The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2

by Ken Brosky

  Seth’s eyes crossed. “What? What?”

  “Just never mind,” I said, waving it all away. “The point is this is between me and the Order. Briar, do you think Eugene’s dreams are related to my dreams?”

  Briar rubbed his furry chin. “They are eerily familiar. Perhaps some residual memory passed by the hero … I don’t know, quite honestly. Before I could pester Eugene enough to get more information, he was gone.”

  I opened my mouth to ask more, then shut it. The tips of Briar’s ears had drooped. He was staring at the concrete sidewalk, lost. I turned to Seth and Chase. “You guys can help on the sidelines, but I don’t want either of you involved when it’s time to confront these lunatics.”

  “Oh, lunatics is such a bad word,” Briar said, shivering. “And this wizard, if he’s connected to the mysterious Hanzen fellow, is anything but crazy. By all accounts, he appears to be quite sane. Calculating.”

  “You’re right.” I paced in front of the bench, thinking. “So this Corrupted wizard used to be named Hanzen but now he goes by the name of Agnim. He built an empire selling bullets. He created the Order of the Golden Dragon. Then the Order just disappeared a few years ago.”

  Briar nodded. Seth ate a chip.

  “If Agnim is waiting for the Golden Dragon to awaken, then it must be some kind of Corrupted creature that’s been mutated,” Chase said. “Right? Or transformed. Or … something. And if it’s a sleeping dragon, it’s probably huge. Right? That’s what’s happening here, right?”

  “Agnim is paying people to transport it,” Seth finished. “He’s giving them gold, and in exchange they’re transporting around a massive dragon.” He shook his head. “That kind of operation would take hundreds of people. Maybe thousands.”

  “This order,” Briar said ominously, “has existed in the shadows for a hundred years. And from what I’ve gathered, even those operating in the highest echelons of the Order do not know who—or what—guides them.”

  “Echelons are a kind of pastry,” Seth explained to Chase.

  “No,” Briar said gravely. “I fear no sugared snacks are in our future.”

  “We need to find a trail,” Chase said. “We need to find the people who belonged to the original Golden Dragon guild and figure out where they went.”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it when I saw the family walking across the parking lot toward the library. I used my arm like a bar to gently push Briar away from the path so the two little kids wouldn’t bump into the invisible rabbit. “My dreams are getting clearer,” I said once the family had passed. “They’ll give me the answers we need.”

  That night, there were no children in the school room. Just the teacher, standing at the window and watching the dark clouds rolling toward town. She had her arms crossed, and as I stepped closer I could see the goosebumps on her pale skin. Her dress was caked with not just dust, but mud near her feet. Her normally pristine white shoes were layered in mud, too.

  “He told me you would come,” she said. She turned to me. “I believed him. I felt sorry for him, in a way. He was in love with a woman, but circumstances had made it impossible for them to be together.” She laughed. “He shouldn’t have even been talking to me at all. It’s against the rules, you know.”

  “It is? Why?” I asked.

  “Because whites and Negros are not supposed to intermingle,” she answered. Her southern accent was almost musical. “It’s a foolish rule. But it won’t last. You can only divide humanity for so long. Eventually, we’ll understand that we’re all brothers and sisters.”

  Outside, the dark clouds lit up. Bright purple bolts of lightning darted across them like veins.

  Another flash of an image: the same mysterious man, wearing a dark robe, lurking in the shadows of a massive factory filled with rusted old machinery. As two men in brown overalls walked by, he put his hood up, hiding the skin that had begun to turn green. His eyes glowed a golden white.

  The two workmen stepped beside a long conveyor belt, one of two that ran the length of the massive factory. They began packing away the bullets running along the black belt.

  Thunder shattered the image. Loud, loud thunder that shook my stomach.

  “We must hurry.” Constance turned to me, grabbing my shoulders. “I can’t explain everything to you, but I shall try to give you as much as possible. Years ago, a Negro named Eugene Washington passed through town. He sought me out. He said he’d seen me in a dream, and he said that some day, I would be visited by a young woman.”

