I know this is really late, and I'm sorry. I didn't know there were still some of you who wanted to read this story, or even bothered to check up on it, especially after an entire year of zero activity. But thanks to you guys, I've decided to reacquaint with both these fandoms. It wasn't easy, as I have other stories to get to, but I got off my ass and wrote this.

This was originally supposed to be one chapter, but I've broken it into two because the word count managed to reach above 12k, which is A LOT. I'll upload the next part when I am finished with it.

Thanks, and once again I apologize for so long a delay. I appreciate all your reads and reviews, and your time taken to do either or both. :)

June 2nd | Present Day

Niccolo Machiavelli had been patiently awaiting his turn to bid for the entire night, his eyes dead set on the Japanese Kabuki masks displayed at the front of the room. After centuries of evading him, the masks had finally emerged on auction again. Machiavelli was determined to not lose to another party.

But then his phone rang.

Resisting the urge to curse, Niccolo drew out his cellphone. He'd specifically made it clear to everyone that he didn't want to be disturbed that night. Who, on the entire earth of this plane, had the nerve to interrupt him?

"What is it?" he said in his native language, Italian.

Before the person on the other end could get even one word out, Machiavelli had already guessed who it was. There weren't many people on this planet that dared test his temperament.

"I need your help," came the accented reply of the same language. Dee sounded agitated and besides himself.

"You . . . need my help. You." Niccolo had almost laughed out loud with disbelief. Instead, he stood from his seat and left the room, stepping out into the chilly night. He inhaled deeply, savouring the cold air in his lungs.

The fact that the Kabuki masks had once again eluded his possession made him want to literally curse Dee's existence, but he knew that the Englishman wouldn't call unless he absolutely had to. Dee was usually too prideful for the occasion. Machiavelli stowed his vengeful urge to the back of his mind and asked Dee to explain.

"Flamel is back in Paris."

That got his attention.

"When?" Machiavelli demanded.

"Just now, I'd wager. He went through one of the leygates, but I'm not sure which. It's definitely linked to Paris, though. That much I know. Since you were stationed there, I decided to call you."

"Is it just him?"

"No. He has Scathach with him."

Machiavelli grimaced. He'd never really got along with the Warrior. Every time they met, things tended to end violently.

"Why would the two of them escape to Paris?" Machiavelli said.

"They have two humani children with them. Americans. Twins."

Machiavelli leaned into the earpiece, trying to determine whether he heard right. "Come again? Did you say twins? As in, the Twins?"

"Gold and silver," the Englishman confirmed. "You know what that means."

"Have they been Awakened?"

"The girl has. But you need to keep a careful eye on her. Flamel had taken them to the Witch of Endor. The girl knows Air Magic."

Machiavelli bit his lip. That could definitely spell trouble. If these were truly the Twins of Legend—the real Twins—then that meant—regardless of their prowess—they were dangerous. After centuries of searching for them, Flamel had finally found the true pair. Machiavelli had bet on at least another few centuries with no luck of their existence. It seemed as if his prayers had not been answered.

"Did you try and stop them?"

Dee scoffed. "Obviously. And obviously that didn't work out. The Witch nearly killed me. She even broke the damned leygate so I couldn't pass through. It'll take me at least fifteen hours to reach Paris. That's why I contacted you first."

"And what is it exactly you want me to do?" Machiavelli asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. To him, the idea of the Englishman asking for someone else's help was truly hilarious. The mere notion of Dee failing his task was strangely satisfying.

It was clear Dee had detected Machiavelli's scorn as his answer was bitter-sounding.

"Capture the Twins, as alive as you possibly can. I've got personal business with Flamel, but it's not like our masters care if he's in one piece. As for the Warrior, kill her. I don't care how you do it—use the secret service if you have to. I'll meet you in Paris when I can."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

There was a pause on the other end. Machiavelli waited, thinking that maybe the transatlantic connection had broken midway.

"No," came Dee's reply. "That's all."

Dr. John Dee was a formidable liar, but Machiavelli was an even better one. He knew when someone was lying, and even though he couldn't see Dee's face, the Englishman's tone was all but enough.

"You're lying, John. What are you keeping from me?"

"A surprise. Well, actually, that all depends on whether he becomes difficult or not. But I trust he isn't, as he's probably comatose already. I would know, since I'm the one who put him there."

"Who? Who's comatose?"

"An old friend. Trust me on this, Nico. You'll be thanking me."

"Who is this person?" Machiavelli insisted. "It's useless keeping things from me, you know that. Tell me whether extracting Flamel and the Twins would be problematic." Niccolo directed his next set of words directly into the receiver: "Is this person dangerous?"

"Oh." Dee chuckled. "Very. Until we meet, Nico. Ta!"

The connection disbanded. Machiavelli lowered the phone from his ear and mulled over Dee's words. He had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a long night.

Scathach had been the first to go through the leygate. The scene of her grandmother's storage room in Ojai rippled, and Sophie and Josh Newman had come tumbling out of it afterwards. There was a short pause before the next set of gatecrashers came through.

