The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 1

by Isabella Fontaine

  The Grimm Chronicles

  Vol. 1

  By Isabella Fontaine

  -and-

  Ken Brosky

  Cover art by Chris Smith. Edited by Dagny Holt. Special thanks to Emil Gardin and D.S. Atkinson.

  Published 2012 by Brew City Press.

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  Table of Contents (click!)

  Introduction

  Prince Charming Must Die!

  The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen (part one)

  Happily Never After

  The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen (part 2)

  Revenge of the Castle Cats

  Introduction!

  Let’s keep this brief, so we can get to the fun stuff in the book. Namely, the actual story. But before we get to that, we want to give you a message:

  Thank you.

  We mean it. From the bottom of our hearts. Since the very start, The Grimm Chronicles has had tremendous support from book bloggers and readers alike, and so we’re greatly in the debt of anyone who’s taken the time to read our story.

  It didn’t come easy, you know! We’re pretty sure we emailed a good two hundred or so book bloggers, begging them to give us a shot. We sent out so many emails that our wrists were sore from pointing and clicking. We scoured the web for Young Adult fans, skipping meals and—OK, OK, Ken didn’t skip any meals. He hasn’t skipped a meal since 1998. But he definitely ate in front of his computer, ensuring that every book giveaway’s promises were fulfilled.

  Some bloggers had a reach of a couple visitors a day, some were getting thousands. Every single one who took the time to review and promote The Grimm Chronicles helped make these first three books a success (we’re getting ahead of ourselves, we know… but we’re pretty confident this third book is going to be as successful as the first two!). As Ken is fond of saying, book bloggers make the world a better place. They have a voracious appetite for books, and they share their love with other interested readers.

  When we started The Grimm Chronicles, we had two important rules:

  1. Our hero has to deal with some serious issues. And we’re not talking about which boy to fall madly in love with and live happily ever after, either. Our hero needs to deal with serious issues. In the first three episodes, she’ll make some important decisions that have a profound effect on the world. In future episodes, she’ll make more important decisions, too. And there’s not going to be a love triangle.

  2. Our hero needs to rely on her brain. We love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you’d better believe there’s going to be plenty of action in this series, but that’s not enough for us. We don’t just want a positive female hero … we want her smart, too. We want her to enjoy learning and enjoy reading. We want her to value knowledge and use it. She has to be more than just a butt kicker (but she can kick some butt when necessary, too!).

  With these two rules in mind, we started crafting the very first story. We wanted it to be bold and exciting and we wanted to make sure it had something to do with the princes and princesses of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. But we didn’t want to stop there! One of the coolest parts about this series is that it can use any of the fairy tales written by the Brothers Grimm. According to the legend in our series, every single character in those stories becomes evil over time.

  Some grow more evil than others.

  Some find themselves mutating into horrible creatures.

  One is a sausage.

  Yup, in one of the Grimms’ tales, a talking sausage causes all sorts of trouble. We’d be fools not to try and fit him into our series somehow.

  And in case you’re wondering about how long the series is going to last …

  Expect 12 episodes. One episode every two months on the Kindle. Every three episodes will be connected in some way (we call this a “story arc”), and we’ll release each story arc in a print collector’s edition with some fun stuff included. For this first arc, we’ve included a “lost diary” and an interview at the end of the book, as well as all of the original fairy tales we mention in these episodes.

  OK. So that’s the plan. Hopefully, you enjoy the first story arc of the series. What should we call this arc? Should it have a name? Yes. It should have a name.

  Let’s see … how about this:

  A New Beginning

  What, no good? Too dull? Well then you figure a name out! We’re too busy working on the next episode in the series, for crying out loud!

  Enjoy the book. And don’t forget to drop us an email at fontainepen@gmail.com.

  Book 1: Prince Charming Must Die!

  Chapter 1

  It happened, however, that a king’s son came into the forest, and went to the dwarfs’ house to spend the night. He saw the coffin on the moun- tain, and the beautiful Snow-white within it, and read what was written upon it in golden letters. Then he said to the dwarfs, “Let me have the cof- fin, I will give you whatever you want for it.” [i]

  I should have known Edward was too good to be true.

  No. Wait. Let me go back to the beginning. Before I had this curse. Before I went around slaying creatures that shouldn’t exist. Before I made friends with a rabbit.

  Let’s start at the end of my junior year of high school. That was when all of this really started. I was looking forward to summer. I didn’t have a job but I had something even better: a volunteer spot at the local library. It was the best job in the world—sure, I mostly just put away all of the books and no, I wasn’t getting paid. But I loved being inside that old building. From the outside, it looked like a big old firehouse complete with rusty red bricks and a rusted fire escape on one side. All it needed was one of those big garage doors for the fire truck.

  Inside, though … that was where it all happened. When you walked in through the front door, you passed the little check-out desk where one of the old librarians would give a smile. Beyond that: rows and rows of old metal bookcases. Fiction. History. Biography. Science. In the center of the massive space was a circular table with five computers, the only hint of technology in the entire place.

