The Magnificent 12 (15 page)

Thirty-two

STILL SEDONA

S
he stepped out wearing a lovely summer dress—gold and green (the green matched her eyes) and patterns in black (to match her heart).

“Well, isn't this a nice little get-together?” Risky said pleasantly.

Mack was screaming incoherently in the trap at her feet. The Destroyer loomed behind her, ready to do her bidding.

Stefan ran straight at her. Risky looked annoyed, flicked her finger, and sent Stefan flying backward to crash beside Camaro Angianelli.

Risky knelt and with a puckish smile that showed off her excellent teeth tapped on the mailbox. “Is that you, Mack?”

Mack stopped screaming.

“It must be getting stuffy in there,” Risky said. “Are you getting enough air?”

“You know he's not, you evil witch,” Jarrah snapped.

“Oh, I know,” Risky said, and her smile was feral now. “He's more frightened than he's ever been in his life. He can't control himself. He's like a mad beast in there.”

“Let him go!” Sylvie demanded.

“Hmm. Short, aren't you?” Risky said, giving Sylvie the once-over. She stood all the way up, rested one foot on the mailbox, and said, “There are only ten of you now that Mack is . . . preoccupied. And ten of you don't have the power to defeat me. Especially not without your leader. No, without Mack you have less than half the power you have with him. Did you know that? He's the greatest of you. You're all just . . . accessories.”

“I'll accessorize you!” Camaro yelled, and lashed out at Risky with a kick. She actually managed to kick Risky in the knee.

“Ow! That hurt!” Risky yelled angrily. “Destroyer! Take her! Then . . . take her apart!”

The Destroyer moved swiftly to grab Camaro around the waist. Camaro didn't scream or struggle.

“Now, let's get down to business,” Risky said. “It's hard work ruling the world. It's hard and lonely work. I think it's the loneliness that made my mother so cranky. Well, that plus the whole evil thing. But loneliness, too. I don't want to end up like her. I want a consort.”

“A concert?” Charlie asked.

“A consort. Consort. A partner. A henchman. A partner in crime. A—”

“Boyfriend?” Xiao asked incredulously.

The Destroyer drew Camaro close. It tightened its grip around her waist, and Camaro let out an involuntary cry. She put her arms around the monster's neck and seemed to be trying to choke him back. Useless, of course: you can't choke a Destroyer. You just can't.

“Long ago I found someone,” Risky said wistfully. “His name was Gil. He worshipped me, and I did not eat him or dismember him or set him on fire. No, we were close, me and Gil.”

Risky sighed heavily. “But Mother scared him off. He was devastated by losing me. He went on to be a warrior and ended up starring in some epic, but the point is he never got over me. He loved me. I could see it in his eyes. Just as I can see it in Mack's eyes when he looks at me.”

“You are insane,” Sylvie said matter-of-factly as the Destroyer drew Camaro ever closer, probably preparing to bite her head off.

Risky sat on the mailbox and crossed her legs and looked very smug and in charge. “Join me, Mack. Swear true faith and allegiance to me, and I will set you free.”

Mack was no longer screaming. But he was gasping for breath, panting and wheezing in abject terror.

“The next step is digging a hole and burying you,” Risky said. She winked at the others as if this was a flirtatious little joke.

“Nooooooooo!” Mack cried.

“Join me, Mack,” Risky crooned. “Join me.”

“Noooooo. N-n-n-n-no. No. NO. I. WILL. NOT!”

Stefan had been readying another futile charge. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Stefan had been with Mack from the beginning. No one knew more about Mack's phobias. No one had seen more of Mack's meltdowns. No one except for Mack himself had a clearer understanding of the sheer terror Mack was suffering.

“Huh,” Stefan said. And by that single word Stefan meant, “That is the bravest thing I've ever seen.”

“What do you mean, no?” Risky demanded.

“NO! NO! NOOOOOO!” Mack roared.

And at that very moment, Camaro, squeezed and choking and feeling an awful lot like an overcooked sausage about to burst open, had her first kiss.

With all her strength she pushed her face toward the Destroyer and pressed her lips against his . . . well, they were lips of a sort.

Then she drew back, barely able to breathe, and whispered, “You are not the Destroyer. You are Golem. And I love you.”

It's an interesting historical fact that the ancient rabbis who first created golems as powerful creatures meant to protect the weak (and of course kill enemies) had never attempted at any time to kiss a golem.

This was unprecedented in golem history.

Also, no one had ever loved a golem before. This is fact, this isn't something made up.

The golem's whole personality, character, mission is determined by the placement of a message in its mouth. No one had ever tried to put anything in a golem's heart.

“I love you,” Camaro said. “The real you. So please don't kill me.”

Risky heard none of this, of course, because she was busy raging at Mack. “I'll bury you alive! You diss me? Do you know who I am? I am the goddess Ereskigal, also known as Hel and a bunch of other names. I am the princess of darkness! I am evil made flesh! And I'm far more beautiful than that short French girl there!”

Sylvie could have been insulted but she was far too sophisticated to imagine that life is some farcical contest to see who can best exemplify a superficial aesthetic judgment, a judgment so often based on the needs of a capitalist marketing machine that must by its very nature . . . (This went on for quite a while longer in Sylvie's head.)

“How DARE you reject ME!” Risky roared, and it was a roar because suddenly she was transforming from a very attractive redhead to a gruesome beast of terrible shape, with a head like a bull and a—

And that's when the Destroyer punched her. It was just one punch in her bull head. But a Destroyer is very strong, and this particular Destroyer was really tired of Risky yelling at everyone, so that single blow sent her flying. She landed ten feet away, on her monster behind.

