The Trap (The Magnificent 12 #2)(13)

Running footsteps were approaching. Flashlight beams cast skittery pools of light by the nearest entryway.

“Dude!” Stefan hissed. “Where did the Tong Elves hit you?”

Mack pointed to his left temple. So Stefan hit him in his right temple.

It was a while before Mack regained consciousness.

It was a while longer before he realized he had his head in Stefan’s armpit. And Jarrah’s head between his ankles.

Then it really hit him.

Mack opened his mouth to scream, but Stefan’s hand was clasped firmly over it, so all he could do was yell, “Mmmm! Mmmmm! Mph-puh-rrrnnn!”

“I think the coast is clear,” Jarrah said.

“Mmmm mmmm hhhrrggh!” Mack shouted as Stefan and Jarrah unpacked themselves.

“I’m going to take my hand away, Mack,” Stefan said. “No screaming, okay?”

Stefan released Mack, who sucked air for several minutes, like Nine Iron Trout after a marathon.

“Sorry,” Mack said. “I realize I’m nuts. Okay? I know it’s craziness.”

Jarrah patted him on the back. “No worries, mate; we’re all nuts or we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Then, more serious, she said, “I felt something in there. Something carved inside the cabinet. Give us the phone light for a minute.” She aimed his phone light into the cabinet. “Yeah. You can’t see it; it’s carved in bas-relief.”

She fumbled for Mack’s hand and pressed it against the carving. Mack felt intricate bumps and swirls.

“It’s decoration,” he hissed.

“Nah. I don’t think so. It was squashed into me bum for the better part of half an hour.”

Mack focused and ran his fingers carefully, delicately over the carved area. “It’s like letters.”

Jarrah looked over Mack’s shoulder, then reached past him to feel the letters. “I think it’s Vargran. It has the same letters.”

“Can you read it?”

“Not all of it. Just a bit. Feel that? That’s the number nine. Nine snakes? Nine snakes on a wall?”

“I saw that movie. Awesome!” Stefan said.

Mack listened hard. No more footsteps. The guards had definitely gone on to search the other 9,998 rooms.

“Yeah, that’s Vargran,” Jarrah said. “Nine hidden snakes. I think. And then a math problem.”

“A what?”

“A math problem: what is three fours?”

“Eight?” Stefan guessed. Then, in the embarrassed silence, “I’m not that good at math.”

“Twelve,” Jarrah said. She squeezed Stefan’s arm, comforting. “You’re good at other things.”

“How do we get out of here, that’s the question,” Mack said.

He turned reluctantly from the clock cabinet and stood up, sore knees cracking. Just in time to see Nine Iron thrust with his cane-sword.

Stefan saw it a split second sooner and was a split second quicker to react. He jumped in front of Mack. The blade pierced Stefan in the center of his chest.

Stefan cried out in surprise and pain.

Jarrah rushed at Nine Iron and shoved him onto his butt. The sword went flying, twirling across the polished tile floor.

Mack caught Stefan as he slumped forward.

“Dude!” Mack cried.

“Huh,” Stefan remarked. He put a hand over the hole. Blood seeped through his fingers.

Mack heard shouts and rushing feet. No way to know whether it was guards or elves, and it probably didn’t matter.

“Run!” Mack hissed.

They ran, with Stefan moving at half speed and looking as if he’d soon be going slower.

Much slower.





Chapter Nine



Run!”

They ran. Out into the courtyard. Dozens of flashlights stabbed the darkness like light sabers. Chinese voices were yelling.

Mack didn’t know what they were yelling, but it was probably “Get them!”

They passed beneath an arch, up a ramp, down a staircase, running blind, no idea where they were going, just running.

But as they ran, Mack kept thinking he really should stop, give himself up. The guards would call an ambulance for Stefan. They could probably save his life.

But if they gave up, Mack would be kicked out of the country and sent home. What would become of the Magnificent Twelve then?

This was not the kind of decision Mack liked to make. Doom Stefan or doom the world. That wasn’t like choosing between shorts and jeans. This was life and death.

But it probably wasn’t going to matter much. Because suddenly Mack, Jarrah, and Stefan had run out of places to run.

They were boxed in. Guards were closing from three directions, and the fourth direction was a wall beautifully decorated in tile. Ten flashlights were in their faces, blinding their eyes.

“We have to give up,” Mack said to Jarrah.

Mack’s phone rang. He jumped about three feet in the air. “Aaah!”

“Two . . . three . . . seven . . . nine!” Jarrah said.

“What are you counting?” Mack pulled out his phone. The display showed his home number. No way he could answer it, no way.

Today Mack’s teacher said, “Where is your English paper, Mr. MacAvoy?” I said, “In England?” The teacher sent me a very hard look. “Your English paper, Mr. MacAvoy. The one I assigned last week.” This was confusing, so I said, “ I don’t understand ass sign.” So now I have extra detention. Double detained. I think I had better call Mack about the English paper. I hope he’s not busy.