The Call - Michael Grant [23]
“Speak these words, bumpkin: Halk-ma erdetrad (sniff) gool! Halk-ma! Halk-ma!”
So Grimluk said the words. He shouted them with all the conviction he could muster.
The butterfly stirred! Its wings moved feebly.
And slowly, slowly, it rose into the air.
Alive!
And then it fell to the floor. Dead again.
“Good enough,” Drupe said. She grinned at the amazed wizards. “Good enough.”
Twelve
The giant bug arm oozed green-black blood from the stump. It wasn’t heavy. It felt like something made out of brittle plastic, the way plastic gets if you leave it out in the sun for a long time.
“It’s all yours,” Mack said. He handed the arm to Stefan, who hefted it like it might be some kind of weapon.
“My name is Rose Everlast,” the Asian woman said. “I’m with the accounting firm of Hwang, Lee, Chun, and Everlast.”
“You’re an accountant?” Mack said incredulously. “You don’t look like an accountant.”
“What do I look like?” Rose asked.
“Hot. Way hot. No offense,” Stefan interjected. He was fifteen, after all.
Rose did not seem offended. She opened a leather case on her lap. “We don’t have a lot of time.” She pulled out two small blue notebooks and handed one to Mack and the other to Stefan.
Mack read the embossed cover. He flipped it open to a picture of him. “This is a passport.”
“Yes,” Rose said. “It is. You’ll notice we’ve given you a different name. You are now Mack Standerfield. And you,” she said to Stefan, “are Stefan Standerfield, age twenty-one.”
“Excellent,” Stefan said, breaking into a grin. “I can drive!”
“Minors aren’t allowed to travel unaccompanied,” Rose explained. “Stefan will be your adult older brother.”
“Um, whoa. Hold up,” Mack said.
Rose ignored him other than to purse her perfect red lips disapprovingly. “You have a flight to catch. We are running late.”
“Hey. I’m not flying anywhere!” Mack said. “I’m going home to kick the golem out of my bedroom and call the FBI or whatever and tell them what’s happening.”
Rose shrugged. “Then your family will die.”
“Stop that, okay?” Mack said.
Rose handed him a credit card. The name on it was Mack Standerfield. “Don’t lose this,” she said. “Or this.” She handed each of them an iPhone.
“Is your number on here?” Stefan asked with a leer.
“I’m a little old for you,” Rose said witheringly.
Stefan grinned. “I don’t mind.”
Rose turned pointedly away from Stefan and gave Mack all her attention. “I’ve already provided a phone to your golem so he can text you if need be.”
“He can text?”
“Of course he can text. He’s a golem,” Rose said, “not an adult. Now: money. You have a limited budget. You can spend all of it, but once you do, it’s gone. If you waste it, you’ll have nothing. And remember, you have a long, long way to go.”
Mack considered pointing out again that he had no intention of going anywhere. But it was starting to dawn on him that he probably was going. The thing about his mom and dad being killed, that had a realness to it. Nine Iron was an old goof, maybe, but his snakes had been real enough, and that slow-moving blade was sharp enough, too.
And then there were the big giant bug things.
He snapped out of his reveries when he heard the kind of words that tend to snap people out of reveries.
“Did you just say ‘one million dollars’?”
“It’s not as much as it sounds. You will be paying for air travel, rooms, and food, and all of that is expensive. You may also need to pay bribes. You may find the need to hire assassins. There will almost certainly be medical expenses.”
“Medical expenses?” Mack gulped.
Rose closed her leather case, set it aside, and leaned toward him. She smelled of something citrus and yet seductive.
“I haven’t been told what all this is about,” Rose said. “Not all the details. I only know that the funds come from a Swiss bank account that was first opened in the year 1259.”
“That’s a long time ago.”
“The gold that was used to open the account was in a small strongbox that survives to this day. That strongbox is from an era long, long before even the year 1259. We’re talking golden