She shook her head, dazed, and resumed her usual look.

“Get Mack out of there!” Stefan yelled to the Destroyer, who was already losing his more Destroyerish features and looking more like the golem.

The Destroyer/golem easily ripped the box open, and out tumbled a sweaty, bruised, and very relieved Mack.

Also angry.

“Okay,” Mack snarled. “That's it.”

Without even being asked, the eleven joined hands. And the golem joined hands, too, because it liked to belong. And Stefan figured, well, why not? So he also joined hands.

They formed a semicircle around Risky, who was still not entirely recovered.

“Like we did to the Pale Queen,” Mack said.

In all eleven minds the Vargran spell replayed.

“One . . . ,” Xiao counted.

“Two . . . ,” Jarrah said.

“Three!” Mack cried.

“No! A life for a life!” Risky shrieked. “Let me live. A life for a life!”

“What do you mean by this?” Xiao demanded sharply.

“You give me my life, I give you a life,” Risky said quickly. “I am a goddess, after all. I can give you back a life. One-for-one trade. I live and . . .” She let it hang there.

“Dietmar?” Mack said. “Do you mean Dietmar?”

“If you mean Dirtmore, yes,” Risky said.

“No,” Mack said, not liking himself right then. “How many people will you kill? We can't let you loose on the world, Goddess Ereskigal. Not even for our friend's life.”

“I . . .” She swallowed hard, and her perfect lips quivered. “If I . . .” It was something she could barely bring herself to say. “If I . . . I could . . .” She slumped, defeated. “I would give up my power. Renounce my nature and become . . . just a girl. Just the most beautiful girl in the world and much prettier than Shrimpy McFrench girl there.”

“You can do that? You can bring Dietmar back and renounce your power?” Mack asked.

It turned out she could.

And she did.

Suddenly, there was Dietmar.

“Dude,” Mack said. “You were dead.”

“Surely not,” Dietmar said dismissively. “Perhaps an illusion of death.”

Mack instantly disliked him again, but he was still glad to see him alive. He turned to Risky. “Now the rest. You have to de-goddess yourself and become a regular girl.”

Risky sighed deeply. “It's no fun being a goddess, anyway,” she said. “Not if you won't worship me.”

She held up her hands, palms out, then with a sad expression said, “At this time, in this squalid little town, before these inferiors, I hereby renounce my power, my godhood, my immortality, and my membership to the Valhalla spa. I will henceforth no longer be Ereskigal, princess of evil, and will instead be mortal. A regular girl.”

She bowed her head and said, “Make it so.”

And suddenly the sky was darkened by a noisy flight of ravens. And then came the swirl of bats.

And it was finally over.

Well, over except that the sun started spinning in the sky before finally stabilizing.

Finally, the terrible saga had reached an end.

Except for a terrible moaning sound that rose from the very earth itself like a chorus of vengeful ghosts.

And that was it.

Except for a sudden, freezing wind that chilled them all, then blew away.

And thus it was done and over.

Except for the remaining popcorn on the hibachi all popping with a single, gigantic pop that made everyone jump.

And that was it.

No, really.

The End

I
t didn't take long to build a new school. It's amazing how quickly construction goes when you have the help of Vargran. When it was finished, it was christened Mack MacAvoy Middle School.
50

And by then Mack was no longer twelve years old. He had turned thirteen. The
enlightened puissance
still flowed through him, but it was more sluggish than before.

The Magnificent Twelve all went their separate ways: Valin to India, Jarrah to Australia, Dietmar—who still refused to believe he had been dead—to Germany, Xiao to China, Ilya to Russia, Hillary to Canada, Rodrigo to Argentina, Charlie to Britain, José to Brazil.

Sylvie was the last to leave.

“I'll miss you,” Mack said to her.

“But you will come to visit in the fall, when the school named after me is finished, yes?”

“I'll be there. You can count on me.”

Sylvie smiled. “Nothing is certain in this world, Mack. Except for the certainty that I can count on you.”

Then she was gone, and Stefan, who had said at least three “Huhs” expressing various emotions on seeing Jarrah off, joined Mack and Camaro and Camaro's boyfriend for a cheeseburger.

Camaro's boyfriend looked a little like Mack, but a little not, too. He had his own thing going on, his own style, his own look. A look that involved the occasional twig protruding from his neck. He called himself Mick, not Mack, and he was a renowned dancer.

Mack never heard from Grimluk again, though he often stood staring into bathroom mirrors and fixtures. (This was tolerated because Mack was, after all, the greatest hero on earth.)

“So,” Mack said, biting into his cheeseburger, “I guess it's all over.”

Stefan nodded glumly and took a cheeseburger from a kid at the next table. (Bully habits die hard.) But then he reluctantly handed it back and bit into his own. “Huh,” he said. And added, “Huh,” which in this case meant, “Look at that.”

Mack turned, and three booths away sat a girl with red hair and green eyes. She was sitting with three other girls—cheerleaders from the newly renamed Stefan Marr High School.

Standing next to the booth were two boys from the varsity football team.

She had lots of friends.

Risky saw Mack looking at her. And winked. Mack shuddered.

Mack MacAvoy was not an unlikely hero. He was an impossible hero. After all, he suffered from twenty-one—no, twenty-two identified phobias.

The most recent of which was a morbid fear of redheads.

A Note to Fans

T
he Magnificent Twelve would never have existed but for my editor and friend, Katherine Tegen.

And there wouldn't have been much point in writing these four books without you, the readers. I am convinced that you are the smartest, most perceptive readers in the world. I suspect each of you has at least a little of the
enlightened puissance
. Thanks for reading. I hope you had a laugh or two.

— Michael Grant