The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2 (36 page)

“What do you mean?” Seth asked, narrowing one eye suspiciously.

“The wizard guy, Agnim, mentioned that I would collect one more coin before the dragon awoke. He said he saw it in a vision. That means there’s another Corrupted hanging out somewhere in the neighborhood. And since my dreams aren’t helping me much, it’s going to be up to us to hunt down Agnim and this other Corrupted the old-fashioned way.”

“Ah, detective work!” Briar exclaimed. “A fine endeavor. I envy the both of you.”

“Spend the weekend researching?” Chase waved it off, then thought about it. I could see from the way his face cringed that a cold reality had hit him like a gust of wind. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

Seth slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll go to the library!” His smile faded and his eyes got big. “Wow, I never in a zillion years thought I’d say
that
with any excitement.”

Chase sighed. “I guess it’s better than sitting around with my parents all weekend.”

“That’s the spirit!” Seth said. He narrowed one eye. “And you know what the best part about the library is?”

Chase shook his head.

A devilish smile crept across Seth’s face. “We don’t have to worry about running into our ex-girlfriends.”

That night, the dream loop continued with more intensity. I was still in the little schoolhouse, only this time the teacher dismissed her students immediately. She dropped the little chalkboard tablet and walked over to the window, staring at the black clouds rolling across the horizon. This was different. She looked more fearful than usual, her wide eyes searching the storm clouds as if waiting for something to appear. She looked older, too—around her eyes were little creased wrinkles. More had begun encroaching on the edges of her lips.

“Come closer,” she said.

At first, I didn’t think she was talking to me. Then, she tugged on the frayed collar of her white dress and turned to look at me.

“Come closer,” she said again.

I willed myself to step closer. I could feel grit from the dirt floor between my toes—I’d fallen asleep without socks again, I realized. The woman watched me hesitantly, tugging on her collar again. The dress was old and worn, not as pretty up close.

“Can you feel the heat?” she asked.

I could, just a little. It was warm and muggy; wet air was being carried into the town on the wind. “Who are you?” I asked, surprised to hear my own voice.

“Constance,” the woman said. Outside, the clouds emitted a low rumble of thunder. She sighed heavily at them as if she could blow them away. “This storm … it ain’t like other storms. That much I know. I may just be a schoolteacher, but I know a thing or two about weather.”

I stared out at the dark clouds. They looked like mountains come alive, each tumbling over its neighbors in a mad dash to reach the town first.

Lightning lit up the sky. Another brief image appeared. Once again it was the young man who’d been standing over the body beside the fireplace in my previous visions; this time he was in some cold, desolate town half-buried in snow. The buildings looked newer than the last time I’d seen him, but were still obviously from a long time ago. Horses pulled buggies through the knee-deep snow, and the young man avoided them as he trudged toward a small square-shaped building made of stone. He wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled back, and before he entered the building, he turned to watch a buggy pass. I could see his face was no longer youthful. It looked like he had some kind of disease: the skin on his face was bubbling in places and his lower lip looked as if it was on the verge of rotting off.

He turned back to the building. The sign beside the building was in a different language. It read “Toverkunst.”

Thunder broke the image away, returning me to the schoolhouse.

“That lightning’s close,” Constance said. “You can tell by how fast the thunder comes after.” She crossed her arms and closed her eyes. “There’s something terrible coming with this storm. And you aren’t safe.”

Chapter 4

I spent the entire weekend in the library, cleaning a giant section of shelves and keeping a keen eye on my helpers. I discovered Chase and Seth worked best when they didn’t have their cell phones to distract them, and so I confiscated them early on Saturday to ensure I got as much work out of them as possible.

We ate lunch on the fresh-cut grass outside. Lunch consisted of hot dogs, kettle-baked chips with ranch flavor, and various drinks. For me, that meant a fruit juice from the grocery store. For Seth and Chase, it meant soda, which seemed to be what their hearts pumped instead of blood.

“Where’s Briar?” Seth asked.

Chase, having stuffed half his mustard-smeared hot dog into his mouth, mumbled something unintelligible.

“Huh?” I asked. “What was that? You want me to paint your nails?”

