Thor Is Locked in My Garage! (15 page)

The journey back to Earth along the Bifrost took only a few seconds. Heimdall, the guardian of the rainbow bridge, adjusted the controls and waved them forward.

The moment Greg, Lewis and Susie set foot upon the arc of light, they found themselves hurtling forward with stars, planets and glowing clouds whooshing past them. It all melted into a blur then there they were, standing on the summit of Hallowhill.

“Phew, that was some trip!” Greg exclaimed.

“Hyperspace,” said Susie, trying to sound casual. “It's the only way to travel.”

Lewis shook off his dizziness and gazed about him. The hilltop looked perfectly normal, as if a cosmic tree had never taken root there. A short way off, a lady was throwing a stick for her spaniel to chase, while down below the Kinnessburn was rushing by, still swollen with the melted snow from Loki's supernatural winter.

“I don't know if it's the trip or all that roast boar,” said Lewis, rubbing his tummy, “but I don't feel so good.”

“That was the mead,” Greg laughed. “It's like beer. I warned you not to drink so much of it.”

“Oh, it was dead tasty,” said Susie, smacking her lips. “And what about these?” She raised her right hand to admire the gold ring on her finger, which was decorated with a lightning bolt. They all had one, a gift from Odin.

“These rings are a mark of the favour of Asgard,” the king of the gods had told them, “an honour bestowed upon only a few.”

“What do you think they do?” Susie wondered, tilting her hand so that the gold gleamed in the bright morning sunshine.

“Let's not find out,” Lewis advised. “The safest thing would be to lock them in a lead box and bury them in a really deep hole.”

“What are you so scared of, Lewis?” Greg scoffed. “I bet they do something really cool.”

“Haven't you had enough of Asgardian magic?” said Lewis. “We're lucky to be alive as it is.”

Susie rubbed her ring with a fingertip. “Well, it's not doing anything so far.”

“Stop messing about with it,” Lewis pleaded. “You might start a thunderstorm or something worse.”

“Come on,” said Greg. “We'd better get back to the house and see what's happening.”

They headed down the hill and strolled along Rivermill Gardens to the Spinetti house. As they approached the front door Mr McBride came out with his pipe in his hand. “Oh there you are,” he said. “We wondered what had happened to you three.”

“We nipped out for an early stroll,” said Susie. “You know, seeing as how the weather's turned out so nice.”

“You haven't seen Sven, have you?” Dad asked, stuffing some tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. “He dashed off shouting something about a beef roast. It looked like his leg had healed up overnight.”

“We passed him on the way back,” said Lewis.

“He had to get back to SAPS HQ and report to his boss, the king of Scandivaria,” said Greg.

“Can we go home now, Dad?” Lewis yawned. “I think I'm needing my bed.”

“Really?” said his dad. “But you only just got up?”

“We've packed a lot in,” said Greg.

Dad lit his pipe and took a puff. “Well, I got that handyman McGregor on the phone. He says he'll have our house fixed up in a jiffy, so you might as well pack up your stuff.”

At that moment Garth Makepeace swept out of the door with a phone pressed to his right ear. He had a mug of coffee in his other hand and slurped on it as he talked. “That's right,” he was saying, “make sure everybody's there, Steve, George, Jerry, the whole gang. They'll all want to be in on it.”

He flicked off the call, dropped the phone in his pocket, and took a last swig of coffee. “Thanks for everything, Al,” he said, handing Mr McBride the empty mug. “It's been a ball.”

“Is this you going, Garth?” asked Susie. She couldn't hide her disappointment.

“Got to fly,” said Makepeace. “I'm going to turn all this crazy stuff we went through into the greatest movie ever. Get this title,” he enthused. “
Iceblast: Battle For The Frozen Earth
. Cool, huh? We set it in New York and I play Jack Breaker, an Arctic survival expert. I fight my way through the snow to rescue my gorgeous girlfriend who's being held prisoner in the Empire State Building, which has been turned into a giant icicle.”

“Sounds pretty good,” said Greg.

“Good?” said Makepeace. “It'll be a monster! But only if I can catch my plane on time to sign the deal.”

As he spoke a taxi pulled up and the driver got out looking astonished. “You really are him!” he gasped. “
Him!
”

“Did you think it was a prank call?” said Makepeace. “There's
an extra hundred in it for you if you get me to the airport by noon. Oh, and pull in at an ATM on the way.”

“A what?”

“A cash machine,” Lewis translated.

“Of course,” said the driver, opening the back door of the cab. “Of course, Mr… Mr…” He gave everybody a wide-eyed look. “It's
HIM!
”

“You kids stay in touch,” said Makepeace, slipping into the taxi. “I'll fly you over for the movie premiere.” He whipped out his phone and clamped it to his ear as the driver got into the front seat.

As the taxi pulled away everybody waved and Greg called out, “Make sure you do your own stunts!”

“I bet he'll want me to be in that film,” said Mr McBride with a chuckle. “You know, a wee cameo role.”

