The Trap (The Magnificent 12 #2)(52)

What?

And then the golem texted back the words that would strike terror into Mack’s heart even from a distance of five thousand miles, and even after all he had endured.

Camaro asked me if I know how to dance. I do know how to dance. All golems can dance. On the floor. On the walls. On the ceiling. In fact, we can detach our legs and let them dance all by themselves. I said, “Yes.” So she said, “Then you’re going to dance your feet off. Saturday night.” This worried me because as I mentioned earlier, I got into trouble when I came to school without feet. I decided to call Mack, but he didn’t answer. So I sent him a text.


2 the dance w/ Camaro. It’s Friday night and I don’t know what 2 wear.

Camaro wasn’t making the golem dance. She had asked him to a dance. Camaro had always thought Mack was cute, and now . . .

“Mack, you look pale,” Jarrah said.

“I’m dating Camaro,” Mack said with a whimper. “She . . . she’s built like Thor.”

What good would it be saving the world if he got home someday only to find himself in a relationship with Camaro Angianelli?

They all stepped out of Harrods onto the street.

They headed down Victoria Street, walking off the terror, walking off the ickiness, trying to get their wits together. Every now and then Mack would mutter “Camaro” in a despairing tone.

But that was a problem for another day. Maybe, Mack reflected, the Magnificent Twelve would fail, the world would be conquered, and he would never have to find a way to break up with Camaro.

For now, it seemed he would have to get to the tomb of William Blisterth?ng MacGuffin. And then dig him up. Which oddly enough did not sound as frightening as dating Camaro.

As they walked, they exchanged solemn vows that they would never let themselves be caught unprepared in such a deadly mess again.

They agreed that they should instantly move on to locating MacGuffin. They agreed that once they did that, it would be time to really buckle down and learn all the Vargran they could. And really understand the enlightened puissance.

“Okay, so we’re agreed,” Mack said.

“Absolutely,” Jarrah said.

“We must find this second disk and study very hard,” Dietmar said. “We don’t know enough words.”

“And we don’t know all the rules,” Xiao said. “Why was Jarrah unable to use the spell, but it worked when Mack said it? Only by learning can we hope to survive.”

“And we have only thirty-three days left,” Mack said grimly.

But then they reached the river Thames and saw the massive Ferris wheel called the London Eye.

“Huh,” Stefan said.

“Cool, huh?” Mack said.

Dietmar said that they should very definitely buckle down and study, not go off to ride some silly Ferris wheel.

It would be very stupid to go and play when they should be learning, Xiao said.

So they blew off studying and crossed the bridge to the Ferris wheel.

Which did end up being a very, very stupid choice. But that’s another story.


The dance was not as much fun as I had hoped. Camaro had told me to wear something leather. So I wore two of the cushions from the sofa. Now I have triple detention. Also I have counseling sessions. Mack’s father told me I need to straighten up and fly right. So now I’m trying to find enough mud to make wings. I don’t want Mack to be in trouble when he gets home.





About the Author



MICHAEL GRANT has spent much of his life on the move. Raised in a military family, he attended ten schools in five states, as well as three schools in France. Even as an adult he kept moving, and in fact he became a writer in part because it was one of the few jobs that wouldn’t tie him down. His fondest dream is to spend a year circumnavigating the globe and visiting every continent. Yes, even Antarctica. Michael is the author of the bestselling Gone series. He lives in California with his wife, Katherine Applegate, and their two children. Visit Michael online at www.themichaelgrant.com.

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