The Daughters Grimm

by Minda Webber

  Fräulein Hines picked a card, laid it on the table and smiled. “This pretty one will marry her heart’s desire. She’ll not care that his name is not noble, for he will be a brave, strong man of great wealth. And both girls’ husbands-to-be will be influenced by your new stepmother.”

  Merri beamed.

  Rae ushered the children off, saying, “Go have some more gingerbread. It’s Greta’s turn.”

  Suddenly there came cries of, “Run, run, you can’t catch him!” The three women at the table all turned and saw Ernst dash outside, Quinn following hot on his heels.

  “Aha! I’ve got the gingerbread man,” Ernst cried, and the boys and their brother Nap were soon scuffling over the now crumbling cookie.

  “Do you think if we left some cookies in the woods, they might not follow us home?” Rae asked. Both Greta and the old lady laughed.

  “No, Rae, I think you’re stuck with them,” said Greta. “Think of them as penance.”

  The old woman just smiled and reshuffled the cards.

  “Will I find what I seek here in the Black Forest?” Greta asked, wanting to know if she would find any monsters. That was why she’d come, of course.

  “Oh, don’t waste time about that. Who is my sister going to marry?” Rae asked.

  Greta shook her head, blushing.

  The old woman drew a card. “The World. This is a very good card, foretelling much happiness. I believe you are destined to marry a prince as well. You’ll travel and have grand yet dangerous adventures.”

  Rae rolled her eyes. “I should have come here before I was married. Then mayhap I would also have gotten a prince. It seems everyone else is getting one today. There must be a sale.”

  Greta grinned. There was only one prince she wanted, and that was von Hanzen. “It’s highly improbable,” she said. “We’re like oil and water.” No, they didn’t mix very well—not until he held her close. Then her heart beat happily along with his in a shared pulse of savage attraction. “He’s too haughty and arrogant, too opinionated and too handsome for his own good.” Yet, if she were completely honest, Greta knew that his presence inspired and intrigued her.

  Glancing at the old woman, Greta hesitated, then asked, “Can you tell me who this prince is?”

  “The cards do not say.” Fräulein Hines drew another card and placed it face up. “You seek the truth to all things,” she said, and turned over another card. It was Death. She drew in a sharp little breath and looked at Greta hard. “But the truth can be dangerous. Very dangerous.”

  Studying the Death card, Greta felt a chill of apprehension and asked worriedly, “Does this always mean actual physical death?”

  “Nein. No. But it is not a card to take lightly. It warns of danger and dark secrets. It warns of endings.”

  Rae, who was seated by her sister’s side, felt a foreboding like a dark spot on her soul. “You should leave off your quest about the vampire.”

  “Nosferatu?” the fräulein asked worriedly, deep worry lines forming upon her brows. “Ja. You should leave those evil creatures alone. They are dead men who have been brought back to life with wicked means. They have no souls. Do not seek them out, or the Death card may prove prophetic.”

  Rae’s eyes were beseeching. “No mystery is worth your life. Promise me, Greta, you’ll stop at once.”

  Patting her sister’s hand, she shook her head. “I will be fine. I am always very careful. Besides, the card is merely a warning.” Leaning forward in her chair, she continued with her questions. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I wanted to ask you about Frau Choplin. I know the two of you were friends.”

  “Greta! Enough!” Rae was shocked by her sister’s stubborn refusal to play it safe. Well, she wasn’t shocked, but she was disappointed. She didn’t want the fortune-teller’s predictions to come true.

  “I shall ask now, or I shall come back later,” Greta advised her. Seeing the conviction in her eyes caused Rae to shake her head.

  Fräulein Hines answered carefully, glancing from sister to sister. “We were good friends.”

  “You must have been concerned when her body disappeared from the cemetery?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “I believe it was vampires.”

  The old woman weighed her words. Although she could often read the future, she could not change it. Heaven’s will was Heaven’s will, and not all the king’s horses or all the king’s men could always put things back together again. “I have heard tell that it was grave robbers.”

