The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.3

by Ken Brosky

  “Oh don’t you dare play the pity card, you big butthead!” I shouted, on the verge of crying. Why was he saying all this? Did he not want to get close to me? Did he really think he wasn’t good enough for me?

  Say something, Chase.

  He looked up into my eyes, pleading. But I didn’t know what he needed. I searched. I swam in those dark pupils, diving deep. But I came up empty-handed.

  Finally, he turned, wheeling back toward the boys’ room.

  The clerk had turned her head from the little TV and was staring at me.

  “Yeah, I’m a loud American,” I snapped, plopping in the corner couch where she couldn’t see me wipe the tears from my eyes.

  “That was a bit unpleasant,” Briar said.

  I turned. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, tapping his paws nervously together.

  “Sorry. I was sort of sitting here waiting for you, and then Chase cornered you and I couldn’t exactly slip away without jumping over the little coffee table …”

  “It’s fine.” I waved it away. “Gawd, Briar, what just happened?”

  Briar sidled closer, resting a paw on my shoulder. “My dear, I have known many heroes in my time. Some began their training even younger than you. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that all teenagers are insane.”

  I cracked a smile.

  “I’m serious!” he said, ears raised straight up. “You’re all nothing more than big bags of hormones, ready to burst at any moment. It’s quite frightening.”

  I laughed, wiping my cheeks.

  “Chase is certainly a handsome enough fellow,” Briar admitted. “Although the lack of fur is a definite negative.”

  “Oh yeah. Totally.”

  He rubbed his furry little chin. “I suppose if push came to shove, I could set you up with one of my friends. How do you feel about bobcats?”

  “They’re terrifying.”

  “Rats?”

  “You’re not setting me up with Nibbles.”

  Briar nodded, wiggling his whiskers. “It’s for the better. He’s found himself a nice hole in the wall that would hardly accommodate your human-sized dimensions.”

  “Enough rat talk. What did you learn at the library?”

  “That it’s a very nice library.”

  “And?”

  “And … most of the books are in Hungarian.”

  “OK, so you didn’t find anything.” I sighed. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

  “I didn’t find anything about the great calm, although the area to the north had been known for its storms. At least, that’s what people were writing about one hundred and ninety years ago. Thunderstorms.”

  “Or giants,” I said.

  “It’s not easy surviving in the far north of Eastern Europe,” Briar offered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if these giants played out their fairy tale far in the north and then decided to travel south, only to find themselves faced with a hero who didn’t take too kindly to their little vacation.”

  “But where?” I asked.

  The rabbit nodded. “Hungary is known for its caves. Hydrothermal caves, to be precise. This means there are entire labyrinths under the ground, perhaps even right under our feet right now. It would be impossible to search them all.”

  “All we need is a location, Briar. Then we can go give Tom Thumb what for.”

  “Right, right. All we need.” Briar’s long foot tapped on the rusty-looking carpeting. “We certainly don’t need a plan, or weapons, or a ride.”

  “Maybe a ride …” My ears picked up something: a swishing sound. I snapped my fingers at Briar and he disappeared.

  Around the corner came Mrs. Satrapi, her flowing yellow dress swishing between her legs with each step. “Alice? Whom are you talking to?”

  “Myself,” I answered quickly. “I like to work out my problems outside my head.”

  She smiled, moving toward the other end of the couch. I cringed, waiting for the exact moment when Briar reappeared under her butt and both of them completely lost it. But she sat down without incident. On the breakfast table behind the other couch, one of the rolls of Styrofoam cups fell over.

  Mrs. Satrapi paid it no mind. “Are you all right, dear?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been better, to be honest.”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “Oh. Um …” Gee, I really do … but I don’t know you all that well, Mrs. Satrapi, and to be entirely honest, I’m kind of intimidated by you because you’re such a strong woman. “I dunno,” I said instead.

