatty said, a touch of wonder in her voice. She looked at
Flamel. “They are Torc Allta?”
“Indeed they are,” Flamel said. “Wereboars.”