The Grimm Chronicles

Vol. 3

By Isabella Fontaine

-and-

Ken Brosky

Cover art by Chris Smith. Edited by Dagny Holt, D.S. Atkinson and Emil Gardin.

Published 2012 by Brew City Press.

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Table of Contents (click!)

Introduction!
Book 7: The Giant Slayer

The Lost Diary of Abigail Bauer: Part 1

Book 8: Darkness Rising

The Lost Diary of Abigail Bauer: Part 2

Book 9: Malevolence

Introduction!

Well here we are again. The journey is almost over, and it’s been an absolute blast. After we won the Honorable Mention for the Tofte/Wright Children’s Literature Award, things really started to click. It was as if the story suddenly meant something more (the fan mail has helped, too!). Now, The Grimm Chronicles has carved out its very own niche in the YA world, and we couldn’t be happier.

Sure, it’s not all fun and games. Ken’s arms hurt from so much typing. Isabella’s eyes are permanently dry from staring at a computer screen. But overall? Overall, we’ve really enjoyed putting this together.

The story has clicked, too. It’s weird, but it seems like every time Ken starts mapping out the next book, the fairy tales just seem to come together. There’s always a way to incorporate some weird fairy tales into each book, and that probably has a lot to do with the fact that the Grimms’ fairy tales do seem to stick with a couple main themes. Not to mention characters named Hans.

Really … were they short on names back in the 1800’s or something? Literally every other guy in the fairy tales is named Hans!

So what’s been the funnest part about the first 6 books? (Yes, we know “funnest” isn’t a word and we don’t care.) Well, here’s a list of some our favorite moments:

- OK, the “Golden Dragon” turning out to be a goose? Come on … that was funny.

- Cell phones controlling people’s minds … not that much of a stretch!

- The talking sausage.

- The Malevolence (you’ll learn about that very, very soon).

- The cave adventure (another one coming up).

- The battle on the pirate ship with the giant whale.

- Alice stopping a bully using non-violence.

That last one has really stuck with us. It meant something extra important because whatever failings Alice may have, and whatever trials she has had to endure, the last thing we wanted was for her to use violence to solve her real-world problems. People get enough of that already. The Grimm Chronicles doesn’t need to contribute to that.

But we also wanted to show Alice learning from her mistakes. This is important, because everyone makes mistakes. Everyone fails. It’s how you pick yourself up that matters. Alice is going to have to pick herself up again and again in these last 6 books if she wants to retain her old life, the life she enjoys with Chase and Seth and Rachel and the fencing team. The journey isn’t going to be easy. In fact, these are going to be Alice’s most trying times.

And if there’s one thing we’ve learned already, it’s that the heroes never have a happy ending. So what hope is there for Alice?

Let’s find out …

Book 7: The Giant Slayer

Chapter 1

My name is Alice Goodenough, and I’m the hero.

I’d also like to point out that I’m not stupid.

Case in point: Milwaukee’s General Mitchell Airport. December 27, the day our fencing team was set to take off for Europe. We were going to compete in the International Fencing Tournament in Romania, and our trip was fully funded by the one and only Sam Grayle, CEO and president of Grayle Incorporated. An all-around stand-up guy.

And a Corrupted.

Now, let’s get serious here. If you were me, would you really not expect him to pull some ridiculous stunt?

It came during the security check. First, the boys went through. Then Mr. Whitmann. Then Mrs. Satrapi, Jasmine’s mom and our second chaperone. Then Chase, who emptied his pockets and had his wheelchair checked over.

I went last. And guess what? Surprise, surprise: I was picked for an allegedly random security check. Now, maybe I’m just being a little paranoid. Maybe I did look like the suspicious type. Or maybe it was totally random. But I knew better than to take chances.

I took off my shoes and went through the pill-shaped body scanner, which was more than a little weird. I even answered a bunch of questions, giving the frumpy-looking old security guard the straightest face I could possibly manage under the circumstances. I mean, come on! Are you really asking me if I’ve been approached by any mysterious people, Mr. Security Guard? This is the Milwaukee airport. Who qualifies as “mysterious”? The nice old woman eating a cinnamon roll in the café area? The guy shopping for beer coasters in the gift shop?

OK. Rant over. The point is I was clean. The magic fountain pen was not on my person.

“How was that?” Chase asked once I’d put my shoes back on.

“Oh, just delightful.” I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, pushing him down the blue walkway that led to the C gates. Lining the walls were big pictures of U.S. cities. Milwaukee. Chicago. New York at night.

His hand found mine, giving it a little squeeze. I was the only one he let push him in the wheelchair. That was our thing now.

“Alice, are you sure this guy’s not going to send us a bill?” Margaret asked, walking beside us. She and Jasmine and Rachel were all keeping pace. One big team, ready to conquer Europe.

“Sam Grayle has plenty of money,” I said.

“Yeah, but jets don’t normally take off to Europe from Milwaukee,” she said. “I was talking to my dad, right? And he was like, Oh you’ll have to take a plane leaving Chicago because it’s an international flight, and I was like, Dad, shut up! But he was pretty serious about it, you know?”

Chase chuckled. “That sounds like something a dad would say.”

“Grayle’s chartered a jet special for us,” I said. “And he’s going to be on board.” I shrugged. “If I had to guess, he probably has some business stuff to take care of in Europe and thought sponsoring our team would give him some good publicity.”

That was a lie. Sam Grayle was coming along because that was the only way I would agree to do this. He’d put me in a tough spot, no doubt; clearly whatever he wanted in Europe was pretty important for him to craft a complicated little plan. But there was no way I was going on a plane over an ocean without Mr. Clever Corrupted himself. He was my insurance policy to make sure the plane didn’t happen to mysteriously crash halfway across the Atlantic.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get to Italy?” Jasmine asked. “I’ve always wanted to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

“Pisa,” Rachel said. “But that would be pretty nifty.”

“You’re going to practice,” Chase said. “And then you’re going to practice some more. And then you’re going to win some medals.”

“Chase, are you ever pessimistic?” Jasmine asked. When he shrugged, she wrinkled her nose, pouting. “It would be helpful if you were.”

“I’m optimistic for a reason,” he said.

We arrived at Gate C12. Through the tall windows, we could see the jumbo jet parked outside. It was huge. It looked almost comical, as if it had eaten a smaller jet for lunch and was now seriously bloated. The boys and Mr. Whitmann were marveling at it even as the stewardess scanned their tickets, ushering them through the gate and down the little tunnel that led to the plane.

“You OK?” Chase asked, looking up with a worried expression.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

I sighed. How was it he could read me so well? We were still in that awkward getting-to-know-you phase. I’m not going to lie—the last two weeks had been sort of on and off. I really liked Chase, and I loved being around him. I loved the fact that he read books for fun in his spare time. I loved the fact that he brought out the best in me when I fenced. I loved the fact that he could hang out with Seth and Briar and feel right at home. OK, so most of his jokes were cheesy, but at least he had a sense of humor.

What I didn’t love was the fact that everyone close to me was at risk. The Corrupted ... 200-year-old creatures that shouldn’t exist and only grew more evil with each passing day … only one person capable of killing them …

All that fun, stressful stuff.

“Hey,” Chase said, grabbing my hand. He gave me a warm smile. “We gotta board now. You good?”

No. For the past two weeks, I’d had no new Corrupted nightmares. Nothing. All I dreamt about every single night was that fateful moment when Agnim the Magician had revealed his new prophecy. A journey … a dark cavern … the death of my loved ones.

“Let’s go,” I said, squeezing his hand. I wheeled him to the check-in desk, handing over our tickets. In the safety of the cold tube thingy that led to the plane, Chase unscrewed the black rubber pouch next to his seat cushion, pulling out three pens and my magic fountain pen.

He handed them over quickly, rubbing his hands together. “Woah, that thing gets warm.”

“Thank you,” I said, putting all of the pens in my pocket. We’d figured that having a couple pens would make more sense than just one just in case security found them … not that you could tell there was anything mysterious about the pen. But if someone else touched it, it had this funny tendency to really, really burn.

Unless you were Chase, apparently. I tapped the pen from the outside of my jeans pocket. It hadn’t burned him. And today wasn’t the first time we’d tried it, either. It got really hot for Seth and of course Briar, but with Chase ... it was just warm, like a French fry that had been left sitting under a heat lamp. Was there something about Chase that made him special? Or was there something about how I felt about him? It was another mystery to add to Briar’s ever-growing list.

“Alice,” said Mrs. Satrapi. She gently touched my shoulder. “We should get on the plane, don’t you think?”

I smiled at her. She was just a pretty woman. She had just a hint of gray running through her pitch-black hair. She was wearing an orange jacket and a dark brown dress underneath. When she walked up to the ticket counter, Chase and I exchanged a look. She was just as Jasmine had described: pretty, touchy-feely, and more than a little maternal.

We boarded the plane, greeting the pretty young stewardess and letting her guide us past the spiral staircase that led to the second level. The second level!

“Holy smokes,” Chase said, marveling at the brass banister.

All of the seats in the plane were spacious, and the rest of the team had staked out their own rows for maximum comfort. Mr. Whitmann was stretched out in the first row, sipping a ginger ale from a plastic cup that was way too small for his big ogre-like hand. All of the seats were black, wide, with fat headrests. Not your normal cramped jet.

“Here,” Chase said, pointing to the second row, which was spaced out for handicap access. I tried to help him out of the seat but he waved me away. “No. Please.” He used his strong arms to carry most of his weight as he grabbed the armrests, letting his legs take on only a small portion of the burden. He collapsed red-faced in the seat, giving me a reassuring grimace and unzipping his leather jacket. He didn’t want me to say anything at this moment—I knew that, and I respected it.

The stewardess approached me, bending over and flashing a wide smile. “Darling, Mr. Grayle has requested your presence.”

Across the aisle, Jasmine raised an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t keep him waiting.”

“And be sure to thank him,” Chase said, puckering his lips.

I flashed him a dirty look, then got up and followed the flight attendant to the front of the plane. She halted beside the spiral staircase and gestured for me to proceed, almost as if she wasn’t allowed upstairs with me. I walked up the staircase. The urge to pull the fountain pen from my pocket was almost too much to resist. This was expected, I told myself. I’d told him I wouldn’t do this if he wasn’t here. And I needed to see him here. No tricks. No opportunities to double-cross me. This had to be played on the level if it was going to work.

At the top of the stairs, the normal rows of spacious seats had been replaced with a dozen or so big chairs spread out, each with their own circular table. There were two couches farther back, along with three good-sized flat screen TV’s hanging from the ceiling. It looked like a rich person’s personal lounging area.

And of course that was exactly what it was. Only Sam Grayle wasn’t sitting alone in front of one of the glossy wood-paneled tables.

“Seth!” I exclaimed. “What the heck?!”

Seth looked up from his laptop, smiling a big dorky smile. “Isn’t this awesome?”

I stepped forward. “What … I mean, seriously. Why are you soooo OK with getting in cars with Corrupted?!”

“Oh, come now,” Grayle said, rolling his eyes. He gestured with his head to the black leather seat on the other side of the table, beside Seth. “Do relax. We’re about to take off.”

I walked over and plopped myself in the seat, fumbling with the weird metal buckles. “Gawd, I hate airplane seatbelts.”

“You need to flip it,” Seth said. “Like, yeah. There. No, flip the clicker. That thing. Yeah. No, flip it again.”

“Be quiet,” I hissed. “I’m not talking to you.” I finally clicked the buckles together. The plane began to slowly taxi toward the runway. I groaned. “Seth! You shouldn’t have come.”

“But how would you ever succeed without the help of your friends?” Grayle asked, just a hint of a smile creeping up his right cheek.

“That’s funny,” I said with a deadpan tone. “You got me.”

Grayle sighed, glancing out the window. “Alice, you simply must relax. I can assure you, I was only guarding my own interests. Seth is an invaluable helper, much like that pesky rabbit creature. The greater chance you have of success on this trip, the more wealth you will attain for me.”

“Glad to be of service.”

He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. “What, exactly, is that horrible aroma you’ve brought into my personal domain?”

“It’s definitely more of a spring perfume,” I said, shrugging. “A little heavy on the jasmine, but it balances out after a few hours. Look, can we just—”

Grayle held up one finger. “Ah, ah. We’re about to take off. If you don’t mind, I’d very much prefer a moment of silence.”

I cocked my head, watching him close his eyes as the plane’s engines revved up. The plane began moving down the runway, picking up speed. Slowly it lifted off, causing a sinking feeling in my stomach. Seth was leaning over me, staring out the window and howling with delight. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Grayle. He still had his eyes closed. His little perfectly manicured fingers were clutching the armrests of the fancy leather seat. He took a deep breath, then another.

He was afraid.

He didn’t open his eyes until the plane leveled off and the little seatbelt light hanging from the ceiling turned off with a soft ding. I gave him a wry smile, ensuring he knew exactly what I knew.

“Oh don’t be so coy,” he said. His dark eyebrows slid down into a frown. “I’m afraid of flying. There you have it.”

“Oh dude,” Seth said with a tsk-tsk. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Thank you, mother.” Grayle sighed and unbuttoned his suit coat. “What were we talking about? Ah yes: Seth’s indispensable ability to turn the tide of battle.”

“You kidnapped him.”

“He came willingly.”

Seth nodded. “Free trip to Europe? I couldn’t pass that up.”

“No, of course,” I said with a groan. “I mean, that’s the first thing I would have thought, too, when a Corrupted stops by for a visit. This is soooo like you, Seth.”

Grayle winced, stopping me with a finger in the air. He had that power. He looked undersized in the big leather chair and yet his presence was bigger than life. “Alice, I really must insist you stop using powerless language. Your adventure will be filled with danger, to say nothing of the company you will be keeping. You cannot afford to look weak.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, angry. “Who’s powerless? I’m totally not powerless.”

“Then stop using words like so and totally and really,” Grayle snapped. “It’s weak language. It makes you sound weak.”

Seth nodded. He and Grayle were polar opposites on style. Grayle wore a sleek, gray pinstripe suit and dark, glossy shoes. Seth had a black t-shirt and ratty jeans that looked like they needed a washing. And that’s saying something. When jeans look like they need a washing, it usually means they needed a washing two weeks ago.

My fingers tapped on the armrest. “Any other words of wisdom, Yoda?”

“I see him more as a dark Jedi,” Seth said. “A master of chaos.”

“I do have some advice, if you’re finished.” Grayle pointed to the triplicate scars on my arm. “In the future, you should consider carrying some first-aid with you into battle. You never know when it will come in handy.”

“I’m proud of these,” I said, holding up my arm. I stared at the three pink scars. The stitches had minimized the permanent damage, but they would never fully disappear. Those stupid minions and their stupid claws. “This is a reminder of what human beings are capable of.”

Grayle nodded with an odd look of approval.

“Where’s Briar?” Seth asked.

“Yes, where is that lovable little wad of fur?” Grayle asked. “I do so enjoy having him around, and I’m sure the stewardesses will no doubt love cleaning up after him once he figures out where the treats are stored.”

“We thought it was too dangerous to get onboard,” I said. “Airport security and all.”

Grayle raised an eyebrow. “And so you’re without your assistant? Interesting.”

“He’s meeting us in Europe. He’s just taking a … different transport.”

“Can I ask what we’re really doing in Europe?” Seth asked, raising his hand. “What’s the plan?”

“Yes, Mister Grayle, sir, what is the plan?” I asked.

As usual he ignored my sarcasm, leaning forward and sliding a piece of paper across the circular table. I grabbed it, reading it twice to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. It looked like a big classified ad, complete with the headline “Wanted” in bold, black letters.

“Able-bodied adventurers interested in searching for treasure,” I read aloud. “Must bring your own equipment. Must be ready to experience danger. Please understand that this is a risky endeavor with potential for exponential reward.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Grayle waved away the fine print. “The important point is the location.”

My eyes scrolled to the bottom. “Arefu, Romania.”

“A small village near where you and your friends will be staying,” Grayle explained, “but to the north lie the mountains that make up the Southern Carpathians, otherwise known as the Transylvanian Alps.”

“Ooooooh.” Seth pursed his lips. “I’m picturing vampires right now.”

Almost as if on cue, the plane jolted violently. Grayle clutched the armrests, the knuckles of his fingers turning white. He shut his eyes a moment, taking a ragged breath.

“Turbulence,” I said. “That’s all.”

He opened his eyes and continued as if nothing had happened: “There are ruins of a castle at the base of these mountains. I’ve explored it more than a few times, hoping to find the treasure rumored to be within. I had no luck. But this particular fellow,” he reached out, tapping the paper on the desk, “seems to have succeeded where I failed. You will join his team and recover the treasure.”

“And then?” Seth asked.

“And then I will pull up a chair and stare at the treasure,” Grayle answered in a low voice. “For hours and hours. And hours.”

“Fine,” I said. “And how exactly are you going to get rid of the rest of the team?”

His dark eyes narrowed.

“Oh come on, Grayle. Do you really expect me to believe you’re going to share this treasure with other people? How stupid do you think I am?”

“You’re not stupid,” he said, snarling. “That is why I hate you so. Very well, I’ll be honest. I don’t expect the others to live.”

“Oh that’s such a bummer,” Seth said, collapsing in his seat.

“Unfortunately for the brave explorers planning this trip, the treasure they seek is guarded by Corrupted. And I don’t suspect these Corrupted will give away their precious trinkets.”

“And what if they do survive?” I asked.

Grayle stared at me, saying nothing.

A cold feeling spread through my body, numbing the tips of my fingers. Agnim’s haunting prophecy echoed in my head:

I see a journey … I see you trapped in a dark cavern … I see the death of your loved ones …

“And what are you going to be doing in Europe?” Seth asked.

Grayle leaned back, folding his hands. “If you must know, I recently purchased a horror film company. I’ll be distributing the movies throughout the United States.”

“Cool!” Seth said.

Grayle nodded. “I also purchased a nightlight company. I expect profits to increase very, very soon.”

Seth’s face was blank. I nudged him with my elbow. “He’s putting out monster movies … get it?”

Still a blank face.

“Scary movies … nightlights …”

“Ohhhhhh.” His eyes widened. “Yeah, you’re definitely a dark Jedi, dude.”

Grayle seemed to take the comment as a compliment.

“Well,” Seth said, clasping his hands together. He gave me a reassuring, goofy smile. “At least you’ll be able to kick some butt in fencing.”

“Oh don’t count on that,” Grayle said. “The European fencing circuit has the most brutal players on the planet. If you do survive this treasure hunting adventure, you’ll have certain humiliation to look forward to in the tournament. I would strongly recommend keeping your hopes low.”

“I think we’re done here,” I said, getting up. I grabbed Seth by his Metallica t-shirt, tugging him along. “Let’s leave the Corrupted in peace.”

“Enjoy the flight,” Grayle called out. “And do try to stay positive, dear hero!”

I looked at Seth. His reassuring smile had disappeared.

Chapter 2: Briar

A different transport indeed! I tell you, sometimes I wonder if my creator didn’t sneakily write my suffering into my story. Something like … And Br’er Rabbit helped the hero, and was also quite unlucky when it came to transportation.

So it happened about two weeks prior I boarded The Argyle, a merchant shipping vessel leaving Milwaukee’s port and making its way to Spain. The ship was big, old, and smelled like someone had painted it with seaweed and fish guts. The sturdy-looking sailors seemed unable to smell it. Apparently they’d gotten used to the smell. That, or they had chosen at some point to stuff cotton up their nostrils.

Given the circumstances, I had no choice as to which vessel to procure. There were only a few ships making their way east during the course of the week, and only The Argyle was heading to Europe.

But oh, to return to Europe! That wonderful land of ancient civilization, splendid food and exotic landscapes that can take your breath away. Ancient structures! Beautiful paintings! Exotic locales! The very opportunity to experience Europe once again was nearly enough to make me forget about the smell altogether.

For a few moments, at least.

I snuck aboard easily enough. The sailors—tall, strapping men who wore gray caps and seemed generally dispossessed of social skills—kept to themselves, either smoking cigarettes and hacking up their lungs on the dock or making final adjustments to the red metal crates that were being stored on the deck of the massive vessel.

Regardless of their skills, they had relatively no chance of catching me in any case. My invisibility was totally under control, and my backpack full of snacks—thank you, Alice’s mother—was guaranteed to keep me in good spirits for the duration of the trip.

Or so I thought.

Oh, lament! Things never go like we expect, do they? I suppose that is one of the only guarantees in life. One minute, you’re sleeping on a pile of comfortable rags, the next you’re running for your life from a pack of angry monsters.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start instead at the beginning. Beginning-ish. I can’t waste all my time telling you about the incredibly boring first half of the trip, now can I?

Let’s start instead on day ten. Yes, day ten. Ten days at sea, passing my time with my new friend Nibbles the rat, playing a variety of games such as I, spy and hide-and-seek. As far as rats go, he was quite all right. I’ve known a few rats with serious attitude problems, to say nothing of their desire to spend every waking moment searching for garbage. But Nibbles was different. Nibbles enjoyed a good philosophical discussion now and again, provided we not delve into politics. We had many arguments over existential quandaries like what species has the softest fur and which is the tastiest cheese, with me preferring Gouda and Nibbles preferring … er, rotten Swiss.

I digress. The point is Nibbles and I had become quite a duo. We kept out of sight inside the main cargo hold, surrounded by rows and rows of crates of varying sizes, all of them headed to Europe. We couldn’t tell much about where we were—Nibbles snuck up to the deck and reported back that we were surrounded by water—but given the time that had passed, I put us about two days away from Spain’s coast.

Nibbles disagreed.

“I find your math quite perplexing,” I admitted. “I have a hard time believing this ship is capable of traveling more than twenty miles per hour.” My rat friend responded rather tersely. “Knots? What do I know about knots? Oh, forget it.” I checked my backpack and gasped. “Dear friend, it appears we didn’t quite ration our snacks as well as we thought.”

Nibbles suggested we leave the cargo hold. There were sailors on duty above, keeping an eye on the shipping containers.

“Why?” I asked.

Apparently, there was quite a storm brewing. Don’t you feel it, he asked me?

“Well, the ship is lurching a bit.” I waved it off. “This reminds me of the sad tale of Theodore the Unlucky, you know. He was a hero during the 1800’s who—sadly—was not the luckiest fellow. He took the magic pen to the United States, fully intending to do battle with Corrupted monsters like every good hero. First, he missed the boat he was supposed to take. Then, while wandering the London docks for another ship, he dropped his money purse in the ocean when he tripped on a cracked wooden plank.”

Nibbles shook his head sadly.

“Indeed!” said I. “As if that weren’t bad enough, when he did finally catch a break on a small sailing ship, he was put to work doing the most dangerous jobs. All it took was one misplaced step and splash! He went overboard. Thankfully, he’d stored the magic pen in a safe box below deck. What now? Yes, of course he drowned. That’s why his nickname was Theodore the Unlucky. Poor fool. One can imagine even if he’d stayed belowdecks for his voyage, he’d have found himself in another predicament soon enough.”

It was at this point that Nibbles mentioned the other cargo hold.

“A second cargo hold? … A secret, you say? And you waited this long before telling me?”

He angrily squeaked a response I shan’t repeat. Too vulgar for my tastes, but that’s how rats are, you know.

“Nibbles, we could have been having an adventure!” I exclaimed. “Well, come now! Where is it? Lead the way!”

And so he did, weaving his way around the various crates and metal containers expertly arranged in the large cargo hold. I tell you, I was quite happy about the potential change of scenery. The cargo hold was a dreadful place, with rows and rows of containers that groaned in their stays as the ship listed. Old fluorescent lights hung from chains high above, slowly swinging as the storm battered the ship.

I felt the floor shift ever so slightly under my weight. One smaller box that hadn’t been securely stored slipped off a much larger wooden crate, splitting open upon hitting the floor. Energy bars spilled out.

“How fortuitous! Don’t mind if I do,” I said, grabbing one and then hopping my way into the next aisle.

Nibbles was waiting patiently for me. We were at the front end of the ship—the aft? The stern? I can never remember—staring at a very simple-looking wall. The nearest light cast long shadows over this section of the ship, but even with my keen eyes, I could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“Well? Where’s this door?”

Nibbles pointed to the wall. I hopped closer. And gasped.

There: the outline of a door, so razor-thin that I would never have thought it so. It corresponded perfectly with the vertical rows of rivets that held the ship together.

I pushed. The door opened.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked. Nibbles murmured a negative. “Right. Well, I said I wanted an adventure, didn’t I?”

I hopped inside, then used my toes to give Nibbles a little push. He fell forward, then turned and barked obscenities at me. “Oh, quiet now,” I told him. “It was just an instinct, I swear it! And if a terrifying monster had jumped out to attack us, who would have had a better chance of dodging him? You.”

He was hardly convinced. OK, so I nudged him. Who wouldn’t do the same thing?

“What is this?” I asked, hopping around a massive wooden crate. This second cargo hold was small, cramped, and full of crates packed so tight that there was only one long aisle down the middle of the room. Two solitary lights hung from the ceiling, leaving patches of frightening darkness between them. I inspected the tag on one of the crates and came back more confused than when I started.

“Agnosara, Romania?” I asked. “That’s quite a jaunt. And it just so happens to be the same destination as Alice.”

Nibbles gave me a look.

“Indeed!” said I, hopping onto the top of the large crate. The wood groaned under my weight. “It would be foolish not to look inside. Help me with this, will you?”

Together, we pulled back a plank, taking a spill as the old wood snapped in two. I wrinkled my nose. “Yes, I smell it, too. Let’s have a closer look.”

We inched closer to the hole in the crate, sure that our noses were deceiving us. But—like most animal noses—ours were spot on.

Dirt.

I reached in, grabbing a pawful. “Curious. This …” I tasted it with my tongue to be sure. “Yes! This is certainly Illinois soil, some of the best soil in the world. How do I know? Why, my dear friend, I’ll have you know I’m full of knowledge.”

Nibbles suggested I was full of something else.

“Well, that helps soil, too.” I crouched, spreading the dirt on the top of the crate. “This soil is rich because it was covered by a glacier for fifteen thousand years, protecting it. Then, prairie grasses spread and fed the soil even more nutrients over time. Excellent for growing carrots.”

He gestured to another crate sitting beside the one we were currently standing atop.

“More soil? But whatever for?”

Nibbles squeaked a sharp warning. We ducked low, watching two sailors step inside.

“I told you I heard something,” said one. He craned his neck, peering up in our direction. Instinct told me to hide even though I was quite sure I was invisible. I had a sneaking suspicion there was more to these fellows than meets the eye.

“We’ll give it a look,” said the other. “You know what the master would say if we didn’t check.”

“I know what he would do,” said the first, scratching his gray cap with a nervous sort of energy.

They walked past us, farther down the aisle. I peered over the crate, watching as they walked under the first hanging light. Then something strange happened. As they moved farther down the aisle, they began to change. Into what I cannot say with certainty, only that they were most assuredly not human. The darkness obscured details. As they stepped deeper into the shadows, they dropped to all fours, now quite animal-like in their movements.

“Corrupted,” I whispered. I turned to Nibbles to tell him we should skeedaddle, but he was gone! I turned to the door just in time to see Nibbles’ tail slip out. “Curses,” I muttered, hopping off the crate. I tip-toed my way to the door.

Then came the growl.

My fur stood on end. I looked over my shoulder. They were there, in the darkness beyond where the hanging light’s rays could reach. Their hungry eyes seemed to glow. Definitely not human.

“Er, heh heh.” I gave a little wave. “Terribly sorry to spoil things like this.”

They leapt at me, snarling. And here’s the most frightening part of all: as they landed under the light, they changed back into the human beings! I hopped backward, through the doorway, shutting the door. “Drats!” I hissed. “No lock!”

From above me came Nibbles’ call. He’d already climbed up the stacks of shipping boxes and crates and was frantically waving me up.

“Right!” I said, hopping up with all my might and landing precariously on a rather unstable box. I kept climbing up the stacks of various packages, looking down only once in time to see the creatures—now men once again—climbing up after us. I threw whatever I could at them with heroic precision, twice knocking them back to the floor of the cargo hold. Oh, how that must have hurt, landing on the hard steel!

But they were Corrupted. They would not be so easily triumphed over.

“Come now,” I told Nibbles, trying to be the calm one. I swear my rat friend was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack; not an uncommon response when faced with monstrous predators, I suppose. “Let’s make for those air vents on the other side of the room. Oh, you didn’t notice them? Well! That, my friend, is why yours truly is so invaluable.”

Nibbles squealed again. I looked over my shoulder. One of the sailors was climbing after us with an inhuman sort of speed, and baring some distinctly inhuman-looking teeth. I hurried Nibbles along, using my long feet to traverse the vast assortment of different-sized shipping containers. We were near the ceiling of the hold now, jumping from box to box like they were rooftops. It was all quite exciting, save for the possibility-of-imminent-death part.

“Ah-ha!” I said, spotting the perfect trap up ahead. “Quick, now! I have a plan.”

There was a smallish wooden crate perched atop the next container. When I reached it, I positioned myself just behind it and ducked low, waiting. I heard the sailor’s approaching footsteps, and as he got closer he shouted, “I know you’re there, foolish rabbit!” When the footsteps suddenly stopped I knew the sailor had jumped over the last gap. I kicked the crate with all the strength of my very strong hindquarters. The crate collided in midair with one very surprised sailor. Both tumbled the fifty or so feet to the floor, landing with a satisfying crash.

Nibbles squeaked a mixture of worry and delight.

“Oh, he’s hardly hurt,” I said. “Corrupted are a nefariously tough bunch. Let’s just worry about ourselves, shall we?”

We hopped over the last of the packages, stopping in front of the large heating grate. I fished a quarter from my pocket, using it to loosen the screws holding the vent in place. Both sailors were climbing the shipping containers now, creeping ever closer, the look on their faces a mixture of anger and something much more animal, as if some feral creature was hiding underneath just waiting to be released.

But they were too late! “In you go,” I told Nibbles, opening the vent and pushing him inside. I followed, crawling on all fours and feeling my trousers bunch up.

Suddenly, a strong pair of hands grabbed my foot!

“Oh no, I’m done for!” I wailed, kicking wildly. But then Nibbles was there, deftly giving the hand a bite that was quite a few degrees meaner than a “nibble.” The hand let go. We scurried down the vent, turning a corner.

Waiting with baited breath.

I peered around the corner. In the darkness, I could see only the outline of the vent opening.

Then the creature appeared, snarling, its animal-like snout pushing into the vent. It tried squeezing inside, snapping its jaws wildly. But it was too big.

Nibbles and I exchanged a wary look.

“Indeed, my friend.” I smoothed out my vest. “All in a day’s work, I’m afraid.”

Chapter 3: Alice

We landed in Berlin jet-lagged and out of our element. Sam Grayle looked even worse for wear, and the sight of him in a miserable mood was just about the only thing keeping me from falling over in exhaustion.

Berlin’s airport was gigantic. It had a modern-looking design with skylights and diamond-shaped steel bars underneath, as if the designers wanted us to see the building’s skeleton. With the sun shining directly overhead, the steel bars created diamond-shaped shadows on the tile floor that had a dizzying effect on us worn-out first-time travelers. Shops lined the terminal; signs hung in the windows advertising deals for books and magazines and food and drink, each sign in a different language (including English).

“Can we get some caffeine?” Jasmine asked, dragging her feet.

“I told you crazy kids to sleep,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Please stay close to either me or Mrs. Satrapi. Or Mr. Grayle, I guess … Seth, what the heck is that?”

Seth looked down at his plastic cup of foamy yellowish liquid. “It’s a beer, duh.”

Mr. Whitmann’s face reddened.

“What? It’s totally legal for an eighteen-year-old here!”

Mr. Whitmann grabbed the beer, drank it down faster than any of us would have thought humanly possible, then burped. “Let’s get a move on. Stick together. And no drinking, dang it!”

People crowded the terminal, some moving past us with a marked determination. There were people of all colors here, and over the loudspeaker came announcements for flights to Moscow, Alexandria, New Dehli, and Hong Kong. Hanging from the steel girders above were colorful green and yellow signs pointing out the direction to baggage claim with helpful pictures.

“Gaaaah!” Chase said. I turned my attention from the colorful signs above to the crowd in front of us just in time to swerve around two African men wearing orange and black robes. “Careful, Alice.”

“She’s merely taking in her surroundings,” Sam Grayle said. He was walking beside me. To his left was a brutish-looking guy who wore a dark black suit. He was wearing sunglasses, walking with his hands clenched into fists. A human being, not a Corrupted.

Grayle’s wry comment betrayed his ignorance. I knew more than he thought. I knew, for instance, that lots of people were avoiding walking too close to the shops, giving me and Chase room for a quick escape should something happen. I knew that deep down, Grayle appreciated the crowd; it forced us to walk slow, making it easy for him to keep up with his short legs. I knew if we were walking faster, he wouldn’t try to keep up and risk embarrassing himself. He would keep his own comfortable stride and force the rest of us to match his pace.

I knew Sam Grayle. I knew the “comfortable stride” wasn’t all that comfortable. I saw the way he favored his left leg, the way his hard face steeled into a grimace as he straightened his back.

Achondroplasia. I’d Googled it in my spare time. It’s the main cause of dwarfism, and whether or not the Brothers Grimm had imagined it while writing about the seven dwarfs, I was sure it was the cause of Grayle’s discomfort. Maybe the Corruption was making it worse, damaging his spine and shortened limbs while he tried to hide its effects.

“I don’t suppose you can pick up the pace, can you Mr. Grayle?” I wanted to say, just to get under his skin. But I didn’t want him to know just how much I knew. Not yet. Because I knew somewhere up his sleeve, he had an Ace too. That was how Sam Grayle worked.

“So what is the plan?” Chase asked him. “You said we’re not taking another flight, right?”

Grayle waited for the announcement for the flight to Paris to finish blaring overhead in three different languages, then answered, “Europe has an amazing rail line that conveniently takes you right into Romania. There, you’ll be staying with a prince.”

“A prince?” I asked. “Like … a real prince or …”

“A real prince. Leo Vontescue. A generous host who is blissfully unaware of your, ah, unique qualities.” Grayle tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. “This way. Let your friends take the escalator.”

We followed him to the silver elevator next to the escalator. Grayle’s big bodyguard pushed the “down” button. The doors opened and we got inside, the bodyguard giving the busy terminal a wary look as the doors closed.

“You mean us,” I said. “You’re coming with.”

Grayle shook his head. He didn’t look up at me as he talked. “No, Alice. I apologize for misleading you a bit, but you must understand that I don’t have the same power here as I do in the United States.”

“Explain,” I said, biting my tongue for the moment.

“My business interests are in the U.S.,” Grayle explained. “Not here. Here, in Europe, there are … others like me who have the power. I have to lay low, but I assure you I will rendezvous with you soon. It will just take time. I can’t simply board a train like you.”

“That is soooo like you—”

He held up a finger. “Ah, ah. Remember what I said about powerless language?”

“That is definitely like you to—”

“Try it without an adverb.”

I fought the urge to grab his finger and give it a twist. “It’s just like you to change the rules, Grayle.”

He shook his head. “In Europe, I have no control over the rules, Alice. And here, in the backyard of the Brothers Grimm, you will find that there are people like me who make yours truly seem quite insignificant.”

Chase looked up at me, giving me an inquisitive look that would be cute under non-Corrupted circumstances. I shook my head quickly, waving off his concern. The truth is I hadn’t told Chase everything about Grayle, only that Grayle had powerful connections and his own interests. I didn’t want to tell Chase everything, either. I wanted him as blissfully ignorant as possible so there was less chance of him getting any more involved than he already was.

The elevator doors opened. We joined up with the others and walked to baggage claim, waiting for the carousel to spit out our bags. Jasmine and Rachel and Margaret all had matching purple bags that belonged to Jasmine’s mother, the only person among us who’d already traveled outside the country before. The boys had duffel bags and old suitcases borrowed from parents. Mr. Whitmann had a bright red hardshell suitcase that looked like it was from the 1970’s.

I grabbed Chase’s black duffel bag, then grabbed my parents’ blue suitcase, pulling the handle out and wheeling it beside Chase’s chair. I watched Grayle’s bodyguard grab a black suitcase, then another, then another.

Then another.

“What?” Grayle asked.

“Are you sure you brought enough?” Chase asked. “Alice says you just wear the same gray suit all the time.”

I barely stifled a laugh. Grayle’s face darkened.

“There are more than seven distinct shades of gray in this suitcase alone,” he said, nodding the smallest of the four suitcases.

“Step aside, fools,” Seth said, squeezing between Chase and Grayle to grab his suitcase before it could be ferried away on the conveyor belt. He gave it a tug and the top flipped open.

“Oh my gawd,” I muttered. Chase gave the suitcase’s contents one look, then closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Well,” Grayle said with a wry smile. “It was short notice, I suppose.”

“Seth!” Mrs. Satrapi exclaimed in horror. “What were you thinking?”

Seth looked down at the contents of his suitcase. Inside were two pairs of boxers, a faded black Black Sabbath t-shirt and three comic books. “What?” he asked innocently.

“You have no clothes! Oh my oh my oh my,” Mrs. Satrapi said, delicately touching her bony brown cheeks. “How will you dress?”

“What?” Seth asked, defensively zipping the suitcase shut. “I’ve got clean underwear. I’ve got two shirts—including the one I have on. The rest can be improvised.”

Before Mrs. Satrapi could lose it again, Sam Grayle cleared his throat to get our attention. Mr. Whitmann brought everyone in.

“I hope you will enjoy the train ride,” Grayle said. “It will take you along some of the most beautiful countryside on the planet, so be sure to look out a window once in a while. I have some business to attend to, and then I will be there with you, cheering you on!” Mr. Whitmann initiated an impromptu round of applause, which quickly died out. “And so I say good luck to you.” A little half-smile crept up his face. “You’re going to need it.”

And with that, Grayle and his bodyguard walked through the sliding glass doors. Parked at the curb was a sleek black limousine.

“Huh!” Mr. Whitmann said, scratching his stomach. “That was a little weird. Those rich types aren’t very good with the people skills, are they?”

“Definitely not,” I whispered.

From the ceiling speakers came an announcement, first in German, then French, then Chinese, then English, announcing the departure of a rail line.

“That’s us, kids!” Mrs. Satrapi said. “Grab your things! Let’s go let’s go let’s go. They won’t wait for us.”

“Come on, Seth,” I said, setting Chase’s duffel bag on his lap and wheeling him around the last few travelers who were still waiting for their suitcases. I didn’t want Seth or Chase or anyone else out of my sight now. Grayle’s words about Europe had had a chilling effect on me: if someone as powerful as him wasn’t in control here, then how could I be?

“Did you get the feeling Grayle wanted to get outta here?” Seth asked, hurrying beside me.

“I totally got that,” Chase said. “He looked … antsy. The way Alice was talking him up, I wouldn’t have guessed he could pull off anything but calm.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” I said. “Let’s not think about it. In fact, let’s cherish our time away from him.”

Chase’s hand reached back and found mine. I slipped my hand out of his grasp, looking around warily. Who else knew we were here? Who else knew I was the hero? Agnim the Magician’s voice echoed in my ears.

I see the death of your loved ones …

“Everything cool?” Chase asked, glancing over his shoulder. Gawd, he had such nice eyes. And … was he pouting just a bit? I could have swooned.

“Yes. Sorry.” My brain scrambled to change the subject. “Look, up ahead! A train!”

“Uh … yup, that’s a train, Alice,” said Seth. The train station was directly connected to the southern end of the airport. A sleek white bullet-shaped train was parked at the tracks just beyond the box-shaped ticket booths. Above the train was a massive rounded skylight held up by slender steel pillars. It reminded me of something out of a sci-fi movie, right down to the sleek floors and the glossy HD computer screens listing the arrivals and departures.

People were boarding the cars hurriedly as another announcement came over the loudspeakers, echoing above.

“I’ve got the tickets!” Mr. Whitmann announced. “Everyone come grab one and then get on board! Hurry now!” He dispensed the tickets one at a time, saying “Here” to every single person. After handing me mine, he gave me a push toward the entrance. We let a young man dressed in a blue suit scan our tickets, then boarded the K car.

The car was divided into little rooms with flimsy sliding doors. In each room were four seats—two facing two—with a circular table in the center and a little space for carry-on baggage. I wheeled Chase to room K-3, which was the handicapped one that had only two seats.

It was also more spacious.

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Seth said, parking his suitcase in the little closet beside the sliding door. “Thanks for getting us the roomiest cabin, Chase.”

“No problem,” he murmured, handing over his duffel bag.

I slid the door shut, pushing Seth out of the way so I could get the window seat. I looked outside, searching for any sign of Briar.

“Geez,” Seth said, plopping down beside me. “It’s OK. I didn’t want the window seat anyway.”

Chase stretched his back, groaning. He reached into the little knapsack hanging from the rear of his chair, pulling out his library copy of Pride and Prejudice.

“Uh, isn’t that a chick book?” Seth asked.

“It’s a classic,” Chase said. “You’d actually like it if you gave it a chance. I’m halfway through and I dig it so far.”

Seth waved off the suggestion. “Sorry, dude. If it don’t got zombies, I ain’t interested. What else you got?”

Chase dug in his pack, pulling out two more books. All of their covers were wrapped in plastic, a telltale sign that he’d rented them out from the library. A privilege he could thank me for, by the way. I’d taken him there, helped him get a card, and showed him how to use the computers to search for books.