He blushed, shaking his head. He chewed quickly, held up a finger, then finally swallowed. “I definitely
don’t
want my fingernails painted. I just pointed out how nice it must be to have a servant.”

“He’s not a servant!”

“
Technically
not,” Seth said. He threw a ranch-flavored chip in the air, hoping to catch it in his mouth. But of course a chip is sort of shaped like a sail, which meant the moment it peaked, it changed course dramatically on the way down.

Landing right on Seth’s eye.

“Oh holy crap!” he exclaimed over our laughter. He peeled the chip away, examined it with a squint, then popped it in his mouth. “That burned.”

“Anyway,” I said, “Briar is investigating a lead. We need to know where this Order of the Golden Dragon is located.”

“So you can kill the wizard and the dragon?” Chase asked. “And save the world?”

Seth nodded, slurping his soda. “It sounds so crazy when you say it out loud. But in your head, it all makes sense.”

“No.” Chase shook his head. “It doesn’t.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to deal,” I told him, stealing his bag of chips.

“Easy!” he said. “Did you seriously already eat yours?”

I nodded. “I did a long run today. Through the woods. With a sword.”

“You see?” Seth said. “You see what I’m talking about? She
totally
makes this whole hero thing sound so awesome that you
completely
forget about the insanely terrifying monsters.”

“Adverb alert,” I murmured, spitting out a few chip crumbs onto Chase’s lap. I blushed. “Erg … sorry.” My body cringed at the sight of my very exposed half-eaten chips on his clothes.

Chase just chuckled, brushing them off his lap. He was wearing a pair of deep charcoal gray jeans, slim but not too tight at the ankles, and some moccasin-esque suede shoes. He was also wearing a black vest over a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, apparently to show off his nice forearms and … beaded bracelets? It was a curious combination, even by Chase’s risky standards.

“What’s with the, uh, vest?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I guess your rabbit friend’s style is rubbing off on me.”

Seth chuckled. “If Briar was here, he’d say ‘
Well, I do say
!’”

We all laughed.

“Hardly.”

Seth jumped off the bench, his head whipping around wildly. Chase nearly tipped his wheelchair. I grabbed him, steadying the chair.

“You get used to that,” I told him.

“Where are you?” Seth asked. The area outside the library was empty except for us—a good thing, given our wild mood. Then again, we were teenagers … would anyone really think we were acting weird, even now as we searched for our invisible friend?

“I’m currently above you.”

We looked up. Above the bench was the art deco steel extension that hung over the library’s front doors. Sometimes, kids got their baseballs stuck up there and cried when we sadly informed them that there was no way out onto the overhang from the second floor. In our heads, Mary and Fran and I all thought the same thing:
why were you tossing around your baseball outside the library to begin with?

“Did you do that so we would look as kooky as possible?” Seth asked. “I mean, can you at least turn visible so
we
can see you?”

“Right. Here goes.” He appeared, sitting on the overhang with his feet dangling. “How’s that?”

Seth shook his head. “I got nothin’. Chase?”

“Nope?” Chase said, squinting as he stared at the exact spot where Briar was sitting. His eyes searched the rest of the overhang.

Briar shivered, the fur on the tips of his ears puffing out. “How about now?”

“There we go,” Seth said. “Good to see you, buddy. Now will you come down already so we don’t look like we’re
talking to the library
?”

“Right.” He hopped down. “Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret about my invisibility …”

“It sucks?” Seth offered.

Briar’s fur bristled. He tugged on his vest, then, noticing Chase’s own wardrobe choice, gave a polite nod. “It’s nice to see
one
of you has a keen eye for fashion.”

Chase looked down. “Um, I’m not
exactly
going for the rabbit look. More of a Native American thing. You know, like something from an old Sherman Alexie novel. Before he was cool.”

“Ah.” Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Well, I have no idea what any of that means. Anywho, what I was going to say is that it’s much easier to remain visible to nearby humans. So if anyone walks by without me noticing … poof! This could be trouble.”

“And why are you going for a Native American look, exactly?” I asked Chase.

“Excuse me. Excuse me.” Briar waved his paw in front of me. “I didn’t run all the way here to patiently wait my turn.”

Seth snickered.

