The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2

by Ken Brosky

  He was right. I’d broken my own rule for Briar … I’d let Harriet see him. Mainly so she didn’t think I was going crazy, since she always caught me talking out loud when I thought I was alone. To say she’d been surprised is an understatement. She’d downright swooned, and I’d had to catch her before she fell on the ground. Tweaked my back but good. Poor Sweet Eugene has turned into Old Eugene at some point during the past ten years.

  Lied about the rest of it, though. No, not “lied,” so to speak. Just told her Br’er Rabbit was real and he was my friend, plain and simple. Like the Easter Bunny, only trickier and well-read. I couldn’t tell her about the Corrupted. Didn’t want her to worry when I went out on a “business trip.” I guess lying once in a while is the only way for a hero to truly keep loved ones safe.

  I leaned back on the bench. Just thinking about Harriet made me warm inside. Three years of courtship. Three years, and with each passing year, I began to dread falling asleep more and more. Because it was only a matter of time before another Corrupted showed up in my dreams.

  The first seven or so years, Briar and I had crossed the United States, using my magic pen’s unique abilities to barter our way. We were tactful and guile and outright crass as we hunted down the monsters. We thought we were invincible.

  But now? Now all I wanted to do was grow old. I wanted to sit in a rocking chair with my dear sweet Harriet and look over at her and exchange a smile. I wanted kids. I wanted to tell them stories and make sure they had a life I’d never been privy to. A childhood with parents. Then, eventually, I wanted to tell my grandkids stories, too.

  Heh. Can you imagine a 75-year-old hero out there, hunting Corrupted?

  Me neither.

  August 12, 1875

  In Georgia, in a little town called Present. I’m sure this is the town where the woman from my dreams lives because in the dreams I always see the main road and the rows of buildings with the town name on them. Staying with an abolitionist who once kept three families of escaped slaves hidden away in his house. Gave me my own room, which I appreciate.

  And wouldn’t you know it, things just can’t be simple! Last night, instead of dreaming again about the woman and the cloaked figure, I was treated to something much more terrifying.

  A woman. A fairy, to be precise. Could tell right away by the magic she used. Them Grimm brothers, they got a little predictable from time to time with their stories. “Nefarious dabblers in magic, but not quite as creative with names and creatures,” as Briar was fond of saying.

  Told Briar about the dream.

  “Well, we need to identify her,” he said, thumbing through the worn pages of our book of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. He tossed aside a big winged bug that landed on the pages, shivering. He hates bugs. “What else did you see? Give me details.”

  “She’s been turning people to stone.”

  He looked at me. His ears stood straight up. “Stone, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll have to be careful,” he murmured. “It would be just my luck that this she-beast turns me to stone just as I’m scratching a rather embarrassing itch.” He tapped his paw on the book. “Here. Jorinda and Jorindel. A story about a fairy who uses her magic to freeze people as if they’re made of stone.” He clicked his tongue. “One of the brothers’ less developed tales. Look at this ending! Why, they never even bothered to explain what happened to the fairy. Would have saved us a whole lot of trouble if they’d just written that she’d died at the end.”

  “Maybe.” I looked at the page. Sure enough, the word “fairy” wasn’t crossed out, which meant we hadn’t run into her in the past ten years. We were crossing out the names of every Corrupted we ran into, in hopes the book would help future heroes.

  Speaking of which. Just glanced at the calendar sitting on the desk and my heart started to race. Time is running out.

  August 15, 1875

  Dreams have gotten more intense, as they have a tendency to do. I’ve been laying low in town, only traveling when our host—let’s call him William—can accompany me so I don’t get hassled. I’ve been keeping an eye out for that woman in my dreams, although I haven’t said as much. I told William I’m here to survey the land for a shipping company from New York.

  Feel bad lying to William, especially given how many times I hid away in his underground storage space when we were “transporting” freed slaves to Canada. On the other hand, William isn’t exactly what I would call a forward-thinking gentleman. Oh sure, he’s opposed to slavery and genuinely likes me, but he still doesn’t believe people with different colored skin are equals. Lots of white people in New York are like that. They opposed slavery but they don’t want Negros eating at the same table.

