“Here it comes," Niten said. The whites of his eyes,his teeth and his tongue had turned blue."Ready," Prometheus said.Nicholas Flamel touched the green scarab he now wore around his neck and felt it grow warm in his hand.The spell was a simple one,something he had performed a thousand times before, though never on such a large scale.A red-skinned head broke the surface of the water...followed by a second...and a third...and then a fourth head,black and twice as large as the others appeared. Suddenly there were seven heads streaking toward them."Let's hope no one if filming this," Niten murmered."No one would believe it anyway." Prometheus grinned. "Seven-headed monsters simply do not exist.If anyone saw it,they'd say it was Photoshopped.”

“Two against thirty two,” Niten said. “Good odds.”“I’ve never fought the Spartoi before,” Prometheus admitted. “I only know of them by their reputation—and it’s fearsome.”“We have an equal reputation,” Niten said.“Well, you do,” the Elder said. “I was never that much of a fighter. And after the fall of the island, I rarely took up weapons again.”“Fighting is a skill you never forget,” Niten said, a touch of sadness in his voice. “I fought my first duel when I was thirteen. I’ve been fighting ever since.”“But you are more than just a swordsman,” Prometheus said. “You are an artist, a sculptor and a writer.”“No man is ever just one thing,” Niten answered. His shoulder dropped and his short sword appeared in his left hand, water droplets sparkling from the blade. “But first and foremost, I was always a warrior.” He jabbed his sword into the fog and stirred it like liquid.”

“Niten drew in a deep shuddering breath and the air was suffused with the delicate odor of green tea.“And Tsagaglalal . . .”“Yes, Father?”Prometheus closed his eyes. “Tell Niten to find Aoife and ask her the question. Tell him . . . tell him she will say yes.”

“The Alchemyst had discovered that the seats revolved and had been amusing himself by swinging back and forth. His chair squeaked with each turn.Finally Prometheus turned and glared at the immortal. "If you do that one more time, I'm going to feed you to the Lotan myself.""And I will help," Niten added.”

“The small Japanese immortal sat cross-legged, his two swords resting flat on the ground before him. He folded his hands in his lap, closed his eyes and breathing through his nose, forcing the chill night air deep into his chest. He held it for a count of five, then shaped his lips into an O and blew it out again, puncturing a tiny hole in the swirling fog before his face.Even though he would never admit it to anyone, Niten loved this moment. He had no affection for what was to come, but this brief time, when all preparations for battle were made and there was nothing left to do but wait, when the world felt still, as if it was holding its breath, was special. This moment, when he was facing death, was when he felt completely, fully alive.He’d still been called Miyamoto Musashi and had been a teenager when he’d first discovered the genuine beauty of the quiet moment before a fight. Every breath suddenly tasted like the finest food, every sound was distinct and divine, and even on the foulest battlefields, his eyes would be drawn to something simple and elegant: a flower, the shape of a branch, the curl of a cloud.A hundred years ago, Aoife had given him a book as a birthday present. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she’d missed his birthday by a month, but he had treasured the book, the first edition of The Professor by Charlotte Bronte. It included a line he had never forgotten: In the midst of life we are in death. Years later, he’d heard Ghandi take the same words and shift them around to create something that resonated deeply within him: In the midst of death life persists.”

“Mist swirled and the Spartoi closed in on the defenseless Niten. Lightning fast, one lashed out at him, catching him a blow on the thigh, and he fell to the bridge with a grunt of pain. He lay flat on his back, looked up at the lizard-like creatures and realized that he was going to die. The immortal felt just the vaguest pang of regret: He had always wanted to die in his beloved Japan and he had made Aoife promise that if he fell in some foreign country or shadowrealm, she would bring his body back to Reigando in the southwest of his country. But Aoife was gone. He would never be able to fulfill his promise to rescue her. And he would never rest in his home soil.”

“Are you coming with us?"Black Hawk laughed. "Are you insane, or do you think I am? One immortal and three Elders,heading onto an island of monsters. I know who's not coming back from that trip."Mars worked his head from side to side, easing the stiffness. "He's probably right-he'd slow us down.""I'll be right here," Black Hawk said, "so that when you all come screaming back here,I'll be able to get you off the island."Even Hel laughed. "We'll not come screaming to you.""Have it your way.I'll be here,though. For a while,anyway," he added with a grin."I thought you would want to rescue your friend Billy," Mars said.Black Hawk laughed again. "Trust me, Billy never needs rescuing. Usually people need to be rescued from him.”