by Ken Brosky
“Nothing,” I said. “Come on. You can help Harper, I’ll help Old Jack.”
“What about Cixi?”
I shrugged. “Do you want her to kill you?”
Wodehouse, surprised, shook his head.
“Then I suggest we let her find her own way out.”
Chapter 11
Back in the prince’s black car, I called Grayle.
“It’s done,” I said.
“Excellent. I knew you would pull through, Alice.”
“The rest of the crew did, too.”
He was silent a moment. I reached over to the control panel, rolling up the glass divider between the back of the car and the driver’s seat. The car sped up as it reached the highway road that led back to Vontescue’s castle. It was evening, and a nearly full moon hung in the sky.
“All of them are alive?”
“Probably,” I said. “Your assassin was still in the cave last I checked, but she’s a crafty gal so I’m sure she’ll make it out eventually. When she does, you’re going to contact her and end her contract.”
“And how can I rest assured knowing there are others who might take my treasure?”
“Because the treasure is gone,” I snapped. “All that’s left is in a bag sitting at my feet. The cave is emptied out. There’s nothing left.”
More silence. My heart thumped against my sore ribs. Grayle’s slow breaths sounded in the earpiece. Boy, if ever there was a tense moment …
“Very well,” he said finally. “I hope you don’t mind if I send some people to explore the cave, just to be sure.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less from you. I’ll have the driver drop off your precious loot. I assume you Corrupted have each other’s addresses.”
I hung up before he could offer a snappy response. “How’s that for powerful language?” I told the phone.
The car dropped me off at the rear gate to the castle. I walked into the courtyard, following the gravel path between the gardens. Something didn’t feel right. I’d gone back across the lake, using a fresh torch to destroy the trees after filling McCormack’s sack with diamonds and golden leaves. The diamonds alone would be worth millions, more than enough to satisfy Grayle.
But I hadn’t taken a single one. Somehow, profiting off the Corrupted seemed wrong on an entirely new level of wrongness.
The Malevolence …
What was it? Why had it approached the Brothers Grimm and offered them magic? And why had they warned me? Did they want me to stop it?
The Malevolence created this mess. The Malevolence could clean it up, too. And then I could have a normal life …
“Alice!”
I turned and, seeing Chase and Briar on the path, couldn’t help but grin. Whatever came next could wait. Here was my other life, coming to meet me. The life that truly mattered.
“Hey!” I said. “Enjoying a lovers’ stroll?”
They looked at each other, confused.
“I was just showing Chase where I found the symbols,” Briar explained. “We think we may have found a facsimile in one of the books in the prince’s library.”
I walked over to Chase. He reached out, grabbing my hand. I gave it a squeeze, feeling my face flush. He looked so cute, bundled up in his coat, wearing my earmuffs. He smiled up at me.
A cold breeze crept across the back of my neck. Above, clouds covered the moon. My entire body went numb.
“The Brothers Grimm cursed me with life …”
I spun around, my hand reaching for the pen in my pocket. The voice … sweet and velvety … where …
“… So I will curse you with death!”
Chase’s body lurched. He cried out in pain
“Chase!” Briar said, falling backward.
I screamed, reaching out for Chase and feeling something cold push my hand away.
The clouds above parted. The twelfth princess appeared in the form of a shadow, circling Chase’s body. I swung the pen like a knife, cutting through the shadow. The shadow exploded in a cloud of ashes, raining down over Chase’s still body.
“Chase!” I bawled, grabbing him. Tears streamed from my eyes. One shaky hand went to his throat, searching for a pulse.
I see the death of your loved ones …
“Briar, his heart’s stopped!” I tried picking him up, but he was too heavy. The pain in my ribs flared like a burst of white-hot fire. I let go of him and he slumped back in the chair, eyes closed.
“We need to get help,” Briar said, hopping from foot to foot. “We need an ambulance! But where? How? The prince doesn’t even have a phone!”
“Help!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Briar, it’s my fault. I miscounted the princesses. The last one followed me here. She … sh-she …”
I see the death of your loved ones …
“I can run into town,” Briar sputtered. “Yes, it will take just minutes and I will—”
“There’s no time.” I reached under my shirt, pulling out the vial necklace.
“Alice! That vial …”
“It either saves a person’s life, or it calls Death. That’s how the fairy tale goes. Juliette wanted me to have this for a reason, Briar! What better reason than to save the guy I love?!”
He tapped his paws together. “I … I …”
I poured the liquid into Chase’s mouth, tipping his head back. I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tight. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, please, please, please.” If Death came, I would fight him. I wouldn’t let him take Chase.
I see the death of your loved ones …
A pair of furry paws wrapped around me.
“OK,” Briar said. “So Death takes all three of us.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I sniffled. “We …” We can’t beat Death.
“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Briar whispered. “Maybe we can reason with the fool.”
“Reason with who?”
We both fell back, landing on the gravel path.
“Chase!” we both exclaimed.