“In Our Time or The Hobbit,” Seth read, hefting each book. He gave In Our Time, by Ernest Hemingway, back to Chase. “I’ll take the one guaranteed to have monsters.”

The door slid open. Mr. Whitmann looked in on us, narrowing one eye. The train lurched, forcing him to clutch the doorframe. “You’re not smoking in here, are you?”

“Seth is,” Chase murmured.

Seth’s mouth dropped open. “Mr. Whitmann, I can honestly say I’ve never smoked.”

“Seth, I don’t even know why you’re here with us,” Mr. Whitmann said. “But you’d better believe we’re going to set some rules once we get to this place Mr. Grayle has us staying at. I want a strict curfew on the girls, Chase. No funny stuff, either.”

“You got it, Coach.”

Mr. Whitmann gave a solemn nod. “That’s the attitude I like to hear. Mrs. Satrapi and I are in K-2, if you need us.”

“No funny stuff,” Seth warned him with a grin.

A low growl escaped Mr. Whitmann’s throat as he slowly slid the door shut.

“OK, we’re moving,” I said, looking out the window again. “I’m not going to freak. Briar is here somewhere. He’s got to be. So I’m just going to sit back and not freak.”

“Deep breaths,” Chase urged, leafing through his book. “Maybe lean back in your chair, too.”

“How can you be so calm?!”

He set his book down on the table, sighing. “Because I saw you take down a freaking dragon. Like, an actual dragon with scales and fire breath. If Briar missed the train, he can probably catch another one and you’ll be fine in the meantime.”

I turned to Seth. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Right. Lean back.” I leaned back, resting my head on the soft headrest. It felt good. Like everyone else on the plane, I’d felt it was absolutely necessary to stay awake during the entire flight. Now it was catching up to me, infecting my limbs with an odd sort of heaviness.

Darkness. Suffocating, impenetrable darkness. I looked around, calling out. My voice echoed.

Then came another voice. It was distant, lost, searching for me. I swam through the darkness, desperate to find anything. There was something here. I could feel it all around me. Not a Corrupted. Something … colder. Where was I?

Nowhere. Lost in darkness. It seeped into my lungs as I took a breath. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I could feel something in the darkness. Watching me.

“Alice?”

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I opened my eyes, feeling a scream claw its way out of my throat. Chase was clutching me, concerned. “Are you awake? What happened?”

“Probably a Corrupted,” Seth said, flipping to the next page of The Hobbit.

I looked around, blinking. “Not a Corrupted. Just a bad dream.” I used my tongue to wet the inside of my mouth. “I need some water. How long was I out?”

Seth held up the chunk of pages he’d already read through. “This long.”

“Well,” I said, adjusting a knot in my back, “maybe I should just take a walk.”

“There.” Chase pointed to me. “Now that is a great idea. Take a break from the nightmare, maybe.”

“Oh, I’ll take a break all right,” I muttered, getting up groggily and walking down the narrow hallway of the K car. Through one of the closed doors, I could hear Jasmine’s voice, followed by Margaret’s shrill laugh and Rachel’s tee-he-he giggles. I fought the urge to open the door. What would I say? “Oh, hey gals! I totally want to join the gossip fest. Give me half an hour to check the train for monsters and then I’ll be right there!”

Sigh.

I willed my feet forward, to the other end of the car. The train was moving quickly, but ran smooth along the tracks. I opened the door at the end of the aisle, pausing in the inter-car connector, a small covered space between the cars with a single side door where passengers disembarked. The metal under my feet groaned as if it too expected chaos at any moment. A red sign on the door warned passengers in four different languages that the side door automatically locked between stops.

“Good to know,” I said, sliding open the door to the L car. It was just like the K car, with a narrow aisle and small rooms on either side. Some of the doors were open, the people inside speaking in different languages. I tried not to stare as I passed. The last thing I wanted to do was give the impression that I was a rude American. I wondered what the German word for “Corrupted” was, considered looking it up on my smart phone, then decided against it.

I walked through the next connector, into the M car.

And stopped.

My hand reached instinctively for the sliding door at my back, ensuring it was closed tight. My eyes surveyed the car: gone were the individual rooms; this car looked more like an airplane, with rows of fat seats and well-dressed men filling them, nearly every single one working on a laptop or a tablet. My ears filled with the sounds of a dozen voices, none of them English, all of them quiet and professional. It all looked inconspicuous.

Except for right there, on the aisle’s blue carpeting: a golden trail.

“Grayle,” I whispered. “You jerk.”

I took a step forward, searching the men in suits for any hint of golden glow, not caring anymore what they might think of the rude American girl with the violet striped shirt and cropped jeans. Instinctively I noted that the aisle was tight … too narrow for fighting. Maybe that was the point. Maybe every step I took brought me closer to Grayle’s horrible trap.

My feet kept me moving down the aisle, my eyes desperately searching each person. There were two women up ahead, speaking quiet French with two men. Both women wore sharp-looking blue blazers and skirts. They were frantically passing around pieces of paper, commenting on each one in a heated way. Their sharp tones made my heart race. Outside, the landscape sped by, making me dizzy.

“Control yourself,” I whispered, clutching the back of an empty seat. I pulled the magic pen from my pocket, holding it as nonchalantly as I could. There was a man up ahead, at the rear of the car, eyeing me strangely. Who was he? What did he suspect?

I walked closer, unable to prevent my hand from clutching the magic pen like a knife. So much for being inconspicuous. Better to have it out here, at the end of the car, so the others can at least flee in the opposite direction in relative safety.

OK. Here we go. Make your move.

The man watched me for a moment, then broke eye contact and returned to his tablet.

I opened the sliding door into the next connector, exhaling a whole lot of tension.

“Gawd,” I said to the empty space. The metal connector groaned with a heaviness, as if it melodramatically wanted to point out the challenge in keeping the L car and the M car in place. I took a deep breath and massaged my temple, trying to will away my anxiety and the headache that was beginning to take hold. I glanced down. The trail. It was brighter here.

Fresh.

I slid open the door leading to the M car. The salty smell of cured meat hit my nostrils, hollowing out my stomach. I was in the dining car. Square tables sat beside the big horizontal windows. Outside, the large city of Budapest gave way to beautiful rolling hills and dry yellow farmland. Beyond the tables was a curved countertop where young people dressed not unlike me were sipping at cups of tea and playing on their silver laptops. On the left side of the car was the sandwich counter, complete with a glass cooler for bottled drinks with strange names and an old, coffee spattered espresso machine.

The gold trail seemed to stop at the sandwich counter, then curved around the tables at the far end of the car before finally disappearing underneath the far door. I followed the trail, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as I weaved my way around the tables. I gave each person a scrutinizing look. Whoever this Corrupted was, he or she couldn’t possibly be transformed to the point where it was impossible to hide among humans.

Which made me even more nervous.

The door on the other end had a red sign—in multiple languages, of course—warning passengers that the next car was for authorized personnel only. I stood by the door a moment, feeling the train moving under my feet. Very casually, I glanced over my shoulder. The two young women behind the sandwich counter were preoccupied with the espresso machine—it was the perfect moment.

I slipped through the door, shutting it quickly behind me. “Great,” I muttered over the metallic knocking of wheels, “Now I’m an international criminal.”

The door leading to the N car—the second to last car—had a big blue sign posted on it, the words written in German. It looked like a list, maybe some kind of inventory for the dining car. This wasn’t promising … unless this Corrupted was less interested in killing me and more interested in stealing a bite of sandwich.

I opened the door, not quite ready for anything.

… Which was why the glowing figure standing in front of the open stainless steel refrigerator caused me to jump back, letting out a very un-hero-like “Eek!”

He closed the refrigerator door, mumbling something as he finished chewing whatever sandwich he’d stolen. He was also clutching a little porcelain cup for espresso, holding it in a dainty sort of way. I shook off the shock long enough to take him in: tall, handsome in a Germanic sort of way, with tussled blond hair and a square jaw. He was wearing a trendy striped shirt with a sharp collar and jeans that were borderline bell-bottoms, like he’d picked them up at a secondhand store. He had long sideburns that seemed to be glowing even more than the rest of his body, as if they might come to life and attack.

“Sorry,” he said, chewing furiously. “Just give me a minute, if you could.”

“Sure,” I said, crouching down. I kept my eyes on him, glancing down only once to make sure the saber blade I was drawing was actually a straight line. I pulled it from the floor, hefting its weight.

The Corrupted man chuckled. “Ah, a hero. It has been some time,” he said with a musical German accent. He swallowed the last bit of his sandwich and finished off his espresso, then tossed the little cup on the floor. “How may I be of service to you?”

“Oh I dunno.” I shrugged, taking in the car. It was a storage room, with two large stainless steel fridges and one freezer on one side, and dozens of tall aluminum shelves on the other side. The shelves were full of cans, bottles, and bags of coffee. The aisle was wide, plenty of room to do battle. “Maybe you could tell me your master plan?”

“Of course.” He bowed low. “My name is Hans, at your service. Do you recognize me from the fairy tales?”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone in Grimms’ Fairy Tales is named Hans.”

“Ah, of course. Well, no matter.” He reached down, grabbing the knapsack at his feet and hefting the leather strap over his shoulder with a grunt. “If you must know, I’m taking this to my master, Tom Thumb.”

“I …” The saber wavered in my hand. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the door behind me was still closed. Something wasn’t adding up. “Wait, are you really telling me your master plan?”

He nodded.

“How is Sam Grayle involved?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I can’t say I know the fellow.”

“All right, so who’s Tom Thumb?”

“He’s the little guy. From the fairy tale.” His eyes narrowed. “Just how new are you to this hero thing? Do I need to explain it all to you?”

“No, you don’t need to explain it all to me,” I snapped. “I’m just trying to get my bearings here. I’m a little weirded out.”

“He’s a wonderful fellow, by the way. Very kind. Took me in when no one else would. Kept me safe from the heroes, he did. Oh, there was the business about the giant, but I’m not one to judge.”

“The gi-ant?” My voice cracked.

He sighed, checking the silver watch around his right wrist. “I have other things that need to be done here, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you the rest of our master plan without interruptions.”

I bowed sarcastically. “By all means … proceed.”

“Thank you. Like I said, I’m working for Tom Thumb. Being a man of small stature, he cannot leave the confines of his lair without risking bodily harm or drawing attention to himself. So naturally I go out and procure whatever he needs.” He opened his knapsack, rifling through the contents. “Let’s see … we have three strands of virgin’s hair … salt … a dead fly … eyeball of newt … some cinnamon …”

I felt my stomach turn. “Just tell me what it’s for.”

“Why, for Tom Thumb’s potion.”

“To do what?!”

“To grow tall.”

I took a cautious step forward, eyes narrowing. I pointed the saber blade at him. “Cool story, bro. Why are you telling me all of this?”

Hans spread his arms in mock defenselessness. He smiled, revealing glowing golden teeth. “Because you can’t kill me, my dear. Though you are certainly welcome to try.”

I took another step forward. The tips of my fingers tingled. What was his game? I was only one more step away from running him through and ending his story for good and yet he looked about as frightened as a tiger in front of a rat.

“Go on,” he said soothingly. “Don’t dally.”

“All right …” I stepped forward with a quick attack. The blade was parried by the refrigerator door as it popped open, nearly knocking me over.

Hans took a step back. “Oh now that is strange. What are the odds that the refrigerator would fly open like that?”

I took another step forward. Below us, the wheels of the train clanged ominously, and the entire car shuddered. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I turned just in time to get one hand out as the tall shelving unit to my left fell right onto me. I landed on the floor and felt a painful stinging sensation run across my shoulder. The shelving unit was heavy, and the collection of pots on the top shelf nearly knocked me in the head, banging loudly on the floor and rolling to a stop at Hans’s feet.

Dark, smoky-smelling espresso beans poured out of one of the bags, burying my feet.

“This isn’t my idea,” Hans said. “And I do apologize for this. But you see, I was simply written to be very, very lucky.” He stepped closer, grinning a devilish grin. “You, on the other hand …”

Chapter 4

“Well, well,” said Hans, as he stroked his hair down on his head. “Who would have thought it? Certainly it is a fine thing when one can slaughter a beast like that for oneself. What meat one has! But I do not care much for beef, it is not juicy enough for me. But to have a young pig like that! It tastes quite different, and there are sausages as well.”[i]

I kept the sword aimed at Hans’s foot as he stood over me, putting pressure on the shelving unit. One of the shelves dug painfully into my ribs and I cried out, pushing on it with my free hand. I dared not let go of the saber. As long as I had the saber, Hans wouldn’t get any closer.

Or would he?

“This is enjoyable,” Hans said, surveying the fallen shelves. “Only one previous time has a hero attempted to destroy me. This was long ago, when my luck was not quite as good. I’d been stealing food and causing a general ruckus in a small town east of Berlin. One day, a hero arrives with a musket! Wouldn’t you know it, the musket jams, rendering it quite useless. But then the clever fellow pulls out a knife! He had me cornered and quite frightened.”

“Wonderful,” I said, pushing hard on the wooden shelves. They were thin, not too heavy. I could push the entire shelving unit off if …

Hans pressed his weight down again. “And who should save me but a tiny little man! Tom Thumb himself, no taller than a man’s foot! I’d rather not go into the gory details of what he did to this particular hero, if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

Hans smiled, stepping off the shelves. I felt the pressure on my ribs cease. “Tom Thumb saved my life. And so I asked him how I could repay him. He said he needed help designing a growth serum. I gave him my word that I would do his bidding until he achieved success. Now, did I think this would take more than a hundred years? No. But Hans in Luck keeps his word no matter what. It is how I was written.”

“I’ll remember that,” I growled. The blade of my saber rested gently on the shelf. I slid it down the thin edge, scoring it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to write it down?” he asked. “You are a girl after all.”

Warm anger crept up my face. “You know, I seem to recall Hans in Luck being a bit of a dimwit.”

“You are wrong. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more things to grab,” Hans said. “And so I must end this. Do not take it personally. The world is an unfair place sometimes.”

He stepped on the shelf that had my upper body pinned, putting his full weight on it. Bad idea. The shelf cracked right where I’d scored it with my blade, then snapped in two. I pushed hard, lifting the top of the shelving unit. Hans fell back, his foot caught. He tumbled over, giving me enough time to slip out from under the shelves.

“You’re not the only one with a little luck,” I said.

“Ach!” he spat, his grin finally wiped away. “You still do not understand, do you? I cannot be defeated! The Corruption has only made me luckier! Should I speak slower for you, little girl?”

“Ooh!” I hissed, bounding over the fallen shelves. I stepped forward with a wicked stab, jumping right as another shelving unit came tumbling toward me. Hans watched, bemused, as I stepped closer again. This time, there was nothing that could happen. Nothing that could protect him.

Suddenly, the entire train lurched, slowing rapidly with a massive jolt. Under the floor, the wheels screeched like a dozen angry violins. Hans stumbled backward against the rear door of the car, and I fell forward, landing hard on my sore ribs. I rolled over, groaning and trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of me.

“You see?” Hans turned as he opened the door to the next car and I could see that his smug grin had returned. “You are clever and talented, but this is a fool’s errand and I am running out of time. My stop is coming up soon, so let us part on amicable terms, eh? We need not be enemies.”

I got up, watching the door shut. My ribs hurt. Breathing hurt. What would happen if I followed him through that door? I’ll tell you exactly what’ll happen, Alice: bad luck. For you. And good luck for Hans. Because that’s how he was written.

But he was also a man of his word, wasn’t he? And he was cocky.

That gave me an idea. I knelt down beside the freezer, drawing two objects in the floor. The first object was a big, sharp tack. The other was a coin.

I hid my saber behind the freezer, then followed Hans into the O car. The car was dimly lit, full of wooden crates and other shipping boxes that lined the walls. I wrinkled my nose at the smell: dirt.

Hans was at the far end, rifling through a cardboard package and murmuring to himself, haphazardly tossing its contents on the floor. Spices and jars of condiments landed at his feet until finally he pulled out a small vial. “Tom knew it would be here! He just knew it!” Hans said with a laugh. He held it up. “Maybe he ordered it. That would make sense, actually.”

“Hey lucky boy.”

He turned. “Ah, you’re back! Well, now I will definitely have to kill you. I believe I’ll throw you off the train … you know, for fun.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, cocking my head. I took a step closer. My entire body tingled. Go back and get your saber, it was telling me. No. A sword wouldn’t win this battle.

“Why would it not be a good idea?” Hans asked, shrugging. “You are a hero. I am a Corrupted. It was foolish of me to think you would listen to reason.”

“Watching you tumble over in the N car gave me an idea,” I said, tossing the big pointed tack by his feet. “I have this funny feeling your luck is running out.”

Hans guffawed, setting down his knapsack. “Care to test that theory, girl?”

I held up the coin. “Heads, I win, and you have to step on that tack.”

He raised his eyebrows. His shiny sideburns glowed brighter. “And if it’s tails?”

“Then you can watch me throw myself off the train.”

“Oh, you are a brave one,” he said, nearly salivating at the thought of watching me kill myself. “I haven’t had this much fun since I hitched a ride on a gambling boat fifty-odd years ago and took every single fool’s money, right down to the last penny. Flip the coin.”

“Give me your word that you’ll abide by our deal.”

“Fine, fine, I give you my word. Now flip it!”

I flipped the coin. It landed on the floor between us. Heads up.

“That’s impossible!” he shouted. “My … my luck …”

“… Has run out,” I finished. “Now, are you a man of your word, Hans?”

He glared at me, the muscles in his face strained. He seemed to be fighting himself, clenching his fists, shaking. “I am … a man … of my word!” he shouted, stepping on the sharp tack. Burning blackness spread up his foot, consuming him quickly.

“Poof!” I said, watching the ashes fall to the floor. I picked up the coin, staring at the crudely drawn head. I flipped it over. Another crudely drawn head. My best recollection of George Washington’s mug.

Alice: 1, Corrupted: 0.

“A risky move.”

I spun around, the toe of my athletic shoe pulling the tack closer to me. I nearly kicked it right at Briar. “You doofus!” I shouted. “Do you have any idea how much adrenaline is running through me right now?”

He stepped out from behind the wooden crate at the far end of the room. A little disgusting gray rat followed him.

“Uh …” I pointed to his feet.

Briar looked down. “Ah, yes! This is Nibbles. He and I had quite the adventure.”

“Do tell,” I said, tossing him the coin. I lifted my shirt, wiping sweat and a little makeup off my face.

“Ah, a coin with identical sides!” Briar said, scrutinizing the coin’s design with a keen eye, then setting it down before its magic could burn his paw. “A decent drawing, too.”

“My dad made me memorize all of the presidents’ faces on coins when I was younger.” I sat down on one of the smaller crates, stretching to give my sore ribs a little solace. “Then we moved to Canadian money. Then Euros. It was one of his weird summer activities to keep my brain fresh while I wasn’t in school.”

“And what if Hans had seen through your ruse? What then?”

“He didn’t.”

“Yes, well.” Briar gave the ash pile—and the tack—a wide berth. His weird little rodent companion did the same, whiskers twitching.

“Awwwww, his whiskers twitch just like yours!” I said with a sweet voice. “So are you going to explain the rat or what?”

“His name is Nibbles, and I do say he may have saved my life. Ahem! Allow me to tell my tale …”

And so he did. There were games played with rats. The overall cruddy conditions of the ship. The monsters trying to kill them. The crates full of dirt. And in true Briar fashion, plenty of unnecessary details about snacks.

“Crates … like this?” I said, rapping my knuckles on the wooden crate I was sitting on.

“Crates exactly like those,” Briar said. “Coincidence? Doubtful. We followed these crates, hitching a ride on another train that took us through some very beautiful Spanish countryside. Check the tag.”

I got off the crate, searching it for the little green shipping tag. It definitely smelled like dirt.

“Agnosara,” I read. “The same city we’re going to.”

“All these big crates,” Briar said, waving a paw, “are full of dirt. Fresh, rich soil. Now, I don’t want to alarm you, but vampires have been known to sleep in fresh soil …”

“You don’t mean to alarm me?!” I exclaimed. “And then you mention vampires? Are you absolutely insane, rabbit?”

“It’s just speculation,” he said. The disgusting rat cowered behind him, looking up at me with more than a fair share of suspicion. He squeaked a few weird squeaks. “Yes,” Briar murmured. “I told you she could get like this.”

“Why are vampires the first thing that comes to you, anyway? Why can’t it be, Oh, someone must want to start a worm farm or something like that?”

Briar’s ear drooped. “I apologize, dear hero. I suppose Nibbles and I are still a bit shaken by our experience on the boat. The boat we traveled on for nearly two weeks. With barely a week’s worth of provisions! Not to mention the bit about nearly being eaten alive by sailor-monsters…”

I sighed. “All right, I get it.” I scratched him between the ears, his favorite spot. His foot stomped on the ground a few times, nearly knocking out his rat friend before it could jump out of the way.

“Nibbles would like a scratch, too,” Briar said. “He thinks you don’t like him.”

I reached down, using the very tip of my finger to scratch the rat’s head. His fur was everything my sickened mind predicted: slightly damp and crusty. I have to admit, I probably would have barfed if Nibbles demanded a scratch behind his cruddy-looking ears. Even his thankful squeak of appreciation made my hair stand on end.

“So what now?” Briar asked. “I assume you have some plan or other.”

“Nope.”

“But you must! We can’t just sashay nonchalantly into this town with the possibility of vampires threatening to kill us all! Oh, I’m too handsome to be a vampire! I enjoy the sunlight far too much!”

I stood up, rubbing the muscles in my legs. “What I need is a bath. Which is impossible, I guess. Still, there’s one thing I don’t quite understand. Hans said his stop was coming up …”

“Ah, yes.” Briar pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it. “If I remember my German—and I’m sure I do because I’m Br’er Rabbit, after all—then this map says the next stop isn’t until we are well within the Romanian border. The city of Deva, to be exact. That’s another 5 hours away, though.”

I held my breath, bracing myself. Briar and his rat friend both cocked their heads, watching curiously.

I exhaled. “OK, I know it sounds strange, but I totally thought the train was going to break down right there or something. My hero sense was tingling.”

Underneath the floor, the sound of metal grinding on metal returned, louder than before. The entire car rumbled. I grabbed one of the crates, clutching it as the train began to slow down, shaking violently as if it might derail at any moment.

“What’s happening?” Briar asked, clutching one of the smaller shipping boxes on the other side of the aisle. Nibbles clutched Briar’s leg, squeaking madly.

“Irony is happening!” I shouted over the screeching of the brakes.

The train slowed to a stop, hiccupping once more and causing the smaller boxes to shift, crashing into one another.

I let go of the crate, looking down at Hans’s knapsack.

“Something tells me he was counting on this unscheduled stop,” I said.

“Well, duh.”

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, dusting off his pants.

“Now will you formulate a plan?” he asked.

“I have one.” I kicked the knapsack, spilling its contents. “We’re going to find Tom Thumb.”

Chapter 5

Of course no one else thought it was strange that our train just happened to break down just outside the town of Ukigos, Hungary. Why would they? Other than me, nobody really expects devious Corrupted to make a general mess of things. And so when the conductor offered everyone a free stay at one of the local inns, well, no one was especially mad. Grumpy? Yes. Mad? Nah … Europeans are pretty easygoing.

The town was small, full of boxy white buildings with red roofs and lots of trees on every block, dividing the properties and sometimes overtaking the older homes, their longs limbs creeping over the windows. The newest houses looked a lot like the houses in a suburb, except here each house was surrounded by tall iron fences. The grass was muddy and the paved roads were wet and cracked in places. We walked with about two hundred other train passengers to the inns, all of which were only two stories tall and spread throughout the town.

“I can only imagine what the townsfolk are thinking,” Seth murmured, hefting his suitcase.

I watched an old silver Mercedes speed past on the street. “I don’t think they much care, Seth.”

“Everyone please stick with me!” Mr. Whitmann called out from the front of the group. He waved his hands in the air like a traffic controller, as if we needed the additional directions.

“Mr. Whitmann?” Margaret said. “Could you, like, stop yelling? You’re acting waaaay too American.”

He frowned, then turned back around.

Chase sighed. “Alice, will you slow down? You’re going to bump me into Mrs. Satrapi.”

I let go of the handles. “Just wheel yourself.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “More than happy to.”

Our mood didn’t get any better when we reached the first hotel. Fellow passengers had already filled it to capacity.

“What do they know that we don’t?” Mr. Whitmann asked the clerk, a young man with shaggy brown hair and a pale complexion. When the clerk didn’t answer, Mr. Whitmann added, exasperated, “Can you at least find someone who knows good English?”

The clerk could not.

We dragged ourselves to the next block, following a few other train passengers who’d taken their sweet time disembarking. The next hotel looked the same from the outside, save for the greenish brown water marks that streaked down from the edges of the old window sills. Inside, it was worse. The brown carpeting had seen better days. The clerk—a middle-aged woman with thick glasses and curly brown hair—stood behind a counter whose fake wooden paneling was peeling in places. She had an old clunky computer sitting on the counter and about a hundred pieces of paper spread out in no obvious order. On the walls were old paintings of famous battles. In one, men rushed at each other with guns. In another, they were all riding horses, clutching swords.

Tucked in the corner to our left were two couches and a tube TV, along with a little table for continental breakfast and a display stand full of tourism pamphlets.

“It smells like rotten cheese,” said Miguel, the saber fighter on the boys team. He wrinkled his nose.

“That’s mold, dummy,” said Scott, the epee fighter. The epee has a stiff blade like the saber, only in an epee fencing match, the fencer’s entire body is fair game. The girls team didn’t have an epee fencer because we only had one epee blade for practice.

“It could still be rotten cheese,” Margaret murmured. “I wouldn’t put it past this place.”

“At least there’s TV,” Scott said. The boys congregated to the little corner, brazenly turning on the TV and growing immediately agitated when the picture came in fuzzy. The man and woman on the TV spoke in a hurried, alien dialect, only annoying the boys further. Scott shut off the TV with more than a bit of a temper.

“Boys,” Mrs. Satrapi said, “come over here.” She put an arm around Scott’s shoulder, much to his chagrin.

Mr. Whitmann walked up to the counter, speaking slowly to the clerk despite the fact that she seemed to have a pretty good grasp of English. I thought at first that maybe he was talking down to her, but then my weary eyes took in his body language: slumped features, deep breaths … he was exhausted like the rest of us.

“OK,” he said, handing the boys two sets of keys and the girls one set. “Everyone just go to your rooms and relax. Watch some TV.”

“We don’t understand what they’re saying,” Miguel said matter-of-factly.

“Then use your imaginations!” the coach shouted. He took a deep breath. “I’m losing it. Grandpa was right: the Whitmanns are all doomed to the loony bin.”

“We’re all jet-lagged,” Mrs. Satrapi said. “It’s the time difference. The best thing you can do is relax this afternoon and then get a good night’s sleep. Your bodies will recuperate overnight.”

“Yeah, do what she says,” Mr. Whitmann mumbled, dragging his feet toward the hallway just past the check-in counter.

“Alice, are you coming?” Mrs. Satrapi asked as everyone began dispersing.

“Yeah, I just …” Think, Alice! You need to find more info about Tom Thumb! I ran a hand over my pockets. “I think I dropped my phone on the walk over. I should go double back and just check my steps.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Uh … no, no! That’s OK. I can handle it.”

Mrs. Satrapi’s stone face seemed to harden even more. It was easy to picture her in a boardroom, dominating everyone sitting with her at the table. A beautiful gargoyle. I loved it. I loved the fact that I was totally intimidated by her. I’d killed a dragon, been swallowed by a whale … but Mrs. Satrapi still had the look. I needed that look.

“I’m not letting you walk around the town alone,” she said. “You’re my responsibility, dear.”

“Right,” I said meekly. “Oh. Here’s my phone. In my pocket, after all.” I followed her to the girls’ room. At least it was on the first floor. I could sneak out through the window, maybe …

… provided Margaret, Jasmine and Rachel could keep their mouths shut about it. Jasmine and Margaret immediately called dibs on the bed near the window, setting their suitcases on the floor beside it. Rachel put her suitcase on the other bed, giving me a friendly smile.

“I guess we’re bunk mates,” she said brightly. She seemed to be the only one not in an ornery “grumpy teenager” mood, as my mom would say.

I tossed my suitcase beside hers, groaning when the pain in my ribs returned.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Margaret asked. She was in the process of pulling out her makeup and cosmetics, laying them out on the bed. She’d brought along two bottles of nail polish, both of them a shade of blue.

“The train guy said it might be a day or two,” Rachel said. She started laying out her cosmetics, too: black nail polish, dark lipstick, mascara and a simple hairbrush. I loved her simplicity.

“Are Hungarian guys cute?” Jasmine asked. “Should we be on the prowl?”

None of us had any idea.

“Well, there was the clerk at that other hotel,” Margaret offered.

“Ewww, he had a mustache,” Jasmine said. We all laughed. “Shave the mustache and we’ll talk. But a furry little caterpillar on your upper lip is the kiss of death.”

“Only guys think mustaches are cool,” Margaret said. “Oh, wait. You know what we need to do? We need to take off these bed covers.”

“Why?” Rachel asked.

“Because I read somewhere that hotel bed covers are the grossest thing in a hotel room. They never ever clean them. Ev-ar.”

We pulled off the bed covers, giggling, handling them like they were on fire. We threw both covers in the corner.

I went into the bathroom, not surprised that it looked like it was right out of an old horror movie. The curtain was yellow. The tiles were yellow. The sink was tiny, its porcelain cracked in two places. Even the toilet seat couldn’t be kind enough to stay on straight.

“This ain’t the Hilton,” I told Margaret before she could have her turn. She walked into the bathroom, took it all in, and whimpered.

“Oh cool … Alice, check this out,” Rachel said, flipping me a pamphlet. I caught it in mid-air, stretching out on the bed beside her.

“Ukigos is one of the oldest cities in Hungary,” I read. “In addition to boasting two beautiful holy sites, Ukigos is also known as the capital of Hungary’s most famous stories. Legend has it that two hundred years ago, mysterious wolf-like creatures surrounded the town, demanding a virgin sacrifice once each night. On the twelfth night, a hero arrived and vanquished the wolves. It’s said that on a clear night, you can still hear the wolves crying out in the distance, afraid to come near the town.”

“Let me see that,” Jasmine said. She grabbed it, then screamed. I nearly fell off the bed in alarm. “There’s a goulash place nearby! I looooooove goulash.”

“What the heck is that?” Rachel asked.

“Spicy stew,” Jasmine said. “Seasoned with paprika and full of meat and veggies and sometimes noodles. My mother has to know about this. She’ll take us all for sure.”

“Yes,” I said with a devious smile. “We’ll convince Mrs. Satrapi to take us to dinner.”

“And then we’ll scope out cute boys,” Margaret added, emerging from the bathroom. “And, in Rachel’s case, cute girls.”

“Thank you, madam,” Rachel said with a low bow.

Margaret returned the bow. “But of course, my dear.”

Jasmine went to her mom’s room to get the OK for dinner while the rest of us took turns showering. We were still beat, but a refreshing warm shower was more than enough to get us revitalized. I volunteered to go last—I was the only one who was used to taking lukewarm showers and we were all suspicious of the hotel’s hot water heater.

Our worries were warranted. Midway through my shower, the hot water quickly dissipated, and I had only a few precious moments to get the last suds out of my hair. I tolerated the cold water for a few breaths, then gave up. In the circular bathroom mirror, I examined my ribs. Yup, there was definitely some bruising. It was blue now but it would be purple tomorrow.

And sore.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, all of the boys were ready to go, waiting in the hotel lobby while all of us girls were clustered inside the bathroom, applying makeup. Rachel was the first to finish, sticking with her minimalist style. Margaret, with her phone battery precariously low, managed to finish second—and in record time. Without the nagging temptation to check Facebook every few minutes, she stayed focused on the task at hand, taking special care to cover the little pink pimples that she hated with a passion.

Jasmine had beautiful olive skin, and so most of her focus was on her eyes, which she liked to make the highlight of her face. She added shadow and a little dark blue under her thin eyebrows. She also, thankfully, convinced Rachel to forego the chain wallet for the sake of maintaining a friendly appearance.

Me, I was going for a laid-back feminine look. I pulled my dark hair back in a ponytail, then added a quick swipe of mascara and some bronzer to my cheeks and forehead. I wore a pair of slim cut deep indigo jeans topped with a flowy orange v-neck tunic printed with flowers in shades of blue and violet cinched attractively below the bust with a wide violet sash. Jasmine slowed everyone down by cycling through three different outfits before finally settling on a green wrap dress that looked amazing with her brown jacket.

The boys, needless to say, were impressed. Chase stared at me with a little too much intensity, getting a healthy rib from Adam, the foil fencer. None of the boys had bothered making themselves presentable: jeans and t-shirts and light jackets, all of them. At least Chase was wearing a decent-looking black twill jacket. His hair was combed; he looked nice. He looked like the kind of guy I could really start to dig.

And I did dig him.

That was what worried me.

“What’s wrong?” Chase asked once we were outside. Seth and Rachel were walking ahead of us, and the rest of the team was already half a block up and trying to hurry Mrs. Satrapi to walk faster, anxious for some good cooking.

I see the death of your loved ones …

“Meh,” I said, wheeling him around a spilled drink that had frozen to the sidewalk. “I like this town. It’s quaint.”

“It’s decent,” he said, looking around. The street was mostly empty, with only a few cars passing, their headlamps illuminating the road. There were only a few streetlights running along the boulevard, and with the sun fully set the entire town seemed like it was experiencing a power outage. “They could use a souvenir shop.”

“It’s too dark,” I said.

“You’re too used to lots of streetlights.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Walk beside me.”

I let go of the handles, catching up to him. He wheeled the chair himself, grunting a few times. “I gotta keep my arms in shape,” he said.

“Ya,” I said with a bodybuilder’s accent. “You gotta pump up, maaaan.”

Chase laughed. “You sound like Clyde. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“Nothing is wrong,” I said. “Seriously.”

“Where the heck did you disappear to today, on the train? Why are you brushing me off all of a sudden?”

Because a creepy wizard said my loved ones would die. “Because … look, I’m just jet-lagged.”

He sighed a long, frustrated sigh. “Fine. I can be patient. But don’t think that just because you’re this big-shot hero that you get a pass on hiding things.”

“I’m not hiding things! Well, not a lot of things.”

“Be more like Spider-Man,” he said. “Less like Batman.” He wheeled to catch up to the boys, giving Miguel a swat on the butt. I was thankful for it. I wanted to walk alone. Whoever was watching me … wherever they were watching me from … I didn’t want them to know who my loved ones were.

The moment we arrived, our stomachs collectively hollowed out. The smell of fresh baked bread and savory spiced meats made me forget all about my exhaustion, sending my salivary glands into overdrive. The waitress led us to the windows overlooking the main street, pushing together two tables and handing us menus. Since none of us spoke Hungarian, we had to rely on Mrs. Satrapi’s limited knowledge of the soup names.

“Just get whatev,” Margaret said, tossing the menu aside. “Seriously, how can anything be bad with those smells coming from the kitchen?”

Jasmine pouted. “I would just kill for some carbs, though.”

“Do they have French fries?” Miguel asked from across the table.

Mrs. Satrapi shook her head. “No, dear. But there may be krokett, made with fried mashed potato and nutmeg.”

Rachel set down her menu. “That sounds amazing. And I’m trying the goulash, too.”

“Goulash,” Seth agreed. He was sitting beside me. Chase sat beside him, with the rest of the boys and Mr. Whitmann at the end of the table.

“Alice?” Mrs. Satrapi asked. She was sitting across from me, along with her daughter. “Do you want goulash or do you want to try something else?”

“Goulash is fine,” I said.

Mrs. Satrapi took the initiative of ordering for everyone, struggling a bit with the drinks. Luckily, “Coke” was a worldwide brand. I stared out the window, examining the beautiful ancient cathedral across the street. It had tall windows and was made of massive stone blocks, with marble statues sitting above the wide front doors. American cathedrals didn’t have anything on this building—it looked as if it had been carved from a mountain, with two looming spires reaching toward the cloudy sky and a dark red dome between them. Near the top of each spire, the structure opened up, revealing a massive bell.

“You like?” the waitress asked, setting down my cup of milk.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Those bells are special,” she said. She set down Seth’s Coke. “The one on the left has never been rung. Legend has it that the one on the right has been rung only once, on the night the wolves were driven out by the hero. We call that one the hero’s bell.”

“Hero’s bell?” I asked.

The waitress nodded. Her thick eyebrows knotted together. “The bell will ring again someday, when a hero is needed.”

“Um …” Seth raised his hand. “How come there’s no ice in my Coke?”

The waitress smiled patiently. “We only provide ice when asked for. Your food comes soon.”

“Great,” Seth murmured, staring at his cup. “Next you’ll tell me … wait!” His eyes went wide, scanning the long table. “There’s no ketchup. Oh sweet lord in heaven, there’s no ketchup. I’m doomed!”

“Seth, this will be a wonderful experience for you,” Mrs. Satrapi said. “A well-prepared meal doesn’t need ketchup.”

“Oh sure,” Seth murmured, sipping his soda. “This place is whack.”

“I second that,” Chase said.

Mrs. Satrapi sighed, obviously frustrated. Frustrated and tired. Despite being the most well-traveled among us, she was starting to wear down, too. My morbid mind wondered what would happen if a Corrupted showed up right now, casting aside the waitress and the empty tables next to the small empty bar as creature trudged toward the meaty Americans sitting beside the window.

Think, Alice: what would you do?

The restaurant was small, homely. There was a half-wall dividing the dining area in two, with a couple fellow train passengers sitting on the other side and taking turns picking at a plate of fresh bread. The tables were small, square, and wobbly. Each one had a lit candle as the centerpiece. The walls were decorated with colorful red and brown and gray wallpaper, peppered with photographs encased in thin frames. Dim lights hung from the dusty ceiling.

The chairs were flimsy. They could be broken. If I couldn’t use my pen, I could use splinters of chair to slow the monster down. If that didn’t work, there was alcohol behind the little bar area. High proof alcohol was extremely flammable. I could douse the monster in alcohol, then use one of the table candles to light him on fire. Then I could run outside, drawing him away from everyone else.

… And then what? Run into the cathedral? Run down the street?

I had no idea. Just like Sam Grayle, I was out of my element. In Milwaukee, I always felt like I was only a few blocks away from some place that I knew. It was something I’d taken for granted—the comfort of familiar surroundings. Here, it was completely different. I didn’t know anything about the geography. I felt as if I was five years old all over again, begging my mom to hold my hand as we walked through the scary mall filled with people I didn’t know.

“Excuse me,” I said, getting up. I went into the bathroom near the entrance, splashing cold water over my hands and pressing my cooled fingertips against my throbbing eyes. When I looked in the mirror, Briar was standing behind me.

“Er, should I leave?” he asked.

“No,” I said, locking the door. “I just needed some space. And I’d kill for some eye drops. I feel like I’ve been up for days.”

“Ah, jet-lag.” He paced the tiled floor, clicking his tongue. “This reminds me of a hero named Sir Gregory the Gallant. A real go-getter, if my research is correct. Too much of a go-getter, actually.”

“He traveled a lot?”

“Oh heavens, no. This was before planes were common and before the magic pen was carried across the Atlantic to the United States. No, Gregory the Gallant simply despised sleeping. It caught up to him quick enough. Pretty soon, the poor fool was hallucinating in the streets, babbling like a rabid baboon.”

“Nice imagery,” I said, using a square of paper towel to pat my eyes dry. A look in the mirror revealed that my makeup couldn’t hide my exhaustion. I needed sleep. Food, then sleep.

“Anywho! He was taken to a mental hospital and locked up. All this talk of Corrupted monsters and the such didn’t go over so well.”

“How did the pen travel to a new hero?” I asked.

Briar shrugged. “The pen always finds a way, it seems.”

“Like it has a plan.” I sighed. “Briar, I don’t know anything about Hungary. Or Romania, for that matter. How the freakin’ heck are we going to find Tom Thumb?”

“Maybe we don’t need to,” he said, ears raised. “Maybe tonight, you won’t even dream about him! In that case, I say let bygones be bygones. We have bigger fish to fry in Romania anyway.”

“Yeah. Corrupted, along with a side order of vampires. I can’t wait.”

Chapter 6

Darkness. Then: the orange sun rising over a tree-covered horizon, igniting the sky. The trees were a species of pine, standing tall and green and shaped like arrows. A breeze let their branches shrug off fresh snow. A bird chirped from one of the trees.

It was all pretty uneventful. Right up until the first giant stood up.

I gasped, watching him rise up between the tall trees. He was shirtless, which I suppose shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. He had thick muscles and pale skin that was stained by years of dirt and grime. His face was hideous, flanked by two misshapen ears. On top of his head was a patchy collection of black hairs, each one longer than the branches of the trees.

“This is impossible,” I said. My voice came out in a whisper. I looked down. I was floating, transparent. A good old-fashioned hero’s dream, that’s what this was.

But when? That was the question. There was no way a giant was walking around in the twenty-first century.