  “Me?” I asked. “He knew I would visit you?”

  She nodded. “He said I shouldn’t ask you too many questions, nor should you ask many of me. We exist in different times. But he said you are real and you must believe that I am real. However you’re visiting, be you angel or ghost, I’ve seen you appear and reappear numerous times.”

  I glanced out at the clouds. They were closer now. The thunder seemed continuous, rattling the thin, cheap window.

  “It’s been there for days,” the woman said. “Waiting on the horizon.”

  “What year is it?”

  “The year is 1875,” she answered.

  “Oh holy crud.”

  She smiled. “A strange expression. But then again, this isn’t the most normal of circumstances, is it?”

  “No, it’s definitely not.”

  Her fingers found the window, pressing against them so that the skin under her manicured nails turned white. “So you are here, just as he predicted. We have little time. I will tell you what I promised to tell you, and then the storm will hit our town. And then … then he will come to kill me.”

  A sharp crack of lightning caused both of us to start. She looked shaken, unable to form words. When she did finally talk, each word came out in a clipped whisper.

  “The cloaked man will come for you. In your sleep. He will torment you. He will try to break you. He will bend your dreams, twist them, distort them … all in hopes of destroying your mind. You must not give in.”

  “But how?” I asked. The cloaked man. Agnim. Just thinking about him made my stomach lurch. That night outside of Chase’s house, seeing him face to face, had terrified me.

  “I have seen a monster in my dreams,” the woman said. A white cloud seemed to slip over her pupils. “But he was not always a monster. He was once a simple thief. He … killed a man. On accident. Then he killed his wife. He couldn’t control his magic. He was utterly alone. That was when he began to change.”

  “Corrupted,” I whispered.

  A tear escaped the woman’s eye. “He found a terrible secret. A creature that could do terrible damage to the world. He cast a spell and put it to sleep, biding his time.” She reached out for me, but her hands sifted through my ghost-like visage. She held her hands out, as if hoping I might be able to touch her. I couldn’t. “You must not let him succeed. No matter the cost.”

  “No matter the cost,” I repeated. “But … how can you know all of this?”

  “I’ve touched him,” she answered, closing her eyes. “I brushed past him long ago, two strangers walking in opposite directions. Since then, visions appear before my eyes. I’ve had them for years now. They plague me.”

  Another crack of thunder. We both jumped. The woman turned to the window.

  “Who was Eugene?” I asked. “Can you tell me more about him? Did he say anything else?”

  She shook her head, hurrying to the window on the other side of the small classroom. She pressed her hands against the glass. Outside, rain pattered at the window. “It’s too late. The storm is here.”

  I followed her gaze. There, walking down the dirt road leading into town, was a man in a black cloak. Little drops of rain peppered the road, soaking into the dirt. The man’s cloak flapped in the wind. Above him, bolts of lightning streaked across the sky, as if obediently following him. His hood was drawn tight, his face hidden.

  But the eyes glowed.

  Chapter 7

  Do I really need to say that I woke with a
start at this point? I think it should pretty much be assumed from here on out that any time I dream about the Corrupted, I don’t exactly wake up feeling well rested.

  Needless to say, we had some research to do. We needed to find Agnim and his little group of jerks.

  But before we could get there, I needed to get through school.

  First, the good news: Rachel was doing great in fencing. As a team, we felt good. The Midwest tournament was coming up fast, but the team had begun to gel. With Chase as the assistant coach and a little extra funding from the school to buy more equipment, we could hold two matches at a time. Chase and Mr. Whitmann switched off on the teams, and despite our cozy friendship, Chase refused to go easy on me.

  Good. I liked that. I respected it, too.

  What I would have liked was maybe just a little more attention from him. Instead, he kept the focus mainly on Rachel, trying to get her into a solid stance and swinging her foil like a pro.

