The Power (The Magnificent 12 4)

Risky stared at the place where the girl—Mustang or Cabana or some such thing (Risky had never been good with names)—had been seconds before.

“Unh-garo!” the Destroyer cried.

It didn’t take Risky long to figure out what had happened. The girl—Camaro, yeah, that was her name—had spoken the Vargran words that would take her to Mack.

Was Camaro one of the Twelve? What would that give Mack? Had more joined him?

What if . . . Risky felt a thrill of fear. What if Camaro was the twelfth of the Twelve?

That would be a real good news–bad news situation for Risky. After all, she wanted her mother to be stopped and either killed outright or imprisoned for another few millennia or perhaps forever. And if Camaro was one of the Twelve, maybe even the twelfth, well, that would mean that at least in theory the Magnificent Twelve could defeat the Pale Queen.

In theory. It wouldn’t be easy. Not at all a foregone conclusion.

On the other hand, if they could take down the Pale Queen, they could take Risky down as well.

So, in a perfect world the Twelve would succeed but manage to lose half their number. Then Risky would be able to manage them. In fact she might even be able to use them. It might be nice to have a few spare Magnifica around to handle the smaller evils that Risky would need to get done.

The worst thing would be if the Twelve prevailed against the Pale Queen and all of them survived. Risky could not hope to deal with that. Not the twelve twelves.

Decision time. What to do?

“Destroyer!” Risky said.

“Yes.”

“Did we not go over this? At the very least, Yes, mistress! Or goddess. Or princess. Your choice.”

The Destroyer stared blankly at her.

“Interesting,” Risky said under her breath. That was the problem. The Destroyer had no decision-making capability. She had noticed this before. If she gave him a choice, he’d be baffled. He would need very specific instructions.

“Minions!” Risky shrieked in a voice so big it had to be heard all across Sedona and up into the hills. It reached all the dark hidey-holes where the Skirrit and Tong Elves had hidden after the dance.

They came rushing from garages and sewers, from the closets of scared children and the reeking, indescribably filthy rooms of teenage boys. There was no great horde of them—her mother had allowed Risky to take only a handful of each, a dozen in all, but that was more than the tiny Sedona police force could deal with.

“Minions!” Risky cried. “I order you to heed my words. I order you to obey!”

“Yes, princess!”

“Yes, goddess!”

“Yes, mistress!” they cried, each making his own choice of preferred title. See, that was the problem, she thought, nodding. Well, live and learn.

“Okay, first things first,” Risky shouted. “You will all address me as goddess!”

The Tong Elves and Skirrit were good with that. They’d always been confused on just what to call the Pale Queen’s daughter and frankly they were happy to have the matter cleared up.

“Yes, goddess!” they cried with audible relief.

“You, too, Destroyer. You are to call me goddess!”

“Yes, goddess,” the go— er, Destroyer said dutifully.

“Now, all of you listen to me! I want this town emptied out! I order you to terrorize these humans! Make them quake and gibber and wet their pants with terror. And drive them from town! Drive them all away!”

“Hey!” one police officer protested, because this didn’t sound like a nice thing to do.

“Drive them all from this place!” Risky cried, and raised her arms triumphantly in the air. “Drive them all away in terror! Ah-ha-ha-ha!”