The Magnificent 12 Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked out over her queendom, out at the two hundred or so kids—some dancing, most standing awkwardly and gawping, or staring fixedly down at their smartphones—and it was then she noticed that some of the kids were unfamiliar to her.
    Some were kid-sized in terms of tallness, but broader, thicker, more muscular, and very strangely dressed in lederhosen. 19
    Now that she noticed, some of the chaperones were a little unusual, too. They had a distinctly insect-like aspect to them. As if the moms and dads had been replaced by large grasshoppers wearing human clothing.
    Camaro stopped dancing, although the golem kept right on. Her eyes narrowed and she cracked her knuckles just the way Stefan would have.
    Something disturbing was happening in the queendom of Camaro Angianelli. She didn’t yet know of the treasonous Tong Elves, who, coincidentally, were about the size of middle-schoolers but broader, thicker, creepier, and more muscular, and very strangely dressed.
    Nor did she know of the foul Skirrit species with their unwholesome similarity to grasshoppers.
    But she soon would.
    She took three bold steps, yanked the golem down off the wall, pinned his arms so he would stop flailing (dancing), and said, “Give me your phone: I need to talk to Mack.”

Four
    T here was a time when a hundred-foot-tall twelve-year-old with a scimitar and a Nafia hit man in his pocket would have scared Mack.
    But Mack had learned a few things. He’d been in a few fights. He’d stood up to Skirrit, Tong Elves, Lepercons, even Gudridan. He’d been yanked out of a jet over the South Pacific. He’d been fired through the air by a crazy old Scotsman.
    Most of all: after much stalling, he’d actually finally studied some Vargran from the Vargran Key.
    The giant Valin raised his scimitar, this time shifting his grip so that rather than readying to bring it down in a broad sweeping cut he could stab it down, point first. Valin could see Mack now; he could see him through the hole in the roof, and his beef was specifically with Mack.
    He wasn’t an indiscriminate killer, after all. He wanted to kill Mack, not a bunch of innocent airline passengers.
    â€œ Lom-ma poindra! ” Mack cried.
    Why did he yell that? Because those are the Vargran words for “disappear sword!” In the imperative, or “or else!” tense that is unique to Vargran.
    Mack was pretty sure this would work, so he was upset when instead of disappearing, the gigantic scimitar came stabbing straight down at him.
    He jumped back, tripped, fell on his butt, and had to scoot away like a dog on a carpet.
    The point of the scimitar hit the floor, threw up a spray of broken tile, and plunged clear down through the floor into the underlying dirt.
    â€œWhat the heck?” Mack asked.
    Valin yanked the weapon skyward again. “It’s not a sword, moron,” Valin said in a giant voice. “It’s a scimitar!”
    Yes. Well, it was a scimitar, which is a kind of sword, but Vargran spells do require some specificity.
    And now Mack could feel that in his panic he had used up his enlightened puissance . He felt the emptiness, the slight sadness (slight because sadness has a hard time competing with terror) that came from the expenditure of power.
    Down came the swor— the scimitar.
    Mack was so upset he didn’t even move. Fortunately Stefan was not so depressed. He ran, took a flying leap, and hit Mack like a sixteen-pound (the largest size) bowling ball knocking into one wobbly pin.
    â€œOooof!”
    Followed by, ker-RAAASH!
    It was a close call. The scimitar passed so near that it actually sliced through the tail of Mack’s T-shirt. Had Stefan been even a millisecond slower, Mack would have been impaled. He would never have survived long enough to have ants bite his eyeballs.
    â€œThanks,” Mack gasped. He shot a look at his stunned fellow Magnifica and yelled, “A little help?”
    Dietmar was