“Marethyu stretched out his right hand and Aten took it in his. "Let me tell you this," the hook-handed man said. "We will meet again,you and I,in a different place and a different time.""You know this to be true?""I do.""Because you have seen the future?""Because I have been there.”

“How the mighty have fallen,” he said, looking down on Aten. Ard-Greimne was short and incredibly sensitive about his height. He always wore shoes with lifts in them. When Aten didn’t respond, he tried again. “I said, how the mighty—”“It wasn’t funny or even clever the first time you said it,” Aten said. “Nor is it original.”

“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.”

“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.”

“What have you done, brother?" Anubis snarled. "You have betrayed us.""I did what I had to do to save the world.""Chain him," Anubis commanded. He looked at his brother and his stuff face managed to twist and contort in rage. "Waerloga,"he spat.The Elder nodded in agreement. "Aten the Warlock. It has a ring to it, don't you think?”

“This is getting tedious," Dee muttered. "Drive on. Turn right into the yacht club. I have an idea." He looked at Virginia. "Can you stop them?" He jerked his thumb at the cyclists. Virginia Dare gave him a withering look. "I have stopped armies. Or have you forgotten?""I doubt you'll ever let me," he sighed. Then he stuck his fingers in his ears.Rolling her window down, Virginia placed her flute on the edge of the glass, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and blew gently.The sound was appalling.”

“And that was you?" Dee breathed, looking from Marethyu to Abraham. "I thought I was working for Isis and Osiris."Death's blue eyes crinkled. "You are, but sometimes you-and they-are working for me.”