The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 (8 page)

Briar nodded. “He saw them, coming off the boat. Saw that hint of a glow that told him they didn’t belong. Followed their trails, tried to figure out who they were so he’d be ready. You see, back then there were a lot more Corrupted … minor characters, mostly. Ones who’d been mentioned in passing but nevertheless came to life under the Grimms’ spell. The more important characters didn’t die quite so easily and they were better at hiding. My creator was worried future heroes might have some trouble.”

“So what did he do?” I asked. “Who did he kill?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Briar answered. “Would love to know, though.” He chuckled. “Boy, was he a funny guy. So nice. I don’t know exactly how he ended up with one of those magic pages, but I figure the Brothers Grimm probably saved a few and lost them at some point. You know how geezers misplace things.”

I laughed. “My grandma used to put her keys in the sugar bowl and forget about them for weeks on end.”

“Same goes for the Grimms, I bet.” The rabbit shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anywho, this hero—Eugene was his name—he somehow got a hold of a magic page and he set about telling the story of Br’er Rabbit, the clever trickster born and bred in the briar patch. And at the bottom of the page, he added something else. Something you don’t read about in any of the other stories about me: Br’er Rabbit was dedicated to helping the hero rid the world of Corrupted. And so here I am.” He bowed low. “Here to assist you in any way possible.”

“But that means you’re a Corrupted, too,” I said. “And some day, you’ll start to go evil. And you’ll have to be killed.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Could be. Eugene, he tried his best to make sure that didn’t happen. In his version of the old tale, he made me just about the most loyal friend you could ever ask for. He wrote down that I never went evil and never betrayed the heroes I served. Technically, that’s how my story should go. But that might not be enough. I might see my time come at some point, just like everyone else.”

“That’s sad.”

He waved the though
t away with his paw. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll do the worrying! And right now I’m worried about
you
.”

“Me? Why me?”

Briar pointed his paw at me. “Because you’re the hero now. That means you need to be ready for whatever comes next.”

“What comes next?”

Briar threw his paws up in the air. “Who knows? The last hero, she was a tad on the wild side. You better believe she left that snake for you as a test. And you’d better believe she knew exactly what you’d be thinking at this point because she was thinking the exact same thing when I first met her. Lord, it took me
weeks
to convince her.” He hopped between the shelves. “Chasing after her all the dang time! And she was a faster runner than you.”

“So you think she has another gross slimy snake waiting for me somewhere,” I said, shuddering.

Briar shook his head. “Not a snake, but some other little Corrupted for sure. That white snake was from one of the Grimms’ fairy tales, after all. That means Juliette—she’s was the last hero, if you recall—caught it and hid it in that there wall. Somehow, she knew you’d draw that door.” He took a deep breath, letting it escape between his front teeth in a whistle. “Now
she
was a handful. Loved taking risks and giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What happened to her?”

Briar looked down at the cement floor. “Can’t quite tell you. All I can say is she seemed to know something was going to happen. She planned all of this. Hid the pen down here and everything. And then she gave me this big hug, told me not to follow her, and then promptly disappeared.”

Tears came to my eyes. I didn’t know this girl and yet I couldn’t help but feel something for her. “Why didn’t you follow her?” I asked angrily.

Briar shook his head. “Sometimes, the hero has to walk the path alone.”

“So I may die? Awesome.” I crossed my arms. “Really cool. That sounds like a lot of fun and all, but I kinda like the way things are right now.”

The rabbit sighed, crossing his arms in a very human sort of way. Everything he did was sort of human, though. “Well, it’s not my business to convince you one way or the other. I’m here to help you and that’s it.”

I glanced at the pen lying on the floor, next to the door I’d created. “Tell me about the pen,” I said finally. “How does it work?”

Briar slapped his paws together. “Magic! Haven’t you been listening?”

“Be more specific.”

“You draw, it creates,” he said simply. “But it has its limits. You don’t need to be a good artist to create what you want—all you need is
knowledge
.”

“What do you mean?”

