The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 4

by Isabella Fontaine

  No one seemed to see the rabbit.

  “Juliette.”

  He knew my name. I ignored him, picking up my pace. He followed easily, trying to get my attention by waving his arms wildly.

  “I don’t know you,” I said. “You’re not real.”

  “I’m quite real.”

  “Go away.”

  “I can’t. It’s my job to help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “But what about your dreams?”

  I slowed, turning the corner at the end of the block. I pressed my back against the display window of a chic clothing store, waiting for a couple wearing matching black coats to pass. I turned to the rabbit.

  “What do you know about my dreams?”

  “Everything,” he answered.

  April 5

  With the rabbit’s help, we used my dreams to find the boy. The park was on the south side of Chicago, tucked behind two old abandoned commercial buildings. The park was so well hidden that I had to circle the block twice before I noticed an old entrance that had been closed off with a fence.

  The boy was sitting on one of the swings, kicking himself back and forth. The rusty metal chains groaned each time the boy came toward me. He was not like the monster in my dreams. He was just a little boy.

  He stopped kicking his legs. The swing slowed. He watched me with a curious expression. I doubted my memory—this was not the boy in my dreams. It couldn’t be. That was insane. Demente. Above us, gray clouds obscured the sun. It seemed as if any moment, this world might rip away and an entirely new one would appear.

  I ran all the way home. The rabbit followed, suggesting what he called a “parlay.” I wouldn’t listen. I shut the door in his face and crawled into bed with Howard. My parents were in the guest bedroom, exhausted from a long day at the zoo with Rosa. I hadn’t been there because I’d let the rabbit convince me that finding this boy was more important. I’d listened to the rabbit tell me all about the Corrupted and then I’d entertained his fantasy because he was a giant talking rabbit.

  But the magic pen, the strange dreams, the talking rabbit … it was all too much.

  In the morning, I got up early and went to the store to get eggs for breakfast. I had the magic pen in my purse. I would give it back to the rabbit, I decided. I would tell the rabbit he had the wrong person. I was only eighteen. I’d had Rosa when I was sixteen. Instead of abandoning me, Howard—who was two years older than me—had married me with my parents’ blessing, skipped college and got a construction job so we could settle down.

  This. Was. My. Life.

  When I returned home, they were all dead. Muerto.

  I called the police, sat with a blanket covering me while they searched the house and found nothing. I filled out forms in a numb daze. I took my dear, sweet Rosa’s teddy bear and held it for dear life, feeling darkness envelope me. Then I ran back to the hidden playground.

  But the boy was gone.

  April 8

  We’ve found the sphinx’s lair. She’s living in a cave just east of Agnosara, Hungary. More adventurers have died in my dreams but at least their deaths will mean something: I know where the sphinx is, and I know what her lair looks like and I know the truth of the rumors about her.

  Agnosara is small, with a tall cathedral in the center. They also have a record store that sells cassettes. They have a good selection of rock and punk, and the owner was more than happy to trade a few cassettes for my hoop earrings.

  Earrings I drew in the tile floor of his bathroom. Earrings Howard had given me as a one-year anniversary present. I’d left behind the original earrings, just as I’d left behind everything except a few clothes and Rosa’s teddy bear.

  To survive, you must be a ghost.

  The sphinx still haunts my dreams, but now the visions of this mysterious girl are growing stronger. The girl holds the magic pen. She looks like Snow White, with long black hair and a milky complexion with a little sharp nose. She looks so afraid.

  I’ve decided not to tell Briar too much about it. He gets so worried about these things and he needs to stay focused right now. There are children missing in town. We must find them before it’s too late.

  April 9

  Tracks tonight led me to an old house whose occupant—a lonely old man with bright yellow suspenders—was lying dead in a corner with his eyes still open. Other than that, his small home was empty. The tracks disappeared into the floor. With Briar’s help, we pried the trap door open. I told him to keep watch, in case it was a trap. Briar happily agreed. He hates basements.

  I walked slowly down the creaky wooden stairs. Each step bowed under my weight. I had only a small flashlight, but its beam was bright enough to illuminate the entire basement and its dozens and dozens of bottles of wine resting on shelves built into the wall.

  Three children sat on the dirt floor, each one tied up with heavy rope. Tears cut through the dirt on their cheeks. Two boys and one girl. The girl had dark brown hair and narrow eyes and a pretty red dress. The boys could have been twins, with shaggy black hair and bright brown eyes.

  Only one was glowing.

  “You must think I’m stupid,” I said to the glowing boy.

  He cocked his head. I held up a dagger, balancing its tip on my finger. “A few more hours and you would never have found me. I fit in better than you think.”

  “Corrupted children fit in better when they’re not killing. You should have bought off someone—or two someones—who were willing to pretend you’re their child. Someone who moves frequently. Your own little familia to hide you.”

  “I detest adults,” said the Corrupted boy. He spat onto the floor. His saliva sizzled in the dirt. “I didn’t think the rumors were true.”

  “Rumors of what?” I asked.

