Thor Is Locked in My Garage! (2 page)

“What was that, boys?” said Mr McBride.

“Just saying ‘look’, Dad,” said Lewis, covering quickly. “You know, at the snow.”

No one but the boys themselves remembered anything about the spell Loki had cast on the town before. There was no way to explain it that would be believable.

“Here comes Mum,” said Greg.

Mrs McBride had just pulled up in the car at the back of the house. She was dressed in a short sleeved blouse and a summer skirt, and hurried into the house, shivering. She dropped two bags of groceries on the kitchen table and shook the snow out of her hair.

“Who broke the weather?” she asked. “When I went off to the shops it was like the Bahamas out there. I nearly froze to death on the way back.”

“It must be some unusual climatic thing,” said Mr McBride, flicking the switch on the central heating. “A funnel of cold air coming in from Iceland or something like that.”

“That weather girl on the BBC didn’t say anything about this,” said Mum. “You’d think she’d know her business, being Scottish.”

“It’s going to play havoc with the course,” said Mr McBride. “I’d better get on to the groundskeepers.” He pulled out his phone and disappeared into the study.

“If this keeps up, the car’s going to get buried,” said Lewis, glancing out the window.

“I’d put it away in the garage, if there was any room,” said Mum, sorting through the shopping, “but it’s full of junk. I keep asking your dad to clear it out.”

“Is this freaky or what?” said Susie, bouncing on the spot to keep herself from freezing. “No trips to the beach today.”

“And I was planning to visit the Botanic Gardens too,” said Mum, “to see their new orchids.” She finished stacking some tins on a shelf. “Susie, I’d better loan you a coat and give you a lift home.”

“It’s only a couple of streets, Mrs Mac,” said Susie. “I’ll just run and wrap up warm when I get there. I’ll see you boys outside for a snowball fight,” she added as she jogged out the door. “Better watch your backs!”

“I think we’d all better get some warm clothes on,” said Mum, “before somebody catches a chill.”

Lewis and Greg went upstairs to change out of their summer clothes into jeans, jumpers and winter socks. They met up again in Lewis’ room and stared out the window at the impossible snow.

“Be straight with me, Lewis,” said Greg. “You haven’t been messing around with any old books or reading out magical rhymes, have you?”

It was an ancient rhyme in an old book Lewis had found that had enchanted the town and summoned Loki a few months ago.

“Do you think I’m off my head?” retorted Lewis. “And can I just say that last time it was your idea to say the rhyme that brought Loki here.”

“There’s no point dwelling on the past,” said Greg, waving a dismissive hand. “We need to focus on the here and now. Look, at least nothing’s happened to change the town.”

“No, but this freak weather and Loki turning up at the same time – it can’t be a coincidence.”

“Last time we saw him he had the power to conjure up fire,” Greg recalled, “but that was only because he’d brought his special day, Lokiday, back from the past. Without that he can’t do magic any more than we could.”

“Something different is happening this time,” said Lewis. “And I’m sure it will get worse.”

“Then we’d better get busy, Lewis,” Greg declared. “We need to find this Larry O’Keefe and shut him down.”

“Last time he nearly roasted us alive,” Lewis pointed out with a worried frown.

“Yes, but without his powers he’s just a conman in a fancy suit. We can take him.”

“I don’t suppose we have a choice. It’s not like anybody would believe us if we told them.”

“Too right, “said Greg. “I don’t see the police arresting him for causing magical mayhem just on our say so.”

Lewis peered out the window. The snow was still falling, if anything, even heavier, it seemed to him. He shivered. “We’d better dig out our winter gear.”

They put on their woolly hats, coats and heavy boots and headed downstairs. Mum had the TV on in the front room and they could hear the voice of a news reporter.

“The Met Office is baffled by the freak snowfall in St Andrews. While the wintry conditions are limited to this one area, they show no sign of easing.”

Dad came out of the study, still with his phone in his hand. “This blizzard is messing up the signal,” he said. “Where are you two going? Off to do a bit of sledging, I suppose.”

“That’s right, Dad, we’re taking the sledge over to Hallowhill,” said Greg.

“You have fun,” said Dad, poking at his phone. “If I can’t get through to the clubhouse, I’ll have to drive down there in person.”

