“As with the magic of my sisters, his, too, will be altered from its original intentions. More than that, I cannot say, as I do not know specifically what it is that they will try to do to you.”
As the bottle makes its way around the circle, the Wise Woman chants something in an unfamiliar language. Green sparks and smoke fly about the room, swirling between our bodies and through our hair. Mary helps Grymsdyke take his sips before passing the bottle to me. Much like the goose’s offering, this drink is also bitter.
The last of our group finishes the contents of the bottle. The green smoke billows until I can no longer see the people next to me, let alone in front of me.
An explosion fills the room, sending us all flying backward.
I’M SITTING IN A cart, Alice next to me. At my feet is the A.D.; upon one of his propped knees is Grymsdyke. A quick turn of head shows my brother and Mary in the front of the cart, Victor’s hands upon the reins of a grazing horse. All eyes are open, yet unblinking.
There is no house nearby, no barn, no chicken coop. There is nothing but trees and wind and squirrels.
I blink rapidly, completely disoriented.
Grymsdyke crawls off the A.D., over to where I am. “I was wondering when one of you would snap out of it.”
“How long have we been asleep?”
Alice’s head swivels to face her soldier. Her brows furrow as she also blinks hard.
“I do not think it was sleep.” The spider hops onto the cart’s ledge. “I do know that the cart has not moved, though. This is where it has been parked since we arrived at the Wise Woman’s cottage.”
“How in the bloody hell did we get into the cart?” my brother asks from where he sits nearby. “Weren’t we just inside the house?”
“More importantly,” Mary mutters, “where is the house?”
I ask Grymsdyke, “How can you be sure we’re not somewhere else?”
A hairy, small leg juts out. “That tree there is the same. See the whorl just below the largest branch to the left, the one shaped like an owl’s face? I observed it both last night and this morning. It is not something I imagine is on too many trees.”
Alice says, “I recognize it, too.”
“I miss New York.” The A.D. grips the side of the cart. “I miss magic being a thing on the telly.”
“Well, here’s a perk.” Mary holds aloft a bag that was sitting by her feet. “The Wise Woman may be gone, but she left us with a bag of food.”
All of the rest of the bags the team brought are accounted for, too. My brother must have been optimistic about them finding a cure for me, because two of my guns were packed, along with several clips. No extra sword, but I suppose these are better than nothing. More importantly, Victor brought enough of his protocol and medicine to last a few weeks. I hate knowing he spiraled so far away from himself, to that monster that haunts him. I hate that Alice was left trying to find a cure for me, that I failed her as a partner. I hate that my father believed his children were dead, like his wife, and I hate that the Piper grabbed the upper hand when nobody was looking.
It changes now. He’s going down.
“Maybe we should try editing to Hamelin,” the A.D. says. “Would take a hell of a lot less time than this old thing.”
Mary rifles through her bag, but then softly curses. “The Grimm’s books aren’t here.”
“Let me look.” Victor takes her bag and sifts through it. Finding nothing, he also swears before asking me for his bag. I pass it up, but just as with Mary’s, there are no books inside.
Alice and the A.D. immediately search through theirs only to come up empty handed. All that are left are the Institute books.
“What does this mean?” Alice asks me. “How can these volumes simply go missing?”
But I have no answer to that. None of us do, except to assume that the books disappeared along with the cottage. But what would the Wise Woman want with them?
“I guess we’re getting to Hamelin the old-fashioned way,” the A.D. says mournfully.
Fantastic.
I offer to drive, but Victor insists on the first shift. He’s riding a high right now, with his latest dose of protocol not too long ago. With nothing left to do here, we pull onto the road, heading north. I wish I had my phone with me, anything that allows me to review everything I’d missed since that Pan kid (or whoever he really is) attacked me, but nobody thought to bring it (or, hell, theirs). It’s disorienting, being the person least in the know for once. So I can’t help but drill everyone to go over everything again, in excruciating detail. Thankfully, no one gives me shit over it, but still, I loathe the gap of missing time over the last few days.