  “Is that what you think? What do the cards say?”

  Reluctantly, the old woman shuffled her deck again and then hesitantly laid one card on the table. What she turned over was a special card in her deck: the White card. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t understand. It’s blank?” Greta asked, clearly disappointed.

  “It means that we aren’t allowed to see. Or that the answer is yet undecided. Though we travel a fairly certain path through life, there be a few little roads off the beaten path that we may take, that bring either great reward or great heartache.”

  Before any more could be said, a loud crash filled the room. All eyes turned to the boys, who were still wrestling over the crumbled gingerbread man. Ernst had kicked at Quinn, and he’d knocked over a small stool.

  “Stop this wicked behavior at once!” Rae cried. “You are behaving like a passel of pests.” She narrowed her eyes on the misbehaving urchins. Merri had her hand stuck in the gingerbread jar, while Poppy was climbing the mantel over the fireplace. Shyla, not to be left out, was busy instructing the maid how to wipe the milk mustache off her dainty little mouth.

  Rae heaved a dramatic sigh. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

  As they took their leave, the sisters Grimm looked at each other, the carriage and the rambunctious bratlings, then steeled themselves for the ride home in the closed contraption.

  “Forget the prince and domestic bliss and heated kisses. It’s not worth this,” Greta mumbled to herself as Poppy trod on her foot.

  “For once you’re wrong,” Rae replied. “The ‘wifely duties’ part is very much worth it, even this.”

  Greta’s jaw dropped open. Surely nothing could be that pleasurable. However, Rae’s calm demeanor assured her it was. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” She’d never expected this of her sister.

  Rae laughed. “No, you’re a monkey’s step-aunt,” she said, again tugging Poppy from the carriage window. And she gave her sister a smug smile that Greta was hard-pressed to interpret.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Someday My Prince Will Come…to His Senses

  She was thinking of dead bodies when he spied her, but that was unknown to Rolpe. A flash of tawny-colored hair and her infectious smile—to him, Miss Greta Grimm was utterly captivating, and so innocently demure. Although, recalling the first time he’d seen her face, he’d thought she came out a poor second to her sister. It had not been one of his finer moments. The first time he’d kissed her, he had felt the earth move. He had stupidly put it down to an earthquake in Wolfach, even though there had never before been an earthquake nearby. Still, the slight deception had helped, if only for a bit. Then he had discovered in her a heretofore unknown world.

  Rolpe started swiftly toward her, drawn like a hawk to its prey across the snow-packed cobblestones. It had been five days since he last saw her at Durloc Castle. It seemed an eternity, but he had purposely kept away to see if his fascination would fade. Instead, it had grown stronger, just as Fen predicted. He had even weakened two nights ago and accepted a dinner invitation from Fen, only to bitterly discover that Greta was not there.

  In the shop glass, Greta spied Rolpe behind her and smiled. While the prince might thwart her plans, she couldn’t help grinning whenever she saw his face. Cupid’s dart had flown fast and true the very first time they met. The prince had released in her a dark and fiery passion that was only growing stronger.

  Taking a deep breath,
Greta regained some of her poise and turned slightly. She had a mission to accomplish, and Rolpe would stop her if he knew it, just as her sister would. Still, her quest was too important to be halted…but she could be sidetracked for a while, if Rolpe was doing the sidetracking.

  As she faced him, the prince elegantly lifted her hand for a kiss, lingering over it far longer than was proper.

  “Your Highness, please. People will talk,” Greta scolded.

  Mesmerized by the little dimple in her cheek, he dimly realized she was right. He stepped back to a more proper distance and said, “I had thought to pay you a visit this afternoon at your aunt’s.”

  “It seems I’ve foiled your plans,” she replied, glad that he had caught her before her foray into the doctor’s cellar. She now knew where the dead bodies were kept. “Rae wrote a note and said you dined with her and Fen two nights ago. I hope you found all well?”

  “I was sorry to hear that you were indisposed and couldn’t join us.” He had been more than annoyed, arriving to be told that Greta was stuck at home in bed suffering a cold. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you,” she replied.

