The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2

by Ken Brosky

  “Jacob walked quietly home,” the woman read from the chalkboard. She had a smooth voice with a southern accent. “Identify the noun.”

  “Jacob!” the kids yelled enthusiastically.

  “Identify the verb … the action word.”

  “Walked!” the kids called out.

  “Excellent!” the woman stood up straight. There wasn’t any desk so she let the chalkboard fall to the floor. Her hand found her temple, pressing on her soft milk-white skin.

  The scene seemed to change for just a moment, as quick as a lightning flash. It left a burning imprint in my eyes: a young man, standing with a young woman, holding her tight in front of a roaring fireplace. They were both wearing fancy royal clothes and little black masks, as if they’d just attended a costume ball.

  At their feet was a body. A man, dressed immaculately in pants and a coat with braided trim and lots of shiny buttons.

  “What have you done?” the young woman asked.

  The scene shifted back. From outside came the low growl of thunder. The teacher looked out through the only window. “All right, students. Get home now. Don’t dally. Rain’s finally coming.”

  The children stood up and walked to the old rickety-looking door. When they were all gone, the schoolteacher stood beside the window that overlooked a small old-timey town with narrow buildings clad in wood that had weathered to a silvery gray. A roiling mass of dark storm clouds loomed above.

  I woke up the next morning thinking nothing of it.

  Chapter 3

  The next week, the dreams returned every single night. In every dream, I was inside the schoolroom. There was a thunderstorm approaching. The schoolteacher stood at the window and watched the clouds roll in.

  Boy, if ever there was a metaphor for senior year of high school.

  With the first crack of lightning, the scene temporarily changed, just a shard of a memory. Each time, I followed the same young man and woman as they disposed of the mysterious body that had been beside the fireplace. They fled down a long and winding staircase, pushing open a massive wooden door and disappearing into the night. I followed them twice. Both times, they hurried their way through a small town. I could tell from the writing on the signs outside the little buildings that they were in Germany, a long time ago: there were no cars and no tall buildings or asphalt roads.

  The dreams left me perturbed. There seemed to be no Corrupted. So what was causing these?

  Meanwhile, at school, Seth and I had officially become misfits. Social pariahs. Outsiders. We sat in the back of the lunch room with Rachel and Clyde, who were already about as “uncool” as you could get in the school. Of course, the “cool” kids weren’t exactly all that admirable. For starters, you had people like Joey Harrington, who if anything was becoming even more of a bully than he’d been in his previous years. Some of the kids from the track team and the baseball team had just sort of stopped paying so much attention to him, as if his aura of “coolness” had faded. Naturally, Joey responded by doubling down on his obnoxious and cruel antics.

  Chase, for his part, kept his head high. But the defeat had returned to his eyes. He sat with his former teammates and ate his food, but they didn’t talk much. Then, five minutes before lunch was over, he wheeled out of the cafeteria to beat the traffic. He used the service elevator, alone. In class, he sat at the far end so that he didn’t have to wheel his way around the desks.

  We hadn’t had much time to talk about the whole Corrupted are trying to destroy the world thing. In fencing class, Chase stayed focused. Rachel had officially joined the team, and with Chase’s help she began to get down the basics. She worked with a foil, which had its own set of rules and was the easiest to practice with. I graduated to the saber, which I was obviously more comfortable with (for reasons I could certainly never explain to Mr. Whitmann), and as such I had greater flexibility with my attacks.

  Allow me to explain. In fencing, the weapon you use determines where you can hit your opponent and score a point. When you use a foil, you can only score a point by stabbing your opponent’s torso. But when you use a saber, it gets more terrifying. With a saber, you can score a point by hitting your opponent anywhere above the waist. That means you need to protect your arms and your head in addition to your torso. Another important point: with the saber, you can score points by using the edge of your blade, not just the tip. It makes every single attack a furious battle.

  Fun stuff! And right up my alley, too. After all, how many of my opponents were getting extracurricular practice fighting off hordes of Corrupted monsters?

