The Grimm Files Collection Boxed Set

by Selene Charles

Her look said it all. “Of course.”

  “That you have killed many men in your lifetime. That you are prickly at the best of times, hard to get along with at the worst, and quite moody. Not to mention the cannibalism.”

  He’d halfway expected an outburst or a denial at the very least. But she gave none. Instead, she sighed.

  “I’m not surprised. Seems to be all anyone knows of me these days. And I’d only be a cannibal if I’d eaten other sirens. Humans, no matter how similar on the surface we might appear, are nothing at all like me.”

  She’d not shied away from the most shocking of the allegations, which he supposed he had to give her credit for. Nor had she really explained anything, though he’d not failed to note the swift glint of fiery anger in her eyes when he’d said it. Whatever was in her past, he knew it was bad. It had to have been to get her exiled by her own father.

  “These days?” he asked as he brushed his fingers along a topiary of a prancing horse whose leaves were starting to get a little unruly. He’d need to come out and clip them in the morning. “Was it once so different?”

  She snorted. “I wasn’t always such a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking. I was a sweet little siren once upon a time.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply— ”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  Adjusting his cravat—it was perfectly tied, but he no longer seemed to know what to do with his hands—he nodded. “And so, what have you heard of me?”

  “You?” She grinned.

  The sight of her smile stole the breath from his lungs just as it had when he’d spotted her smiling in his brook. The woman had a way of making him feel hot beneath the collar.

  Clearing his throat, he shrugged. “You make that sound ominous.”

  “Ominous, no. But you are infamous, Constable Hatter. You are said to be mad. Some say you belong in a padded cell. But…”

  His brows twitched. “But?”

  They were just about out of the garden. The scent of wild-onion stew and crusty bread had his stomach growling.

  “You don’t seem mad to me. Eccentric and bizarre, yes. But not mad.”

  It was his turn to chuckle. “Give it time, Detective Elle. I can assure you I’m quite mad. See my eyes?” He pointed to the vivid blue one. “Blue sees the past, green the future. I am full of madness, haunted by visions, and can never tell from one moment to the next when the apparitions will grip me.”

  She didn’t say much to that revelation, but then, what was there to say, really?

  CHAPTER 4

  DETECTIVE ELLE

  I THANKED HARRY, who’d handed me a bowl of soup and a chunk of warm grain bread fresh from the oven. I didn’t enjoy much land food, but the stew was warm and full of tasty herbs and bits of onion, and the bread practically melted in my mouth.

  “Thank you. It’s delicious,” I said after my fourth spoonful.

  Harry shrugged. “Weren’t I that made it, Detective.”

  I glanced at Hatter, who stared broodingly at his bowl with an unflinching gaze. The moment we’d sat, the man who’d been so cordial just moments ago on the walk through the gardens had up and vanished. He’d not said more than three words strung together since.

  “You, then?” I asked him.

  “Huh?” He finally glanced up, and I noted that his blue eye blazed like a jewel.

  Blinking several times, he rubbed at his temple. “What? Oh, the soup. Yes, well.” He shrugged but didn’t say more.

  Constable Hatter was clearly distracted again, a tight frown marred his otherwise unblemished forehead.

  “Don’t mind ‘em,” Harry said around a slurp of soup. “It’ll pass soon enough.”

  I couldn’t help but watch Hatter, his long scowl only seemed to grow longer as the seconds ticked past. But then, just as Harry had predicted, it did indeed pass. Hatter’s shoulders visibly slumped.

  “What did ye see this time, Maddox?” Harry asked, seeming unconcerned and unaffected by his partner’s mercurial mood.

  Hatter scrubbed his jaw with long, tapered fingers several times before sighing loudly. “Nothing of much help, I’m afraid.”

  I frowned, a spoonful of soup held close to my lips. “These visions you told me about, what are they exactly?”

  “Oh, you know,” Harry interjected, “a lil bit ‘o this and a lil bit ‘o that.”