Check that: giants. Plural. They stood up in their own section of forest, brushing aside the branches of pine trees in the process. The snap of the branches echoed like crackling thunder as each giant emerged; their beady dark eyes narrowed, searching by their feet. There were seven giants total, all of them standing still, blinking, examining the expansive forest, their hot breaths coming out in cloud-sized steam. I could smell them. They smelled like a year’s worth of sweaty gym socks splashed with expired milk.

“He’ll kill you all.”

I willed my body to turn around. The voice had sounded so close. I was at the edge of the forest where it met with a snow-covered clearing. No tracks disturbed the gentle surface.

“Run away now!” came the voice. I turned back to the forest. It was coming from somewhere in there, nearby. But where?

Suddenly, one of the giants roared, pointing to a tight patch of trees in front of him. The other giants turned, grunting. Something flew up from between the trees … an arrow! It soared through the air and hit the nearest giant. He used his pudgy fingers to pluck the arrow from his shoulder, then cried out as two more hit him.

Burning blackness infected the wounds.

“A hero!” I whispered. I willed my body to rise above the trees, feeling my pajamas catch in the cool wind. Above the tree line, I could see all the giants more clearly now. They wore menacing expressions, groaning like some kind of prehistoric dinosaur as they pushed aside trees, lumbering in slow-motion toward their target. The trees fell over with deafening cracks, kicking up plumes of snow that mushroomed up above the canopy. Two of the giants reached down, each grabbing a tree and pulling it from its roots. They lifted the trees over their heads and threw them in the direction of where the arrow had come from.

The wounded giant fell to his knees, letting out a thunderous roar that was choked silent as the burning blackness turned him to ashes.

“You’ll be killed for sure, my friend!”

I turned back to the others. Who was speaking? It obviously wasn’t one of the big guys. Their groans and moans seemed to be about as close to “talking” as they could get.

I inched my way closer.

Five of the giants had reached the place where the arrow came from. They used their hands to swat at the pine trees, snapping them in half. One giant had a thick, dark beard, with long hairs curling over his upper lip. Another had wild, uneven eyes that bulged from their sockets. Another one yet had reddish scars across his chest.

“Oh, they’re doing a wonderful job finding him,” came the voice. “Do they really think he’s not ready? In just one year, he’s found you and killed your brother! He’s a murderer, if you ask me.”

The sixth giant standing behind his brothers swatted at his big, floppy ear. He was wearing a cowhide to cover his unmentionables—like, literally, an entire cow’s hide, held in place by a thick rope. As I floated closer, I was dismayed to learn he hadn’t bothered to give his butt the same treatment.

“Gross,” I muttered, moving higher to take an angle that didn’t make his bare rear quite so visible.

There came a commotion near the other giants. The one with the bulging eyes was stumbling backward now, tearing away trees and holding his left hand in the air. It was missing a finger, and the burning blackness quickly began traveling up his arm. He fell back against one of the bigger pines—nearly as tall as him—and its top half snapped off with a sharp crack. The giant fell beneath the canopy, landing on the forest floor.

White powder and black ash kicked up in the form of a tiny mushroom cloud.

“That’s two down now! Will you listen to me or will it take an arrow to the eye to convince you to run?”

I moved closer to the hesitant giant who was slinking back, using the taller pines as cover. He looked … well he looked ugly. He had a hard, angular face, as if he’d been carved out of Mount Rushmore. But he also looked a little concerned. Stupid he was not.

“Look!” came the voice. “Did I not tell you this pest is bloody dangerous?! He’s a hero. That’s what they call him. He has the power to destroy us! No one knows where he came from. Our kind are fleeing in terror, and I suggest we do the same!”

I turned back to the four remaining giants. There was an arrow sailing through the air, arcing in the blue backdrop of the sky before falling, falling, slipping between two of the giants who had both luckily made the same selfless decision to push each other out of the way.

Another arrow emerged from the trees, about a hundred feet from the nearest giant.

Then another.

Then another.

They came with blinding speed, as if there were multiple heroes hiding among the pines. The giants too were impressed—no, not impressed … terrified. Their mouths gaped open at the sight of a flock of pointy sticks seeking them out. Two of the arrows hit the scarred giant’s long red chest scars like targets and he roared, falling over. His weight shattered two pines, splitting branches on his way down so it sounded as if the forest had burst into applause.

“Well, are you finally going to listen to old Tom Thumb, you big fool?” came the voice. I hovered closer to the cowering giant … searching. There! Standing on the giant’s left earlobe, clutching one of his gray ear hairs, was a tiny man. Tinier than me … no bigger than my foot, made even tinier by the giant’s massive size.

Tom Thumb.

He was wearing a little brown tunic and brown trousers that could have easily been stolen off a doll. He had shaggy red hair, freckles, and pointed, perky ears. Specks of glowing gold seemed engrained in his hair. Then he scratched his head, and I nearly laughed in spite of everything. Dandruff. Terrible, terrible glowing Corruption dandruff.

“Well at least you’ll be easy to find,” I said, watching the glowing dandruff float down, landing on the giant’s pale shoulder.

Tom Thumb turned in my direction, searching past me with narrowed blue eyes.

More crashing. The remaining two giants were thrashing the trees now, sweeping their hands across the canopies and snapping the trunks apart, kicking up bursts of white powder. The bearded one roared loud enough to make the entire forest to rumble.

“Have you ever heard the old saying He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day?” Tom Thumb asked his hesitant friend. “Well, have you? Perhaps now would be a time to test that theory. Hurry now, before this hero makes a fool out of you!”

The giant groaned, reaching down and grabbing one of the smaller pine trees. He tore it from the ground and hurled it in the direction of where the arrows had come from.

“Woah, now!” Tom Thumb exclaimed, clutching the ear hairs for dear life. He righted himself, scratching madly at his head. “I don’t think that will work, my friend.”

For a moment, the forest grew still. All three remaining giants were breathing heavily. I could smell the cowering giant’s fetid breath, sure that some wild animal was decomposing between his yellowed, flat teeth.

Then, all at once, as if they’d each had the same terrible thought—he’s going to attack right now!—all three giants held their breath.

The forest was silent.

“I don’t like this,” Tom Thumb whispered. His little pointed ear twitched.

A flock of bright red birds flew up from the pines at the edge of the forest. All three giants flinched, raising a hand. One swatted madly at them, succeeding only in stumbling forward and crashing into another tree.

“Oh, ha ha!” Tom Thumb said. “Gave us all a bit of a start, eh?”

Suddenly, something large emerged from deeper in the forest, breaching the canopy and soaring through the air. At first, I thought it was a fat bird, but as it flew closer, it grew bigger and bigger.

A rock.

No … a boulder. A big, jagged boulder. Arcing down right at the giant with the bulging eyes. He turned, roaring, his fat fingers held out in front of him.

Poof!

The giant’s entire body seemed to be consumed by burning blackness almost instantaneously. The boulder cut through the ashes, crashing into the trees and sending one flying into the air. The ground shook at the impact, nearly knocking over Tom Thumb’s friend.

“A boulder drawn with the magic pen,” I whispered in awe. How had this hero done it? How had he drawn a boulder? How had he drawn a catapult to throw it?

“Away we go!” Tom Thumb shouted frantically, clutching the ear hairs tighter as the giant slowly turned, pushing his way through the trees. “Did you see that? He had a bloody catapult at the edge of the forest! He’s a savage assassin, is what he is! A terrible ruiner of lives! Run faster, you dolt! Ha ha, this isn’t the first time you’ve run away, I wager! What happened in your story again? Was it a tailor who frightened you so? No matter, friend! We’ve all had our bad experiences thanks to those nasty Brothers Grimm!”

The giant tore apart a towering pine, trudging through the forest, using his hands to brush aside anything in his way. He tripped once, then again, roaring in harried frustration.

I followed, glancing over my shoulder, wondering what else the hero had in mind for the second-to-last giant. My hopes were dashed, however, when the giant suddenly cried out, glancing down and reaching his arms between the pine trees. He flinched violently, his stringy black hair flopping over his face. The hero was near the giant’s feet, antagonizing him. Burning blackness began creeping its way up the giant’s back. The bearded one came to his brother’s aid, then quickly fell over, disappearing between the trees.

“Well, that’s that!” Tom Thumb shouted between his friend’s heavy, thundering footsteps. “You’re the last bloody giant in the world. I’m honored to know you.”

The giant grunted.

“Faster,” Tom Thumb urged. “Into the next valley. There’s a cave just beyond it. A big one. We’ll be safe there. For now, at least. Luckily for you and me, we need not kill this pesky fool. We need only outlive him … easy to do when you’re one of us, no?”

The giant grunted again.

“Speaking of outliving our enemies,” Tom Thumb said, “did I ever tell you about the time I was swallowed by a wolf? I was! In my story. My father cut his belly open to save me! This was in my story, of course. When the wolf was dead, I tried to live a simple life. But it turned out I was quite unique. In fact, I was the only tiny man in the entire world! A lonely existence. A miserable, lonely existence.”

I followed them, glancing over my shoulder, hoping the hero had another trick up his sleeve. The giant was leaving a pretty obvious path, filled with snapped trees and smashed branches and glossy dark green pine needles whose snow cover had been brushed away.

“You’re going to love your new home,” Tom Thumb said. The giant crashed through the edge of the forest. “Hurry, now! Let’s put some distance between ourselves and that pesky human! He’ll never find us where we’re going. Do you have any idea how many caves exist in this land? Thousands! Oh, and I have the best one of all! You’ll love, I promise. It could use some enhancement, I’ll admit—a couch here, a bookcase there—but as far as caves go, it’s quite acceptable.”

The giant’s big toes dug into the frozen earth as he crawled his way up the massive hill at the edge of the forest. Refrigerator-sized clods of dirt and frozen grass were wrenched from the ground, leaving a handy trail for the hero should he not notice the golden dandruff crumbs Tom Thumb was leaving behind as well, not to mention the giant’s own trail.

The giant grunted a concerned grunt once he reached the top of the hill.

“Follow us? Bah!” Tom Thumb waved the worry away, scratching furiously at his hair. “Where we’re going, the hero cannot follow.” He laughed, tugging on the giant’s coarse ear hairs. “You see? You see how smart I am? Oh, you’ll not regret this, my friend. It’s not every day one of our kind outsmarts a hero!”

The giant grunted again.

“Down!” Tom Thumb ordered. “Down into this valley here! I can see our destination even now!”

We moved down into the next valley, which was wider and more colorful than where the giant’s brothers had met their end. In this valley, the trees were sparse, keeping their distance from a wide clear blue lake. Steam rose up in white clouds, catching a breeze and drifting out of the valley. Hot springs. We were on a fault line! On the near end of the shore, pine trees clung to the edge for warmth. On the far end, there was less steam rising. Waves that had lapped at the gravelly shoreline froze before they could retreat.

“Stay to the left, near that spattering of trees,” Tom Thumb ordered. “Not too close to the southern end or we are likely to fall right through the surface and boil alive. I’ve seen it! Well, not personally. But I have heard of it happening, and so we must be careful!”

The giant looked warily over his shoulder, then started down into the valley, slipping twice on the loose rocks on the hillside. Lower, I could feel the warmth from the hot springs. I could smell it, too.

Tom Thumb inhaled deeply through his nose. “Ah! Do you smell that, friend? The stench of sulfur, and no stench is so sweet. I hope you don’t mind it … our new home has the same smell.”

The giant grunted, lumbering across the valley with his slow-motion gait. I could see our destination now: a cave opening built into the far hillside, which looked as if it had once belonged underground. The surface was made of a glossy, jagged dark gray rock. No soil for grass or trees … just a piece of earth that had been forced upward millions of years ago.

“Inside now!” Tom Thumb exclaimed. “Hurry!”

The giant glanced once over his shoulder, then got on all fours and crawled into the opening. The cave was tight, and the giant’s bony elbows smashed into the glossy wall. His fat hips squeezed through the opening, eclipsing the light.

“Keep going!” Tom Thumb urged. “This cave opens up farther ahead. There’s a small hot spring, too. And a freshwater spring. Are you thirsty? No doubt, after such a harrowing morning. Hurry now!”

The giant crawled deeper into the cave, grunting and groaning, his forehead snapping a stalactite from the ceiling. The sound echoed like footsteps farther down the cave.

“Now, take your right foot and kick the rocks near the opening,” Tom Thumb instructed. “The other entrance to this cave is impossible to find, unless one happens to know about a certain fellow named Blaise Pascal.” He laughed, turning to watch the giant kick at the cave wall near the entrance. With the giant’s big feet blocking the sunlight from coming in, Tom Thumb was nothing more than a shadow with shimmering gold dandruff. He looked like a nasty little gremlin. “Yes! Give it a good kick! There it is!”

The cave rumbled. A boulder fell from the ceiling, nearly landing on the giant’s foot. More fell in front of the entrance, creating a chalky crashing sound amplified in the cavernous darkness, as if a hundred other entrances were being caved in at the same time.

The light from the entrance disappeared, replaced by pin-sized beams slipping between the boulders. Then those too disappeared as more jagged rocks came falling down.

Then: darkness. Black as pitch.

The sounds echoed a moment more, traveling deeper into the cavern.

“Just as I planned,” Tom Thumb whispered. “Ten years of careful, deliberate chiseling.” At first, I could see only his golden dandruff. Then he opened his mouth, revealing a neat row of glowing gold teeth. He was smiling.

The giant groaned.

“Oh no, my friend,” Tom Thumb said, his glowing teeth bouncing in the darkness as he spoke. “There is another way out, yes, but I’m afraid it is not big enough for a giant. You shall never escape this place.”

The golden smile returned. A slimy black tongue ran across the teeth.

“No, my friend. I have other plans for you.”

Chapter 7

Scarcely had they set foot on the threshold, when Tom called out, “Don’t bring me any more hay!” Then the parson himself was frightened; and thinking the cow was surely bewitched, told his man to kill her on the spot. So the cow was killed, and cut up; and the stomach, in which Tom lay, was thrown out upon a dunghill.[ii]

“Alice! Alice, wake up!”

I opened my eyes, gasping for breath. The sunlight streaming in through the window blinded me for a moment so I reached out, grabbing a handful of Rachel’s face.

“Glmph!” she mumbled, pushing my hand away from her mouth.

I sat up, blinking a few times. I could still smell the sulfur of the hot springs. My ears were ringing from the sound of the cave-in.

Jasmine and Margaret were staring at me.

“You really move around a lot in your sleep,” Jasmine said.

“Yeah,” Margaret said. “Like, we were thinking about maybe waking you? Because you kept tossing and turning? But then I just went back to bed.”

“Not me,” Rachel said, rubbing her eyes. “I had to slap you a few times to keep you from pushing me off the bed.”

There was a knock at the door. I got out of bed, immediately feeling the sharp ache in my ribs. I stretched, walking to the door and checking the peephole before opening it.

Mr. Whitmann put his hands on his hips. “Good morning to you, too. Get dressed. We’re walking into town.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s another fencing team in town, and we’re going to check them out. And if they seem nice, I’m going to ask for some practice space so you all can do a workout.”

“Can we go shopping this afternoon?” Margaret called out.

Mr. Whitmann rolled his eyes. “Be downstairs in ten minutes.”

The girls gasped in unison.

“OK, OK … fifteen minutes.”

Forty-five minutes later, we were walking down a street with a name none of us could pronounce. I’d dragged Seth along, afraid to leave him alone at the hotel even with Mrs. Satrapi there. I wasn’t worried about the same things Mrs. Satrapi worried about with a handful of eighteen-year-olds; I was worried about monsters with a hunger for human flesh. I was worried about Agnim’s terrible vision.

I see the death of your loved ones …

Everyone seemed in better spirits, including Chase, and with our group sticking close together I felt comfortable walking beside him. He looked up at me a few times, giving me a smile, and even here in the middle of a foreign town in a foreign land I couldn’t keep the warm feeling from spreading through my body.

Then I realized I was returning the look. I glanced around, searching for a telltale trail of golden breadcrumbs. How many people were helping Tom Thumb? Who else might be here?

The boys stopped to marvel at an old antique store whose display window was full of ancient weapons, including a very amazing bow made of rough, dark brown wood and a taut string that was worn in the center where no doubt a fair share of arrows’ nocks had once rested. The boys might have stood there longer if not for the fact that only one of them—Chase—was wearing a winter hat and gloves. In fact, Chase had been the only one smart enough to pack a heavy winter coat at all. The rest wore light jackets, not bothering to check average temperatures for Eastern Europe. Typical boys.

We girls had it slightly better together, opting for stylish down jackets that kept us toasty warm and pairs of earmuffs provided by Jasmine (with a black pair for Rachel). The comfortable winter wear let us stand and stare at the colorful dresses on display in the dusty window of a store that seemed to be something of a secondhand everything place. The dresses hung from hangars next to a glossy cookware set, a pair of old clothing irons and an old hand-carved wooden chair.

“Totally sneaking in here to buy that red dress,” Margaret said. “Someone please remind me so I don’t space out and walk right by on the way back.”

The gymnasium was attached to a little school at the next block, away from the other houses with red roofs, surrounded by so many trees that I was kinda jealous. Our school was surrounded on three sides by a concrete parking lot. Our school also didn’t have plastic covering the windows.

“At least it’ll be warm inside,” Seth muttered, rubbing his red hands together.

Our moods went south the moment we went inside.

“Oh holy crap,” Seth said.

Chase licked his lips as his eyes narrowed and focused on two armored figures sparring underneath one of the gym’s basketball hoops. “For once, Seth, that sounds like an understatement.”

To say the three pairs of fencers were good would mean painting an entirely inaccurate picture. These fencers … they were stupendous. Frighteningly stupendous. All three pairs danced back and forth with the fluid grace of a professional dancer, their foils clanging together again and again, first up, then down, then up again. The sound of blades clanging echoed in the rafters above.

The fights looked choreographed. They were that good.

“We’re doomed,” Miguel whispered, wide-eyed.

The dozen Hungarian boys and girls were watching on the other side of the gym, along with a big, burly Mr. Whitmann look-alike who was about a foot shorter and had a much more pronounced belly. He called out something in Hungarian and the fencers stopped, setting their foils on the mats.

Please all be boys, I thought, pleeeeeeease all be boys.

They took off their helmets. Two boys. Four girls.

“Oh, we are so totally doomed,” Margaret whispered.

Mr. Whitmann went over to the other coach, introducing himself with a hearty American handshake. It caught the other coach off-guard, as if he hadn’t expected such a friendly greeting. They stood next to the blue practice mats, talking. The boys and girls from the other team stared at us. We stared back.

“They’re fluid,” Chase said. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?!” Scott asked, scoffing. “They’re demons, man! Did you see the way they were parrying those attacks? I don’t think I could even beat the girls, for crying out loud.”

“Hey!” I said.

He waved me away. “Not now, Wonder Woman. I’m too flustered to deal.”

“Uh … does anyone see, like, any defining physical features on them?” Jasmine asked.

We all looked. They’d lost interest in us, congregating next to a folding table that had a little yellow water cooler and paper cups. All six of the boys had shaggy dark brown hair, tiny jaws and pale skin. Two of them had a fair share of pimples. Two of the girls had red hair, while the other four had darker hair. All of them kept it short, pulled back behind their ears. One—a redhead—wore hers in a ponytail like I did. They were pretty, with smooth faces and soft noses and angular dark eyebrows. They were in shape, too.

Everyone in the team was in shape.

Like, really, really good shape.

“O. M. G,” Margaret said, mouth agape.

“They’re hulks,” said Miguel. “Dios Mio.”

“They spend more time lifting weights,” Chase said. His hands tightened around the metal push rings on his wheels. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Seth appeared beside us, eating some strange cooked meat on a stick.

“What the heck is that?” Rachel asked, wrinkling her nose.

Seth shrugged. “Cooked meat. Who cares what it is?”

“Where did you get it?” she asked.

Seth pointed with the meat on a stick toward the doorway on the far end of the gym, beneath an old basketball hoop with a white backboard. “The cafeteria’s open. They’re doing some school play about Dracula or something.”

I grabbed him by the arm, moving him beside Chase. “You are not allowed to wander off. Got it?”

Seth mumbled a response, using his teeth to rip a piece of cooked meat off the stick. I had to admit, it smelled really, really good. Like seasoned pork.

“This is like our gym,” Miguel said, looking around. “Only with fewer bleachers, you know? And older basketball hoops.”

“Something tells me basketball isn’t their favorite sport,” Chase said.

He was right: the bleachers on either side of the basketball court only had about fifteen rows. Our gym had been built ten years prior with one simple understanding: the girls and boys basketball teams would be going to the state championships on a regular basis. So there were plenty of bleachers. A nice big, scoreboard.

This gym had a scoreboard, too. Only it was … different. One side had yellow lights and the other side had red lights, and each side had a Hungarian name lit up. Below each name was a number: 5 for Ambrus (yellow) and 3 for Kasza (red). Between the numbers was a clock with the time counting down. Under that scoreboard was a much older, traditional basketball scoreboard.

This wasn’t a gym that expected champion-caliber basketball players. This was a gym that expected champion-caliber fencers.

“Say what you will about them,” Rachel whispered to me, “at least they have cool names. Toth … Halasz … verrrrrry gothic-sounding.”

Mr. Whitmann walked back over to us in good spirits. “Great news! That’s the Hungarian team, all right. We’re going to do a little practice sparring with them.”

We all collectively groaned. Mr. Whitmann, taken aback, clapped his hands together a few times. “What, have you gone soft on me? Since when do my boys give up? Boys and girls, sorry. It doesn’t matter what you got between your legs, though! You’re my team, and my team doesn’t groan! We roar! Give me a roar!”

We very meekly obliged.

“That’s the spirit!” Mr. Whitmann said. “Alice, Miguel and Scott: suit up. Give em what for.”

I took a deep breath, my hand instinctively reaching for my fountain pen in my pocket. It would be an encumbrance underneath the tight fencing pants, but I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. This entire place made me uncomfortable. There were too many variables, as my science teacher would say. Too many things out of my control.

“Listen,” Chase said, wheeling beside me as I walked to the far end of the mats. “I don’t know what you’re feeling right now …”

“I’m just … it’s just not a good time to get into the whole PDA thing, OK?” I said.

He looked momentarily dazed before shaking his head. “I wasn’t talking about that. Well, maybe I was thinking it, but right now we’re in Battle Mode. And in Battle Mode, I’m just your coach.”

The words stung. Just your coach. “Chase, I …”

He waved it away. “Listen. They have good form.”

“That’s an understatement!”

“Just listen. Remember that fancy word I taught you on the plane?”

“Balestra.”

He nodded, smiling. “Balestra. It’s French for sudden leap. Instead of stepping forward to attack, you’re going to make a sudden leap. It’ll keep your opponent from getting into her groove. Get it?”

“I think so.” I suited up, squeezing my hips into the slightly undersized pair of pants. The white chest plate and jacket were the opposite: too big, especially near the shoulders. Geez, I thought, what are the measurements of these girls? I was thankful for the oversized chest plate, though—I could keep the straps loose around my bruised ribs.

“Hey. Listen.” His face hardened. His eyes became glassy. “You’re an amazing fencer.”

I smiled.

“Balestra,” Chase said, wheeling back a bit to give the Hungarian team’s coach room.

I watched my opponent step onto the other side of the mat. It was the one with the ponytail: my doppelganger. She had a more balanced complexion than I did. Missing from her cheeks was the subtle rosiness that mine had, and I think I definitely had her beat in the “lips” department—hers were just a little too pale. She had a rounder nose and darker eyes, eyes that were full of competitive fury.

“OK,” I said, putting on my mask. The mesh faceguard was a little darker, making it a little more difficult to see through. The lights in the gym weren’t quite as bright as I was used to. The mat felt hard under my feet, not like the squishy mat we practiced with at Washington High. The equipment was better, too. The fabric of the jacket breathed better than our old donated ones we had back home.

The mat, the clothing … all of it was for a serious fencing team.

“Sok szereneset,” the girl said, putting her mask on. “Szukseged lesz ra.”

“I’m going to Google Translate that when I get back,” I told her in my most menacing voice. I took the foil from the Hungarian coach, giving him a thankful bow.

OK. Watch your stance. The mat is hard, so you can move quickly. Keep her from getting into a groove.

“Allez!” the coach cried out.

Suddenly, my opponent was lunging forward, stabbing her foil directly at my chest. I parried once and stepped back, trying to regain my balance, but the Hungarian was too fast. She stabbed again, and this time I felt the dull tip of the blade bounce painfully off my chest protector underneath the jacket.

“Point Margit!” the coach announced, giving his player a nod.

I turned to Chase, cocking my head.

“Allez is French for go,” he said.

“Right,” I murmured, my voice bouncing off the facemask so that it echoed in my ears. Even the sound of my voice inside the mask was different and disorienting. I got back into an open stance, foil held just a little bit higher this time, steeling my nerves.

“Allez!” the coach shouted.

This time, I gave the girl named Margit the right of way, parrying her blows and forcing my feet to take short, quick steps. Margit’s blade seemed to have its own tango routine, moving deftly through the air, bouncing off my blade and resuming its dance with a fluid ease.

I took the offensive, focusing my attacks on the area right above her belt. She parried weakly, losing fluidity. Her dancing sword had missed a step and was out of tempo, I realized. I jumped forward quickly—balestra!—bringing my arm out and around, guiding the tip of my foil right into her stomach.

She flinched, shouting what could only be a Hungarian curse.

“Point …”

“Alice,” I said through the mask.

“Point for Alice,” the Hungarian coach said with little enthusiasm.

I readied again, stealing a glance at the other two matches. Miguel and Scott were holding their own. At least, it looked like they were holding their own. Provided they were the big guys with the blue stripes on the back of their masks. Whoops, nope, I thought. Miguel isn’t that graceful.

“Allez!”

I jumped forward again, but this time instead of being caught off-guard, Margit stepped into my attack, parrying my opening thrust, guiding my blade upward.  Before I could take in a sharp breath, we were face-to-face. Or facemask-to-facemask. Our blades locked. I could feel her strength radiating up the blade, her free hand clutching mine to prevent me from escaping. It felt like a vise.

The image of Edward flashed in my mind. Edward, Prince Charming, smiling at my weakness, holding me close while he threatened my life. Edward, the first Corrupted I’d ever killed.

“Jo Ejt,” Margit hissed. She pushed me back with incredible force, knocking me over. I felt an intense sharp pain in my ribs and cried out, trying in vain to keep my foil held in front of me as I rolled onto the mat. My chest plate shifted. My hot breath bounced off the mask, warming my already flushed face. Margit didn’t wait for me to recover, closing the gap between us and stabbing at my chest. I parried once, twice, each time feeling the strength in my arm dissipate. I drew in a sharp breath and the pain in my ribs came back all over again, distracting me.

Margit’s blade clanged against mine, knocking the foil out of my hand. She reached down, gently tapping it against my chest plate.

“Point for Margit!” the Hungarian coach announced.

I got up, tearing my mask off. Miguel and Scott were both on one knee on their mats, watching me. They’d already lost.

“Ooooookay,” Mr. Whitmann said, clearing his throat. “Let’s, uh … get three more suited up.”

I carefully took off the chest plate, handing it over to Jasmine, who glared at it as if it might bite her. She tightened the straps, putting it on over her t-shirt. “I’m glad I wore an uncomfortable bra,” she said sarcastically. “Otherwise this might actually be fun.”

I turned to Chase. He was looking at me, grimacing.

“Don’t say anything,” I warned him.

He held up his hands in mock defeat.

I looked around, searching the gym. “Where’s Seth?”

“He wandered off to go watch that Dracula play,” Margaret said. “Because clearly he doesn’t want to see us get our butts kicked.”

I turned toward the double doors at the far end.

“Wait.” Chase reached out for me, missing. He turned in his wheelchair. “Don’t you think you should stay here? These are your opponents in that tournament. We’re not going to get many chances to watch them.”

“No,” I stated. “Seth needs to be here with us. He can’t … he can’t just go running off!”

“Why not?” Chase asked. “I mean …”

His eyes betrayed him. “Oh, come on,” I said in a low voice, aware that some of the Hungarian girls were watching us. Different country, same drama. “Gross, Chase! Don’t be that way. Seth is just a friend.”

“So let him go.”

“Look. It’s … he’s just … ugh!”

I see the death of your loved ones …

“I’ll be right back,” I said, putting distance between us before he could reach out again. I was afraid if he reached out, I might grab his hand and hold it. And then what? Then I’d have to let go. Because that idiot wizard had successfully gotten into my head. Of course Seth meant something to me, but he meant something in a different way than Chase.

Which really should have gone without saying. But … well, boys.

I left through the doors under the basketball hoop, entering a wide hallway. The school was like ours, only the lockers were smaller and painted yellow and blue, which seemed to be the school’s colors. Banners hung near the ceiling above the lockers, advertising what seemed to be a school dance given the musical notes and colorful party decorations drawn between the words.

There was a haunting singing coming from farther down the hall. I walked slowly, listening, mindful of my surroundings. Old halogen bulbs hung from the ceiling. The classroom doors had square-shaped windows, and through the windows I could see that the rooms were dark.

I turned the corner, following the sound of singing to the end of the hall. There were only two doors here. To my right was the cafeteria, where a handful of students dressed in elaborate period costumes were sitting at a long table and eating from a tray of snacks. To my left was the theater.

The theater!

Cripes, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. This really hit home. Washington High’s plays and theater stuff happened in the gym, which had a built-in stage on the far end. Some plays, like Jesus Christ Superstar, needed a special stage built in the center of the gym so the cast could take full advantage of the script.

This school had its own theater.

“Awesome,” I said, pulling open the doors and stepping into the dark theater.

My eyes took a moment to adjust. I felt dizzy and had to grab the back of the nearest seat to keep my balance. Memories of my confrontation with Agnim and the dragons seemed to overtake my consciousness. This theater was too similar, right down to the balcony above and the dark red curtain pulled back to the edges of the stage. Even the seats felt the same: soft, old, made of a scratchy red fabric.

“Alice!”

I took a deep breath, shook my head and scanned the rows of seats. Seth. And Briar. They were sitting in the empty middle rows. I went over to them, slipping between the folded seats and sitting beside Seth.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the gym!” I whispered harshly.

Seth shook his head. “This is too important.”

“Indeed,” said Briar. “Do you notice anything about this play?”

I turned to the stage. Dozens of students wandered as if dazed, singing a low, haunting chorus. The set was dark, with painted gray bricks in the background and a single old-fashioned lantern hanging from the ceiling. The light in the lantern was a dark orange to simulate an open flame. The students were dressed just like the ones I’d seen in the cafeteria: medieval earth-colored tunics for the boys, blood-red flowing dresses for the girls.

At the base of the stage was an older man watching with crossed arms, barking orders.

“They’ve been practicing this,” Seth said. “And I’m going to warn you right now that something’s about to happen. Because the first time I saw it, I nearly pooped my pants.”

“Ditto,” Briar murmured.

I leaned forward. The music was slowing down, the chorus entering a decrescendo. Something stage left caught my eye: a mound of something, not illuminated by the stage lights. “What …”

A hand appeared, clawing at the mound. Dirt! Another hand appeared and a spotlight landed on it. The fingers twitched as if hurt by the light. The singing boys and girls grew more frantic, their voices rising once again. Two of them gracefully made their way stage right, but there was another mound there as well, two more hands appearing and clawing frantically at the dirt as a spotlight appeared.

The background music grew shrill. The actors began shrieking. The creatures emerged from the dirt piles. Their skin was pale. They wore ragged cloaks and no shoes. Their mouths hung open, revealing fangs that glistened in the orange light.

“Cut!” said the man. He clapped his hands together, shouting something in Hungarian. The other students sitting in the first few rows clapped as well. Then it was back to business, the director shouting new orders and hurrying the cast offstage.

“Now they’ll reset,” Seth said. “It’s not, like, a giant mound of dirt. It’s just a plastic covering with a thin layer of dirt over it. That’s how the actor hides underneath.”

“That doesn’t make it less frightening, though,” Briar added.

Seth shook his head. “Definitely not. These Hungarians know how to make a play interesting, I’ll give em that.”

“So this is related to the crates of dirt you found?” I asked Briar.

The rabbit nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“But that’s not the important part,” Seth said. “Because this play isn’t actually about the vampires. They’re part of it, obviously, but there’s so much more awesomeness. Tell her, Briar.”

“Well,” Briar said, leaning in. “Based on what I’ve seen from watching them, this play is the story of a hero.”

“A hero!” I turned back to the stage in awe. “They know about the Corrupted?”

“Er, not exactly. The one they call the hero was indeed a hero, but the event was so long ago that he’s become more of a legend than anything else. The story is that he arrived in town and rid the town of particularly nasty wolf-like monsters that were preying on the town. Then he went north, where it’s said he brought a great calm to a troubled region.”

“A great calm …” I thought back to my dream. The noisy giants … it couldn’t be a coincidence. Hero dreams weren’t big on coincidences, I’d noticed.

“Not only that,” Seth said, sitting up in his seat all excited-like, “here’s the coolest part. So, like, you know how in the U.S. we have vampires and werewolves? In Eastern Europe, they have werewolves who come back as vampires after you kill them. How awesome is that?”

I looked at Briar. The rabbit just rolled his eyes.

“All right, we’re going back to the gym.” I pulled out my cell phone, tapping the home button a few times. “Darn it! My battery’s dead. We won’t be able to look anything up about this story.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Briar asked, his ears perking up. “Your precious Google is not available? Fancy that! Whatever shall you do? After all, the internets can solve every problem on the planet! It’s a shame you don’t have a dedicated old-fashioned researcher to rely on in this instance … oh wait, you do, don’t you?”

I sighed. “Point taken, rabbit.”

“Oooooh, I get it,” Seth said, pursing his lips. “That’s funny.”

We left the theater, heading back toward the gym.

“We need to know more about this event,” I told Briar. “In my dream last night, I saw where Tom Thumb is hiding out, but I can’t place it. He said there was a secret entrance. Something about a guy named Blaise Pascal.”

“The mathematician?” Briar asked, twitching his whiskers.

“I guess? I don’t know. Tom Thumb mentioned him in my dream. Since you’re the one with plenty of free time and invisibility—”

“And amazing research skills.”

“Exactly. Since you have all those wonderful qualities, it’s up to you to get us some more information.”

“I shall do my best.”

“Meet me back at the hotel as soon as you can. We need to nip this in the bud before the train is ready to go.”

Briar stopped. “If you think you can simply rush through this, I have—”

“Yes, I know, I know,” I said, pushing him toward the exit. “Everyone has a problem with me today. I get it.”

“Really, now!” Briar said, obviously irked. I pushed Seth into the gym and shut the door behind me before the rabbit could really get going.

It was obvious just by the look on my teammates’ faces that there wasn’t any good news. The boys looked pooped. The girls looked grumpy. Mr. Whitmann and the Hungarian coach stared intently at the last two competitors, each stroking their mustaches.

“What did we miss?” I asked Jasmine. She just shook her head, frowning. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her pretty dark face flushed.

“It was a slaughter,” Miguel said. His curly dark hair clung to his forehead, wet with sweat. “Adam’s doing the best. He’s only losing by five points.”

I watched the two fencers shift back and forth. One danced with grace while the other tried countering with a furious passion. The graceful one moved from one attack into the next, raising his foil high, then low, guiding it so that the blade seemed to slither like a snake. The furious one parried sloppily, stepping back, then moving into an attack that was more about brute strength than form. His blade clanged hard against his opponent’s.

To no avail.

“Point for Tamas,” said the Hungarian coach.

The fencers took off their masks. The graceful one had been Tamas, the furious one had been Adam. Mr. Whitmann clasped him on the shoulder as he passed, walking dejectedly to the rest of the boys. The Hungarian coach and Mr. Whitmann shook hands.

“He’s stronger,” Adam said with a curled lip. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Use his strength against him,” Chase said, wheeling up to him. He looked up. “You guys let them get in your heads. All of you. They’re intimidating and they’re strong, but they’re not invincible.”

“Oh get off it, man!” Adam exclaimed, face red. “Shoot, why don’t you get out there and fight them if you’re so confident?”

“I’d freaking love it,” Chase snapped.

“Then do it,” Adam said, stepping closer. I felt my legs tense, ready to jump forward. But thankfully, Miguel grabbed the back of Adam’s sweaty t-shirt, pulling him away from Chase. On the other side of the mats, the Hungarian boys and girls watched us with wry, insulting smiles.

“Oh those boys are so not cute right now,” Margaret said.

“Neither are the girls,” Rachel added.

Mr. Whitmann sighed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his gray jacket. “Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel and shower up. We need some lunch.” He put his big arm over Seth’s shoulder, holding him tight. “And you, my little friend, can stay by my side from now on so you don’t sneak off and cause trouble.”

“Oh goodie,” Seth murmured.

“At least Sam Grayle’s picking up the food tab,” I said, hoping to dispel some of the tension.

Margaret glared at me. “You could have at least been here while we got walloped. Like, running to the cafeteria to make out with Seth or whatever? Not cool, Wonder Woman.”

I turned to Chase. He said nothing, wheeling along with the girls with his eyes on the floor. I walked in the back of the group, keeping my distance from everyone. I felt radioactive. I wanted nothing more than to grab the handles in back of Chase’s wheelchair and stay close to him, but now I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was sure that if I did … he would shrug me off.

It was about as bad of a lunch as you could expect, under the circumstances. Lots of hung heads. Lots of words of encouragement from Mr. Whitmann, complete with stories about his wrestling years when he found himself face-to-face with bear-sized seniors twice his size. Chase chimed in, telling us about epic baseball comebacks against top-ranked teams. No amount of positivity could light our fires, though.

Back in the hotel lobby, Chase cornered me.

“Just stay here with me for a second,” he said. He guided me to the little secluded corner, where the TV was flanked by potted ferns. I sat on the couch, crossing my arms. Getting a stern talking to about a budding relationship wasn’t exactly what I was in the mood for.

“You could have beat that girl.”

I flinched. “Wait, what now?”

Chase crossed his arms, mimicking me. He was wearing his leather gauntlets and a black t-shirt that showed off his arm muscles in a distracting sort of way. “You could have beaten that Hungarian girl. What happened?”

“I just … I got a little intimidated.” You know, having a flashback featuring the dead Corrupted boyfriend will do that to a person.

“They choreograph,” Chase said. “But they don’t have the killer’s instinct like you. You can beat that girl when you face her in the tournament. But you missed a chance to get a good look at her when she was facing Jasmine. And your teammates weren’t all that happy about you wandering off.”

“Chase.” I exhaled a whole lot of frustration, feeling my face warm. “I’m just not thinking about the tournament right now at this exact moment.”

“They are, though.” He shifted in his chair, seriously competing with me for the title of Most Exasperated. “Your team isn’t here to fight dragons or monsters or whatever else. They’re here to compete in the tournament. And you’re on their team.”

“Well, this is more important!”

“What is?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is wandering off with Seth more important than practicing with your team?”

“Oh, is that what this is really about? Are you jealous or something?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, I … I know I’m not the ideal boyfriend. Or, I guess we haven’t used that term …” he rubbed his head, staring down at his lap. “I just mean that I understand if you want to chalk up all the time we’ve spent together lately as just a fling or something like that.”

“Oh don’t you dare play the pity card, you big butthead!” I shouted, on the verge of crying. Why was he saying all this? Did he not want to get close to me? Did he really think he wasn’t good enough for me?

Say something, Chase.

He looked up into my eyes, pleading. But I didn’t know what he needed. I searched. I swam in those dark pupils, diving deep. But I came up empty-handed.

Finally, he turned, wheeling back toward the boys’ room.

The clerk had turned her head from the little TV and was staring at me.

“Yeah, I’m a loud American,” I snapped, plopping in the corner couch where she couldn’t see me wipe the tears from my eyes.

“That was a bit unpleasant,” Briar said.

I turned. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, tapping his paws nervously together.

“Sorry. I was sort of sitting here waiting for you, and then Chase cornered you and I couldn’t exactly slip away without jumping over the little coffee table …”

“It’s fine.” I waved it away. “Gawd, Briar, what just happened?”

Briar sidled closer, resting a paw on my shoulder. “My dear, I have known many heroes in my time. Some began their training even younger than you. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that all teenagers are insane.”

I cracked a smile.

“I’m serious!” he said, ears raised straight up. “You’re all nothing more than big bags of hormones, ready to burst at any moment. It’s quite frightening.”

I laughed, wiping my cheeks.

“Chase is certainly a handsome enough fellow,” Briar admitted. “Although the lack of fur is a definite negative.”

“Oh yeah. Totally.”

He rubbed his furry little chin. “I suppose if push came to shove, I could set you up with one of my friends. How do you feel about bobcats?”

“They’re terrifying.”

“Rats?”

“You’re not setting me up with Nibbles.”

Briar nodded, wiggling his whiskers. “It’s for the better. He’s found himself a nice hole in the wall that would hardly accommodate your human-sized dimensions.”

“Enough rat talk. What did you learn at the library?”

“That it’s a very nice library.”

“And?”

“And … most of the books are in Hungarian.”

“OK, so you didn’t find anything.” I sighed. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“I didn’t find anything about the great calm, although the area to the north had been known for its storms. At least, that’s what people were writing about one hundred and ninety years ago. Thunderstorms.”

“Or giants,” I said.

“It’s not easy surviving in the far north of Eastern Europe,” Briar offered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if these giants played out their fairy tale far in the north and then decided to travel south, only to find themselves faced with a hero who didn’t take too kindly to their little vacation.”