Frustration percolates in my veins. Anger, too. Lots and lots of anger.
“You said your mother read you the stories from this Timeline?”
I turn to face Alice. “Yeah, to both me and Victor. Why?”
“Did you recognize the story that the goose hailed from?”
The A.D. is instantly interested. “You mean the goose that laid the golden egg?”
“That’s not a Grimm’s tale,” Victor calls from the front seat.
“I think it was called The Golden Goose or something like that,” I tell Alice.
“And what of the giant? Did he hail from a story you know?”
“Jack and the Beanstalk?” Mary suggests.
“Still not Grimm’s,” Victor says.
“Well, aren’t you the epitome of the fairy tale knowledge base?” she snaps affectionately.
“I can’t remember what it was called,” I admit, “but there was one where a kid was raised by a giant and thereby became one himself. He liked to hit people he worked for in lieu of payment.”
“I remember that one!” Victor says. “It made no sense. Then again, so many of them didn’t.”
Alice is thoughtful for a long moment. “It’s interesting how closely intertwined so many of these tales are here in this Timeline. A Wise Woman, from Little Briar-Rose, has a golden goose from another tale and tricks me into battling a giant from another. All within a small span of land.”
“Well, Brom did say that his tales were connected in his Timeline, too,” Mary offers.
“What if we were wrong?” Alice asks. “We assumed that all of the Piper’s minions were the children he kidnapped, brainwashed or subject to the transformation spell to become one of the Chosen. And while that must hold true—after all, how else can we explain Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett—what if some of the characters are from the stories that make this Timeline? Grethel Bunting told us that she has always been Grethel. Perhaps she is the Grethel from this Timeline, now in the employ of the Piper.”
It’s a good point, and a bit of a terrifying one, too, because it opens so many more rabbit holes.
“Pfriem, too,” Victor points out.
“Bunting and Pfriem did not have blackened teeth,” Alice muses. “Nor did Jenn Ammer at the library. All of the other associates we’ve come into contact with have.”
“Or F.K. Jenkins.” The A.D. adjusts his smudged glasses. “His teeth were just a disgusting yellow from smoking a hundred packs of cigarettes a day.”
I nearly forgot about that misogynistic asshole.
“How does he fit in?” Mary asks. “All of our background checks on him were thorough. Birth records, schooling, parents, grandparents, addresses . . . He didn’t just appear one day. He was born somewhere in the Midwest. As far as we know, he isn’t from any other Timeline.”
I rub at my hair. Jesus, the playing field is way too complicated and crowded. “Is he still missing?”
“Yes. He and Rosemary both.” Alice’s lips press together. “When the Piper’s minions attacked the Institute, both were freed at the same time as Todd. While we know Todd came to the museum to confront us, or at least aid in the Queen of Hearts’ exit, security footage shows the other two going through a separate doorway to parts unknown.”
“Nobody could see any details beyond the doorway?”
“Marianne did her best to clean up the recording, but the glare of the door was too bright,” the A.D. says.
One of the wheels hits a large pothole, jerking us all so hard I can pretty much guarantee our asses are bruised.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Victor calls out.
“What about this Jenn Ammer?” I press. “What did you guys learn about her?”
“Alice, I completely forgot to fill you in about that,” Mary says. “Whilst you and Brom were storming the school—”
“I was there, too!” the A.D. says indignantly.
“—I did a bit of digging into her background. Outside of a pair of college degrees from small, private institutions I’ve never heard of and couldn’t track down and a questionable Social Security number, there is very little else to prove Jenn Ammer exists. One of the techies hacked into the library’s databases and found her job application conveniently missing. Fingerprints were taken by the police, but I have no idea what came up when they were run through the database.”
“Did anyone contact Bianca Jones to see what she could offer on the matter?”
“I know it will come as a terrible shock,” Mary says, “but Ms. Jones was rendered speechless by the turn of events.”
