The Magnificent 12 (14 page)

Twenty-nine

A
t the last possible second the Pale Queen leaped. It was an astounding thing to see. She simply leaped over the Golden Gate Bridge. It was like a hundred 747s roaring just inches overhead.

The wind of her wake flattened the Magnificent Twelve.

“We missed!” Dietmar cried.

The Pale Queen plunged into the water of the bay, sending up a massive waterspout, swamping a container ship that had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For two long minutes she was hidden from view.

“Maybe we got her after all,” Jarrah said.

But Mack didn't think so. And then they saw the water churn between Alcatraz and San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf.

“She will attack the city,” Dietmar said. “She's afraid of us so she attacks in a different direction.”

And then, she began to rise from the water. Hand over hand, dragging her vast bulk up out of the sea. Heading straight into the heart of the city.

There she would kill and maim. She would crush and eat. She would destroy.

“We failed,” Mack said. “We lose. The world loses. She wins. After all we've gone through. She wins.”

“‘When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it—always.'” It was Ilya, the Russian boy in the wheelchair, who spoke.

Sylvie put a hand on his shoulder and looked at Mack. “Gandhi said that.”

“Actually, it is a fake quote made up by a smart person who knew the internet would believe it was Gandhi,” Dietmar said, “but it is an encouraging sentiment.”

“Did the smart person ever meet the Pale Queen?” Jarrah asked sarcastically.

“She's attacking the city,” Xiao said. “So help is on the way.”

“What help?” Mack asked in despair. “She'll destroy the city in minutes. We can't even get there in time. What help is coming? Cops? The army?”

“More like the air force,” Xiao said.

Mack looked at her and followed the direction of her gaze.

Buildings had risen from deep places beneath the city, from under the narrow, clogged streets of Chinatown. Buildings that had seemed dull and solid unfolded like pieces of origami, revealing an incredible network of underground halls and chambers.

The hidden realm of the dragons.

And now they rose slithering and sliding into the air. Dozens of them in all the colors of the rainbow. The dragons Mack had seen in China were huge, and so were these, but they were tiny compared to the Pale Queen.

“As you know, Mack, we have a treaty with the Western dragons,” Xiao said. “Neither they nor we may fly freely in the other's territory. Unless one of our cities is threatened.”

“One of your cities?”

“Beneath the streets of San Francisco are many amazing, unusual things you might never imagine,” Xiao said.

“And quite a few right up on the streets of San Francisco,” Valin said. Then shrugged. “I mean, that's what I hear.”

“You went to them,” Mack said to Xiao, recalling her brief absence earlier.

“They cannot fight the Pale Queen. But they can get us close to her,” Xiao said.

“Are those flying snakes?” Camaro asked.

“So we get a second chance,” Mack said.

The dragons reached the bridge just as the Pale Queen smashed three seafood restaurants and seven souvenir stands on Fisherman's Wharf.

The dragons swarmed around the bridge, looking a little like giant, colorful kites.

The dragon in charge—an unusually multicolored, gilt-tipped, sneering-mouthed creature the size of a train—floated effortlessly in the air near the Magnifica.

“This is Jihao Long,” Xiao said. “The name means, basically, Fabulous Dragon.” She shrugged. “It's San Francisco.”

“Where shall we take you?” Jihao Long asked.

“We're almost drained of
enlightened puissance
,” Mack said. “We won't get a third try. This one has to be it. So we can't miss.”

He looked at the others, and one by one they nodded. His decision. They would do whatever he decided. Even Valin. Even Dietmar.

“Put us right on top of her. Put us right on her head.”

It took four dragons to carry them all. Xiao morphed back to her true self. Stefan lifted Ilya and his wheelchair as if they weighed nothing, and he and Jarrah and Ilya rode one of the great beasts.

Mack ended up with Dietmar and Sylvie, which was right, somehow. Annoying Dietmar and pretty, philosophical Sylvie.

They soared into the air and raced across the bay. Higher and higher until they could plainly see the Pale Queen. She was leaving a trail of devastation like nothing San Francisco had seen since the great earthquake of 1906, which pretty much destroyed the city.

The Pale Queen was done with Fisherman's Wharf and was on her way to the skyscrapers of downtown.

