The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 1

by Isabella Fontaine

  “In English, please?”

  Briar clicked his tongue, searching for the words. “Um … many of the heroes were not so lucky—or unlucky, in some ways—to have loving parents. I remember one hero from the thirties, Grace, didn’t have any parents at all.”

  “The thirties? Like, the nineteen-thirties?”

  Briar nodded. He sat down at the desk, putting his legs up. His furry little toes wiggled. “Not a good time to be alive, when the Great Depression hit. It seemed like everyone was out of work and starving. There were bread lines so long that you would have sworn nothing could possibly be worth the wait. But then you saw the faces of the people waiting in line, and you realized just how desperate things had suddenly become. When I found poor Grace, she was fighting with a much older gentleman for a loaf of bread. She was starving to the point that she could barely stand under her own strength.”

  “Grace …” The name was beautiful. I imagined her much like myself, only that wasn’t true at all. I lived in a suburb. We always had food. Heck, my parents had taken me down to Chicago for a day on a whim. I’d just spent a night in the hospital and it was covered by our insurance. And now my parents were golfing, their favorite pastime when they weren’t working.

  “I have it easy,” I said. “And that makes it harder. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Briar shrugged. “Time will tell. The Grayles did not survive this long by being foolish, I can tell you that. It may very well be that they aren’t even worth the trouble right now.”

  “I suppose. Did Grace … did she ever think about fighting Death?”

  Briar grunted. “No doubt she did, the crazy girl. But … well, there were more immediate issues that needed our attention. And I would have tried to talk her out of it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like any hero is up to the task of facing Death.” I sat down on the bed. “Open up my music player. Turn on some Florence and the Machine. I need to hear her voice.”

  “Of course.” Briar turned on the music. Steady, thumping drums escaped from the speakers. For a brief moment, I felt relaxed.

  Then my phone buzzed. “If that’s Tricia telling me to download Castle Cats again, I swear I’m going to lose it,” I muttered, grabbing the phone. I had three missed calls. All of them were from the library. “Oh cripes!”

  Briar’s ears perked up. “What is it? A nefarious text message from the forces of evil?” He jumped off the chair. “Is someone dead? Is there some Corrupted monster attacking the city?!”

  “Worse! I’m supposed to be at the library today!” I grabbed my purse and double-checked to make sure the magic pen was still in my pocket. “I’ll be back in the afternoon … provided Fran doesn’t kill me.”

  “Please don’t forget your pills!” Briar called out after me as I barreled my way down the hall.

  I doubled back to the bathroom, grabbing one of the antibiotic pills sitting beside the sink. “Thank you, modern medicine,” I said. How many people had the Frog Prince killed before antibiotics had been discovered? I could only shudder at the thought.

  I jogged to the library, trying to block out the beautiful sun and the warm, dry weather. There would be more nice days, I kept telling myself. Plenty more nice days. Hundreds, maybe even thousands provided the scary dwarfs didn’t kill me first.

  “Why oh why did I volunteer for the library?” I asked, high-tailing it down busy Mooreland Road. At the end of the block, I nearly ran headfirst into a young woman walking out of a small nail salon.

  “Whoops,” she said, not looking up from her smartphone. I heard a “meow” and couldn’t help but steal a glimpse of the screen: there were a dozen cartoonish cats sitting in a little castle, waiting to be cleared out by a few swipes of the woman’s thumb. She turned to me, smiling. “I’m on level twelve!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh. Awesome for you.”

  She walked to the end of the block, crossing the street without looking up from her game.

  “Dumb, dumb, dumb,” I said, jogging across the next street. I hadn’t even seen her. I was so transfixed with my own thoughts that I hadn’t been paying attention to the world around me. I’d almost gotten knocked over by someone playing a brainless video game.

  When I reached the library, I was surprised to find I was a little out of breath. Not only that, but my legs felt sore. Whatever the Frog Prince had given me hadn’t yet been completely wiped out by the antibiotics. My heart was racing, too—but that was less due to the exertion and more due to the fact that I was no doubt going to get a severe talking-to by Fran.