  It was clear to me that the hare was still suffering side effects from the mushrooms. Every so often, his hand would jerk, causing the spoon to tip over and plop hot soup onto his thighs. But Harry didn’t bat an eyelash. Although he did occasionally swat at the invisible dinghbats.

  I raised a brow. “Right.”

  Hatter had taken a couple bites of his soup before answering, “As I’ve said, I see the future, the past, and even sometimes both at once.”

  “What?” I’d been about to place the spoon in my mouth, but instead, dropped it with a loud clatter into my bowl, much more interested in Hatter’s abilities than my meal. “What do you mean exactly?”

  “I’ve been this way my whole life, Detective Elle. I can be doing one thing, when suddenly my head fills with images. Rarely does it make sense to me at the time. Only once I have time to analyze what I’ve seen am I able to make the connections.”

  “But you said you can see the past and future at the same time. How’s that possible?”

  He shrugged. “A quirk of fate. I’m not really certain. Once, I saw an image of a dead blonde with an apple in one hand and a snake in the other. I learned over the course of several days that the woman had been a seamstress in the local village. She’d bought an apple from a grocer a few days past— ”

  Harry took over the telling of the story. “She’d set it aside ’cause she weren’t planning to bake ’til the weekend. Only once she got to making her pies, out popped a venomous apple garter. It nipped her in the finger, and she were dead not ten minutes later.”

  Hatter didn’t seem put off by his partner’s constant interruptions. If Ichabod had done that to me, I’d have punched him square in the nose for it.

  Lips stretching into a tight scowl, Constable Hatter spread his hands. “If I’d made the connection sooner, I might have saved her.”

  “Nah.” Harry, who’d been eating like he’d not touched food in years, finally set his spoon aside and dipped the bread into the bottom of his bowl to get every last droplet sopped up. “That’s the curse, ye see, Detective. Maddox can sometimes see the ending and the beginning, but the middle don’t make no sense so as to offer us any guidance.”

  Setting his half-eaten stew and bread aside, Hatter kicked his left leg from beneath the table and rested his jaw on his fist, staring off into space once more.

  “Are you having another one?” I asked.

  “No.” He rolled the one word on his tongue. “I am simply preoccupied.”

  “Then maybe ye should share it, Maddox. Best to talk these things out. Are ye done, by the by?” Harry pointed to my bowl.

  “Oh, um. I guess.” I blinked, startled when he snatched up my bowl and remaining bread, tearing into it with his big, blocky teeth.

  “Makes very little sense to me,” Hatter muttered. “There was a curl of ribbon. Brown. But perhaps blue. I couldn’t honestly tell.”

  “That it?” Harry’s face screwed up tight. “That don’t tell us nothing.”

  “No. There was more. But it’s all muddled in my head at present. There was a woman with strange eyes. A horse, perhaps? And silver shears.”

  I reached into my pocket, extracting the baggies I’d kept tucked inside. “I can’t help you with the last three. But the ribbon wouldn’t happen to look like this, would it?” I tipped the baggie over. The dirt-stained ribbon fluttered gracefully to the tabletop, and Hatter snatched it up instantly.

  A deep frown marked his features once again, but instead of looking confused, he reminded me somewhat of Ichabod when he was analyzing a cryptic riddle. He brought the ribbon up to his nose, sniffed it once, twice, and
then asked tersely, “Where did you get this?”

  When I’d first met Hatter, I’d found his demeanor lax. But that man was not this man. This man was a detective through and through.

  “I found it in the lake bed behind the Charming estate. That and”—I tipped over the second baggie, and the claw thudded hollowly upon the table—“this.”

  Harry reached for the claw, raising it to his eyes and peering at it casually before setting it down once more.

  “I know this ribbon,” Hatter said tersely, jaw clenched tight and looking aggrieved.

  My heart raced. Could it really be that easy? He turned his strangely colored eyes on me and relaxed his jaw muscles just a little.

  “Or rather, I know its maker. It is most assuredly of Mr. Potts’s making.”

  The muted glow from lanterns hanging upon the walls cast a sickly yellowish pallor over everything, causing Hatter to appear more sinister than usual and Harry far less human. If I squinted, he almost looked like the hare he’d so often been compared to.

