The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

Valin chased and Mack ran, weaving in and around the stones, dodging crazily. Mack was quick and had long experience fleeing. And Valin was slowed somewhat by his insistence on slashing away all ninjalike.

Risky held up her dead hand and grinned a grin that was half Crest whitening toothpaste and half the picture your dentist uses to scare you into flossing.

From her upraised clawlike hand shot not a beam but a sort of swirling mist of blue-black light. This struck Thor on his recently stabbed and hastily bandaged leg.

Thor cried out in pain. The deerskin leggings curled and crisped like plastic wrap in a fire. The skin beneath peeked through and then it, too, began to shrivel and boil with pustules that popped and oozed black goo.

But Thor wasn’t done. He feinted, pretending to throw his hammer, but at the last minute he leaped high and stabbed downward with his sword.

Risky dodged, but too slowly, and the sword went through her stomach.

Shfoomp!

Unfortunately it cut the left side—the dead side, in case you’ve lost track—and rather than killing the evil princess, it released a swarm of spiders.

The spiders poured in a black and gray mass from the wound. Like some kind of hideous death vomit. Like the worst flavor of yogurt ever squishing out of a Go-Gurt tube. Like if you did time-lapse photographs of your nostrils over the entire course of a two-week cold. Except instead of mucus it was spiders.

The point is: spiders.

You may recall that Mack did not like spiders. He didn’t like them the way dry straw doesn’t like fire.

“Aaaah-ah-yaaaah!” Mack said.

He couldn’t stop quickly enough and went crunching crunching crunching across the spider stream.

Then Valin yelled, “Aaaah-ah-yaaaah!”

“Spiders!” Mack cried.

“Spiders!” Valin agreed.

And yet Valin would not stop chasing him and so Mack couldn’t stop running and both of them were running and shrieking and alive with terror.

“You’re breaking up,” Jarrah said into her phone. “I can’t use ‘grow,’ I already used it. I need, like, ‘restore.’ Please, Mum, hurry, I have to go! You’re breaking up! Text me!”

Dietmar was unperturbed by the spiders. He waited patiently for Mack and Valin to do a complete panicky squealing circuit around the henge. Then, as they passed close by, he scooped up a handful of spiders and flung them at Valin.

That was it for Valin. He’d had enough. A person with arachnophobia may be able to stand stomping on them, but they sure can’t stand having spiders in their embroidered jacket or their pantaloons.

Valin lost it and ran madly away, beating at his clothing like a crazy person.

Meanwhile, Nine Iron just about had his blade out.

“Thanks,” Mack gasped to Dietmar.

Thor stumbled past as his pustulated leg folded beneath hi

m. Risky was on him in a heartbeat. She yanked Thor’s sword from her side and pressed the point against Thor’s muscular throat.

“Oh, I’m just going to enjoy this,” Risky said. She said it in a German/Scandinavian sort of accent so that just came out as yoost and enjoy sounded like enyooooy.

Because, see, she was in her Nordic goddess of the underworld mode.

Xiao flew up and up then dived and swooped between two of the stones, scraped beneath the lintel, and hit Risky in the back.

Risky toppled on top of Thor. She lost her grip on the sword.

“Hang on, Stefan!” Jarrah cried. “Hang on!”