  I walked inside. A cool rush of air kissed my skin. The smell of thousands of books hit my nostrils. I felt my heart rate slow down. My breathing calmed. Serenity! Being outside was nice, especially on beautiful days. Being in the library … boy, I loved it.

  And even better: Fran wasn’t working. It was Mary! Oh, sweet, sweet Mary. Mary, the nicest librarian to ever have lived. I could have kissed her.

  When she saw me walk in, she smiled. She smiled! Fran never smiled.

  “I was growing worried,” Mary whispered with a wide eyes that raised her thin brown eyebrows. Oh, Mary … thank you for making my day, I thought. “Are you all right, dear?”

  “I’m definitely OK,” I said. “Well, I was a little sick yesterday. But I’m doing better now. I had a good night’s sleep.” Minus the hedgehog fight, I could have added.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go home for the day?” she asked with motherly concern.

  I glanced at the massive stack of returned books sitting behind the checkout desk. “I’m absolutely sure,” I answered.

  “Well, you just take it easy today.” Mary gave me a little nod. That was becoming her trademark. It was a crisp, knowing nod, as if we had some secret psychic connection.

  “I will. Thank you.” I reached for the books, then stopped. I turned back to Mary. “Um, how is Fran doing?”

  Mary looked at me over her glasses. “I think she’s doing just fine. Why, dear?”

  “Oh. Um. She just hasn’t seemed herself lately.”

  Mary smirked. “Don’t tell me she’s actually acting nice?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not that. She just seems like she’s … distracted.”

  Mary pursed her lips, thinking. Finally, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell you.” She sighed, pursing her dark red lips. “Fran likes to keep to herself. Her husband passed away five years ago. Would you be surprised if I told you she was quite the adventurous little vixen?”

  “It would!”

  “Well, she was. By day, she was a wholesome librarian. By night, she and her husband used to cruise around the city on their motorcycles.”

  “Get out!”

  Mary nodded. “I’m all serious here, dear. You should ask her about it sometime.”

  “Maybe I will,” I said.

  “Hmmmm.” Mary was staring over my shoulder, as if she expected Fran to walk through the front doors. “We used to get coffee a lot. I miss it. She’s actually quite nice when you get to know her.”

  I had a hard time to believing that. But I trusted Mary, too. So why wasn’t Fran nice to me? Heh. Maybe she knew I was the hero and she was jealous. Not likely, Alice … you’re on your own with this whole crazy situation.

  I started on the first floor, putting away a few woodworking how-to manuals and a dozen or so magazines. I stopped in the Animals section, which consisted of two long bookshelves near the computer table, and grabbed a book on hedgehogs, studying the nuggets of information tucked between pictures of creatures much cuter (and smaller!) than the one that had nearly killed me.

  When I was sufficiently saturated with new hedgehog-related knowledge, I took some Young Adult books upstairs, distracted for a moment by the stacks of books lying around from one of the morning reading groups. My thoughts went back to Fran: she was losing her house, but she hadn’t told Mary. Or was Mary trying to keep the secret from me? I didn’t think so. Mary was pretty easy to read; she woul
d have given away the secret if she’d known. So why was Fran keeping it to herself? How could she get any help if she didn’t tell anyone?

  I put all of the books on the kids’ table and started dividing them into Young Adult and Middle Grade, which were both separate sections. Downstairs, someone sitting at one of the computers was pecking loudly at the keyboard.

  What should I do? I thought. I couldn’t just wait around for the next monster to show up and try to kill me or my family. I needed a plan, something that would nip this dwarf business in the bud. But how was I supposed to get at them? They were hiding out in plain view! Their leader, Sam Grayle, had managed to completely hide any evidence that Edward—“Prince Charming”—had ever existed, for crying out loud!

  And now I had to figure out a way to sneak into the skyscraper, kill these guys off without being seen, and somehow not get arrested in the process.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket and viewed the text. It was from Tricia.

