The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2 (31 page)

“I want to someday be a nurse,” I said, shrugging. “It might happen. You never know.”

Chase wiped the tears from his cheeks. He half-chuckled, half-cried. “I really, really wanted to win the World Series. I guess a close second would be seeing the Brewers win it all. Not that
that’s
ever gonna happen.”

Seth laughed. “You never know, dude.”

I put my arm around Chase, holding him tightly. He was warm. I could almost
feel
the pain radiating out. It was electric. It surged through me. I tried to fight it away. I tried to imagine it as shadows, shadows that could be burned away by a strong light.

“I can’t do this on my own,” he whispered. “I’m not as strong as people think.”

“You won’t do this on your own,” I said. “You’ll have me and Seth. Always.”

He looked at me. “Always?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, dude,” Seth said. “We’ll always be cool. Heck, we only live a mile away from each other.”

Chase looked down. “I should be having this talk with my baseball buddies. And my girlfriend. That’s going to be tough. I know what’s going to happen. They’re going to drift from me. They were doing it before I … before I found that stupid fish.”

Seth cocked his head, glancing at me.

“I just don’t think I can do it,” he whispered.

“Chase,” I said. “You said once that you’re a man of your word. Do you still mean that?”

He nodded, staring at the old beige carpeting.

“I’m going to give you a rose,” I said. “And you’re not allowed to lose hope until that rose wilts. Do you promise?”

He smiled. “So I only have to stay positive for a few weeks? Fine. Deal.”

“Shake.” He shook my hand. I pulled out the fountain pen and started drawing a rose on the coffee table. The stem began to glow a soft, golden color.

Chase, mesmerized, leaned over to stare. “That’s my ma’s coffee table.”

“Shhhh,” Seth said.

I finished the rose and carefully grabbed the stem, pulling it free from the table. It was beautiful—sharp green thorns and dark red petals, each one imperfect and unique.

Just like a real rose.

Only it wasn’t a real rose. I didn’t
know
how a real rose was made or how it worked on a biological level. But I
did
know how a glass rose was made. My dad had showed me years and years ago in his little stained-glass workshop in the basement. He showed me how to score and cut the shapes from large panes of colored glass. How to edge them in copper before soldering the pieces together.

I handed it Chase, who carefully grabbed it with two shaky hands. His mouth was open. “What … what …”

“You promised,” I said. “You
promised
me, Chase. Never forget that. And never forget that you have me on your side.”

He looked at me. “This is impossible.”

“So was the magic fish,” Seth said.

There came a sound from outside. We all looked toward the hallway, but after a moment Seth and Chase returned to staring at the rose. They were both obviously impressed. Me? I was a little more concerned with the noise outside. A bad feeling had begun creeping over me like a thousand ants marching up my legs.

“This … this …” Chase laughed. “I just don’t understand.”

“Briar,” I said. “It’s story time.”

Briar stepped beside the couch, puffing out his chest a little and clutching his vest as if preparing to give a speech for Congress.

“Oh, awesome,” Seth said with a smile. He gave Briar a high-five.

When Chase finally tore his eyes away from the rose and looked up at Briar, he fell back on the couch.

“Oh, this just keeps getting weirder!” he exclaimed.

Briar cleared his throat. “I could not agree more, dear sir.”

“I’m dreaming.” Chase set the rose down carefully on the table. “I’m dreaming! I got knocked out cold by some strange fisherman and now I’m dreaming.”

There came a crash, this time from the rear of the house. “Briar, tell Chase the story. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Seth asked. “What’s happening?”

My hand clenched into a fist. “They’ve found us.”

There was once an old castle  that stood in the middle of a deep gloomy wood, and in the castle lived an old fairy. Now this fairy could take any shape she pleased. All the day long she flew about in the form of an owl, or crept about the country like a cat; but at night she always became an old woman again. When any young man came within a hundred paces of her castle, he became quite fixed, and could not move a step till she came and set him free; which she would not do till he had given her his word never to come there again.
[v]

August 4, 1875

Ten years, this journal has been sitting in the drawer of my desk. Never once thought about adding to it until now. Things just happened so fast after that night with the wolf. With Br’er Rabbit.

We’re in New York now. Been here ten years. Ten years of hunting Corrupted, moving around the country, using the old Underground Railroad to move from state to state in relative safety.

The big shots in the government say slavery is over. Nope. Slavery’s not over. It’s just different now. Negros are free, but they got to live under laws that say they can’t do this, can’t do that, have to work here, can’t be walking around wherever they darn well please.

Getting angry. Glad to have it off my chest. Maybe I’ll keep this journal around for a while. Take it with me on this last little journey.

Don’t feel like writing any more tonight.

Briar’s asleep on the floor. The window’s open, letting in a cool breeze. Candle on the bedside table is almost out. Tired.

Tired of all this.