“I wonder who'll play Larry O'Keefe,” said Lewis.

Mum appeared in the doorway. “Who exactly is this Larry O'Keefe I keep hearing you talk about?” she asked.

“Nobody, Mum,” said Lewis.

“Yeah, you can forget all about him, Mrs Mac,” said Susie. “He got what was coming to him.”

As they filed inside Mum noticed their rings. “They're impressive pieces of jewellery,” she said. “Where did they come from?”

“Sven gave them to us,” said Susie, showing off her ring.

“To thank us for helping with his investigation,” Lewis added.

“It means we're honorary SAPS,” said Greg. “Cool, eh?”

“Have you had any breakfast yet?” Mum asked. “There's bacon and eggs in the kitchen.”

“I couldn't eat a thing,” Lewis groaned.

“Me neither,” said Susie. “Well, maybe a slice of toast, if there's any going.”

“I think we can manage that,” said Mum, heading for the kitchen. Susie followed her while Greg and Lewis went to their room and bundled up their pyjamas and sleeping bags.

As they headed out the front door Susie was waiting there, munching on a piece of buttered toast.

“Of course the great thing about
gods
,” she said, twiddling her ring, “is that they have really good manners. They always thank people who've helped them.”

“Yes, yes,” said Lewis. “Thanks. We're really grateful to you for everything. Really.”

Susie munched down the last of her toast and directed a hard stare at Greg. “Greg, I'm off to hockey camp for a week,” she said. “Isn't there anything you want to say to me before I go?”

“Well, right, Susie, it's like Lewis said,” Greg agreed, shuffling his feet. “I mean, we couldn't have done it without you, you know. So thanks.”

“There's no need to be so shy, Greg,” said Susie firmly. “You can kiss me if you want to.”

“Kiss you!” Greg was appalled.

As he stood there, aghast, Susie swooped in and planted a buttery kiss right on his lips.

“There,” she said, drawing back with a grin. “That's that done at last.”

Greg's face turned bright red and he wiped a hand across his mouth. “Spinny, I've told you already, I am not your boyfriend.”

Susie laughed and punched him painfully on the arm.

Greg was still rubbing the bruise as he and Lewis walked down Bannock Street towards home.

“Of course, the worst thing about this is that we can't tell anybody,” he said. “Nobody will know what happened.”

“Probably just as well,” said Lewis. “I don't even want to think about how close Loki came to blowing up the whole world.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Greg. “If he shows up again, remember I still have my secret weapon.”

“What's that?” asked Lewis with a frown.

Greg flashed him a grin. “Awesomeness.”

Lewis laughed in spite of himself and followed him into the house.

For
even more
hilarious Norse god hijinks, read on for a sneak peak of
The Day the World Went Loki
, when Lewis and Greg meet Loki for the first time…

Neither of the boys strolling home from Madras High School in St Andrews had any idea that this was just about the last normal day of their lives. Greg McBride had something else on his mind.

“A maths test
tomorrow
!” he exploded. “How’s that for bad luck?” He swung an angry fist through the empty air. “But then bad luck is all I ever get.”

His younger brother Lewis made an absent-minded humming noise as he braced himself for more complaints. It was a long walk down Lamond Drive, but it seemed twice as long when Greg was on one of his rants.

“Some folk get hit singles, star in films, run big companies, but not me. Oh no, I never get that kind of luck.”

“It’s not luck,” Lewis murmured.

“Huh?” Greg grunted. He hadn’t expected Lewis to say anything. He usually didn’t until his older brother had quite finished. “What are you mumbling about?”

“Maybe it’s not just luck,” Lewis said. He wished heartily that he hadn’t opened his mouth, but now
he had no choice but to tough it out. “Maybe they’re successful because they work hard.”

Greg shook his head. “If all it took was hard work, then everybody who worked hard would be rich. But they’re not, are they?”

“I suppose not.”

“You suppose not,” Greg echoed mockingly. “That’s your trouble, Lewis. You don’t think things through. I mean, what chance have I got living here? St Andrews isn’t exactly the centre of the universe, is it? It’s not even the centre of Fife.”

A large shadow passed over them as their enormous friend Arthur “the Chiz” Chisholm came loping by. “Guys,” he rumbled by way of greeting.

The Chiz had pulled on his favourite red beanie with one hand so that it lay squint across the crown of his head like a UFO that had crash landed on a mountain peak.

“Hi, Chiz,” the brothers responded as their friend’s long strides carried him swiftly past them.

“Hey, Chiz, do you want to kick a ball around?” Greg called after him.

Kicking a ball around with the Chiz mostly involved searching for the ball after he’d booted it thirty metres through the air in the wrong direction. Still, it was better than studying for a test.

Chiz glanced back over his shoulder. “Home… work… test tomorrow,” he answered. Every word sounded like an echo in a coal mine.