When Flamel arrived, dragging Elric after him, and when Scathach saw how grief-stricken Edward was, she knew something disagreeable had happened in Ojai. Zephaniah was an altogether unreasonable woman, but the Elder knew her dangers, and she must have had no choice but to send everyone over. Especially with a Dee swearing vengeance on the other side.

But Scatty knew that wasn't the blunt of Edward's frustration. It didn't take a genius to deduce that Edward and Dee knew each other—well, scratch knew each other; they may as well have been enemies. Edward had obviously wanted to resolve some unfinished business with the English doctor, and Zephaniah had undoubtedly said no.

"No!" Edward had screamed. "No, don't do this!"

Scathach had speculated on her grandmother doing some needless action to get them to safety. Judging by Edward's reaction, she'd been right. The storage room in Ojai had erupted into flames, consuming everything in sight, including the leygate on its side. Theirs had shattered immediately following, as the connection between leygates broke away.

Then Edward made the move of bringing his hands together. Scathach had only seen that action several times before, and she'd immediately guessed what his intention was. Flamel had grabbed his hands and had fervently told him to stop, because attempting to reconnect severed leygates would only end up taking what Edward clearly did not have.

The boy wasn't thinking straight. Scathach could see it in his eyes, and she could see it in the way his body shook as he sobbed. No child that young should have been allowed to seek death so thoughtlessly, or produce that many tears like he'd seen enough destruction and carnage to cripple even a god's emotional wellbeing.

But the simple act of it—Edward's anguish, although adverse, was the most humane, purest, and sincerest of raw emotion that Scathach had seen in all 2000+ years of her long life. She knew plenty of humans, and she befriended a great many, but this boy here—his remorse was powerful enough to move even her, and she would never openly admit it to herself if this was anyone else.

She felt pity for him, and she knew how he felt, as if he'd seen too much, experienced too much, and dealt with too much pain. Everyone had a boiling point, and their breaking point, and it seemed Edward had found his.

"Is he going to be all right?" Sophie asked with her voice lowered. She and Scatty stood afar from Edward, giving him a wide berth to cool down. Despite her low volume, it was clear Edward was in no state of awareness.

"Does he look okay?" said Josh, coming over. "I don't know what it is, but there had always been something about him—I can't put my finger on it . . ."

"He's never been all right," Nicholas answered for Sophie. "I doubt he's been from the start. Whatever that boy's history is, I'd imagine it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies."

Scatty's eyes shifted back to Edward, who was wordlessly kneeling in front of the broken leygate, clutching the glass shards with his one good hand. His grip was so tight—enough to further grind up the glass. Despite this, Edward's hand did not bleed. Scatty supposed it was the strength and durability of his gloves preventing injury.

His other arm hung limply at his side, probably the result of his encounter with Dee. Scathach hadn't been there to personally see the Englishman, but the man rarely went anywhere without fatally maiming someone. It seemed Edward had been this time's unlucky victim.

Things were quiet now—much too quiet. Edward's body slouched forward, broken and utterly defeated, like he was caving in from an unseen weight. His silence must have been induced by some form of shellshock, perhaps from the trauma he suffered under Dee's torture, and the fact that he used all his remaining strength to save everyone from the man. It was through sheer willpower that he'd managed to stay conscious this entire time; there was no telling how much blood he'd lost.

And it occurred to Scatty that maybe standing around wouldn't be a good idea, especially with Dee hot on their trail, and Edward, who desperately needed some medical attention.

"I don't want to spoil the mood," the Shadow said, "but Nicholas, we need to get out of here. Dee isn't stupid, and he's likely to have called back-up by now." She glanced at Edward. "And I'm afraid, for him, it's time we haven't got to lose."

"He doesn't look fit to move. Give him a few more minutes."

Scatty sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor. "I'd rather we just carry him out. Hell, I'd even volunteer."

She wasn't purposely trying to be ungrateful—in fact, it was the opposite. Edward had a strange form of alchemy, one that Scatty couldn't recognize, but it went without saying that without the kid's abilities, none of them would be standing here alive. Edward saved them, and there was a debt to be paid.

"Who knew they had a spat," Scathach muttered, chuckling dryly. "It just seems so unlikely, you know."

"Who?" inquired Flamel.

"You know. Dee."

"Ah." Nicholas scratched at his chin. "Yes, how did they come to know each other, I wonder . . . ?" His eyes landed on Edward. "No, perhaps we should save the questions for a later date. Right now is too wrong."

"Where are we, anyway?" Josh said, his eyes darting about. "How did we even get here?"

Scathach scanned her surroundings. The room was poorly lit, and from what she could see, there were shelves all around her, stocked with paper towels, cleaning detergent, paint, paintbrushes, a broom, and etc. It was a storage room, or a large closet.

"Paris," Nicholas answered. "The city of my birth. I'm not entirely sure where in Paris we are, but that mystery can easily be solved."

