The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.3

by Ken Brosky

  Briar reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his new blue button-down t-shirt. “Calm yourself, my boy! Sanda is in no immediate danger.”

  “That’s true.” I lay back on the bed, thinking. “He adopted her … why? We need to know more. We need information, Briar.”

  “I can go to town,” Briar said. “The old library is a vast collection of rare oddities. I’m sure if I just brushed up on the local languages, I could find something of interest.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Chase said. “I can, crap I dunno … I can help you take notes.”

  I sat up quickly, grabbing his arm with both hands. “No! Please don’t.”

  He looked at me, placing a hand over mine and gently prying loose my desperate, viselike grasp. His eyes were soft as he took both my hands in his. “Alice, please let me help.”

  “I don’t want you to …”

  “To die?” He smiled weakly. “Been there, done that.”

  “You have a more important job,” I said. “You’re going to get us ready for the tournament.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

  No, Chase … I’m thinking about you sitting lifeless in your wheelchair. I’m thinking about keeping you as far away from the messy side of my life as possible. “Look, we can’t make a move until we know more about the Malevolence. Right now, Vontescue doesn’t know what we know, which means we know more than he knows.”

  “Um … what now?” Seth asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “We have the upper hand for now. But we can’t act until we know if this dark force is controlling the prince, or if this dark force is the prince.”

  “Oh, I’ve got five bucks that says it’s the prince,” Seth said.

  Chase pursed his lips. “I’ll take that bet. I think this dark force is controlling him.”

  We turned to Briar.

  “Oh, absolutely not,” the rabbit huffed. “Br’er Rabbit knows better than to gamble on evil.” He began pacing again. “Although I would wager my weight in gold that the nefarious Sam Grayle is somehow involved. A man as clever as him couldn’t possibly be in the dark about the prince. It would require him to commit a number of mistakes that are wholly outside of his character.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Yeah?” Chase called out.

  “We’re not waiting another hour for the girls to get ready,” Miguel said. “Coach says you should round them up and meet us at the gym.”

  “Fine.” He shook his head. “They’re using the Jump.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “We saw Scott pop one last night after dinner,” Seth said. “You know, before Chase died and all.”

  I felt my stomach lurch. Bile burned my throat.

  “They’re taking two a day,” Chase said, frowning. “They’re getting antsy, wound up like they’ve been drinking nothing but energy drinks.”

  Seth nodded. “They were crazy at dinner. Seriously out of control, dudette. Luckily, the prince wasn’t there or he’d have probably just drunk all their blood right there.”

  “Again, he’s not a vampire.”

  “Says you.” Seth shuddered. “But Sanda was there, and she wasn’t pleased. Crap, she’s probably going to have lunch with her dad. What if he decides she knows too much? What if he thinks I’m trouble?! What if he thinks she’s too much trouble?!”

  “Easy!” Briar said, grabbing Seth’s shoulders and shaking him wildly. “Get a hold of yourself, consarn it!”

  “Maybe Seth is right,” Chase said. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and grabbed my hand before I could reach for his forehead. “Maybe Seth should try and lay low for a bit. You know, take a limo to the library. He could take Sanda.”

  “What?!” we all exclaimed.

  “Think about it,” Chase said. “Who knows more about the region’s past than her? And who knows the language besides her?”

  Briar stood stiffly, tugging on his vest. “Well, I do have some knowledge …”

  “And besides, she doesn’t need to actually know anything about our plan. Seth can just say he wants to spend time exploring the library. She’s smart, and into history.” He turned to Seth. “Show an interest in books and she’ll be totally into you, buddy. For sure.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, hands on hips.

  Chase smiled. “Well … it worked with you, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, snap!” Seth turned to Briar. “What do ya think? You could have your own table and I could sneak over there once in a while whenever Sanda finds something that might have to do with our investigation.”

  “Hmmmmm, yes,” the rabbit said, eyes narrowing. “She would be safe with us, too. Very well. Seeing as how your driver will be a Corrupted, I shall arrive via another means and meet you there.”