  As it turned out, I would get the chance to size up the competition really soon. With the addition of Rachel, Mr. Whitmann immediately entered us in the Midwest fencing tournament that would be held in just a few short weeks. Combatants from all over the Midwest would be convening in downtown Milwaukee to do battle. We would be testing our mettle against some of the very best in the region.

  No pressure or anything.

  On Friday, with my grounding officially lifted, I invited Seth and Chase over once they were done with classes. Seth arrived first, and immediately he and the rabbit began putting together a game of Risk. They had their own rules, along with a “phantom” third army that attacked both of them every chance it could. Their games went fast and furious and required numerous glasses of milk and soda, not to mention vanilla wafers, cookies and various other forms of junk food.

  Chase arrived at 3:30. When I saw his parents’ van pull up, I went to the door. There was still some obvious strain, frustration knotting the brows of parents and child. Still some adjusting that needed to be made. His mom tried to help him wheel up the driveway but Chase waved her away, pushing the wheels himself. At the door, he turned and gave his parents a hesitant wave, letting me grab the rubber handles in the rear of the chair and pull him up the little step and into the house.

  “OK, OK,” he said, laughing when I started pulling him quickly into the living room. His hands found the wheels and deftly spun him around so he could face Seth and the rabbit kneeling beside the coffee table.

  “Hello, Sir Chase,” Briar said cheerfully. He shook the attacker’s dice in both cupped paws, then let them fly onto the game board, causing all of the little Risk armies to bounce all over the place.

  Chase shook his head, smiling. “And here I was starting to believe it was all a dream.”

  “Nope,” Seth murmured, rolling his defender’s dice. “Crap! Two more armies gone.”

  “Do you want something?” I asked Chase. “We have soda and cookies and stuff.”

  He shook his head. “Not big on the junk food.”

  “How about some carrots, celery, a little blue cheese, and whole grain crackers?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty specific.”

  “That’s what she makes for herself,” Seth said. He made a puckered noise with his lips. “Pretty lame snack, if you ask me.”

  “I second the motion,” said the rabbit.

  “Ignore them,” I said, walking with Chase into the kitchen.

  “Where are your parents?” Chase asked. “Or do they not care that a giant monster rabbit is in their house?”

  “Monster?!” Briar exclaimed from the living room. I didn’t need to turn around to know his fur was bristling like he’d just stuck a fork in an electrical socket. “I resent that!”

  “He has great hearing. And my parents are both working,” I answered. “Big ad campaigns. They’ll be home around six, or maybe later.”

  Chase wheeled into the kitchen. His wheels had left heavy indentations in the living room carpeting, but the chair had a much easier time with the kitchen’s linoleum tiles. His eyes followed mine and he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, sorry. This chair is killer on carpeting.”

  “Not a big deal.”

  “No? You should hear my parents. Can’t stop talking about the carpeting. Can’t stop worrying about which room on the first floor is going to be turned into my bedroom. Dad wants to conve
rt Mom’s study. Mom wants to convert Dad’s office.”

  “Tell them to compromise,” Seth called out. “They should break down the wall and let you have both rooms.”

  Despite himself, Chase couldn’t fight the grin. “Maybe, Seth.”

  “Seth has good hearing, too. Here.” I handed him the plate of snacks. “Do you like orange juice?”

  “Sure. Love it.”

  I poured two glasses of orange juice and we returned to the living room. We sat around the coffee table, staring at the Risk board. Seth and Briar had chosen the black army as their “phantom” army. The little soldiers were spread across Asia, invading Europe, forcing their way down into Africa where Briar’s last remaining pieces were valiantly fighting for survival.

  “There’s a metaphor here,” Seth said. “I’m sure of it! It’s on the tip of my tongue. Don’t tell me …”

  “The Corruption,” Briar finished.

  Seth snapped his fingers. “Right, right. Yeah. Perfect metaphor.”

  “So wait,” Chase said, making a “T” with his hands. “Time out. How many Corrupted are there? Do they actually have an army to take over the world?”