Travelling from Ojai to Paris in a single second seemed all but impossible. If this was two days ago, Josh would have denied the ability for an event like this to happen. But now that he knew the gods were real, and magic was real, he supposed portal-hopping was a normal, entirely probable idea.

Josh glanced briefly at his sister, who was exhibiting the most peculiar of behaviour: she had her ear pressed firmly to the wall, and her expression was thoughtful, as if she was listening for something on the other side of the bricks. For what, Josh didn't want to fathom. He moved on and stopped in front of the shattered leygate.

"So," he began, "this mirror thing—"

"Leygate," corrected Flamel.

"Yeah, leygate. So it teleported us from Ojai to Paris? Just like that?"

"Exactly like that."

"Not really," joined in a new voice, tired and hoarse.

All eyes switched on Edward, who was still crouched in front of the broken leygate. His long hair obscured his face, but Josh being close observed his weariness, and the fact that darkness clung to his eyes like evil shadows. After acting so distant and unresponsive, Edward's sudden participation alarmed everyone. The normal thing someone injured would have done was to pass out and say nothing. And here Edward had gone against all odds and once again proved his stubbornness.

"Well, it is a lot more complicated," Nicholas reasoned, eyeing Edward carefully. "But to put it simply, leygates are like portals. It's all made possible by a phenomenon called—"

"Ley lines," Edward finished.

"Yes, exactly," said Flamel slowly. "Edward, don't push yourself. Save your strength."

"Ley lines are like invisible bands of magic that circle around the globe, allowing for inter-dimensional travel between one place on Earth to another," Edward forced out, ignoring Flamel.

The Alchemyst stepped forward. "Edward, stop—"

He winced in pain before pushing on: "But you can't simply travel on a whim. Ley lines are something that neither humans nor gods can control. If two ley lines cross each other, a leygate is created. At least, according to my father. He has been wrong before."

Edward doubled over at the last second and coughed into the ground. His body shook as each cough wracked his insides, his right hand clutching his injured shoulder tightly—enough force to reopen the wound he'd so painstakingly stitched up with his alchemy. His face was the perfect picture of agony.

"Edward, what do you think you're doing?!" Flamel demanded. "Don't hurt yourself more. Once is enough!"

The alchemist then turned and shot Flamel with a soul-piercing glare.

"So you think that I was just going to sit here," he said, "and watch you pity me. After everything that happened, do you really think that I need that. You actually think that I would willingly let Dee take his victory again, after all that he's done."

Flamel's words caught in his throat. "I . . . I didn't say that," he objected.

"So all that talk about me behind my back earlier—that was just for fun?"

Edward's face was gritty, worn and bloody, but that didn't stop his eyes from shining intensely. The spark in those golden orbs was no reminder of his physical condition.

"Just because I'm like this doesn't give you a reason to see me as incapable, or someone who needs help. You worry about yourselves, and I worry about me. We don't need to share sympathies. That's not why I'm here." Edward looked at Scatty. "Yes, I do know Dee. The last time I saw him was eighty-eight years ago. The wound he reopened earlier had been initially inflicted by a sword he impaled me with. I won't give him the satisfaction again. I am done mourning. Now, we need to move on."

"Hold on," said Josh. This was going way too fast. "You were sort of half-dead. We don't just pick up from where we left off and leave. This is not how it works."

Edward glared at him. Tear tracks were still visible on his face. "So we just let him catch us, huh? After all I've done for you. After all the sacrifices I've made to keep all of you alive."

"N-no. That's not what I meant. Of course that's not what I meant."

"What other way is there?!" Edward almost shouted, and his voice cracked. "I . . ." He looked away and brought his hand to his face. "I'm done. I'm done with all of this. I don't know what Truth hoped to gain by sending me here, but I can't do this anymore."

Josh stared on sadly. Despite his courageous words, on the inside, Edward really was broken. He just didn't want to appear to be.

Maybe what Flamel said was true. Maybe Edward had already been corrupted by a traumatic event suffered in the past, and this time's encounter with Dee had just deepened that wound. Edward wasn't the type to break on a single occasion. It would take multiple tries to defeat him, countless catastrophes to level his resolve. Either he had a terrible life from day one, or he was just prone to bad luck. Josh couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Hey, guys," said Sophie from her place against the wall, her ear still pressed against it. "This is really interesting."

"Not now, Soph," Josh sighed.

"No, really," she insisted. "I can hear . . . music in the walls. Like church organs."

"Is that so?" said Flamel. "Perhaps what you're hearing is the remnants of songs recorded into the building, noises longed absorbed by the stone. But you're right. This is a church."

"Do you know which church?" asked Scatty.

"I can't be sure . . ."

Edward slowly gazed up, and a look of understanding flashed across his features. He gently brought his right hand to his left, connecting his inner Gate, and lay his palm down on the ground. An alchemic array glowed underneath him, lifting up stray dust, as well as his long-coat, and Edward had his eyes closed, as if he was seeing more with his mind rather than his physical sense. The other occupants in the room watched on with an unspoken awe.