  “Cool.” Seth turned to me. “What about you?”

  I shrugged. “I won’t make a move until I know what I’m up against. Until then, we’re just going to have to live uncomfortably with some sort of terrible dark force residing upstairs.”

  “Right.” Seth slapped Briar on the shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

  After the door was shut, I reached out and grabbed Chase, pulling him back onto the bed with me. He chuckled. “I’m fine. Just a little exhausted. Slowly recuperating from ...”

  I squeezed him tighter, ignoring the soft pain in my ribs. It was the left side, but it felt sometimes like it was spreading, like water soaking into a cloth. “Just don’t talk for a minute. Let me have this.”

  He stayed silent. I cradled my chin in his neck, breathing in through my nose. I could smell the spicy, citrusy scent of his shampoo. I could feel the rough whiskers of his neck on my soft cheek.

  I could see him, in my mind’s eye, sunken in his chair. Eyes closed. Chest still. Mouth hanging slightly open.

  I see the death of your loved ones …

  I opened my eyes. My fingers squeezed his abs.

  “Careful,” he whispered. “That tickles.”

  “Chase, I almost lost you.”

  His hand gently caressed the side of my face. “I know. I mean, I don’t understand it. But … I definitely felt gone for a moment. It didn’t scare me, though. It should have, but it didn’t. You know why?”

  “Why?” I asked, looking up at him.

  He looked down, smiling. “Because you were there.”

  I groaned. “Chase, that’s soooo much pressure!”

  He poked my belly button, eliciting giggles. “You can handle anything the Corrupted throw at you. What I’m worried about are those Italian fencers.”

  “What if I have to fight this Malevolence before the tournament is over?” I asked anxiously. “What if he attacks at the tournament? What if he holds our team hostage?”

  He squeezed me tight against his body. His warmth calmed the nervous energy coursing through my legs. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it. And not a moment sooner.”

  Chapter 2

  At practice, Chase gathered the girls together beside one of the two mats reserved for the U.S. team. We were some of the last to arrive, and already the entire gym was beginning to smell a bit like wet socks. Gross? Yes … but you get used to it. Just like you get used to the thick fencing uniform and the stuffy helmet.

  “Listen,” Chase said, wheeling in front of us. He’d done up his hair real nice and was wearing his gauntlets. He looked better than he had in the morning. “I want to make some minor changes. We’ve all been moving around from foil to saber to epee, and that needs to change. I want Alice on saber. I want Rachel and Margaret on foil. And I want Jasmine on epee.”

  “Why me?” Jasmine asked with a shrug. “I don’t have any more experience with epee than anyone else.”

  “Epee is a sturdier three-sided blade,” Chase explained, “and the rules for epee fencing allow the fencer to attack any part of her opponent’s body. There aren’t any rules for right-of-way, which means Jasmine can use
her reach and her grace to attack her opponent. She has free reign.”

  “And she’s better,” Margaret said, pursing her lips. “It’s cool, Chase. I totally know I’m the worst of us.”

  Chase shook his head. “You and Rachel are the best pokers. And what do you do in foil? You poke. So poke ‘em as much as you can.”

  Margaret looked at Rachel. They smiled.

  “What about me?” I asked, hungry for a heaping of praise.

  Chase looked up at me, smiling. “You fill out your uniform very nicely.”

  “Oooh!” I hissed, throwing my helmet at him. He laughed, catching it and tossing it back to me even before I was ready. My hands flailed, hitting it aside. It rolled near Mr. Whitmann’s feet; he looked down at it, frowning.

  “Everyone relax, and that’s an order,” Chase said. “What we’re doing today is getting a little feel for our enemies. We need to know as much as we can. So diversify. Everyone get what I’m saying?”

  “You don’t care if we win,” Margaret said.

  Chase nodded.

  “Wait, why not?” Rachel asked. She was wearing less black eye shadow than normal, no doubt influenced by Margaret and Jasmine, who’d taken it upon themselves to help Rachel refine her Goth sensibilities. Not change her, though—and that was pretty cool.

