The Trap (The Magnificent 12 #2)(48)

“You are . . . You are . . . Oh, by All-Father Me, you are Franz Müller! In the flesh! It is a great honor to meet you,” Odin said. “I’m a huge fan.”

The player extended a shaky hand and grasped two of Odin’s salami-sized fingers.

“I saw you play for the national team against Spain when you scored three goals!” Odin enthused. “The greatest match I’ve seen in . . . well, I don’t want to tell you how long; you’ll think I’m—”

“A doddering old fool?”

For split second Mack was sure it was Dietmar. He didn’t know Dietmar that well yet, but the kid had a distinct tendency to blurt out things that would be better kept to himself.

But it wasn’t Dietmar.

Thor and Fenrir edged apart, and there she was in the space between them, striding forward with smirking confidence.

“Hel!” said Odin.

“Risky!” said Mack.

“You!” said Nott.

The daughter of the Pale Queen took a moment to pat Fenrir on his ruff.

Odin, who had seemed impossibly intimidating just seconds earlier, seemed to shrink and age as he gazed solemnly at the thin wisp of a girl.

There was no question who was more scared of who. Or whom. Whichever.

Or maybe there is a question, so let’s clear up the hierarchy of fear: Odin was scared of Risky. Odin in turn scared Thor and Fenrir. Thor and Fenrir scared Nott.

And all of the above scared Mack. And none of the above scared Stefan, despite the fact that he was the size of a kitten. Jarrah lifted him up and cradled him in her arms protectively.

“So, Mack,” Risky said, revealing her perfect teeth in a smile that was at least as warm as a penguin’s feet and almost as inviting as a graveyard at midnight, “did you have a nice flight from China?”

“Wait,” Thor said. But he said it politely. “We have a deal. I have your Magnifica. But before you take them, you have to pay me what you promised.”

Even when he was shaking with fear, Mack noticed things. And he noticed just the slightest flicker in Risky’s amazing green eyes.

“Yes, of course; we’ll talk about it later.”

Nott must have noticed something, too, because she said, “Don’t trust her, you big oaf. She’s lying.”

Again a slight flicker, quickly hidden by a narrowing of the princess’s eyes and a baring of her teeth, which grew sharp and long and positively vampirish. “I keep my bargains.”

She snapped her fingers. The nearest of the pool-portals switched from the movie-theater view to a view of the park at the base of the Externsteine. More than a dozen blue-and-white police cars, and two orange-and-white ambulances, and a lot of cops and tourists—all agitated, many snapping pictures of the transformed monument, and some eating sandwiches—appeared and floated hologram-style.

There, in one corner, sucking on his oxygen while his flamboyantly dressed apprentice chatted with two girls, was Paddy “Nine Iron” Trout.

Risky’s left arm began to grow. It stretched and turned serpentine. Or more accurately, octopoid (which is a real word). There were suckers lining the bottom of this fantastic appendage.

Risky extended her octo-arm into the hologram, wrapped it around Nine Iron, and pulled. He disappeared from the hologram and appeared, dazed and breathless, before them.

Risky didn’t waste time on pleasantries or explanations. “Paddy, the money.”

Nine Iron’s eyes—yellowish and evil—flitted left and right. He gulped. He fumbled for his oxygen. And for just a moment Mack had the impression that Nine Iron was blushing. Like a little girl. A little girl with very bad skin.

“The money, Paddy,” Risky said in a low voice.

“The money, is it?” Nine Iron stalled.

“Yes. The money.”

“Ah, well, as to the money . . . My apprentice put it all on one of these newfangled cards.”

“Your apprentice,” Risky said.

“The lad with the pantaloons.”

Using her octo-arm, Risky yanked Valin into the room.

“Gee-ah-ah-aaah!” Valin said upon seeing Odin, Thor, Nott, the Magnificent Four, the Asgard TV room, and Risky.

Risky held out her hand. Her actual hand. “The money.”

Mack was pleased to see that Valin fumbled repeatedly in his effort to extract what turned out to be a debit card.

“What is this?” Odin demanded.

“It’s the way they do things now,” Risky said. She was clearly impatient. “Can I take my prisoners now?”

Odin looked unhappily at the card, turned it over, flicked it with his fingernail, and said, “Strange money.”

“Yes, time marches on,” Risky said. It was clearly a struggle for her to remain polite. But just as clearly, she didn’t want to be distracted by a fight with Odin and the others. “It’s the money, Odin. I don’t lie.”

“I doubt that,” Dietmar said. “You are evil, and evil creatures would not hesitate to lie.”

This time Mack kind of appreciated Dietmar’s bluntness. Because Odin was obviously unconvinced, and Thor kept looking around anxiously, like he was waiting for someone or something.

Finally Thor asked, “Where are they?”

An impatient growl escaped from Risky’s perfect white throat. “They are waiting for you,” Risky said smoothly—too smoothly. “In fact, they are very excited to meet you, Thor.”