The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

It was tug-of-war with an unseen god, which sounds like it might be the metaphorical title of a sermon, but in this case was a literal description of reality.

Jarrah slipped out of sight, drawn into nothing. But then she reappeared, pulled back.

Suddenly, the soccer players started getting into the act. They didn’t like kids wandering around midfield, but they were even more opposed to giant hands. So they began to pummel the mighty god fingers and pull on Jarrah, and they kept it up until a gigantic wolf’s head poked into view and roared so loudly, with such angry ferocity, that some pretty tough-looking guys lost their grip and ran screaming like little girls.

Only one player managed to hold on as Jarrah, Dietmar, Mack, Xiao, and tiny Stefan were yanked powerfully through the portal, to land in a disorganized heap on the floor of the observatory.

The hand did not belong to Thor as they had expected. It was mighty Odin’s mighty hand. And Odin the mighty was mightily angry.

“I had a three-hundred-mark bet on that match!” Odin raged.

“You mean three thousand euros,” Dietmar corrected him.

Odin blinked. He blinked again. Mack waited for the deathblow. As big and scary as Thor was, there was something about the very angry Odin that spelled out “No one messes with me!” in big, flashing neon letters. Odin looked old and worn down, but he looked like an old and worn-down version of a very scary guy you would not have wanted to meet when he was young and unworn.

In fact, Thor and Fenrir were hanging back and looking a bit nervous. After all, Odin might decide to blame them for this interruption in the match and the loss of his bet. Fenrir was chewing his paw, trying to look nonchalant, and Thor was paying a lot of attention to Mjolnir, which was now a guitar once more and apparently in need of polishing with Thor’s sleeve.

Mack closed his eyes, prepared for death, and thought, Well, it was a good life. Short but good.

But when Mack looked again, he saw Odin’s face transforming slowly from enraged mythological divinity to sheepish, starstruck fan.

Odin actually wiped a nervous hand on his tunic. He extended it to the soccer player, who stood gaping like your goldfish after you accidentally drop it on the carpet.

“You are . . . You are . . . Oh, by All-Father Me, you are Franz Müller! In the flesh! It is a great honor to meet you,” Odin said. “I’m a huge fan.”

The player extended a shaky hand and grasped two of Odin’s salami-sized fingers.

“I saw you play for the national team against Spain when you scored three goals!” Odin enthused. “The greatest match I’ve seen in . . . well, I don’t want to tell you how long; you’ll think I’m—”

“A doddering old fool?”

For split second Mack was sure it was Dietmar. He didn’t know Dietmar that well yet, but the kid had a distinct tendency to blurt out things that would be better kept to himself.

But it wasn’t Dietmar.

Thor and Fenrir edged apart, and there she was in the space between them, striding forward with smirking confidence.

“Hel!” said Odin.

“Risky!” said Mack.

“You!” said Nott.

The daughter of the Pale Queen took a moment to pat Fenrir on his ruff.

Odin, who had seemed impossibly intimidating just seconds earlier, seemed to shrink and age as he gazed solemnly at the thin wisp of a girl.

There was no question who was more scared of who. Or whom. Whichever.

Or maybe there is a question, so let’s clear up the hierarchy of fear: Odin was scared of Risky. Odin in turn scared Thor and Fenrir. Thor and Fenrir scared Nott.

And all of the above scared Mack. And none of the above scared Stefan, despite the fact that he was the size of a kitten. Jarrah lifted him up and cradled him in her arms protectively.

“So, Mack,” Risky said, revealing her perfect teeth in a smile that was at least as warm as a penguin’s feet and almost as inviting as a graveyard at midnight, “did you have a nice flight from China?”

“Wait,” Thor said. But he said it politely. “We have a deal. I have your Magnifica. But before you take them, you have to pay me what you promised.”

Even when he was shaking with fear, Mack noticed things. And he noticed just the slightest flicker in Risky’s amazing green eyes.