  She smiled a warm smile. She had such dark lips, glossed over with just a hint of lipstick. “I think Chase was a little jealous that you wandered off with Seth earlier.”

  “He told you that?” I asked, incredulous.

  She shook her head. “The boys are quite vocal, if you have not noticed. It is impossible not to overhear some things, though I would rather you all have your privacy.”

  “That’s nice.” I shifted uncomfortably. I had a sudden hatred for this couch. It was faux leather, and the cushions were old and worn and a disgusting puke brown. This area was supposed to be a place where the hotel’s tourists could relax and talk comfortably and yet here was this ratty old couch, making that impossible. “I just have … other things that I need to deal with in addition to the tournament. Chase doesn’t understand that.”

  Mrs. Satrapi nodded, regarding me with her dark brown eyes.

  “And,” I continued, “he acts like it’s so important. But the truth is, in the grand scheme of things, a fencing tournament is near the bottom of the importance scale.”

  “For you.”

  “Yes. Wait. Hold the phone. What do you mean?”

  Mrs. Satrapi shrugged. When she placed one hand over the other, her silver bracelets clinked together. “It seems pretty important to Chase.”

  “Well, he’s wrong.”

  “Is he?”

  I frowned, trying to figure out where she was going with this. Truth be told, she was getting a little under my skin. The couch wasn’t helping. “Maybe you should tell me what you think,” I offered in the offhand sort of way that we teenagers were so good at.

  “Chase used to play baseball,” she explained. “It was his whole life, right up until the accident. Now that part of him is gone. But his desires did not disappear the next day. If they did, he would not have had that miracle comeback. I do not pretend to understand what happened, but I do know how he feels. I came to this country before Jasmine was born. When I still lived in Kashmir, I spent ten years mastering terracotta pottery. It was my passion. I loved the feel of the wet clay in my hands, the way I could shape its form into whatever I wished.”

  “Seems kinda slimy.”

  “Oh it was,” she said, wide-eyed. She cracked a smile. “But you learn to love that feel. You learn to love how much freedom you have to create when the clay is wet. When we moved to America, my husband understood that I would not be a potter and so he encouraged me to join a local pottery club in Milwaukee. I am grateful that I can still mold clay between my fingers, even if I cannot continue my family’s business.”

  “Chase loves this fencing team because it replaces baseball,” I said. My heart dropped. What had I done? How had I been so selfish that I’d missed this?

  “Chase loves this fencing team,” Mrs. Satrapi agreed. “Beyond that, I believe you know him better than I.”

  She got up, walking around the couches.

  The potted fern next to the TV tipped precariously, righted itself, then shrugged its leaves. Briar reappeared, plopping down on the couch. “Well! I must say, she was pleasant to listen to.”

  I leaned over, peering around the corner. The clerk was still engrossed in the TV program, feet up on the counter.

  “She definitely had some good advice,” I said. “Why weren’t you so helpful?”

  “Ah!” Briar held up a paw in defense. “I can assure you I was thinking the same things.”

  “Right
. I … wait, look at that. Briar. Look. Right there.” I grabbed his furry head, pointing it in the direction of the wooden display unit full of tourist pamphlets. Some were in English. Lots had pictures.

  I ran over, grabbing a handful of them. “Gawd! Why didn’t we think of this before?”

  “Of course!” Briar said, snatching one of the pamphlets from my hand. “We simply need to go on a tour of the local landmarks, plotting out our progress and using trial and error—”

  “No, you doofus! Look!” I unfolded one of the pamphlets, holding it in front of his face. “A map of the entire area! Search these,” I said, tossing him a handful. I sped through each one, examining the maps, searching for something familiar. “Here, Briar! Look at this!”

  “The Ultra Relaxing Hot Springs Resort,” he read. “Hmmm. A rather ridiculous name, don’t you think? And I hardly have any interest in sitting in a hot spring, what with my sensitive fur.”

  “Briar, this is the valley in my dream!”

  He gasped.

