The Power (The Magnificent 12 4)

“Get ready,” Mack said to his friends. “We need a spell to destroy him.”

“What?” Camaro cried. “What do you mean, destroy him? That’s the golem!”

“We have no choice,” Mack said.

“No. No, no, no,” Camaro said. “No one is destroying the golem. That’s what she wants you to do.”

Mack knew who Camaro meant by “she.”49 It made him hesitate, but only for a moment. “It has to be stopped. It has to be destroyed.”

“It’s not an it,” Camaro pleaded. “It’s a he. He is a real person underneath all that.”

“No, he is just a golem,” Valin argued.

Camaro got right in Valin’s face. Valin wasn’t scared easily. But he took a step back. A big step.

“You don’t know him,” Camaro raged. “I know him. I can get him to stop.”

By this point the Destroyer was practically on them.

Mack nodded at Camaro. “You can try.” To everyone else he said, “Hold hands and be ready.”

“Golem,” Camaro pleaded. “Listen to me. I know you’re still in there some—”

With startling speed, the Destroyer lunged. With a single powerful hand he brought the torn mailbox up high, then brought it down with shocking suddenness.

Right on Mack.

Or more accurately, right around Mack. It was like someone slamming a glass down to trap a bug. Except that this glass was small compared to the “bug.” The mailbox’s bottom slammed down on Mack’s head. He fell to his knees. His head swam and for a few moments he was completely unconscious.

The Destroyer scooped one big hand beneath the open part of the mailbox, lifted the whole thing in the air, and squeezed.

With a sound like a slow-motion car accident, the metal shards of the opening began to close. For the Destroyer it was like crushing aluminum foil. In seconds Mack was completely trapped, enclosed, inside a steel box.

The Destroyer tossed the metal prison aside. It landed hard and Mack cried out.

Stefan threw himself at the box, trying to pry it open, knowing what would happen.

Mack’s consciousness came back on a wave of dread more awful than anything he had ever felt before. His hands battered at the steel cage. His eyes searched for light. His knees were pressed up against his chest, he could barely breathe, and the Arizona sun was already raising the temperature to more than a hundred degrees.

Mack had twenty-one known phobias. But the greatest of these, the master phobia, the one phobia that outdid all the others, was claustrophobia.

Claustrophobia. The fear of being locked in a small space, unable to get out, unable to breathe, unable . . .

Those outside heard a soul-wrenching wail. It was a sound that started as a cry but rose and rose and with each second became more panicky.

They heard Mack pounding, kicking, battering his hands and knees and feet to pulp trying to smash his way out.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” Stefan cried as even his great strength failed to budge the steel.

A single car, a convertible, drove down the street, going at a leisurely pace. Taking its time. Just the one vehicle.

The top was down, and it was easy to see the red hair flowing in the breeze.

Risky was coming to claim her prize.

Thirty-two

STILL SEDONA