“But where?” I asked.

The rabbit nodded. “Hungary is known for its caves. Hydrothermal caves, to be precise. This means there are entire labyrinths under the ground, perhaps even right under our feet right now. It would be impossible to search them all.”

“All we need is a location, Briar. Then we can go give Tom Thumb what for.”

“Right, right. All we need.” Briar’s long foot tapped on the rusty-looking carpeting. “We certainly don’t need a plan, or weapons, or a ride.”

“Maybe a ride …” My ears picked up something: a swishing sound. I snapped my fingers at Briar and he disappeared.

Around the corner came Mrs. Satrapi, her flowing yellow dress swishing between her legs with each step. “Alice? Whom are you talking to?”

“Myself,” I answered quickly. “I like to work out my problems outside my head.”

She smiled, moving toward the other end of the couch. I cringed, waiting for the exact moment when Briar reappeared under her butt and both of them completely lost it. But she sat down without incident. On the breakfast table behind the other couch, one of the rolls of Styrofoam cups fell over.

Mrs. Satrapi paid it no mind. “Are you all right, dear?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been better, to be honest.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Oh. Um …” Gee, I really do … but I don’t know you all that well, Mrs. Satrapi, and to be entirely honest, I’m kind of intimidated by you because you’re such a strong woman. “I dunno,” I said instead.

She smiled a warm smile. She had such dark lips, glossed over with just a hint of lipstick. “I think Chase was a little jealous that you wandered off with Seth earlier.”

“He told you that?” I asked, incredulous.

She shook her head. “The boys are quite vocal, if you have not noticed. It is impossible not to overhear some things, though I would rather you all have your privacy.”

“That’s nice.” I shifted uncomfortably. I had a sudden hatred for this couch. It was faux leather, and the cushions were old and worn and a disgusting puke brown. This area was supposed to be a place where the hotel’s tourists could relax and talk comfortably and yet here was this ratty old couch, making that impossible. “I just have … other things that I need to deal with in addition to the tournament. Chase doesn’t understand that.”

Mrs. Satrapi nodded, regarding me with her dark brown eyes.

“And,” I continued, “he acts like it’s so important. But the truth is, in the grand scheme of things, a fencing tournament is near the bottom of the importance scale.”

“For you.”

“Yes. Wait. Hold the phone. What do you mean?”

Mrs. Satrapi shrugged. When she placed one hand over the other, her silver bracelets clinked together. “It seems pretty important to Chase.”

“Well, he’s wrong.”

“Is he?”

I frowned, trying to figure out where she was going with this. Truth be told, she was getting a little under my skin. The couch wasn’t helping. “Maybe you should tell me what you think,” I offered in the offhand sort of way that we teenagers were so good at.

“Chase used to play baseball,” she explained. “It was his whole life, right up until the accident. Now that part of him is gone. But his desires did not disappear the next day. If they did, he would not have had that miracle comeback. I do not pretend to understand what happened, but I do know how he feels. I came to this country before Jasmine was born. When I still lived in Kashmir, I spent ten years mastering terracotta pottery. It was my passion. I loved the feel of the wet clay in my hands, the way I could shape its form into whatever I wished.”

“Seems kinda slimy.”

“Oh it was,” she said, wide-eyed. She cracked a smile. “But you learn to love that feel. You learn to love how much freedom you have to create when the clay is wet. When we moved to America, my husband understood that I would not be a potter and so he encouraged me to join a local pottery club in Milwaukee. I am grateful that I can still mold clay between my fingers, even if I cannot continue my family’s business.”

“Chase loves this fencing team because it replaces baseball,” I said. My heart dropped. What had I done? How had I been so selfish that I’d missed this?

“Chase loves this fencing team,” Mrs. Satrapi agreed. “Beyond that, I believe you know him better than I.”

She got up, walking around the couches.

The potted fern next to the TV tipped precariously, righted itself, then shrugged its leaves. Briar reappeared, plopping down on the couch. “Well! I must say, she was pleasant to listen to.”

I leaned over, peering around the corner. The clerk was still engrossed in the TV program, feet up on the counter.

“She definitely had some good advice,” I said. “Why weren’t you so helpful?”

“Ah!” Briar held up a paw in defense. “I can assure you I was thinking the same things.”

“Right. I … wait, look at that. Briar. Look. Right there.” I grabbed his furry head, pointing it in the direction of the wooden display unit full of tourist pamphlets. Some were in English. Lots had pictures.

I ran over, grabbing a handful of them. “Gawd! Why didn’t we think of this before?”

“Of course!” Briar said, snatching one of the pamphlets from my hand. “We simply need to go on a tour of the local landmarks, plotting out our progress and using trial and error—”

“No, you doofus! Look!” I unfolded one of the pamphlets, holding it in front of his face. “A map of the entire area! Search these,” I said, tossing him a handful. I sped through each one, examining the maps, searching for something familiar. “Here, Briar! Look at this!”

“The Ultra Relaxing Hot Springs Resort,” he read. “Hmmm. A rather ridiculous name, don’t you think? And I hardly have any interest in sitting in a hot spring, what with my sensitive fur.”

“Briar, this is the valley in my dream!”

He gasped.

The resort—a lavish, castle-style structure with dark gray bricks and two towers—sat beside the hot springs lake. To its left, where the spattering of trees had been in my dream, was an asphalt parking lot, half-full. I pointed to the tall rock-encrusted hill behind the resort. Five-star dining. Spa treatments and an in-house salon. Fireworks every weekend. Only an hour north.

“There,” I said, stuffing the pamphlet in my pocket. “That’s where Tom Thumb and the giant are.”

Briar gulped. “Then I shall procure a vehicle.”

Chapter 8

“OK, I officially cannot wait to get out of this town,” Margaret said, setting down her cell phone. She pressed her fists to her head, squealing. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

“It’s only been an hour since your phone died,” Rachel pointed out.

Margaret was having none of it. She was dressed in a pink nightgown, her knees tucked up close to her chest. All four of us were wearing green clay masks to suck some serious goop out of our faces. We’d planned on saving them for later in the week, once the tournament was under way, but then Jasmine made a pretty important point:

Why shouldn’t we roll into town looking our best?

I had an even better thought:

Why wash it off tonight at all? What better way to hide my identity while I hunted down Tom Thumb?

In a strange, alien country.

In the middle of the night.

And so here I was, slowly realizing that waiting for the girls to fall asleep wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. They’d taken to watching a Hungarian reality TV program that—from what we could tell—was kind of like The Bachelor. A guy with dark eyebrows was trying to narrow down his choice of women. The thing was, he had this incredible tendency to just go ahead and smooch whoever he was on a date with.

Imagine that.

I dozed off with the image of the bachelor stealing another kiss from a buxom brunette.

… And returned to the cave. It wasn’t pitch-black anymore. Candles lit up a small portion of the cave, just enough to illuminate a very crude desk that looked as if it had been put together piece by piece: rough hewn stone legs and a wooden surface that could have once been a door. On the desk were candles and glass beakers, dozens of beakers filled with various liquids. Under a few of the beakers were little flames, boiling the liquid inside the beakers and sending a foul stench into the air. Steam from a vial of bubbling blue liquid wafted up toward tall canine-shaped stalactites.

I could smell the sulfur. I could feel the cold, damp air.

And I could see Tom Thumb, walking along the table, checking the beakers. They were nearly as big as him, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing one and stepping onto a little red brick, pouring the red contents into the wider beaker filled with boiling blue liquid. The color changed a bright purple.

Violet.

I gasped. Tom Thumb flinched and cocked his head. “Have you come for me, finally? Well, don’t dally, hero! I’m quite sick of hiding away in this place.”

I woke with a start. The TV was still blaring. Only a few moments had passed, but Rachel had given up on the Hungarian show and was tucked away in bed, carelessly rubbing her mask on the pillow.

Jasmine saw me and smiled, the green clay around her lips feathering with small cracks. “You can tell Rachel doesn’t get many spa treatments. The poor girl’s pillow is going to be a mess tomorrow.”

“Her face is going to look soooo good though,” Margaret said, not taking her eyes off the TV. “Seriously? She’s going to totally smooch a chick in Romania. I can just feel it.”

“I need to go,” I said suddenly.

They gave me a curious look.

“It’s a long story. OK, it’s not. I’m going to see a boy.”

They gasped. The green clay on their foreheads cracked.

“But what about Chase?!” Margaret exclaimed, gently touching her mask.

“I’m lying. I’m going to see a family member.”

“No, you said boy first.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “Wait, the family thing makes more sense. You like Chase. I can tell.”

“Alice,” Margaret said, her sharp voice laced with annoyance. “Just tell us the truth.”

I sighed. “I’m going inside a cave where a giant and a tiny man are hiding and I’m going to kill them both.”

They looked at me in disbelief.

“If you’re not going to be serious, then just go,” Jasmine said. “We’ll cover for you anyway.”

I got up.

“Thanks. I think. Is this a trick?”

“Nope,” Margaret said, crossing her arms.

Uh-oh. I knew that posture. I did that posture. No one did that posture better than me, but Margaret was giving me a run for my money. I was going to pay for this. There would be a guilt trip coming, and maybe some drama.

“One problem at a time,” I whispered to myself, grabbing my black zip-up jacket on my way out.

I went down the hall, gently rapping on Chase’s door. Seth answered, gave me one terrified look, then called for Chase. Chase wheeled to the door, looking up at me with a bemused expression.

“Not exactly sure what to think of this,” he said.

“Just come out into the hall.”

He crossed his arms. Geez, what was with everyone and crossing their arms? “No,” he said flatly.

“Will you pleeeeeease come out into the hall?”

“Go, Chase, or she’ll eat you,” Seth called out. I gave him a glare and he leaned back on his bed, hiding.

Chase wheeled into the hall.

“I have to go somewhere,” I said. “There’s a Corrupted.”

His stone face melted with concern. “Take me with you.”

“No.” I crouched down so I was eye-to-eye with him. This seemed important, but then when I crouched down, I felt like maybe I was patronizing him. I groaned. “Oh gawd, I don’t know what to do.”

His hand reached down, finding mine. He said nothing, just gently rubbing the back of my hand. I felt my heart rate slow a beat, as if some calming cool fluid had coursed through my veins.

“I’m sorry for bugging you about the tournament,” he said finally. “I … I guess I forget that you’ve got this other life.”

“But this life,” I said, grabbing his other hand, “this life is what keeps me going. This life is why I fight so hard. I got caught up in the other life this morning, and I forgot about this life. That tournament means something to you. And it means something to me, too.”

He smiled. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

He squeezed my hands. I leaned in and kissed him, forcing my lips away only to catch my breath. He laughed, wiping the clay off with one finger. “Be careful.”

“I will. And when we get to Romania, we’re going to kick some butt in that tournament, too.”

“You sure you don’t want to wash off that mask?”

I shook my head, standing up. “For once, I’d like to strike fear into my enemy’s heart instead of the other way around.”

Outside, a van was waiting. Through the dark window, I could see Briar sitting in the back seat, visible and plain as day. I slid open the back door, getting in and rubbing my arms to brush off the cold. The vents above the van’s little stereo system noisily blew stale, hot air.

“Um … hello,” I said to the driver, a middle-aged man with curly hair and a thick belly. He was wearing an old yellow sweatshirt with big holes, scratching absently inside one of the holes as he regarded me in the rear-view window. He had a skeezy five o’clock shadow.

“This is the one?” he asked in a heavy accent.

“Indeed,” Briar said.

“She looks weak. Are you sure she is killer?”

“Indeed! Well, only a killer of monsters, I should point out.”

“You know, if we’re just going by looks …” I trailed off and tried to push my annoyance away. The last thing I needed was to alienate the driver of my only available ride. The van made a sharp U-turn in the empty street. The seats felt greasy and there was a distinct odor—potato chips and stale bread—hanging in the air. As we passed beneath a streetlight, I could see the copious amount of crumbs decorating the red vinyl seats and the floor. Crumbs of all shapes and colors. More than a few that looked ancient.

“I am honored to be driving you,” the man said. “My name Attila. My family owes you a great debt. One that can never be fully repaid.”

“Say what now?” I turned to Briar, who simply shrugged. We passed under another streetlight and I could see a little smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth, revealing one of his buckteeth.

“I did not expect you to be so ugly, but …” Attila shrugged. “Perhaps you have good personality.”

“It’s a mask.”

“Ah! Of course. And you are here to fight monsters?”

“We’re on our way to Romania, actually. To stay with a prince.”

Attila’s eyes narrowed in the rear-view mirror. “What prince.”

“Leo Vontescue.”

A low growl escaped his throat. “You no trust that man. I hear stories of him and I no like. He is a dark man.”

“Dark …” Corrupted? Or just another evil human being? I wondered.

“I trust no Romanian princes.” Attila pretended to spit. “Especially not that one. I hear stories of his family. They kill Hungarians long, long ago.”

“Perhaps you should tell her about your family,” Briar suggested.

“Quiet, rabbit! I speak now.” Attila took a deep breath, turning left at the next intersection. We were at the edge of town now, heading north. The car’s headlights illuminated only a bit of the road ahead, but we were clearly entering farm country. Farms and lots of rolling hills.

Somewhere beyond those hills was a giant. And a tiny, scheming little man who knew I was coming.

“Two hundred years ago,” Attila began, “a strange young woman came to our town, begging hospitality. She kept red scarf wrapped around face and dressed like man, fooling many. But not my ancestors. She asked them to keep her secret, and my ancestors promised to do so. Our family is honorable.”

“A woman?” I said, mind reeling. That meant …

“It was actually the year 1822 or so,” Briar interjected.

“Silence, rabbit! Attila speaks.” He took another deep breath, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “My ancestors gave her spare bed, asking only in return that she assist with the chickens. She stayed for many days, suffering terrible dreams that caused many screams. My ancestors did not tell her about the great wolves that were terrorizing our land, hoping she would be spared their terror. But she was not so lucky. On the third night, the wolves came. They were relentless creatures, using the night like blanket. They stole away a poor family, devouring them in the darkness.”

The car rocked as its wheels bounced over a pothole. Attila grumbled something to the car in Hungarian.

“This woman,” he continued, “she told my ancestors she had seen wolves in her dreams. She told them she could not kill them all, but perhaps she could drive them away. My ancestors begged her—begged her!—to leave the wolves be. They could not be killed. What could one woman do?”

“And even if they were killed,” Briar said, “werewolves come back as vampires, no?”

“Bah!” Attila waved his hand wildly, dismissing the rabbit. “That is children’s story, rabbit! I speak again.” He cleared his throat. “Where was I …”

“The wolves,” I said.

“Ah, of course! This woman had a plan, and she shared it with the people of the town. The next night, the wolves returned, growling and chasing those who ran to the cathedral seeking solace. Then, suddenly, two dozen men ran out of their homes clutching torches, lighting great bonfires all around the town.” He wiggled his finger in a wide circle. “Entire town was lit up! And wolves … had disappeared.”

“How?” I asked, on the edge of my seat now. Still buckled in, of course.

The man chuckled. “In the firelight … wolves became men. The hero emerged from my ancestors’ home with my ancestors’ bow and a single arrow. Word has traveled from generation to generation about this arrow. My father said it was glowing so bright that it was as if sun had risen at night. My grandfather said tip of arrow was so sharp it sang as it soared through the air … landing in the chest of one of the men.”

“Then he burned away,” I finished. “Like paper.”

Attila nodded. “The rest of the men fled, transforming into monsters once again after leaving town. The woman stayed another day, then traveled north and was never seen again.”

The pieces clicked together. The hero in my dreams … Tom Thumb had said it had been a man ... but he was wrong. It was a woman. A woman with a red scarf. The same hero who’d saved this town.

“Now … look,” Attila said. “Behind you.”

I turned, peering through the rear window. There in the distance: a circular row of hanging lanterns at the edge of the town. The reddish glow of each lantern seemed to kiss its neighbor, creating a ring of protection that looked distinctly like a beaded necklace.

“Ah!” Briar exclaimed. “Quite impressive.”

“The bunny speaks truth,” Attila said. “And so you see, hero, you are most welcome here. It has been two hundred years, and the monsters have not returned. My very lifeblood depended on this mysterious stranger.” He regarded me in the rear-view mirror. “I do not fully understand mask, but I do not question.”

“It’s a really fancy, expensive clay.” I looked at Briar. “Good disguise, too.”

“Given that this resort is a spa, you might not look too out of place,” Briar offered.

I grinned at him. “Oh, we’re not going to the spa. We’re going spelunking.”

“Spelunking?” Briar asked, tapping his paws nervously together.

“Cave diving,” I said.

Attila grunted. “I must admit, I did not expect hero to be quite so peculiar.”

Chapter 9

The giant … thinking that the tailor had killed seven men, gained some respect for the little fellow. But he did want to put him to the test, so he picked up a stone and squeezed it with his hand until water dripped from it.[iii]

The highway road took us right through the forest in my dreams, its natural beauty marred by white one-story homes cut right into the woodland. As we descended into the wide valley, I could see the massive spa resort ahead, the lights in the windows beckoning new guests searching for some good old-fashioned relaxation. It looked almost medieval with its stone exterior and tall, arcing windows outlined by the bright curtains within. Two tall towers with sharp steeples flanked the front of the resort, each one with an opening near the top. Only instead of bells, there were cannons. According to the brochure, the cannons fired during every festival. They did not, however, fire actual cannonballs.

“It reminds me of the cathedral in town,” I said.

“Yes.” Attila nodded approvingly. “They take design from cathedral, which was once used as protective fortress. Try to make it look like it has been here for long time. Bah! If you ask me, it looks too Americanized. No offense.”

“None taken. Pull around to the back,” I ordered. Attila followed the parking lot to the rear of the building. He took us to the far edge, where the ground began its gentle incline. The incline grew sharper just beyond, grass quickly giving way to flat rocks that looked as if they’d been broken up and then glued back together. There were a few fancy-looking black streetlamps lighting up the mostly empty parking lot, and the very edge of their light kissed the very spot where the giant had crawled inside the old entrance to the cave.

“There,” I said, pointing to the old entrance. Nearly two centuries of weather had disguised the cave-in, making it as natural as any other part of the hill.

Briar narrowed his eyes, searching. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure?”

“She is hero, bunny!” Attila shouted. “She knows!”

I stuck out my tongue at Briar. He frowned. “Well. Of course I believe you.”

“We’ll get out here,” I said. “Let’s go, bunny. Thank you, Attila.”

“I shall wait for you,” Attila said. “On other side of parking lot. I will look for gift shop.”

“OK.” I opened the door, then turned back to him. “Hey, don’t you find it strange that I’m with a giant rabbit?”

“Of course not,” the big man said. “Many animals speak to me.”

“Out, out, out we go now,” Briar urged, pushing me aside. I shut the door, returning Attila’s very American thumbs-up.

The van disappeared around the front of the resort.

“There used to be trees here,” I said, kicking the fresh asphalt. “It was a beautiful little valley.”

“People love their hot springs,” Briar murmured, smoothing out his vest. “Very therapeutic and whatnot. Now, shall we?”

I nodded, leading the way off the parking lot asphalt and onto the soft ground. Thanks to the natural hot spring, the entire valley had a warm, balmy feel. Just a hint of sulfur, tickling my nose.

“Pascal,” I said, repeating the mathematician’s name over and over and over. My breath came out in steamy clouds. Little snowflakes fell around us, melting when they landed on the ground. “What do we know about him?”

“Pascal was the hero in the math world,” Briar said, hopping beside me. “He was one of many who discovered a quite peculiar triangle. An array of binomial coefficients, to be exact. What’s that, you ask? Why, Alice, I would be positively delighted to tell you all about it!”

“Just give me the gist,” I said, navigating us around the old entrance. I was sure this was the place. Just as I’d suspected, the cave-in had been thorough, with no chance of slipping through. But there was another entrance somewhere …

“The gist of it, dear hero, is that Pascal’s Triangle is a set of numbers, and each number in the triangle is the sum of the two directly above it. Looks like a pyramid if you were to draw it on a piece of paper. A pyramid with numbers for bricks.”

“Numbers for bricks,” I said. “Briar, I think I know what we’re looking for. Come on!”

We jogged our way along the base of the steep incline, navigating around the rocky outcroppings and staying close to the steep edge of the hill. We were near the end of the large parking lot now, and there were fewer light posts this far down. Still, they were bright enough to provide some illumination on the rocky hill. And that was all I needed.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be scaling this mountain?” Briar asked.

“It’s not a mountain,” I said. “And no. Think about it, Briar. The guy from the train, Hans … he couldn’t have scaled these rocks every time Tom Thumb needed him to run errands. The entrance has to be along the base.”

The rabbit grunted. “That’s smart deductive reasoning. I have no snide comment to make.”

“For once.” Something caught my eye up ahead. “Hey, look at this!” I hurried to the edge of the parking lot, nearly slipping on the wet grass as I made my way to the strange-looking rocks piled up between two much larger boulders. I blew warm air into my hands, studying the strange design.

“I’d never have spotted it unless we knew what we were looking for,” Briar said, stuffing a paw in his pocket. His thoughtful pose. “This Tom Thumb is quite ingenious.”

“Too ingenious,” I said, running my finger across the strange triangle-shaped blocks. They were stacked directly beside a large boulder with a smooth surface. Hairline cracks ran across its exterior. “Briar, I could draw a door here. We might not even need to figure this puzzle out …”

“No. No, you couldn’t.”

“No. I can.” I pulled out my pen, drawing a square-shaped door into the smooth surface. “This is just like my first trial, when I fought that gross white snake. I drew a door.”

“Yes, but …”

I turned the doorknob. It instantly materialized, clicking a few times. Then the golden outline shimmered before disappearing.

“You must understand that Juliette drew the entrance long before you arrived,” Briar explained. “That is why you could draw a door in the basement of the library. You cannot simply draw a door here because you have no idea what is beyond this boulder. Now, if you’d seen it in a dream, that’s an entirely different story.”

I turned back to the strange triangle-shaped design beside the boulder. “Then we need to figure this out.”

“The design does seem to represent Pascal’s triangle,” Briar murmured, running his paw along the rocks. They definitely were arranged into a very crude sort of pyramid, squeezed together on all sides by the much larger boulders and a whole lot of densely packed dirt. He pressed down on one in the middle.

Click.

“Oh!” Briar hopped back a step, cringing. When nothing happened, he stood straight and tugged on his vest. “I do say, I expected something terrible to happen.”

“Wait.” I pulled out my pen. “OK. If this is Pascal’s triangle, then the top of the pyramid is the number one. The next two are both ones as well, right?”

“Right.”

“But the next row is different. It would go one, two, one.”

“Yes. Because the sum of the two numbers above is 2.”

I ran my hand along the smooth stones, imagining numbers:

1

1 1

1 2 1

“OK, so if each number in this triangle is the sum of the two numbers directly above it …” I worked it out in my head. “Then this last row would be one, three, three, one.”

“Indeed!”

I pushed the top rock. It made the same clicking noise as before. I pushed down once on the next two directly below it. On the third row, I pushed down once, twice, once. On the last row, I pushed down once, thrice, thrice, once.

The boulder to our right shifted ever so slightly. From somewhere deep within came a dry, cracking sound.

“Brilliant!” Briar exclaimed.

“Hooray for math!” I said with a smile. I carefully put one hand on the boulder and gave it a push. It slid back, then left, revealing two strips of rotted wood along the ground, half-buried. “It’s on rails. That’s why it’s moving so easily.”

Briar’s ears pulled back. “Tom Thumb is scary smart, Alice. This kind of technology simply did not exist two centuries ago.”

“That’s why you’re staying right here,” I said.

“But, but how will you survive without me?”

I tilted my head, giving him the stink eye. “Look … just, would you do this for me? Maybe I’m being a little neurotic, but Agnim’s prophecy specifically mentioned me stuck in a cavern. I’d rather his prophecy not come true.”

I see the death of your loved ones …

Briar nodded. “Understood, dear hero. I shall guard this entrance with my life.”

“Good.” I stepped inside. “This little creep is so dead.”

Briar’s paw grabbed my shirt. “What is your plan?” he asked.

“I’m going to poke him with the pointy end,” I answered simply. “That’s what I’m good at, if you haven’t noticed.”

Briar’s fur bristled. “Don’t you at least want a light of some sort?”

“No.” I shook my head sadly. “I have a feeling that won’t be necessary.”

Chapter 10

I made my way down the cramped tunnel, keeping one hand on the slimy wall as I descended deeper into the earth. I could smell the sulfur. The cave was warm, the air wet, the path lit by a very narrow track of lights running along the edge of the path. Track lighting, like on the aisle floor of an airplane. Totally a 1970’s style.

“You’ve been busy, Tom,” I whispered, bending down and drawing a saber in the hard rock. I pulled it out, hefting its weight in my hand. I was getting better with the weight. The bell guard, too, was more decorative, curved to protect my knuckles, like the kind you might find on a pirate’s cutlass. The more experience I had with a real saber, the better I could draw one. It made me confident.

Too confident.

There was brighter light father ahead, around a sharp corner that was made up of a scaly rock no doubt worn down by centuries of trickling water. I followed the path, stepping in the first puddle I came across and then avoiding the next three. The path wasn’t man-made: it had been cut into the cave by centuries of rushing water coming from somewhere farther ahead, then decorated by Tom Thumb. I could hear the cascading of liquid, an underground waterfall that was slowly carving out this place somewhere deeper within.

The water must have once escaped through the very entrance Tom Thumb had so carefully hidden with his little triangle key. Maybe the water had traveled all the way to the hot springs lake way back in the day. Then, it had been diverted at some point, maybe by Tom Thumb himself.

Water for the giant?

No, I realized as I reached the end of the tunnel. That definitely wasn’t it.

I gasped, staring into the much larger cavern. For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It couldn’t be real. It was impossible.

A skeleton. A giant skeleton.

It was laid out just like in my dream … only, you know, minus the meat and stuff. A massive skeleton nearly twice the size of a fully grown pine tree, one bony hand stretched out toward me. The skull was the size of a truck, resting on its side, its empty sockets staring up at me. The mouth hung open in a silent roar, no doubt expressing frustration at Tom Thumb’s trickery.

A string of small light bulbs hung from the roof of the cavern, strung around stalactites. Some of the bulbs were burnt out, casting shadows over the giant’s rib cage. Cool air entered my lungs, chilling my insides.

The sound of clinking glass bounced off the glistening walls. I walked carefully around the skeleton, clutching the giant’s massive ribcage as I navigated my way between two stalagmites. Not much room to maneuver. Lots of shadows.

“Yes, yes … just wonderful. Oh, huh. Where were you yesterday when I was hungry, little bug? How did you get in here, anyway?”

There, near the skeleton’s feet: the shoddy table from my dreams, lined with beakers and glasses and a smattering of old parchment paper, two lit candles illuminating the science experiment.

And Tom Thumb, itching absently at his golden dandruff.

“What, little bug?” He cocked his head, stepping between two empty beakers that were coated with a dried red syrupy liquid. “You say a hero is here? Why, thank you!”

He picked up something on the table. It wiggled in his hand as he brought it to his mouth, crunching down.

“Oh that is totally gross!” I shouted.

The little man turned and, horrified, fell back. “Gaaah! What’s wrong with your face?”

I couldn’t stifle the smile, cracking the dry clay near the corners of my lips. “It’s a clay mask.”

He clutched his chest, taking a deep breath. “Kudos to you, hero. I assumed I would have the upper hand when you arrived … I certainly did not expect you would fall face-first into a sewer before arriving.”

“That’s pretty funny coming from an action figure. You’re taller than I expected, Mr. Thumb.”

Tom Thumb stood straight, glaring at me. He had a narrow jaw and leathery skin that stretched awkwardly around his lips, as if he was a twenty-year-old trapped in a forty-year-old’s body, not quite sure how to make his face contort without looking like a total creepazoid.

The dandruff didn’t help things.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been stretching,” he said defensively. “Been through all manner of devices to grow a few inches here and there. Painful stuff, I’ll have you know.”

“Congratulations.”

“I suppose you’re wondering about the lights,” he said, glancing up.

I shrugged. “Meh.”

“My helper, Hans, spliced the power cable from the resort!” Tom Thumb jumped up and down with glee like a little marionette, rattling the beakers. One of the glasses fell over, rolling before landing on the cavern floor and cracking. “It was my idea, of course. He he he! They deserve much worse for ruining such a beautiful valley.”

“I can’t argue there.”

“Are you, perchance, wondering about the skeleton? Surely the giant skeleton has piqued your interest, at least.”

I stepped forward, keeping my saber in front of me. “I’d rather just kill you.”

“I ate him!” He giggled. “Well, not all of him,” Tom Thumb confessed. “I had to use some of him for my potions. This is a long time in the making, hero woman. Er … are you a woman?”

“Yes.”

“A shame,” he said, tsk-tsk’ing me.

I growled and took another step closer, glancing at the shadows beyond the giant’s leg bones. It looked clear. Free of traps. I felt confident. Tom was smart, but he was tiny. And I was fast.

“You want to see something really interesting?” he asked. “Poke the bones with your fancy-looking sword.”

I glanced at the massive thighbone to my left. “Why?”

“Oh, just do it.” Tom Thumb rolled his eyes. “I promise he doesn’t bite.”

I reached out with the saber, poking the femur. A burning blackness appeared, slowly spreading across the white bones until the entire skeleton was consumed. Ashes blanketed the cave floor.

“You see? You see?” Tom clapped his hands together with demented glee. “Not quite dead! Perhaps if a hundred years had passed, he would have come back to life. Grown new eyes and a new tongue and new skin and been right as rain. Of course, then I would have had to eat him again. He was quite tasty.” He paced on the table, arms folded behind his back. “Strange stuff, this Corruption. It’s magic, you know. Mysterious. It has strange rules. It bends the laws of nature. For every answer I find, I have a dozen more questions!”

“What are you really doing down here?” I asked, moving closer.

“I’ve been studying my people,” Tom said. He nodded with his head to the parchment paper. “Learning about the Corruption. I’m certain it serves a purpose, but to what end? I’m a bit of a scientist, you see. I sent out Hans to collect various things for potions and experiments, but what has fascinated me from the start is the balance. Nature is all about balance, isn’t it? The Brothers Grimm bring their fairy tales to life. The Corruption overtakes us. The hero arrives to destroy the Corruption. But who or what created the Corruption?”

“Probably someone with less dandruff,” I said, stepping closer. “Tell me about your potions.”

“What does it matter?” Tom asked. “I’ve already drank them. Drunk them? Drinken them? Oh, how I hate English. Your words can get so confusing.”

“You spoke English fine in my dream,” I said.

“Oh, the dream! Now that is an interesting aspect of this whole situation. I’d love to know more.”

“I saw you trick the giant into crawling into this cavern,” I said, waving my sword around the cavern.

“Intriguing! Beguiling! I didn’t know English back then. Anywho, the potions! Yes, I feared Hans might have gotten himself into trouble with this latest shipment and so I soldiered on, substituting some ingredients. And when the potion was mostly complete, I drank it. Unfortunately, my time has run out. Oh well.”

He rolled up the sleeve of his loose-fitting doll’s shirt.

“Really?” I asked.

He frowned. “This is what you do, no? You stab people like me and they go poof?”

“Well, yeah …”

“So get it over with already. I have no interest in drawing this out.” He closed his eyes. “Lament, lament! My time was too short, my potions didn’t work, blah, blah, blah.”

I inched my way closer, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When none came, I jumped forward, tapping Tom Thumb’s bare arm with the sharp edge of the blade.

“Excellent!” he said, staring at the burning blackness. He rolled down his sleeve. “Thank you for providing me with the last ingredient.”

“You’re welcome. Wait, what?”

He smiled, scratching his head. His right hand suddenly doubled in size, blowing up like a pink balloon. “Whoops, there it goes, starting up already.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, pointing the blade at his throat. “Tell me the truth, you little rat!”

“I tricked you,” he said, jumping off the table. As he did, his legs and feet grew, ripping through his doll’s pants but thankfully sparing his undergarment. He was misshapen, all of his limbs and body parts growing out of proportion, righting themselves, growing again. “Silly, cocky girl.”

I stabbed his shoulder but he ducked, knocking over a beaker. Glass shattered on the cave floor. Bubbling liquid hissed.

“No stabbing me again. Once is quite enough.” His hand grew again and he swatted me away, knocking me to the ground. A piercing pain flashed through my ribs, radiating across my chest. I drew in a deep, painful breath, pushing myself up off the rock. The giant’s ashes stuck to my sweaty palm.

“Crud, Alice … what did you do?” I whispered. Couldn’t learn your lesson the first time around with Hans, could you?

Tom Thumb began laughing maniacally. He was taller than me now, marveling at his long, alien-like fingers. He’d ripped through his shirt, revealing a pale thin torso and a tiny little black wound where I’d stabbed his shoulder. The burning blackness wasn’t spreading.

“I’m … tall!” he exclaimed. “Finally! After two hundred years … I’m tall!”

“That’s what this was about?” I asked incredulously, clutching my ribs. I took a step closer, the saber shaking in my hand. I wasn’t sure if the pain would let me make a quick strike again.

“Of course,” Tom Thumb said in a gurgled, low voice. “And I needed a hero to complete it. My potion was created with the very essence of the giant. The potion isolated the Corruption’s unique properties, enhancing the giant’s quintessence. The hero balances the Corruption. Hans was merely a ruse. I didn’t think it would take so long for one of your kind to hunt us down, but all is forgiven. After all, I do have an infinite half-life and—”

His hand doubled in size. And weight—it landed on the table with a thump, knocking over a dozen beakers.

“Um …”

His left eye expanded, growing bloodshot as it pushed down the skin on his cheek. My masked face stared back at me in the glassy blue iris. Tom Thumb cried out, his voice dropping a full octave. I stepped forward, stabbing him again and again. The burning blackness spread, then stopped as his torso grew to twice its previous size, stretching his skin and stretching it like rubber.

He cried out again, his voice dropping even deeper. His massive hand grew again, breaking through the table and landing on the cave floor with such force that I could feel it in the rock under my feet.

“That’s my cue to leave,” I told him, turning and hurrying back to the secret entrance. There was a crash behind me. I turned in time to see Tom Thumb’s massive hand pull down the string of lights from the ceiling. His fingers were each the size of a couch, his arm impossibly long, the rest of his body slowly catching up. His left eye bulged, throbbing, monopolizing his face.

The bulbs popped when they crashed into the rock floor, the cord snapping like a whip. In the darkness, the giant roared again.

I turned left, into the secret passage, one hand on the wall to guide me. I tried to take short breaths to keep the pain in my ribs at bay, cursing the 70’s track lighting for going out. When I bumped into the wall where the tunnel suddenly made a hard left, I felt the fiery pain in my chest all over again. My panicked breaths came quicker. A terrible fear flashed through me: I wasn’t going to escape. I was going to be trapped down here.

I see you trapped in a dark cavern …

But then I could see the exit, and the trap door was still open, and I realized Agnim’s prophecy about me being trapped in a cavern hadn’t come true. I jumped through the entrance, rewarded with a soft whap by a furry paw.

“Hey!” I wheezed.

“Sorry,” Briar said. “I thought you were a monster. What happened?”

“I made a huge mistake and now there’s a giant growing gianter and his hand is all big and weird and his bulging eye was looking at me so now we need to run!”

Briar’s mouth quivered.

“Come on!” I said, grabbing his paw.

We ran to the parking lot, where a gentle layer of snow had suffocated the warmth and blanketed the asphalt. I took short breaths but refused to slow down, letting the wiggly lines on the soles of my shoes do their job ensuring I didn’t slip. The resort seemed impossibly far. Why did they need such a massive parking lot?

“What are we doing?” Briar asked. From under our feet came a low rumble, tickling the crisp snow and sending flakes bouncing up from the ground like popcorn kernels on a skillet.

“Tom Thumb. Big. Getting bigger,” I huffed. “Tricked me. We need to build a catapult.”

“Do you … do you know how to build a catapult?”

“No!”

We reached the rear entrance to the resort. The big wooden doors were flanked by fake, old-timey-looking torches sticking out of the brick exterior. There were windows at the far end overlooking the lake, but no lights on inside.

“Tall windows aside, it certainly looks like a castle,” Briar said. “Perhaps they’ll have a catapult ready and waiting for us.”

I bent over, trying to catch my breath. Another bolt of pain flashed through my ribs. “Something tells me being able to withstand a giant attack wasn’t one of the designer’s priorities.”

There came another low rumble, tickling the soles of our feet. A dozen car alarms went off, screeching. I turned in time to see a large boulder fall away from the old cave entrance, rolling to a stop at the edge of the parking lot.

“This could be bad,” I told Briar, pulling open the door and hurrying inside. I was surprised to find myself in the lobby. No one stood behind the glass check-in desk, which was flanked by little marble waterfalls. Tall black lamps with reversed shades radiated their dim light up toward the ceiling. It was New Age-y all right.

“What are you going to do?” Briar asked.

“Save these people,” I answered, walking over to the red fire alarm on the wall. I broke the seal, pulling the little white handle. The alarm began ringing, drowning out the chorus of cars in the parking lot.

It only took one wheezy breath before people began streaming into the lobby. Some were speaking hurriedly in different languages. Others couldn’t get past the fact that a young girl dressed in black wearing a green mask was waiting to greet them. They wore pajamas and underwear and fuzzy white bathrobes. Everyone looked freaked.

“What is this?” someone asked in English.

“Everyone needs to get out of here,” I shouted over the din of voices. “Like, right now!”

“Who are you?” asked a middle-aged man with straight, dark hair. He was the only one dressed, his white button-down shirt untucked and wrinkled. “Are you a guest here? Why did your personal assistant not remove your mask this afternoon?”

“What? No, this isn’t … Listen! Everyone needs to go to your cars right now!”

There came another crash from outside, as if the ground had split open. One of the women standing in the doorway between the lobby and the dining room screamed, and suddenly we were all rushing between the fancy dining tables to get to the windows.

There, at the edge of the parking lot: a massive hand, reaching through the old cave entrance, brushing aside the massive boulders as if they were pebbles.

More screams.

“Everyone get to your cars!” I shouted.

No one was listening. Everyone panicked, hurrying in every direction except toward the rear entrance. One couple hid underneath one of the tables, pulling the white tablecloth low. I pushed the table over, glaring at them and clutching my sore ribs. “Get out of here!” I shouted.

“We took a bus!” the man said with a heavy accent. “We do not have a car!”

“Then run. Just don’t hang out here!”

There came another chorus of screams near the windows. The ground shook, nearly knocking me off my feet. I turned back to the window and felt my stomach hollow out.

Tom Thumb was bursting from the mountain. Boulders broke away, tumbling down the gentle slope and rolling onto the parking lot. Another boulder rolled farther, splashing into the steamy lake and sending waves lapping at the shore. Most of his hair was gone, save for a few long strands decorated with massive chunks of dandruff. One ear grew, then the other, each one deformed and pointed at the tip.

“What is it?” a woman screamed.

“Someone call the authorities!” yelled a man.

“My cell has no service!” shouted another.

I hurried past them, to the rear entrance. Briar was waiting outside, hopping from foot to foot.

“This is bad,” he said. “Bad, bad, bad!”

“I know.” I knelt down, drawing a short gladius sword. “We need a catapult. We need …” I looked up at the tower. A light bulb in my head turned on. “Briar. See the tower above us?”

Briar glance up, twitching his whiskers. “Yes.”

“I need you to go up there and prime the cannon.”

“The what?!”

“The brochure for this place said they fire off their cannons as part of their weekly festivities.” The giant cut me off with a roar, clutching the ground and tearing apart the asphalt. He crawled slowly out of the massive hole in the earth, knocking aside more boulders. His hand grew again and the pink skin turned gooey, like it was made of Silly Putty. “Find the powder. Prime the cannon.”

“But surely they don’t have any cannonballs lying around!”

“Briar! Just trust me!”

“Oh I do,” he said, hurrying to the rear entrance. “I just think you’re crazy.”

“That makes two of us,” I murmured.

Briar disappeared. The rear door opened and closed. I turned back to the giant and—before I could rethink it—took off running.

OK. Charging toward a giant. Ribs sore. Breaths shaky. Hands sweaty. Plan? Well, the plan wasn’t that good.

The giant turned his massive head, glowering at me as I slid between two sports cars. One of his eyes was still larger than the other, and for good reason: he was still growing, slower now, but he’d already surpassed the giants in my dream. His right hand slowly reached down, grabbed one of the massive boulders at the edge of the parking lot …

And threw it right at me!

I turned left, kicking off the bumper of the nearest car. The closer the boulder got, the bigger it got. Not the size of a pebble or my head but a car! I dove, rolling, kicking up puffy snow, feeling my ribs cry out with a flash of pain. The boulder landed on the red Mercedes right next to me, squashing it like a pancake.

“Too close,” I said, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to my feet. He crawled closer to the building, closer to me, his thick glob-like fingers digging into the parking lot. I had to slow him down to give Briar more time to set up the cannon. And hopefully, people would come to their senses and eventually, you know, run away.

“Fee-fi-fo-fum,” the giant roared. The heavy bass sound rattled my sore ribs. His left ear began to grow, then his nose, then some of his teeth. He tried to stand up, but his massive legs were nothing more than mutated globs now. He fell to his knees and landed hard on the ground, tearing through the asphalt with his yellow fingernails.