  Hatter dropped his hand to the table and began drumming an idle rhythm with his fingers. His posture was stiff as he leaned back into his seat.

  I nodded, getting the queerest sensation that I was missing something. He was acting strange, even for him, and that was saying something, considering his reputation.

  “That’s what my chief told me,” I said slowly, trying my best to affect a nonchalant attitude. “What she couldn’t say was who it belonged to.”

  “I’ve a hunch.” Hatter continued to trace the edge of the mud-stained ribbon with his thumb, much like Bo had. Then, sniffing it one final time, he shoved it toward me.

  I frowned as I gently extricated it from his lax fingers. “Why are you sniffing it, and whose is it?”

  “The edges of the ribbon are smoother but tapered. As to why I sniffed it, the woman to whom I’m sure it belongs often wears these threaded through her curls, and she wears a very unique and particular brand of perfume.”

  “Blood-orange poppy,” Harry finished. “Aye. It do look like Alice’s style. Bloody damn dinghbats,” he growled then shot to his feet so fast that the chair in which he’d been sitting toppled over.

  I startled at the sudden, jarring thud of heavy oak hitting the floor. Harry did a strange histrionic dance, a movement of arms and legs, as he screamed at the wee devils to get gone.

  I looked at Hatter, silently hoping he’d handle this awkward situation. He had his fingers steepled beneath his chin, looking at his partner with obvious puzzlement. A full minute ticked by as Harry continued his strange and wild dance before Hatter finally said with a heavy sigh, “Forgive me one moment.”

  “Of course.”

  Scooting off his chair, Hatter walked over to his partner, latched his hand into Harry’s collar, and with a stiff jerk, walked the man out of the room.

  The slamming of a door heralded his arrival only a couple of seconds later. Hatter brushed down his sleeves while giving me an apologetic look.

  “How long will it take for that to wear off?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder to where Harry had disappeared.

  “Days, if we’re lucky. Although, Harry’s developed a tolerance for halo-shrooms through the years, so who can say. I doubt very much it was the accident he claimed it to be, though.” Sitting, he adjusted his cravat once more.

  The man was as proper and tidy as his partner was not. And I couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make him look less proper and put together.

  “Harry is not a constable, you see.”

  My brows twitched. “But his name is stenciled alongside yours.”

  “Yes, he is a figurehead only and quite gets in the way.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why is he here, then?”

  He shrugged. “The people willed it so. Harry has deep connections throughout all of Wonderland. And it is better to work with the devil you know than the one you don’t. But he’s harmless, for all that.”

  I grinned. “You do run things very differently out here. Harry wouldn’t last two minutes at GPD.”

  He frowned. “I’ve often wished to apply for a position there.”

  I crossed my legs. I’d questioned his competence in the beginning, but it was becoming clearer to me that “mad eyes” or not, Constable Hatter had a very keen mind. “So why haven’t you?”

  “I’m not sure really. Fear, perhaps?” He shrugged.

  It struck me as odd that he’d be so forthcoming about his feelings. “What could you possibly have to be afraid of? You seem smart and able-bodied.”

  “Aye.” He snorted and pointed at his cheekbone. “But my eyes are a great source of vexation for me. I cannot control when and where it grips me. Grimm PD is the shining pearl between all the realms, the highest heights of sleuthing. I would simply be a nuisance.”

  I bit my tongue. I had no idea what to say to him about that. He was right—the eyes would always be a problem, especially in a crisis, where every second mattered. But it seemed such a waste for him to remain a constable when he was clearly smart enough for more.

  He pursed his lips. “Anyway, that is more personal than I’d intended to be. Tomorrow, at first light, we’ll make our way to Potts’s.” He stood and once more adjusted his cravat.

  Was it wrong that I wanted to reach over and skew it just a little? That was an odd feeling coming from me, considering how very neat and tidy my own life was now.

  “You can take a bed or the stream, whichever you’re most comfortable in.”