  Tricia: Party 2-nite at beach. Come w/me!

  I stared at it a moment, disappointed. I’d been hoping it was from Trish, but I’d been expecting something more … well, friendly. I wanted a “How are you?” or a “Let’s get dinner!” or even a “Weird guy wearing flannel LOLZ.” I didn’t want to be invited to a party. I wanted my friend to talk to me like a friend.

  I texted back:

  Me: How about movie instead? OK with rom-com.

  There was no response for a few breaths. I stared at the screen of my phone, waiting. Hoping. Finally, she responded.

  Tricia: Thnx but sum other time.

  I sighed, putting away my phone. The modern world was so complicated! I bet in the past, heroes had a much easier time just going about their business and moving on to the next Corrupted. Now there was texting and there were social networks and cameras everywhere and the Internet and just about a million other things that made Corrupted killing more difficult.

  “Hey.”

  I spun around, whipping my hand like a hatchet and connecting with soft flesh. Seth fell back, clutching his ear.

  “You karate-chopped my ear!” he whispered harshly. “Ow. Ow.”

  “Why does everyone keep sneaking up on me?” I asked. “I mean, gawd! Since when did ‘excuse me’ go out of style?”

  He looked around, confused. “Are people sneaking up on your regularly or something? More importantly, why exactly is your first instinct to karate-chop someone in the head?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I said, putting a finger to my lips. Seth flinched, as if I was going to pop him again. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

  “It’s not funny,” he said quietly. He frowned. “You know I have a soft skull.”

  “I’m sorry. What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a candy bar with a purple wrapper. He peeled it open. “I’ve got stuff to do. Did you know there are naked women on the first floor?”

  “Literally?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we told them to put their clothes back on while they used the computers.”

  “Ha-ha.” He took a bite of the candy bar, filling his mouth with chocolate and some kind of gooey brown ooze that coated his teeth. He was wearing his black Against Me! Rock t-shirt and a pair of tattered cargo shorts. “I mean I saw naked ladies in the books.”

  “Did you find those books in the Sexuality section?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Well, those books are mainly intended for mature adults. Not boys who cackle uncontrollably whenever they pass gas.”

  His eyes widened. “That was an isolated incident!”

  “What are you really here for?”

  He took another bite of his candy bar. “Mmmm. Mmmm-mffmmm-grrmphmm.”

  “Chew first.”

  We waited. He chewed loudly, rolling his eyes. Finally, he swallowed. “Wow. OK. So, I was hoping you could help me find a few programming books. Not beginner’s stuff, either. I’m beyond that. I need something intermediate.”

  “Sure, sure.” I led him back downstairs, giving Mary a wave as we passed. She returned it with a wink. Oh, as if I would be interested in Seth, I thought; we were practically siblings, for crying out loud.

  I led him past the computer table and over to the west wing, where the library squeezed a variety of unpopular non-fiction subjects into three long bookcases.

  “Those computers could use an upgrade,” Seth whispered, taking another bite of his candy bar. “They’ve got really old processors … I bet they freeze up pretty often even when people are just surfing the web.”

  “They do, actually …” I ran my finger down the list of subjects listed on the end of the metal bookcase. I took him one bookcase to our left, then followed the catalog numbers. We passed a lot of computing books, but I had a feeling Seth was less interested in “The History of” and more interested in “How to.” It was just his way.

  “Ooh, these look like winners,” he said, handing me the half-finished candy bar so he could bend down and grab two books. One was titled How to Write Code and the other was The Language of Coding.

  “I didn’t know you like this stuff,” I said. “I mean, I knew a little, but …”

  “I’ve had time so far this summer,” Seth mumbled, leafing through the books. “Trish loves her parties. I don’t. You know me … I don’t fit in with that crap. And my sarcasm isn’t appreciated by drunk morons.”

  “Oh.” I felt so out of touch with the both of them. The last time we’d hung out, we chilled and watched a scary movie, and then they both had to go. Trish’s parents had decided to make her take a summer class to help her prepare for her senior year, and Seth was serving at a new restaurant and they’d been giving him weird morning shifts; his sole purpose was to make sure the breakfast buffet stayed full of greasy food.