He started walking toward the pen, so I followed him. When we reached the end of the bookshelves, he stopped. “Well, the pen needs your brain. It needs to know how to create what you’re drawing, so you need to have knowledge of whatever you’re going to create. For instance, this door.” He pointed with his paws to the cement door. “You created this door because you know how a door works. You understand it swings on hinges and needs a doorknob.”

“So I couldn’t draw a nuclear bomb is what you’re saying.”

Briar shook his head. “Not unless you know how one works.”

I bent down and picked up the pen. The moment the cool metal touched my skin, I felt a warm sensation pass through my body.

“Try it.”

I looked at him. “Try what?”

“Try drawing something you know.”

“Something I know,” I murmured, thinking. “OK. Where?”

“Anywhere,” the rabbit said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

I knelt down on the concrete floor. Slowly, methodically, I drew a foil. I started with the grip, then the bellguard and then finally the blade, my shaky hand creating a squiggly line unbecoming of a foil’s blade. I knew how the blade inserted into the handle: a modern foil screwed in with the help of a socket, a washer and a nut. But I had no idea how to draw it.

“What in the heck is that?” the rabbit asked, leaning over my shoulder.

“It’s a foil,”
I said. “A sword. Blech! Your breath is awful!”

“I’m a
rabbit
,” he said with a hint of offense in his voice. “I don’t normally brush my teeth!”

“OK, well, what do I do now?” I asked, staring down at the image in the concrete. It was glowing a dull gold, the color already slowly fading.

“Grab it,” Briar said. “Quick, before the ink dries.”

I reached down, feeling my fingers wrap around the handle. I pulled it free, holding the foil up. It looked beautiful. Pure steel, just as I’d pictured it. The blade was perfectly straight, too. “This is amazing!”

“That,” the rabbit said gravely, “can kill a Corrupted.”

“But what Corrupted?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do next? I mean, that is to say,
if
I’m going along with all this hero business.”

“I told you already,” Briar said. “You must kill Prince Charming.”

“But who is he?”

Briar stood up, walking between the shelves, mumbling to himself.

“Briar?” I asked.

“Hold your horses,” he said. “Grick … Griffon … Ah-ha! Grimm. How ingenious, Juliette.” He walked back over with the ancient Brothers Grimm book, handing it to me. “This is the book you brought downstairs, right? I suggest you read it. Familiarize yourself with the tales.”

“Know thy enemy,” I muttered, flipping through the pages. “So now you want me to steal a library book, too.”

“You’re simply borrowing it,” the rabbit clarified. “That’s what a library is for, no?”

“I suppose.” I closed the book and held it in my armpit so I could re-cap the fountain pen. I put it in my pocket, feeling its warmth against my leg. “So who is Prince Charming?”

“You
know
,” Briar insisted. “You can see the Corrupted now.”

“How?” I asked.

“Because they
glow
.”

My heart sank. I’d been hoping against hope that he would say something else. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I … I mean … what if it’s a pretty soft glow? Like, you can barely see it? Maybe it means they’re not turning evil.”

The rabbit’s face was all seriousness. If such a thing was possible. “They all turn evil.”

“Wait a minute … how come you’re not glowing?” I asked, pointing a finger at him.

“Because,” the rabbit said stiffly, “I have fur.”

I took a breath, staring down at the book.

“Have you had any dreams?”

“What?” I asked.

Briar gave me a curious look. “Dreams. About the Corrupted. Your dreams will become a window into their lives. You can see what they’re doing.”

An icy feeling seeped into my bones. I felt the color drain from my face. “How?” I asked.

“The gift of the hero,” Briar said simply. He shrugged. “Or a curse, depending on the circumstances. Have you had a dream about one?”

“No,” I said.

The rabbit stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I would remember something like that.”

Briar nodded. “All right then. Well, my best advice is to just let it play out if it happens. They can’t see you. They don’t know you’re there.”

“But …” I shut my mouth.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It just seems weird that I can see them but they can’t see me.”