"Late nineteenth century, possibly early twentieth," Edward reported shortly, his eyes darting about underneath his eyelids. The array slowly faded as he completed his diagnostic. He opened his eyes and scrutinized the floor, as if he could see right through the stone. "But . . ." he continued doubtfully, ". . . there's a larger structure under us. Much older. Ruins."

"Are you sure you should be doing more alchemy?" said Flamel worriedly. "We don't want to reverse your recovery."

"What recovery?" asked Edward, choking out a laugh. "I'm never going to recover from this." He shifted his weight and groaned as pain shot up his left side. "Besides, I've got this church's entire floor plan in my head. I can't afford to pass out now, not if you people want a way out."

Flamel was caught between agreeing with him and knocking him out. He decided to choose the former. Knocking Edward out was going to prove difficult, and he didn't want to injure the teenager further.

"By the way, we're in Sacré-Coeur," said Edward.

"What?" Flamel breathed. "Are you sure?"

"I've been to France before. Of course I'm sure."

"Then I don't think we need your floor-plan, after all. I am very familiar with this church, and if I'm right, then our ticket out of here is not too far off. There's even a safehouse nearby."

"Is there really such a thing?" asked Sophie doubtfully. So far, wherever they'd gone, they had been chased to the ends of the earth by Dee and his allies, and Sophie didn't think the idea of a safehouse was going to last.

"Anywhere is good right now," Edward said wearily, looking very much like he hadn't slept a day in his life. "Let's just get a bloody move-on."

He tried to stand, using the wall beside him as leverage. His left arm dangled loosely at his side, and his legs were shaking so badly it was a wonder as to how they hadn't given in yet.

Josh rushed in first and scooped Edward up by the arm, making sure to carefully avoid the blond's left side while he supported him. Edward's head started to loll to the side, but he managed to snap himself out of it before he could fall unconscious.

"I know you don't want us helping you," said Josh, "but you look like you could use it. It's hardly a time to play hero, right?"

Edward scoffed, turning his head away from the teen. "You don't understand."

"Understand what? I understand plenty, thank you."

"Oh, so you know the feeling of saving two entirely separate worlds and losing everything on both ends. You can relate to the fact that I should have died a long time ago, but my stupid little brother decided to save the day and fucking sacrifice himself in order to bring me back to life. Oh, yeah, and I have a mutant flying snake for a half-brother. Well, I used to. He's dead now. Speaking of dead, my dad's dead, my mother's dead, and who knows, my brother is dead, too. Your sympathy is appreciated."

Josh stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" he said. "You're not . . . serious."

Edward sighed. "No. Of course I'm not. I just happened to find my way to the future, with no cause or reason for it."

Edward could be bleeding to death right now, or missing all his limbs, but there was one thing Josh couldn't get rid of no matter the level of injury, and that was Edward's sass. It didn't matter if he was half-dead—no—he was still as smart-mouthed as before his accident.

"In any case, we need to move," Flamel said. "The sooner we get you medical attention the better. If you really don't like hospitals, then getting to the safehouse is our top priority. Someone there should be well-versed in healing magic."

"Oh, great. More magicians," Edward muttered.

"You of all people should be looking forward to this, Elric."

"Me? Why me?"

Flamel smiled knowingly. "You'll see when we get there."

"If we get there," Scatty corrected. "My reasoning about Dee bringing back-up still stands. We best hurry."

The Alchemyst moved toward the closet door.

"Maybe we should, you know, think this through," interrupted Josh, grunting under the weight of his charge. For a short guy, Edward was a lot heavier than he looked.

"What do you mean?" Flamel had his hand on the closet's door knob and was twisting it open. "Nothing's going to happen."

"What if there's an—"

A high alarm pierced the air, the sound bouncing off the building walls. From outside, red emergency lights flashed.

"—alarm," Josh finished, disgruntled. "Great."

"Didn't you always tell me to think and judge before acting?" Scatty said.

"It's the age," the Alchemyst stated, and he pelted the door wide open, sticking his head out. "It's clear outside. We should get to the exit while we still can. Come on!"

Flamel led the group down a corridor, Scatty close behind, followed by Sophie, and then Josh, who was stuck with half-carrying, half-dragging Edward along with him.

They stopped at a pair of wooden doors, to which Flamel pulled open. A second set of alarms blared, but no one paid it any heed. Every single door in this building must have been wired with its own alarm.

Nicholas took a left into a room filled with the smell of incense and wax. Ancient banks of candles lined the walls along with modern day electrical lighting. Flamel spotted the Exit sign at the end of the hall.

"No," Edward tried to say. "Don't open that—"

Too late. Flamel was already at the doors. The Alchemyst gave a mighty tug, but the doors were bolted shut. Clearly the security system didn't care whether the threshold had been penetrated—as long there was someone trying to get in or out—because a third alarm blared.

