It was loud. I remember the music, too: some kind of mash-up between an old Beastie Boys song and a new pop single by Lady Gaga. Girls were gyrating and guys tried to keep up with their hips. You could almost taste the sweat.
And then I began to move. Or the scene did, at least. Two people were leaving the club, a guy and a gal. The guy was wearing a silky red button-down shirt and the girl was wearing tight jeans and a white v-neck top. They finished their drinks and set the glasses on a little table near the entrance and I followed them out into the cool night.
Immediately after the door closed, the music was gone. The three of us were on an empty city street with bars on both sides and long rows of parked cars but there was no one else in sight. Not a soul.
“What do you want to do?” the woman asked. I followed behind them as they walked, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk.
“Whatever you want,” the man said. He grabbed her hand. “I could stay up longer. I feel great. I feel like … some kind of electricity was running through us when we danced.”
“I felt that too!” the woman said, turning to him. She was staring at his face, examining it. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. You’re so … hot! Did you see the look on my friend Dina’s face? She totally didn’t think you would come over.”
“Are you sure your friend won’t miss you?” he asked.
The girl laughed. “Pretty positive.”
“OK.” He pulled on her hand, down a side street. “My car’s in here.” He pointed to the three-story parking structure to our right. “Can you drive stick?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “I learned when I was a baby.”
“Have you ever driven a BMW?”
I felt my chest grow cold. I had this reaction even though I knew—in the dream, at least—I wasn’t really here. Something terrible was going to happen and I really didn’t want to see the car. They headed into the parking structure. Wake up, I told myself. Wake up! Before you see the car!
“I totally want to drive your car. What floor?” the woman asked. She giggled. “I mean, what level?”
“Just up the ramp,” he said, then laughed. “I don’t remember what level. I just remember almost slipping when I walked down the ramp.”
“You’re funny. Do you do this a lot?”
A shrug of the shoulders. Square, muscular shoulders. “No. I’m usually more of a stay-at-home type.”
I tried to run forward. I wanted to spin the man around. There was no waking up now. Now I just wanted to see his face. But I couldn’t change my movement. I could only follow behind them, listening, inhaling the sweet smell of the woman’s perfume.
“I can’t believe you danced with me,” the woman said. Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her black leather purse, staring at the number. “Oh god, I have to answer this.”
“Wait,” said the man, wrapping one hand around the phone. “Call them back.”
He pulled her between two parked SUV’s and disappeared from sight. Then the phone dropped to the ground. I began moving closer. I could hear some kind of struggle and now, again, I wanted to wake up. But the invisible force was dragging me closer.
“Please stop,” said the man. “It won’t change what’s about to happen. I know that’s frightening, but you must understand there isn’t any changing things.”
I came into view just as they both fell to the ground. The man was kneeling over her torso with one hand wrapped around her mouth. With the other he pulled out a silver needle from inside the breast pocket of his button-down shirt. The woman’s eyes widened as he pressed it down on the bare skin right below her neck. I tried to scream for her, but nothing came out. Wake up! Wake up, Alice!
The man leaned down, ignoring the woman’s fists as they smacked against his face and arm. He pressed his lips to the little pinprick. And began sucking.
Quickly, so quickly, the woman’s skin began to sink. It was as if all of the meat, all of the liquid, all of the stuff between her skin and the bones was being sucked out. Her face shrank. Her wide eyeballs dried up. Her hair began to fall out. The skin collapsed onto the bone and the once-tight clothes clung loosely to what remained. I tried screaming again. The slurping sound echoed in the quiet parking structure.
When he finished, he stood up and wiped his mouth. A sickening moan of satisfaction escaped his lips. I had this bizarre urge to step forward and attack him. Maybe I could somehow subdue him until help arrived or maybe I could take him down myself with a little luck. And I did move forward, only it wasn’t to attack. It was to get closer. To smell his sweat and hear the words escape his lips between soft breaths: “A virgin.”
Then I screamed. For real.
I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat, the alarm on the nightstand buzzing and sunlight streaming in through the window. I blinked rapidly, convinced that finally—finally!—I was back in reality. Everything that had happened had been a total and uncompromising nightmare. No creepy white snake. No glowing boyfriends. And definitely no life-sucking creatures in parking structures.
I put on minimal makeup for my day at the library: eye shadow and a little blush. I dressed in typical summer gear—tan shorts and a blue v-neck blouse—then added a soft gray long-sleeved shirt to stave off the air conditioning inside the library. I went downstairs, where Mom was already up and making a small stack of French toast.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she said, not turning away from the frying pan, “how excited are you about the library?”
“Eight,” I said. “Your French Toast smells delicious.”
She turned, raising an eyebrow. In the mornings without her makeup and fancy dress clothes she wore to work, she looked so much more like a mom. I’d inherited her black hair and her high cheekbones. Only her hair was short, and her cheekbones just a little higher. She was wearing a flowery nightgown, too, which I would never wear in a million years. Floral patterns? No way. Too 1990’s.
“I bet you can put this on your college applications,” she was saying, placing another slice of sugary-smelling toast on the stack. “I bet they get all excited when they see someone’s actually been to a library.”