  Long way to go yet. But at least William is letting me sleep in his house. And I’m being mighty nice to him, too. He’s got a sore throat and a bit of a cold. You know what helps with that? A little inner bark of a slippery elm, steeped in hot water.

  Meanwhile, Briar’s doing the real work. There have been disappearances all over the county, and the town we’re in now seems to be near the center of it. There’s a forest to the west, which is our best bet. To the east are cotton fields, worked by sharecroppers and convicts working off their fines. To the south of the town are lots of homes built by freed slaves and their families.

  We gotta hurry. Time’s running out. And more people are goin missing.

  August 17, 1875

  My dreams are all mixed up. One moment, I see the woman from town. Next, I see the girl, confused, all alone inside an empty room with a dirt floor. Then I see the Corrupted fairy. Scares me. Waking up in cold sweats even though a heat wave is covering this town like a wet blanket. Been inside for the last two days because the sheriff in the town hassled a Negro man for walking on the train tracks. He’s in jail now.

  The Negro man. Not the sheriff.

  But the fairy! Oh, ye god the fairy. She must have read some of the Greek legends at some point and decided that was the way to go, because she’s certainly not human anymore. Medusa, that’s who she reminds me of. Definitely somewhere in the forest, in the ruins of a burned down plantation mansion that was no doubt the victim of General Sherman’s march to the sea during the Civil War.

  Snakes for hair. Living, hissing black snakes that curl around her ears. A beautiful face shadowed by gray, flaking skin. Red eyes that can turn a man to stone. Rags covering her body and …

  A snake’s tail. Instead of legs. The lower body of a snake. She slithers around statues of men and women, hiding in the shadows of the ruins of the old mansion.

  I told Briar all of this.

  He fainted.

  August 20, 1875

  We found the mansion. Well, Briar found it. The next difficult part was sneaking out of town. It would have to be at night. There was no getting around it. And if I was caught, not even William’s impeccable credentials with Ace Telegraph would be enough to keep me out of jail. Negro folks just aren’t allowed to walk around town after curfew. Even one who’s trying to save their lives.

  So! Sneaking around it was. We slipped out of the town at just a hair past nine o’clock, which was when the town was mostly settled in for the night. The air felt hot and sticky, and I was sweating something fierce before we even got a mile north. In the woods full of oaks with their big thick canopies, it was cooler, quiet, just the hoot of an owl to fill a pair of human ears and a pair of rabbit ears.

  “This way,” Briar said, leading the way in the darkness with all the confidence of a rabbit who can read. Yup, he could read. I taught him myself, just like Mr. Still taught me. And just like me, Briar gobbled up books by the dozens. They taught him a lot. He taught me a lot, too. And he found more stuff about the Brothers Grimm and their magic than I ever thought possible. I made sure he memorized it, so he could help future heroes.

  “Say Eugene,” he said as we reached the northern edge of the woods. The trees spread out, giving way to an old overgrown field of tall grass. The mansion
was just up ahead. It was just a skeleton of a building, nothing but cracked and burnt timbers. Under the full moon I could see people standing outside of it plain as day. “You think those are townsfolk?” he asked.

  “Naw,” I said. I crouched down and used my hand to search for a nice, flat surface. It didn’t matter what the surface was made of, so long as I could draw a straight line. I brushed at the dirt beside a little shrub, smoothing it out a bit.

  “Say Eugene,” he said again.

  “What,” I murmured, drawing a line in the dirt. It lit up the color of gold.

  “What if we just left now?” he asked. “Just … got outta here? Picked up your dame and headed out west? We could be cowboys! We could rustle up some cattle and get paid handsomely for it.”

  I chuckled, imagining the rabbit on a horse. “Now you know the rules. I’m the hero. Gotta do what the hero does.”

  “And then you die.”