Intent on destruction, she did not look back toward the bridge. Or up at the sky. And she did not have eyes in the back of her head.

The dragons slowed and swooped down on her like fighter planes. They pulled up just above the top of her head, above what looked like a curved field of terrifyingly brittle hairs, each as thick as a telephone pole and ten times as long.

All together, the Magnificent Twelve jumped!

And at that exact moment the Pale Queen must have sensed something because she looked sharply up, and instead of falling toward a forest of hair, they were falling straight down toward that terrible eye.

It was the left eye—just so we have things straight here. The other eye was just as terrible.

“Ahhhhh!” Mack cried.

And the others made similar remarks.

They landed in a heap—actually two heaps—on the Pale Queen's cheek, just beneath her eye. And when Mack stood up, he was staring into an eye the size of a hot-air balloon.

The pupil, that black pit filled with cursed souls, rotated down, down, down to see them.

It adjusted, trying to find a focus point, obviously not quite sure what it was looking at.

“Grab hands!” Mack cried.

This time there was no surge of power. There was power, but oh, it was so much weaker. Too weak.

“Give it all you've got!” Mack shouted desperately. “For everyone you love! For the whole human race! Now!”

The pupil had focused.

It focused and then, suddenly, it widened out in sheer terror. Because she knew then what was happening. She knew who they were.

Desperately she swung her hand upward.

She roared in fury.

“Stib-ma albi kandar!”

A shudder, like another earthquake, went through her vast body. Mack could feel it.

“Don't let go!” Mack cried. “Give it all you've got!”

The Twelve held hands and focused with all their power, willing the Vargran spell to work.

A second shudder, more severe than the first. And this time the Pale Queen's roar carried a note of desperation.

Her hand swatted at them. It was like someone had dropped a building out of the sky, but they were shielded by being in a depression. Even so, the wind alone, and the kinetic force of the impact, knocked them down.

“Die!” Mack cried.

A third shudder . . . and when Mack looked up, he saw a light going out in that terrible eye.

The Pale Queen sagged downward.

And then, a terror none of them could have imagined. From her dimming pupil flew ghostly figures, wraiths. Most must have once been human, and they ranged from children to old men and women: the souls that the Pale Queen had taken over her long and awful life.

The wraiths flew like bats exiting a cave. And as they emerged from the Pale Queen's shadow, they glittered in the sunlight and disappeared.

The Pale Queen fell forward like a giant tree and smashed her face into the Transamerica Pyramid. The impact tore all of the Magnifica loose. They flew through the air, spinning and screaming, and then smashed against the steep glass slope of the building.

The dragons raced to catch them. And they succeeded.

With supernatural speed, the dragons swept them up as they fell.

Until.

Standing atop an adjacent skyscraper stood a beautiful girl with piercing green eyes and flaming red hair.

From her outstretched hand came a jet of flame that passed inches from the eyes of Fabulous Dragon. He flinched and missed the final rescue.

And Dietmar fell.

He fell four hundred feet and smashed into a parked car.

Risky met Mack's horrified gaze and laughed.

“Eleven, now,” Risky cried, and was gone. “Eleven!”

Thirty

T
he Pale Queen's body lay sprawled across downtown San Francisco. Her torso was mostly squeezed between the buildings on either side of Montgomery Street. Her arms stretched up Columbus and down Washington Street.

It was going to be one heck of a mess to clean up. Mack thought he and the others might come back in a few days, if they survived, and help with that.

But right now they still had work to do.

The mayor of San Francisco was there as Dietmar's body was being taken away.

“You saved the city,” the mayor said.

“We saved the world,” Jarrah said pointedly.

“We didn't save Dietmar,” Mack said grimly. Mack had never really liked Dietmar—which may be why he felt so guilty.

Dietmar was not the only one to die that day. Evil takes a toll. There's a price to be paid for freedom. It could have been much worse. They all knew it could have been much worse. But all Mack could think about now was Dietmar.

Camaro grabbed his shoulders. “Listen to me, Mack. This isn't over. She has plans.”

“Who?”

“The redhead; who do you think? She's got the golem under her control. She thinks she's the new Pale Queen. She's not done yet, which means, neither are you!”

