The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2

by Ken Brosky

  “Pull into the alley at the next street,” I said. “Speed up, then stop long enough for me to get out. Text me Chase’s address once you get there.” I glanced at Chase. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell slowly. “Try to get him inside if you can.”

  “What are you going to do?” Seth asked nervously.

  “I’m going to create a diversion,” I said. “Go! Now!”

  Seth sped up to the next block, slowing quickly at the alley and turning into it. He sped up, then stopped. I opened the car door, jumping out and slamming it shut. He sped up, reaching the other end of the alley just as the mysterious car turned, its headlights burning my eyes. I rushed to the nearest garbage can, pulling it and throwing it in front of the car. It crushed the can, then its tires began squealing as the can got caught underneath the front bumper.

  I stepped back, ready to bolt through the nearest yard. The car’s windows were tinted black but there was no glow inside, no glowing trail behind the car.

  Whoever was inside was human.

  “Who are you!” I demanded.

  The window rolled down, revealing a man with a pale face and a heavy black hood hanging over his head. Around each of his eyes was black paint. Around his neck was a pendant. I didn’t need to read the Latin words to know what it said. The picture of the dragon was a dead giveaway.

  He lifted one hand, then slipped on a steel weapon that fit over his hand. His fingers clutched the handle. Four sharp steel claws jutted out over his knuckles.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, good luck with that!”

  I turned, cutting through the nearest yard. I heard the car’s tires squeal and the crunch of the garbage can underneath the car, but by the time their car screeched out of the alley, I was already through the yard on the next block. I looked both ways, then ran another block and made a left, doubling back and slipping into the alley. The car was gone.

  Chase’s phone buzzed. I ducked behind a garage and pulled it from my pocket. My heart sped up as I read it:

  2244 E ESTES ST. COME QUICK CHASE IS FREAKING.

  “Crud,” I hissed, checking the street before breaking into a run. I found Estes Street and turned right. My breaths caught in my chest and my lungs burned. My already sore legs screamed for rest. Tears welled up in my eyes. I pushed everything back, forcing my legs across the street and searching desperately in the darkness. The streetlights on this block were out, too, as if the entire neighborhood was trying to hide. Where was Seth’s car? Where?

  There, up ahead! Seth’s awful parallel parking was recognizable even with the street lights out. I slowed and squinted in the darkness to read the addresses on the little two-story houses, hoping Seth wasn’t foolish enough to park right in front of 2244.

  Yup. Sure was.

  I burst through the door, locking it behind me. The lights in the hallway were on. Along the walls were tons of photos of family. Parents and a little sister at the zoo. Parents sitting on a tropical beach. Chase and his sister swimming. Chase, younger, playing T-ball at the local park.

  “You don’t understand!” came Chase’s voice.

  I hurried down the hall, turning into a small living room. On one end was a TV. On another wall was a fireplace. Above the mantle were baseballs, more than a dozen of them. Hanging next to the fireplace was a Washington High jersey with Chase’s last name printed on the back.

  Chase was sitting on the couch. Seth was standing beside him. Briar stood behind the couch, one ear up, obviously concerned.

  “Chase,” I said. “You have to be quiet right now. And we need to turn out this light …”

  He laughed. “I have a better idea. Leave. Please. Please.”

  “His parents aren’t home,” Seth said.

  “They’re never home!” Chase yelled. His fist pounded the arm of the couch. “They go out with the parents of the other baseball players after every game. It’s what they love to do. When I got hurt, they stopped going. When they get home tonight and find out I can’t walk again, they’ll be so disappointed.”

  Seth nervously shifted his weight. “They could still go, dude.”

  “No,” Chase said, laughing and shaking his head. His face was red. His ears were red, too. One hand went to his sweaty, tussled hair. “They already said they couldn’t go anymore. Wouldn’t feel right. Like it was my fault or something. Like I was the one who ruined their good time.”