  “Of a child killer,” he answered with a snobbish grin. “A hero who has made it her business to kill children.”

  “You’re no child,” I said. Still, his words cut me to the bone. Have I become a legend among the Corrupted? Am I the first to kill the fairy tale children after all these years?

  “I’m nothing but a child,” the boy said. “That’s all I’ll ever be. So kill me already. Don’t give it a second thought, you witch.”

  I didn’t.

  April 10

  No more dreams of the sphinx. Only visions of this girl who looks like Snow White. My successor.

  Briar worries. He worries so much but he doesn’t know the darkness that clings with bony arms, suffocating me. Maybe he’s right to worry, but there’s no way to explain it to him. He couldn’t possibly know how it feels. I … my family …

  I tell myself that I’m doing this for future heroes. I’m killing all of the Corrupted children so no other hero will make the same mistake I did.

  But that’s not entirely true.

  Deep down, I know the darkness will never let go. I’ll never see the world the way I once did. I’ll never claw my way out of this abyss.

  April 11

  I entered the sphinx’s cave alone, winding my way through the maze of tunnels. She was waiting for me, sitting on her haunches like a lion who’d just feasted and was now waiting for the sun to drain the last of her energy. Her beautiful face was covered by a thin layer of fur. Her wide, blue eyes regarded me as I entered her little lair, stepping over the bones.

  She would ask me a riddle. If I answered correctly, rumor had it she would let me have her treasure. If I did not answer correctly, she would eat me.

  But she had no treasure.

  “Give me food and I will live,” growled the creature. “Give me water and I will die. What am I?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I threw my dagger. I knew her sad story. I knew that somewhere, her father was still alive and I knew exactly what he would feel. If the Corruption had not overtaken him completely, he would want revenge.

  I count on it. His revenge will play a role in Alice Goodenough’s life.

  (Pages missing)

  September 25r />
  Too much to do and so little time left. In my dreams I see a young man with jet-black hair who stalks young women. His shadow is spider-like. He scares me more than any other creature I’ve ever known.

  He scares me because soon, he’ll kill me.

  And there’s still so much to do.

  September 26

  Traveling north, back to North Dakota. I’ve told Briar that there’s a creature up here, a statue creature that must be destroyed. He won’t admit it, but he hates car rides. I wish I could just move us around by plane, but it’s too risky now. We can’t leave a trail. We’re too well-known among the Corrupted.

  And that sickly dwarf’s name keeps popping up everywhere. Charitable organizations. Hospitals. Computing companies. Gilbert Grayle. I wish I could hunt the dwarfs down, but I know that’s not my role in all of this. I can see them in my dreams. I can see this new hero with black hair and I can see her victories.

  All but a few. It’s as if she has no destiny written at all. No surprise there, I guess. Briar’s not a fan of destiny. He says it makes people lazy. He says the pen can only help guide a hero, but it can’t see the future. He’s also convinced carrots are good for eyesight, which isn’t true.

  Go easy on her, Juliette. He’s your only friend. And he’s proven he is a true amigo.

  September 27

  A terrible dream last night. A vision that can’t be real. It mustn’t.

  But Briar told me to trust my visions. He told me the magic pen would reveal its intentions over time. That we all had purpose but it was up to each individual to choose whether to fulfill that purpose. How to fulfill that purpose.

  Still, no matter how many times he tells me … Dios Mio, I’m so torn. It is all too much. These visions show me terrible things.

  It was no coincidence that we found a magic door today. I kept Briar above as a lookout, then went down the stairs and into a giant room filled with weapons. I even saw some old daggers that I’d drawn myself!

  There was a donkey. And a rooster. Instead of attacking me like most Corrupted, they sang me a song.

  It was a welcome reprieve from the usual.

  The rooster was the talkative one. He told me about past heroes and how they collected each weapon and how amazing their little band of musicians was when they had all four members. La musica most beautiful.

  But time had been cruel. Two of their band mates—a cat and a dog—had been consumed by the Corrupted, and were dispatched with the magical weapons lying around. I listened to them for a while before confessing that I had use of this place. I told them I’d seen it in a vision, and that another hero would find it one day. I needed to give her a gift.

  I gave the rooster a note and he chose a small lockbox for safekeeping. A lockbox that had been designed by a hero many many years ago. This hero had been a creative type and didn’t have the stomach for fighting Corrupted. She wanted to avoid that life and tried as hard as she could, using the magic pen to build sculptures and recreate ancient antiques while the Corrupted lurked all around her.

  Then an old miller found her. The old millers are always trouble.

  September 28

  Went to have a little discussion with the statue creature. I told him what he wanted to hear: he was destined to save the human race. Of course he believes it; he’s incredibly vain. I also told him about the girl who would come to him, and what she would need from him.

  She’ll know what to do with him. Until then, he can continue to suck up as much oil as he wants. Idiota.

  Speaking of the millers …

  The millers in the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales are the most destitute of the bunch. They’re usually poor. They’re usually desperate, or starving, or made bad deals with the wrong people. They’re the ones most likely to eat a child or sell a child or just tell their children to get out. And that’s before the Corruption.