  “Is the bed yours?” I asked.

  He dipped his head. “It is. But as I’ve got no plans to sleep this eve, you are more than welcome to have it. I’ve mounds of paperwork to catch up on, as you no doubt have noticed.”

  The bed was tempting. Sirens lived in the water, but I was a siren who’d grown accustomed to many land dwelling indulgences, of which beds ranked very highly.

  I was just about to nod my acquiescence when my conscience pricked me. “I could help, if you want.”

  He turned, and for a split second, I regretted the offer because the stacks of paperwork seemed to climb toward the heavens. Also, this wasn’t my precinct, and I couldn’t just take half the stack and he the other half. I’d be in his way, asking him how to file this or that.

  Clearly, he thought the same thing, because he shook his head a minute later. “I’ll be fine.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I gave him a swift nod. “Then I’ll take the bed, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  His answering grin—though swift—made my legs feel weak. The man was broody, strange, and undeniably attractive.

  It would be a great thing when this assignment was finished and I could go home.

  “My room has a clock face for a doorway. You can’t miss it.”

  “You are a strange man, Constable Hatter.”

  “That’s what they tell me, Detective Elle.”

  BREAKFAST the following morning was a quick meal of tea and fish cakes. It was a tasty yet simple delicacy. I didn’t usually enjoy cooked meals, preferring my food as fresh as possible. But Hatter was two for two with me.

  He said not a word as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair back from the table.

  “Are you ready, then?” he asked, reaching for a black top hat and planting it on his head with an absentminded flourish.

  “Are we leaving Harry behind?”

  “Yes. Upon waking, he’ll be headed to the morgue.”

  “About the murder that happened yesterday?” I asked.

  “Mmm.” He nodded. “The very one.”

  Then, dusting off his burgundy pea coat, he glanced at me and said, “It will be cool where we’re headed. Have you a jacket?”

  Glancing at my peasant top, I tweaked the diaphanous sprite silk and shrugged. “I don’t.”

  “You look about Harry’s size. Hold on a moment.”

  Turning, he made his way to his partner’s bedroom. I reached for anoth
er fish cake. I wasn’t hungry, but it was good.

  The gardens were awash in early morning sunlight. The snow from last night had melted, giving way to a beautiful spring day. Butterflies of varied shapes, sizes, and colors flitted lazily amongst the topiaries.

  I nibbled on the delicious cake, trying not to think about getting barely more than two hours sleep last night thanks to Harry’s loud snoring.

  Hatter’s bed had been one of the most comfortable things I’d ever lain on, like sleeping on mounds of thick clouds. But more than just Harry’s snoring had kept me awake last night. There’d been a very distracting scent laced throughout the sheets, pillows, and mattress itself. Every time I turned, I’d smelled it. What had bothered me was that rather than irritating me, as most leggers’ scents did, Hatter’s hadn’t.

  “Here you go.” The man himself came back a moment later, holding a patchwork cardigan.

  Clearing my throat as heat slid up my cheeks, I nodded a jerky thank you, snatched the sweater from him, and slid it on. It was looser than I liked but fit adequately enough.

  “It will take us several hours to walk to Potts’s. How much water have you left?” he asked.

  “One day trapped within the shirt, another day inside this shell.” I feathered my fingers along my pendant. “But I thought maybe we could take the transdimensional pathway or, as I like to call it, the between.” I snatched the gold key card from my pocket and waved it.

  His devilish brows rose. “How do you set the coordinates?”

  “You don’t.” I grinned broadly. “You just have to think about where you want to go.”

  “Indeed. That is most fascinating.” Walking toward his office desk, he pulled open a drawer and riffled through it, taking out fistfuls of something and cramming it into his pockets. He did it twice before he finally nodded. “Let us be off, then.”

  I frowned, wondering what it was he’d shoved in his pocket. Unfortunately, it was none of my concern.

  I swiped the air with the card, and I couldn’t help but grin again when he inhaled deeply and a look of surprise twisted his brows.

  “Have you never traveled between, Constable?” I asked him.