  “We don’t get any medals for winning a practice fight,” Chase answered. “We get medals for winning in the tournament. The more knowledge we can gather, the more ready we’ll be for the tournament.”

  “So who are we facing?” I asked.

  Chase nodded to the far end of the gym, where a handful of girls dressed in fencing uniforms were walking our way.

  “The Russians,” Margaret said in a melodramatic tone. “Remember that old movie where Russia invades the United States? And then a bunch of high school kids start fighting back? That’s us, ladies. We’re the Wolverines.”

  “O.M.G. I don’t know if picturing ourselves in some goofy ‘80s movie is going to help,” Jasmine said.

  “Test them,” Chase ordered. “Diversify your attacks. Stay defensive. I want to know what they’re bringing to the table.”

  I met my girl on our practice mat, touching sabers with her and introducing myself. “I am Dessa,” she said, then put on her helmet.

  I turned, walking to my side of the mat. “Nice to meet you, too,” I said, putting my helmet on and connecting the electrical cord that monitored the hits. I hefted the saber, swinging it a few times. It had a slightly different feel than the saber I’d last practiced with. That didn’t surprise me—every morning, there was a big row of sabers and the first teams to arrive got the first pick. Some of the sabers were older, some a little more used. All of this mattered. A slightly different weight mattered.

  “En garde,” Chase announced.

  I set my foot behind the blue line on the mat. Across from me, Dessa did the same. She was about my height, my build, only she was wearing flamboyant red socks that were clearly illegal in regular match play. A nice touch for a practice uniform, though.

  “Allez!” Chase shouted.

  Dessa came forward. I let her attack, parrying low before she swirled her blade in a circular motion, stabbing me in the chest. The light on her helmet went off.

  Chase set us up again. This time, I stepped forward, initiating the attack and making three high cuts in quick succession. I nicked her arm, scoring a point. We went again. Dessa’s feet moved quickly. Her attacks were sharp, aiming for that awkward place in the center of my body where I wasn’t sure if I should parry high or low, left or right. She was tricky and fast, and when she gave me the right-of-way, she continually stepped back, forcing me to make a handful of clunky lunges to close the distance between us. It tired me, especially when Dessa successfully parried and then attacked, forcing me back before her quick blade could slip past my defenses.

  I lost, 15 to 4, and felt a good deal more exhausted than my opponent apparently did. Dessa either forgot to shake my hand or simply didn’t care, stepping off the mat with a carefree hop. I handed off my helmet to Jasmine before taking a seat next to Rachel and Margaret.

  “What do you think?” Rachel asked.

  “I think this is going to be tough,” I said, watching Jasmine’s first three points play out one after the other. She was taking the defensive, letting her opponent—also wearing red socks—overpower her. The Russian girl was aiming low, going after Jasmine’s legs, which was fair game with an epee. Chase watched, wheeling alongside the mat. The sleeves of his gray t-shirt curled up, revealing his biceps. In full-on coach mode, he was pretty sexy.

  “Do you know what Chase is talking about, finding their weaknesses and all that?” Margaret asked.

  “I think he knows what he’s doing.” I turned to her, suddenly suspicious. “Why?”

  “Because, you know, we still have the Jump,” Margaret said. She looked at me with a serious expression. “And, OK, I know Chase is your special guy and all that? And he’s totally cute and smart when it comes to this? But I don’t think learning a few extra moves is going to help us win.”

  “We said we would try,” I told her. “So get up there and try.”

  “Jasmine’s not finished.” Margaret turned back to the mat, where Jasmine was in the process of shaking her opponent’s hand. “Oh. Wow.”

  Margaret took the helmet from Jasmine, walking onto the mat with some hesitation. She grabbed the thin blade of her foil, bending it just a bit so that it was as straight as it could be. She got into her stance, glancing over at Chase.

  “En garde,” Chase said. “Allez!”