“Mom. I’m pretty sure they don’t.”
She tsk-tsk’d me, laying two slices of toast on a plate and placing it in front of me. “People don’t read as much anymore. That’s why they’re so stupid.”
“Mom!” I said with a laugh.
“I’m serious! It’s a form of brain exercise. What do you think happens when you spend all day sitting in front of the TV?”
“I turn into Dad?” I asked. We both laughed.
“Do you want to do anything for your birthday?” she asked, sitting down next to me.
“No,” I said. “I’m going out with Edward and the gang tonight. I … might spend the night at Tricia’s.”
She grunted. “I’ll cancel the clown. But the presents I got you are nonrefundable.”
“OK,” I said. “Can we just have a celebration dinner next week? I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be like.”
Mom sat down next to me and sipped at her coffee. “Oh, I imagine the librarians will want you there until the wee hours of the evening, vacuuming and doing other noisy things.”
“Really?” I asked, eyes wide. I hadn’t even thought of that. When did they do the noisy stuff in libraries? Who did them? I didn’t want to stay late!
“No.” She smiled. “Maybe a little vacuuming after close.”
I stabbed at the French Toast, slathering it in maple syrup. Thinking. The refreshing period following the initial wake-up was gone and now it seemed entirely credible that everything that I’d thought had been a dream had in fact been real. “OK, weird question,” I announced. “Did we have any strange relatives?”
“Hmmmmmmm.” Mom took another sip of coffee, staring up at the white ceiling fan. “Yes. My grandmother was a smuggler.”
“What?!”
She nodded, smiling. “She ran a fruit stand in New York C
ity for twenty years. Sometimes, she smuggled exotic fruits in and paid off the dock workers so she wouldn’t have to pay tariffs.”
“That’s insane!”
“That’s my grandmother. And insanity runs in the family, dear. Never forget that.”
I decided to walk to the library to enjoy the early morning sun. I needed the rays on my skin. I needed to smell the dandelions and fresh-cut grass. Summer vacation had seriously begun, and tonight I’d been partying with all of the cool kids from school. I’d never done that before. I let myself get a little excited and tried to push aside everything strange that had happened.
At the library, I made the choice to not thinking about the basement. At least not for the first three minutes. After that, it was all I could think about. Kids and adults came and went throughout the morning, and it was tough to keep up with all of the book returns. Mary’s insidious doppelganger, Fran, was running the check-out desk and seemed in no mood to carry even a lighthearted “How are you?” conversation. Just a little gratitude, please? Walking up the stairs every hour and not asking for a dime in return deserved some recognition.
At 11:00, Fran told me to take a break.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
She pressed a finger to her lips. I couldn’t believe it! I’d talked just as quietly as she had!
I went to the science section toward the back of the first floor, stopping near the restrooms for a sip of water at the water fountain. In my purse were a can of sparkling water and a turkey sandwich, and with a gentle rain coming down outside now, there was nowhere to eat it. I could imagine the moment I popped the top of the can, Fran would probably throw me out for being a deviant.
Fear of Fran drove me into the basement. It was the only safe place. Imagine that: the scary basement where I’d killed a terrifying snake was the safest place to eat. If it wasn’t all so crazy, this would be the perfect thing to tell my mom because she would laugh and laugh over the irony of it all.
I went down the stairs, curious about the pen but trying to convince my mind that it wouldn’t be there. Today’s a new day, I reminded myself. Stress from exam week had taken me apart and now I was back in reality. Firmly back in reality.
And then as I reached the other side of the basement, I saw it.
“Shoot!” I muttered.
“Shoot?”
I spun around, nearly dropping my can of sparkling water. “Oh good,” I said. “The giant rabbit is back.”
He seemed taken aback, stepping away from the shelves and giving his vest a firm tug. “I resent that kind of talk.”
A deep sigh escaped my lips. “I was kinda hoping everything that had happened had just been a dream.”
Briar the rabbit shrugged, stepping between the shelves and running a paw along the spines of the ancient books. He seemed to be admiring them. Did giant rabbits read? “A common response. It’s not easy to accept. Nor should it be.” He chuckled. “Why, if you’d have just jumped into this mess without testing the water first, I’d have thought you really were crazy!”
“Well that’s just wonderful.” I set my sandwich and can of water on the nearest shelf, beside an ancient worn-out copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You’re in no position to call anyone crazy, Mr. Giant Rabbit.”
“The name is Br’er. Briar to my friends. And you may call me Briar.”
“I’m honored, but I don’t really know you that well.” A little light clicked on in my head. “Wait, are you the Br’er Rabbit? The one from the old southern stories?”
“To an extent, yes.” He bowed. “Just as cunning as the one you’ve read about, too.”
“How?” I asked. “I mean, if I believe everything so far … your story wasn’t around when the Brothers Grimm were alive and conducting their magical ‘experiment.’ So how did you come into being?”
“Oh, I had a cunning creator,” Briar said with a hint of a smile. “A real scrapper. He was a hero, just like you. He was a former slave, living in New York after the Civil War. He wasn’t a healthy man, though. Lots of sickness was spreading through the city back then. He knew he wasn’t going to make it very long, and he also knew that some of the people coming over on the boat from Europe weren’t who they said they were.”