  I walked closer, reaching out. I wanted to touch his shoulder. I wanted to be near him. “You’ll walk again. It’ll just take time. Your doctors … they …”

  “I’ll never walk,” Chase said. He shook his head again, more viciously this time. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I lied. The doctors told me the night that drunk driver hit me, that was it. I might get to use crutches someday. Maybe. But that’s it. I lied because I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  I stepped closer. My hand found his shoulder, squeezing tightly. I sat down beside him. He tried to shrug my hand away but I moved closer, grabbing one of his shaky hands. “Chase … I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be without my legs.”

  I squeezed his hand tighter. “Chase. Look at me.” He didn’t at first, so I reached out and grabbed his other hand, pulling him toward me. He turned. His normally resolute green eyes were wet with tears. He looked so lost and hopeless that I had to fight back the tears welling up in my own eyes. “Chase. Chase. What happened was awful. But there are reasons to move on. Baseball isn’t who you are, I can see you’re so much more than that. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in a life you didn’t choose, to have to give up things that are important to you …” my voice cracked. I took a deep, shaky breath to steady myself. “You didn’t choose this, it’s not your fault. But you can choose to not give up. Because there’s still so much to experience. There’s so much about life that’s still wonderful.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see the castles in Germany,” Seth offered.

  I smiled. “I’ve always wanted to go back to Yellowstone.”

  “I’d really like to get a Boston Terrier,” Seth added. He gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Or maybe just a lizard.”

  “I want to someday be a nurse,” I said, shrugging. “It might happen. You never know.”

  Chase wiped the tears from his cheeks. He half-chuckled, half-cried. “I really, really wanted to win the World Series. I guess a close second would be seeing the Brewers win it all. Not that that’s ever gonna happen.”

  Seth laughed. “You never know, dude.”

  I put my arm around Chase, holding him tightly. He was warm. I could almost feel the pain radiating out. It was electric. It surged through me. I tried to fight it away. I tried to imagine it as shadows, shadows that could be burned away by a strong light.

  “I can’t do this on my own,” he whispered. “I’m not as strong as people think.”

  “You won’t do this on your own,” I said. “You’ll have me and Seth. Always.”

  He looked at me. “Always?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, dude,” Seth said. “We’ll always be cool. Heck, we only live a mile away from each other.”

  Chase looked down. “I should be having this talk with my baseball buddies. And my girlfriend. That’s going to be tough. I know what’s going to happen. They’re going to drift from me. They were doing it before I … before I found that stupid fish.”

  Seth cocked his head, glancing at me.

  “I just don’t think I can do it,” he whispered.

  “Chase,” I said. “You said once that you’re a man of your word. Do you still mean that?”

  He nodded, staring at the old beige carpeting.

  “I’m going to give you a rose,” I said. “And you’re not allowed to lose hope until that rose wilts. Do you promise?”

  He smiled. “So I only have to stay positive for a few weeks? Fine. Deal.”

  “Shake.” He shook my hand. I pulled out the fountain p
en and started drawing a rose on the coffee table. The stem began to glow a soft, golden color.

  Chase, mesmerized, leaned over to stare. “That’s my ma’s coffee table.”

  “Shhhh,” Seth said.

  I finished the rose and carefully grabbed the stem, pulling it free from the table. It was beautiful—sharp green thorns and dark red petals, each one imperfect and unique.

  Just like a real rose.

  Only it wasn’t a real rose. I didn’t know how a real rose was made or how it worked on a biological level. But I did know how a glass rose was made. My dad had showed me years and years ago in his little stained-glass workshop in the basement. He showed me how to score and cut the shapes from large panes of colored glass. How to edge them in copper before soldering the pieces together.

  I handed it Chase, who carefully grabbed it with two shaky hands. His mouth was open. “What … what …”

  “You promised,” I said. “You promised me, Chase. Never forget that. And never forget that you have me on your side.”