  “Diversify your tempo,” Chase urged, wheeling back and forth beside the match as Rachel sparred with Jasmine. Jasmine, wearing the helmet with the blue stripe, parried all of Rachel’s blows, landing decisive point after point.

  “Return to your en garde stance,” Chase instructed her.

  “I can’t,” she murmured through the mesh mask. Her feet tripped over each other as she tried a clumsy crossover. She fell forward, pretty much walking right into the tip of Jasmine’s foil before plopping on the mat.

  The boys groaned. Jasmine took off her mask, sighing. Rachel rolled over, setting her mask on the rubber mat. She pulled back her sweaty hair, glancing at Chase.

  Chase smiled. “Uh … that was actually better than last time!”

  Now the bad news: Joey Harrington. He was making everyone’s life more difficult now. You’d think with football season starting, he would go easier so he didn’t get into any trouble. Quite the opposite. Everything he did, he got detention. No matter what he did, it was detention. No suspensions. No expulsion hearings. It gave him free rein to do whatever he wanted.

  Like, for instance, picking a fight with a couple of sophomore boys in the hallway. The first floor hallway was a risky place to pick a fight, because on one end of the hall were the offices for the principal and the nurse and the secretaries who sent us home with permission slips and all sorts of other paperwork. The trick—and I think Joey had this down pretty well—was to use the other end of the hallway, because the last two classrooms were for Band and Symphony, and the doors were reinforced with soundproof panels.

  Perfect place to cause a ruckus, which is exactly what Joey did after third period. He was heading down to lunch, and Seth and I were following a good ten steps behind him when it happened. The poor sophomore boys didn’t even see it coming. In this case, “it” was a violent shoulder-check, the kind football players give their opponents when they want to knock them out of bounds.

  And down the boy went, dragging one of his friends along with him.

  “Oh crap,” Seth said. He grabbed my shoulder. “How about you not play hero on this one?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I muttered. The other students in the hallway hurried out of the way as the two sophomores got up, shouting obscenities at Joey. Joey just stood there, smiling. He had two of his football player buddies with him, standing behind him. Big, burly offensive linemen.

  “Must be nice to have bodyguards,” Seth said.

  Joey slipped in front of the door leading to the staircase, giving both sophomores a push when they tried to get past him.

  “Just let us pass!” one of the sophomores shouted.

  “Let us pass! Let us pass!” Joey said in a whiny voice. His bodyguards laughed. None of the other students standing in the hallway followed suit. There was a solid mixture of all grade levels, it seemed, and all of them had one thing in common: this entire scene made them uncomfortable. You could just totally tell.

  “Go around,” Joey said, pointing toward me. When he saw me, his hard façade slipped momentarily. He shook his head, scowling at the sophomores. “You can use the stairs on the other side of the school. That’s the sophomore and freshmen staircase today.” When no one moved, he shouted in his loudest voice: “Go!”

  The sophomores and little freshmen began filtering away, walking past me and Seth toward to the other end of the hall. I watched them go, studying their movements just like Briar always told me when we were training. What did their body language say? Their heads were down. Some of them looked embarrassed. Some looked afraid.

  “That’s really impressive,” I said, turning back to Joey. My voice seemed to echo in the near-silent hallway.

  Joey crossed his arms, glaring at me.

  “What’s your next trick, Joey?” I asked. “Terrorizing senior citizens? Taking toys away from children?”

  “Maybe,” he said with a wry smile, “I’ll pick on the handicapped.”

  A flash of anger spread through my body like a forest fire.

  “Woah, cowgirl,” Seth whispered, grabbing my shoulder. “Just let it go.”

  I took a deep breath. I could feel my face redden. Joey noticed, grinning.

  And then Mr. Feinman was between us. He was frowning, obviously angry, the sleeves of his blue sweater pushed up. “Whatever is going on stops right now,” he said.

  Joey turned to him and looked down. Yup … looked down. Mr. Feinman was only about my height, and Joey stood a full head taller than him. Not exactly the most imposing of authority figures. And Joey knew it, too. He stepped around Mr. Feinman, shrugging away his arm.

