The Necromancer Trilogy: Prophecy

Chapter Twenty-One - "I Cannot Have Been This Unlucky"

“It’s really complicated,” Chrysanthemum trailed her finger across the spidery writing. “It’s almost as if it’s written in code.”

“But can you read it?” Sophie asked, impatiently.

They had spent two nights and a day inside a small, empty house that would pass as a hideout for a brief while. Other than occasionally sending Blue out to ‘acquire’ food (it was his phrase, not theirs), nobody had left. They had talked quietly, tried to teach Sophie enough magic to defend herself, and taken great pains not to disturb Chrysanthemum, who had not looked up from the book.

“I can read the language,” Chrysanthemum confirmed, “even if it seems to switch between languages. I’d say there were about ten people writing this book.”

“That’s interesting,” Celia murmured. “That’s very interesting.”

“So,” Sophie said, impatiently, “what have you discovered?”

“I’ve found your prophecy,” Chrysanthemum said, smugly. “I’ve found out where it is.”

“Yes!” Blue punched the air.

Sophie’s heart started to beat faster.

“Tell me,” she begged.

Chrysanthemum shook her head, vaguely. “It’s in Latin and, genius though I am, it’ll take me a few hours to translate from memory. I always preferred Greek to Latin.”

“Of course you did,” Tala murmured. “And hieroglyphics too.”

“Actually, yes,” Chrysanthemum said, coolly. “I did enjoy learning hieroglyphics. Now, you can all shut up and leave me to work this out.”

Sophie sighed in frustration and wandered across the room towards Celia.

“I’m bored,” she complained.

Celia laughed. “It happens a lot as a fugitive. Brief moments of drama and excitement followed by weeks of hanging around not doing much. You’ll get used to it soon.”

Blue had headphones in and was sitting in a corner, bobbing his head and mumbling under his breath. Tala was asleep. Zephyr was sitting cross-legged in a corner, as if she were meditating. Chrysanthemum was pouring over the book.

Sophie groaned and paced up and down, spinning angrily on her heel.

“You’ll ruin your shoes,” Celia noted.

She was lying back, hands behind her head, perfectly at ease. Sophie stuck out her tongue at her. Celia smirked.

“Child.”

Sophie racked her brains for a suitable comeback but, by the time she had found one, the moment had passed. She turned away irritably and leant on the windowsill, staring down at the lonely street and the boarded-up house opposite.