August 5, 1875

That night when Briar appeared, we tried ending everything in one fell swoop. I had a little space left at the bottom of the magic piece of paper. I tore it off and we tried a little “experiment”:

And all the Corrupted were removed from the earth.

But Briar didn’t disappear. And two weeks later, we ran into one of the most frightening donkeys I’ve ever seen in my life. A
Corrupted
, from one of the fairy tales. Nothing but a shadow on the ground, hee-hawing like it was laughing at us. A shadow, chasing after us! It was enough to give Briar second thoughts about all of this hero business.

But it was too late. We’d burned the magic page, knowing what might happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Not only that, the magic had taken its toll on me. I was weak for months, as if a part of my very soul had been used up telling the story of Br’er Rabbit. When we bumped into that terrifying Corrupted donkey, I was one foot in the coffin, swear to God.

I recovered slowly. And with Briar’s help, we got pretty darned good at taking down Corrupted. My dreams led the way, and we stayed in New York to catch any unwanted Corrupted sneaking over from Europe.

Even caught a fish once.

August 8, 1875

Let me tell you about that fish. That bright, golden fish is my ticket out. Found him while we were at a shipyard in Providence, hunting down a female Corrupted who’d once convinced her fisherman husband to ask this particular fish for untold riches. The fish gave them everything, then took it away. All three of em were Corrupted. Characters in one of the Brothers Grimms’ most popular fairy tales. Anywho, the fisherman and his wife traveled all over the world to find the fish. Somewhere along the way, the fisherman’s wife developed a nasty appetite for children. Stopped her, but the fisherman got away.

Heh.

I was just about to stab the fish with the pen when he started talking. He made me an offer: freedom for freedom.

“How do you I know you’re not lying?” I asked.

The fish sighed. “Because I must behave in the way the Brothers Grimm wrote me, of course.”

I took the deal. I told him I wanted until the end of the month. And then I didn’t want to be the hero no more.

“It is done,” he said. “At the beginning of next month, a new hero will emerge and take your place.” And I tossed him back in the sea.

I haven’t told Briar yet. Would probably break the furry fella’s heart, given everything we’ve been through. But you see … I had to do this. I know all of the risks of letting a Corrupted go, but I also know that the fish has to follow the rules of his fairy tale. He has to make my wish come true.

And I need the wish to come true. I’m in love.

August 9, 1875

Harriet Smith, a former slave just like me. Three years older than me, but I don’t mind. She’s beautiful. She surrounds herself with books in her little home in downtown New York. Her father
, the foreman of a textile factory, generally hates me. Doesn’t like the fact that I take so many “business” trips around the country.

Heh.

Briar gets a kick out of that.

And you know what? Her papa’s right: the “business” trips have taken a lot out of me. We’ve hunted down monsters all over the country, monsters that come out of the shadows and kill human beings without thinking twice. I’ve saved men who would turn around and sell me back into slavery in a second if they had a chance.

Yup, that’s right.
Slavery
. In New York, there’s name-calling and limits on where I can shop … but down south it’s a whole different story. Down south, Negros are arrested for anything from “changing employers without permission” to “gaming” to “selling cotton after sunset.” And when a Negro is charged with one of these so-called “crimes,” he has to work off the fines doing hard labor for local businesses.

Slavery.

August 10, 1875

The reason I told the magic fish to give me until the end of the month was because I’d been having these strange dreams for a long time, and they were getting more and more serious. Dreams about a white woman wearing a white dress, and just writing those words down are enough to get me arrested down south, that’s for sure! But this woman, there’s something important about her …

She can “see” a Corrupted. In her mind. She has visions of him, and those visions haunt her. The creature’s life seems to pass before her eyes. He wears a cloak, hiding his features with a heavy hood, only his glowing gold eyes visible.

And then my dreams shift. I see a young girl, dressed strangely in a black outfit, wielding a sword against the very same cloaked figure. But she can’t stop him. She looks confused. Worn out.

Tired
.

“I’m telling you, Briar … these dreams are connected!” I told my furry helper. We were in a private rail car heading south, sitting across from each other on plush violet cushioned benches. Rather, I was sitting. Briar was lying on his back, legs crossed. We had the luxury of a little money … one of the benefits of having a magic pen is I can create simple things—irons, tables, brass doorknobs—to sell.

“The Confederate soldier dreamed of you,” Briar said. “Perhaps this woman is the next hero. Er …”

“Which means … my time is almost up.” Of course, I thought. It all made sense! I’d made my wish with the magic fish, and so a new hero had been chosen a new hero to take my place.

But by
who
? That was the real question. The real mystery Briar and I couldn’t solve. And believe me, Briar tried. He was a determined son of a gun when it came to figuring out more about the Grimms’ magic.

“Then we simply get off this train right now,” Briar said, sitting up. He peered out through the window. We were traveling past yellow fields parched by a week of no rain and hot weather.