"I don't understand," said Nicholas, ignoring the noise around him. "The church should be open."

"Are you sure we're in Paris, France?" Sophie shouted. "I mean, if Ojai is nine hours ahead of Paris, it should be 4 o'clock in the morning right now. It'd make sense that no one's here."

"You know what that means!" Scatty sang in a sickly sweet voice. Her mood abruptly soured. "The police are coming."

"I could blast the doors apart," Sophie offered. Internally she was hoping she didn't have to. After demonstrating her newly attained powers in Ojai, she'd been too exhausted to try again.

Flamel seemed to have read her mind. "No, don't. I will not have a national monument maimed in my presence. There has to be another way."

Josh glanced behind him and noted the intricate mosaics decorating the dome above the altar, and how huge columns of pure stone were made to erect the high ceiling above their heads. And although the structure was grand and massive, there lay a hidden fragility to the foundation, as if one little push of a wall could cause the entire church to collapse. Blasting the doors apart was out of the question.

"What other way is there?" he asked in a soft voice. The alarms drowned out his voice, but he knew everyone in the room was thinking the same thing.

Machiavelli had quickly called for his limousine, and while he waited, he carefully molded a plan together in his head—a plan that would keep Flamel and his party busy while he rounded his police force to capture them.

When his ride arrived Niccolo wasted not a moment's hesitation and accessed the locked files on the computer, the ones he used for archiving his many spells.

Some traditionalists tended to keep their secrets in scrolls, but Machiavelli favoured the more modern methods, choosing instead to password-crypt his files and set up a virus around them as protection.

The Italian pulled up a file containing the mapping of the Earth's ley lines. He traced his finger along one of them, beginning from Ojai and stopping in Paris. There were at the most two possibilities. Notre Dame or the Sacré-Coeur basilica?

Violent alarms tore through the night, alerting Machiavelli of some unwanted intruders in the distance. He rolled down his window and leaned towards the outside, catching sight of the grand Sacré-Coeur. The usual white light illuminating the exterior was now an angry red.

The night air was cool, but the smile Machiavelli presented was downright cold.

He had a very good idea as to who triggered the alarms, and that meant it was time he put his plan into motion.

"Okay, those are definitely police sirens," Josh said, his panic growing. "What do we do?"

"Twelve police cars," Sophie reported, her head tilted to the side. "Think we can take them?"

"Not in this state, we can't," Flamel said. "You're exhausted, Sophie, Edward's injured, Josh is lugging him around, and I doubt Scatty and I, with our forces combined, can take them. Not unless we aim to kill."

Sophie dipped her head, running over her options. "Yeah, you're right. It's out of the question."

"How can you tell how many police cars there are?" Josh asked.

"I can place where each car is. Enhanced hearing is handy, although I doubt we can do much right now."

Josh could never cease to be amazed at the new powers Sophie had attained. It seemed like a dream—one he couldn't be a part of.

"I'd rather not be arrested again, thanks," Edward said. His body language was flimsy and weak, but the sharp intelligence of his eyes told a different story. "Neither of us have passports, and if France has remembered my criminal record after eighty-eight years, I would have a lot of explaining to do, and we don't have the time. We need to find another exit."

Flamel was about to interrogate Edward on his 'criminal record', when the sharp scent of familiarity wafted up his nose. It was thick and repugnant, perhaps even more so than Dee's sulphuric scent. He saw that Sophie had the same reaction. She had her nose drawn up in discomfort.

"What is that?" she asked. "Smells like . . ."

"Trouble," said Scatty, drawing her nunchaku. "Big trouble."

Josh recognized the smell. It was often associated with the zoo, and he knew he didn't like it.

"Snake," his sister concluded.

Josh had been dreading that answer.

"Snake?" he repeated, unable to keep the fear from his voice. He was terrified of snakes. People said it was irrational, but it didn't feel irrational to Josh. Scatty said it was trouble. He'd been right to fear snakes.

"It's not like a bodily snake that's with us," Sophie tried to explain, although she was more confused than certain. "There's only one. And I don't hear them. It's just the smell."

"It's definitely a snake that you sense," Scathach hissed. "One that walks on two legs. What you're smelling, Sophie, is the odor of Niccolo Machiavelli."

From his place beside Josh, Edward drew in a sharp intake of breath, barely masking his surprise—and something else: horror? Outrage?

However, his companions took his reaction as a display of fear.

"Machiavelli's older than Dee, and he has had a hand in European politics for centuries," Flamel said. "You'd best tread wearily around him, more so than Dee. At least you can predict Dee coming. Machiavelli is more secretive in his operations."

"So what? Everyone has a scent?" asked Josh. He still hadn't mastered his fear yet.

"Nicholas smells of mint," Scatty explained. "Dear old Dr. John Dee smells of rotten eggs, or sulfur, to be more exact, and Machiavelli smells like snakes. It fits him actually. He's much more cunning and sneaky than Dee and ten times as dangerous."