“Be nice,” Victor murmurs.
“She said she thought I was best matched with my cousin Colin! Can you imagine?” She grunts. “Colin. Really, now.”
Victor says, “Good point.”
It is, actually. I’d met Colin once and wanted to punch that punk in the nose.
“Thus, Jenn Ammer is still an unknown,” Alice is saying. “At least she is in the authority’s custody.”
“Did she say anything to you that could be a clue?” I ask her.
“She knew who I was.” Alice brushes stray hairs away from her bruised face. “Mary, as well. And she sang the same tune that Rosemary serenaded us with prior to interrogation.”
“What did the Piper say to you, right before he destroyed the catalyst in the Institute?”
Alice clears her throat but then says nothing for a good ten, twenty seconds. “He rambled on about how sacrifices must be made in order for objectives to be met, even if it pained him to do so.”
But . . . what objectives does he strive toward? “Anything else?”
She turns her head away to stare at the trees surrounding us. “He indicated that certain Timelines are even resented by those who originate from them, as if that validates a reason to destroy them.” Her voice softens. “He was playing his pipe then, and I must admit that it is not the easiest to remember all of his words so clearly. It wasn’t until he walked through the doorway and it closed behind him did clarity return.”
“Mary, do you remember anything?”
My brother’s girlfriend’s shoulders tighten. “After the explosion, I don’t remember anything. I flew back and hit my head.”
Victor leans over and kisses her cheek before placing a hand on her knee. Miraculously, she does not push him away.
I turn back to face those with me in the back of the cart. “What about you, Grymsdyke?”
The spider coughs from where he rests on my knee. “I was in the Queen of Diamonds’ room, guarding the crown as ordered. I heard nothing other than the dissonant music played by an unknown girl.”
“Why do you think the music didn’t affect you the same way?”
He offers a spider’s equivalent of a shrug. “Perhaps it is because we do not have ears and hear differently than you do.”
“You bit her?”
“Yes. Her blood was foul and tasted unlike any else I’ve experienced. It was most disagreeable.”
I turn that over a few times. “So, we can assume that whatever makes someone Chosen cannot be passed on through bodily fluids like a disease—meaning it has to be done through an enchantment or an enchanted object like the sword that stabbed me.”
Alice grabs my hand, hard. “And of course, there’s the Piper’s music to contend with. We now know that he is not the only one who has the ability to hypnotize others.”
“Please tell me someone remembered ear plugs,” Mary calls over her shoulder.
The A.D. perks up. “Believe it or not, I did. Marianne found some in the lab that Wendy had been working on. Dunno what all they do. Marianne didn’t have time to test them and there were no notes attached, but they can’t hurt to try.”
I ask, “How many pairs?”
His face falls. “Well, there’s the rub. There were only two pairs.”
And five sets of ears that would need them. Grymsdyke is a lucky bastard, I guess.
After that, we all fall into moody silence. The A.D. eventually dozes, as does Mary up front. Even Grymsdyke is snoring away.
I squeeze Alice’s hand. “You should nap, too.”
“Gertrude mentioned the dwarves might be of concern. I ought to keep watch.”
“That was before she enchanted us with some kind of protection spell, remember?”
Her smile is wry. “From the dwarves?”
I shrug. “You never know.” I tug one of my guns out of Victor’s bag. “But, just in case, I’ll be ready.”
She hesitates, but she can’t hide the exhaustion in her eyes. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and she leans in, her head against my chest. “Promise me you’ll wake me if you see anything of consequence?”
That I can easily agree to.
From that point, it’s a good hour before we finally emerge from the woods. No dwarves appeared—or, for that matter, anyone else. It was like the forest was empty of all life except that of animal and those here in the wagon, and I was fine with that. Victor and I didn’t talk much ourselves, preferring instead to remain vigilant in our watches, but when we did, it was all about the retribution we both covet. Another hour or two passes before signs of a nearby small village appear.