“Corrupted.”
Briar nodded. “He saw them, coming off the boat. Saw that hint of a glow that told him they didn’t belong. Followed their trails, tried to figure out who they were so he’d be ready. You see, back then there were a lot more Corrupted … minor characters, mostly. Ones who’d been mentioned in passing but nevertheless came to life under the Grimms’ spell. The more important characters didn’t die quite so easily and they were better at hiding. My creator was worried future heroes might have some trouble.”
“So what did he do?” I asked. “Who did he kill?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” Briar answered. “Would love to know, though.” He chuckled. “Boy, was he a funny guy. So nice. I don’t know exactly how he ended up with one of those magic pages, but I figure the Brothers Grimm probably saved a few and lost them at some point. You know how geezers misplace things.”
I laughed. “My grandma used to put her keys in the sugar bowl and forget about them for weeks on end.”
“Same goes for the Grimms, I bet.” The rabbit shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anywho, this hero—Eugene was his name—he somehow got a hold of a magic page and he set about telling the story of Br’er Rabbit, the clever trickster born and bred in the briar patch. And at the bottom of the page, he added something else. Something you don’t read about in any of the other stories about me: Br’er Rabbit was dedicated to helping the hero rid the world of Corrupted. And so here I am.” He bowed low. “Here to assist you in any way possible.”
“But that means you’re a Corrupted, too,” I said. “And some day, you’ll start to go evil. And you’ll have to be killed.”
Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Could be. Eugene, he tried his best to make sure that didn’t happen. In his version of the old tale, he made me just about the most loyal friend you could ever ask for. He wrote down that I never went evil and never betrayed the heroes I served. Technically, that’s how my story should go. But that might not be enough. I might see my time come at some point, just like everyone else.”
“That’s sad.”
He waved the thought away with his paw. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll do the worrying! And right now I’m worried about you.”
“Me? Why me?”
Briar pointed his paw at me. “Because you’re the hero now. That means you need to be ready for whatever comes next.”
“What comes next?”
Briar threw his paws up in the air. “Who knows? The last hero, she was a tad on the wild side. You better believe she left that snake for you as a test. And you’d better believe she knew exactly what you’d be thinking at this point because she was thinking the exact same thing when I first met her. Lord, it took me weeks to convince her.” He hopped between the shelves. “Chasing after her all the dang time! And she was a faster runner than you.”
“So you think she has another gross slimy snake waiting for me somewhere,” I said, shuddering.
Briar shook his head. “Not a snake, but some other little Corrupted for sure. That white snake was from one of the Grimms’ fairy tales, after all. That means Juliette—she’s was the last hero, if you recall—caught it and hid it in that there wall. Somehow, she knew you’d draw that door.” He took a deep breath, letting it escape between his front teeth in a whistle. “Now she was a handful. Loved taking risks and giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
“What happened to her?”
Briar looked down at the cement floor. “Can’t quite tell you. All I can say is she seemed to know something was going to happen. She planned all of this. Hid the pen down here and everything. And then she gave me this big hug, told me not to follow her, and then promptly disappeared.”
Tears came to my eyes. I didn’t know this girl and yet I couldn’t he
lp but feel something for her. “Why didn’t you follow her?” I asked angrily.
Briar shook his head. “Sometimes, the hero has to walk the path alone.”
“So I may die? Awesome.” I crossed my arms. “Really cool. That sounds like a lot of fun and all, but I kinda like the way things are right now.”
The rabbit sighed, crossing his arms in a very human sort of way. Everything he did was sort of human, though. “Well, it’s not my business to convince you one way or the other. I’m here to help you and that’s it.”
I glanced at the pen lying on the floor, next to the door I’d created. “Tell me about the pen,” I said finally. “How does it work?”
Briar slapped his paws together. “Magic! Haven’t you been listening?”
“Be more specific.”
“You draw, it creates,” he said simply. “But it has its limits. You don’t need to be a good artist to create what you want—all you need is knowledge.”
“What do you mean?”
He started walking toward the pen, so I followed him. When we reached the end of the bookshelves, he stopped. “Well, the pen needs your brain. It needs to know how to create what you’re drawing, so you need to have knowledge of whatever you’re going to create. For instance, this door.” He pointed with his paws to the cement door. “You created this door because you know how a door works. You understand it swings on hinges and needs a doorknob.”
“So I couldn’t draw a nuclear bomb is what you’re saying.”
Briar shook his head. “Not unless you know how one works.”
I bent down and picked up the pen. The moment the cool metal touched my skin, I felt a warm sensation pass through my body.
“Try it.”
I looked at him. “Try what?”
“Try drawing something you know.”
“Something I know,” I murmured, thinking. “OK. Where?”
“Anywhere,” the rabbit said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
I knelt down on the concrete floor. Slowly, methodically, I drew a foil. I started with the grip, then the bellguard and then finally the blade, my shaky hand creating a squiggly line unbecoming of a foil’s blade. I knew how the blade inserted into the handle: a modern foil screwed in with the help of a socket, a washer and a nut. But I had no idea how to draw it.
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