  And me? I was off in the woods, training to fight horrible monsters that no one else even believed existed.

  “It is what it is,” he said, sighing.

  “Why didn’t you just come over and hang out with me?”

  He shrugged, scratching absently at his hair, which was in dire need of a trim. He’d begun letting his weird patchy sideburns grow a little bit this week, too. “You had that thing with Edward, and then you had your library thing going on. I’m not gonna burden you with all my goings-on. Plus, I’m tough.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You can always talk to me, pal.”

  He smiled broadly, giving a quick nod.

  I took a sniff of the half-finished candy bar. “Oh jeez, this smells awful.” I bit off a small piece. My tongue retreated in my mouth. “Seth!” I whispered harshly. “This is so awful I’m literally mad at you. I’m mad at you for letting me take a bite. It tastes like chocolate dipped in garbage.”

  Seth grabbed the candy bar and took another bite. His mouth wrinkled. “Holy crap,” he said, spitting it back onto the wrapper. “This really is awful. Why did I think it was good?”

  “Where did you even get it?” I asked. “I’ve never seen that brand before. Carameltastic. It sounds made-up.”

  He stuffed the candy bar—including the bits he spit out, by the way—back into his pocket. Such a guy thing to do. “I saw an ad for it while I was playing Castle Cats. So I bought some at the grocery store.”

  “Castle Cats? Not you, too!”

  He nodded solemnly. “Afraid so, kid. Trish got me hooked. It’s so much fun. You’re this guy who runs through a castle full of cats and you have to swipe them out of the way with your finger.”

  I waited for him to continue. After a moment, I finally asked, “And?”

  “And … um, sometimes, the cats bounce off the walls and you have to swipe them again. If too many of them show up, they go into revenge mode, which means they’re harder to swipe so you have to really flick them away fast.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” He shrugged. “That’s the whole game. It sounds a lot less fun than it really is.” He hefted t
he computer books. “That’s why I’m borrowing these. I’ve been toying around with creating my own game. So I downloaded Castle Cats, and of course I’ve been playing it, like, constantly, and I also transferred it to my computer. I’m trying to break into it so I can have a look at the code—you know … its guts—but I can’t get in yet. I’ll figure it out, though.”

  “What do you mean about the code?”

  “Source code is a list of commands that make a game run,” Seth explained. He sounded very technical; I was proud of him. Usually, he didn’t pay attention in classes. “The commands are basically a language for the computer to read and then the computer executes the commands. It’s all pretty technical crap.”

  “Tell me how it goes with Castle Cats,” I said. “I’m actually very interested in knowing about this.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic … so I’m just gonna head out now …”

  “Wait. Before you go: quiz me on hedgehogs.”

  “Huh?”

  “Quiz me on hedgehogs,” I said. “Follow me.” I led him to the Animals section and grabbed the book I’d been reading earlier.

  Seth took the book, examining it. “This is a children’s book.”

  “It’s not a children’s book; it just has lots of pictures. It’s full of great information, too. Now quiz me.”

  He flipped through the pages. “Ok … um … what is the diet of the hedgehog?”

  I looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Frogs, insects, mushrooms, berries, bird eggs, and melons.”

  “Yes. And also: gross! You missed toads and snakes, too. Very gross, very gross.” He leafed through more pages. “OK … how many quills does a hedgehog have?”

  “A hedgehog has spines, not quills,” I said. “Don’t worry, though … they’re pretty much the same thing, and I thought they were quills at first, too. They have … um … thousands of spines.”

  Seth raised an eyebrow. “That’s too vague to get an ‘A’ from Professor Seth. Be more specific.”

  “Ten thousand?”

  He shook his head. “Around five thousand. You were waaaaay off. You get an F.” He closed the book, handing it back to me. “Any other obscure wild animal tests you want me to conduct before I leave? Maybe marsupials or dodo birds?”