“Dad can you tell us anything more about Larry O’Keefe?” Lewis asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, son.”

“I mean, did he do or say anything strange or unusual?”

“Well, he slices the ball something awful, I can tell you that. He was only part of the group because he’d met Garth Makepeace on the flight over.”

“He was with Garth Makepeace?” blurted Greg.

“Garth – he said to call him Garth – had a round booked on the Old Course and he invited Larry along,” Dad explained. “But anybody with eyes could see Larry wasn’t much of a golfer.”

“How’s that, Dad?”

“Well, he lost a ball in the burn under the Swilken Bridge.”

“What’s the Swilken Bridge?” asked Lewis.

Greg shook his head despairingly. “Even you should know that, Lewis! It’s only one of the most famous landmarks on the course.”

“It crosses the burn between the first and eighteenth greens,” said Dad. “It’s been there for 700 years.”

“What about Larry O’Keefe, Dad?” Lewis persisted.

Dad looked amused. “Right. He plopped a ball into the burn right under the bridge. He spent ten minutes splashing about under there. Lost the ball completely, but came out with a box he’d found. The funny thing was, he seemed pretty pleased with himself.”

Dad went back to his phone as the boys stepped outside. The neighbouring gardens and the street were covered over with a thick layer of white, like icing on a Christmas cake. A car crawled past, leaving a set of tire tracks in its wake. Even as they
watched, the falling snow began filling in the furrows.

As they started down the Canongate Road, Greg said, “Do you have to wear that duffel coat? You look like Paddington Bear.”

“I do not!” Lewis retorted. “Plus it’s really warm, I’ll have you know.”

Before Greg could open his mouth again a snowball thumped into his back. “She shoots, she scores!” called a familiar voice.

Another snowball caught Lewis in the shoulder as they turned around.

There stood Susie, dressed in her winter gear, leaning on her ice hockey stick. She laughed and scooped up another handful of snow. Lewis dodged as the snowball went whizzing past his ear.

“Spinny, are you just looking for trouble?” Greg asked.

“I told you I’d see you outside for a snowball fight. Don’t you listen to anything?”

“Why have you got your hockey stick?” asked Lewis.

“Because it’s dead brilliant for skiting snow about,” Susie told him. “See?”

Bounding forward, she took a savage swing and smacked a heap of snow right in their faces. Lewis squawked and stumbled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his glove.

Greg scooped up a double handful of snow and pressed it into a ball. “You asked for it, Spinny!” he said, letting fly.

With a casual flick of her hockey stick, Susie smashed the snowball to bits in mid-air. “Some technique, eh?” she grinned.

“That’s great, Susie,” said Lewis, “but we don’t have time for this right now.” He grabbed hold of Greg’s arm to keep him from making another snowball.

Greg recovered himself and pulled his arm away. “He’s right.
We’re busy.”

“Busy?” said Susie. “How can you be busy on a snow day? I’ll bet half the town’s shut down already.”

“We’ve got to go and find Larry O’Keefe,” said Greg.

“What for? Who is this Larry O’Keefe anyway?”

“Nobody,” said Lewis. “We’re just running an errand for Dad. Aren’t we, Greg?”

“Uh huh,” Greg agreed.

Susie gave them a hard stare. “Look, this snow is obviously a freak thing and it probably won’t last long,” she said, drumming her fingers on her hockey stick. “We should make the most of it.”

Greg began edging away. “Tomorrow we’ll go diving or camel riding or whatever you want. Promise.”

“I told you I’m going to hockey camp tomorrow,” Susie reminded him sharply.

“Then you’d better go home and pack.”

The brothers made off in the direction of town. Lewis braced his shoulders, half expecting to get a snowball in the neck, but nothing happened. When he judged they were safely out of range, he turned to his brother. “You like her, don’t you?”

Greg glanced back to make sure Susie wasn’t following. “She’s okay,” he said with a shrug.

“No,” said Lewis, “I mean you like her, like a girlfriend.”

“She is not my girlfriend. It’s Susie. We pal around together, that’s all.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve been pining over Lindsay Jensen ever since her family moved to Aberdeen,” snorted Greg.

Lewis reddened. “I have not.”

“Right, then it’s settled,” said Greg. “You’re not pining and Susie is just a pal.”

