The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

He stepped into view, filling the arch at the far end of the hall. He still had his guitar, but the T-shirt and sweatpants were gone. Now he wore tall leather boots, sketchy deerskin leggings, a threadbare orange-red knee-length tunic, and what looked like the mangy skin of one very large bear over his shoulders.

He did not have a helmet, let alone one with horns.

He did, however, have a very impressive belt hung with a very wicked-looking sword.

Nott said, “Let them go, Thor. The old days are dead and gone. You cannot bring them back, not even with the Pale Queen’s money.”

Thor’s cold blue eyes stared at her with open contempt. “Three thousand years ago the Pale Queen was taken and bound. And for a long while after, we still kept our power, Nott. But each year it faded. Just a little at first. But little by little . . . And now look at me. Gaze with pity and contempt upon he who was once the god of thunder!”

“Dude,” Mack said. “No one was dissing you. You are still totally Thor.”

/> “Very much so,” Jarrah said. “Excellently Thorlike.”

But Dietmar said, “We have no need of such silly things as gods of thunder.”

“Sure we do,” Mack said, trying to catch Dietmar’s eye and get him to play along. “I think everyone should have a god of thunder.”

But Dietmar wasn’t having it. He stood with hands on hips, defiant. “You should be ashamed of your behavior, you so-called god of thunder, threatening us this way.”

“No, no,” Mack said tersely. “He’s totally cool with the whole giant boots and sword thing and all.”

“No. He is just a big bully,” Dietmar insisted.

“Emphasis on big,” Jarrah said. “So maybe we should all be a bit more polite, eh, mate?”

“Nonsense. He can squash us like insects, but that is no reason for us to flatter him.”

“Actually—” Mack started to say.

But he stopped when he felt very large, very meat-scented breath coming from behind him. He turned slowly, and there stood Fenrir, grinning his wolf grin.

“Gentle, Fenrir, gentle,” Thor said. “Hel will want them alive. You know she likes her meat fresh.”

Mack was busy calculating the distance to the green-blue glow of the observatory beyond Thor. It was only a hundred yards or so. A hundred yards and one giant thunder god.

Plus one very giant wolf.

“You’re trying to reach the observatory?” Thor said, smirking. “Well, go ahead. I’m not as quick as I used to be when I worked out in battle every day. Run for it.”

Mack had no particular phobia involving giant gods. And he’d had quite a bit of experience dealing with bullies. But this wasn’t like the old days of trying to outthink or outrun Stefan.

“Any of you guys have anything?” Mack whispered.

Xiao said, “Vargran spells will not work on gods. Except indirectly. If you had a spell to turn yourself into one of them, and a spell to give yourself a big magical spear . . .” Xiao blushed. “I realize that’s not very helpful.”

“We must not let them push us around,” Dietmar added stoutly.

“That’s even less helpful,” Mack said.

He took a deep breath. He had an idea. But it wasn’t a very good one. He turned to face Fenrir. The wolf was as big as an elephant.

“Hey, Fenrir, are you one of those wolves who like to dress up in women’s clothing and try to pass as Grandma?” Mack asked the world’s largest wolf.

Fenrir’s yellow eyes narrowed to slits.

“I mean, it’s amazing, really, how lame wolves are,” Mack went on. “Outsmarted by Little Red Riding Hood. Killed and cooked by the Three Little Pigs.”

“Lies,” Thor said. “Myths.”