“But we're only eleven now,” Mack said dully.

“No,” Camaro said. “Eleven plus Stefan, plus all the bullies, plus—most important—the golem.”

“But you said Risky has him under control.”

“Yeah, well, I think something has changed with the golem. I think maybe he's not so easy to control.”

Mack shook his head. “You don't understand, Camaro. He's just a sort of mindless robot made out of mud and clay. He is whatever he's programmed to be.”

Camaro looked fierce then. “And I say he's more than that. Anyway, you want to take down the redhead? She'll be with the golem: back in Sedona.”

The mayor was still nearby, directing police and firefighters. The city was in a mess. There were surviving Tong Elves and Skirrit still running around the streets.

It was a very tough day in the life of the mayor, and he would have many, many more tough days ahead.

But he had not forgotten Mack, and when Mack tugged at his sleeve and said, “We need a favor,” the mayor was quick to respond.

Phone calls were made, and thirty minutes later the Magnificent Twelve . . . Eleven . . . were on board a military jet racing toward Sedona.

Thirty-one

SEDONA

I
t's about 626 miles, give or take, from San Francisco to Sedona. The flight lasted about an hour and a half.

Sedona's airport is basically just a landing strip. It's not exactly JFK or O'Hare or one of those big, busy places.

The jet landed, and because it was an air force jet there was no Jetway, just a ramp, and they were let off on the hot tarmac under an Arizona sun.

Eleven twelve-year-olds with the
enlightened puissance
. Jarrah, Xiao, Sylvie, Charlie, Rodrigo, Valin, Ilya, Hillary, José, Camaro, and Mack.

And one fifteen-year-old.

They were not all friends. Some of them had only shown up hours before. Some, like Mack and Valin, had been enemies. But now they were all united by a common experience: they had all faced the Pale Queen.

And they had all seen Dietmar fall to his death.

And they knew who was responsible.

The mayor of San Francisco and the United States Air Force had arranged for a truck to meet them as they got off the plane. The truck drove them into Sedona.

“So, this is your home,” Jarrah said. “Not so different from mine, really. Dry and hot.”

“It was my home,” Mack said. “I don't know if it still is.”

He was changed, our Mack. And he felt it.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Mack thought about it. “Back to where it all started. Richard Gere Middle School.”
47

“Richard Gere?” Hillary asked. “Seriously?”

Camaro shot the girl a dirty look. “Don't be dissing our school.”

“It's Sedona,” Mack said. “It was either Richard Gere or Lisa Simpson.”

He nodded at Camaro and held out a fist. She bumped it. Stefan laid his big hand over theirs. It was a moment of Sedona solidarity.

Stefan said, “We take down the redhead.”

“We do,” Mack agreed.

“And the golem?” Camaro couldn't keep a tremulousness from her voice.

“It's not his fault,” Mack said. “He's innocent. But so was Dietmar. And sometimes life is not fair.”

Suddenly a dozen cars and a few pickup trucks went careening past heading away from the town. They were driven by Tong Elves and Skirrit. In each car were people. Men, women, and children. Many had their pets with them and some had tied bikes to the roof racks.

This mystery would puzzle Mack for some time until later investigations would turn up Risky's last furious order to her minions: drive the people out of town.
48

The truck pulled to a stop and they climbed out. Mack gasped. The school was a pile of broken slabs of stucco and jagged wooden beams and shattered Spanish tile.

In all honesty, neither Mack nor Camaro nor Stefan was entirely distraught at the destruction. So long as no one was hurt, it was . . . Well, what kid hasn't fantasized about their school being destroyed?

But then Mack heard the sounds of destruction coming from downtown. Sedona's downtown was mostly just a single street, and in some ways it looked like an old-fashioned cowboy town. The buildings were not tall, nor were they cramped, nor were they all flashy with lots of lights. This was not New York or Los Angeles. Sedona was a small, squat western town overawed by bleak desertscape mountains. It was a place of cozy bed-and-breakfasts rather than big resort hotels. There were far more spiritual healers than there were stockbrokers, but there were also people with real businesses: restaurants, shops, dentist's offices, hardware stores—useful things.