"They're acquaintances, then. He's Dee's back-up."

Edward scoffed, and then cringed. The action had shot a painful jolt through his lungs.

"Heh . . . hardly. They merely work for the same company. Dee wouldn't call for help unless he absolutely had to, especially from someone like Machiavelli."

Nicholas fixed his eyes on Edward carefully, his suspicions rising. "How would you know that?"

"Call it an educated guess."

Flamel was going to further question the extent of Edward's knowledge, when Sophie interrupted his thoughts.

"The smell's getting closer," she said. Josh watched as her silver aura crackled around her, her blue eyes turning into shining silver disks. He resisted the urge to flinch back. She'd done that before, and it scared him.

"Machiavelli's working magic again," said Scatty, wary eyes flickering around the room. "This is not good. So not good."

Her statement was immediately followed by a sickening squelch originating from the candles. Everyone flipped around to regard the source of the noise, their instincts on high alert. The melted wax began to converge and morph, coming together to form a distinct shape of a man.

But the creature that emerged from candles was anything but. There were no distinct features on its poorly constructed head. Two large trunk-like appendages sprouted from either side and the creature stumbled to its feet, of which were still half-formed.

It was the most grotesque thing Josh had ever lay eyes on, and it was far more terrifying than any snake he'd encountered. When it walked, it was like watching a zombie steadily approach you, accept this wax monster would do far more grizzly things to you than just eat your brains out.

"Sophie, back me up!" Flamel commanded. "I'm going to try to pick the door lock, but I need some time."

"Oh, God," said Sophie. "I know what that is." Her eyes widened in horror. "It's a wax Golem."

She flung her hands out and blasted a bout of cold air at the Golem, but that elicited no type of injury or reaction from the creature. The Golem tripped closer towards them; Sophie was out of ideas.

Seemingly coming to her rescue, Scatty flew forward with her swords raised, and slashed at the Golem. However, her attack did not have the desired affect. Her swords remained embedded in the creature's body, the wax trapping her swords like a fly in amber. The Golem raised its bulbous fist and Scathach had to let go of her swords in order to avoid the blow.

"Josh, listen to me," said Edward. "I need you to— Wait! What are you doing?"

Josh dropped him and dashed to the side, leaving Edward on the ground as a crumpled mess. To make matters worse, he'd fallen on his left shoulder, and the pain he'd experienced at that point was blindingly hot. His surroundings darkened, threatening to throw him into unconsciousness. Edward rolled around and forced himself to watch his companions kill themselves trying to protect Flamel from the Golem.

He needed to get on his feet, dammit. There was only one way to stop that Golem, and slashing at it and battering it was only wasting time.

Meanwhile, Josh had quickly grabbed a chair from nearby and flung it at the Golem. Just like Scatty's swords, the chair stuck fast in the Golem's body. The wax monster was like a malformed mutant of sharp weaponry, candles, and ancient furniture. Josh ducked around the Golem and grabbed another chair, this time aiming for the creature's head.

The chair he was holding onto collided with the one he had before, and the impact shattered the two chairs to bits. Splinters stuck out from the Golem like porcupine quills. Edward had to resist the urge to face palm, because he knew the effort of bringing his hand to his face would kill him, if the Golem didn't get to that first.

Sophie was desperately trying to recall the Witch's memories. She knew Dora had encountered Golems before, but she couldn't find the memory that informed her of how to kill them. There was absolutely no way any of her magic that she'd done back in Ojai could save them now. It was too useless.

"HURRY UP, NICHOLAS!" Scatty screamed. She was cut short as her nunchaku dug deep into the Golem, but too deep for her to get it out. The creature gave one big jerk and sent her flying across the room.

The Golem turned on Josh. It grabbed the boy by the shoulder and squeezed hard. The wax began to coil around Josh's neck, constricting his chest and allowing little oxygen into his lungs. Josh watched as black dots danced around his vision.

From somewhere to his right, he heard his sister scream his name, but all he could hear was garbled noise. The only thing he could see in front of him was the Golem, and he vaguely wondered if this ugly monstrosity was to be the last thing he'd ever see before he died.

And then a fuzz of gold came into view. Two pairs of illuminating gold disks.

Edward Elric had somehow gotten to his feet and cornered the Golem while it'd been occupied with Josh. With the sheer amount of strength Edward didn't know he had, he brought his hands together in a resounding clap.

Lightning flashed.

Wind howled.

All light in the room blew out.

Edward took a step forward and slammed his good hand into the creature's back. He'd never attempted a transmutation of this scale with only one hand, but he didn't care what happened to him then. All he knew was: this abomination had to go.

Deconstruction started from where his hand contacted the Golem. The reaction turned the creature into black flecks that shot away from Edward's hand like confetti. The only thing that was left of the Golem were two pairs of stocky feet, which completely dissolved into liquid wax after its body had been obliterated.