  Margaret and her opponent took turns exchanging blows while Chase wheeled alongside the mat, watching. Studying. I tried to do the same, but the movements were so fast that I had a hard time picking out anything specific. Foil fencing is furious, and when the two opponents get too close the blades begin to blur together, making it tough to see who’s scoring the first point. Luckily, the electric sensor helped all of us keep track.

  And Margaret’s sensor didn’t go off too often.

  “That’s OK,” Chase told her midway through, when she was losing 6 to 2. “Keep your feet moving. Quick strokes, Margie.”

  Margaret, frustrated, tried doing what Chase said. But her opponent simply adjusted accordingly, shortening her steps and anticipating quick strokes. Margaret grew more frustrated after each point, stomping her feet and turning her back on her opponent, a big no-no even in practice.

  “Aim low,” Chase ordered. “En garde. Allez!”

  Margaret aimed low only to find her opponent ready and waiting. More frustrated now, she began swinging wildly, aiming high and at least temporarily surprising her opponent enough to score a direct hit on her chest. Accidentally, though. And only because her opponent had been expecting nothing but low attacks.

  Because her opponent could speak English.

  “Oh gawd,” I whispered. Margaret finished, tearing off her mask and half-throwing it at Rachel, who managed to catch it with both hands. The sounds of blades clanging echoed above us, then seemed to quiet all at once for a brief moment as if to articulate the depth of our struggles.

  “Sorry,” Margaret said. She took a deep breath. Her face was flushed. Her sweaty hair was matted to her forehead, curling just a bit more than usual.

  “OK Margaret, I know you’re upset,” Jasmine said, “but your hair looks totally hot when it’s sweaty. You’ve got a serious Angelina Jolie thing going on right now.”

  Margaret’s face softened just a bit. She plopped down beside me, causing the flimsy bench to bounce a bit. “Oh great,” she muttered. “If this bench breaks because I sat on it, I’d probably run home crying. All the way back to Milwaukee.”

  Chase wheeled over. “Rachel’s next. I’m seeing things. I’m seriously seeing some things. But we need to stay one step ahead of them somehow.”

  “Chase!” I whispered. The other team was congregating together on the other side of the mat. None of them looked tired. Or be
at. Or frustrated. “They can understand us!”

  He cocked his head.

  “They know English,” I said. “That’s how they’re anticipating our moves. You shout them out like a loud American, and they understand all of it!”

  Jasmine fell over, leaning melodramatically on my shoulder. “Oh cripes! Of course they know English. Everyone knows at least some English.”

  “But we don’t know Russian,” Rachel finished. “So we don’t know what their coach is saying to them.”

  “Another advantage,” Margaret muttered.

  “Let’s just get through this,” Chase said. “Come on, Rachel.”

  “What should I do?” she asked, following him to her side of the mat.

  “Poke her lots of times,” Chase said with a smile. He wheeled beside the center line, hands sliding over the wheels to brake. “En garde. Allez!”

  Rachel closed the gap with a level of intensity the rest of us could only dream of. She kept her blade in a good place, parrying her opponent’s attacks on her midsection. Her opponent’s coach shouted directions in Russian; Chase stayed silent. Her opponent began slowly adjusting, trying out a few new things. Whenever Rachel flailed or missed a parry, the Russian coach shouted something else. Points ensued.

  Points for the Russian.

  When it was over, we gathered our things and waited for the boys to finish. They returned somewhat triumphant, and it showed on their faces. They’d won a few matches, come close in a few others. They were smiling. There was a bounce to their steps. They were practically glowing like Corrupted.

  And I think every single one of us girls was envious.

  Chapter 3: Briar

  Well! I wish I could say I was envious of the monumental existential crisis Alice and her friends were suffering, but no. I suppose you may be wondering what an existential crisis is. Allow me to provide a simple explanation, and you may use the Google for further elaboration …

  An existential crisis is a moment when one questions the meaning or purpose of one’s life. So, in Alice’s case, she was experiencing an awareness of her own freedom: should she take the Jump or should she not?