“Briar …”

“If we run, we could escape your destiny!” he said excitedly, hopping off the bench. “Yes, we’ll traverse the globe seeking adventure … relatively safe adventure, I might add! Why, you can even take that dame you’re so smitten with. She clearly doesn’t mind my presence.”

He was right. I’d broken my own rule for Briar … I’d let Harriet see him. Mainly so she didn’t think I was going crazy, since she always caught me talking out loud when I thought I was alone. To say she’d been surprised is an understatement. She’d downright swooned, and I’d had to catch her before she fell on the ground. Tweaked my back but good. Poor Sweet Eugene has turned into Old Eugene at some point during the past ten years.

Lied about the rest of it, though. No, not “lied,” so to speak. Just told her Br’er Rabbit was real and he was my friend, plain and simple. Like the Easter Bunny, only trickier and well-read. I couldn’t tell her about the Corrupted. Didn’t want her to worry when I went out on a “business trip.” I guess lying once in a while is the only way for a hero to truly keep loved ones safe.

I leaned back on the bench. Just thinking about Harriet made me warm inside. Three years of courtship. Three years, and with each passing year, I began to dread falling asleep more and more. Because it was only a matter of time before another Corrupted showed up in my dreams.

The first seven or so years, Briar and I had crossed the United States, using my magic pen’s unique abilities to barter our way. We were tactful and guile and outright crass as we hunted down the monsters. We thought we were invincible.

But now? Now all I wanted to do was grow old. I wanted to sit in a rocking chair with my dear sweet Harriet and look over at her and exchange a smile. I wanted kids. I wanted to tell them stories and make sure they had a life I’d never been privy to. A childhood with parents. Then, eventually, I wanted to tell my grandkids stories, too.

Heh. Can you imagine a 75-year-old hero out there, hunting Corrupted?

Me neither.

August 12, 1875

In Georgia, in a little town called Present. I’m sure this is the town where the woman from my dreams lives because in the dreams I always see the main road and the rows of buildings with the town name on them. Staying with an abolitionist who once kept three families of escaped slaves hidden away in his house. Gave me my own room, which I appreciate.

And wouldn’t you know it, things just can’t be simple! Last night, instead of dreaming again about the woman and the cloaked figure, I was treated to something much more terrifying.

A woman. A fairy, to be precise. Could tell right away by the magic she used. Them Grimm brothers, they got a little predictable from time to time with their stories. “Nefarious dabblers in magic, but not quite as creative with names and creatures,” as Briar was fond of saying.

Told Briar about the dream.

“Well, we need to identify her,” he said, thumbing through the worn pages of our book of
Grimms’ Fairy Tales
. He tossed aside a big winged bug that landed on the pages, shivering. He hates bugs. “What else did you see? Give me details.”

“She’s been turning people to stone.”

He looked at me. His ears stood straight up. “Stone, you say?”

I nodded.

“We’ll have to be careful,” he murmured. “It would be just my luck that this she-beast turns me to stone just as I’m scratching a rather embarrassing itch.” He tapped his paw on the book. “Here.
Jorinda and Jorindel
. A story about a fairy who uses her magic to freeze people as if they’re made of stone.” He clicked his tongue. “One of the brothers’ less developed tales. Look at this ending! Why, they never even bothered to explain what happened to the fairy. Would have saved us a whole lot of trouble if they’d just written that she’d died at the end.”

“Maybe.” I looked at the page. Sure enough, the word “fairy” wasn’t crossed out, which meant we hadn’t run into her in the past ten years. We were crossing out the names of every Corrupted we ran into, in hopes the book would help future heroes.

Speaking of which. Just glanced at the calendar sitting on the desk and my heart started to race. Time is running out.

August 15, 1875

Dreams have gotten more intense, as they have a tendency to do. I’ve been laying low in town, only traveling when our host—let’s call him William—can accompany me so I don’t get hassled. I’ve been keeping an eye out for that woman in my dreams, although I haven’t said as much. I told William I’m here to survey the land for a shipping company from New York.

Feel bad lying to William, especially given how many times I hid away in his underground storage space when we were “transporting” freed slaves to Canada. On the other hand, William isn’t exactly what I would call a forward-thinking gentleman. Oh sure, he’s opposed to slavery and genuinely likes me, but he still doesn’t believe people with different colored skin are equals. Lots of white people in New York are like that. They opposed slavery but they don’t want Negros eating at the same table.

Long way to go yet. But at least William is letting me sleep in his house. And I’m being mighty nice to him, too. He’s got a sore throat and a bit of a cold. You know what helps with that? A little inner bark of a slippery elm, steeped in hot water.

Meanwhile, Briar’s doing the
real
work. There have been disappearances all over the county, and the town we’re in now seems to be near the center of it. There’s a forest to the west, which is our best bet. To the east are cotton fields, worked by sharecroppers and convicts working off their fines. To the south of the town are lots of homes built by freed slaves and their families.

We gotta hurry. Time’s running out. And more people are goin missing.