  I grunted. “That might be the case, I suppose. Or maybe I just pass it on.”

  “That’s not what the soldier told you.”

  “He wasn’t very specific, on account of him dying and all.” I sighed, pulling the spear from the ground. I hefted it in my hand. A spear, just like my ancestors in the Oyo Empire used. It was perfect. Perfect length, perfect spade-shaped stone tip. Perfectly straight. Spent ten years spent getting it right.

  “I don’t want you to die, pal.”

  I looked up. The rabbit was standing beside me. His ears were flopped over his head. “I won’t die,” I said. “I’ll figure something else out. And then …”

  “You and Harriet can grow old together,” he finished. “And what about me?”

  “Why, you’ll be sleeping in your bed in New York, happy as all get out! And when we wake in the morning, I’ll make us coffee and eggs.”

  “Promise?”

  I nodded. A thought came to mind: Corrupted could kill each other. It wasn’t easy, and it took the right circumstances, but we’d seen it happen once out west between two animals who both thought poor little Eugene would make a good dinner. “Best you stay here,” I told Briar. “You might not be protected from her gaze, old pal.”

  I caught a glimpse of a smile before the moon disappeared behind a cloud. “Best news I’ve heard all day,” Briar said.

  Still one more thing to draw. God bless literature. God bless Perseus, for showing me the way! I finished the shield and pulled it from the ground, staring at my reflection behind the handle. Not quite a perfect mirror, but hey—it was my first try. And it reflected well enough.

  “Good luck,” Briar whispered.

  “Since when do we need luck?” I asked him with a smile.

  August 21, 1875

  Eggs for breakfast again. I tell you, William sure knows how to treat a guest. He remarked, upon my finishing three eggs, that perhaps I ought to just cook up the remaining nine. I almost took him up on that offer, and had he known what I’d gone through the previous night, he’d have cooked them up without hesitation.

  “You see them frogs falling from the sky last night?” he asked me.

  Oh yes. Yes I sure did, William.

  Back to the story! It wasn’t enough that I had to take down a fairy with magic powers. Oh no, that would be too easy. And as I made my way across the overgrown clearing toward the group of people in front of what remained of the mansion, a terrible feeling crept over me. Like a chill. Like something horrible was about to happen. I crouched down, using the mirror in the back of my shield to check over my shoulder.

  A frog landed on the shield, nearly scaring the pants right off of me. It croaked and hopped off.

  “You got me good,” I murmured, creeping my way closer. As the sky cleared again the figures in front of the burnt mansion reappeared. My heart skipped a beat. I’d been dreamin it but that still didn’t prepare me for it.

  Statues. Men and women frozen in time and turned to rock. I crept closer, sure to check the mirror in my shield to make sure the coast was clear. Up close, the statues were as life-like as if someone had simply tossed a bucket of gray paint over them. Some looked positively bewildered. Others were horrified, caught in a never-ending scream.

  I took a deep breath, slipping between them, making my way toward what remained of the mansion. She was here. I could see her trail on the ground, like golden breadcrumbs.

  A hiss came from somewhere in the darkness. I pressed my body against one of the mansion’s burnt pillars that ran along the front of the building. With my shield held out just a bit, I could see around the pillar using the mirror. At first, all I saw were shadows. My fingers clutched the spear tighter.

  Then: movement. A shadow detaching itself from the other shadows, leaving a trail of golden bread crumbs. She wasn’t lighting up. Some Corrupted don’t. Some Corrupted can hide it really well. I hate to bring up that shadow donkey again, but danged if he wasn’t the most frightening thing ever. This fairy could hide her glow, but she couldn’t hide her trail.

  Another hiss. My heart thumped against my rib cage. I fought the urge to shut my eyes. It was either risk turning to stone, or sit here with my eyes shut and wait to get eaten. I could either be a rock or a meal.

  See why I want out of this so bad?

  Slowly, I brought the shield around, using the mirror to peer around the other side of the pillar. There—her face! Just like it had been in my dreams: gray, cracked skin, boiling red eyes, snakes for hair that hissed and snapped their jaws.