Edward coughed and doubled over, his knee striking the hard ground beneath him. The pain in his knee then was nothing compared to the sharp digging of daggers in his head, a pounding worse than a thousand drums.

Something didn't feel right in his throat. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Edward tried to hack up whatever it was that was in there, but he only vomited a fountain of blood. His word tilted and spun.

Already he had no strength left, and his most recent transmutation—as stupid as it was—robbed him of what vitality he had remaining. It was a plan constructed on the spot, with zero time for preparation before its execution. He hadn't even been sure whether it would work or not, just that it was likely and he had to try it.

Because of the transmutation, the flow of his energy, the very thing that channelled through his inner Gate, had distorted the pathway within him, injuring his body on a subatomic level that even he, a masterful alchemist, couldn't entirely comprehend. Add that to the list of every injury he currently suffered from, and Edward vaguely wondered why he hadn't died yet.

Because Truth still needs you for His grandmaster plan. You can't die yet, stupid. He's going to keep you alive at all costs and there's nothing you can do about it.

He was so out of it, he didn't even notice Scatty's presence nearing him, even as she lifted him to his feet.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" she said. "You could have died after that last one!"

"You're right," said Edward weakly. "If I didn't save you, we would all be dead anyway." His speech elicited another bone-jarring coughing fit.

"Stop that!"

He looked up, barely mouthing, "What?"

"Stop trying to save us!" Scatty said vehemently. "You can't save everyone, Edward! Think about yourself for a change!"

Edward was too exhausted to argue further. His head drooped repeatedly, but he still stubbornly refused to black out. Scathach growled under her breath, resisting the urge to knock him out herself. She would have, if he wasn't hurt already.

"Flamel!" she yelled. "Are you done yet?"

At the doors, Nicholas' face lit up as he heard a faint click. "Yes!" he said. "Yes, let's get going!"

The doors swung open and cold air rushed in. Nicholas was first to step outside, but he looked over his shoulder and waited for his companions to catch up.

Sophie was kneeling beside her brother, close to where the wax Golem had been, and she was carefully inspecting any injuries Josh may have suffered. She had him seated against a stone column.

"I thought that Golem almost had you," she said. "Don't you ever do that again, Josh! You're helpless against that sort of thing, you know that."

Josh was tired of Sophie constantly babying him and fussing over his wellbeing. One of the reasons why he wanted to be Awakened so badly was to show Sophie that she didn't need to watch over him anymore. He wanted to fight and protect her instead. Despite her newfound abilities, Sophie was just as fragile, if not more. One little push too far and she could lose herself in her powers. Josh didn't want to lose his sister—not like this.

His heart was caught at a standstill. On one hand, what Dee said to him back in Ojai was a little more than tempting. He wanted someone to teach him magic. Dee, despite what he did, was a powerful man. If they hadn't been interrupted back at the park in Ojai, Josh would have said yes. He would have gone with Dee.

But what Edward had claimed was also true to Josh. He didn't want to let Ed down, especially when he'd recently proved himself capable despite not having any magical powers. It worked out okay so far.

"And what?" Josh argued. "You're not? You almost died too, Soph! Just because you got these new powers doesn't mean you're invincible. I was just trying to help. Strength doesn't come from any magical abilities."

"But from the spur of the moment?" Sophie finished. "That's reckless thinking. Where did you learn that from? A movie you've watched?"

"No." Josh tilted his head in the direction of Scatty and Edward. "That half-dead guy over there. The one who's still alive because he believes in 'the spur of the moment'."

Sophie pursed her lips, wondering if stretching on the banter would help any of them in the long run. Deeming it no, she patted her twin on the shoulder and apologized for acting so rash. Josh made some imprudent decisions sometimes, but his heart was in the right place.

"I was worried, that's all," she said.

Josh's features softened. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

"You sure you're okay?"

"'M fine. The only thing I'm worried about is getting out of here without any trouble. For some reason, I have a feeling it's not going to be the case."

"Well, you can help by taking him," said Scathach from out of nowhere, dragging Edward along with her.

She dumped the blond into the siblings' care and ran back to the other side of the room to retrieve her weapons. When the Golem had flung her, enough of her weight had dislodged her weapons from the creature's waxy body, but as her hands let go, the weapons flew off in a totally different direction. Scatty wondered if she should attach a permanent chain around her weapons to her body. It didn't seem like a bad idea.

"Come you, you guys," she said to the twins, ushering them towards the door. "Out, out. Hurry up!"

Both Sophie and Josh struggled under the weight of Edward; it very much felt like they were lugging a sack of potatoes around, except Edward was much more fragile. Neither of the twins wanted to drop him in fear of breaking his body further, but they managed to get him out safely.

"Put me down," he muttered. "You don't need to freaking carry me."

"Can you walk?" Sophie asked.

"I can stand." Edward scowled. "But if it makes you feel better, you can help me walk. One of you," he clarified, as both Sophie and Josh stepped forward to take him.