“Ya!” I shouted, stabbing one of his fingers. His roar pushed me back a step, giving me ample room to dodge when he tried swatting me with his other hand. His palm slapped the asphalt, sending a shockwave through the ground. I fell over, heart thumping against my sore ribs, butt thumping against the asphalt. Snow soaked into my pants. The short sword slipped out of my sweaty grasp, leaving me with nothing but my fountain pen for a weapon.

I forced my tired body to its feet, running around him and stabbing the pen into his leg. I grabbed onto him, climbing onto his butt. Or what should have been his butt. He was losing his form quickly; he looked more like a humanoid blob than anything else, constantly morphing as his limbs grew longer and longer while the rest of his body tried to keep up, his skin stretching like pink taffy.

He crawled closer to the resort.

“No you don’t!” I said, drawing another sword in his back. He howled with pain as I pulled it out, waiting for the steel blade to fully materialize before plunging it into the gooey skin.

The giant’s entire body flinched, knocking me off my feet. I rolled off him, landing on top of an old box-shaped car. The wind was knocked out of me, sending my entire body into a protective roll away from the blob of flesh. I landed on the ground, the snow freezing my fingers.

“All right,” I said, watching the burning blackness on the giant’s finger completely engulfed by the gooey mutation. “I’m sufficiently grossed out at this point.”

I spun around, giving the giant a wide berth. He was nearly double the size he’d been when he’d burst from the cave opening, and twice as slimy. He looked almost as if he was melting now, growing more and more blob-like. Instead of roaring, he made a gurgling sound deep within his throat. His right ear grew larger, pulsating like a marshmallow in a microwave. The lobe hung low like an earring, no longer able to maintain its shape.

A sloppy hand came down and I dashed between two little cars, timing my jump for when the hand hit the ground so I would be spared the shockwave. I ran faster, trying to put some distance between us, feeling the burn in my legs. My heart beat wildly in my ears. Sweat loosened my clay mask, which was locking in all the heat.

“Not the best idea I’ve had,” I said, forcing my mind to not think about what this giant would look like in an hour. When Hungary’s army arrived. And were promptly squished. Oh gawd.

I felt as if I might pass out but I kept going, not bothering to turn around again because I couldn’t spare the moment of distraction and finally—there! The rear entrance to the lobby! I pulled open the door, shutting it quickly behind me.

“Everyone get to the front of the building!” I shouted. I must have looked sufficiently scary with my melting mask because the last couple dozen people finally pulled away from the windows and hurried down the hallway leading to the other side of the spa.

I spared one quick look out the window. An “Eep!” escaped my mouth when I saw the hand slam down right outside, the blobby flesh jiggling like Jell-O. The window cracked. The empty glasses on the tables in the dining room tumbled over, crashing onto the tile floor.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” I told myself, running down the hall to the stairwell. I took it two floors up, then ran back toward the rear of the building to a fancy fireplace lounge complete with half a dozen blue plush couches flanked by green ferns. In one corner, the room’s brick walls closed in a half-circle with a narrow opening leading to a metal spiral staircase.

A hand crashed through the rear-facing windows, rattling the building and knocking me over before I could reach the stairs. The fingers were like putty, squished, with big shards of glass digging in like spikes. The giant’s head rose up.  His left eye was still massive, bloodshot, squeezing out the rest of his face. He roared, raining bucket-sized drops of spittle onto the couches.

“Ga-ross!” I yelled, hurrying to the staircase. I took the metal steps two at a time, shortening my breaths so the pain in my ribs was manageable. At the top was an open hatch. I climbed through it, getting a helpful paw from Briar.

“Thanks, pal.” My head was dizzy. My cold, numb fingers could barely clutch the magic pen. “Is it primed?”

“Indeed!” Briar said, hopping back.

The building shook again, rumbling the ancient-looking cannon. Its wheels had been stripped away and replaced by cinderblocks. It had a short, decorative barrel and looked like it hadn’t seen any real fighting in centuries, if ever. It sat with the barrel resting lazily on the lip of the circular opening. The entire tower was made of brick, save for the roof, which was built of old wood panels that had begun rotting.

“At least it’s pointed in the right direction,” I said, leaning hard on the rear of the cannon so that the barrel tipped upward. I pulled the brochure out of my pocket and unfolded it, holding it above the barrel.

“What are you doing?” Briar asked hurriedly. The building shook again. There came a roar directly below us. The smell of sulfur wafted into my nostrils.

“I’m saving the day,” I answered, drawing a large circle on the brochure and imagining a big ball of iron. The image shimmered like a neon light. I touched it with one finger, and at once the cannonball materialized, ripping away from the paper.

Rolling right down the barrel of the cannon.

“Brilliant! But the gunpowder they use is incredibly weak,” Briar said, handing over a box of long matches. “A cheap mixture whose sole purpose is to make the cannon go boom during their festivities.”

“The cannonball doesn’t need to travel very far,” I said, striking a match on the brick. I leaned hard on the front of the cold barrel, pushing it back into place. Below, I could see the giant. Both his putty-like hands were clutching the building as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. The yellow nails splintered as each finger slowly grew again.

Another roar. The top of the giant’s head appeared in the opening. He grunted, causing the entire tower to rattle. The building was coming apart. Briar screamed at the top of his lungs as the looming figure rose into view.

The giant’s bloated left eye appeared, glaring at me. I gave a little wave, then sparked the breech.

Chapter 11

I let Briar tell the entire story for Attila, up to and including the cannonball that killed Tom Thumb. Attila confessed he’d nearly peed his pants when he saw the giant rise up from behind the resort, but was confident I could handle myself.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I mumbled, using the borrowed resort towel to wipe the last of the clay off my face. “Let’s just hope everyone at the resort convinces themselves there was a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“How did you know cannonball would work?” Attila asked.

“Yes, I have been wondering that myself,” Briar said.

I shrugged, using one of the spa’s crisp towels to wipe some of the slimy mud off my face. “In my dream, the hero used a catapult to take down a giant. I kept thinking to myself, how did she draw a catapult? She didn’t. She built it, then drew the boulder. And she drew it right on the catapult’s dish thingy, so that she wouldn’t have to pick it up and place it there.”

“Ah, you see?” Briar said. “You see, Attila? She’s an extraordinary one, all right!”

“Indeed, bunny. Ah, look.” He pointed to the windshield. We were coming up on the town, its circle of lanterns still lit. “We are safe for another night. Thanks to two heroes now.”

We took the main road into town, which was flanked by two of the lanterns. A strange, queasy feeling came over me. I doubled over, waiting for it to pass.

“Is everything all right?” Briar asked, one paw on my shoulder.

“Ach,” Attila said as he turned onto the street where our hotel was. “Look!”

I sat up. There, two blocks down, was the inn. Parked outside were six black cars. “Prince Leo Vontescue,” I whispered.

“Are you sure?” Briar asked.

“Yes. Turn at the next street,” I told Attila. “We’ll walk. Whatever is happening, you don’t need to be involved.”

“Attila not unhappy about your decision,” he mumbled, turning onto the next street and pulling over. He sighed, looking in the mirror. “You listen to Attila now. Do not trust the prince. We hear stories of his castle. Rumors. Whispers. Disappearances and superstitions and magic.”

“Magic!” Briar exclaimed.

Attila looked at me with concern. His bright brown eyes looked sad. Worried. “Cast a light upon his shadows. Always.”

“I will. Thank you, Attila.”

We stepped onto the sidewalk, hurrying to the end of the block and peering around the little two-story brick building. Yup, those cars were definitely for the hotel.

“How do you know it’s this prince?” Briar asked.

“Call it my spider-sense.” I took a deep breath, fighting the pain in my ribs. “Stay back and keep out of sight.”

“Right-o.”

I stepped out from behind the building, walking across the street as casually as I could. My eyes glanced at the black cars as I passed, but the dark tint of the windows obscured the drivers. My hand clutched the magic pen in my pocket as I walked inside the hotel.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw everyone waiting for me. They all stared at me, a mixture of frustration and anger on their faces. Mr. Whitmann clapped his hands a few times.

“Thank you for finally making it,” he said sarcastically. “How’s the extended family?”

“Uh … good?” I noticed the suitcases at their feet. “What’s going on?”

“The train’s repairs were delayed, so our generous host decided to come pick us up,” Mr. Whitmann said. “But surprise, surprise, we were one person short. So we’ve been waiting. And waiting.”

“And waiting,” Seth added with a yawn.

“But now we can finally go,” Mr. Whitmann said. He nodded to my left. “Mr. Vontescue? Or Mr. Prince, I mean? Or … what should we call you?”

I turned in time to watch the prince smoothly pull himself off the couch, standing and grabbing the glossy wooden cane that had been leaning beside it. He stood, adjusting his black overcoat. He was tall, leaning only a bit on his cane, his black glove crackling as his hand squeezed the golden tip. He had black hair slicked back and narrow, almost horizontal eyebrows. Square jaw. High cheekbones. Dark, dark eyes.

No glow. Not Corrupted. The opposite of Corrupted … it was as if the shadows in the room were drawn to him.

“Call me Prince Leo,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “And I am honored to meet you all.”

Outside, the hero’s bell began ringing.

The Lost Diary of Abigail Bauer: Part 1

The horse did what the fox asked, and then the fox went to the lion, who had his den not far off, and said, "A dead horse is lying out there. Just come with me, and you can have a rich meal."[iv]

May 15, 1817

The dreams do not change. Always, it is a man of medium build, with a thick brown mustache and immaculately combed blond hair. He’s always wearing a brown suit coat with polished brass buttons. He looks dignified. He looks and behaves like a doctor.

He is not.

May 16, 1817

My pursuit of the doctor has been put on hold for the time being. Last night, I had a vivid dream of a fairy-like creature hiding away in the very same forest that I have been traveling through. I could tell because the local cherry trees are so distinct in size and shape: thin brown trunks and tall proud branches full of bursting bright red flowers. There was a fox with the fairy, leaving behind glowing golden paw prints as he followed at her heels with more than a little trepidation.

The fairy looked just as I’d always imagined fairies. She was wearing a bright white dress and had two rounded glass-like wings protruding from her back. Only … her face. It was so angry, sopping up the soft moonlight slipping through the trees.

She found a traveler. A merchant who reminded me of my father. A donkey pulled his cart full of blankets, and it gave a start when the fairy appeared in the road. She beckoned him forth and he obliged, momentarily stunned by the sight. But as he got closer, he saw the frozen rage on the fairy’s face and turned to run. Too late—her wings fluttered and carried her over him. She dropped onto him and began devouring him like a hungry wolf.

I woke this morning and deviated from the dirt road, searching the forest until I found the glowing paw prints. My predecessor, a young woman named Hanna, had told me the trail of these creatures would be bright both at night and during the day. For me, the trail is always faint no matter the time. It leads me to believe we chosen ones do not all possess the same qualities.

I did not want to do this. Hanna had told me so little before she died, and the thought of fighting some kind of monster made my entire body tremble. Still, I moved through the forest, as if my body were fighting some unseen force pulling me toward it.

It was not long before I came upon the pair. They’d stopped at a pond, where the fox was in the process of splashing in the shallow water like any other woodland creature. A normal creature. He was of middling size for a fox, with a dark red fur coat and a black snout and black ears. His very natural behavior made me second-guess myself … until he turned and spoke to me, that is.

Needless to say, my conversation with the fox was jarring. He had the gall to lecture me on a woman’s role in society! Namely, that I should not be wandering around this particular German territory without a male guardian. The fairy concurred with a pitying nod, and pointed her white magic wand at me. I ducked behind the cherry tree to my right, feeling a strange pull. The invisible magic had dissolved the grass where I’d just stood, withering it and turning it black.

The fairy screeched an ear-splitting screech, calling me all manner of names. There was little time to think. I would have to confront this woman just as I had months ago confronted the glowing man. I could not show fear—my life depended on it. The pen nearly slipped from my shaking hand as I peered around the trunk. I nearly bumped into the fairy’s pale face: angry, aged, darkened like the inside of an apple not eaten quickly enough.

Suddenly, she fell back. The fox! He’d grabbed her mud-stained dress in his mouth, pulling hard. She turned to him, hissing. He stepped away, but it was all the time I needed to gather an ounce of courage. I sprang forward, swiping at her bare arm with the nip of the fountain pen. She screamed, staring at her arm. We both watched in equal horror as the burning blackness spread up into her body, turning her to ash.

“Now, now,” said the fox, backing up a bit. We were at the edge of the pond, where the earth was mostly mud. Yellowing reeds choked the shore. “I’m not so bad, you know. I hunt rabbit.”

“You will become like the others,” I told him in a shaky voice.

“How are you so sure?” he asked.

“Because the woman who gave me this,” I held up the magic pen, “told me so.”

“And do you trust everything people tell you, girl?”

“No. Yes. I mean … I’m not sure.”

The fox’s ears stood straight, indicating interest. “Perhaps we can help each other. What do you know about me?”

“That you are Corrupted,” I said. “The woman who gave me this pen told me that the Brothers Grimm used black magic to bring their fairy tales to life. I must hunt down those who do not belong before … before …”

The fox cocked his head. Something very close to a snicker escaped his long muzzle. “Before we change?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, moving closer. I drew back, clutching the pen like a knife just as the woman had taught me before she died. The fox narrowed one eye. It was a very human sort of thing to do.

“But not all of us have changed,” he said. “Not yet. I pose no danger to this world. I am merely a talking fox who spends his time chasing rabbits and exploring the countryside. Had that blasted fairy not caught me, we would no doubt have never crossed paths.”

“But you will change. Eventually.”

“Yes,” he said. “And when that time comes, a hero will seek me out and destroy me. She will dream of me, and that is how she will find me.” He took another step closer. “Who do you dream of, girl?”

“I … a … a man. A doctor.”

“What fairy tale is he from?”

“The Spirit in the Bottle. He was once a young man who tricked a spirit, and at the end of the story he became a famous doctor.”

“Good, good. And have you discerned where he is?”

“North of here,” I answered. “I recognize the town. I’ll say no more.”

“Good, good. Trusting one of us is, I suppose, unwise.” He sighed and stepped away from the shore of the pond, sitting on his haunches in the grass. “Do you know my story? It’s called The Fox and the Horse.”

“Tell me.”

“Well … like many of the Grimms’ fairy tales, mine was short and played out quite quick once we were brought to life. Here’s how it goes: I happened upon an old horse who was going to be killed by his master unless the horse proved that he was still strong enough to bring the master a lion.” The fox lowered his head and snorted, sending up a plume of white daffodil seeds. “Hardly fair, wouldn’t you say? But as the story goes, I happened upon this horse and told him to play dead while I sought out a lion who had a den nearby.”

“A lion? Here, in Germany?” I asked.

The fox nodded. “All part of the story, remember. And so I told this lion about the horse and offered to tie his tail to the horse’s tail so that he could drag the horse back to his den and eat in peace. The lion agreed, salivating at the very thought of such a big dinner. When it was done, I told the horse to gallop home to his master, which he did, dragging the poor lion behind him. The master was so impressed that he let the horse live.”

“And that is where your story ends,” I said.

“Yes,” said the fox. “But then what? Of course, that all depends on how the brothers ended each fairy tale, doesn’t it? The last line of our story is … And he gave him plenty to eat until he died. Meaning the master gave the old horse plenty to eat until the horse died. A bit open-ended, don’t you think? What do you suppose happened after our story finished playing out?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

“The master put the lion in a cage. And then the lion grew Corrupted, changing into something even bigger and more frightening! Eventually, he broke through his cage and ate both the master and his horse!”

An eerie calm had descended on the pond. Frogs stopped croaking. Birds flew overhead with no interest in stopping for a drink. I was speechless. In shock, perhaps—the woman who had given me the pen had never said anything about the magical creatures’ stories playing out. I’d just assumed the Brothers Grimm had brought these characters to life. But according to the fox, they’d each performed a script, like actors who had appeared for a play and then simply dispersed afterwards with every intention of going back to their regular lives.

“And so now you know something new,” the fox said. “Corrupted can kill each other. It is not an easy task, though, given our magical nature. Why, I could break my leg tomorrow and the following morning, it would be fine! A hunter could shoot me only to find his bullet lying in the grass an hour later with no sign of his prey.”

“Hanna never told me this,” I confessed.

“Likely she didn’t know. Your kind don’t seem to live so long, if my experience is any indication.”

“How do you know so much?” I asked.

The fox shrugged. “I am inquisitive by nature. Many foxes in the brothers’ fairy tales are tricky, cocky and downright mean. I was spared these qualities. In my tale, I was helpful and selfless, seeking no reward for helping the horse. And so I am.”

“You are as you were written,” I said.

The fox bowed low, his little black ears flicking. “I will show you something else, if you’ll allow it.”

My grip on the pen had softened. How could I kill this creature? What was he, besides a helpful fox? Oh, Abigail, you lack an adequate amount of suspicion, just like your mother. You and she have always searched for the good in people. Your mother once helped a beggar who turned out to be a thief and regretted nothing because she’d been convinced from the look in his eyes that he was capable of a good deed. One more good deed in the world might change everything, she always said.

And now here I was, putting my trust in a fox that should not exist, convincing myself that his one good deed might outweigh whatever evil he would someday commit. This quality will kill you some day, Abigail.

“Over there,” the fox said, pointing with his black snout toward the blossoming cherry trees. He trotted beside me, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Ah, such a smell! I value these intoxicating scents, I truly do. It is almost worth the misery of knowing what I will someday become.”

“It smells like flowers,” I said, staring up at the red-and-pink blooms covering the long, narrow branches of each tree. They were still a beautiful sight after all these years. Each cherry tree stood tall, with branches that reached for the heavens. I remember as a child walking with my mother down a particular path in our town that was lined with cherry trees. When they blossomed in the spring, the hundreds of shades of red and pink were enough to take your breath away. It’s so easy to forget about those warm colors in the wintertime.

“You poor human,” the fox tut-tutted. “Such a puny sense of smell. But perhaps you should learn to trust your nose, if you’re going to be hunting the hunters. This is why the fairy captured me, you know. She couldn’t smell a thing with that nose of hers.”

More to write tomorrow. I am so tired. I dread sleep, knowing that I will dream once again of the doctor.

May 17, 1817

Back to my story of the curious fox, for he had so much more to show me, and I must write it down so that the knowledge can be passed on.

“Kneel down here in the dirt,” he ordered. We were beside a cherry tree, an older one with thick bark that had been peeled a bit by the teeth of a curious deer. A few pink petals had fallen onto the ground, which was otherwise barren near the trunk of the tree. What few blades of grass were growing were sparse and short, not quite sure if the warm spring air was here to stay yet. “This is as good a place as any. Do you know what a sword is made of?”

“No,” I confessed.

“Oh. Um.” The fox looked around, his short fluffy tail wagging anxiously from side to side. “Well, how about a spear? That seems simple enough.”

“No.”

His fur stood on end. “Well, what do you know?!”

Tears welled in my eyes. It was as if he’d honed in on my darkest fear. “I was not allowed in school. The headmaster taught only boys. I was expected to marry a young man named Lars on my fourteenth birthday, but he contracted the Black Death five years ago and passed away. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry!” The fox snorted. “Don’t apologize to me … you’re the one who was engaged to be married before you were old enough to steer a carriage.” He began pacing. “Can you read, at least?”

“Yes. I can write and read well enough, but I grew up reading the same few books my family owned. Adventure books, mostly, written by traveling merchants and sold to my father for sheepskins and only on the rare occasion he had a spare one.”

“Then you must read more. Your mind is your weapon, you see. Here. How about this, then? A shield. That should do you well for the time being. Do you know what a shield is made of?”

“Wood,” I said simply.

“Yes, wood. Excellent. Use your pen to draw a shield right there in the dirt. Yes, good … imagine the shield in your mind. Imagine the shield being crafted from the finest cherry tree. Imagine the handle. Imagine a design on the front, too, why not? Good. Oooooh, a dragon emblem. Very proper for fighting monsters.”

The lines glowed in the dirt. I felt my heart race. I’d drawn a shield that looked oddly familiar. It was shaped a bit like a triangle, wider than my shoulders, with an emblem of a dragon directly in the center. I suddenly realized that this was the very same shield found in the King Arthur storybook that my mother read to me and my cousins! It had been purchased by our father while he’d been away during trading season. My mother had read it to us every single night for nearly a year, gathering us all on one bed where we lay like a pack of dogs. My mother’s sweet voice would turn sour whenever she brought up the fierce dragon King Arthur had to destroy. Her passion made me fear King Arthur would fail each time, and every night she would slowly turn the pages, sometimes revealing drawings that she herself had made whenever there was ample space in the text. With this, she made each night’s storytime new, adding more and more charcoal drawings at the end of each chapter.

But he never did. His shield protected him from the dragon’s flames.

“Grab it,” the fox ordered.

“But …”

“Trust me now.”

I reached down, touching the drawing. The golden lines flickered, disappearing. The dirt was not dirt at all but wood! I pulled the shield from the ground and granules of black earth fell away from its edges. I flipped it over with shaky hands—sure enough, there was a wooden handle on the back, carved out of the wood.

The fox leaned in, examining the shield with a keen eye. “Hmmmm. Could be better. See how it’s bigger on one side? Try again, and this time imagine the shield balanced. Both sides should be the same size and weight, so it’s easy to carry.”

I drew another shield in the dirt. This shield was a little bigger, big enough to protect my entire body from a dragon’s flame. I kept the emblem, and tried my best to picture the shield as perfect as it was in my memory. I pulled this new shield from the ground, marveling all over again. Here was a wooden shield where before there had just been dirt! It was heavy, the edges rough and granular, but balanced enough that I could hold it square.

“How is this possible?” I exclaimed.

“It is merely the power of the pen. I do not know the specifics.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because.” The fox licked the dirt off one paw. “After that terrible lion devoured the horse and his master, it wasn’t long before a strange young woman arrived in town. Now, close your eyes and imagine the poor people in this small town. One day, suddenly, there is a man with a horse living on the eastern edge of town, tucked into the pine forest, living in a house that had not been there just days before! What to make of that?”

“I suppose one might be suspicious,” I offered. I did not want to tell the fox this, but our town had suffered a similar occurrence shortly after the Black Death spread through our town in 1812. A man dressed in royal colors arrived into town one day on behalf of King Hein, whom none of us had ever heard of before. The man demanded fealty and our town leader gave it, sure that there was another war brewing in the east.

“Now imagine that man and his horse are eaten by a lion, a creature that no one had ever seen before! I would avoid that house, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But then this young woman arrived, seeking out that very house. The townsfolk had all manner of theories, calling her a witch and whatnot. Uncaring of their opinions, the strange woman went right into the woods, and of course I had to follow out of curiosity. It was there that she destroyed the lion.”

I held up the pen, causing the fox to flinch. “With this?” I asked.

The fox shook his head. “No. She drew something in the ground: a spear. It was crude, but it kept the lion at bay. And when she stabbed him …”

“He burned away like paper on fire,” I finished.

The fox nodded. “I chose not to follow her any further, for obvious reasons.”

“She was killed by another Corrupted,” I said, remembering the words of the woman who’d given me the pen. “She dropped the pen. And two days later, a woman named Hanna found the pen. And when she touched the pen, she suddenly knew it belonged to her. And she began having terrible dreams.”

“And then?” The fox asked, his tail wagging and thumping on the grass.

“And then she was injured by … something. I found her hiding between two houses in our town. She gave me the pen. But she said nothing about how I might be able to use the pen to draw magical weapons.”

“Knowledge not written down is often lost forever,” the fox said. “No doubt there have been many these past few years, and each one has had to learn how to wield this magic pen without any help. But now you have this knowledge. You can write it down. And you can use it against the Corrupted who haunt your dreams.”

“A shield will hardly kill this particular doctor,” I said, hefting the heavy piece of wood. Already, my shoulder was sore from the weight.

“What about using the pointy end?” the fox asked, motioning with his snout toward the V-shaped bottom of the shield.

I looked at it. Yes, it was pointed. Not sharp enough to do anything more than cut a creature, but perhaps that would be enough.

May 21, 1817

The dreams have gotten more intense the closer I get to Kassel. The doctor is not alone in my dreams anymore. He is with two older gentlemen with thinning hair and stout features. They sit, staring dreamily into the flames of a fire. They seem under a spell. They are in danger.

I’ve drawn a new shield, and in town I shall pay a blacksmith to attach the handle with more care than I can imagine on my own. This was the fox’s idea.

I did not kill him. I hope perhaps someday I will meet him again under good circumstances, if only to see a familiar face and enjoy his company and try not to think about the inevitable end to his story.

And mine.

I miss my family. I want to see my mother and father again, but I am too afraid. Who might be watching? What danger would I put them in? Just thinking of it makes my chest tighten. It becomes hard to breathe. It is as if touching this pen means abandoning all you know and love and starting anew.

In a much more terrifying world.

May 22, 1817

I have arrived in Kassel. It is a bustling city of middling size, with cobblestone streets and tall brick homes with stone roofs. The people dress well and keep animals in small pens behind their houses. There are a few shops on the main road, and children carry wooden pails to and from the well near the center of town. I was surprised, at first, to see such small children carrying such large pails with ease. But it seems as if everyone in this town is used to working hard. They move with purpose, hopping between rooftops as they repair areas damaged by the harsh winter. More yet carve wood for fencing with ferocious hacks of their axes.

No one looks healthy. Even the children seem to be carrying themselves as one does after a plague has moved through … they have an exhausted determination. I breathed in deeply through my nose when I arrived, just as the fox had taught me. I could smell livestock, and fresh mortar, and something else I could not quite place. Mint?

I have only a few coins to my name now, after having paid a blacksmith to fashion a handle for my new shield. He told me a young woman should not carry a shield around. He also told me a young woman should not travel alone.

And then he drank the most curious drink: a green tonic, almost glowing, bubbling in its glass jar.

May 23, 1817

I’ve learned another trick, thanks in no small part to the fox’s instruction. When I was a child, I had but one possession: a wooden doll with a simple cotton dress and straw hair. The straw would fall apart over time and so each summer, my father would have to replace each strand. The doll’s features were painted with white paint and black ink. The dress was dyed indigo using a dye extracted from sea snails.

My father had traded for the doll in the French city of Marseille, where his merchant’s guild had traveled one summer to trade sheepskins after a disease ravaged the livestock in southern France. I still have it. I keep it in my sheepskin and hold it at night.

My point is that I know this doll by heart. And so this morning I used the magic pen to draw three of them on the ground behind the market stalls on the south end of Kassel. I took the three dolls to market, trading them for a new dress, some food, and a place to stay the night. The man who purchased them told me a young female traveler would arouse suspicions. It was not right for a woman to travel without a male companion. I thanked him curtly, anxious to escape his presence.

He dismissed me as if I needed permission, grabbing his glass of bubbling green tonic and sipping from it. I watched in horror as the skin on his face grew paler, the wrinkles on his forehead caving in on themselves. I could smell the liquid. Its minty scent tickled my nose and made my eyes water.

May 24, 1817

The doctor … he is slowly poisoning the two men he is staying with. They are brothers, middle-aged, and seem as if at any moment they may fall from their chairs in front of the fireplace. In my dream last night, the doctor fed the men the very same green tonic that everyone in town seems to be drinking. They are growing pale, almost skeletal.

I went to the small library next to the mayor’s house. It is little more than a single room, hot except near the one open window, and the old smell of the books made my nose itch. I found but a handful of medical books, each one bulky and rusted-looking. I searched for the side effects I was seeing in the people, but found nothing.

I could not look long. The books are a reminder of the life I almost had. The young man I’d been arranged to marry … if he had not died of the Plague, I would have never met Hanna and never received the magic pen. I would have been a librarian’s wife, and that would have been the end of my story. What kind of life might that have been? This man promised to me had not been a kind man, but he’d at least been polite, and was happy to show me how to find books in the town library, and promised once we were married he would bring home any book I wanted.

I’d had no choice in a husband … my parents simply gave me away to someone with social status. With no son of their own to inherit their little patch of land, they offered me to someone whom they hoped would at least make me smile sometimes.

May 25, 1817

Hungry. Tired. I drew three more dolls using the magic pen and sold them to the same merchant as before. He was happy for them, but offered me half he’d paid me the last time. He told me they were worth less now, even though he had already sold all of the previous ones. He talks down to me because I am a woman.

He looks ten years older than he did just two days ago. The entire town looks as if age has come upon them like a storm. Time is running out. I must confront the doctor soon. I am afraid.

May 26, 1817

I approached the home of where the doctor was staying, terrified and sick to my stomach. I worried at first that I might be seen, but it was clear now that nearly everyone was under the spell of this doctor. Most have grown so weak that they cannot leave their beds.

The town’s roads are empty. A traveling merchant arrived in the evening and saw me walking. He asked me where he might get a safe night’s rest.

“Travel north,” I told him. “You’ll find no safety here.”

He nodded, kicking his horse and trotting down the street.

Shield clutched in my right hand, I approached the door of the doctor’s house. I could hear a great shouting coming from inside. But it was not an angry sort of shouting. Rather, it was the shouting of a man infused with happiness. One could almost call it singing, if the voice had not been so out of key.

A mosquito hovered near my eyes, then landed on the window beside the door, no doubt drawn to the soft orange light coming from within. The air was warm and dry, but sweat had gathered on my forehead nonetheless. I wiped it away with a shaky hand. Then I saw the name etched above the door.

Grimm.

My skin tingled. The two men in my dream … what was the doctor doing with them?

I considered knocking, then cursed myself for being so foolish. But then, I thought: would he answer? Could I perhaps trick him?

Too late—the door opened! The doctor stood in front of me, looking down with contemptible curiosity. His dark black mustache covered his upper lip but it was clear he was smiling. He wore a white apron stained with the same green liquid that everyone was drinking. His hands were covered by heavy black gloves.

“Who are you?” he asked happily. “Do you need more tonic? I am in the process of making a fresh batch.”

“Yes,” I croaked. “I need more tonic.”

“Come in, come in.” He stepped aside, eyeing my shield. “A curious accessory.”

“The night is full of dangerous things,” I said, stepping inside the room, trying to take it in while ensuring the doctor was not out of sight. The room was large, with a brick fireplace and roaring fire. The brothers sat near the fire in identical rocking chairs, their heads slumped over as if they might fall asleep at any moment. Wrinkles ran across their face with an almost painful intensity; on the shoulders of their black suits were a dozen thinning white hairs.

Near the tall bookcase on the far wall, the doctor had set up a table full of potions in glasses of all shapes and sizes. Like a true vagrant, he’d simply tossed aside the brothers’ writing desk, leaving it to sit on its side with their papers littering the floor.

He moved to the table, humming to himself. “A tonic like this is quite special, you know. It will make you strong. You will see things. The people of this town wanted to build a cobblestone road in order to attract this season’s spring trade caravans. But they had so little time! My tonic helped them complete the road so quickly that merchants began using their road almost immediately.”

I stepped closer.

“Of course,” the doctor continued, “you may experience some side-effects. But that’s the way of things. You can trust me, for I am a doctor.”

I took another step, shield held in front of me. My left leg shook even when I put weight on it.

“Or do you not trust me?” the doctor asked, cocking his head. Suddenly, he spun around and threw the green glass of liquid at me! I held up my shield; the glass broke on its surface, splashing the green liquid all over the room. Some of it reached the fireplace, causing the fire to hiss. More yet landed on the wooden floorboards, coating them like oil.

“You’ll drink my medicine!” the doctor screamed, grabbing another vial. This one was full of a clear liquid, foaming at the surface. The doctor threw it and I held my shield up again. This time, when the glass shattered on the surface, there came a distinct fizzling sound and a sickening smell of burning. I looked at the shield—the liquid was eating through the wood!

“Now take your medicine!” the doctor screamed, holding up another glass of the green liquid. Instead of throwing it, he stepped forward and reached out, tearing away what remained of my shield. Panic struck my body—for a moment, I forgot I was even holding the magic pen in my other hand. But then the doctor was pushing me backward and we both landed hard on the floor at the feet of the Brothers Grimm, who were too weak to so much as turn their gaze from the fire.

“Drink it!” the doctor ordered, tipping the glass of green liquid. It began dribbling onto my pursed lips, causing them to tingle. More yet slipped into my nose and I choked, coughing so hard that my chest ached. The liquid tasted like a minty tea. It left a cool feeling on the tip of my tongue.

The doctor laughed maniacally. I reached out, stabbing him with the pen.

His laugh stopped. The glass of green liquid fell to the floor, rolling in front of the fireplace, green liquid seeping from two cracks. Ashes coated my dress. My heart slowed. The doctor was gone, as if he’d never existed before.

May 27, 1817

I returned to the brothers’ home this afternoon. It was as if the sunlight had brought the entire town back to life—already, a few people had stirred from their homes, looking around with fresh eyes. The mad doctor’s potion was already wearing off, albeit slowly. It would take some time for everyone’s health to return. They would no longer be able to build a road in a day, but most seemed happy enough to be able to enjoy the warm air once again.

I’d hoped the Brothers Grimm might feel in similar good spirits.

“Who are you now?” asked one of the brothers. Jacob—his name was Jacob. Everyone in town had said the younger-looking one was Jacob. He offered me tea, but I declined.

“My name is Abigail,” I said, licking my lips. I stood in front of them, holding out the pen. There was no easy way to broach this subject. “Do you by chance recognize this pen?”

The brothers looked at it closely. Both shook their head. Jacob bent over his tipped-over desk, groaning and gathering up the pages and pages of papers. More fairy tales, not yet complete. But there was no magic in those pages.

“Are you selling pens?” Wilhelm asked testily. He was a tall man, his black suit a bit tighter around his belly than his brother’s.

“No, I—I’m here because of your stories. I must ask you about your stories,” I said. “It is of the utmost urgency that I—”

“The only urgency is this place,” Wilhelm said, motioning to the table of potions and glasses. He was in the process of pouring all of the liquids into a single wooden pail. It made me cringe, wondering what else this Corrupted doctor had been in the process of making. “What happened to our home? Everything is foggy.”

“Food poisoning, I suspect,” murmured Jacob.

“Food poisoning! I doubt our boiled cabbage and pork chops were poisoned,” snapped his brother.

“Food spoils, you old goat,” Jacob responded.

“Clearly this was your work,” Wilhelm said, pointing to the turned-over desk. “I have not the strength to do such a thing.”

“I have not the heart to do such a thing. I love this desk.”

They were brothers, through and through. But their demeanor upset me. How could they not remember anything?

“How did you bring the stories to life?” I demanded. “Is there a way to destroy them?”

The brothers looked at each other. “Destroy them?” Jacob asked, smiling warmly. “Why, my dear child, there are thousands of copies already printed.”

Wilhelm grunted. “So they say. But where is our money, then?”

“No,” I said. “The stories you brought to life. The ones that are the result of magic. I must know.”

They looked at each other again. “You speak in riddles, girl,” said Wilhelm, his eyes cold and dark. “Magic? It’s but a fiction reserved for fairy tales.”

My heart sank. I bid them good-day and left, dismayed. There may be no easy way out of this. There may be no eraser to wipe all of the Corrupted off the face of this earth. There are hundreds hiding among us, all over the world, and only the chosen one can destroy them.

The magic pen feels heavy in my hand. This is my burden now. Like one of the heroes in an adventure book, I am drawn into something far greater than I could have ever imagined.

And, like Hanna before me, and all of the chosen ones before her who were unceremoniously forced into this new role, I may someday die at the hands of a monster that should not exist. Unless I can find a way to stop it.

Book 8: Darkness Rising

Chapter 1

So there we were, packed into the last of the fleet of sleek, black cars: me, Seth, Chase, and Prince Leo Vontescue.

And Mr. Whitmann.

I sat across from the prince, keeping my legs close to my seat so my athletic shoes wouldn’t accidentally bump into his shiny black boots. He had his black overcoat unbuttoned, revealing a dark gray button-down shirt and dark gray slacks, just a shade brighter than black. He kept his cane between his long legs, his thumb gently rubbing the golden top, which was shaped like a puma or tiger or one of those ferocious big cats that’s really good at looking scary on National Geographic. His black hair was slicked back, his dark eyes centered right on yours truly.

“This is a nice car,” Mr. Whitmann said, stretching out beside the prince. “We have cars like this in America. They’re called limos. We have stretch limos, too. Then we have these things called stretch Hummers, which are what all the fancy rock stars and rappers use. Some have a hot tub, you know.”

“Fascinating,” the prince said in a low voice. His eyes slid from me to Chase to Seth. Chase’s hand tried to find mine but I quickly whisked it away, hoping the prince hadn’t seen. Something didn’t feel right here.

Seth had picked up on it. His body was pressed into the expensive black leather seat, his feet pushing down on the floor, his body squeezed against the door. And Mr. Whitmann was right: it was a nice car, definitely what we in the U.S. would consider a limo. Not quite as fancy as the kind that Sam Grayle drove, but still.

In fact, Sam Grayle’s limo was sounding pretty tempting at this point. The seats opposite us were close, offering only a little bit of leg room. Chase’s legs were stretched out, which was the most comfortable for him. But that meant his feet were nearly brushing up against the bottom of the opposite seat, between the prince and Mr. Whitmann.

Mr. Whitmann. Prince Leo.

Seth. Chase. Me.

Dark thoughts penetrated my mind. What would I do if the prince attacked? Could we survive a jump from the moving limo? We were on a highway, travelling fast. Still, there was a soft layer of snow piled up along the shoulder of the road …

“It, uh, sure is nice of you to pick us up,” Mr. Whitmann said, offering a friendly smile. I had to stifle a sigh. Did he seriously not feel the tension in this tight space? Was I the only one having trouble breathing the warm air coming in through the little silver vents in the ceiling? And why were the windows tinted?

“The pleasure is mine,” Leo Vontescue said, turning and offering our coach a warm smile. And by “warm” I mean “absolutely cold and weird.” Like he’d never smiled a day in his life. Like it hurt to pull up his thin, pale lips.

“So do you really live in a castle?” Chase asked. I turned to him, shocked. Did he not feel it, either? Were Seth and I the only ones picking up on the absolute coldness radiating from the prince?

Vontescue nodded, keeping his head low, looking at Chase from underneath the soft ridge of his brow. It was such an animal-like thing to do. His whiskers were a mixture of black and gray, poking through his taut skin. His lips were parted, revealing the edges of his stained-yellow teeth. Really, does Chase not notice any creepiness coming from this guy?

“Does it have a drawbridge?” Chase asked.

“Uh …” Seth reached out a hand, tugging on Chase’s jacket. “What if we stop asking questions? I’m sure the prince is pretty tired.”

“No,” the prince said sharply. The forced smile returned. He held up a hand, waving off Seth’s concern. Seth, for his part, flinched and squeezed farther back in the seat. “It’s quite all right. The castle once had a drawbridge, long ago when the kingdom of Hungary was invading our lands.”

“That’s a bummer,” Chase said.

“Prince Alexandru, my ancestor, spent twenty years fighting off Hungarian armies that threatened the region. The largest Hungarian army to attack Castle Vontescue was fifty thousand strong. They all perished.”

Seth’s body relaxed just a bit. “Really? Like, how?”

The prince looked down at the golden tip of his cane, staring at his reflection in the glossy gold. His slender, gloved fingers held the cane gently, as if the dark wood might snap in two. “Twas a trap, Alexandru set. He knew the Hungarian army was more powerful and offered the Hungarian king a thousand pieces of silver in exchange for peace. The king of Hungary cared nothing for the silver and sent Prince Alexandru’s messenger back without a head.”

“Holy crap,” Chase and Seth whispered together.

A low growl escaped Vontescue’s throat. “But Alexandru was not as weak as the Hungarian king believed. Alexandru took five thousand of his best soldiers and marched them along the foothills of the Transylvanian Alps, meeting the Hungarian army in battle.”

“Oh crap!” Seth exclaimed, breathless. “It was probably a slaughter!”

“Indeed it was,” said the prince. “Alexandru’s army lost many men. They pulled back slowly, using trails along the mountain that the Hungarian knights’ horses could not traverse with ease. Alexandru’s soldiers marched until they reached Poenari Castle, where they set up a trap.”

Seth began rapidly elbowing Chase. “That’s Dracula’s castle, dude!”

The prince nodded. “This was a hundred years before the one you call Dracula. Poenari Castle first belonged to Prince Alexandru, a gift from his father. Simply getting to it was an arduous climb, one that sapped Alexandru’s men of the last of their strength. But they pressed on, knowing full well that the Hungarian king’s soldiers would have to suffer the same exhaustion. The castle sits high atop a cliff, its walls built into the steepest parts of the mountain. There is only one direction to attack.”

Even Mr. Whitmann was entranced now, scratching absently at his mustache.

The prince licked his pale lips, staring right at me. I had to fight the urge to cringe. “When the Hungarian king’s men finally made their way to the castle,” he said in a mocking, mournful voice, “the prince’s soldiers were rested. Ready.” His hands tightened around the cane, squeezing it. “The Hungarians, exhausted, were routed, splitting up as they fled. Alexandru ordered a full attack, and his men charged down the mountain. They knew the landscape well. They knew the forest, as it was their home. The Hungarian king’s best men were hunted down … and thrown into the river.”