Briar stuffed his hands in his pockets, slowly walking along the shelves and examining the books. “Yes, the hero’s world is a strange, fantastic place. Those pesky Grimms sure made a mess of things, I tell ya. Couldn’t just leave well enough alone, eh? Couldn’t just let parents tell the stories to their kids and let that be the end of it? Nope. They had to ahead and dabble in stuff nobody understands …”

He kept going like this and all I could think about was Edward. The mythical Prince Charming. Was he the murderer in my dreams, or had that been someone else? They’d looked similar, but not
exactly
similar. Then again, if he was going around randomly killing people, he might disguise himself a bit. But he was in high school! He was a totally normal guy: moody, dark, mysterious … OK, kinda normal … maybe he was just a
little
Corrupt. Maybe he didn’t even know he was one!

It all seemed impossible. No one could do what he’d done in my dream. What had happened had been … otherworldly. Vicious. Inhuman. If the dream had been real, it was someone else.

I needed to be sure. Absolutely, positively sure. I wasn’t going to stab my boyfriend with a pen until I had some kind of sign. Proof that Br’er Rabbit wasn’t just playing a trick on me. I’d read Br’er Rabbit’s stories and I knew how devious he could be. And now here he was telling me a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about magic pens and evil fairy tale monsters? No. Definitely had to be one hundred percent sure.

Chapter 6

When he awoke, he determined to obey his dream, and went outside the gate, and asked the first person who came up to him to be godfather. The stranger presented him with a little glass of water, and said, “This is a wonderful water, with it thou canst heal the sick, only thou must see where Death is standing. If he is standing by the patient’s head, give the patient some of the water and he will be healed, but if Death is standing by his feet, all trouble will be in vain, for the sick man must die.”
[v]

I waited in the living room that evening for Edward, alone. I had no idea how to dress for a beach party. I’d picked sandals and blue shorts and a white t-shirt. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I’d put on a minimal amount of makeup because I had this horrible fear that someone might throw me right into Lake Michigan. The last thing I wanted to do was emerge from the cold slimy water with eye shadow running down my face and foundation caked to my cheeks.

I put the magic pen in my pocket. I had my cell phone and an ID and money in my little red wrist purse. I wanted a way out. If anything happened tonight, I would be able to call a cab. This was my harebrained attempt at a plan—but hey, I was new to this! It was a good first try.

Edward pulled into the driveway late: 8:00 p.m. It was dark out, and as I stepped out onto the porch, I could hear crickets singing somewhere in the bushes. This was the perfect sound of summer. I should be enjoying it, I thought, not getting in the car of a man who may or may not be a homicidal soul-sucking fictional creature.

Also, where were my parents? How could they have gone out to dinner on this night of all nights? And why did they give me such a strange look when I threw a tantrum? I was a
teenager
… they were supposed to be used to my mood swings!

“Are you OK?” Edward asked me when I got in. He had music playing softly. Classical—his favorite.

“I’m getting better,” I said, leaning over and forcing a kiss onto his lips. Gawd! His lips were so perfect, and best of all, whatever weird feelings I’d had last time had disappeared. There had to be a way through this that didn’t result in me losing those perfect lips. He
couldn’t
be that murderer.

“Tell me about it,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”

I bit my tongue to keep from spilling it all. When he said those types of things, I melted. I just literally melted. Not literally, of course … but close. My inner voice screamed in frustration. I turned to him, hellbent on saying
something
.

Then I saw the glow.

“I just … have felt weird lately. It’s nothing. I feel a lot better now that school’s done.”

He nodded, pulling out onto 86
th
Street. He took us east, toward the lake. We drove in silence. Correction: me silent and him humming along to the violins coming through the speakers. I would have loved to be able to compare thoughts right then. I was thinking about killing him … and if the dream had been real, and it was entirely possible he was thinking along those exact same lines.

No, I told myself. Different person. Edward isn’t Prince Charming. He has some faults. Sometimes, he … well, occasionally he’ll look … oh who am I kidding? I thought.

He turned the car onto a bumpy road through a small park filled with baseball diamonds and maple trees. It led to an old, dark parking lot. Normally, it was probably empty. Tonight, though, there were a dozen cars parked right up to the sand. Beyond the cars on the beach were about thirty of the coolest juniors and seniors in school.