"You take him," said Sophie. "We may need my powers again, so . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," Josh responded, and he looped Ed's arm around his neck. "How's this?"

"Better than dropping me on the ground and leaving me to die," Edward said.

"Leaving you to—what . . . ? Oh." Josh's face reddened as he remembered dumping Edward on the ground to fight the Golem. "Sorry."

Nearby, Scathach approached Flamel, who was gazing out into the city of Paris with a thoughtful expression, his hands clasped behind his back.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Sophie was right about twelve police cruisers," he said. "They're approaching quickly. Machiavelli has definitely caught scent of us. The smell earlier wasn't a ruse. We best prepare ourselves for whatever he has planned."

"He's not Dee. He'll try to talk it out before making someone else do the dirty work for him. He won't fight us."

"Maybe not, but we still need to be wary. Who knows what he has in store."

Outside the basilica, a hundred steps led down the hill, and a view of the entire city stretched before them. The church's main courtyard was empty, but it was only a matter of time until the police arrived. Instead of despairing, Flamel appeared content to just continue watching the city.

"Home," he sighed. "It's been too long."

"There's one thing I don't get," said Scatty. "Was that Golem meant to be a challenge? Machiavelli must have known it couldn't possibly kill us, at least not so easily."

"It's not a Golem. It's a tulpa. They're far more powerful and advanced than a Golem."

"But even still. We would have gotten out of there in no time at all."

"That's true, but I think the tulpa was meant to be a distraction, and it worked. He probably didn't anticipate Elric. The boy bought us a lot of time. If it was just us, I'd imagine as soon as we step out of the church, we'd be greeted by Niccolo and his police force," said Nicholas. "That's what he wanted this entire time, for us to be occupied while he took his time getting here."

He risked a glance at the blond, who was slumped against Josh in a state of semi-consciousness.

"He's been a valuable asset to us so far. If the Dark Elders get their hands on him—"

"You can't possibly think of using him in our war," said Scathach, barely containing her incredulity. "Look at him! He's—" She deflated, face saddening. "Look at him. Does he look like a soldier?"

"He has the eyes of one." Young he may be, but those eyes of his are much more haunted than the rest of his features. Although his posture is proud and tall, there is much sadness within him.

Scatty shook her head. "No, Nicholas. He just looks like a lost boy to me, desperately searching for something. We can't use him in our fight. He's not like Sophie or Josh who have no choice but to be a part in this war because they were born involved. Edward's different. He has choices."

"Whether he likes it or not, he's already heavily involved with us. It's too late to pull out."

"Then why are we waiting here?" said Scatty. "Why are we just standing around, wasting the precious time Edward managed to buy for us? He nearly died doing it!"

"Don't you think I understand that?!" Flamel snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "We have no choice but to wait here for Machiavelli to arrive. If we leave now, he's going to wonder how we've escaped. He knows our abilities; he knows how long it will take us to defeat that Golem. He's going to assume we have someone else with us, someone more powerful. He's going to want to search. We cannot compromise Edward now. It's too dangerous."

"Dee would have informed him already."

"No." Flamel's eyes were hard with certainty. "No, he wouldn't. At least not outright. If we wait here and hide Edward's presence from him, we can avoid such suspicion, from him and his Elders."

"But is that such a good idea, Nicholas," Scatty pressed. "He's not going to agree to this."

"The boy has no aura. He should be relatively easy to conceal. Just wait him by the statues near the entrance. We can stand in front of him. The darkness should hide most of what we can't. As long as he keeps his eyes closed."

Edward's eyes had a strange luminous affect to them. They reflected any light that came their way, which made them seem as if they gave off light of their own. Flamel first thought it disturbing, but something at the back of us head told him otherwise. He didn't know what it was—it must have been something he read in a book ages ago.

Flamel turned and locked eyes with Sophie. "Did you catch all that?"

Sophie gave one slow nod.

"Most of the time, eavesdropping is rude, but I'll let it slide this time. Make sure Edward is comfortable. The police are here."

So I don't know if any of you have noticed, but there are certain inconsistencies with this fic, and some of you have actually pointed this out to me in the past, be it recently or distantly.

Firstly, the rating of this fic is officially Rated T. The book series of the Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel itself has barely any strong language, but since we have Edward in this story, language may go up. If you don't like the amount of colourful profanity we have going on here, take it up with him, not me.

Also, we are officially finished with the first book, and please don't expect me to go exactly along with the book series. There is something called an AU, and it exists only slightly, but it's there. There will be certain deviations, and if any of you are wondering, I did not have the first book as a reference when I was writing this fic. But now I do. Excuse all the stupid mistakes I've made in the past chapters. That was all based on little memory I have of the first book.

Lastly, this fic is about two years old now, so I must thank all of you awesome readers for sticking with me. Some have moved on, which is fine with me; there are plenty other fish in the sea, right? But if you're still here by some miracle, THANK YOU. I've been a pretty sucky author lately, and I apologize profusely.

Now, if all is well, I'm signing out. Adieu~