The Key (The Magnificent 12 3)

Then Mack vaulted over the side.

His feet landed on water. His knees buckled. But he did not sink. The water was not dry and it was not suddenly flat or solid or unmoving. In fact, his shoes were wet immediately. They seemed to sink an inch or two with each step, and tiny waves splashed over his ankles. But he did not sink.

“Okay, I did not expect that to work,” Mack said. He looked back to see the others gaping at him. “Come on,” he urged, with far more confidence than he felt. “No problem.”

They jumped.

Stefan plunged.

Rodrigo and Jarrah grabbed an arm each and hauled him after them as they ran in a soggy, shuffling way. It was a very odd thing to watch: two running on water, dragging a third like he was a fallen water-skier.

The current was against them, so they couldn’t run as fast as they might have liked—it was a bit like running in the wrong direction on a treadmill. But the mere fact that they were running at all on water seemed to have finally caused the cops to stop and gape in frozen astonishment.

The kids raced down the narrow part of the river, island on their left, the Left Bank on their right, and passed beneath a series of very low, mossy-bottomed bridges. Soon they were in the shadow of the great cathedral.

And there at last, just as they were feeling pretty good about themselves, and Mack was congratulating himself on his out-of-the-box thinking, they saw a figure standing on the last bridge, the one that led directly from the Left Bank to Notre-Dame.

He was a boy, clearly, although dressed a bit flamboyantly in puffy maroon pantaloons and a tight yellow vest over a full-cut white shirt. He wore a sword at his side.

Yes: a sword.

In addition to the sword, Mack spotted nunchakus stuffed into his belt. And some kind of wickedly curved knife on the other side.

“My half brother,” Sylvie hissed.

It was indeed Valin. He was smirking at them, nodding appreciatively, and when they stopped to stare up at him, he did an ironic slow clap.

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“Very nice, Mack,” Valin said.

“Valin! Join us,” Mack said.

Jarrah and Rodrigo dragged the soggy Stefan up beside Mack.

“He’s just one guy,” Jarrah said.

“He’s one guy we can’t hurt,” Mack said through gritted teeth. “Don’t forget: we need him.”

“I don’t think I would have thought of walking on water,” Valin called down. “That is very clever.”

“Valin, you have to join us,” Mack insisted, despite the ridiculousness of pleading up at him while standing on a river.

“Join you?” Valin spat. “Join the scion of a family that did terrible injustice to my ancestors? Never!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Mack pleaded.

“If I were you, Sylvie,” Valin said, “I would join with me, instead. You’re being a fool. You can never defeat the Pale Queen. Don’t you know that even now, as her time approaches, her power grows? Don’t you know that her power flows through me? Fools! You have Vargran, yes, but so do I. And I have the power of Her Majesty as well!”

“I will not join you, Valin,” Sylvie said stoutly. “And if you serve her, it will mean that someday you must kill me.”

That actually brought evidence of a twinge of conscience to Valin’s face. He drew back just a little. But then he seemed to shake it off. “That is your choice, Sylvie cherie. And it will be your doom.”

Then he began to chant Vargran words. He raised his hands high, and the sky, the pure blue sky, began to fill with boiling dark clouds.

From those swirling, malevolent clouds a lightning bolt stabbed through the sudden eerie darkness. It struck the cathedral.

Mack looked instinctively at the beautiful old stonework, expecting to see damage.