  When the Corruption hits, they oftentimes get wracked with guilt. They become possessive of their once-abandoned children. They’re good at hiding in plain sight because they move often and don’t normally develop an appetite for humans.

  But they are horrible decision makers.

  Case in point: a handsome family living in St. Paul, Minnesota has just been recognized by their church for their outstanding work in their local community. Painted houses and food donations and all that wonderful stuff. A family that’s only been in the neighborhood for two years. A family with a very German name.

  How did they win? Well, that’s simple: the other upstanding family being considered for the award mysteriously disappeared half a year ago.

  September 29

  Grabbed a coffee after a dinner of cheese sandwiches and milk, Briar’s favorite. Sat in the car with Briar for three hours, parked outside the house of the Corrupted family while Briar told me all about their fairy tale. A miller accidentally gave away his daughter to a demon, her hands were chopped off, the demon lost power over her, a prince fell in love with her, the demon tried to ruin her life, and eventually the prince found her again and they lived happily ever after.

  Only the miller—the girl’s papa—ran out of wealth. Millers are bad with money. So sometime in the early 1900’s he found that very same demon and had the demon cast a spell on his daughter and her prince, who at the time—according to Briar—was a prince of a small kingdom in Eastern Europe. The daughter and her prince were turned to children, and their wealth was transferred to the miller.

  But then the miller ran out of money again. Worse, the demon had already been vanquished by a hero! So the miller and his two children have been moving around ever since, surviving by any means necessary.

  Until tonight.

  After I was finished, Briar cornered me as usual.

  “There will be questions. Lots and lots of questions.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “They’ll investigate. And who saw us tonight? Who saw us drive off? We don’t know. We’re entering an age of information, Juliette. Those computing gizmos are getting more complex. Video cameras are being put up everywhere. We must be careful.”

  “I’ll be …” I stopped. I hadn’t told him much about my visions. I couldn’t. If he knew too much, he might try and change things.

  “To say nothing of the statue creature!” He used his paws to smooth out his vest. A habit that got worse when he was nervous. “A statue creature hiding away under an oil derrick … who saw us out there on that oil field?!”

  I said nothing. So much was going through my mind. I had not killed the statue creature, of course. I should have. I shouldn’t have. I had to trust my visions. I should tell Briar more. No. I could not tell Briar about any of it. My visions of the hero were changing. Last night, her encounter with the statue creature had changed.

  “How about a break?” he offered, grabbing the handle of the car door as I sharply pulled onto the freeway. “A nice vacation from all this hunting. You said your dreams were clear, so why not take advantage?”

  I smiled beside myself. “What did you have in mind?”

  His ears perked up. “Florida. Something near the ocean. I’m not one to swim, but I could catch some rays. How about it?”

  I almost said yes. But something stopped me. Those same bony hands reaching out of the darkness and holding me tight. I can’t have fun. I can’t stop hunting because if I stop hunting I’ll think about Rose and Howard and my parents and I can’t deal with that. I just can’t.

  And it will all be over soon.

  La muerte.

  September 30

  This month’s tally:

  1 Miller and wife

  1 Miller’s child

  1 Nasty Prince who’d begun turning into slime

  Found:

  1 Velvet Underground cassette

  October 1

  I kept us overnight in Minnesota for a concert. A band named Helena and the Bards. Soft rock, not normally my style. But her voice. Helena … I can’t explain it. Her voice was so beautiful. Deadly.
I could see what she was doing with the audience, even if she couldn’t. The Corruption had changed her vocal chords so that when she sang, she drew something out of her audience.

  A little ounce of energy. Her skin glowed brighter with each new song. By the end, she was nearly glowing. The audience cheered. The house lights went up. Everyone was fine … just a little drowsy.

  I went backstage. I was stopped twice by security but knocked both out. This was too important. This woman was another piece of the puzzle. She will meet Alice Goodenough and she will help Alice survive an encounter with a terrifying creature.

  Briar and I are sleeping in the car tonight, as usual. My back is sore. I am a little tired—if my visions are correct, the singer named Helena will not become more Corrupted before she meets Alice.

  “Can’t you tell me anything?” Briar asked tonight after I’d unpacked our blankets. He always slept in the passenger’s seat. I always slept in the driver’s seat.

  “I cannot tell you more, mi amigo.”

  “This is absurd!”

  “I am following my visions.”

  “Juliette … you are not just a hero. You’re my friend.”

  I reached over and scratched him between the ears. Oh, to tell you the truth, Briar. But speaking the words aloud would reveal too much. And those bony hands would finally pull me into the darkness forever.

  There is so little time left.

  October 2

  Back in Milwaukee. The visions are getting worse. I can see my death now, like I’m looking into a crystal ball. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and kill the bastard.

  There was more to do today. I went down to the sewage tunnels along Lake Michigan and found the Corrupted right where I’d seen him in my visions. He seemed surprised to see me so I explained how I’d found him.

  “Kill me,” he said.