Thor Is Locked in My Garage!

It was the third day of a heatwave that had Scotland baking like pancakes on a griddle. Old people were advised to stay indoors, everybody smelled of sun block, and there were warnings all over telling you not to leave your dog in the car.

Lewis McBride was seated on a folding chair in the back garden reading a detective novel about a scientist who tracked down a murderer by using a neutrino detector. Lewis had calculated that fifteen minutes in the sun was enough to soak up a healthy dose of vitamin D without risking sunburn, and he had decided to take it early in the morning before the heat became too intense.

He was just finishing the final chapter of the story when his watch beeped three times to indicate the fifteen minutes was up. As if on cue, the kitchen door burst open and Lewis' brother barged into the back garden, shattering the peace. At fourteen, Greg was a year older than Lewis, but Lewis had always considered himself to be the mature one.

Greg was dressed in baggy shorts, flip-flops and sunglasses. In one hand he was swinging a bag full of empty cola cans that jangled noisily. Cradled in his other arm was an enormous water gun called a Splazooka that he had bought last summer. The day after he bought the Splazooka it rained and went on raining for three weeks. The Splazooka had been hibernating in Greg's cupboard ever since.

Whistling the theme tune from
Match Of The Day
, Greg took
out the cans he'd retrieved from the recycling bin and set them up in a line across the picnic table at the back of the garden.

“What are you doing?” Lewis asked.

“Target practice,” Greg answered, setting down the last of the cans. He took six paces back and started making adjustments to the Splazooka. Lewis noted that his brother had added extra tubing and some springs.

“Your water gun looks different,” he observed.

“That's right,” said Greg. “I've cranked it up to double its firepower.”

“What do you want to do that for?”

“Because EU regulations stop them making it as strong as it could be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It stands to reason, doesn't it? The government needs water cannons to stop riots and stuff, so they can't have people shooting back with things that are just as powerful.”

“So you've given it a boost?” said Lewis dubiously.

“Sure,” Greg said. “It's just a matter of hydraulics.” He turned the gun in Lewis' direction. “Here, do you fancy a blast? It'll cool you off.” He placed a finger on the trigger.

“No!” yelled Lewis. “This is a library book!” He hid the book behind his back and threw a protective arm up in front of his face.

Just then there came a loud whoop from behind the hedge. The back gate flew open and Susie Spinetti burst into the garden.

Greg promptly shot a stream of water in her direction. Susie ducked under it nimbly and poked him hard in the stomach as she darted past.

Greg doubled over. “Oof! Not so rough, Spinny!”

“Aw, Greg, you can take it. Did you not eat your porridge this morning?”

“I'm a chocolate nut flakes man.”

“No wonder you're so slow, eating that muck.”

Susie was dressed in shorts and a Fife Flames T-shirt, with a rainbow-coloured headband around her short black hair. At school Susie was captain of the girls' football team, champion of her year in running and javelin, and was a top scorer for Fife's junior ice hockey team, the Flames. She often burst in on the McBrides at the end of her morning jog.

“It's a gorgeous day, Greg!” she enthused. “How about a dip in the Castle Rock Pool?”

Still rubbing his stomach, Greg gave her a disgruntled look. “You should watch yourself, Spinny. They used to drown witches there, you know.”

“I'll take my chances. So, how about it?”

“It's too hot to go swimming. If you want to cool off, I've got just the thing.”

He aimed the Splazooka at her again. Susie stepped forward and plugged the nozzle with her finger. “Careful, Greg,” she told him. “If you press the trigger now, it'll blow up right in your face.”

Greg pulled the water gun away. “It would be just like you to break it, right when we've finally got the weather for a water fight.”

Susie rolled her eyes. “Stop worrying about your toys, Greg. How about we go skating at the Kirkcaldy ice rink?”

“Can you not see I'm busy? Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow I'm off to hockey camp for a week. Got to work on my slap shot.” She swung an imaginary hockey stick with
such ferocity Lewis jerked back as if she'd fired a puck straight at him.

“You dragged me off to play tennis yesterday,” said Greg, “and before that it was cycling out to Tentsmuir. Could we not take a break?”

Susie put her hands on her hips. “Greg, you're not being much of a boyfriend.”

Greg scowled back at her. “Spinny, I am
not
your boyfriend.”

“Of course you are, Greg. You've even come up with a cute nickname for me.”

It's not cute. It's supposed to be offensive.”

Susie hiccuped with laughter and gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Oh, Greg, you're so funny. The things you
say
!”

Lewis decided it was time to intervene. “I see you've got new trainers, Susie,” he observed.

“Well spotted, that boy,” said Susie, hoisting her leg up at an impossible angle so that her foot was right in front of Lewis' face. “They're Skyliners, the Rolls Royce of sporting footwear. My dad's just got a load of them in for the shop.”

Susie's family owned a sporting goods store, so she always had access to the latest equipment.

Lewis gently pushed her foot back down. “I'm going inside now, before I turn into a lobster.”