“A river of bodies …” Seth said, wide-eyed. “Oh man. Did anyone else just get chills?”

Before I could respond, both Chase and Mr. Whitmann nodded. I crossed my arms. “Boys sure love their battles,” I murmured.

The prince leaned back, regarding me with an icy glare. “Indeed they do. Which is why the Hungarian king could gather up fifty thousand of them to fight and die for him. He offered riches and spoils of war and glory.”

I thought about the wizard, Agnim. He’d said something similar about human beings and greed. I looked out the window, watching pitch-black pine woods roll by. It was as if the darkness outside was thicker here. Above, the moon gave the rolling clouds a ghost-like greyness as they slipped between the mountain peaks of the Carpathian range.

We were officially in a much more dangerous place.

“Alice,” the prince said, “how is your extended family?”

“My what? Oh. Oh right! The family I was visiting … right before you showed up in town … um, they’re good.”

Mr. Whitmann made a pffft noise through pursed lips. “I don’t buy it for a second.” He pointed a pudgy finger at me, eyes narrowed. “You’re not doing any of that while we’re staying with the prince, or I swear I’ll call your parents, young lady.”

“Kids have a tendency to disobey,” Vontescue said, peeling one hand off his cane so he could gently lower Mr. Whitmann’s still-pointing finger.

“I’m no kid,” I said in a low voice. Maybe a little too low, under the circumstances—both Chase and Seth gave me a surprised look.

“Technically she’s right,” Mr. Whitmann said, stretching his left leg and groaning an old man’s groan. “She’s eighteen after all. I used to sneak out of the house when I was eighteen.” He chuckled. “Went to visit a foxy gal named Tilda Stevens. I’d have to get past these bushes under her window. Scratched myself up pretty good. Anywho, we went down to a diner where a couple kids would drag race. Never participated, though.”

“So you were almost cool at one point?” Seth asked, scratching his head. “Gee, what happened?”

Mr. Whitmann’s face soured.

“My point,” the prince said, “is that the town you were staying in is hardly safe. Hungary is a country in disarray, and that town in particular has a troubling past.”

“You mean the werewolves?” Seth asked. Both Vontescue and I snapped our heads in his direction. He shrank in his seat.

“Werewolves!” Mr. Whitmann exclaimed. “Ho boy, that’s a new one. Don’t mind him, your honor. His generation is all about the Twilights and the Lord of the Rings hooey. He’s not even supposed to be here, technically. Say, are you all right, sir?”

The prince took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. A bead of sweat had gathered at his forehead. “I am merely … homesick. It pains me to be away from my castle.”

Mr. Whitmann grunted and leaned back in his seat, surprised when it reclined a bit. “Oh, I like this. Very comfy. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Rest.” Vontescue’s words came out like a command, and Mr. Whitmann’s eyes shut on cue. It only took a few tense moments before very quiet snores escaped from his wide nostrils.

The prince watched for a moment with quiet satisfaction, then turned back to me. “Sam Grayle has told me much about you. He is quite fond of this fencing team.”

“Is he now,” I said quietly. Steel your nerves, Alice! My hands found my legs, squeezing them to keep them still. I was anxious. Uncomfortable. Totally uneasy. Vontescue’s cold gaze was throwing me off …

He’s testing me.

The realization hit me hard enough that I blinked fiercely. I kept my eyes on the prince’s, forcing my body to calm down. His dark brown irises seemed to pull me in. If those eyes are the porch light, then you’re the moth, Alice. Fight back. And don’t use powerless language! Powerful language. Powerful language.

“Did Mr. Grayle tell you how good I am with a sword?” I asked.

The muscles in the prince’s jaw tensed, as if he was chewing on something between his teeth. “He told me all about your battles thus far. It’s quite impressive.”

“Did he tell you how we met?” I asked, smiling innocently. “It’s really—it’s a funny story. I saved his life.”

“You did?” Chase asked, eyebrows raised high. “You saved Sam Grayle?”

“He owes you a great debt,” the prince said. “The least he can do to repay the favor is sponsor your fencing team. I should think he owes you more. Much, much more.”

“I don’t need much, much more. A trip to Europe is enough for me.”

“Is it?” The prince leaned back in the seat, pondering my words and tapping on the top of his cane. “And what if your team fails to win? What then?”

Chase’s fingers dug into the leather. “Well, we’ve got a good chance …”

“Sometimes the journey is more important,” I said.

“Ah! Such valiant words. But they ring hollow, I fear. Victory is all that matters. Tell me: did the Hungarian king enjoy his journey? No, he did not. He was cornered by ten Wallachian swordsmen, only able to escape after his most trusted lieutenant held them off. He fled on his horse. Alone. The blood of fifty thousand of his countrymen staining his hands.”

“Gross,” Seth whispered.

I stared into the prince’s dark eyes. What are you hiding, prince? “What about the hero’s journey?” I asked.

He raised one sharp black eyebrow. “I know little about your American stories, but I can tell you with certainty that the European monomyths have very few happy endings for heroes. The hero always has a tendency to … die.”

A cold chill ran through my body. I thought of Juliette, the hero who’d left me the magic pen. He was being cryptic now. He knew more than he’d let on earlier, I was sure of it.

“There will be a happy ending,” I stated.

“Only in fairy tales,” the prince said, sniffing the stale, warm air. “Sadly, the bravest among us are also often the first to die.”

My ears picked up a dry, cracking sound. I looked left: Chase was grinding his teeth together, glaring at the prince.

“Sometimes, the hero dies,” I said. “But in rebirth, she finishes her journey. And totally kicks some butt in the process.”

Vontescue cocked his head. “Curious way of putting it.”

“Well, that’s how I roll.”

“So it seems.”

Another bead of sweat had gathered on his forehead, where his dark black hair met his pale skin. Homesickness my butt—he’s hiding something. “Are you sure you’re OK?” I asked him.

The prince was silent a moment, staring at me. I returned the favor, trying not to get lost in his dark gaze. I felt an intense energy pulsating through my legs. Adrenaline flowed through me, readying me for either fight or flight … and my body sure as heck wasn’t thinking about fighting. It wanted out of this car. Out of this country. As far away from this prince as possible.

I couldn’t take it anymore. It was like he’d sent an army of ants up my legs, each one charged with electricity. I broke and looked away, glancing at Seth and Chase. They were both watching me.

Worried.

Chapter 2

The castle seemed to emerge from the trees, crawling toward us over the horizon. The sun was rising up behind it, casting an orange glare over the old gray bricks and shining in through the car’s windshield. Mr. Whitmann woke up, rubbing his eyes and turning in his seat to stare at it. He made a low whistle.

I mentally took in as much as I could:

Big, gray blocks of stone along the outer wall. Four tall towers, one at each corner. Two of the towers had pointed, steeple-like roofs made of red tile. The other two were flat, with tooth-shaped turrets. The gatehouse was three stories tall, and judging by the massive opening, it looked as though there really had been a drawbridge at some point. The car turned on the road directly in front of the gatehouse, giving us a closer look at the outer wall. Smaller flanking towers broke up the flat stone every fifty or so feet, although it was hard to get a good look with Seth’s face pressed against the window.

“Castle Vontescue survived ten sieges,” the prince said proudly. “Those flanking towers were once filled with soldiers. Now, sadly, we have a single guard who patrols at night. See those small openings in the towers?”

“Murder holes,” Seth whispered, slightly awe-struck.

“Indeed,” said the prince. “Just big enough to fire an arrow through. Tourists are allowed to try their aim with a bow. If they hit one of the dummies near the ravine, they win a free dinner.”

I turned around, sure he was telling some morbid joke. He simply shrugged. “They enjoy it.”

“Wait, you let tourists into your castle?” I asked.

“Only the outer wall and gatehouse,” said the prince. “The keep and its four towers are reserved for my special guests. But you must understand, tourism is a great boon for my country. People travel from all around the world to see Romania’s historic castles, and I am proud to be a part of it.”

“Sounds like a pretty good public relations stunt,” I murmured.

“Oh, ignore her,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Say, you have running water, right?”

“Of course. You can expect all of the amenities of a modern hotel inside my palace.”

“Does that include ketchup?” Seth asked, cringing as if he already knew the answer.

The prince nodded. “My personal chef is, how you say … Americanized. Tourists are offered a variety of snacks for their journey around the castle wall, including those dreaded hot dogs your people love so much.”

“Crap, I’m so hungry,” Seth said, rubbing his stomach.

The prince was staring at the castle wall, one eye twitching slightly. “It always feels so good to return home,” he whispered.

The car stopped, pulling next to the others. Already, the boys were filing out, no doubt with the same hungry thoughts as Seth.

A young woman and a short man with sunglasses were waiting for us at the wall’s open gate. The girl was wearing a long, flowing blue dress, her black hair pulled back behind her ears and curling at the very tips like gentle waves. She was beautiful. Like, positively gorgeous, and judging by the bulging eyes of the boys, I wasn’t alone in noticing. Her hands were folded together over her tiny waist, her bright green eyes watching us approach on the gravel walk. At first, I thought she was looking over our shoulders. But no—she was watching the prince.

“Father,” she said, hugging him. He returned the gesture with more warmth than I expected, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and letting his body lean on his cane. I watched carefully, trying to figure out what his weakness might be. His right leg? Maybe. His hip? It was impossible to tell. Maybe the cane wasn’t anything more than a fashion statement—you know, a Hey I’m totally a trendy European dude sort of thing.

“My daughter,” he said, kissing her once on the top of her head. He turned to us, gently pushing the girl forward a step. “May I present to you my daughter, Sanda.”

The girl bowed slightly.

“I love you,” Seth blurted out.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“I mean …” he cleared his throat, his face reddening. “That is to say … would you like some licorice?” He pulled a red piece of licorice from his pocket. “I bought it in a vending machine. In town. It’s warm because it’s been in my pocket.”

The prince cocked his head.

The other boys snickered. The girls groaned.

“Thank you,” Sanda said, reaching out and taking the candy. “A kind gift from a stranger goes a long way.”

She smiled at him. Seth, for his part, managed to smile back. Only where Sanda’s smile was beautiful and full, Seth managed something closer to a dumb grin, the kind you might expect from a creepy person sitting at a bus stop.

“Yes, and so we are all acquainted,” Vontescue announced. “My servant, Sorin, will show you to your rooms. I bid you welcome to my home, all of you! Enter freely, and leave something of the happiness that you bring.”

“Come along,” the man with sunglasses said, waving us through the gate with one crooked finger. He adjusted his short blue tie, tucking it underneath his old brown suit coat. Everything about this guy screamed fashion nightmare. Even his shoes were mismatched. He laughed as the boys hurried past him underneath the raised portcullis. “Such worthy specimens of the fencing sport! No doubt you will win many medals. No doubt in my mind.”

“I’m glad someone’s optimistic,” Chase said, wheeling past me. His wheel got stuck on a particularly soggy spot in the gravel walk where slushy, melted snow had gathered. I grabbed the handles behind him, pushing him forward.

“I am always the optimist!” Sorin said with a crackly-sounding cackle. He looked in his forties, his brown hair lowlighted with streaks of gray. The hair obviously was unkempt. Really, had it been combed, it would have looked out of place. His big sunglasses rested less on his small nose and more on his puffy red cheeks.

“Seth,” I called out, startling him. The poor doofus hadn’t moved, still staring at the prince’s daughter.

“This way now,” Sorin said, hurrying past the boys. We were inside the palace grounds now, the large mansion-sized keep directly ahead of us about twenty yards away. It was magnificent-looking, with tall arched windows and intricate wooden trim, a flat roof lined with marble statues of humans and horses and monster, and curved corners that extended above the roof in the form of red onion-shaped domes.

“An interesting marriage of many styles,” Sorin said, waving his gangly hand at the building. “Castles that have survived for hundreds of years typically begin to adapt numerous styles. Here, we have Romanesque and Gothic styles merging.”

“What is Gothic architecture?” Miguel asked, staring up at the onion domes.

“Look it up,” Sorin snapped. Everyone flinched. He smiled a crooked smile. “Apologies! Everyone is sorry. We are all so sorry, ah ha ha. Come.”

We made our way toward the keep along a gravel path that wound its way around massive plots of foliage separated by gray brick dividers. Inside each of the plots were hundreds of different plants and shrubs, bare and skeletal, waiting out the cold weather. They were broken up by a few trees whose bare branches were carefully groomed into a spherical shape. The gravel path split in both directions, branching off so visitors could circle the massive garden.

“Yes, this is all quite pretty in the spring and summer,” Sorin said, walking backwards at the head of the group. “So beautiful. Over two hundred species of plant if I remember correctly.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “No, no I think I am wrong. I think it’s four hundred species of plant. Or maybe there were four hundred at one point. I apologize.” He cackled. “So much to remember. And who cares? Now, it looks like a graveyard. Not the type of place to take your pretty ladies, boys.” He wagged his finger at Scott and Miguel. “No … ladies enjoy roses, not bare thorns.”

Chase leaned back in his chair, glancing up at me. “Any chance he’s a Corrupted?”

I shook my head, smiling.

Seth caught up to us, glancing over his shoulder with an expression both  dumbfounded and longing. A string of red licorice hung from his mouth. “So … was that real? Did I really just tell a girl I love her?”

“Yup,” I said.

“In here now,” Sorin said, opening the large wooden door to the keep. It looked as if it had been virtually untouched for hundreds of years—an intricately carved door with a simple brass lock. A touch of modernity complementing the ancient feel of the place. Easy to cut through with my magic pen, if necessary.

We walked into a pretty standard-looking hallway. Well, it would have looked “standard” if not for the rich wood panels and the old-fashioned slip-shade light sconces along the walls. At the end of the hall was the kitchen. Not just a kitchen … a kitchen for a five-star restaurant. Two giant steel fridges, a massive gas range with double oven, even a prepping station complete with a wooden butcher’s block. A walk-in freezer in the far back. Three chefs moved from station to station with a determined look on their sweaty faces. One furiously chopped at pink meat while another chef added green-and-black seasoning to a large bowl. The third—much chubbier—sang a low-pitched song in his native language while he stirred something in a large pot sitting on the stove.

“Apologies!” Sorin said. “The back door does not offer the most glorious of entrances, I’m afraid, but you can rest assured these fine folks are cooking exclusively for you. And you will be free to raid the kitchen when you are hungry. Heh, heh … I like that word … raid.”

It smelled like a five-star restaurant. Whatever was inside that boiling pot was forcing all of us to walk just a little slower so we could savor the scent: a hint of fruits, maybe squash, along with a generous helping of spices that tickled the nostrils.

“Come along, now,” Sorin said, opening the swinging door at the far end. We followed him into the dining room. To call it a room was an understatement. It was the size of the entire first floor of my freaking house! The dining table sat in the center, flanked on either side by a dozen seats. It was made of a dark wood, polished, with place settings and delicate-looking glasses in front of every seat. Old paintings hung from intricate golden frames, lining each of the stone walls. On one side was a massive fireplace laid with fresh logs.

In each of the four corners was a stuffed lion. Like, as in used-to-be-a-real-lion. Each one sat on its haunches, staring apprehensively at the dining table, its flowing red mane puffed out as if bristling at some grave insult.

“Fear them not!” Sorin said, stopping beside one and tapping one on the nose. “See? No one’s home!” He cackled. “They are stuffed … as shall be all of you, after you enjoy our chefs’ wonderful cooking, heh heh.”

The girls exchanged wary looks.

I walked over to the opposite wall, where a handful of small prints hung from beautiful wooden frames. They were in black and white, barely more than sketches. In each one, a terrifying skeleton sat in front of a thick book, making notes while a terrified person dressed in rags looked on.

“Ah, Francisco Goya,” Sorin said, coming up beside me. His coffee breath forced me back a step. “Goya was fond of allowing the subjects of his drawings to peer into the darkness, struggling to see what resides within. As do we all, I fear. The darkness is frightening, but also … curious. It does not give up its secrets without cost.”

“Unless you have a flashlight,” Seth said.

“Come,” Sorin said, hurrying to the opposite end of the room and opening another old door.

We followed him into the main foyer. Jasmine and Margaret both let out collective gasps. Rachel nodded approvingly. We all stood in momentary awe. It looked like the palace of a fairy tale prince right down to the polished marble floor. To our left were two giant gold-encrusted doors that no doubt led out into the garden and the front of the castle. To our right was a grand staircase with marble steps partially covered by a dark red carpet. The golden bannisters curled at the bottom as if the gold had been poured and left to drip down. Two marble lions stood guard at the base of the staircase, regarding us with eyes made of a green stone that glistened in the light of the ornate crystal chandelier hanging high above.

The stairs led up to the second floor, which wrapped around the giant foyer. There were more than a dozen closed doors, each one carved in a unique style. Waves. Horses. Flowers. A shield. The moon. The sun. Foxes. Birds. A tree. A woman.

“It’s beautiful,” Jasmine declared.

“Your rooms,” Sorin said, waving a hand at the doors at the top of the landing. Each one was painted a dark red. “And more,” he added, waving toward the other side of the staircase, where there were a few more doors between tall paintings of scenic Romania hanging from the stone wall. “For your handicapped friend, of course.”

“Thanks,” Chase said.

“But I must warn you.” Sorin pointed with one crooked finger to the set of red double doors at the top of the landing, square with the staircase. “That room leads to the third floor. The third floor belongs to the prince. You must never go through those doors, or you forfeit your life.”

Everyone held their breath. After a tense moment, Sorin cackled wildly, spittle flying from his mouth. “I joke, I joke. But seriously, do not go there. The prince is very private and he will yell at you. Now, I understand you’ve had a long journey. Please, find a room and make your toilet and then come to the dining room for a hearty breakfast!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever made my toilet before,” Seth murmured.

“Let’s not ask him to elaborate,” I said, wheeling Chase around the grand staircase, to one of the heavy wooden doors. I opened the door and stepped inside, nearly gasping when I saw the opening just beyond the bed.

A bathroom. A beautiful bathroom. Bright white tiles and big vanity mirror and giant shower stall with a bathtub and—gasp!—multiple showerheads.

“Oh my gawd I’m so jealous!” I exclaimed.

“He’d better have hot water,” Chase said. He chuckled. “Thanks for picking me a good room. Although it would be nice if it had a window.”

Seth bumped into me, sidling into the room. “Woah,” he said. “Chase, you can’t touch anything.”

He was right: the room looked like it was worth more than our lives. The bed was large, covered by a dark red blanket and half a dozen fluffy white pillows. Its frame was wood, hand-carved. Tucked in the corner was a bookcase, and sitting atop each shelf in front of the books were porcelain statues of colorful princesses. Each one was in her own unique pose. Some looked bashful, staring out at the bed. Another—with a blue dress and blue eyes—was dancing, arms arced over her head.

There was a dresser, too, just as expensive-looking as the hand-carved bed frame. A small flatscreen TV sat on top.

“Oh jeez,” Seth said, marveling at the end table beside the bed. It had a brass surface, held up by four marble statues of half-naked Greek guys who’d clearly just hit the gym.

“Careful,” Chase said, nodding to the gilded vase-shaped lamp sitting on the brass tabletop. “That thing’s worth your entire comic collection, pal.”

Seth nodded. He turned, taking in the pictures the walls. Each one depicted a battle. Some were paintings, others simple wood carvings that had aged and faded over the years. We moved to one of the carvings, scrutinizing the picture: a man, sitting at a table with a glass of wine and a plate of food. Behind him: bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies of soldiers wearing armor, their swords lying on the ground.

“Not the most uplifting images,” Chase murmured.

“Is this suitable for our impressionable young minds?” Seth asked.

“Hardly.”

We turned, watching the door close on its own. Briar appeared out of thin air, one paw obsessively smoothing a wrinkle in his vest.

“How did you get here, dude?” Seth asked, giving the rabbit a high-five/four.

“I hitched various rides,” Briar said stiffly. “I’d rather not discuss it.” He eyed the wood carving on the wall. “Just as I suspected: Vlad the Impaler.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

He pointed his paw to the man enjoying his meal beside the dead bodies. “Dracula.”

Goosebumps prickled the skin on my arms. Chase wheeled back a few inches.

“The Dracula?” Chase asked. “As in, blood-sucking and all that?”

“To be more precise, the man who inspired Dracula,” Briar said. He rubbed his furry little chin, thinking. “Vlad the Impaler, a Wallachian prince who fought the Ottoman Empire as it expanded into Europe during the middle ages. He was known to impale his enemies, taking quite a bit of pleasure in it. It’s said that Prince Vlad once left hundreds—perhaps thousands—of dead soldiers for an invading army to see. The army was so sickened and terrified by the sight that they turned around and went home.”

I felt my stomach lurch. War. Carnage. Death. I’d already had enough reminders of humanity’s dark side to last me a lifetime.

“Difficult to be sure if the rumor is true, of course.” Briar stepped back, sniffing in a helping of the musty air. “After Prince Vlad’s death, a number of writers and historians were killed and their writings burned as the Ottoman Empire took over.”

“Men fighting men for land,” Chase said with a frown. “And books destroyed. It is not only the living who are killed in war.”

“So sayeth the great science fiction author Isaac Asimov,” Briar said. “I see you’ve been reading the books I suggested. Good on you, young man. I knew the moment I saw you wearing a stylish vest that you would be a keeper.”

Chase glanced at me. I blushed furiously. “The rabbit has good taste,” I told him.

“Well, there are other things to discuss,” Briar said. “Like, for instance, why this castle is so danged cold and also …”

There was a knock at the door. Briar hopped to the other side of the massive dresser, ducking behind it. I gave him a curious look as I walked over to the door, wondering why he hadn’t simply turned invisible.

I opened the door and stepped back, gasping. One of the prince’s drivers stood outside, wearing a black suit and a black cap, his jaw clenched. He was still wearing the dark sunglasses, despite being indoors. Beneath his jaw was a dark beard. Just like a lion’s mane.

He dropped Chase’s suitcase on the hardwood floor, staring down at me through his black sunglasses. “Do you require anything else?” he asked in a low growl.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

“I shall put the other suitcases in the other rooms,” he said.

“Good.” I glanced at Briar. His ears had drooped and he was still hiding behind the end of the dresser. I turned back to the driver, but he was already gone.

Leaving behind a golden trail.

Chapter 3

“All right!” Mr. Whitmann called out over the clang of steel blades echoing in the massive gym. “I want Jasmine and Rachel, and I want Scott and Miguel. Let’s go!”

The girls and boys took their places on the red practice mats, putting on their masks and touching blades before beginning. It was hard to stay focused—the city of Agnosara’s gym was huge, big enough for teams from ten countries to practice at once, each team getting two mats each. The clang of foils echoed in the rafters above us. Unlike the place in Hungary, this gym was dedicated solely to fencing. No basketball scoreboards hanging above. Only a fencing scoreboard, turned off for the time being. The bleacher seats weren’t quite empty—a few locals were sitting near the Romanian team, cheering them on as they traded blows.

The gym was cool, as in cold. Perfect for fencing in full gear. We were in the far corner, near the Italian team; between Mr. Whitmann’s encouraging shouts, the fierce-looking Italian coach bellowed foreign orders with all the intensity of a soldier in an action movie. He swayed his hips. He stomped on the floor. He tugged on his shiny black hair as if he wanted to tear it out.

“He’s intense,” Chase said, wheeling up beside me.

“Intense?” I asked, incredulous. “He’s a walking can of Mountain Dew.”

Chase chuckled. “The Italian girls are good.”

“Grayle said they’re some of the best.”

“He might be right.”

I turned to him. “That’s not what I want to hear right now.”

Chase shrugged. “Everyone has their weakness. We just need to find it.”

“OK!” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Alice and Adam, front and center.”

“We’re fighting each other?” Adam asked, eyeing me warily. “What if she beats me? I can’t have that, Mr. Whitmann.”

“You’re not fencing with each other,” Mr. Whitmann said. “You’re practicing with Japan.”

I grabbed the extra mask from our bench, searching the busy floor for Japan’s telltale flag: white, with a red circle in the center. I found it just past Hungary’s familiar team, which had paused momentarily to shoot the breeze while their coach hurried to the bathrooms on the other side of the gym. In Japan’s section, a boy and girl were already suited up, waiting patiently on their mats.

“What do I do?” I hissed at Chase. I felt my palms get sweaty. “I don’t know anything about them!”

He grabbed my hand. “Just breathe. Then breathe again.”

I took two deep breaths, ignoring the dull ache in my ribs and letting a cool blue hue settle over my surroundings. Feeling his skin touch mine had a calming effect, although I would have preferred if he not felt the sweat on my palms.

“Feel it out,” he ordered. “Adjust on each point. I’ll be there with you.”

“OK.” Adam and I walked over to Japan’s mats. As we passed the Hungarians, one of the boys made a comment in his language and the entire team laughed. I ignored it, but I could see by Adam’s stiffness that he’d taken offense.

“Let it go,” I whispered. “They’re jerks.”

“Right, right. Whatev.” Adam held up his foil. “I’d challenge them to a duel, but I’d probably lose.”

“Confidence,” Chase said, wheeling beside us. “Don’t go in thinking like that, Adam. Your body adjusts to your mind. If you’re not confident, your opponent will see it.”

Adam shook his head, giving his male opponent a brisk nod as they stepped onto the mat. I walked past the rest of the Japanese team, trying to give them the friendliest smile that I could manage. To my surprise, most of them returned the gesture. The girls were smaller than me, and each had cut her dark hair short, pulling it behind her ears. My opponent’s style was no different, although she had dyed red streaks in her hair and was a little taller. Mostly in the legs, too. And her face? Well, her face was positively beautiful. Makeup-free, just a few freckles on her forehead like a constellation of stars poking out from between clouds.

“Gawd, I would kill for your complexion,” I told her. She smiled, tapping my saber blade with hers.

We put on our masks, stepping on the mat. I took a few steps, feeling it out. It was a little squishier than the U.S. team’s mats. My feet would need to adjust with each step. I got into my stance, tucking my left arm behind my back.

The Japanese coach shouted “Go!” so loud that it seemed to temporarily quiet the entire gym.

My opponent leapt forward, catching me off-guard. I swung my saber upward, deflecting the first blow and feeling it resonate in my fingers. She came on again and again, not giving me time to reset my feet. I fell back. Her saber sliced up, then back down, then stabbed at my stomach. Each time, my sword felt clumsier and clumsier in my hand. Her grace was awe-inspiring. She moved so swiftly, advancing like a ballet dancer, her feet barely touching the mat.

The green light on the side of my opponent’s helmet began blinking.

“Point for Kai!” the Japanese coach announced.

I lowered my blade, stunned. I hadn’t even felt it.

“Blade up!” Chase called out.

“Duh,” I hissed, resetting my stance. I waited for the coach to call out again, and this time I jumped forward. Balestra. My opponent had the same idea; our blades crossed and our bodies crashed into one another. Kai fell back just a bit, but it was all I needed to take the right of way. I attacked, slicing up and then down, and then down again as I saw her blade flip back. She parried each blow, albeit clumsily, and with each deflected attack I grew angrier and angrier. Just concede the point! I stabbed with my saber again and again, daring to bring my feet so close that I was nearly tripping Kai as she stepped back. I brought my blade up toward her mask and she deflected it, but not without risk: her midsection was exposed now. I brought my blade down, slicing across and feeling the blade bounce off her protective chest plate.

“Point for Alice!”

We danced back and forth on the mat. I lost three points in a row, then won two. I lost three more. My ribs began to ache. The muscles in my right arm burned. My hand felt cramped. At one point, my left hand slipped out from behind my back, trying to deflect Kai’s blade. The metal bounced off my soft palm and I cried out in pain. I got angrier. Why was she so good at defending? How could she be so patient while she was stuck inside this hot suit with the sounds of her own labored breathing echoing inside her mask?!

When she finally finished the last point and took off her mask, I learned a terrible truth: she had barely even broken a sweat. She bowed, eyes lowered, and handed off her blade.

Chase gave me a nod. “You did well.”

“I lost!”

He spun in his chair, wheeling alongside me as we returned to the U.S. section. I made sure to give the Hungarians a wide berth, not interested in overhearing any real or imaginary insults lobbed my way. “You did well. She’s a really good defender. Creepy good. She was waiting for openings.”

“Chase!” I turned to him, taking in a sharp breath. “Just … I don’t want to hear that I did well right now, OK? I lost. I freaking lost and I was scared and ticked off and my hand hurts because I tried to grab her freaking sword.”

Chase’s lips pursed. My eyes dared him to say something more, but he didn’t. Good decision, baby.

Mr. Whitmann took Margaret and Miguel over to the Romanian team. Then he took Rachel and Scott over to France. All of the countries were switching off now, getting practice with each other. No one besides us was losing in quite such a lopsided way, though.

We reconvened three hours later, tired and leaning heavily on each other’s shoulders, slumped over on the uncomfortable aluminum bleacher seat.

“OK,” Mr. Whitmann said with a drawn-out sigh. He rubbed his mustache. There are no answers there, Mr. Whitmann, I thought. “One more and we’ll call it a day. How’s about it? Any volunteers?”

“Alice,” Chase said. I glared at him.

“I’ll volunteer,” Miguel said, raising his hand half-heartedly. “Anything to get back to our comfortable beds at the castle.”

“Gee, what a wonderful attitude,” Chase muttered. He looked at me. “Think you can muster a little more energy than that?”

I nodded, not wanting to talk. To be entirely honest, laying on the bed alone in my room sounded like an awesome idea. I could turn out the expensive lamp and stare up at the ceiling and maybe swear a little bit under my breath. Or I could throw pillows—yeah, that sounded like a good idea, too.

So does throwing all of our fencing gear in the trash. No, Alice, don’t be stupid. There’s no way all of it would fit in a trashcan. Better just burn it all.

“Hey. You good?” Chase asked.

“Yeah. Just fantasizing about burning all our stuff …”

“These girls are intense,” he said, tossing me the mask. “They’re going to come hard. Don’t just parry … beat parry.” He pretended to hold a saber, then swung down quickly, cutting through the air. “Parry with a hard strike. Aim for the middle of your opponent’s saber so it bounces away from her body. You’ll create some openings.”

“Beat parry,” I repeated, flexing my sore left hand. “And don’t try to block an attack with your free hand,” I whispered to myself.

To say our Italian opponents were excited was an understatement. They were downright pumped, bouncing up and down, watching us walk around their teammates as if we were juicy gazelles waiting to be pounced on. My opponent was pretty, with a tanned face and brown curly hair that ran down her shoulders. Her fencing outfit was tight on her body, like it had been specially ordered just for her.

Mine, meanwhile, had some substantial slack in the butt area.

“Sofia,” the girl said.

“Alice,” I responded, giving her a quick nod. I took a deep breath, holding the saber in front of me. Sofia responded in turn, only she held her saber a bit higher, her other hand held high above the back of her head as if she was carrying an invisible tray of food.

“Allez!” the Italian coach shouted.

I gave Sofia the right of way, parrying her furious blows. She was less graceful than my Japanese opponent, but stronger. I had to take a step back, then another, my blade held diagonally so that it was easier to parry the diversified attacks: up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right. Each time, our blades clanged together. She took the first point, then the second. After each point, she tightened her free hand into a fist and let out a primal scream.

“Beat parry!” Chase shouted from the sideline.

“I’ll beat parry you,” I muttered, getting into position again. My opponent followed suit. She stood like a statue, in perfect form. Her chest rose and fell slowly, much slower than mine. I was already gathering fast breaths, trying to ignore the wet heat gathering inside my stifling mask. Did they turn up the furnace or what?!

“Allez!” the Italian coach shouted.

She came at me again, this time alternating between slicing and stabbing. Slice up, then stab … slice down, then stab … back up again, then stab again …

Now! I saw her next move coming and anticipated, putting extra oomph into my parry when Sofia sliced downward. Her blade bounced back and that was all I needed. I took the offensive, alternating my blows and aiming for the left side of her chest. I stabbed, then moved in closer for a sideswipe left, then right. Her feet faltered. I saw another opening and took it, stabbing again.

“Point Alice!” the Italian coach shouted with somewhat comical dismay.

“That’s right!” Chase yelled. I could hear the voices of my teammates, too, but there was no time to survey the audience—Sofia was already lined up and in position again.

“Time,” Chase called. He wheeled to the edge of the mat. I met him and took off my mask, thankful for the fresh air. “I want you to execute a horizontal fleche,” he said.

“That’s against the rules!”

Chase nodded. “You’re just going to get in her head a little bit. Test her mental agility. We need to know her limits for when we play her in the tournament.”

I put my mask on, returning to the mat. I got into place, tensing the muscles in my legs. The moment the coach shouted “Allez!” I jumped forward, my body straightening horizontally like Superman flying through the air. I stabbed with my saber, connecting with a very surprised Sofia’s chest plate before landing hard on the mat, protecting my ribs by landing on my elbows.

“No point!” the coach announced. “Warning!”

Sofia cocked her head. I stood and gave a shrug. The coach set us up again and shouted “Allez!” This time, I sensed a moment of hesitation on Sofia’s part. I took the initiative, advancing quickly and slicing at the bottom half of her torso. She slipped back, frustrated, unable to defend my next cut to her left side.

“Point for Alice,” the coach announced in an icy tone. “En garde.”

We returned to our starting position.

“Allez!” the couch shouted.

I advanced, taking the initiative and swinging my blade down, aiming for Sofia’s shoulder. She parried with precision, surprising me with the force of her blow. I kept up my attack, stabbing at her stomach and then turning my attention on her right shoulder again with short, quick cuts. She parried each one, matching my tempo and intensity.

Then it was her turn.

It was as if she’d just woken up and downed a cup of coffee. As if she hadn’t been practicing all morning. As if she had an extra freaking gallon of gas in her tank. I parried the blows as best I could, trying to block out my teammates’ cheers. Each blow seemed to sap my strength. Sofia brought her blade down with a frightening ferocity, and I felt my saber handle slip in my grasp. I tried to recover, panting for extra oxygen, ignoring the bead of sweat slipping around my eyebrow. I had to attack. I had to do it now while I still had some strength left.

Her blade swept toward my head. I parried, feeling the attack reverberate down the blade to the handle, numbing the tips of my fingers. She stabbed and I side-stepped, pushing the blade aside and trying to bring my own across her stomach. But her blade was already there, parrying with such intensity that the burning muscles in my arm couldn’t prevent the saber from slipping out of my grasp.

She stabbed me in the chest plate, then celebrated with an epic scream.

Showering never felt so good. It would have been even better if I’d gotten the entire locker room to myself, but no dice: our team shared shower time with Hungary, South Korea and France. Rachel and Jasmine finished first, neither of them particularly interested in hanging out in the locker room. Margaret—in true Margaret fashion—tried her best to strike up a conversation with some of the others, but only one of the French girls was interested in talking about the fencing boys.

I blocked everyone out as best I could, opting for a not-quite-cold shower to wash away my frustration. With my eyes closed, I played out the practice matches, scrutinizing my every move. My advances were clumsy. I parried high when I should have pushed the opponent’s blade to the right of my body, leaving her midsection open for an attack. My free hand—still sore—flopped around like a fish when I started getting pushed back.

“Ugh,” I muttered, wiping steam away from one of the five mirrors on the far end of the girls’ locker room. I’d been last to leave the showers.

“Ugh is right,” Margaret said, rolling a tube of lipstick my way. I caught it, applied a thin layer and puckered. “And could we not eat dinner with that creepy prince guy tonight? Please?”

“The prince,” spat one of the tall girls from Hungary standing beside me. Like, literally: she spat into her sink. “He is a dark one. His family is full of murderers and despots. Do you know this word?”

“Despots,” I repeated, putting two fingers to my temple as if my machine-like brain was recalling the information. “Tyrants. Harsh rulers. Authoritarians.”

“Good, good.” She spat again. “Generations of violence and war. He is no different.”

“I think he’s too preoccupied with his tourist trap to take over the world,” Margaret muttered, leaning in close to her mirror to apply eye shadow. “One of the dresser drawers in my room is full of Castle Vontescue t-shirts.”

The Hungarian girl laughed disdainfully. To her left, one of her teammates slid over a brown pill bottle. It stopped beside her little blue makeup bag. She opened it, grabbed a big yellow pill and popped it in her mouth. She ran the faucet, filling her cupped palm and sipping from it.

“What was that?” Margaret asked. “Oh, please tell me it’s the secret for your healthy-looking hair. Please, please, please.”

The Hungarian girl shook her head. “No. It’s Jump. What is that American saying for obviousness?”

“Duh.”

I turned right. One of the brunette French girls had taken the sink beside Margaret. She had her own brown pill bottle and was in the process of downing one of the same pills. She didn’t wash it down with water—she just went back to applying her blush.

“Yes, duh.” The Hungarian girl laughed. “Very funny.”

“What is it?” Margaret asked.

The Hungarian girl turned, giving us a strange look. “Are you so stupid that you cannot figure it out?”

“Hey,” I said, turning. I realized suddenly that both of us were wrapped in towels and nothing else. I decided to diffuse the situation. “We’ve just never seen that pill in the states is all.”

“Oh.” The Hungarian girl grabbed the bottle and handed it to me. “That explains much. Jump is a PED.”

“What is—”

I cut Margaret off. “A Performance Enhancing Drug.”

Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Like steroids? Those give chicks facial hair, gal.”

“Not steroids,” the Hungarian girl said, smiling. “Better. No side effects. It makes you faster and stronger. Tired? No. Not with this.”

I looked down at the bottle. A strange feeling crept over me, like I was doing something incredibly wrong just holding the bottle. I turned, half-expecting to see some fencing tournament official walking in, hands clasped behind her back and dressed like an old-fashioned schoolmaster. But the locker room was mostly empty, save for a few girls from South Korea’s fencing team sitting on one of the benches. They grabbed their purses from the old green lockers and shut them, walking out through the main entrance.

“South Korea’s team doesn’t use them,” the French girl said. “They will be first to leave the tournament. Don’t worry—they are not snitches, though.”

“Snitches …” I repeated the word. It came out of my mouth with far less venom than when the French girl had said it. She’d spoken the word as if it was a piece of oversalted food.

“Everyone in fencing uses Jump,” the Hungarian girl said. “You will, too.”

I set the bottle on the lip of the sink. I didn’t want to touch it. I wanted to touch it. I did. I didn’t.

“It will make things fair if you take it,” said the French girl. “Otherwise, you will not stand a chance against the other teams.”

I looked down at the bottle. It was gone. I turned to Margaret. She’d stuffed the bottle in her makeup bag and was zipping it up, giving me a satisfied nod.

Back at the castle, everyone crashed hard. When we woke, we had just an hour before dinner. I spent the time in Chase’s room with Seth and Briar, who’d done some not-so-impressive snooping while we were gone.

“So you literally went on a tour of the castle?” Seth asked, laughing.

Briar nodded, both ears flopping over. He pulled them back like two stray strands of hair. “I thought it would be best to let a certified tour guide do all of the hard work. I kept my distance from the tourists, ensuring I wasn’t detected.”

“So what did you find?” I asked.

“The castle is quite old,” Briar said. “In fact, I do believe it’s far older than the tour guide suggested. She claims it was built in the early 1300’s, but I would place it much earlier.”

“How do you know?”

The rabbit’s eyes narrowed. “Knowledge.”

“Deep, dude.” Seth snapped his fingers in Briar’s direction.

Briar bowed in appreciation. “The design is very eleventh century. This castle is composed of an outer wall and a keep, which is this place right here.” He tapped on the wooden floor with his big brown foot. “The oldest architecture is also very Romanesque. Now, if you’d like a detailed history of that …”

“Got it,” Seth said, holding up his phone. “Romanesque architecture is characterized by semicircular arches. Oh, like the holes in the walls and the towers.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Well, there’s quite a bit more to it than that …”

“At least the prince offers free Wi-Fi,” I said.

“Yeah.” Seth tapped his phone screen a few times. “But it’s not very good.”

“We need more,” I told Briar. “I want to know every inch of this place. I want to know the fastest way out, what’s behind every door, and any secret passages.”

“Indeed?” Briar’s ears straightened. “How very hero-like of you!”

“Yeah, I’m in the groove. Now if only I felt the same way fencing.” I turned to Chase, who was sitting on the bed with me. He had his arms crossed and was staring at the dresser opposite his bed. I’d nearly forgotten all about him. “Hey.” I nudged him with my elbow. “What’s the deal?”

He blinked, shook his head and looked at me. “Sorry. What?”

“Chase, what’s wrong? You haven’t said two words since we got back.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just strategizing.”

“Good luck,” Seth said. “From what I hear, it sounds like some tough competition.”

There was a knock on the door. Briar scurried behind the dresser. I went to the door, opening it. Mrs. Satrapi already had her arms crossed, unsurprised to see me.

“I see you are still doing your best to give Mr. Whitmann a heart attack.”

“I’m chaperoning,” Seth said, waving like a doofus.

Mrs. Satrapi pursed her lips. “So I see. Dinner is served.”

“Finally!” Seth said. “I swear, it’s almost eight o’clock for crying out loud.”

Mrs. Satrapi gave him a curious look before shutting the door. I went to the bed, helping Chase slide off and move to his chair. I glanced at Briar. “Now would be a perfect time …”

“… To investigate?” he finished. “Yes. Understood. Enjoy your meal. No, no, don’t worry about me. I shall starve to death with sportsmanlike dignity.”

“Obviously we’ll sneak some food for you,” I said.