Edward parked next to the old concessions shack, which didn’t look as if it had been used in a dozen summers or more, and jogged around the car to let me out. It was a touching little gesture, one I’d loved when we first started dating. But now … now it felt forced.

I was
suspicious
.

“Thank you, dear.” I stepped out, my hand brushing against my pocket to make sure the pen was still there. Edward’s hand found mine and he wrapped it around his waist, pulling me close. “We can leave any time,” he whispered. “Please. Just tell me. I care only about you.”

“I’m OK,” I said quietly. His lips brushed against my cheek and a soft moan escaped my lips.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s find everyone.”

The task turned out to be easier than expected. Everyone had congregated to the dozens upon dozens of picnic tables sitting on the sand about a hundred yards away. My feet squished into the sand, and twice one of my sandals slipped off. I regretted wearing them—what if something happened tonight? How would I be able to maneuver in sandals, fer cryin’ out loud?

“What are you thinking about?” Edward asked.

“I wish I’d worn shoes.”

He laughed. “You’d get sand in them.” He lifted one leg. He was wearing khaki shorts and sandals. “These are perfect.”

“Those,” I said, “are hundred-dollar Armani sandals. They’re going to be ruined.”

“Then I’ll buy another pair,” he said simply.

“It must be nice to have rich parents,” I said, laughing. “You should get a job at some point, though. So you know what it’s like to work. It’s a good habit.”

His hand locked in mine. He squeezed it. For the first time, I didn’t feel a flutter of warmth run through my body. All I thought about was how I could break from his grip if I needed to. “You’re just volunteering,” he pointed out.

“True, but I cooked French fries all last summer,” I said. “You should have seen me. You’d have loved it. I had this little hat and I wore a bowtie. It was easily the worst experience of my life. And the pay was awful.”

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “It sounds like I’m missing a whole lot.”

One of the track boys called out to Edward. They exchanged waves. Someone had brought red and yellow paper lanterns and set them up on the picnic tables. There were coolers sitting on the sand and a portable stereo playing pop hits.

“A real party,” I murmured.

Edward stopped at one of the coolers and opened it, pulling out a bottle of beer and a bottle of mixed alcohol. He handed it to me. I examined the label in the darkness.

“Strawberry?”

Edward nodded. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want.”

I immediately thought back to what Seth said about the losers. “No! No. I’ll drink it.” Or just open it and hold onto it …

“Alice!”

I turned, squinting in the darkness. A blonde bimbo was bouncing toward me, weaving between students and picnic tables.

“Is that Tricia?” Edward asked.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” I laughed. “Tricia?”

She stopped in front of us, out of breath, smiling. She was clutching one of the bottles of strawberry-flavored alcohol. She was wearing an outfit I’d never seen before: short shorts, a low-cut red tube top with her bra straps exposed on her bare shoulders, and a silver necklace. Her hair looked
bouncier
than usual. “Isn’t this awesome? This is the coolest party ever. Ever.”

“Good to see you here,” Edward said. One of his track mates tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, gave a high-five, then turned and gave me a smooch on the cheek before following them to the other side of the picnic tables.

I turned back to Tricia. “How is the weekend?”

“Good. Good!” She laughed again. “Gawd, I’m having so much fun. I can’t believe I got invited to this party.”

“It’s great,” I said. “Where’s Seth?”

“He’s at home. I didn’t bring him.”

“What? Why the hell not? He loves the beach.”

“Because,” Tricia moaned, “I wanted to come alone. We’re not joined at the hip or anything.”

“Are you fighting?”

“No. I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t remember. God, you have no idea how much fun this is, Alice! We’re at the
cool
party!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring Seth,” I said, waving my bottle of alcohol in frustration. Sticky strawberry-flavored juice splashed across my wrist.

Suddenly Tricia’s face soured. “Look, Alice. You don’t get it, OK? I didn’t have some random
Prince Charming
fly in out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet. You got lucky, all right?”