  The resort—a lavish, castle-style structure with dark gray bricks and two towers—sat beside the hot springs lake. To its left, where the spattering of trees had been in my dream, was an asphalt parking lot, half-full. I pointed to the tall rock-encrusted hill behind the resort. Five-star dining. Spa treatments and an in-house salon. Fireworks every weekend. Only an hour north.

  “There,” I said, stuffing the pamphlet in my pocket. “That’s where Tom Thumb and the giant are.”

  Briar gulped. “Then I shall procure a vehicle.”

  Chapter 8

  “OK, I officially cannot wait to get out of this town,” Margaret said, setting down her cell phone. She pressed her fists to her head, squealing. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

  “It’s only been an hour since your phone died,” Rachel pointed out.

  Margaret was having none of it. She was dressed in a pink nightgown, her knees tucked up close to her chest. All four of us were wearing green clay masks to suck some serious goop out of our faces. We’d planned on saving them for later in the week, once the tournament was under way, but then Jasmine made a pretty important point:

  Why shouldn’t we roll into town looking our best?

  I had an even better thought:

  Why wash it off tonight at all? What better way to hide my identity while I hunted down Tom Thumb?

  In a strange, alien country.

  In the middle of the night.

  And so here I was, slowly realizing that waiting for the girls to fall asleep wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. They’d taken to watching a Hungarian reality TV program that—from what we could tell—was kind of like The Bachelor. A guy with dark eyebrows was trying to narrow down his choice of women. The thing was, he had this incredible tendency to just go ahead and smooch whoever he was on a date with.

  Imagine that.

  I dozed off with the image of the bachelor stealing another kiss from a buxom brunette.

  … And returned to the cave. It wasn’t pitch-black anymore. Candles lit up a small portion of the cave, just enough to illuminate a very crude desk that looked as if it had been put together piece by piece: rough hewn stone legs and a wooden surface that could have once been a door. On the desk were candles and glass beakers, dozens of beakers filled with various liquids. Under a few of the beakers were little flames, boiling the liquid inside the beakers and sending a foul stench into the air. Steam from a vial of bubbling blue liquid wafted up toward tall canine-shaped stalactites.

  I could smell the sulfur. I could feel the cold, damp air.

  And I could see Tom Thumb, walking along the table, checking the beakers. They were nearly as big as him, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing one and stepping onto a little red brick, pouring the red contents into the wider beaker filled with boiling blue liquid. The color changed a bright purple.

  Violet.

  I gasped. Tom Thumb flinched and cocked his head. “Have you come for me, finally? Well, don’t dally, hero! I’m quite sick of hiding away in this place.”

  I woke with a start. The TV was still blaring. Only a few moments had passed, but Rachel had given up on the Hungarian show and was tucked away in bed, carelessly rubbing her mask on the pillow.

  Jasmine saw me and smiled, the green clay around her lips feathering with small cracks. “You can tell Rachel doesn’t get many spa treatments. The poor girl’s pillow is going to be a mess tomorrow.”

  “Her face is going to look soooo good though,” Margaret said, not taking her eyes off the TV. “Seriously? She’s going to totally smooch a chick in Romania. I can just feel it.”

  “I need to go,” I said suddenly.

  They gave me a curious look.

  “It’s a long story. OK, it’s not. I’m going to see a boy.”

  They gasped. The green clay on their foreheads cracked.

  “But what about Chase?!” Margaret exclaimed, gently touching her mask.

  “I’m lying. I’m going to see a family member.”

  “No, you said boy first.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “Wait, the family thing makes more sense. You like Chase. I can tell.”

  “Alice,” Margaret said, her sharp voice laced with annoyance. “Just tell us the truth.”

  I sighed. “I’m going inside a cave where a giant and a tiny man are hiding and I’m going to kill them both.”

  They looked at me in disbelief.

  “If you’re not going to be serious, then just go,” Jasmine said. “We’ll cover for you anyway.”

  I got up.