He brushed the ashes off his jacket, blinking a few times. “What happened? My head feels like it’s been worked on by a jackhammer.”
“You’re alive.” I leaned in, collapsing on his lap and sobbing all over his nice jacket. “You’re alive!”
“I’m fine,” he said. His hand ran across my head, caressing me. My entire body shook. My muscles had tensed and refused to loosen. I looked up at him, losing myself in his eyes. Here. Here was my life. Here was what I wanted.
And there. The shadow in the window of the top floor of the keep. There was the force that was keeping me from it.
The Malevolence.
The Lost Diary of Abigail Bauer: Part 2
November 5, 1822
I have arrived in the town of Ukigos in Hungary. The smell of hay and manure permeates the air. I love the smell of hay—the manure not so much. Everyone has horses, so many horses, and the townsfolk share the giant pastures on the western edge of town.
Tired. Need rest. A kind family has agreed to let me stay with them in exchange for two of my dolls, which they gave to their two young daughters. Wilma and Gunter are the names of the parents. They once lived farther west and speak decent German. They remind me of my parents, the way they gently touch when they pass each other in the cramped home, the way they look at each other so lovingly.
I wear a red scarf around my face, and a red hooded cloak to hide my long hair. Wilma and Gunter believe me to be a young man.
November 6, 1822
I woke early this morning and helped the wife of the household—Wilma—milk the dairy cow kept behind the house. We brought a pail of milk inside, where it was distributed into three smaller wooden pails, two of which went to neighboring families whose homes have seen better days. Wilma has seen better days. She has graying hair and a wide waist and hums to herself as she works, her back hunched over ever so slightly. She makes me think of my own mother, how she must have changed all these years since I’ve seen her.
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“Since you are a strapping young lad,” she told me, “you can chop some firewood this afternoon as well.”
I agreed, on the condition that I have time to stop by the library. Wilma accepted this without pestering me with questions. I took leave of the family after supping with them—a venison sausage and cheese—and made my way to the library near the center of town. There is a cathedral here, with tall beautiful spires and two large bells inside the towers. I’ve been told the bells do not work. This evening, people congregated inside, and moments later the intoxicating scent of incense made its way down the gravel road, slipping through the old windows of the library.
When I returned in the evening, Wilma and Gunter anxiously asked me when I would leave. I asked them for but a few more days and offered to pay more. They refused, only asking that I leave as soon as I was able. Strange.
November 7, 1822
Two days in the library now and no references about the magic that brought the fairy tale characters to life. I am hampered by my limited knowledge of this region’s dialect, to say nothing of the arcane shelving system this particular library has set up to arrange its books. I am frustrated. I feel there is an answer but I cannot find it. I have searched so many libraries, learned so much about this world, but have found nothing about the magic that created the Corrupted.
Meanwhile, the Brothers Grimm have become ever more famous. And strange occurrences are happening all over the world as the Corruption infects more of the brothers’ characters-come-to-life.
November 8, 1822
Success and tragedy. This morning, I found myself tasked with chopping more wood, and was happy to do it—it’s clear now that the husband of this family is suffering from weary bones that prevent him from doing many chores. Gunter reminds me of my father: proud, stubborn, unwilling to simply sit and let others do his work. So he suffers in silence, delivering pails of milk to other families in town, bringing back cheeses and meat and a cotton blanket dyed red. I suspect he has not used the hunting bow hanging over the front door in some time.
Have I let my family down? I had no siblings when I left. But I have cousins, and my father has three brothers. Had, I should say. I do not know if …
Family is important. Love is important. My cousins will take care of my parents because our family loves each other. But what do they think of Abigail, the girl who abandoned them? Do they hate me? Or would they forgive me? What if I found a way to destroy this magic once and for all? Would they take me back?
“A young man should chop wood faster than this,” Wilma told me once I’d finished. She wore a wry smile when she said it. The smile faded, quickly, though. “You do not sleep well.”
“I have nightmares,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “A forest. And loud thunder.”
Wilma said nothing. She grabbed my hands, holding them tight until the tips of my fingers were no longer cold.
After a meal of bread and cheese, I returned to the library, searching again for anything that might aid me in my quest to vanquish the Corrupted once and for all. I’d learned much from that clever fox I met years ago, and my hope is to return again to his den in spring and find him still in good form. Not yet Corrupted. I passed his way a year ago and he told me that he’d noticed something interesting: the characters who turned Corrupted first were often the nastiest bunch from the fairy tales. Wolves and step-mothers especially.
So perhaps my fox friend will not fall victim to the magic pen for many years to come. I do hope so, for my visits with him are the only time I may talk freely with another. He’s almost a friend, as strange as it sounds. And so I am conflicted, for if I found some magic spell to vanquish all of the Corrupted, I would cast the spell without hesitation. My only friend in the world would die.