I gave them both the stink eye. “Then out with it, rabbit.”

“Ahem! The Order of the Golden Dragon. I do hope you all enjoy stories.”

“Just give us the abridged version,” I said. “You’re invisible, remember? If anyone notices three teenagers just sitting around staring at the library like a bunch of zombies, they’re going to call the police.”

“Right. Ahem! As I was saying …”

Chapter 5: Briar

Let’s pick up right where we left off in the story, eh? No point in dallying and getting reacquainted, after all. But I would like to point out that the story I’m about to tell was not acquired lightly, so to speak. In fact, yours truly had to call in many, many favors with individuals—
human
individuals, no less—who would have rather never seen my handsome rabbit face again.

But you see, the Order of the Golden Dragon is not exactly the type of organization you would find in a phone book. Or on
the Google
for that matter …

150 years ago, a mysterious figure named A. Hanzen started a guild called the Golden Dragon. Now, I know what you’re thinking: what’s a guild? Lucky for you, Br’er Rabbit is full of trivia. A guild is an association of artisans—craftsmen, in other words—who practice their work in a particular town. More or less. The point is this Hanzen fellow wanted to make sure he had absolute control over the creation of
bullets
.

Yup! Bullets. And it is no coincidence that this happened during the Civil War. North and South, dueling for the soul of the nation, a nation divided by the horrible force known as slavery.

Hanzen wasn’t exactly all that interested in dying for one side or the other. Hanzen had an even better idea: making money. Not just money, either …
gold
.

You see, Hanzen lived in one of the towns right on the southern border of Kentucky, right on the border between the North and South. The perfect place for a wretch like him to make a living selling bullets to Northern armies
and
Southern armies. But he realized he could make even more money if he didn’t have any competition in the neighborhood, so he gathered up all of the nearby bullet manufacturers …

… And killed them.

At least, that seems the most likely explanation. To be honest, I can’t find any details on Hanzen’s competition. But I did find seven—seven!—old newspaper articles reporting on fires at munitions factories in the area. All of them burned to the ground in a similar fashion at around the same time.

If this reminds you of that awful orphanage mistress, you’re not alone.

Needless to say, by the time the Civil War picked up, there was only one business along the border to buy bullets:
The Golden Dragon
. A more ridiculous name I cannot fathom, but it served a purpose: Hanzen wanted all of his payments in
gold
. Not silver. Not coins. Not the paper money you keep in your little wallet.

Gold.

The very color lures men in. It lures women, too, of course … I don’t mean to sound one-sided. Human beings have always had a fascination with the
shiny yellow stuff
as I like to call it. Its gleam catches your eye. Like money, a little bit is never enough. You need more. And more. And more. Pretty soon, you’re pouring it into molds and setting up golden statues of yourself all over your mansion.

But even
that’s
not enough, is it? Soon, the quest for gold—for
wealth
—corrupts even the most decent of human beings. Statues are just a start. What, a plain old bowl? I want my cereal poured into a
gold
bowl! What, what … a porcelain toilet bowl? Absolutely not! I want a throne of
gold
to sit upon and relieve my bowels!

You get the idea.

The Civil War dragged on for years. Thousands died. Thousands more were wounded. Families were destroyed. Towns were burned. And through it all, The Golden Dragon sold more and more bullets. More and more gold in the pockets of Mr. Hanzen and his guild.

Then the war ended. What became of this Hanzen fellow? He seemed to have disappeared completely. Trust yours truly on this—if there was any evidence to be found, Br’er Rabbit would have found it. But Hanzen left no paper trail, not even a breadcrumb or two for a curious little Gretel to follow.

Hiding the bullet factory was a little more difficult. It was sold off, and shortly thereafter the name was changed. Hanzen wasn’t involved. At least, not publicly.

Who is he? That is a trickier question to answer than one might think. You see, there aren’t many wizards in the Grimms’ fairy tales, but there
are
mysterious creatures and fairies with magical powers. Some can shape-shift. Others can cast spells. This reminds me of another story, one that involved a very pesky and frightening fairy.

