A/N—Disclaimer: I don't own this. The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel belongs to Michael Scott. Not me. I. Own. Nothing.

Notes on fic: This plot bunny hopped into my head about two months ago. I'm writing it now. And I apologize for all the stories I'm not finishing. If there's anything you've been following, hoping for an update, please tell me in a review, and I'll try to update it. Speaking of reviews—Please read/review!

Summary: Being locked in a cell is limiting. Machiavelli is limited. He knows someone who is less limited, if he can contact them. This all depends on the golden tablet currently lying out of his reach.

Limited

The golden tablet remained lying on the prison floor. The darkness faded from it, and after the frightening black of the swirling leygate, the soft gold looked soft and unreal. The stones beneath it looked like bumpy waves from his position on the floor. The tablet was…one, two, three, four, five, six…six tiles away. Just out of reach of his fingertips, as he found out when he stuck his arm through the bars and stretched out his hand, scrabbling against the stone floor, squirming and twisting uncomfortably, trying to maximize his reach.

"Machiavlli? Niccolo? Erm…" Behind Machiavelli, the Kid cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

"Trying…to…reach…"—each word was a panted grunt—"…the…tablet…" His arm refused to stretch farther, and the tablet was, of course, mere centimeters from the pads of his groping fingers.

"Why? Billy asked, crouching down next to Machiavelli, staring at the tablet on the floor. "It's…it's not going to help us, I'm pretty sure."

"It is," Machiavelli snapped, still lying on his stomach. "If I can reach it." He pressed himself against the bars. He was getting rust all over his suit. But it was worth it. The tablet brushed against his fingers, and his grey aura sparked, and he was able to magnetize it in the split second of contact. When he drew his hand back toward him, the tablet dragged along the floor, scraping and thumping over the bumps.

He clutched it like a precious treasure once he got it in his hands. It wasn't because it was golden. It wasn't because it was some ancient piece of history from Danu Talis. It wasn't because there was a chance—a chance—that Abraham the Mage had held it in his hand. He clutched it in his hands because it was their only hope. It was the Flamel's only hope. It was San Francisco's only hope. It was the world's only hope.

His hands were shaking.

The horrid images of fire and destruction faded from his mind, replaced by remembrances of depressingly empty files, with little more than names and common dates, a few adresses long since abandoned, and selfish thoughts of answered questions—

An unidentifiable scent filled the air when he ran his trembling fingers over the golden surface of the tablet.

"What are you going to use that for?" Billy asked.

"We need help, Billy. I might be able to use this to contact someone who can help us. Maybe. If I can tap into the auric power of the tablet…"

"Like hacking?"

"Rather. If I can tap into the auric power of the tablet, I should be able to contact somebody. If I'm lucky, I can find the person I want. Or someone who can direct me to them."

He let his aura seep into the tablet. Small sparks of something—emotions?—bit his fingers like electric shocks, and he felt brief instances of pain and loss and fear and desperation before a sharp shriek echoed through the cell.

She flung the tablet from her like it was poisonous snake. The little sparks that had attacked her skin through her pocket made her shudder. It felt strange, and somehow her thought about snakes had brought the scent of snake skin on the air.

"Please! Sophie Newman, I beg you."

She was the only one who heard. She lowered herself into a crouch, peering into the shining surgace of the tablet.

"You…you're Machiavelli," she whispered, glancing nervously to where her brother stalked on ahead of the group. No one had heard her cry, or at least no one had bothered to pay it any attention.

"Sophie Newman, I need your help. I need you to find somebody. I believe you met them back in London, a few days ago…"