Anyway … the man. I must write as much as I can about the strange man before I fall asleep tonight. He arrived early in the evening, while I was pouring through a stack of newspaper clippings that the library had collected but not bothered to store anywhere other than in the far corner, stacked almost as high as myself. They were newspapers collected by merchants and left by travellers, kept here by the library so that townsfolk may learn more about the rest of the world. Some languages I did not know, but others were readable enough … though it seemed every city was full of strange events that may or may not be the work of a Corrupted.
“This is hardly what I would call an afternoon well spent.”
I looked up from the copy of the London Herald. Standing on the other side of the table was a man of middling age, his hair long and haggard. He had a leathery face with graying whiskers and long sideburns. He wore a gray overcoat with brass buttons, the kind a soldier might wear. In the warm orange light of the lantern sitting on the table, I could see that the fabric was ripped in places, leaving frayed edges.
“Who are you?” I asked, my hand reaching for my pen. He certainly wasn’t glowing, nor was he leaving a golden trail. But Corrupted do not always follow such rules, I have learned.
“I am but a weary fool,” he said, bowing stiffly. He looked in pain. “May I sit with you a moment?”
I allowed it, watching him take the seat with considerable struggle. Whatever injury lay behind his overcoat, it was substantial. He noticed my concern—or wariness—and waved it away. “Years ago, I fought a battle. I was injured and now that injury plagues me.” He leaned forward. “I suspect you would be interested in knowing more.”
“Why would you suspect that?” I asked.
“You have come to this library many days. You’re searching for something. You’ve seen clues, but you don’t fully realize it yet. I apologize, but I have been asking about you in town. I have been watching you, girl.”
The jig was up. I pulled down my red scarf and my hood, revealing my long hair. “My secret is not so secret, it seems.”
“Why do you dress as a boy might?” he asked.
“Because the clothes are more practical,” I answered. “Because a girl is treated differently and I cannot afford to waste my time humoring men’s ridiculous expectations of how a lady should behave.”
The man laughed and coughed. “I have expectations of you as well, although I fear mine are far greater than what you are accustomed to.” He leaned close. “Do you believe in magic?”
I regarded him with suspicion. He smelled half-dead already, his breath stinking of onions. “I could be persuaded.”
“What if I told you that many years ago, my master—my lord—encountered a magic so powerful that he feared for humanity?”
“You know more about me than you’re letting on,” I said, fingers squeezing the pen. I suddenly had the urge to run. I had never encountered another human being with such knowledge of the other world that exists in the shadows.
“I know only what my lord told me,” the man said. “He told me that many years ago, an evil force tricked a pair of brothers into casting a magic spell that would unleash creatures into this world. Creatures that did not belong.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. “Your lord was wise.”
The man nodded. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. The muscles in his face tightened and I felt a pain of pity for him. He was suffering greatly just speaking. “My lord hunted down this evil force and took with him his best warriors to destroy it. He failed.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “But how? Where was this?”
The man shook his head. “This evil force was more powerful than we expected. But my lord had another plan. With the help of four magical seals, he bound this creature to its castle.”
“I must speak with your lord,” I said quickly. “He … this magic …”
The man took another deep breath. One hand clutched the edge of the table. The man’s knuckles were red and sore, his fingers wrinkled. “I was the only one to escape from the evil force’s army. The rest of our warriors were slaughtered.” He pulled out a parchment of paper, setting it on the table beside the lantern.
I took the parchment, reading the sloppy handwriting as best I could. It was a southern dialect of German, readable enough. It spoke of the battle, chilling enough in its detail. “But what of the location of this place?” I asked. “That is what I need to know.”
The man shook his head. “You do not need to know.”
“Then I cannot destroy this evil force.”
“No. You cannot.” He stared at me with his sunken blue eyes. I stared back, trying to understand his meaning. He leaned forward, coughing again. “You were chosen to carry that pen.”
I held it up. “Yes. I suppose. But anyone could have walked by and picked it up.”
“The pen chose you. In that pen is the same magic that brought these creatures to life.”
I stared at it, trying to imagine some unseen force inside the pen. Of course it sounds silly … but should I be so surprised?
“The pen cannot fall into the hands of the evil force. Do not go searching for it.”
“Then how will it be destroyed?”
“There will come another,” the man said. He closed his eyes hard, a single tear squeezing out. His breaths came out in rasps now. “The pen will choose her. She will either destroy the evil force, or it will destroy her. But she will not seek out the evil force. She will be drawn to it.”
“How do you know all this?”
“My lord saw these things in a dream. He told us all what he’d seen, but he did not believe this chosen one would arrive in time to save the world.”
“So he went to confront the evil himself,” I finished.
The man nodded, swallowing hard. “I believe he knew he could not destroy it. I believe his goal was simply to bind the creature to the castle to ensure it could not freely wander the earth. In this, he succeeded. But at a great cost. Nothing could have prepared us for the evil force.” He opened his eyes. They were glassy now, staring into some empty darkness over my shoulder. “It looked like a man. But it fought like a monster, tearing us apart with such ferocity that I feared it was surely avenging some unresolved conflict between our ancestors.”