  Just to show his power. Just to show Mr. Feinman and me that he was the one in control.

  “Go to lunch,” Mr. Feinman ordered Joey. He directed his attention to the two goons standing by the staircase doors. “Clark, Brad. Go.”

  “We’re going, we’re going,” Joey said, giving me one last glare. He pushed his goons out of the way, kicking one of the doors open. The sound echoed down the now-empty hall.

  Mr. Feinman sighed. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk with you to the other staircase so you don’t get in trouble for wandering the halls. Are you two going to class?”

  “Lunch,” Seth answered. I was glad he was there. I’d almost let my temper get the better of me. I’d almost gone after Joey. Again. And it wouldn’t have changed anything.

  “Well, the good news with Joey is he has a short attention span,” Mr. Feinman said with a weak smile. “He won’t bother you later, right?”

  “Oh, who’s to say with Joey?” Seth asked. “His entire life is a video game. Picking on people racks up points. Picking on defenseless people racks up extra points. Alice is kinda like the end boss.” He scratched the blond whiskers on his chin. “Or maybe Joey’s the end boss.”

  “I definitely think Alice is the hero,” Mr. Feinman said. He looked down at the floor. “I can’t protect you guys. I can give Joey detention and I can send him to the principal. The teachers can complain all they want, but Principal Stevens …” He sighed again.

  We walked past the offices on the other end of the school. Mr. Feinman gave the secretaries a wave. “OK, get down to the cafeteria. I’m going to report the incident. For what it’s worth.”

  “Good luck,” Seth said with a wave. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, shaking his head. “He’s gonna need it.” He opened the door for me, giving me a weird look. “You all right?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m sick of Joey Harrington.”

  “Everyone is sick of him. But it’s the last year, so at least we have that.”

  “Yeah, and then someone is going to take his place.” I grabbed the staircase railing, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Sorry for snapping. I’m just a little peeved.”

  “Ah, it’s OK. Crap, you’re so right. Joey’s not the only bully out there. If the principal’s not gonna stop him, then he’s not gonna stop the next one. Man! Can you imagine how much it’s gonna suck ten years from now when robots are the ones bullying us?”
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  I cracked a smile.

  Seth nudged my arm. “There we go. OK, obviously I’m probably joking about the robots. Probably. But in all seriousness, don’t you think a heroic beat-down would solve this problem on the spot? You know, maybe strike a little fear in his black heart?”

  “I’m not hurting him,” I said. I thought about my dad and what he said about violence. He’d been right: slamming Joey’s head into the locker hadn’t solved anything.

  Seth opened the basement door, glancing around. The hallway was empty. “OK,” he said in a low voice, “what if you just drew a hole he could fall into? Like you did with those robed dragon dudes? You don’t have to hurt him … just, you know, hide him away somewhere until we’re in our thirties.”

  I laughed. “Let’s make that a last resort.”

  In the lunchroom, it was as if nothing had happened. Joey and his jock friends were sitting at the tables near the front, already engaged in such fascinating topics as “What did you watch on TV last night?” and “How much can you bench press?” No, I’m being totally serious here. This is not an example of the hero exaggerating.

  Chase and Rachel and Clyde were sitting at the far table on the other end of the cafeteria. The tables near the back were more crowded than usual. I grabbed a slice of veggie pizza and an orange juice and followed Seth to the back, trying to figure out why so many had congregated toward our section of cafeteria, normally reserved for the outcasts.

  Then it dawned on me: they were the underclassmen. The ones Joey had bullied in the hall right before he’d directed his ire at me.

  “The swallows are lined up,” Clyde said after we’d sat down. He pulled down his sunglasses, revealing blue eyes that momentarily stunned me. “All they need is direction.”

  “What does that mean,” Seth mumbled, picking at his cup of ketchup-soaked French fries.

  “He’s all about the metaphors today,” Rachel said. She shook her head. “He’s been listening to a lot of Led Zeppelin. Just go with it.”