The Trap (The Magnificent 12 #2)(49)

“Are they?” The god of thunder looked pleased.

Mack smelled a rat. “Who?”

Thor grinned. “Led Zeppelin. I’m playing a real gig with Led Zeppelin.”

Risky decided to bluff it through. “Yes, that’s right, and the whole band is waiting for you to join them just as soon as I take care of this little bit of business.”

“I don’t think so,” Mack said. “They’ve been broken up for years. And I think the drummer is dead!”

Risky struck, quick as a cobra. She leaped at Mack, teeth bared. Before he could so much as flinch, she had him in her powerful hands. “That’s the last nerve I’m going to let you grind!”

“Throw me!” a squeaky voice cried.

A small yet shirtless muscular person flew through the air. Stefan landed on Risky’s face, grabbed a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in each tiny hand, and kicked Risky in the teeth with his cute little feet.

“Get off me!” Risky screeched.

“You lied to me!” Thor raged.

“RUN!” Stefan bellowed. But it came out more like “Ruuuun!”

Mack ran. The others followed. Around the circular room they raced.

Risky grabbed Stefan and flung him like a rag doll. He twirled through the air as Jarrah cried, “Stefan!”

Stefan landed with a plop in the farthest of the pools and disappeared from view.

No choice now, Mack had to follow. He ran, shoved a paralyzed-with-horror Jarrah forward, cried, “Jump!” and plunged after Stefan.

He swooped through the bubble-membrane—which if you were to make a compound word out of it would be a bubblebrane—and landed in a circle of tall stones.

Mack knew immediately where he was. He had seen pictures of it before.





Chapter Thirty-two



No one knows for sure what Stonehenge is for. But it was surely not built for what was now happening.

A brief pause while we consider Stonehenge. Stonehenge is a bunch of stones that form a henge. Of course that’s not very helpful because no one knows what a henge is. So let’s start over.

About, oh, five thousand years ago a bunch of primitive Britons decided they would like to make a big circle of stones. Why? No one knows. Maybe they were trying to build a sort of calendar. Today we create calendars out of paper and photos of Justin Bieber. But in those long-ago days they had no Justin Bieber because anyone who looked as cute and doelike and vulnerable as Justin Bieber would have been barbecued.

Which, when you think about it . . . No, let’s not go there.

Anyway, they dug a big circular ditch of stones. And then they probably danced and sacrificed some biebers to their pagan gods.

Flash forward a couple of thousand years, and now it’s about three thousand years ago when a nameless, visionary pagan decided, “That old earthen circle is lame. We could totally build a much better one with stones. And then girls would like us.”

“Brilliant!” the other pagans cried.

They set about building. They used really big stones, like fourteen feet tall. Or as they said back then, “about two shaquilles.”

They built a nice circle of giant stones and topped them with giant horizontal stones, forming lintels. And when you stood back and looked at it, you’d think, “You know, if we put a domed roof on this, it would look kind of like the Jefferson Memorial in Washington. Or like—”

And then the pagans might well sacrifice you for not knowing the difference between Neolithic and neoclassical architecture.

The pagans had no patience with architectural ignorance.

Once Stonehenge was built, they undoubtedly held a pagan dance, but a reserved, unathletic, somewhat awkward and rhythm-impaired dance because they were, after all, English.

The pagans enjoyed their big stone circle and brought their dates to see it. Until civilization came to Britain and all the pagans had to be killed off. Civilization didn’t approve of pointless stone circles. Civilization didn’t realize it could be a really great tourist attraction that would bring millions of visitors, each of whom would look around and ask, “What is it?”

In the intervening years, many of the giant stones were hauled off to make forts, castles, redoubts, and the other killing-related structures that civilization loves.

So now what the Magnificent Four had landed in the middle of was a puzzling, half-torn-down series of stone pi symbols.

And they were not alone. Ereskigal appeared just seconds behind them. And then Thor, and he was beyond berserk, because he was embarrassed and humiliated at having been played for a fool by Risky.

Stefan was in Jarrah’s jeans pocket. His tiny head was barely able to peek out.

“Hey, I’m still shrinking!” a tiny voice cried.

Nine Iron and Valin dropped in next. Nine Iron drew the blade from his cane with the lightning quickness of a drunk turtle. But Valin was quicker. He had his knives out and was busy flashing them dramatically, slicing the air.

“You tricked me!” Thor thundered at Risky.

“You’re really pathetic,” Risky said, sneering openly at the thunder god.

Thor had Mjolnir in one hand, his sword in the other. “They are mine until you pay me what you promised.”

“You want a piece of me?” Risky challenged.

“I got a hammer, and you look a lot like a nail,” Thor shot back.