The Key (The Magnificent 12 3)

“Where?” the golem asked cautiously. They were in the hallway, standing next to the golem’s locker. The locker contained his schoolbooks, several twigs, a plastic trash can full of moist mud—just in case he did end up taking a shower—and a sketch he had drawn of Grimluk and taped to the inside of the door. The sketch wasn’t very good—it was recognizably Grimluk, but it lacked perspective.

“What is that?” Camaro demanded, noticing the portrait for the first time. “Is that your grandpa?”

“That is Grimluk, my creator,” Mack said.

Camaro frowned. “God? God’s looking like he needs dental work. No offense. Anyway, you’ll be there, right? You said you would.”

Well, there she had him. He must have said he would. Now he just had to remember what he’d said he would do. And where. Asking why would probably be greedy.

“Yes. I will be …” At this he hesitated. Because he had never been anywhere other than “here” and indeed didn’t see how it was possible to be “there.”

“The usual place,” Camaro said helpfully.

“Ah.”

“Me and Tony Pooch. All you have to do is watch my back.”

“You have a flat back.”

“Are you insulting my back?”

“No. I like watching your back. I see it whenever you walk away.”

Camaro narrowed her eyes, suspicious that this was an obscure insult. “Just be there,” she said, and showed him her back as she walked away.

The golem checked his phone. Still nothing from Mack. It was worrying him, and worry was a very new emotion for him. He didn’t know how much of it to do at a single stretch. Was it good to worry constantly? Or should he pick a time or place and worry really hard, then stop?

One of the things that worried him was that he had, in addition to his own phone, brought Risky’s phone with him to school. It was in his pocket. He had intended to either leave it home or smash it with the dining room table, but he had found he couldn’t quite bring himself to do either.

And now it was in his pocket. Waiting to ring.

“I don’t know how to worry,” he said to the portrait of Grimluk. “You didn’t teach me that.”

WWMD? What would Mack do?

Slowly he drew out both phones. The one that came from Risky. The one that led to Mack.

Still no response from Mack.

He had been told—in very definite terms—not to call Mack, only to text or email. That instruction came directly from Mack himself, which meant it was right.

Unless it wasn’t.

That was a crazy thought. The golem laughed.

But what if it was possible? What if Mack … was wrong?

The golem hit the home button, slid the bar aside, and punched in his password: 1111.35

* * *

Twenty-five

* * *

The Eiffel Tower.

It’s big. Especially when you’re right up under it, which is where our wet, bloodied, scratched, scarred, scared, and very determined little band was.