  I shrugged, looking at Briar. He thoughtfully finished chewing his cookie. “Difficult to say, I fear. The heroes have tried to keep track, but you know how it can be when you get busy. Who’s to say how many times a hero has forgotten to make an accurate record? That is, before I was created. I always keep an accurate record. We cross out names in the book.”

  “The book?” Chase asked.

  “That’s not important,” I said. “What’s important is this Order of the Golden Dragon.”

  “Who?”

  “Dudes who tried breaking into your house,” Seth explained. “Creepy. Unusual taste in accessories. Like to run around in bathrobes.”

  “Hmmmm …” Briar clicked his tongue. “Well, that’s one way to put it, certainly. Are you certain your dreams are telling you nothing, Alice?”

  I shook my head. “My dreams have been pretty peaceful all week. Just me in a schoolhouse. An old one.”

  His ears perked up. So did Seth’s, only in a less literal sort of way. “How do you know it was from a long time ago?” the rabbit asked.

  “It looks like a real old schoolhouse, somewhere south if the schoolteacher’s accent is any indication. The kids are all sitting on the floor.”

  “Wait. I thought she could see the Corrupted in her dreams,” Chase said. “So why would she be dreaming about something that happened a long time ago?” He groaned, slapping his face. “Why am I asking a giant talking rabbit all of this?”

  “They may be just dreams,” Briar offered, ignoring Chase’s incredulity. “It may be that whoever this mysterious Agnim the Magician is, he’s not yet become a threat.” His right paw tapped thoughtfully on his little furry chin. He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Still, it’s a strange occurrence. All of this sounds quite familiar.”

  “We’ve been learning about the period after the Civil War in my U.S. History class,” I said. “So it’s totally possible I’m just dreaming about the stuff I’m learning. Following the Civil War, African-American kids didn’t have access to good schools. And they were segregated, especially in the South. So that could be the source of my dreams.”

  “Dude, Mr. Feinman is so cool,” Seth said. “I wish I had him teaching every class.”

  He was right: Mr. Feinman was cool. And his class was fun. Instead of lecturing us on everything and making us take notes until our hands cramped, we were always doing activities, making posters, acting out scenes from history. All this past week, we’d been learning more about Reconstruction, the period after the Civil War where slavery was abolished, but new laws were passed to punish former slaves. Laws that made it a crime to not have a job. Laws that made vagrancy a crime, where “vagrancy” could be interpreted to mean just about anything so that sheriffs could arrest former slaves and put them back to work.

  Just this past Wednesday, we’d all sat on the floor just like in my dreams. Mr. Feinman taught us using a little chalkboard just like in my dreams. We weren’t allowed to take any notes because, he said, most of the students in the segregated schools didn’t have any school supplies. Then, the next day, we tried to remember everything he’d taught us. He hadn’t been able to teach us much. His little chalkboard could only fit a few words at a time and his handwriting was awful.

  That was the point. The schools weren’t able to provide a good education. Add onto that the laws being passed to restrict as many of the ex-slaves’ freedoms as possible, and what you had was a pretty rough life. I could remember so much more when we weren’t just sitting and taking notes.

  “Forget Mr. Feinman,” Chase said, pulling me back out of my daydreams. “Let’s talk about the Big Bad Wolf. Who is he and how do we stop him?”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure he’s long dead,” Briar said. “At least, one of the terrifying wolves from the Grimms’ fairy tales is gone. Dispatched by the first hero.” He leaned back, clicking his tongue in frustration. “The Brothers Grimm were so fond of wolves in their stories.”

  “OK, so what about evil stepmothers?” he asked. “Thundering giants? Witches?”

  “Chase, this isn’t a game,” I snapped.

  “Yeah dude,” Seth said. “It may sound totally fun and cool, but it’s actually pretty terrifying when you’re facing down a giant lizard creature that’s on the verge of eating your best friend.”

  Chase shook his head. “You really made that sound cool.”

  “I know, right?” Seth smiled, tapping Briar on the shoulder. “You see? You see what I mean? It’s totally impossible to make this whole Hero-versus-Corrupted thing not sound cool!”