  He looked at me. “This is impossible.”

  “So was the magic fish,” Seth said.

  There came a sound from outside. We all looked toward the hallway, but after a moment Seth and Chase returned to staring at the rose. They were both obviously impressed. Me? I was a little more concerned with the noise outside. A bad feeling had begun creeping over me like a thousand ants marching up my legs.

  “This … this …” Chase laughed. “I just don’t understand.”

  “Briar,” I said. “It’s story time.”

  Briar stepped beside the couch, puffing out his chest a little and clutching his vest as if preparing to give a speech for Congress.

  “Oh, awesome,” Seth said with a smile. He gave Briar a high-five.

  When Chase finally tore his eyes away from the rose and looked up at Briar, he fell back on the couch.

  “Oh, this just keeps getting weirder!” he exclaimed.

  Briar cleared his throat. “I could not agree more, dear sir.”

  “I’m dreaming.” Chase set the rose down carefully on the table. “I’m dreaming! I got knocked out cold by some strange fisherman and now I’m dreaming.”

  There came a crash, this time from the rear of the house. “Briar, tell Chase the story. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Seth asked. “What’s happening?”

  My hand clenched into a fist. “They’ve found us.”

  The Lost Journal of Eugene Washington: Part Two

  There was once an old castle that stood in the middle of a deep gloomy wood, and in the castle lived an old fairy. Now this fairy could take any shape she pleased. All the day long she flew about in the form of an owl, or crept about the country like a cat; but at night she always became an old woman again. When any young man came within a hundred paces of her castle, he became quite fixed, and could not move a step till she came and set him free; which she would not do till he had given her his word never to come there again.[v]

  August 4, 1875

  Ten years, this journal has been sitting in the drawer of my desk. Never once thought about adding to it until now. Things just happened so fast after that night with the wolf. With Br’er Rabbit.

  We’re in New York now. Been here ten years. Ten years of hunting Corrupted, moving around the country, using the old Underground Railroad to move from state to state in relative safety.

  The big shots in the government say slavery is over. Nope. Slavery’s not over. It’s just different now. Negros are free, but they got to live under laws that say they can’t do this, can’t do that, have to work here, can’t be walking around wherever they darn well please.

  Getting angry. Glad to have it off my chest. Maybe I’ll keep this journal around for a while. Take it with me on this last little journey.

  Don’t feel like writing any more tonight.

  Briar’s asleep on the floor. The window’s open, letting in a cool breeze. Candle on the bedside table is almost out. Tired.

  Tired of all this.

  August 5, 1875

  That night when Briar appeared, we tried ending everything in one fell swoop. I had a little space left at the bottom of the magic piece of paper. I tore it off and we tried a little “experiment”:

  And all the Corrupted were removed from the earth.

  But Briar didn’t disappear. And two weeks later, we ran into one of the most frightening donkeys I’ve ever seen in my life. A Corrupted, from one of the fairy tales. Nothing but a shadow on the ground, hee-hawing like it was laughing at us. A shadow, chasing after us! It was enough to give Briar second thoughts about all of this hero business.

  But it was too late. We’d burned the magic page, knowing what might happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Not only that, the magic had taken its toll on me. I was weak for months, as if a part of my very soul had been used up telling the story of Br’er Rabbit. When we bumped into that terrifying Corrupted donkey, I was one foot in the coffin, swear to God.

  I recovered slowly. And with Briar’s help, we got pretty darned good at taking down Corrupted. My dreams led the way, and we stayed in New York to catch any unwanted Corrupted sneaking over from Europe.

  Even caught a fish once.

  August 8, 1875

  Let me tell you about that fish. That bright, golden fish is my ticket out. Found him while we were at a shipyard in Providence, hunting down a female Corrupted who’d once convinced her fisherman husband to ask this particular fish for untold riches. The fish gave them everything, then took it away. All three of em were Corrupted. Characters in one of the Brothers Grimms’ most popular fairy tales. Anywho, the fisherman and his wife traveled all over the world to find the fish. Somewhere along the way, the fisherman’s wife developed a nasty appetite for children. Stopped her, but the fisherman got away.