  Even the light bulbs were old! I’m not kidding—the lights hanging from the tiled ceiling had old steel shades, something out of the nineteenth century. It was a good thing the library closed before it got dark because without sunlight streaming in through the windows, the place might take on a much creepier tone.

  But in the daylight, it just looked neat. On the second floor were more bookcases, mostly children’s books and young adult books, but there was a reading room up there, too. I remember going there as a child and sitting on the red carpet of the reading room and following along as one of the librarians read one of the children’s novels. My dad sat outside, reading Star Trek books.

  I remember the first time I “graduated” to the first floor. I chose a science book about extinct animals from long ago. I’d been enraptured by a drawing on the first page where a long-extinct saber-toothed tiger was battling a ferocious lion. I just knew the tiger had won because tigers are the greatest.

  I remember that time because I’d almost gone into the basement. The basement door was near the bathrooms and I’d opened the door by mistake. A cool breeze had touched my skin. It was so dark that I squinted, trying to make something out. Anything. But it was too dark, and it gave little 13-year-old me the chills.

  The basement. If only I’d known what was waiting for me down there.

  Needless to say, I was ready for exam week to be over. Even my last class of the day—hardly a class at all—couldn’t keep me entertained. Fencing. Where other girls chose basic gym because the rules for roller skating and badminton were relaxed enough to allow casual gossip,
I’d made the choice to fence with six other guys—including my boyfriend Edward—and a girl named Tina who was on the verge of failing.

  “You have to attack,” I told her midway through class. She’d lost twice already during the week and we were being graded on our form. Tina didn’t have form. Tina had nothing more than an amazing ability to swing her sword—called a “foil”—left and right as fast as possible and delay the inevitable.

  “I can’t attack,” she told me, shifting in the chair. We were in a small weight training room off of the gym. In front of us, two of the other students were fencing in full gear, their shoes squeaking on the red rubber mats. “The boys are stronger.”

  “Oh gawd,” I muttered. “Look,” I pointed to the two boys fighting. They were both wearing white uniforms but one of the helmets had an A printed on the back and the other a B so our teacher—Mr. Whitmann—could communicate the scores.

  “What am I looking at?” Tina asked.

  “Watch Gregg,” I said. “He’s the A. Watch him parry. See how he always uses the same riposte? He loves stabbing after he parries.” We watched them attack and parry again, the thin blades of their fencing swords clanging together. Gregg took two steps back, parrying his opponent’s attacks. When the time was right, he took the offensive, stabbing wildly at his opponent’s ribs. “Just watch their shoulders,” I told Tina.

  Mr. Whitmann called an end to the fight and tallied up the scores. Gregg was the surefire winner.

  “He’s too good,” Tina moaned. “All these swords just blur my vision. I can’t even see them coming!”

  “Just focus,” I said. “We’re not losing to a bunch of stinky boys. Gregg doesn’t even wear deodorant, for crying out loud.”

  “Alice,” Mr. Whitmann said, wrinkling his black mustache. “You can’t keep quiet sitting there? You’re up. Gregg, you stay on.”

  I grabbed the B mask and foil from the quiet boy who’d just been creamed by Gregg. I adjusted the plastic chest protector underneath my jacket, much to the chagrin of the boys seated at the edge of the mat. Edward simply smiled, giving me a thumbs-up. I have to admit, he looked pretty good sitting there. He was one of the few guys who could wear the bulky fencing gear with any grace, like he was actually comfortable underneath all the padding.

  “En guard,” Mr. Whitmann called out. I barely had time to get a grip on the foil before Gregg came crashing at me with all the grace of a football player. I parried his thrusts; the clang of the swords was almost lost inside the mask but not quite and I relished it. I loved this moment. I loved the salty smell of sweat inside the mask. I loved the way the world seemed dark and closed-in from behind the black mesh.

  And I loved winning. Especially against boys bigger than me. And as Gregg came in again, I parried low, pulling his foil downward, taking a quick step back and then a quick step forward and thrusting the foil into his chest. The tip of my sword pressed into the protective jacket and the narrow blade bent in a U-shape.

  “Point,” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Parry-riposte from the right. Good job, young lady.”

  “Can you sound more surprised?” I muttered inside the mask. Mr. Whitmann was a small, portly man with jet-black hair and hairy arms. He favored the boys; that much was obvious. And he loved Edward. Everyone loved Edward. From the very day he transferred to Washington High School, he was universally loved.

  Gregg came at me again, this time swinging his sword even more violently. I parried as best I could, stepping away from him. He didn’t even have his free hand behind his back, and if our foils weren’t dulled at the tip I could have nicked the skin of his bare hand. He left me another opening and I took it, stabbing him in the rib.

  “Point B,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Excellent job, Alice.”

  Gregg stepped back, tearing off his mask in frustration. I took mine off and pulled loose strands of black hair behind my ears. I glanced at Edward, who was sitting with the other boys, smiling approvingly.