  He stared, admiring her. The cold wind had made her cheeks red, and her lips were a little chapped from the cold. A few loose hairs escaped from under her hood and blew in the wind. She was absolutely beautiful—and she made him feel like a prince among men. To many, this feeling would be an absolute marvel, but to Rolpe, who had always been a prince, it was less amazing. No, he decided, Greta made him feel a king. A warrior king. She brought out his protective streak. His honor-bound, loving streak, which had formally been reserved for members of his family and a few close friends. She commanded his attention as no other woman had done before. Greta made him laugh, she made him angry…and she made him extremely randy. He wanted to know everything and anything about her and her life, not merely whether she cried out in the throes of passion or liked slow leisurely love-making.

  “What are you doing out and about today?” he asked. “It’s rather blustery for shopping, especially when one has been ill.”

  Greta glanced up to the sky and tucked her scarf around her neck as a gust of bitter cold wind blew. “I thought to pick something up for my brothers,” she explained.

  Rolpe glanced at the shop behind her, cocking an eyebrow at her guilty expression. She really was lovely, but something in her eyes…What was she up to? What supernatural legend was she pursuing now? “They like puppets?”

  Greta followed the direction of the prince’s gaze to the puppets filling the shop window. Several of the front ones were the size of small children. Each puppet had a friendly smile painted upon its wooden lips. “Not really, but I couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship, although this one’s nose is rather long and crooked.”

  “That it is.”

  “At first I thought I was standing on an uneven stone. Then I stopped, and I noticed that everything in Herr Bier-halle’s shop is rather lopsided. Look at the crooked wooden stick against the wall—and there!” she cried as she noticed a thin yellowish beast with a crooked tail. “Even his cat.”

  Rolpe agreed politely, and added with a hint of humor, “You should see his crooked house.” He watched, and her eyes lit up from within. He held his breath, arousal filtering through him. She was ravishing when she smiled, and her scent was beckoning to him, calling his name. “Herr Bier-halle is overfond of the taverns, and oft works while intoxicated,” he explained. When she laughed, his heart began to pound.

  He gallantly escorted her onward, and they walked down the sidewalk, passing other shops filled with all manner of varied and colorful products. Their manner was that of old friends, and at the same time full of unacted upon passion. Both took pains to keep the conversation light.

  As they passed Drosselmeier’s candy store, which was lined with baked sugared almonds, marzipan trumpets and French horns, Greta stopped. Both she and Prince von Hanzen peered in the window, and she merrily pointed to a large candy nutcracker. Beyond lay a large baker’s oven. “Isn’t he a jolly fellow, with his rosy red cheeks and bright green eyes? My brother William would like him.” Turning to face the prince again, she explained. “William has a large collection of wooden soldiers. They are one of his favorite things. And I imagine a candy soldier would be even better.”

  “And yours?” he asked.

  “My what?”

  “Likes, favorite things, desires.”

  Her reply, when it came out, was rather breathy. “So, you want to know what I desire?” Love had definitely bitten her; it had pursued her ruthlessly and sunk in its teeth. If only Rolpe felt the same way, life would be a fairy tale come true. She instinctively knew that he was fond of her, and the days of their animosity seemed a distant past, but still…

  “Well, let me see.” She couldn’t very well tell him that he was what she desired most. “I love raindrops on my window when I’m reading. I have the most wonderful time when Taylor and my brothers are sitting around the fireplace telling fairy tales. I love quoting Latin with my father and his friend Sir Jahn. And it’s certainly true that I live for the thrill of discovery, or learning new things.” And you, she added silently, I love you.

  He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “What of diamond rings, ruby slippers and a hundred ball gowns?”

  “I’d settle for a glimpse of a vampire rising from its coffin or the big bad wolf at some poor old grandmother’s house.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Greta, you are an odd, odd woman.”

  “You find me fascinating—an intriguing mystery of whom you are trying not to be overly fond.” Once the words were out of her mouth, she could have bitten her tongue for her presumption. “I’m sorry, what silly teasing,” she backtracked.

