“I am not talking about immortality now," Perenelle said, her Breton accent thickening. "We have lived for centuries, Nicholas, centuries. I am not afraid to die because I know that when we go, we will go together. It is living without you that would be unbearable.”

“I am not afraid to die because I know that when we go, we will go together. It is living without you that would be unbearable.”

“And we die together." He smiled softly. "I would prefer that. I do not want to live in this worldーor any other world, for that matterーwithout you.”

“Or maybe he just rediscovered his humanity,” Niten said quietly. “Maybe someone reminded him that he is human first, immortal second.”“You said as if you are speaking from personal experience,” Perenelle said.”“I am,” he said softly. “There was a time when I was . . . wild.”“What happened?”He smiled. “I met a redheaded Irish warrior.”“And fell in love?” she teased.“I didn’t say that.”“You didn’t have to.”

“It's been open about a year now.And it is one of my favorite places in the city.""You never told me," he said, sounding surprised."So even after all these years,we can still surprise one another," she teased.He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Even after all these years," he said. "So enlighten me-how often do you come to this place?""Five,maybe six times a week.""Oh?""Every morning when I'd leave the shop,I'd usually walk down to the Embarcadero,amble along the promenade and end up walking the length of this pier.Where did you think I was for that hour?""I thought you'd popped across the road for coffee.""Yea,Nicholas," Perenelle said in French. "I drink tea. You know I hate coffee.""You hate coffee?" Nicholas said. "Since when?""Only for the last eighty years or so."Nicholas blinked,pale eyes reflecting the blue of the sea. "I knew that.I think.""You're teasing me.""Maybe," he admitted.”

“Niccolo Machiavelli folded his arms across his chest and looked at the alchemyst. “I always knew we would meet again,” he said in French. “Though I never imagined it would be in these circumstances,” he added with a smile. “I was certain I’d get you in Paris last Saturday.” He bowed, an old-fashioned courtly gesture as Perenelle joined her husband. “Mistress Perenelle, it seems we are forever destined to meet on islands.”“The last time we met you had poisoned my husband and attempted to kill me,” Perenelle reminded him, speaking in Italian.Over three thousand years previously, the Sorceress and the Italian had fought at the foot of Mount Etna in Sicily. Although Perenelle had defeated Machiavelli, the energies they unleashed caused the ancient volcano to erupt. Lava flowed for five weeks after the battle and destroyed ten villages.“Forgive me. I was younger then, and foolish. And you emerged the victor of the encounter. I carry the scars to this day.”“Let us try and not blow up this island,” she said with a smile. Then she stretched out her hand. “I saw you try to save me earlier. There is no longer any enmity between us.”Machiavelli took her fingers in his and bent over them. “Thank you. That pleases me.”

“So we have to make sure we stop it here," he said."Exactly. Well,you asked me to get you as close to the water as possible.I presume you have a plan?""My love,I always have a plan."They heard footsteps rattling behind them and turned as Prometheus and Niten came hurrying up. They were both carrying fishing rods over their shoulders.The slender Japanese man grinned. "Do not ask him how much it cost to hire these," he said."How much?" Nicholas asked."Too much," Prometheus answered furiously. "I could have bought an entire fishing boat,or at least a very good fish dinner,for what it cost to rent them for a couple of hours," he grumbled. "Plus a deposit in case we don't bring them back.""What's the plan?" Niten asked. He held out an empty bucket. "We can'nt really go fishing. We don't have bait.""Oh,but we do." Nicholas smiled. "You are our bait.”