  I held the shield steady, keeping the mirror on the fairy so that I could deliver a striking blow the moment she slipped around the pillar. But instead, slithered her way toward the congregation of statues at the front of the old mansion, her snake-like tail moving too quickly for me to reach out and stab it.

  I slipped around the pillar, watching her in the mirror. She went up to one of the statues, then used her hands to break away one of the arms. It was a young man, I could tell by the suit he was wearing. She stared out at the overgrown field, hissing, then plucked the statue’s fingers off and popped them into her mouth one by one.

  “Oh, dear me,” I whispered. She slithered beside a statue of a man on his hands and knees, looking back over his shoulder in fear. She seemed to be contemplating him. Studying him.

  There was only one thing to do. It meant conquering my fear of snakes and then some, but there was no other option. Like Perseus before me, I needed to do away with this monster without looking back.

  I stepped away from the pillar, keeping my spear in front of me. I tilted the mirror so I could watch her slip between the statues.

  I tapped the spear on the ground. In the reflection, I could see the fairy’s snake-covered noggin turn in my direction. She hissed. The twisting snakes on her head hissed. She slithered closer, her hands pushing aside the statues. One—an elderly man with his back hunched—fell over, cracking in half.

  Clouds covered the moon. All I could see now was a shadow approaching. I bent my knees, watching her slither closer. The tip of the spear rested on my shoulder. My fingers tensed.

  Closer now. The shadow loomed over me.

  Closer …

  The clouds parted. In the moonlight, I could see her face was right over my shoulder. Too close! I fell back and stabbed my spear over my shoulder, feeling my sweaty grip loosen.

  A scream. Warm ash fell over my face.

  It started to rain. Frogs.

  August 24, 1875

  Still haven’t located the woman from my dreams. Briar has begun searching house to house. I’ve written letters to Harriet in the meantime. In one, I apologized for my “business” travels. I want so desperately to tell her the truth now. Get it all done with and start a new life.

  But first, we need to find this woman.

  Time is running out.

  August 25, 1875

  Dreams are getting stranger. The girl dressed in strange clothes is back, standing in an empty room with a dirt floor. Lightning lighting up the sky outside. The girl looks afraid and confuse
d.

  She’s in danger.

  August 26, 1875

  Success! Briar has found her. Constance. A schoolteacher. The only schoolteacher in town who works with Negro children. Briar says the white townsfolk are wary of her, but keep things amicable because she comes from a powerful family. Still, there seems to be no shortage of rumors about her “strangeness,” including night terrors that wake the entire neighborhood up and fainting spells.

  Storm’s been sitting on the western horizon for a couple days now, like it’s just waiting for something to give it a push. Clouds are dark and getting even darker. I need to meet this woman soon. The month is nearly finished.

  August 27, 1875

  Explained to William that the shipping company I worked for wanted to make a small donation to the local schoolhouse that taught Negro children. William was ecstatic at the idea. Told him I’d like to meet the teachers.

  “There’s only one,” he said. “Her name is Constance Parsons. Wonderful girl. Her parents own a military supply company, so they pay her themselves. Saves the city money, don’t you know.”

  “We should pay a visit,” I offered, “and ask her what supplies my company can offer her to improve her classroom.”

  “Splendid!” William said. “Let me loan you a fresh suit coat so you look presentable.”

  A fine silk suit coat? Why sure, William. You let old Eugene show this town a thing or two about style.

  We walked down to the schoolhouse together in the late afternoon, after classes were finished. William lent me a blue suit, not my best color but it breathed well in the heat. William was quite convinced that my style of dress was too “Northern” for anyone’s tastes this far south. I have no clue what he meant by that, except maybe he didn’t like my choice of gray slacks, which in my defense is the fashion in New York right now. Caught him eyeing those slacks a few times, like he might “accidentally” throw them out so he could replace them with something more sensible from his wardrobe.