  Later, at the end of the day, he sidled up to me at my locker. “Do you need help with your books?” Students had begun sifting out; the only ones lingering were the select few who needed a few extra minutes to fill our backpacks with notes and textbooks. Our school was like that: a lot of slackers. Kids who preferred C’s because it allowed more time to watch awful TV shows. Exam week was even worse because some students only had one or two classes—plus gym—and then could leave.

  I spun around and wrapped my arms around him, planting a kiss on his lips. He had soft, full lips, perfect for smooching. “We’re waiting for Tricia and Seth. I told them you would give them a ride home. Is that OK?”

  He smiled, holding me close. “Of course. Will you spend some time with me tonight?”

  How could I say no? Edward was dreamy. Edward was everything a 17-year-old girl wanted: dark looks, chiseled body, searching green eyes, short brown hair, and of course an earring to top it all off. That isn’t to say the earring was the deal-maker—more of a cherry on top of a tasty sundae.

  A really, really tasty sundae.

  I’d met him in a strange sort of way. Well, strange in retrospect. At the time, it couldn’t have been more exciting. I’d been at the park down by Lake Michigan with a couple friends right before school started. They’d gone rollerblading and so I took to the opportunity to knock down a few chapters of a new fiction novel, lying back on a bench. My eyes slowly shut.

  When I woke up, he was standing over me. In all his hunky glory. Wearing a tight blue button-down shirt. He was looking down at me like he wanted to kiss me. Yeah.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just noticed that something is about to flitter out of your purse.”

  I glanced down at my black purse sitting on the grass next to the bench. He was right: a little slip of paper was hanging out, fluttering in the wind. “Flitter,” I repeated with a smile. “I like the sound of that word.”

  “It used to be quite a popular word,” he said, crouching down beside me. He was regarding me ... really, really staring into my eyes. “Royalty used it for a long time. And then when the peasants started using it, the royalty stopped. Weird, no?”

  I laughed. “Do you always walk up to girls and tell them about the history of words?”

  He laughed, too, glancing at the piece of paper still flittering as the breeze picked up again. “No, no. I don’t know where that came from. I’m usually much more awkward.”

  I felt incredibly calm around him, calm enough to sit up and hold out a hand. “I’m Alice.”

  “Edward,” he said, taking my hand in his. “So what is it?” he asked, nodding to the paper. “I bet it’s a shopping list.”

  “That’s so goofy!” I said with a laugh. “I hate shopping. My mom shops for me.” I winced. Stupid, stupid. “I mean, I shop for myself. Sometimes. It’s just a note to myself. It says Alice, please remember to return your book to the library.”

  “Ah, a library denizen,” he said. “Do you go to the downtown library?”

  “No,” I said. “I live out by New Berlin. There’s a little library right by my house.”

  “So you go to Washington High, then?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m starting there this year,” he said. “I’m a little nervous. I transferred from out of state.”

  “Just keep a list of weird words handy,” I offered.

  He smiled. We talked some more. I don’t remember what we talked about because my head was swimming with excitement.

  He came up to me the first day of class. We were leaving English, having been assigned a section of Jane Eyre, one of my favorite classic novels. Just walking through the crowded hall, I could see eyes on me in every direction. That never happened before. But now here the mysterious new guy was talking to little old me, telling me about his original copy of Jane Eyre that he wanted to show me, but only if I agreed to let him take me out to dinner.

  That Friday night, the first Friday of the school year, we had our first date in a crowded dark little restaurant in
downtown Milwaukee that featured $25 plates and whose walls were covered with old paintings. I thought I was going to die. Being there with him. Eating food my parents would be jealous of. Staring at the plastic-wrapped original copy of Jane Eyre, with “An Autobiography” in small text underneath the title.

  Tricia and Seth met us at the entrance to the school. Tricia was wearing heels today, which made her an inch or two taller than Seth. They were both wearing their Washington Dragons t-shirts to show a little school spirit: the girls’ basketball team—the “Lady Dragons”—had won the state championships again. Seth looked younger with such a large shirt on. He was already short, and his boyish pimpled face and short blond hair didn’t help things. He’d gotten an ear pierced a year ago but it had become infected and he had to take it out … just Seth’s luck.

  “That really doesn’t do much for your figure,” I said to Tricia with a smile. I turned to Seth. “Yours either, dear.”

  Seth just shrugged. “They were out of small sizes.”

  “I got mine for free,” Tricia said proudly. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulders. “The cheerleaders were throwing t-shirts into the stands at the last home game.”

  Seth jerked a thumb in her direction. “Trish reached over an old lady’s head and tore it out of her hands.”

  “I did not!” Tricia said, slapping him lightly on the arm. This could have been the beginning of a long, drawn-out fight. That was how they were. It was the complete opposite of Edward and me: we never fought. I didn’t want to deal with their fight today. I didn’t want either of them preoccupied before our biology final on Thursday. The only sensible course was a diversion.

  “Are those the jeans we picked out last week?” I asked.

  Tricia lifted up her too-long shirt, extending one leg. “Indeed they are. Acid wash is going to make a comeback, I swear it.”