  “Thanks. I think. Is this a trick?”

  “Nope,” Margaret said, crossing her arms.

  Uh-oh. I knew that posture. I did that posture. No one did that posture better than me, but Margaret was giving me a run for my money. I was going to pay for this. There would be a guilt trip coming, and maybe some drama.

  “One problem at a time,” I whispered to myself, grabbing my black zip-up jacket on my way out.

  I went down the hall, gently rapping on Chase’s door. Seth answered, gave me one terrified look, then called for Chase. Chase wheeled to the door, looking up at me with a bemused expression.

  “Not exactly sure what to think of this,” he said.

  “Just come out into the hall.”

  He crossed his arms. Geez, what was with everyone and crossing their arms? “No,” he said flatly.

  “Will you pleeeeeease come out into the hall?”

  “Go, Chase, or she’ll eat you,” Seth called out. I gave him a glare and he leaned back on his bed, hiding.

  Chase wheeled into the hall.

  “I have to go somewhere,” I said. “There’s a Corrupted.”

  His stone face melted with concern. “Take me with you.”

  “No.” I crouched down so I was eye-to-eye with him. This seemed important, but then when I crouched down, I felt like maybe I was patronizing him. I groaned. “Oh gawd, I don’t know what to do.”

  His hand reached down, finding mine. He said nothing, just gently rubbing the back of my hand. I felt my heart rate slow a beat, as if some calming cool fluid had coursed through my veins.

  “I’m sorry for bugging you about the tournament,” he said finally. “I … I guess I forget that you’ve got this other life.”

  “But this life,” I said, grabbing his other hand, “this life is what keeps me going. This life is why I fight so hard. I got caught up in the other life this morning, and I forgot about this life. That tournament means something to you. And it means something to me, too.”

  He smiled. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too.”

  He squeezed my hands. I leaned in and kissed him, forcing my lips away only to catch my breath. He laughed, wiping the clay off with one finger. “Be careful.”

  “I will. And when we get to Romania, we’re going to kick some butt in that tournament, too.”

  “You sure you don’t want to wash off that mask?”

  I shook my head, stand
ing up. “For once, I’d like to strike fear into my enemy’s heart instead of the other way around.”

  Outside, a van was waiting. Through the dark window, I could see Briar sitting in the back seat, visible and plain as day. I slid open the back door, getting in and rubbing my arms to brush off the cold. The vents above the van’s little stereo system noisily blew stale, hot air.

  “Um … hello,” I said to the driver, a middle-aged man with curly hair and a thick belly. He was wearing an old yellow sweatshirt with big holes, scratching absently inside one of the holes as he regarded me in the rear-view window. He had a skeezy five o’clock shadow.

  “This is the one?” he asked in a heavy accent.

  “Indeed,” Briar said.

  “She looks weak. Are you sure she is killer?”

  “Indeed! Well, only a killer of monsters, I should point out.”

  “You know, if we’re just going by looks …” I trailed off and tried to push my annoyance away. The last thing I needed was to alienate the driver of my only available ride. The van made a sharp U-turn in the empty street. The seats felt greasy and there was a distinct odor—potato chips and stale bread—hanging in the air. As we passed beneath a streetlight, I could see the copious amount of crumbs decorating the red vinyl seats and the floor. Crumbs of all shapes and colors. More than a few that looked ancient.

  “I am honored to be driving you,” the man said. “My name Attila. My family owes you a great debt. One that can never be fully repaid.”

  “Say what now?” I turned to Briar, who simply shrugged. We passed under another streetlight and I could see a little smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth, revealing one of his buckteeth.

  “I did not expect you to be so ugly, but …” Attila shrugged. “Perhaps you have good personality.”

  “It’s a mask.”

  “Ah! Of course. And you are here to fight monsters?”

  “We’re on our way to Romania, actually. To stay with a prince.”

  Attila’s eyes narrowed in the rear-view mirror. “What prince.”