The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

Stone hit steel, and Thor batted the sword away with practiced ease. Thor hadn’t become thunder god by not knowing how to fight.

But Stefan hadn’t become King of All Bullies by being a wuss.

Stefan took the momentum and swung a 360, came around with his blade low and horizontal, aiming at Thor’s legs. The sword bit. It sliced into Thor’s leggings. But stopped there.

Stefan drew the sword back. There was blood on the blade.

For what felt like way too long a pause, Thor stared at the blood. So did Fenrir. And everyone else, too.

Thor began to breathe hard. His face grew red. His eyes bulged. The veins and tendons on his thick neck all stood out. His grip on the hammer tightened so much you could hear something snapping—probably his sinews, but maybe the actual granite.

“Berserker!” Nott cried. “Run! Run away! He is going berserk!”

Thor took Mjolnir, screamed something incoherent, and threw it with all his might straight at Stefan. Stefan fortunately was not one of those big muscle-bound guys who are slow and clumsy. Stefan was quick as a snake. He bent back, and the massive hammer went flying past his chest—so close that it ripped his shirt.

Mack was almost knocked over by the wind of the hammer’s passing. The tapestries flapped like laundry on a line in a gale. Nott’s gown whipped. Fenrir’s fur ruffled.

Mjolnir flew all the way down the hall. It smashed into the distant wall—crash!—with a sound like a freeway pileup. And then, impossibly, it came flying straight back to Thor’s high-held hand.

“Huh,” Stefan remarked. “Excellent.”

Stefan grabbed the front of his lacerated shirt, yanked it off, and tossed it aside. He was about twelve feet tall now, a giant with glistening muscles.

“Oh yeah, that’ll do,” Jarrah said admiringly. Then added, “I meant he’s big enough now to fight.”

“Muscles are not so important,” Dietmar muttered through pursed lips.

Thor wasn’t waiting around for Stefan to get any bigger. With a bellow that literally shook the walls, he leaped at Stefan.

Stefan slashed. Thor swung. Both missed.

They whirled past each other, came back around face-to-face, and Stefan raised the sword high and brought it down hard. It missed Thor’s skull but hacked off a few inches of hair. The blow threw Thor off balance so he couldn’t wield his hammer, but even falling away, he could kick. His boot caught Stefan in the chest and knocked him flying.

“Stefan!” Jarrah cried.

Stefan skidded halfway down the hallway on his back. His bare back skin made a squeegee sound.

“AAAAAAAAH!” Thor cried in loud triumph.

It had to be said that both Thor and Stefan seemed to be having a very good time.

But when Stefan got up, he had grown another several feet. He banged his head against the high, arched ceiling. He frowned, reached to one of the chandeliers, and pulled out what looked like a dark blue cloth.

“Someone want this?”

“My scarf!” Nott said. “So that’s where it was.”

Stefan had to squeeze to get his head around the chandelier and get back into the fight.

“He’s getting too big,” Mack said.

“I know. What’s the Vargran for ‘Stop growing’?”

“Like I know?” He felt Nott’s disk in his pocket. The disk that supposedly could be combined with another to unlock Vargran power words. Why a stone disk? Did none of these people understand the concept of a computer file?

“I don’t know ‘stop.’ I only know ‘larger’ and ‘smaller.’”

Thor charged with a roar.