The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

So now what the Magnificent Four had landed in the middle of was a puzzling, half-torn-down series of stone pi symbols.

And they were not alone. Ereskigal appeared just seconds behind them. And then Thor, and he was beyond berserk, because he was embarrassed and humiliated at having been played for a fool by Risky.

Stefan was in Jarrah’s jeans pocket. His tiny head was barely able to peek out.

“Hey, I’m still shrinking!” a tiny voice cried.

Nine Iron and Valin dropped in next. Nine Iron drew the blade from his cane with the lightning quickness of a drunk turtle. But Valin was quicker. He had his knives out and was busy flashing them dramatically, slicing the air.

“You tricked me!” Thor thundered at Risky.

“You’re really pathetic,” Risky said, sneering openly at the thunder god.

Thor had Mjolnir in one hand, his sword in the other. “They are mine until you pay me what you promised.”

“You want a piece of me?” Risky challenged.

“I got a hammer, and you look a lot like a nail,” Thor shot back.

“Bring it, blondie,” Risky snarled.

Jarrah pulled out her phone and began frantically dialing.

Xiao switched to dragon.

Dietmar yelled that everyone should be careful, Stonehenge was a priceless cultural treasure.

Mack measured the distance from where he stood to safety. But since Stonehenge is in the middle of nothing but farmland, he couldn’t even guess which way to run.

“Mom?” Jarrah said into the phone, covering her ear with her hand to block the noise of Thor bellowing and Risky snarling and Mack whimpering and Nine Iron gasping for breath and Valin cheering himself on with admiring “Hah! Hee-yah!” sounds.

Thor hurled Mjolnir. It caught Risky in the stomach. She flew backward and smacked one of the rocks so hard the lintel was knocked loose.

It fell—tons of stone—on Risky’s head.

But by the time it smashed down on her, she was no longer her usual lusciously evil self. Instead she had become a giant, stocky woman with a long blond braid on one side of her head and a kind of twig ponytail on the other.

In fact, she looked half bad and half good. On the right side she was a blond Viking amazon—powerful, shiny, as healthy looking as a model in a yogurt commercial.

The left side of her looked like what the right side would look like if you killed it, buried it for a thousand years, and then dug it up. She was half alive and very Xena Warrior Princessish, and half animated corpse, complete with bits of exposed bone, hanging flesh tatters, and cavorting worms.

It was the corpse hand that stopped the lintel stone and tossed it aside as if it were no heavier than a Wheat Thin.

“Ah, now there’s the Hel I know,” Thor said. Mjolnir had returned to him.

“Yes, Mum, I know it’s the middle of the night there,” Jarrah shouted into her phone. “But I’m having a bit of a situation here and I need some Vargran words.”

Valin advanced on Mack, still slashing away like he was cool. Mack was helpless. But Valin hesitated.

“Just surrender to Nine Iron, and I won’t have to slice you up,” Valin said.

“Maybe you’re not a total cold-blooded killer,” Mack said, hoping he was right.

“It’s Stefan, Mum,” Jarrah said. “I’ve shrunk him and he won’t stop.”

“Nice try,” Valin said, and rushed at Mack.

Mack bolted.