He loped off and left Greg grimacing. “Even Chiz’ll probably pass,” he said. “You’d think they’d hang a big sign up to remind you a test is coming. I mean, what is the point of mentioning it weeks ago, in the middle of class when nobody’s paying any attention, then never talking about it again until the day before? How is anybody supposed to remember something like that?”

There was a merciful thirty seconds of silence as they held their noses while passing Canny Dan’s Snack Van. As soon as they were clear of the stench of grease, pickled onion and charred black pudding, Greg resumed.

“I’ll bet Mrs Witherspoon kept this test a secret just to trip me up. She’s always had it in for me.”

“You mean because you never do any work.”

“No, it’s something more personal than that. She’d hang me up and use me for target practice if she thought she’d get away with it.”

“You could still get a good four or five hours of studying in tonight,” Lewis pointed out. “That might be enough.”

“Is that right?” Greg answered with undisguised sarcasm. “You think it’s that easy to study, like you can
just sit down and do it? Have you learned nothing? You have to plan it in advance, draw up a timetable, or you might as well not bother.”

“So you’re not going to bother?”

“I didn’t say that, I was just making a point. For your benefit, I might add.”

At the corner of Largo Road he pulled up short as Lindsay Jensen popped up in front of him, as though out of thin air.

“Hi, Greg!” she beamed, like she hadn’t seen him in years.

Her corn-coloured hair was tied in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. Behind her gold-rimmed glasses her eyes shone like sapphires, at least that’s how they looked to Lewis.

“Oh hi, Lindsay,” Greg responded distractedly. He was peering  around from side to side, trying to figure out where she could have sprung from. She had an unsettling knack for ambushes.

Lewis cleared his throat. “Hello, Lindsay. That’s a really pretty necklace you’re wearing.” He sighed when he realised that she hadn’t even heard him. She was too busy watching Greg scratch his head.

“I hear your dad’s gone away on a trip,” Lindsay said.

“He’s in Wales,” said Greg, not meeting her gaze.

“Building a golf course,” Lewis added, unnoticed.

Lindsay was in Lewis’ class at school, but she only had eyes for his brother. Greg was a year older, taller, thought himself much better looking, and was definitely a lot louder.

“Greg, do you fancy going to that new 3D film tonight?” Lindsay asked breathlessly. “You know, the one about the dancing robots and the polar bear. It looks magic.”

“I’ve got a big test tomorrow,” Greg muttered, trying to manoeuvre around her. Lindsay moved expertly to block him.

“I could help you study, Greg,” she offered sweetly.

“Lewis is helping me,” Greg told her flatly. He grabbed Lewis by the arm and accelerated past her, dragging his brother behind him. Once they were across the street he asked out of the side of his mouth, “Is she gone?”

“Yes, she’s gone,” Lewis admitted glumly. “She’s headed off into town with some of her pals.”

“She must be a Japanese ninja or something,” mused Greg. “That’s the only way she could sneak up on us like that.”

“Actually, I think Jensen is a Norwegian name.”

“Norwegians don’t sneak, Lewis, they ski. Everybody knows that. And that reminds me, where did you sneak off to at break time?”

“I ran down to the library to get a couple of books Mr Calvert said he’d look out for me.”

“More books? What are you doing? Building a castle out of them?”

“They’re about time. It’s for my school project.”

“Time?” snorted Greg. “That’s just what I need – more time.”

He snatched a book that was sticking out of the top of Lewis’ bag and squinted at the faded letters on the cover.
“The Folklore Of Time
by Lucas Oberon Key,” he read out. “Maybe there are some tips in this.”

“Give that back,” said Lewis. He made a grab for the book but Greg whipped it away. “Mr Calvert says it’s very rare.”

“Mr Calvert says, Mr Calvert says,” Greg echoed mockingly. “If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard you say that, I could buy the school and close it down.”

Lewis shoved his fists into his pockets and trudged on with his head down.

“Hmm… it says here the ancient Egyptians had ten days of the week,” said Greg, “and that in parts of Africa they have three, four or five days.”

Lewis kept up a tight-lipped, silent protest as Greg flicked haphazardly through the old book.

As soon as they turned the corner into Bannock Street the  Larkins’ dog started barking its head off
behind their two-metre high garden fence. The dog had got loose more times than anybody could count, even though the Larkins had done everything to keep it from escaping, short of putting up a guard tower and searchlights.

“Did you know that in 1752 they dropped eleven days from the calendar in England,” Greg laughed, “and people rioted in the streets because they wanted their days back?”

“I know,” Lewis burst out. “They were changing over from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar. That’s part of my project, remember?”

“I know how they felt,” said Greg. “I’d give a lot for just one extra day.” He turned the page and a huge grin spread across his face. “Say, here’s something
really
interesting.”

Whatever he was about to say, the words died on his lips and both boys froze in terror when they saw what was parked in the driveway of their house.

Aunt Vivien’s car.

Numbly Greg closed the book and handed it back. “Lewis,” he said, “I want you to take this book and beat me to death with it.”