I took a nervous step back. “Trish …”

“No, listen.” She held a finger up to my face. “Let me have my fun tonight. OK? Seth is nice and he’s fun to be around but he’s no Edward. I know you don’t understand because Edward’s your first serious boyfriend, but what happened to you
doesn’t ever happen
. He’s perfect. And some of the guys here tonight … they’re pretty damn close. I want to be a part of this.”

“But Edward …”

Tricia laughed. “And the best part? He went right after you the moment he saw you. Like he just
had
to have you.”

I stood there, speechless. The pen felt like it was about to burn a hole through the pocket of my shorts.

“I’m going to dance in the sand,” Tricia said, taking a long drink of her bottle. She turned and stumbled toward the group of boys and girls bouncing at the shore where waves gently rolled across their bare toes.

I turned away and, without thinking, took a sip of the drink. It tasted sweet and sour at the same time, and I nearly gagged when I swallowed it. But then I took another drink. It tasted strange and felt strange inside my stomach. I took another drink, walking alone on the empty beach. It stretched far into the distance, broken up two hundred yards ahead by an old sewage drainage pipe. I was heading toward it without heading toward it, my head just a little dizzy.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself, holding up the bottle and staring hard at the last few ounces of alcohol. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling disoriented as I did so. My vision spun a bit and I didn’t like it. Behind me, students had begun gathering into a larger dancing group. Two young men were splashing into the waves, screaming at the top of their lungs.

I turned back to the tunnel. I had to get rid of this bottle, even if it meant littering. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to feel like this, all dizzy and nauseous. All I could think about was that girl
in the parking lot, the way her fluids were
sucked out
. It was like some weird vampire show only worse because the vampire didn’t stop at just the blood. What else was out there?

What if Edward came after me?

I spun around, sure that he would be right behind me. But there was no one. Only darkness.

Which was even scarier.

“Stop it,” I told myself. “Gawd, you’re a hero now. You can’t be afraid of the
dark
.”

I walked closer to the tunnel. It had a concrete base and the rusted iron bars criss-crossing the exit point had long ago been pulled back or cut entirely. The clouds above parted and in the moonlight I could see that someone had spray-pained the words SOUTH SHORE in big dark letters on the side of the massive tunnel. This entire place … it felt oddly familiar. I’d been here before. Long ago, on a school trip.

Sand castles. We’d had a sand castle competition. I remembered it now. I remembered I’d built a horrible tower with a young boy I hated and then the entire castle had fallen apart. I’d turned and run down the beach, crying. I got close to this tunnel. It had those words spray painted way back then.

But not the one below it:

ALICE

I stepped onto the cracked concrete platform next to the tunnel, bent over and set down the glass. “No more,” I muttered.

“No more.”

My heart skipped a beat. I looked up. “Hello?” I called out.

“No more.”

The voice sounded like my own. It echoed inside the tunnel. I turned around: there was no one walking on the beach. Everyone was still by the picnic tables, dancing around the colored lanterns. I heard Tricia’s shrill laugh above everything else.

“No more,” came the voice again.

I stepped closer to the tunnel. The little voice inside my head said, “Woah. Wait. You’re getting closer? Really?” Yes, I thought. I had this urge to step closer and I couldn’t fight it.

It was dark inside save for a faint gold-colored trail of light slipping out like a gentle stream of water. It flowed down the drainage ditch, splashing into Lake Michigan.

“No more …”

I reached into my pocket for the pen, and took it out and with one shaky hand began to draw a foil on the concrete slab. My mind whirled. Where did the bolt go? I couldn’t remember. My hand shook. When the picture was complete, it looked awful. I grabbed it anyway and the sword slipped out of the concrete intact. I swung it. The weight felt good. The thin blade cut through the air with ease. My mind had done a good job filling in for my shaky hand … at least it seemed so.

“No more,” came the voice inside the tunnel. I walked toward it, glancing once over my shoulder to make sure none of the partygoers had wandered down the beach. I was still alone.

“Where are you now, Briar?” I asked aloud.

“Briar, Briar,” came the voice inside the tunnel.