“Fine,” said Lewis, “she’s a pal.” And let the subject drop.

Blanketed with snow, Bridge Street looked like a ski slope. As the brothers climbed the hill, they had to dodge some kids who were sledging down in the opposite direction. At the bus station on City Road they saw the Dundee bus was stuck in the snow. A group of shivering passengers had got out and were struggling to push it free.

As he thought nervously about facing the enemy who had almost destroyed them once before, Lewis couldn’t help wishing he was a little more like Greg. What was the right word for it? Simple minded? That sounded a bit harsh. But things always looked simple to Greg. He didn’t study up or calculate the odds, he just charged in. And if he banged his head or tripped over, he shook it off and kept on going.

Lewis, by contrast, was too aware of how complicated everything was, geometry, the economy, growing up. He was already trying to work out which school subjects would give him the best chance of making it to university and finding a job. Greg acted as if all he had to do was come up with some kind of trick and everything would fall into his lap, as if by magic.

And here he was now, leading them off to confront a Norse god as if it were no more dangerous than a trip to the shops.

A short trudge brought them to a mini-roundabout marking the entrance to the Old Course Hotel. As they started down the drive, the pair of them saw something that made them stop dead in their tracks.

To their left lay the deserted playing fields of Station Park. To their right lay an empty car park. Dead ahead a familiar red-bearded
figure was striding energetically towards them as if the flurrying snow didn’t bother him in the least.

He was wearing a long fur coat and a fedora. As he drew closer, they could see his green eyes flashing beneath the brim of his hat.

Loki.

The Norse god stopped short at the sight of them and grimaced. “You two? I’m beginning to think you’ve nothing better to do with your time than get under my feet. Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s the summer holiday,” said Lewis.

“And you’re ruining it with this blizzard of yours,” Greg added boldly.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?” Loki asked innocently.

“It’s just the sort of thing you’d do,” said Greg. “Because you’re such a creep.”

“Yes, you know me too well,” Loki agreed ruefully. “But how did you know where to find me?”

“If you want privacy,” Greg informed him, “you shouldn’t get your picture in the paper.”

“It was vanity, I suppose,” Loki admitted, stroking his beard. “I couldn’t say no to being photographed with a movie star.”

“And why are you calling yourself Larry O’Keefe now?” asked Lewis.

Loki waved the question away with an airy hand. “Kid, I change my name more often than you change your underwear. It’s all part of being a professional trickster.”

“But you don’t have magic powers any more,” said Lewis. “You told us that last time we met.”

“So how are you pulling this off?” Greg demanded.

“Because I have this,” said Loki.

With a flourish he pulled a wooden box out of his pocket. It was about the size of a small box of chocolates and Lewis could see that its surface was carved with runes, the writing of the ancient Norse peoples.

“This box was manufactured for me centuries ago by the Troll King,” Loki explained smugly. “It contains the Fimbulwinter. That is to say, it did until I opened the lid and let it out.”

“The Fimbulwinter,” said Lewis. “I read about that in Myths of the Vikings. It’s supposed to be one of the signs of the end of the world, what the Vikings called Ragnarok.”

“Been boning up on your Norse legends, eh?” said Loki with a wicked smile. “Not that it will help you.”

“Lewis, how is it you know all that stuff,” said Greg, “but you’ve never heard of the Swilken Bridge?”

“I’m just not interested in sports,” Lewis retorted. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

“So, Larry,” said Greg, turning his attention back to Loki, “last time it was a book, this time it’s a box. What’s next? A magic toothbrush?”

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” said Loki, baring his teeth. “This time I’m playing for keeps.”

“It looks to me like you’re planning to open a ski resort,” said Greg.

“Mostly the snow is to keep people off the streets so they don’t get in my way,” said Loki, “but in your case it’s obviously going to take a little more than that.” His smile widened nastily. “You see, as long as I possess the box, I control all this snow.”

He gripped the box tightly in one hand while with the other he made a magical gesture. The snow at his feet rippled and
heaved. As Greg and Lewis watched in amazement, it formed a conical mound eight feet high. The mound sprouted a bulbous head and a set of stumpy arms. Then, with a ponderous shudder, it lurched forward on a pair of legs as thick as post-boxes.