  Heh.

  I was just about to stab the fish with the pen when he started talking. He made me an offer: freedom for freedom.

  “How do you I know you’re not lying?” I asked.

  The fish sighed. “Because I must behave in the way the Brothers Grimm wrote me, of course.”

  I took the deal. I told him I wanted until the end of the month. And then I didn’t want to be the hero no more.

  “It is done,” he said. “At the beginning of next month, a new hero will emerge and take your place.” And I tossed him back in the sea.

  I haven’t told Briar yet. Would probably break the furry fella’s heart, given everything we’ve been through. But you see … I had to do this. I know all of the risks of letting a Corrupted go, but I also know that the fish has to follow the rules of his fairy tale. He has to make my wish come true.

  And I need the wish to come true. I’m in love.

  August 9, 1875

  Harriet Smith, a former slave just like me. Three years older than me, but I don’t mind. She’s beautiful. She surrounds herself with books in her little home in downtown New York. Her father the foreman of a textile factory and generally hate me. Doesn’t like the fact that I take so many “business” trips around the country.

  Heh.

  Briar gets a kick out of that.

  And you know what? Her papa’s right: the “business” trips have taken a lot out of me. We’ve hunted down monsters all over the country, monsters that come out of the shadows and kill human beings without thinking twice. I’ve saved men who would turn around and sell me back into slavery in a second if they had a chance.

  Yup, that’s right. Slavery. In New York, there’s name-calling and limits on where I can shop … but down south it’s a whole different story. Down south, Negros are arrested for anything from “changing employers without permission” to “gaming” to “selling cotton after sunset.” And when a Negro is charged with one of these so-called “crimes,” he has to work off the fines doing hard labor for local businesses.

  Slavery.

  August 10, 1875

  The reason I told the magic fish to give me until t
he end of the month was because I’d been having these strange dreams for a long time, and they were getting more and more serious. Dreams about a white woman wearing a white dress, and just writing those words down are enough to get me arrested down south, that’s for sure! But this woman, there’s something important about her …

  She can “see” a Corrupted. In her mind. She has visions of him, and those visions haunt her. The creature’s life seems to pass before her eyes. He wears a cloak, hiding his features with a heavy hood, only his glowing gold eyes visible.

  And then my dreams shift. I see a young girl, dressed strangely in a black outfit, wielding a sword against the very same cloaked figure. But she can’t stop him. She looks confused. Worn out.

  Tired.

  “I’m telling you, Briar … these dreams are connected!” I told my furry helper. We were in a private rail car heading south, sitting across from each other on plush violet cushioned benches. Rather, I was sitting. Briar was lying on his back, legs crossed. We had the luxury of a little money … one of the benefits of having a magic pen is I can create simple things—irons, tables, brass doorknobs—to sell.

  “The Confederate soldier dreamed of you,” Briar said. “Perhaps this woman is the next hero. Er …”

  “Which means … my time is almost up.” Of course, I thought. It all made sense! I’d made my wish with the magic fish, and so a new hero had been chosen a new hero to take my place.

  But by who? That was the real question. The real mystery Briar and I couldn’t solve. And believe me, Briar tried. He was a determined son of a gun when it came to figuring out more about the Grimms’ magic.

  “Then we simply get off this train right now,” Briar said, sitting up. He peered out through the window. We were traveling past yellow fields parched by a week of no rain and hot weather.

  “Briar …”

  “If we run, we could escape your destiny!” he said excitedly, hopping off the bench. “Yes, we’ll traverse the globe seeking adventure … relatively safe adventure, I might add! Why, you can even take that dame you’re so smitten with. She clearly doesn’t mind my presence.”