“Lewis, you've only been out here five minutes!” Greg said scornfully.

Lewis ignored him and headed into the kitchen. Susie followed him inside. “I'm parched,” she said, clutching her throat. “Have you got anything to drink in here?”

Before Lewis could respond, she flung open the fridge and helped herself to a carton of cold orange juice. From outside
came the sound of cans being shot off the table and bouncing off the back fence.

Lewis' dad came in from the other side of the house, waving a copy of the local paper. “Fame at last,” he declared. “I expect Hollywood will be on the phone any time now.”

“Dad, have you been out in the sun too long?” asked Lewis.

His dad folded the paper open and displayed it. “Look at this picture here.”

It was a large colour photograph of a group of golfers on St Andrews' Old Course. Mr McBride was in the middle of them. Since he was the golf course manager there was nothing unusual about that. What made it newsworthy was the figure standing right beside him, smiling brightly enough to shatter the camera lens.

Susie craned over Lewis' shoulder. “Hey!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Isn't that Garth Makepeace?”

“That's right,” said Lewis' dad, “the big film star. He was after my autograph, of course, but I wouldn't give it to him.”

Susie laughed through a gurgle of juice. “Mr Mac, you crack me up.”

Lewis was still studying the photo. In his last action blockbuster, Garth Makepeace had played the part of a brave explorer in search of a lost city deep in the Amazon jungle. Lewis was surprised to see that in real life the actor was hardly any taller than his father.

“That's funny,” he said. “In his films he looks nearly seven feet tall.”

“Nice chap though,” said his dad. “Bought us all lunch after the game.”

There were half a dozen other men in the picture, all
prominent members of the St Andrews business community, but as Lewis' eyes drifted along the line, he almost choked.

The man on the far right was smiling just as much as Garth Makepeace, but there was a nasty edge to his smile, like somebody who's left a family of frogs in your bed after stealing your valuables. He had red hair, a lean, wily face, and a small, tapered beard. It was a face Lewis knew only too well, one he never expected to see again.

He grabbed the paper so abruptly his dad almost jumped out of his skin.

“Lewis!” his dad gasped.

Lewis was out the back door. He seized Greg by the shoulder and spun him round to face him. “Look at this!”

Greg gave the picture the barest glance and went back to his target practice. “Sure, Dad's in the paper again. Big deal.” He blasted a can off the table and yelled, “Bullseye!”

“Look who else is there,” Lewis insisted. He shoved the paper under his brother's nose and pointed out the red-haired man.

Greg whipped off his sunglasses for a closer look and jumped back with a yelp. “Are you kidding me?” His finger tightened reflexively on the trigger of the Splazooka and Lewis took the full force of the jet right in the face.

“Watch where you're pointing that thing!” he spluttered, shoving the gun barrel aside.

Greg pocketed his sunglasses and dropped the water gun. “Loki!” he said, snatching the paper and glaring at it. “What's Dad doing hanging around with that creep?”

Months ago, Lewis and Greg had accidentally cast a magic spell that restored a long-lost eighth day of the week, Lokiday, the day belonging to Loki, the god of magic and mischief. The effect was
to turn St Andrews into a mad fantasy world filled with ogres and goblins, ruled over by Loki himself. The boys had only just managed to reverse the spell and send him back where he came from.

The brothers charged into the kitchen where Susie had polished off the orange juice and was helping herself to a banana. “Greg, did you see your dad's palling around with Garth Makepeace?”

“I see who he's palling around with,” Greg retorted. “Dad, who is this guy?” He pointed at the picture. “The one with the beard.”

“Him? Let me think.” Mr McBride tapped his moustache as though checking it was still there. “Larry, he said his name was. Larry O'Keefe.”

“Larry O'Keefe,” Lewis repeated. “And who is he, exactly?”

Dad thought for a moment. “Some sort of businessman. Flew in from America a couple of days ago. He's staying at the Old Course Hotel. I think he said he owned a string of joke shops.”

“That figures,” said Lewis.

Greg tossed the paper onto the table and he and Lewis went into a huddle by the microwave.

“What do you think he's up to?” Lewis said in an anxious whisper. “I thought we'd seen the last of him.”

Greg screwed up his face in thought. “Remember the other gods took away his powers when they banned Lokiday, his special day? He told us he was living as a gambler in America, so how much trouble can he be?”

“Hey, did you guys get air conditioning or something?” asked Susie. “It's turned awful cold all of a sudden.”

Lewis and Greg looked round and saw her rubbing her bare arms.

“She's right, you know,” said their dad. “It has turned chilly.”

Lewis glanced out the back window and groaned. “No wonder. Look outside!”

The sky, which had been a brilliant blue a minute before, was now covered in dark clouds, and thick snowflakes were falling on the garden.

“That's queer,” said their dad. “Snow in the middle of July. What could have brought that on?”

Lewis and Greg looked at each other. “Loki!” they both declared at once.