  Her words stuck him hard, and in his pride and misguided sense of bachelorhood, the prince retaliated. “Ja, I do. However, I don’t want to marry anyone, perhaps ever.” And with those words he crossed the street, fleeing as if demons from the underworld were hot on his trail.

  Watching his retreating figure, Greta shook her head, vexed beyond belief. “Well, Greta Grimm,” she said. “For someone whom everyone calls a wit, you’ve proven them half-right.”

  After thoroughly berating her stupidity, cursing herself as she watched Rolpe enter the stable yard, Greta turned her attention back to the game at hand. She had a piece of a fairy-tale puzzle to explore, and she had to do it soon, before her nosy aunt became too curious. Aunt Vivian had berated her up one side and down the other about gallivanting around the countryside seeking a monster; she didn’t want the woman going front to back on the next go.

  Scurrying off through the snow, Greta turned the corner to the doctor’s office. If all went as planned, she would soon be examining the body of Herr Humpty.

  Not desiring to be caught snooping, she glanced through the small window of the doctor’s office to ascertain that the doctor was indeed indisposed. He was: The old man was asleep in his chair, an empty bottle of Schnapps by his side. She would be safe.

  Greta hurried around the back of the office cottage to the cellar door. Descending inside, Greta wrinkled her nose in disgust at the moldy atmosphere, which also smelled faintly of death. Lighting a torch in a wall sconce, she swiftly headed toward the body under a sheet…then gasped in shock when she pulled back the sheet and found Herr Humpty. A naked Herr Humpty. A naked, dead Herr Humpty. She had never seen a naked dead body before.

  The dead man had a bluish tint to his skin. His neck and head were pushed up, due to the large hump on his back. Herr Humpty also had a very misshapen skull, and a broken crown, if she was not mistaken.

  “Dead men tell no tales,” she sighed. “If only you could speak.”

  Bracing herself against the sudden queasiness in her stomach, and against her embarrassment at his lack of attire, she finally managed to examine him. She found herself thoroughly disappointed. “Not one bite mark,” she muttered to herself. “Not one single
mark. Not even a nibble.”

  Pulling the sheet over his knees, she found her disappointment was soon replaced by abject fear. Yes, that was the voice of doom and the happily unmarried male she heard!

  “First I find you in the woodcutter’s cottage, rifling through his drawers! Now I find you ogling Herr Humpty, who is not a day under seventy! I really must take your aunt to task for allowing you to roam free in Wolfach.” Regretting his hasty and overly harsh words to Greta, Rolpe had followed her in order to apologize. Only the trail of her scent had led here of all places. Now he was too angry to apologize.

  Sheepishly Greta tried a shaky smile, gazing helplessly at him. “Rolpe. How…” She hesitated. She couldn’t very well say how nice it was to see him again so soon, even though it was. Nor could she pretend that staring at a naked man was an everyday occurrence for her, even if the man was older than Father Time and was now a corpse. And she really hadn’t peeked at everything. Well, maybe she’d had one quick complete glimpse.

  “Damnation, woman! Has the cat got your tongue? Or is this a case of finally mitigated gall and shame?” He was more than enraged by her continual disobedience, by her reckless dashing into dangerous situations. That fury made him restless. He began to stalk her, his expression beyond somber.

  “I can explain,” she said, backing up. “Though I have doubts that you’ll like my explanation.”

  “That you are a perverted Peeping Thomasina? No, I don’t imagine I will like that.”

  “I needed to see if Herr Humpty had bite marks on his neck,” she said, wringing her hands as he backed her into a corner.

  “Bite marks!” He spat the words out. “I told you there are no vampyrs in Wolfach. When will you get it through your thick head?” He reached out and grabbed her by her arms, pulling her roughly to him. “Shall I tell you what you found? Not bite marks. Not a single one, because Herr Humpty drank too much Schnapps with the good doctor, and he fell off a very high, very narrow wall.” And with those damning words, Rolpe swooped down and kissed her.