Some of those useful things were now smoking ruins. An antiques-and-collectibles shop had been crushed beneath a FedEx truck. A tiny café that served all variations on avocado was burning. The cheese shop emitted a horrible smell—it alone was undamaged.

Down the street Mack saw the Destroyer. As Mack watched, the Destroyer snapped a light pole, then ripped one of those big metal mailboxes up off the ground and bit off the top as if he expected to find candy inside. Letters and cards scattered, caught by the breeze.

That was a federal crime.

It made Mack angry. He'd already seen San Francisco devastated. He did not want to see the same in his own hometown.

“Everyone with me,” he commanded.

Yes: commanded. Because this was not the same old, diffident Mack. This was a Mack who had faced down the world's greatest evil. This was a Mack who had seen a friend fall to his death. He wasn't playing anymore. He was deadly serious.

The eleven, plus Stefan, began to march down the street toward the Destroyer, who carried on happily smashing things while still clutching the faded-blue steel mailbox.

“Destroyer!” Mack called when they were within range.

The Destroyer stopped.

Slowly he turned.

He no longer looked anything like Mack. He was ten feet tall, a monster of dead eyes and blank visage.

“Urrgh?” the Destroyer said.

“It's me, Golem. Or Destroyer. Whatever you are now. It's me, Mack MacAvoy. And I'm ordering you to stop.”

The Destroyer stared at him. Probably. It's hard to tell where a blank-eyed creature is staring.

Then it began to advance on Mack.

“Get ready,” Mack said to his friends. “We need a spell to destroy him.”

“What?” Camaro cried. “What do you mean, destroy him? That's the golem!”

“We have no choice,” Mack said.

“No. No, no, no,” Camaro said. “No one is destroying the golem. That's what she wants you to do.”

Mack knew who Camaro meant by “she.”
49
It made him hesitate, but only for a moment. “It has to be stopped. It has to be destroyed.”

“It's not an it,” Camaro pleaded. “It's a he. He is a real person underneath all that.”

“No, he is just a golem,” Valin argued.

Camaro got right in Valin's face. Valin wasn't scared easily. But he took a step back. A big step.

“You don't know him,” Camaro raged. “I know him. I can get him to stop.”

By this point the Destroyer was practically on them.

Mack nodded at Camaro. “You can try.” To everyone else he said, “Hold hands and be ready.”

“Golem,” Camaro pleaded. “Listen to me. I know you're still in there some—”

With startling speed, the Destroyer lunged. With a single powerful hand he brought the torn mailbox up high, then brought it down with shocking suddenness.

Right on Mack.

Or more accurately, right around Mack. It was like someone slamming a glass down to trap a bug. Except that this glass was small compared to the “bug.” The mailbox's bottom slammed down on Mack's head. He fell to his knees. His head swam and for a few moments he was completely unconscious.

The Destroyer scooped one big hand beneath the open part of the mailbox, lifted the whole thing in the air, and squeezed.

With a sound like a slow-motion car accident, the metal shards of the opening began to close. For the Destroyer it was like crushing aluminum foil. In seconds Mack was completely trapped, enclosed, inside a steel box.

The Destroyer tossed the metal prison aside. It landed hard and Mack cried out.

Stefan threw himself at the box, trying to pry it open, knowing what would happen.

Mack's consciousness came back on a wave of dread more awful than anything he had ever felt before. His hands battered at the steel cage. His eyes searched for light. His knees were pressed up against his chest, he could barely breathe, and the Arizona sun was already raising the temperature to more than a hundred degrees.

Mack had twenty-one known phobias. But the greatest of these, the master phobia, the one phobia that outdid all the others, was claustrophobia.

Claustrophobia. The fear of being locked in a small space, unable to get out, unable to breathe, unable . . .

Those outside heard a soul-wrenching wail. It was a sound that started as a cry but rose and rose and with each second became more panicky.

They heard Mack pounding, kicking, battering his hands and knees and feet to pulp trying to smash his way out.

“Don't panic, don't panic,” Stefan cried as even his great strength failed to budge the steel.

A single car, a convertible, drove down the street, going at a leisurely pace. Taking its time. Just the one vehicle.

The top was down, and it was easy to see the red hair flowing in the breeze.

Risky was coming to claim her prize.