“Listen, we have the Key now. So how about for once we do the smart thing and actually take a few minutes to learn some useful spells? You know, before we run into whatever gauntlet Risky has prepared for us outside.”
“Yes,” Dietmar seconded enthusiastically.
“Awww, homework?” Jarrah moaned. But then she sighed and said, “All right then. A bit of Vargran can’t hurt.”
It was fifteen minutes before the Five plus Stefan emerged from the Métro stop. And when they stepped into the glittering Paris night near the hectic traffic free-for-all at the head of the Pont de l’Alma, the Alma Bridge, they were a different bunch of kids than they had been before.
* * *
Nineteen
* * *
They emerged from the Métro.
Now, no one is saying they looked like, oh, the Magnificent Seven from that movie, all riding their horses and seeming tough.
No one is saying they were six little Bournes, each a human killing machine. No one is drawing any parallels to the Avengers. (The kids had met Thor, and real Thor was nothing like movie Thor.)
But they were prepared for once. Ready for battle.
Oh, yeah: they were ready.
Their first battle was getting across traffic to the bridge. Their foes were many and they were armed with bright headlights and horns and French cursing.
The Magnificent Five plus Stefan made it finally onto the bridge. The entry point to the sewers where Rodrigo and Charlie were hiding was on the other side.
The bridge itself was kind of a “meh” bridge. Not much fanciness, just a lot of cars. But there were nice pedestrian walkways, too, and our intrepid heroes walked across that bridge until they reached the statues of the giants.
Wait. If the bridge—Pont de l’Alma—was so boring and “meh,” what’s this about giants?
Well, none of the Magnificent Five plus Stefan was that familiar with Paris—not even Sylvie, who was French but not Parisian. So for all they knew, the bridge was famous for its statues of giants.
Furry giants.
White-furred giants that had just clambered up onto the bridge from down below as they sensed the approach of the Magnifica.
But by the time Mack noticed them, they were standing stock-still, one on either side of the bridge, and his first thought was, Cool.
Then his second thought was that traffic was slowing down and people with serious trout mouth were staring in amazement. Local people don’t stare at familiar landmarks. It’s a fact that no Washingtonian has ever seen the Capitol building and no San Franciscan has ever noticed the Golden Gate Bridge and no New Yorker has ever looked up at a video billboard in Times Square.
So no way a bunch of Parisians were staring in jaw-dropped amazement at statues that were actually supposed to be there.
“Look out!” Mack yelled.
Everyone stopped except Dietmar, who kept loping along. He was reaching out his hand to touch the nearest of the giants, no doubt wondering how a statue could be made to appear so realistically furry.
The giant was about twenty-five feet tall, about five Macks or four Stefans or not quite six Sylvies.
It was covered with fur like a polar bear’s except that it was turning a shade of pink. It had a massive head that was not bearlike but more feline, albeit with an enormous mouth filled with enormous teeth.
It had two legs like tree trunks and two arms like slightly smaller tree trunks, and hands that were three-fingered claws, each claw like one of those engraved sperm whale31 teeth you sometimes see in nautical-themed stores.
It was a Gudridan. They both were. And although Mack had heard that word before, he didn’t know to connect it to these monsters.
“Dietmar! Stop!” Mack cried.
Too late. The Gudridan’s hand swung around like a boxer throwing a haymaker. The massive hand snatched Dietmar up and held him effortlessly as he strained, punched, and yelled.