  Briar sighed, tugging on his vest. “Point taken.”

  “Let’s stay on track,” I said. “We need a plan to deal with this guy, preferably before my next paper is due and definitely before the fencing tournament.”

  “Good to know you have your priorities in order,” Briar mumbled. “Very well. I shall continue to ascertain more details of this mysterious cult. I shall do it by using my abilities as a skilled researcher to infiltrate the darkest depths of the Dewey Decimal System, the Dark Side of Dewey, if you will …”

  “The what?” Seth asked, scratching his head.

  “The Dewey Decimal System. It’s a set of numbers libraries use to arrange information …”

  “Why don’t you just Google it?” Chase asked.

  Another sigh from the rabbit, this time more pronounced. “It’s complicated. Suffice it to say, there is more to the world than the Google.”

  “You two can have a job, too,” I told the boys. “Since you’re obviously part of the team now, and I know for a fact that neither of you has much homework this weekend, you guys can start searching the newspaper for strange occurrences.”

  “What do you mean?” Seth asked, narrowing one eye suspiciously.

  “The wizard guy, Agnim, mentioned that I would collect one more coin before the dragon awoke. He said he saw it in a vision. That means there’s another Corrupted hanging out somewhere in the neighborhood. And since my dreams aren’t helping me much, it’s going to be up to us to hunt down Agnim and this other Corrupted the old-fashioned way.”

  “Ah, detective work!” Briar exclaimed. “A fine endeavor. I envy the both of you.”

  “Spend the weekend researching?” Chase waved it off, then thought about it. I could see from the way his face cringed that a cold reality had hit him like a gust of wind. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

  Seth slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll go to the library!” His smile faded and his eyes got big. “Wow, I never in a zillion years thought I’d say that with any excitement.”

  Chase sighed. “I guess it’s better than sitting around with my parents all weekend.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Seth said. He narrowed one eye. “And you know what the best part about the library is?”

  Chase shoo
k his head.

  A devilish smile crept across Seth’s face. “We don’t have to worry about running into our ex-girlfriends.”

  That night, the dream loop continued with more intensity. I was still in the little schoolhouse, only this time the teacher dismissed her students immediately. She dropped the little chalkboard tablet and walked over to the window, staring at the black clouds rolling across the horizon. This was different. She looked more fearful than usual, her wide eyes searching the storm clouds as if waiting for something to appear. She looked older, too—around her eyes were little creased wrinkles. More had begun encroaching on the edges of her lips.

  “Come closer,” she said.

  At first, I didn’t think she was talking to me. Then, she tugged on the frayed collar of her white dress and turned to look at me.

  “Come closer,” she said again.

  I willed myself to step closer. I could feel grit from the dirt floor between my toes—I’d fallen asleep without socks again, I realized. The woman watched me hesitantly, tugging on her collar again. The dress was old and worn, not as pretty up close.

  “Can you feel the heat?” she asked.

  I could, just a little. It was warm and muggy; wet air was being carried into the town on the wind. “Who are you?” I asked, surprised to hear my own voice.

  “Constance,” the woman said. Outside, the clouds emitted a low rumble of thunder. She sighed heavily at them as if she could blow them away. “This storm … it ain’t like other storms. That much I know. I may just be a schoolteacher, but I know a thing or two about weather.”

  I stared out at the dark clouds. They looked like mountains come alive, each tumbling over its neighbors in a mad dash to reach the town first.

  Lightning lit up the sky. Another brief image appeared. Once again it was the young man who’d been standing over the body beside the fireplace in my previous visions; this time he was in some cold, desolate town half-buried in snow. The buildings looked newer than the last time I’d seen him, but were still obviously from a long time ago. Horses pulled buggies through the knee-deep snow, and the young man avoided them as he trudged toward a small square-shaped building made of stone. He wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled back, and before he entered the building, he turned to watch a buggy pass. I could see his face was no longer youthful. It looked like he had some kind of disease: the skin on his face was bubbling in places and his lower lip looked as if it was on the verge of rotting off.