Here’s what happened oh, about 140 years ago or so …

Eugene—the hero who created me—and I were in New York, itching to head south. Eugene was having some fierce dreams about a very particular Corrupted who just looooooved to freeze people into statues. We needed to get down there right quick. The problem was a man of color—that is, an African-American—couldn’t just walk around in the South back then. Even after the Civil War, people of color weren’t treated too well, and they could be arrested for doing something as simple as walking down the street, if the local sheriff felt so inclined.

Now, don’t ask me why. I’m just a rabbit, after all. But I can tell you one thing for sure: my creator, Eugene, was a darned good human being. He never once raised his hand against his fellow man, and he went out of his way to help people even when there was a terrible Corrupted breathing down his neck.

Of course, Eugene couldn’t just tell the racist sons of guns all of that. And far be it from
me
to try and explain it! So we had to be real careful-like, strategizing and making sure we took a crowded train into Georgia, making sure Eugene had some white family willing to “vouch” for him in case he got stopped by a local law authority.

Eugene wasn’t the only one with stress, I should point out. It was right around this time vacuum cleaners were invented, turning our once beautiful world into a nightmare the likes of which the animal world had never seen. The first truly motorized monstrosity was called the “Puffing Billy,” and in only a few short years it permanently changed the world for the worse.

Right! Moving on. Where was I now? Ah, yes. The trip to Georgia. I’ll make a long story as short as possible …

Eugene found an old friend from his Underground Railroad days, and the sheriff of the town was kind enough to let Eugene walk around with his “escort” without being hassled. Oh, what a sweet, nice sheriff! And he only asked for a few dollars in exchange for this kind-hearted service!

Said the sarcastic bunny.

There was this one night, though. See, we had to “hunt” at night because this fairy wouldn’t come out during the day and we sure as heck couldn’t walk around hunting her. She’d been all over, snatching up people and taking them to her lair and causing all sorts of plagues that were downright Biblical. As if turning people to stone wasn’t enough, she had to get all hocus-pocus with the creepy-crawlies. Frogs. Hail. Locusts—I was finding all sorts of things in the local papers. I’m not so proud to confess that the frogs got to me but good. Several ended up under my vest, crawling all around with their scratchy legs, and I had a bit of a freak-out moment.

Never mentioned it to Eugene, though. Truth be told, I looked up to him. Never said as much, really. I hope he knew it. When he died … I just felt it in my bones. I wasn’t even around to help him.

Anywho. You’d better believe Eugene found that fairy soon enough and gave her the old Corrupted heave-ho. I
thought
that was it. I
thought
after all we’d been through, we’d be making our way up to New York where things were at least a little bit easier for a person of color and Eugene didn’t have to go walking around getting hassled quite so much. But it turned out we had one last thing to do.

We had to wait for a storm.

He’d seen it in a dream, you see. And he told me he couldn’t give me any details. I was a bit hurt, I admit, but I understood well enough. This was something “between heroes.” All he told me was that there was a woman in town, and she’d been touched by the magic of a Corrupted. She could
see
things, almost as if she were a hero herself. Eugene needed to get to the bottom of it.

Well, we found her sure enough. A schoolteacher. A white schoolteacher who educated the children of ex-slaves in a run-down little schoolhouse that the children’s parents had built on the edge of the town. Just talking to her alone was a risk because the color of Eugene’s skin didn’t match the color of this schoolteacher’s skin. But there was no time to adhere to the town’s more creative laws—Eugene
needed
to pass along this information, no two ways about it.

That afternoon, the storm on the horizon finally rolled in. That was our cue to leave.

I never did fully understand the significance of that storm. All Eugene said was that he’d had a dream.

The Order was already in New York by the time Eugene and I returned. They were everywhere, in fact … we just didn’t know it. Word has it, they’d been moving around a lot, buying up companies and changing the names to avoid detection, waiting for the next war so they could hoard more gold. After the Civil War came World War I, then World War II, then the Korean War, then Vietnam, then Iraq, then Afghanistan, then Iraq again.

During each new war, the Order of the Golden Dragon very quietly sold bullets and bombs, asking for payment in gold or taking money and buying up gold. Every single war, every single death, the Order made more and more money. And they learned to do it quieter and quieter …

Until poof! The Order disappeared completely.