“I expect desert!” he called out after us.

We went into the dining room, where the boys were already seated and filling up on slices of multigrain bread sitting on plates between elaborate silver three-branched candelabras. Rachel was with them, talking heatedly with Scott and Miguel about some action TV show that they apparently all watched. I took a seat on the other end with Chase and Seth. Margaret and Jasmine and her mother sat opposite us.

The fire in the fireplace was roaring, warming our backs. I felt comfortable, a word I was having trouble associating with this castle.

“Dang,” Seth murmured, grabbing a slice of white bread and spreading creamy butter across both sides. “I was kinda hoping there’d be food waiting for us.”

Prince Leo entered through the foyer, followed closely by his daughter. The prince wore a swanky button-down black suit while Sanda—ever the more colorful one—had opted for a beautiful flowing red dress with a v-neck and braided shoulder straps. To say the boys were speechless was a bit of an understatement—they’d even stopped eating their bread. Temporarily.

The prince took his seat at the end of the table. Sanda sat beside him. Right next to Seth, who immediately started bouncing his leg up and down underneath the table.

“The tapping of your cane precedes you,” Mrs. Satrapi said to the prince. “Is it a serious injury?”

The prince rested his cane against the table, leaning back while a finely dressed male servant filled his glass with red wine. “It is, unfortunately, a genetic condition. Our family has a variety of unfortunate maladies that make life difficult. I fear I’ll never be able to escape this blasted cane.”

“Do you need a cane?” Seth asked Sanda. He blushed. “Because you don’t need one. You walk really nice. I mean, like, you could totally use a cane though if you wanted.”

I cringed, reaching under the table for Chase’s warm hand to keep myself from covering Seth’s mouth. To my surprise, Sanda simply giggled. “Thank you,” she said, “but I’m adopted, so I don’t share the same genes as my father.”

“Right,” Seth said. “So you’ll always be a good walker. And … I mean, like, walking is good. Real good.”

Chase gave my hand a tense squeeze.

“Look,” I said, pointing to the door that led to the kitchen. “A diversion!”

Everybody turned. Three young female servers dressed in white suits each brought out silver trays with dishes of food. The boys’ eyes moved from the servers to the food, and for good reason: each plate looked like a veritable feast. There were thin cuts of a fire-roasted meat dressed with a red wine sauce, resting carefully on a pile of fresh mashed potatoes sprinkled with red peppers and onions. Beside the main course were steamed veggies: carrots, broccoli and two spears of asparagus.

“Oh, that smells heavenly,” Mrs. Satrapi said. “But do you have a vegetarian selection, prince?”

“I’m way ahead of you,” Seth said, reaching over and stabbing the strips of beef on Mrs. Satrapi’s plate. He replaced them with his broccoli and asparagus. “Done and done.”

“The boy is clever,” said the prince. A stray black hair fell away from his carefully slicked-back style. He reached up, pulling it back in place. He was still wearing his gloves. “And the rest of you? Is the taste acceptable?”

The boys, scarfing quickly, nodded and murmured a yes. Mr. Whitmann gave a thumbs-up, slurping an asparagus. Mrs. Satrapi winced at the sight.

“Castle Vontescue’s chefs are the best in the country,” the prince said proudly. He sipped his wine. “Only a select few guests have enjoyed their robber steak.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?” I asked.

The prince smiled. “The taste of meat loses its … finer notes if enjoyed too often.”

“Did you … want some extra meat?” Seth asked Sanda. He cleared his throat. “I have plenty, as you can see.”

I stared, flabbergasted. Is he absolutely insane, offering this wonderful girl a slice of beef? That’s never going to work. Never …

Sanda reached over with her fork, stabbing a slice and putting it on her plate. Both Margaret and Jasmine stared, open-mouthed.

The prince watched with a cool expression, saying nothing.

“So do you think you will win medals?” Sanda asked us.

“They’re definitely winning medals,” Chase said, cutting his asparagus into little pieces. “No doubt about it.”

“Sanda,” Margaret whined, reaching across the table. “How did you squeeze into that dress? Be honest: what do you do to stay in shape?”

Sanda giggled and shrugged. “I give tours during the day. It is a lot of walking.”

“Sanda is our best tour guide,” Prince Leo said with pride. “She keeps the fat ones walking fast so they are tired by the end of the tour. They buy many sports drinks from our gift shop.”

“Can we have a tour?” Seth asked.

The prince waved away the question. “It has already been arranged. I will ensure it does not conflict with your fencing schedule.”

“You will love the history,” Sanda told Seth, leaning close to him. To his credit, Seth didn’t react in a very Seth-like way by dropping his forkful of meat into his lap.

“Are there knights involved?” he asked hopefully.

Sanda nodded, smiling and raising her dark eyebrows. She had a warm demeanor and an animated face, nothing like her adopted father. “Do you know much of the Mongol hordes?”

“Oh sure,” Seth said, nodding furiously. “They were … hordes.”

She giggled, sipping from her glass of water. She leaned in close to him again. “They were furious warriors from Asia. They arrived in Eastern Europe during the 1200’s, devastating the Hungarian Empire. The Mongols had light cavalry—men on horses—who would attack and retreat, attack and retreat. Their enemies would pursue them, thinking the Mongolians were fleeing. Then …” She cocked her head up toward the intricate chandelier. “There, hidden in the forest: more Mongolian soldiers! With the Hungarian soldiers broken and tired, the Mongolians broke through their lines, destroying them.”

“Coooooool,” Seth and Chase said in unison.

“The Mongolian Empire swept west, killing those who fought back and enlisting the men who surrendered. But here …” She tapped her finger on the smooth surface of the dining table. “Right here. This was where the Mongolian Empire tasted defeat. They arrived by the thousands and saw our castle looming on the horizon, its stone walls twice as tall as they are now and encompassing twice the amount of land so that all of the villagers in the region could safely hide inside.”

“Oh holy crap,” Seth said.

“The holiest of crap,” Sanda said, grabbing his hand.

“Really?” Scott said from the other side of the table. “Am I seeing this?” He lifted up the sleeve of his gray t-shirt, making a semi-formidable muscle for Sanda to see. “Hello? We have muscles on this side of the table, FYI.”

Sanda ignored him, snatching her butter knife and clutching it like a sword. “The Mongols had the numbers, but Lord Nicholai Vontescue had the castle. The Mongols, led by a brash general, knew they had to take the castle and its supplies if they were to push westward. Otherwise, their soldiers would starve. Lord Vontescue knew this as well. And when the Mongols finally attacked, Vontescue gave them a taste of their own medicine, thinning out their ranks with arrows from the towers and then opening the castle gates.”

“They opened the castle gates?” Seth asked, his voice cracking. He blushed. “Ahem. That sounds crazy,” he added in a low, manly voice.

“Then,” Sanda continued, “when half of the Mongol army was through, he closed the gates again.”

“Now that is some good strategy,” Chase said.

Sanda nodded gravely. “The Mongols were slaughtered, and those who remained outside the castle were hunted down. Vontescue showed no mercy, just as the Mongols had showed no mercy with the people of Wallachia. More than half of the people in Romania were slaughtered as more Mongol armies invaded Europe. But the Mongols never took Castle Vontescue or its people.”

The entire table had gone silent. Even Mrs. Satrapi looked impressed.

“That is without a doubt the most amazing story I’ve ever heard,” Seth said. “And I’ve heard some crazy stories lately.”

“When the Magyar invaded,” Vontescue said, “they were thrown back. When the Lombard invaded, they were wiped out. The Turks and the Mongols and the Hungarians were no different. All tasted our blade.”

“There is much suffering in the soil of this land,” Sanda said. “And much death.”

“What of this fencing tournament?” the prince asked us. “Is this a popular sport in your country?”

“Not really,” Mr. Whitmann said, tearing at a piece of brown bread. “Dueling with swords never really caught on with us Yankees.”

“Ah, but dueling has such a rich history!” the prince exclaimed. “Did you know that William Shakespeare partook in duels?”

“Really?” Chase asked. “I mean, I’ve read some of his plays with duels in them …”

“In Shakespeare’s time, it was common for men to rush the stage during a dueling scene in a play, drawing their swords and partaking in the action.” The prince sipped his wine, savoring the taste. He continued: “Others dueled for more foolish reasons. One man dueled more than twenty times to prove that Dante was the greatest poet, only to admit finally that he had never read Dante’s poetry at all.”

“A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark,” Chase said.

The prince’s eyes darkened. “Wherever did you learn such a filthy quote.”

“It’s Dante,” Chase said, glancing nervously at me. “I, uh, read the Spark Notes version of his Divine Comedy during Junior year. We used the quote on our baseball team. It’s … uh, not meant to be a filthy quote.”

The prince’s eyes stayed on Chase. I didn’t like the prince’s eyes on Chase. I didn’t like that dark look. That was the kind of look only a Corrupted could pull off.

With dinner ended, everyone went their own way. Miguel offered to bring Chase upstairs to watch a Romanian movie, but Chase declined with an uncharacteristic brusqueness. Jasmine wanted to read, and Margaret and Rachel wanted to watch TV. Seth wanted to sit at the table for a while longer with Sanda, which the prince permitted with only a hint of bemused wariness.

I stopped at the grand staircase in the foyer, admiring the lions on guard. They were more ferocious than the type of mass-manufactured statue you normally see sitting outside of a suburban house. These had sharper teeth, narrowed eyes, and mangy manes. There was something else, too: dirt. Just a few black granules at the lion’s feet that had missed the sweep of a broom. But they were there, and as I reached down and grabbed a chunk between pinched fingers, I felt the very definition of cold spread over my back like a dark shadow.

“Such a filthy mess, this place,” the prince said, tsk-tsking. His gloved hand touched the railing, sliding upward as he ascended one step at a time. “Do sleep well, young one.”

“You too,” I murmured.

I went to my room, showering and taking advantage of the bookcase that was stuffed with more than a fair share of Castle Vontescue pamphlets. Just having the tourist guides on the bookcase was an insult to its beauty. The wood was intricately carved, full of men clutching books and women wielding swords in the corner of each shelf. Below the shelves were carvings of lions, an entire pack of them running across the base of the case. The top was arched, and three carved faces lorded over the books.

Most of the books were old, mainly histories of Romania wrapped in faded dust jackets that had a wonderful old book smell. Only a few were in English, so I picked the one with the prettiest cover. It was leather, dyed red, the letters of the title embossed and gilded with a craftsman’s precision.

Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

“Nope,” I said, putting it back. “I get enough of that already. Come on …” That little TV sitting on the dresser was looking more and more inviting. “No,” I groaned. “Must … fight … television!” I grabbed another book in English: The Three Musketeers. “Nothing like a little light reading,” I said sarcastically.

To the empty bedroom.

I got two chapters in before I saw the first spider.

Now, I’m not one to complain about a big, soft bed. And as far as accommodations went, you could do a lot worse than a castle chamber full of beautiful antique paintings, a giant bookshelf full of old books, an antique dresser, and a flatscreen TV. Really, I’m not complaining. It was almost perfect.

But the moment I saw that little six-legged critter skitter under the bed, I saw the place for what it really was: an old, old castle. I opened my eyes. Like, I really, really opened my eyes. Every corner had a spider web in it. Every. Single. Corner. And so naturally I got the heebie-jeebies, as Briar might say. I lay in bed with the nightlight on, trying not to think about big, creepy spiders crawling on my skin. But the more I thought about it, the more I could feel them.

“Some hero,” I muttered, staring up at the ceiling. My stomach lurched. “Ugh. Et tu, Brute?” Even the ceiling had spider webs. Old, dusty webs that hung and drifted from side to side like little spider flags flapping in the wind. Staking their claim on the room.

I got out of bed, putting on my pants and black sweatshirt and grabbing the magic pen. I stuffed it in my pocket, wondering where Briar might be. If I stand on his shoulders, I might be able to tear down all of the webs …

“No,” I whispered. I had an even better idea: take a short jog around the castle, wear myself out, and then collapse exhausted on the comfortable bed and sleep until morning. That was the trick, because getting to sleep was the hardest part. Once I actually fell asleep, my fear of spiders would drift back into a dark corner in my mind—perfect for spiders anyway—and I wouldn’t think about them again until the next evening.

Plus, I needed to know this place.

I quietly left my room, entering the main foyer with the grand staircase. I stood beside one of the stone lions, looking up at the red double doors at the top of the stairs. What are you hiding, prince?

From one of the other rooms, I could hear a TV blaring. At least a few of the boys were still awake. I went to the front door, pulling on the heavy iron ring that was in the place of a regular ol’ doorknob. It gave way just enough for me to slip through. I got the feeling the prince’s servants all used the rear entrance of the keep. The prince? Well, maybe he and his daughter just didn’t go out much at all.

Which made everything just tad bit stranger.

I followed the gravel path through the courtyard’s skeletal flower beds, weaving my way around bare shrubs and rose bushes swaddled in burlap and twine. Lanterns were hung from wrought iron brackets bolted to the massive stone wall, providing enough illumination for me to comfortably jog my way around the entire courtyard. Gravel crunched underneath my feet. My breath came out in hot clouds of steam. I could feel the cold nipping at my ears but ignored it, pushing my body faster. My ribs stung, so I tried to not swing my right arm quite so much.

Focus, Alice! Focus …

Towers with tooth-shaped parapets, twice as high as the wall. Crumbling stone along the wall’s base. A hundred steps from tower to tower. Three trees on the west end, all of them too tall to climb. Two saplings on the north end. Two trees on the east end. Two trees on the south end. All of them the same species. All of them creepy-looking, with twisted branches that had been groomed no doubt by that creepy Sorin guy.

The crunching of my athletic shoes on the gravel …

A thump …

The crunching of gravel, this time more pronounced. Faster footsteps, not my own.

Coming up behind me.

Adrenaline coursed through my body. My fingers tensed. In a split second, I made a decision: reaching for my pen would hamper my right hand; heck, it might even get caught in my pocket and then what? Doomsday for the hero, that’s what. But the steps were coming fast and the momentum would all be centered right on my body. I needed to move. I needed to adjust the momentum.

All in a split second.

And so I turned, letting my body fall backward. The dark mass was right behind me, lunging for me, and I used my legs to kick it over me, letting its momentum do most of the work. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a pair of dark jaws snapping at me, drool flying, and then the creature landed on the path, sliding on the gravel.

I hit the ground hard. My ribs cried out in pain. Breath escaped my lungs. The sharp gravel dug into my back. I rolled over, reaching in my pocket for my pen as I pushed myself to my feet.

The creature stood on all fours, growling a low growl. Its paw swept across the gravel path and kicked it up at the wall. Rocks hit the lantern, shattering the glass and bulb and cloaking the space between us in darkness.

Now it was nothing more than a shadow. What was it? I sidled left, off the path and onto one of the prince’s empty flower beds, trying to gauge my enemy. A wolf? No … too big. A werewolf? Maybe … but the creature wasn’t moving like one. The creature was moving more like a … like a …

“A big cat,” I whispered. “A big, big cat with a horse face.”

And a long, flowing mane.

“Well, at least you’re an original creep,” I told it. “I’d have been disappointed if you were just a run-of-the-mill werewolf or something.”

The shadowy creature skulked closer, following me off the path. It whinnied with a mouthful of drool. My eyes darted to the wall, glancing upward. I held my breath, listening. The soft pads of the creature’s paws crunched on frozen blades of grass.

“You were up on the wall,” I said, stepping sideways again. “You live here. Who are you?”

The creature skulked closer. I studied its hind legs, knowing full well that my magic pen was the only thing keeping it from coming at me head-on. I couldn’t outrun it. Even a slow big cat like a tiger could top 30 miles per hour, and this was some kind of cat-horse hybrid from the Horse Whisperer’s worst nightmare. I needed a smarter way out of this.

And calling for help wasn’t an option.

“Does your master know you’re here?” I asked. “I mean, no offense, but I’m a pretty big deal. I don’t think you have permission to do this.”

The creature followed me into the rose garden, weaving around the burlap-cocooned  rose bushes and leaving a faint golden trail. It was taking its time, I realized. Why not? I wasn’t going anywhere. All it needed was an opening. Like a lion waiting patiently in the grass, it was waiting for me to make the first mistake. The only mistake I would be allowed to make. I couldn’t stop my mind from picturing a gazelle being chased down by a lion, both of them hitting the ground hard enough to kick up dry Serengeti dust.

I took another step left, holding the magic pen out in front of me like a little knife. “Who are you?”

The creature darted right. I spun on my heels and took a step back. My foot got caught between two brambly branches of a bush. I nearly fell, feeling my heart thump in my ears. The creature moved closer, then halted when I aimed the tip of the pen at its nose. It was close enough now that I could see its long snout, the nostrils flaring and releasing little puffs of steam. I could smell its hot breath: rotten meat.

The clouds above us parted. Yup, the creature definitely had a horse head. A mean-looking, feral horse head with flaring nostrils and a long snout. Moonlight reflected in its big eyes. Its slit-shaped pupils narrowed.

“You can see me pretty well with those big pearly whites,” I said, maneuvering behind the bare bush. I got on one knee, bending down. “But I’m not too excited about sitting out here all night waiting for you to attack me. Your fur coat might be nice and comfortable, but this jacket really doesn’t keep the cold away. And I hate. Being. Cold.”

The creature growled, leaning forward to snap at me. I pulled my head back, giving myself a good foot of space between us. No need to get too close, Alice. Just get it to take the initiative. You can’t win this fight if you attack first.

I ran the magic pen across the frozen dirt.

The creature snapped again, long mane flowing from side to side. It lowered its back legs, crouching. Ready to pounce.

“Oooooooooo-kay,” I said. “You win. Drawing a sword is a bad idea.” I stepped back. I was near the fattest tree in the entire courtyard. It had a few sturdy branches that I could reach with a good jump, but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught in a tree.

The creature stepped on the bush, snapping its little branches and squishing it good. Then it took another step …

Right on my glowing half-finished sword.

The creature howled, trotting backward. The bottom of its paw was burned, smoking just a bit. I took two steps back, reaching my left hand back and feeling for the trunk of the tree. My fingers found the bark. I moved closer, holding the pen out, watching the creature skulk around the bush, limping on its burned foot. It let out another low growl, then a distinct horse-like “nay-ay-ay.”

“What are you waiting for, Black Beauty?” I asked, shaking the pen at it. My hand was sweaty. My legs trembled, begging for me to run even though it was suicide. “What are you waiting …”

The entire courtyard grew darker. I glanced up and, seeing the clouds slipping over the moon, felt my entire body go numb.

The creature moved with all the swiftness you’d expect from a seasoned predator, slipping around to my right and testing my eyes’ reaction time. I followed the curve of the mighty trunk, letting it protect my left side while I kept the pen’s tip aimed squarely at the creature’s black snout. It was nothing more than a shadow now, and my brain was more than happy to fill in the details. My heart raced. The tips of my fingers tingled.

“Come on,” I said. “Come on!”

It moved closer, snapping its jaws at me. I swung the pen at it, forcing it back. I slipped around the trunk of the tree, using it like a shield. The creature growled and snapped its jaws again, aiming for my legs. I swung the pen low, but it was too fast. It darted around to the other side of the tree.

“No!” I shouted, switching hands just in time to stab at the creature again. Its glowing flat horse’s teeth greeted me, nearly taking off my fist. Instinct told me to pull back so I did, giving up my cover behind the tree. Maybe swallowing the pen would kill it, I thought, but what good is a hero missing a hand?

I took three quick steps back, glancing quickly over my shoulder to get a good idea of my bearings. The creature followed, sensing an advantage now. We stood together on one of the frozen, empty flower beds.

“All right,” I told it. “Just you and me now. Give me your best move, and I’ll give you mine.”

The creature cocked its head, then opened its mouth. A distinct, throaty laugh escaped in clouds of steam.

“I’m serious!” I said, taking three more steps back. “We’re going to have a good old-fashioned rundown, you and I. No holds barred. No do-overs. You wanna eat me? That’s how it happens.”

The creature nodded and took a step closer, its long mane dragging on the frozen ground.

“Oh, you like this idea?” I took three more steps back. “Good. I hope you know what you’re doing!”

… Because I sure do.

We stood twenty feet apart, breathing heavily. I listened close, half-expecting to hear another set of footsteps coming up from behind. But no—this creature was alone, clearly letting the Corruption get the best of it no matter whose protection I was under while here. That, or it was just really, really hungry. Judging by the drool, I couldn’t rule “hunger” out as the primary motive here.

The muscles in my legs tensed. Clouds revealed the moon for a split second, bathing the courtyard in a soft blue light before hiding it once more. We started running at the same time, as if our minds were linked. The space between us closed impossibly fast. My vision seemed to blur. The dark creature moved so swiftly it was as if it was cutting through the night air. Wind whistled in my ears.

This is it …

The creature’s legs launched it into the air. I pushed off on my right leg, executing a horizontal fleche. The creature opened its mouth. I twisted my body, dodging its mouth and reaching out for its flowing mane with my left hand. I grabbed a handful of hair, pulling hard, twisting the creature’s body. I brought my right hand up.

The tip of my pen drew a golden line across its torso.

We tumbled to the ground and I curled up quickly into a ball, rolling for my life. My ribs stung from the impact. As I rolled away, I had the sudden fear that the creature would land on me at any moment, ready to tear me apart and finally get its meal.

But it didn’t come. I stopped rolling, dizzy, and forced myself to my feet, searching for the pen. There it was, right underneath the creature, who was bucking like a wild bronco as the burning blackness spread up its body. The little golden embers spread to one leg and it fell over, exploding into ashes as it hit the frozen ground.

I took a couple short, quick breaths, clutching my side. A searing heat spread through my right shoulder. I ignored it, sifting through the ash pile for the magic pen. It was only after I put the pen in my pocket that I absently reached for my shoulder. My fingers pulled away as if they’d been electrocuted.

“Crud,” I said. “Crud, crud, crud.”

I hurried back inside. The foyer was empty and quiet. The sound of TV’s blaring through the doors was gone. Everyone was asleep, completely oblivious to the turmoil that had happened outside.

I went into my room, navigating around the giant bed and nearly tripping on its curved foot. The blue nightlight illuminated the bathroom door. I opened it, turned on the light, and groaned at the image reflected in the mirror.

Two red cuts. Right through the fabric of my jacket and my blue Milwaukee Brewers night shirt. A gift from Chase, by the way. I grabbed one of the two white towels hanging from the towel rack, pressing it down on my shoulder. The cuts weren’t deep, at least. Maybe they wouldn’t scar.

“Just another day,” I told my reflection. I needed sleep. I looked like a zombie: my hair was a tangled mess and my eyes looked puffy and stressed. I ran water in the sink, filling up the plastic “Castle Vontescue” collector’s cup. I drank, put a few strips of toilet paper over the cuts, then changed into a fresh white t-shirt and pajama pants.

I sat down on the bed and brushed my hair into a semblance of order. “OK,” I said, crawling under the covers. “You’re a hero, Alice. You just killed a giant horse monster with a freakin’ pen. You are not afraid of spiders.”

I closed my eyes.

A tingle spread down my arms. My eyes shot open and I reached out, brushing off imaginary spiders. I pulled away the covers, using the light from my cell phone to check the bed for any little black creepy shadows. Nothing.

“But you’re there,” I whispered. “I just know it!”

The room was quiet. I held my breath. Something caught my eye near the foot of the bed. A shadow … a little, M&M-sized shadow! I crawled to the other side of the bed, watching the little thing scurry along the base of the dresser.

“Please don’t go under the bed,” I told it. “Pleeeeease don’t go under the bed!”

It stopped. In the blue light of my phone, it cast a terrifying little shadow. A spider with a shadow. A black spider, probably chock-full of venom, ready to kill me in my sleep and cocoon me and suck my blood.

“Easy, Alice,” I whispered, grabbing a spare pillow. My plan was simple: squish the spider with the pillow, shove the pillow under the bed and never think about it again.

“It’s just a spider,” I told myself. “It’s a little, itsy-bitsy spider …”

It turned. My heart skipped a beat. Both of its hairy front legs raised up.

“All right!” I said, surrendering the pillow. “You win. You win, you win, you win!”

I hopped off the bed, hurried to the door, and escaped with my life.

After a few knocks, Chase mumbled a muffled “Come in.” I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me. He peered out from underneath the covers, his hair disheveled and his eyes half-closed.

“Alice? What the heck is going on?”

“There was a spider.”

He blinked. The blue glow of the nightlight plugged in beside the dresser gave his face a pale, innocent look. Cute, too.  “So …”

“Well, obviously I can’t sleep in my room!”

He sat up. “Am I dreaming? I have dreams that start like this.”

“There’s not going to be any funny business,” I warned, sitting on the bed.

He slid over, then reached out and touched my back. “Hold on. You’re bleeding.”

“Oh. That. There was a monster outside. It’s not a bad cut, though.”

He sighed. “A monster, eh?”

“Big. Horse-like. I didn’t even have time to draw a sword or anything.”

“Go into the bathroom and get the little black bag from the sink.”

I went into the bathroom, grabbing the bag. I set it on the bed, then sat down. “What are you going to do?”

“I packed a little first-aid kit for you,” he said, sitting up and unzipping the bag. “Turn on the lamp.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Chaaaaaase!”

“It’s less romantic than you think. Unless me worrying about a monster killing you is romantic.”

“That’s totally romantic!”

“Turn on the lamp. Lift up the back of your shirt.”

I turned on the bedside lamp and rolled up the back of my shirt, revealing my bare back and shoulders.

“You know, this would be pretty sexy if you didn’t have a gross wound,” he pointed out.

“I still think it’s pretty sexy,” I said. “Hero emerges victorious from battle … her dude tends to her wounds … they smooch a bit …”

He chuckled. “Maybe it’s a little sexy. Hold still a moment.”

“Ow!” I said, flinching when he dabbed at the cuts with a cold, wet piece of gauze.

“Oh please.” He ran the wet gauze down the wound. It stung something fierce. “You want pain? Get beaned by a fastball right in the butt cheek.”

“At least your butt cheek has some padding,” I said wryly.

He laughed. “So let me get this straight: you went outside …”

“For a jog.”

“For a jog. And then you got attacked by a Corrupted monster, and it was probably scary but you killed it with nothing but your magic pen thing. Then you went back into your room, saw a spider, freaked out and ran here.”

“OK. That makes everything sound ridiculous. First off, I didn’t ‘freak out.’ Second, I didn’t run here. I walked very fast.”

He was quiet for a moment. I glanced over my shoulder, curious. He’d laid out a piece of white gauze and was in the process of biting through a piece of medical tape.

“You need to use a couple strips of tape,” I said.

“I know.”

“Well, me too. I want to be a nurse someday.”

“I know.” He placed the gauze on my shoulder, laying the tape over the top and pressing down on my bare shoulder. My entire body tingled. This felt right. As weird as it sounded … sitting here with him felt so right. Corrupted monster scratches not withstanding. “You want to help people,” he said. “You think there are people who get the short end of the stick, and you like to make their lives just a little bit easier. You want to give comfort to people who are in pain.”

A warm feeling rushed through my body. “I told you all that?”

“Weeks ago, yeah. After you killed the dragons. All right, you’re good to go.” He zipped up the bag, tossing it onto the nightstand with expert precision. “Ready to fight another day.”

“That’s good.” I lay down on my back staring up at the ceiling. “Because I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this place.”

Chase sighed, lying next to me. He was looking at me but I didn’t want to look at him. I was ruining this moment, talking about my hero’s duties. Worrying him. Putting the fencing tournament at risk.

Right. As if we stand a chance anyway.

“Well?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

He put an arm over my stomach. My hands reached out and grabbed for it before he could second-guess his decision. I closed my eyes, breathing deep. The pain in my ribs had turned into a dull ache. My shoulder was throbbing. It would hurt less if I wasn’t squeezing Chase’s arm, clutching it for dear life. But I wasn’t letting go. I couldn’t. This life … gawd, I needed this life.

“Please be safe,” he whispered, kissing me on my cheek.

I leaned over, holding him close. The pain in my ribs got worse; I didn’t care. I kissed him on the lips, then drifted to sleep.

Chapter 4

On the other side of the lake stood a fine illuminated castle, from which came the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed, and went into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and the soldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and when any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it all up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always silenced her.[v]

Shadows. Dancing on an old brick wall lined with black water streaks and slimy mold. They were women’s silhouettes, I was sure of it—as the shadows twirled, their hair flew wildly and their dresses twirled, expanding the shadows. I forced my ghostly form to turn, taking everything in just as Briar had taught me.

I was in a castle. An old castle, by the looks of it. There were paintings on the walls and elaborately decorated brass lanterns, too, but all of them were faded and moldy. Only half of the brass lanterns held a flame, and each flame burned low, casting the big room in a dull orange glow pocketed with heavy shadows. The paintings I could see were of young princes, but their faces had become distorted by the water dripping over the canvas; they looked as if they were in the process of transforming into something monstrous.

As if the Corruption was taking them over.

The floor was made of wood that had begun rotting, and a few of the planks were warped and bulging like broken piano keys. Soft music played from somewhere in the shadows at the far end of the room—classical music, with gentle violins. I could hear heels tapping on the floor but in every direction, the dance floor was empty.

Still … the shadows.

They danced on the walls of the great room. I stepped back, scanning the empty room again. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling—no, wait! There wasn’t a ceiling at all. I looked up and a terrible realization crept over me.

The castle was in a cavern.

I see you trapped in a cavern …

The castle’s walls climbed up toward the ceiling, then simply stopped, as if the roof of the castle had long ago been sheared off. The chandelier hung from a heavy chain that disappeared between a handful of fat stalactites. Violent-looking stalagmites crept out of the corners where the floor met the wall, as if warning visitors to stay in the middle of the room.

One of the shadows passed across my face, as if something had moved in front of the torchlight along the wall to my right. I felt a cold feeling pass through my body.

“Someone is here,” came a velvety feminine voice.

“Lead us, sister!” came another. The shadows passed me all at once.

I turned and, finding my path blocked by a tall wooden door, forced my ghostly form to pass through it. I flew down a disorientating pitch-black hallway, letting my fingers follow the rough stone. At the end of the hallway was an opening and beyond that a massive cavern with tall stalactites above. Far ahead was a lake, reflecting the strange blue glow of …

Trees! Tall trees with veiny-looking trunks and long twisted limbs. Hanging from some of the limbs were little plum-shaped fruits, each one glowing a bright blue and illuminating the area near the lake.

I weaved around a smattering of stalagmites, glancing once over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly safe in my dreams, Briar,” I muttered sarcastically.

I examined one of the low-hanging blue fruits more closely. Its skin was thin and translucent; I could see a little almond-shaped seed deep within. This wasn’t possible. Trees underground? Glowing fruits? This all had to be a creation of the Brothers Grimm. But from what story?

Something splashed into the lake.

I spun around. There was a shadow on the other end, crawling closer and sending ripples across the surface of the water. It was a boat with a man inside, drawing two heavy oars over the water, each stroke causing his colorful Hawaiian t-shirt to bunch up. The man had a satchel sitting beside him on the bench.

I weaved my way between the skeletal trees, stopping at the shore of the lake. Maybe I can warn him …

Giggling echoed through the cavern. I turned around and saw a woman’s shadow slip across the trunk of one of the trees.

“We will celebrate this night, sisters.”

“Doing what, I wonder?”

“Why, by dancing of course!”

“We will make him dance with us!”

“Yes, sister! He shall dance until his feet are worn to nubs!”

“Eesh,” I whispered, turning back to the boat. The man had his back to me, rowing and groaning, the sounds echoing above us between the incisor-shaped stalactites. “Hey!” I called out. My voice seemed to echo in the cavern, but the man continued rowing. “Stop!” I shouted. “There’s a bunch of crazy shadow-ladies on this side!”

The man began whistling a cheery tune. A totally-not-appropriate-for-inside-a-scary-cavern tune.

“Dummy!” I shouted. The front of the little boat slid up onto the gravelly shore. I reached out, willing my ghostly hands to grab the wet wood. I pushed with all my might, forcing the boat away from the shore.

“Woah there,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder. He was middle-aged, with a narrow face and a long nose. He scratched the thinning hair on his head, watching the boat drift a moment. “Weird.”

“Something is wrong!” came the bright, velvety voice I’d heard inside the castle.

“You’re always saying that, sister!” came another. The voices seemed to carry like wind, as if their owners were moving quickly from one side of the cave to the other.

“I tell you, someone is here with us!” said the bright voice.

The man resumed rowing, bringing the boat up against the shore again. I pushed the boat back again, harder this time. The man nearly fell over the bench, his arms flailing wildly and flipping the oars into the water. He cursed, reaching down and grabbing them before they could float away.

“Someone is here,” came the bright voice.

“No matter,” said her sister. “It’s too late for this one!”

Something cold brushed past me, causing my feet to lose their delicate grip on the rocky ground. My body floated over the glassy water. I gasped—a reflection! A woman. She wore a tattered blue dress, its frayed bottom flapping madly as her body flew toward the boat. I looked up. The man lurched suddenly, crying out with a “Woah!” before being dragged by the invisible force to the front of the boat. He clutched the edge of the boat, crying out, his voice echoing throughout the massive cavern. His fingers gave out and he was pulled over the water. In the reflection, I could see the woman carrying him, clutching him with long, twig-like fingers. Her skin was gray, old, flaking like dried mud. Her eyes were wide, reptilian, ghost white.

“Help!” the man called out. He was clutching the leather satchel in both arms, and as he was pulled between the trees it began to slip from his grasp. He clutched the strap and held it out, and the satchel caught on one of the branches, sending the tree’s only two bright blue plums falling, bouncing on the floor of the cave and rolling toward the lake, taking their light with them. The man fell, too, landing hard on the cave floor.

“Run back to the boat!” I told him. But he couldn’t hear me, and he started searching his satchel for something. A stick—no, a torch! He used a lighter to light the end that was wrapped in a white fabric. The flame spread quickly, pushing back the darkness. The man turned.

And we both screamed.

Another woman was standing over him, breathing heavily, her mouth creased back in a smile. Her snarled black hair hung over her pale shoulders. Her tattered pink dress was cut low, frayed near the bottom and stained by water and dust. She blinked away the bright flame as if she hadn’t seen light in decades—which she probably hadn’t.

The man swung his torch, forcing her back. “Back!” he shouted. “Back, siren!”

“Siren!” the woman said, scoffing. “Did you hear that, sister?”

Another woman stepped out of the shadows. The orange firelight radiated her pale skin. She was beautiful, with long curly red hair and a dark red dress with a low collar that was less damaged than her sister’s. The short, frilly sleeves revealed arms lined with blue veins. She was clutching one of the blue, glowing plums tightly in one of her massive hands, and as she squeezed it tighter the glowing blue juice trickled out between her long fingers.

“Who … who are you?” the man asked.

The red-haired woman brought the plum to her mouth, taking a bite, chewing with a smile on her face. She studied the man with her white almond-shaped eyes, then swallowed. A moment later, the blue veins on her arms began glowing.

“Who?!” the man asked, bringing the shaky torch closer to them. The women jumped back, hissing.

“Princesses,” I whispered.

“He’s not alone,” said the one with the glowing veins. Her voice was bright and velvety. Her eyes searched the forest … right in my direction. “There’s someone else here.”

Her black-haired sister laughed. “You’ll have to excuse Alessandra. She’s been paranoid ever since the prince snuck down here with his magic cloak.” She stalked closer, averting her gaze from the torch. “But you’re no prince, are you?”

“I … I …”

They grabbed him, whisking him back toward the half-castle. I flew through the forest, past the glowing blue trees and into the darkness, through the hallway, slipping through the castle’s rusted door just as haunting music began echoing in the massive cavern. The man was moving across the floor, sobbing. As he moved, I could see a ghostly blue vapor trail left behind, the only trace of the princess.

“Dance with us,” they whispered. “Until you can dance no more.”

“And then dance again,” said the one with the glowing veins, her bright voice sending a chill down my spine. “And again. And again. And then tell us who you brought with you.”

I woke with a start to the sound of Chase’s phone alarm, tearing away the covers and hurrying back to my room. Briar was curled up in my bed, snoring peacefully. I pulled off the covers and poked him in his furry belly. He woke up, looking around. “What is it? Where … where are we?”

“You’re in a bed in a castle owned by a creep,” I said. “And it’s time to wake up.”

“Right.” He yawned, rolling over and fluffing his pillow. My extra pillow. “Just a few more minutes.”

I poked him again.

“What now? Who?” He sat up. Some of the fur on the side of his head was sticking straight out.

“I dreamed of a castle underground,” I said. “And guess what? The Corrupted totally knew I was there.”

“Huh.” He licked his paw, then tried to flatten out the puffy fur. “Most strange.”

“Yeah, especially since you told me again and again that the Corrupted couldn’t see me in my dreams. That hasn’t exactly been the case, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have noticed.” He stood up, stretching his back. “If it makes you feel better, I dreamt I found a fridge and there was nothing in it.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better, rabbit.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s peculiar. In my experience, the hero has always been safe in her dreams. You are, unfortunately, what’s known as an outlier. A peculiar exception. A … er, where are you going?”

“To shower,” I said, fumbling my way around the bed. Without any sunlight steaming in through windows, the only light in the room came from the little blue nightlight attached to one of the outlets beside the dresser. I didn’t like that one bit. “I have fencing practice today. And you have more exploring to do.”

We all met outside at 10:00 am, walking single-file through the prince’s garden and through the massive castle wall. Four cars were waiting for us in the gravel parking lot, each one attended by a bulky driver decked out in square sunglasses. I hesitated when I saw them, causing Seth to bump into me from behind.

“Good morning, all.”

I spun around, taking a quick balestra step back, my hand fumbling for the pen in my pocket. Prince Leo stepped through the open doorway of the castle wall, the bottom of his cane crunching on the gravel. His black overcoat flapped in the cold breeze.

His daughter followed close by his heels. Followed by the always-weird servant, Sorin.

“I shall accompany you into town today,” the prince announced. He smiled a forced smile. “I would very much like to see our Romanian team practice and extend my deepest apologies for hosting their opponents.”

“Well,” Mr. Whitmann rubbed his mustache, “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, Sir Prince.”

“I could stay here,” Seth offered, smiling weakly at Sanda. “I really don’t need to do any practicing, so …”

Mrs. Satrapi grabbed his collar before he could meander his way toward the prince’s daughter. “You and I are going into town for an entirely different reason.”

“What?”

“We are buying you some clothes.”

Seth’s face reddened. The fencing boys snickered.

“May I join you?” Sanda asked, stepping beside her adopted father. “I do so love the shops in the city.”

The prince turned, one thin black eyebrow raised. I expected a “no,” but instead he simply pursed his lips, watching her walk toward the rear car. The bottom of his cane ground into the gravel.

“File in!” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Come on, all-stars! We got some slicin’ and dicin’ to do, and we don’t got many days left!”

“Alice,” Vontescue said. “If you would be so kind as to honor me with your presence? I have heard stories of your fencing and I see intriguing possibilities regarding your general celebrity.” He turned to Margaret and Rachel and bowed low. “I mean no offense. I only think about my American tourists and am wondering if perhaps there is an opportunity to enhance my reputation in the states.”

“Go ahead,” Margaret said. She put an arm around Rachel. “But this one’s pretty good, too.”

“Ah, then you shall accompany me on the ride home!” the prince said. “We will discuss sponsorships and posters and perhaps a clothing line!”

Rachel smiled. “That’s very nice of you, sir.”

He unbuttoned his jacket, reaching inside. I tensed, my hand finding my pocket.

“A gift,” he said, pulling out a Castle Vontescue t-shirt and handing it to Rachel. “Wear it after you are done fencing, perhaps, when the reporters are hounding you with questions about the tournament. They will ask about the castle and you will of course say Prince Leo Vontescue is a kind host, and also offers half-off all tours on Wednesdays.”

“I’ll, uh, be sure to do that,” Rachel said.

I followed the prince inside the lead car, giving the driver a wary look. At least all the Corrupted-in-disguise appeared to be on their best behavior.

I wasn’t surprised to see Sam Grayle already sitting inside, waiting for us.

“I thought I saw your trail,” I murmured, sliding all the way to the other side of the black leather seat. Grayle watched from the opposite seat, taking a sip from his glass of ice water and smacking his lips. He so loved seeing me uncomfortable.

“Do we all have a different trail?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yours zig-zags, like you’re favoring one leg.”

The glass stopped at his lips. He turned, watching the prince step inside and take a seat beside him. The driver shut the door, walking slowly around the car and getting into the driver’s seat. The car turned around in the parking lot and snaked its way around the outer wall of the castle. Sunlight streamed in through the tinted windows, giving Grayle’s skin just a hint of a glow.

But not the prince’s.

“You’re a smooth talker,” I told him.

The prince nodded. “My dear lady, every good enterprise needs an honest avenue so as to look respectable to the society in which its owner chooses to belong. For me, this avenue is tourism. And in order to be a successful tourism operator, one must know how to charm outsiders.”

“Color me impressed.” I turned to Grayle. “Are you going to explain the drivers, or is this going to get messy?”

“I shall answer that,” the prince said, waving a hand at Grayle. Grayle leaned back, acquiescing. It was a strange sight, seeing my nemesis—the most powerful enemy I’d ever faced—so easily giving up control to this guy who clearly wasn’t a Corrupted.