Mary is the first of the group to rouse. “Maybe we can stop and eat, stretch our legs out a bit? Nose around to see if anyone has heard of the Piper?”
It’s a good idea.
By the time Victor pulls up to an inn’s stables, everyone is ready to do just what Mary suggested. My legs are cramping from the small quarters, and I know I can’t be the only one uncomfortable. Grymsdyke offers to remain with the cart to ensure nothing is stolen. “I haven’t hunted in some time now,” he adds. “A nice rat will do quite nicely for lunch, as long as it is only a rat.”
The A.D. looks horrified at such a suggestion. Mary, on the other hand, is fascinated.
As Victor hands off our horse to a stable hand, Alice tells the spider quietly, “We will not be too long.”
“Be on your guard, Your Majesty. You will be at an odd number with me here in the barn.” He coughs his weird little cough and scuttles off the cart.
“Is that a spider thing?” I ask her. “Like, a Wonderlandian thing?”
“Crawling?”
“No. The coughing. I’ve noticed he does it a lot.”
“Ah.” She tightens her cloak around her. “Only certain breeds of spiders do it, but I suppose yes, it’s a Wonderlandian thing. One of his comrades informed me once that their throats are lined with hairs similar to those on their legs, so that whatever prey they ingest will feel the effects.”
I like Grymsdyke, respect him even, but damn, if that isn’t awful. I’d felt those hairs once, and they’d burned like hell.
“I imagine having such things in one’s throat would tickle frequently, don’t you?”
She makes a good point.
I pull aside Victor. “We’re going to have to either trade in the cart for something better or resort to horses. At this rate, it’s going to take us a few days to make it to Hamelin.” I motion toward where our horse, sagging and exhausted, sweat dripping from his back, slurps from a pail of water. “He’s not going to cut it.”
He jingles a pouch tied to his waist. “I’ve got a bit of gold left.”
I dig out one of the golden feathers. “I happen to have some, too.”
His eyes widen. “Where did you get that?”
I tell him, and he nods appreciatively. “We’ll be on the hunt after lunch.”
The inn is surprisingly busy, but we manage to find a table. The kitchen wench is a buxom girl whose cheeks indicate she might have imbibed in quite of bit of wine already today. She informs us that the Fleet and Baker Inn is newly renowned for their meat pies, asking if we’d like the special. We decide to get one to split after Mary’s inquires inform us it is mutton. Several tankards of ale are also ordered. I stay the wench a moment to tell her, “We were recently robbed, and our knives were taken.”
“You poor things!” She leans down, giving a rather pointed view of her more ample assets. “We have a few extras I’ll bring round to you.”
“Knives?” the A.D. asks after she leaves.
“Eating knives,” I tell him. “Most people are expected to have their own in this time period.”
Once the drinks are brought round, my father’s assistant stands up. “I think I might have a look around.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” One of Mary’s eyebrows lifts high.
He practically leers. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be just fine. I’m sure there will be some lovely ladies and gents who are willing to share what they have with me.”
His implication isn’t lost on anyone at the table. “You’re disgusting,” she snarls.
To that, the A.D. offers her a grand bow.
“I expect you to check in within the half hour,” I tell him.
He nods and slips into the crowd. Within minutes, we can see him sidling up to a pair of lovely, giggling girls who quickly offer up their own tankards of ale.
Mary taps a finger against the side of her drink. “I swear, he’s like a chameleon, isn’t he?”
Victor takes a sip of his ale before tugging out the map and spreading it across the table. “By my estimates, we’re here.”
Mary traces a path from where Victor points up to Hamelin. “It’s still quite a ways to go.” Her lips quirk upward. “I bet you’re a fan of cars now, eh, Alice?”
“We still have no idea how the two Timelines connect together. Is it continuous?” Victor asks. “Is there a doorway? A path? Do we need to track down the woman that’s featured in both 1812GRI-CHT and 1816/18GRI-GT?” He shakes his head. “Shite. I can’t remember her name right now.”
The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3) Page 23