“You see,” the prince said, “I am not without my own enemies, much like Mr. Grayle here. And so when he told me he required assistance in locating a nearby treasure, I of course saw an opportunity to bolster my defenses from society’s natural predators.”

“You agreed to let us stay with you in exchange for the new drivers,” I finished.

“It’s a fair deal,” Grayle said. “They have other abilities besides chauffeuring your friends around town. And I assure you, they’re quite under control.”

The car left the Vontescue estate, turning sharply onto the two-lane highway road that led into town. Prince Leo looked out the window, tapping his fingers on the cane’s lion head. “My family history is rife with conflict,” he said in a low voice. “I assume, based on your knowledge of the situation, that you too know something of Mr. Grayle’s … unique qualities.”

I turned to Grayle. The dwarf’s hardened expression didn’t give anything away. My tense fingers clutched the edge of the car seat. I wasn’t buckled up—it was the first time in my entire life inside a car when I had made the conscious effort to not buckle up. These two men were wolves. No, they were lions. And I was playing a dangerous game, stuck between them.

“You’re making a mistake,” I told the prince. Leo’s right eye twitched ever so slightly. I had his attention. I continued: “You’ve let Sam Grayle’s creatures into your home. The moment you’re not useful to him, you become a liability. And then you go bye-bye.”

“She exaggerates,” Grayle said. “She’s good at it.”

“I’m sure she is,” the prince said, not taking his eyes off me. “But I believe her. And so I shall have to ensure that my usefulness does not expire. Thankfully, Sam Grayle is a stranger to this land. And while he no doubt is quite intimidating in the United States, this land has its own dark secrets. He is not the first of his kind that I have come across.”

I was about to say more, then shut my mouth. Choose your battles, Alice. If the creepy prince wants to go into business with Grayle, then it’s on him. You’ve got enough crud to worry about.

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Ah, a woman of initiative. Excellent!” The prince folded his hands together. “I only wish our associate here was as practiced in the art of promptness.”

“The plan is simple,” Grayle snapped. “And it benefits all of us. We have precious few days before the tournament starts. Alice will meet an intrepid explorer today in a pub in town. The prince will arrange a brief diversion for the remainder of the fencing team.  Tomorrow, Alice will beg off practice by feigning illness. She will accompany the explorer and seek out my treasure.”

“Go on.”

“I will collect the treasure and arrange for our prompt departure following the tournament. Prince Leo will keep his new employees and ensure our safe passage off this god-forsaken continent. In honor of your team’s performance at the tournament—regardless of how poorly you perform—Grayle Incorporated will donate a sizable monetary gift to your school.”

“For a theater,” I said. “We need a theater.”

Grayle rolled his eyes. “Fine. A theater it is. I hope you understand that I cannot pay you personally for this service. Such a direct payment would arouse suspicions.”

“I don’t want your money. And a donation to the school is fine,” I said. Plus a few extra dead Corrupted along the way is its own reward …

“Then we are all in agreement,” Prince Vontescue said, clapping his gloved hands together. The sleeves of his fine black coat cinched up a bit, revealing just a bit of his bare wrist. I expected pale, grayish skin like his face. I definitely did not expect that skin to be coated with a strange, pitch-black growth.

Which was why I decided not to tell him about my little fight the previous night.

At practice, we sparred with the teams representing France and Denmark. Both were tough, versatile, and full of energy. Like, lots and lots of energy. Inhuman amounts of energy. I kept up with the saber fencer from Denmark, nearly beating her, but it was clear by the end of the match that only one of us was on the verge of passing out. Spoiler alert: it was me.

But the boys? The boys held their own. Scott and Miguel both won their matches, and Mr. Whitmann celebrated by dancing in a circle while pretty much everyone at the practice facility watched. Everyone was getting excited and anxious about competing for real.

Everyone but Chase. He sat in his chair, brooding, biting his knuckles between his shouts of encouragement to the girls. But he was distracted by the boys’ team, glancing over in their direction whenever Mr. Whitmann cried out in excitement. I couldn’t get a bead on him. Was he jealous of their success? Did he want to coach the boys instead? Was he worried the girls couldn’t compete?

“Maybe we should just bite the bullet and take the Jump,” Margaret said later in the locker room. The four of us had staked out two mirrors on the far end, our makeup bags splayed out between the sinks. The brown bottle of Jump sat next to the sink, too. We’d all stolen glances at it from the moment Margaret had taken it out of her bag. None of us were quite sure what to do with it.

“It’s the only way we’re going to win,” Jasmine said. “Rachel? What do you think? Do you think you can beat any of the girls we’ve practiced with?”

Rachel shrugged, applying black lipstick. “Dunno. Never been into sports before this. Maybe everyone does cheat.”

“It’s not even cheating. It’s like a sports drink,” Jasmine said brightly.

“Totally,” Margaret said. “That’s not cheating, right? And, like, you know there’s some stuff in sports drinks to refill your electrolytes. Electrical lights? Elec-tra-bites? Whatev. You know what I mean.”

“Let’s just wait,” I offered, replacing the bandage on my shoulder. The cuts were sore. My ribs were sore. My arm muscles ached. “Let’s compete on our own first. I mean, the tournament is set up so that we’re not out after the first round anyway. So it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

“No, no,” Margaret said with more than a touch of sarcasm. She leaned in close to her mirror, applying mascara. “We’ll just get humiliated is all.”

Humiliated. I had to admit, they were making pretty good points. It made sense. Lots of athletes admitted to using Performance Enhancing Drugs, and more yet got away with it. Maybe this is how you compete in the big-time sports world, I thought. An even more important point popped up in my mind: what benefits would it have for a certain someone who fought monsters on a regular basis? If I’d taken Jump before fighting that horse-monster thingy, would I have this cut on my arm?

When we left the locker room, Chase and the rest of the boys were standing beside one of the three candy vending machines. The white hall was quiet and empty—we were in the basement of the practice facility, which also had two large weight rooms on the far end that were reserved for the fencers.

“I don’t care what you think,” Scott said. He had his fist clenched and he was standing over Chase and suddenly I realized we’d just walked out of the girls’ locker room and into the middle of something big. My heart began pounding. My feet propelled me toward Scott but then Chase turned and gave me a “back off” look. I stayed a few feet away, mentally checking Chase: I’ll keep my distance until Scott gets closer. Then all bets are off and I’m taking him down.

“You’re being stupid,” Chase stated. His face was flushed. All of the boys’ faces were flushed.

“What the heck is going on?” Jasmine asked. “You guys never fight.”

“The boys want to cheat,” Chase said. “Isn’t that right?”

“No,” Scott answered.

“Come on,” Chase said, cocking his head. “Be a man and admit it.”

“We used Jump today,” Miguel told Jasmine.

I snapped my fingers. “That’s why you were doing so well! I mean …”

“No, no, you’re right.” Miguel laughed. “That’s exactly why we were kicking ass today. Ain’t a question about it, we were dead in the water before today.”

“It’s temporary,” Chase said. “It’s not real. You’re not all of a sudden better than anyone out there. It’s an illusion.”

“Chase, everyone is doing it! It’s not cheating if everyone is doing it!” Jasmine exclaimed. The boys, surprised to hear her pipe in, simply nodded. Chase was temporarily stunned, glaring at her with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. Like he was grossed out. Truth be told, I was starting to get a queasy feeling in my stomach too.

“Dude, we want to win,” Scott said. “And we can’t do it without the Jump.”

“But then you lose something,” Chase said, frustrated. His hands waved around wildly in front of his face. The straps of his leather gauntlets flapped back and forth. “You don’t win. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a hollow victory because deep down, you’ll always know that you cheated to get there.”

“So what?” Miguel asked. “Compadre, it sucks losing! And all we’re gonna do is lose if we don’t keep up with everyone else!”

“I know it sucks to lose!” Chase shouted. He wheeled closer to the boys. The boys took a step back, at least temporarily intimidated by Chase’s passion. He had that presence, even in his chair. He was pushing that presence out in front of him like a force field. “I was on losing baseball teams my whole life! Sometimes we played well and got awards, but then some other team came along and ended our season. Once, just once, we won it all. I got one base hit and struck out three times. But that one hit was the sweetest feeling in the world because it came against the toughest pitcher in the state.”

“We’re not going to get a hit!” Scott shouted. “This isn’t a Cinderella story. We’re not going to magically start winning if we just, I dunno, grin and bear it! Did you see us out there? We can only compete if we do what everyone else is doing, dude!”

“You don’t know everyone else is doing it.”

“So we don’t know,” Scott said, taking a shaky breath. “But we know enough.”

Chase shook his head. He looked on the verge of crying. I wanted to sidle up to him and hold him, but I didn’t want him to look me in the eyes. Because then he would know the horrible truth: I wanted to take Jump, too.

I wanted to win.

“There were guys on our baseball team who tried steroids,” Chase said in a low voice. He looked down at the white tile floor. “Steve Blake and Jamarcus Griffin. It screwed them up. They got angry all the time. Jamarcus got acne so bad his face was scarred. Steve started going bald. Then Jamarcus’s mood started getting even worse. It changed them. That’s why they both left the school Junior year.”

Everyone was quiet. I couldn’t believe it. I remembered Jamarcus and Steve only a bit, seeing them in the halls sometimes. I remembered when Jamarcus started getting bad acne. Everyone joked about it behind his back. No one said anything to his face because he had a temper. He shouted at teachers.

“That’s not going to happen to us,” Miguel said. “We ain’t using steroids. It’s just a little pill to make us tougher. It’s different.”

“There’s always a catch,” Chase said. “You can’t just take some magic pill that makes you a better athlete without some sort of side-effect. It doesn’t work that way. Whatever Jump gives you, it takes from somewhere else.”

“Just … let us deal with it,” Scott said. “You know? And don’t try to guilt us just cause we want to win.”

“You’re pathetic,” Chase snarled. “Every one of you.”

Scott’s body tensed. I jumped between them, pressing both hands into Scott’s chest and pushing him back before he could take even half a step. I looked into his fiery eyes, challenging him.

“Fine,” he said. “So we’re pathetic.” He looked over my shoulder. “Coach your girls, Chase. We’ll take care of ourselves from here on out.”

The boys turned together like a pack of wolves, making their way to the staircase just beyond the vending machines. As he passed the last soda machine, Scott punched the plastic exterior.

“Wow. That was way too intense for me,” Margaret said quietly.

Chase took a deep breath, watching the boys walk up the stairs. I walked around him and took the risk of putting a hand on his shoulder. I knew he might shrug it off. I knew he was angry. But I wanted to be there with him. I wanted him to know that I was there for him.

His hand reached out, grabbing mine.

“Chase,” Jasmine said, “Alice had a good idea. Maybe we could just give it our all during the first round. No Jump.”

“Ya,” Margaret said brightly. “Like, we could just see how it goes, you know? Maybe we won’t need it if we just keep practicing and getting good advice from you and looking for their weaknesses and then maybe we’ll have, like, an 80’s movie montage for good measure.”

Chase grunted. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the staircase. “And what if you don’t win the first round?”

Jasmine looked at me. Margaret and Rachel, too. Inside my little makeup bag was my magic pen … and the bottle of Jump.

Chapter 5

The limo whisked me through the city, which reminded me a lot of a Milwaukee suburb: lots of small concrete buildings and concrete roads lined with traffic signs. Only Agnasora had a hint of the ancient hidden amongst its newer buildings. Between a red-brick Laundromat and a white hotel was a beautiful old building with tall semicircular windows and two sharp spires, like a church. Only it wasn’t a church at all … it was a school. On the next street was a tall apartment building with colorful window shades, and beside that was an old Orthodox cathedral. It was surrounded by grass and trees, its four dome-shaped spires stretching impossibly high. The front was held up by six thin columns, and above the columns were stained-glass windows that reflected the midday sunlight. The Gothic-style arched doors were open and welcoming.

The street narrowed. The driver squeezed to one side to let incoming traffic pass. It felt almost claustrophobic, and through the window I could see the oncoming cars pass within a few inches of ours. I definitely liked my neighborhood’s wide roads better.

I also didn’t really like having a Corrupted chauffer.

The pen was warm in my pocket, tempting me. Go ahead. Just poke him right in the neck. The divider window is down … he’s distracted …

Yeah, then what? When he turns to ash, who’s going to take over driving?

We were on the other side of the city now, passing a yellow trolley whose tracks intersected the road and ran to the long brown-bricked train station off to my left. I stared at its bright red roof, wondering …

Who the heck built a castle underground? And how are trees growing down there?

Because magic, Alice. Because magic. That’s why. And trying to answer “why” is just going to lead to more questions.

“Here,” the driver growled, pointing toward the small square-shaped gray building coming up on the right. Yup, it was definitely a bar: little windows, neon sign hanging over the door, green dumpster sitting right outside.

“Very welcoming,” I said.

The driver grunted, saying nothing. He pulled over. I got out, biting my tongue before my automatic politeness kicked in. No way I was thanking him for giving me a ride. That would leave the distinct impression that I wasn’t planning on destroying him at some point in the near future … the last thing I wanted to do was give the poor dummy mixed signals.

I grabbed the bar’s cold door handle and pulled. Warm, stale air greeted me from inside. Stale air tinged with the nauseating smell of beer and mold. I stepped inside, stopping to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I took in the scene with a hero’s eye:

Small bar to my left, lined with a single string of white Christmas lights. One bartender, middle-aged. Two men sitting at the bar. Jukebox in the far corner. Posters of scantily clad women on every wall. Five old tables, three of them lined with empty glasses. Only one table currently occupied. One guy. In his forties, maybe. Thin beard. Brown leather jacket. Old brown baseball cap. Half-gloves. Grizzled expression.

My contact.

I walked over to him, ignoring the bartender’s curious look. My contact kept his eyes on his half-finished beer, spinning the glass slowly with his fingers. He had a bit of an Indiana Jones vibe going on … if Indiana Jones was having a bad day and preferred baseball caps.

“Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat.

The man looked up. He had brown eyes to match his jacket and dry-looking wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. It was a weathered face. It was the face of a real, honest-to-god explorer, not the beefcakes you see in movies who are slathered in makeup. This guy was for real.

So obviously I was temporarily at a loss for words.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Alice,” I said. “Alice … G.”

He grunted. “Well, Alice G, what do you want?”

“To join your exploration party.”

He was momentarily silent. His left eye narrowed, studying me. He scratched his thin dark beard, which was peppered with gray hairs. “And what makes ya think I wanna take a schoolgirl along with us?”

“Because I’m a good fighter. And I’m smart. Also? This isn’t the 1980’s. Being a girl doesn’t really mean I’m useless.”

“Got smart folk. And smart fighters, too. Don’t need no one else.”

I crossed my arms. “I bet you do.”

He leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked something fierce. “Why do ya say that?”

“Because you’re missing one of your crew.”

His pink, dry lips parted. He took a sip of his drink, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “You’re mistaken.”

“He went into a cavern,” I said. “And he hasn’t come back, has he?”

On the jukebox, a Rolling Stones song started playing. The crunching guitars bled through the cheap speakers hanging in the corner. The man stared at me a moment longer, then used his foot to push out the chair opposite him. I sat down.

“You can call me Harper,” he said.

“Fine. Nice to meet you, Harper.” I extended my hand. He looked at it for a moment, then shook it. His fingers were dry and rough, like sandpaper. His grip? Not too tough to match.

“That’s quite a grip,” he said, reading my mind.

“You’re underestimating me,” I told him in a cold voice. “Don’t do it. I’m here to help.”

“Are ya now. In exchange for what.”

“A share of the treasure.” I waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, I added, “Your friend needs help. I can lead you to him.”

He nodded quickly. “Old Jack. Told him not to go in alone. Told him a dozen times. But he’s always been so stubborn. Don’t suppose you’d care to explain how ya knew about my friend’s misfortune?”

I tapped my head. “I dreamt it.”

We sat staring at each other. I’d expected him to laugh at me. Instead, he flagged the bartender for another drink. “And an ice water for my friend,” he added.

When the bartender returned, Harper toasted my glass, then took a sip of his own, licking his lips. “So. Mind elaborating?”

“I saw him cross a lake,” I answered. “Underground. I saw …” Careful, Alice. Watch your words now. “I saw him go into an old structure, like a castle. He’s in danger.”

If Harper was surprised, he didn’t show it. Even if I’d told him about the strange, invisible women, I bet he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. I couldn’t help but get the feeling if Chase and Seth were here, they’d both be in awe of this guy’s coolness. But there was a crack in his exterior. The moment I’d said “danger,” it was as if his façade had broken just a bit.

“If you see this lake again, are ya sure you can lead us to where my friend is?” he asked. I nodded. “And did you see anything else? Think, now. Was this man in your dreams carrying anything?”

I thought back. “Yes … he had a satchel with him. It snagged on a tree branch.”

“What was in it?” Harper leaned forward. “Gold? Diamonds?”

“I didn’t see.”

His fist pounded the table. He stared at the jukebox. “That infernal machine. It’s been playing Rolling Stones songs for three straight days. I hate the Rolling Stones.”

“Wait … you know,” I said, suddenly realizing. The moment he’d said “gold” and “diamonds,” it had come back to me: the Grimms’ fairy tale. Twelve Dancing Princesses. It all made sense now. In the fairy tale, the princesses travel underground, making their way across a lake and through forests full of diamonds and gold. That was the treasure.

That was what Sam Grayle wanted.

And it was what Harper wanted, too.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong,” he said, sipping his beer. “You think I care about the treasure.”

“Uh … no, I totally wasn’t thinking that …”

He smiled, leaning back in the creaky chair. “It’s Old Jack who cares about the treasure. Me? I just try to keep my best friend alive.”

“What changed? Are you rich or something?”

“I was in Egypt twenty years ago. Just a young pup, exploring a forgotten tomb with a horde of archaeologists and treasure hunters. We were deep in the earth, following a tunnel so old that I swear ya could hear the stone walls groaning under the weight of the earth above. Some of the treasure hunters were there for the treasure. They wanted riches and fame. I wanted the thrill of it. The excitement of setting foot inside a piece of history that had been lost to the world.”

I sipped my ice water, watching his fingers fumble with his glass.

“When we entered the tomb, it was pitch black. I struck the first match… and then all heck broke loose. Only two of us escaped with our lives: me and Old Jack, the guy you saw in your dream. He’s been my best friend ever since.”

“What happened to the others?”

Harper looked down at his half-empty glass of beer. He turned to the jukebox. “Another Rolling Stones song.” He shook his head and looked at me. “You want in on this? You got it. Be here tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp. But once you’re in, you’re in. I run the show. Period.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Chapter 6

“I’m telling you, he knows more than he’s putting on.”

I was lying on Chase’s bed beside Chase, our bare toes intermingled above the covers. Between us was a silver tray of cheese and crackers—the kitchen chefs’ idea of a “late-night snack.” Briar reached over and grabbed a piece of white cheese and two crackers, then resumed pacing beside the bed, nibbling thoughtfully.

“But what could this Harper fellow know?” he asked. “Lordy, I hate riddles. It can never be easy, can it? We are doomed to hardship, I fear.”

“So there’s a bunch of dancing princesses hiding in a castle underground,” Chase said.

“Yup.”

“And they’re kind of invisible …”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes. Except they have a reflection. And there’s trees down there too, with glowing blue fruit.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like any of it.” Chase sighed. “But then again, I’m not a hero.”

“Awwwww.” I smooched his cheek. “You’re my hero.”

He rolled his eyes.

“At this point, I’m accustomed to your modus operandi of going into these situations without a fully formed plan,” Briar said, paws behind his back. Still pacing. Wearing down the wooden floorboards with his pacing. “But I don’t like the fact that these human beings have inserted themselves into the affairs of the Corrupted. It would be nice if no harm came to them.”

“Right,” I said. “That would be nice. It would be even nicer if I could find this secret castle before them so I can do my thing and eliminate the danger.”

“You could slip in and out without ever even putting yourself in danger,” Chase said excitedly. He sat up in the bed. “You said that in the fairy tale, there’s a forest full of diamonds, right? So just pack up a backpack full of diamonds and then get out of there. Throw a stick of dynamite at the entrance so no one else can get in. Then give the diamonds to Grayle. End of story.”

“It’s tempting,” Briar said. “I certainly wouldn’t mind the change of pace. Not that I don’t love the danger and all …”

“No.” I grabbed a slice of cheese, staring at its smooth edges. If this was a piece of gold … would a person be content? Or would he/she go back to the plate for more? “Harper and his team won’t stop just because of a cave-in. They’ll just dig their way through. I have to get down there and destroy the princesses. Or more people are going to die.”

Chase grunted, running a finger across the rubber guards of the forearm crutches resting beside the bed.

“Chase … eh, what are those?” Briar asked, pointing with a paw.

“Crutches,” he answered. “The prince bought them for me while he was showing us around this city this afternoon. He bought everybody stuff. Jasmine and Margaret both got a pair of earrings.”

“Dang!” I snapped my fingers. “I’d kill for a new pair of flats.”

“He’s smooth,” Chase said. “Smooth and weird.”

“Like a vampire,” Briar added ominously, eyes wide.

“No, it’s something else. He started getting weird after a couple hours, like he was sick. Said he had to get back to the castle, so the drivers just drove us around town for another hour.”

There was a knock at the door. Briar and I froze.

“Who is it?” Chase called out.

“Seth.”

We exhaled. Briar hopped over to the door, opening it. Seth stepped inside. “Oh. Hey guys. Uh … what’s up?”

We looked at each other, shrugging.

“Just planning out another Corrupted adventure,” Chase said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh. Cool.” Seth snapped his fingers, looking around the room. He was wearing a new shirt, no doubt picked out by Mrs. Satrapi. It was blue, button-down, short-sleeved. It looked OK. Not Seth’s style, but stylish. “Gotta love those Corrupted.”

Briar narrowed his eyes. “Say, why are you acting so strange?” He gasped. “Are you possessed by an evil force?”

“No, no. Uh …” He scratched his head. “I was kinda hoping maybe Chase would … um, teach me how to shave.”

I looked a Briar. His whiskers twitched. We both burst into laughter.

“I’m serious!”

“Dude,” Chase said, “you don’t have any whiskers. You’re a baby-face.”

“I’ve got some.” He rubbed his chin. “Normally, I just sorta borrow a friend’s electric razor once a week, but …”

“But what?” I asked.

He sighed. “I’m meeting up with Sanda tonight. She wants to take a walk around the castle.”

“A date?” Briar asked, ears perking up. “How exciting!”

Seth looked down at the floor. “Yeah, I guess so. Don’t know what she sees in little old me, though.”

“She sees an awesome dude,” Chase said. He rolled over in the bed, pulling the new crutches toward him. I had to admit, they looked pretty expensive. The prince was definitely doing his best to play the role of Good Host. “Come on. Let’s get you looking smooth.”

“Oh thank god I thought you were going to say no and I almost panicked,” Seth said in one long exhale. He rushed to the bathroom while Chase fit his hands through the protective rubber cuffs of the crutches. He stood awkwardly, groaning and taking a few shaky steps.

I walked beside him, making sure my anxious hands didn’t protectively reach out. He wanted to do this on his own. And he was doing it. It took a few steps, but he was walking again, and I didn’t need to study the determined, strained look on his face to know this meant something to him.

He stopped in the doorway, glancing at me. We exchanged a smile.

“Now, I know we need hot water,” Seth said, running the faucet. “After that, I’m pretty lost.”

“Shaving cream helps,” Briar said, hopping up to the doorway. I stood with him, leaning on his shoulder and watching Chase maneuver behind Seth.

“OK, use the shaving cream. You just need a dab …”

Seth filled his palm with the foamy white stuff.

“OK,” Chase said calmly. “That’s enough to shave a giant. Just take a little and dab it on your cheeks and chin. Good. Now get your neck.”

“Not sure why you’d want to remove your fur,” Briar murmured. “Seems quite suspicious, if you ask me.”

“Because some ladies like their man smooooooth,” Chase said in a sassy voice. He watched Seth pick up the blue razor with some trepidation. “How have you gone so long without knowing this?”

“My dad never taught me,” Seth said. “He goes to work around the time I go to sleep. He gets home and sleeps when I’m in school.”

“How did you learn?” I asked Chase.

He grunted. “In the locker room, I guess. Freshman year of high school. I sprouted a beard pretty early, so one of the older students showed me how to do it after baseball practice was done. My dad has always been busy with work, too.”

I smiled, watching them give each other a knowing nod in the steamy mirror. “Awwwww,” I said, wrapping an arm around Briar’s neck. “This is totally a bromance!”

Seth brought the razor to the top of his right cheek, pausing. “You sure I’m not going to cut myself open and spill buckets of blood all over the place?”

Briar made an “Urp!” noise, holding one paw to his mouth.

“I’m positive,” Chase said. “Just bring it down slow. Good. Rinse the blade. Good. Now do it again. See? Top to bottom. You don’t have coarse hairs, so you don’t have to go against the grain.”

“I’m still a man, though.”

Chase laughed. “Yup. Definitely, buddy.”

Seth rinsed the blade, finishing the last few little spots on his neck. He looked at himself in the mirror, satisfied. He looked pretty much the same as when he started, minus a few little hairs.

“Now for the hard part,” Chase said. “Grab that little green bottle. Good. Now, use just a dab on your palms. Now slap your face.”

Seth did so, patting his face a few times. “Feels cool …” His face reddened. The muscles in his neck tightened. He screamed, clutching the sink.

“Seth!” Briar exclaimed, reaching out. I grabbed his paw, holding him back.

“It’s just aftershave,” Chase assured the frightened rabbit.

“It feels like death!” Seth shouted. After a moment, his breathing slowed and he pulled his fingers from the sink.

“Now you’re a man,” Chase said. “Congratulations. And good luck on the date.”

Seth grabbed one of the monogrammed “Castle Vontescue” towels from the towel rack, wiping the little wisps of shaving cream off the edges of his face. He tossed the towel on the floor. “Thanks, buddy! I owe you one. OK. I’m off. Don’t wait up!”

“We won’t,” I called out.

The door shut. Chase looked at me, then down at the “Castle Vontescue” monogrammed towel.

“Allow me,” Briar said, reaching down and putting the towel on the rack. “I do say, my boy, that was positively nice of you. The poor furless fool will need all the help he can get, I fear.”

“Exactly.” I pointed a finger at him. “And you’re providing it.”

“Yes, I … wait. Say what now?”

“Tail him,” I ordered. “Make sure he’s OK, then do some more of your world-famous snooping.”

“Anything else, your majesty?” he asked, ears pulled back as I herded him toward the door.

“Yes … keep an eye out for monsters.” I shut the door before he could respond, turning and smiling at Chase. “I love doing that to him.”

“Oh I’m sure he loves it, too.” Chase took a few steps on the crutches, then stopped. His face was red and sweaty. He looked at me, pleading. I hurried beside him, lifting some of the burden off his legs so he could get to the bed. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“It’s going to take time to get used to.” I hopped beside him on the bed. “That was really nice of you, helping Seth.”

He shrugged, resting the crutches against the wall. “I guess. He’s a good guy.”

“So are you.” I poked his belly. “Aren’t you?”

“Gah,” he said, shifting to avoid my pointer finger. A smile cracked on his lips. “Watch it.”

“Mmmmm no.” I poked him again. “Tell me you’re a good boy.”

“Ah!” He shifted again but now I had both pointer fingers stabbing at various parts of his belly muscles. “If you were this precise with your saber, you’d be winning more.”

I poked him harder, eliciting laughter. “Take it back! Take it back and tell me you’re a good little boy!”

“Arg I’m sorry!” he said, laughing hard and trying to grab my hands. “I’m a good little boy … now stop before I pee my pants!”

“Bark like a doggie!” I said, fiercely stabbing his ribs.

“Arf! Arf arf arf!” he shouted, cackling in laughter. His hand caught mine. He turned, letting his weight fall onto me. He kissed me deeply and for a moment, I forgot all about tickling him. I felt his hand reach down my leg …

Then squeeze the muscle. I burst into laughter, trying to wriggle away. He held me tight, carefully avoiding my sore ribs. “I’m going to let go,” he said, squeezing again and forcing me to laugh so hard there wasn’t an ounce of breath left in my lungs. “But I’m only letting go for a truce.”

“Agreed,” I squealed.

He looked me in the eyes, his face flushed and sweaty. “If you break this truce … I’ll put spiders in your hair while you’re sleeping.”

“OK, OK! I swear it! Now,” I choked on my own laughter, snorting fiercely, “let go of my leg!”

He let go. We lay on the bed, breathless. I stared up at the ceiling, my hand searching for his. When I found it, I gave it a squeeze. “I need to do something tomorrow. I can’t practice. I’ll have to pretend I’m sick.”

Chase put an arm over my stomach. “Alice. I understand.”

I closed my eyes, wishing it was always like this, just the two of us laying here together, the smell of his aftershave infusing the air, his coarse arm hairs tickling my bare stomach.

A lifetime of this.

Chapter 7: Briar

Well, it’s good to know someone was having fun! I wish I could say I enjoyed myself sneaking around and doing some of my “world-famous snooping,” but Castle Vontescue spooked me out. In fact, I’d have happily stayed in Alice’s room the entire trip.

If only …

If only Prince Leo Vontescue wasn’t obviously hiding something. Was he a Corrupted who’d somehow disguised himself with magic? Was he a vampire? A werewolf-turned-vampire? Something even worse?

I could only speculate. For you see, those blasted double-doors at the top of the grand staircase always were locked. And quite impregnable. So I’d been spending my free time carefully snooping around the rest of the castle. Here’s what I found, in no particular order:

First, there was an expansive underground passageway that could only be accessed via a very narrow staircase on the other end of the keep, near the dining room. The passageway reminded me of a subway, minus the train, of course. And without any modern inconveniences you might find in a subway, like vending machines … or light bulbs. The tunnel’s walls were built of large bricks that had no doubt been recycled from the old castle wall. This is quite common, you know. After Rome fell, many of its marble structures were torn down and reused to build the new Christian cathedrals. There. Now you know something new.

Anywho! The passage itself led south, perhaps opening up somewhere nondescript, the perfect escape should the castle be overrun by medieval warlords. I wasn’t interested in following it for too long, what with the spookiness and all.

Second interesting finding: each of the towers had a strange symbol etched into their top floor. Well, to be more precise, three of the four towers had a strange symbol. My goal for this particular evening was to infiltrate the fourth tower and see if the pattern held. As to what these symbols were, I had no idea. I confess I snuck a peek at one of the girls’ cellular devices while she was at dinner—hey, she left her door open!—and tried the Google, but the prince’s Internet connection was about as reliable as a fox guarding a hen house.

Not to be deterred, I slipped into the nearby town during the previous day, hoping to glean something from their local library. I found little, but the town’s adoration—that is to say, their love—for Prince Vontescue bordered on the strange. A statue of one of his ancestors stood in the center of old town. More paintings yet hung in the little decrepit library; in each one, a fellow who looked very much like him rode valiantly into battle on a pitch-black steed. Even more strange: in each picture, it looked as if water had caused damage precisely behind the prince, smearing the colors and casting a strange shadow over the soldiers behind him.

Of course, none of this means anything, unless it does. And that is up to our hero to decide, not yours truly. I merely mention these things because details matter. How many times have I told Alice that? Precisely three hundred and twelve.

Details.

Now, I suppose you’re wondering about the kitchen. I’m proud to report I did a bit of snooping there as well, and found a variety of delicious treats. Cookies and various potato chips were plentiful, although they were nothing like the cookies and chips you would find in the states. They were all fresh-baked, for starters. For another thing, the chips had pepper on them, which I detest. Also, there was a lot of raw meat in the fridges. So much raw meat that there was precious little room for orange juice and milk, which was promptly imbibed by yours truly.

All this weirdness got me thinking about the Brothers Grimm and the hero. It’s true, Alice’s dreams weren’t quite following the usual rules, but that was hardly my fault! If anything, blame the foolish Brothers Grimm for dabbling in magic they didn’t understand. Really, what could have possessed them to do something so foolish? And what is the true purpose of the hero’s dreams?

There had to be answers.

But this wasn’t the time nor the place. I had a more important goal for the evening. No, not the fourth tower—although that was important … no, I needed to ensure my furless friend’s budding romance continued to … er, bud. I needed to water it, so to speak.

Bad analogy. My apologies.

I found them making their way through the south end of the prince’s courtyard. It was cool outside, and the bright stars above provided a positively romantic backdrop for the date. Sanda was pointing out all of the various flowers and plants that normally adorned the otherwise empty flower beds, each one sprinkled with just a bit of freshly fallen snow. They were wearing jackets, an appropriate response for furless individuals in such cold weather. Still, they were holding hands despite not having gloves, which seemed rather foolish to me. But then again, I am no expert in human romance.

I do, however, know when things weren’t going well.

“This is where we put all of the tulips,” she explained. I walked behind them, invisible, staying off the crunchy gravel. “I help the gardeners. It’s one of my favorite things to do here in summer. It gets quite boring, you know, having only three TV stations.”

“Well, the prince seems nice.”

She gave him a curious look. “My father? Are you kidding? He is about as weird as they come. He hardly ever talks to me. I hardly ever see him. He just sits in the top floor of the keep, staring out the windows all day. Oh, and sometimes he greets tourists. He is really proud of the castle. I suppose it is nice of him to open it up to visitors.”

“Uh … yeah.” Seth scratched the fur on his head. “I’m going to be a businessman someday, I think. I mean, I’ve got a knack for it. I’m a pretty slick talker. Uh, and stuff.”

Another curious look. They entered the southeast tower, shutting the door behind them. I waited with as much patience as I could muster, fighting the urge to tap my foot on the hard ground. Lordy, it was cold.

They reappeared on the top of the wall, walking slowly along the battlement and stopping every once in a while to admire the view. I could hear them talking. Rather, I could hear the poor girl talking and Seth replying in a very unSeth-like way. The fool seemed to think the best way to her heart was to brag and boast like a fool! I walked below, fighting the urge to sigh dramatically.

By the time they slipped through the northeastern tower to the north wall, they’d stopped holding hands.

“I’ve always felt that a charging knight would be the most frightening thing to see on the battlefield,” she said.

“Oh. Uh …”

I shook my head. You know this, dear boy! Tell her about the history of stirrups and how they changed the face of battle! Tell her about longbowmen! Tell her anything!

“I mastered horses when I was pretty young,” he said instead. “Yup, moved right into, uh, baseball and then some other sports. I’m pretty well-rounded, you might say.”

I groaned, and I do believe Sanda did as well. What was this poor fool doing? I’ll tell you what he was doing: he was trying too hard. And he was on the verge of being pushed right off that wall.

I made myself visible only to Seth, then proceeded to make quite a few strange bird-like calls. Sanda was the first to look, but no, nothing to see, dear girl! When she looked away, I made the sounds again. And again. And again. Finally, Seth looked down and, upon seeing me, quickly tapped at the pockets of his pants.

“Oh crap, I must have dropped my wallet. Let me just double-back quick. Pleeeease don’t go anywhere.”

“I shall wait,” Sanda said, although the tone of her voice seemed to suggest she would not wait long.

I met Seth inside the northeastern tower, on the staircase. Along the wall was a single light, illuminating the old stone steps. When he saw me, he looked positively frightened.

“Dude.”

I nodded. “Indeed! I hope you don’t find this too strange. I was on my way to investigate this particular tower and noticed you with your ladyfriend.”

He gulped. “You didn’t … hear anything, did you?”

“Er, well …” My whiskers twitched involuntarily. “Seth, would you say that I am a smart rabbit?”

“You’re the smartest rabbit I know.”

“Thank you, thank you. Now, what I am about to say might come as a surprise to you …”

“Lay it on me. I’ve got nothing to lose at this point. I’m choking out there, dude!”

“Yes. And you are choking, so to speak, because you’re acting too much like those other buffoonish boys on the fencing team.”

“But …” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “They’re so much cooler than me.”

“My boy.” I grabbed his shoulders, lifting them up. “The other boys are what we in the literary world call cardboard characters. They’re secondary. You are the hero of this story. Sanda did not fancy them. She fancied you. You. Seth. You must go out there and be yourself.”

“But what do I say?”

“Whatever is on your mind.”

“Oh great. So I’m supposed to say, Duh, I really like staring at you?”

“It’s better than what you’ve said so far, I’m afraid.”

He took a deep breath. “I just don’t think—”

I gave him a swift paw to the face. Nothing too harsh, mind you—just enough to remind him that a very intelligent rabbit was giving him advice. “I’ll hear none of it. You are Seth. That is what makes you great.”

He smiled, nodding. “Thanks, pal.”

I released his shoulders. “Go. Before she thinks twice and leaves you on the wall.”

He hurried back up the stairs. I went down, turning invisible once again. He met her at the wall’s midpoint.

Seth took a deep, noisy breath, then exhaled: “I think the coolest superhero is Nightcrawler because not only can he teleport, he can also use a sword and he’s got a pretty good moral compass which is totally important if you’re going to be a hero because you can’t just set your own rules.”

I waited with more than a fair amount of nervousness.

Sanda reached out, grabbing his hand. “I admit he is good, but I prefer Storm. I have always wanted to control the weather. When I was young, I used to sit at the window in my room and try to push the dark clouds away. I did not like when dark clouds gathered around our castle.”

“I hate clouds,” Seth said. “I mean, I get it, we need rain sometimes, but seriously just cut it out, you know?”

She giggled. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“And also? I bet, like, twenty archers right here could totally take out a couple hundred soldiers before they could scale the wall.”

“Indeed!” Sanda exclaimed. “If I was living in ancient times, I would train with a bow. Would you?”

“Totally,” he said. “But I don’t like those tights they wore. A pair of jeans would have been more reasonable …”

“Now!” I whispered, hurrying back to the northeast tower. “On to less important things.”

I hurried up the stairs, stopping once at the landing that led to the battlement. I opened the door a crack, peering through. Seth and Sanda were disappearing into the northwest tower. Their laughter carried across the wall. It was a positively wonderful sound and yet more validation of my usefulness!

“But …” I hummed, staring at the empty space inside the tower. It was quite strange, for you see at the other three towers, there was not only a staircase that led down to the ground level, but also up to the top. This tower was missing the up part.

“But surely there is a way,” I murmured. “There are windows far above. How might someone get up there? Will I be forced to ask Rapunzel to lower her hair?”

The answer, unfortunately, was as plain as day: I would have to climb. And so climb I did, scaling the tower with about as much grace as a dog walking on ice. Thankfully, some of the big bricks making up the tower had begun to break apart, providing yours truly with many places to grab onto. Still, it was no easy task, and by the time I reached the top and crawled through the window, I was quite out of breath.

Just as I suspected, this fourth tower was like the others: a little hay in one corner, but otherwise devoid of any furnishings one might expect in a dormitory of any sort. There was an open semicircular window facing each direction, and in the center of the wooden floor was another strange symbol, burned into the floorboards:

\%

That’s as close as I can draw it. A rather ominous sort of thing, no doubt!

And there was something else, too …

“Hello,” I said, bending down to get a better look. In the darkness, my 150-year-old eyesight was not quite as keen as a cat’s, but the marks on the floorboards were clear enough: scratches.

Someone … or something had been living here.

Chapter 8: Alice

When the woman gave birth, the sorceress appeared, named the little girl Rapunzel, and took her away. Rapunzel became the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old, the fairy locked her in a tower that stood in a forest and that had neither a door nor a stairway, but only a tiny little window at the very top.[vi]

I woke in a forest. It was night, or …

Not night. Underground.

The forest was vast, the ground sloping downward. No glowing blue fruits hung from these trees. The branches had leaves. I moved closer to the nearest tree and willed my body to lift up from the ground so I could get a better look. The leaves were three-pronged like a maple, each one the size of my hand.

“I know …”

The voice echoed in the giant cavern. I searched the dark outlines of the trees. Nothing. Was it one of the invisible women? Could she see me? I held up my arms, or tried to—they were invisible. Good. Not interested in getting spooked by a ghost princess tonight.

“I know …”

I soared over the forest, toward the dim blue glow far ahead. I reached the familiar lake, passing over it to the other side where poor Jack’s boat was still sitting at the shore. I lowered myself, walking between the trees with glowing blue plums, to where the man had been taken. His satchel was still resting beside one of the trees, its contents spilled open. In the blue glow, I could see a map. I willed my invisible hand to touch it, pull it out. I could feel the paper between my invisible fingers.

“They cursed us …”

My hand drew away. I turned, scanning the blue forest. Each of the trees’ skeletal limbs cast creepy-looking shadows stretching across the hard surface of the cave floor. I turned back to the satchel, examining the map. The Carpathian mountain range took up most of the top half of the paper. At the base of the mountain range was a crude drawing of a castle—was it the castle Sam Grayle believed was the entrance to this place? It had to be. But the X was about two inches to the right, at the base of the mountains.

“The brothers changed our story …”

The voice was just a whisper, but it echoed off the slick cavern walls, repeating again and again. I double-checked the map to be sure, then stuffed it back in the satchel. Another piece of paper slipped out. I couldn’t see more than a corner of the page, but what I saw convinced me it was important: sharp teeth. Sharp, shadowy teeth. I willed my invisible fingers to grab the paper, pulling it out and examining it under the blue glow. It looked like a charcoal drawing of … something. A creature’s shadow, distorted as if it were projected on an angular wall.

Or a cave wall.

And it was no drawing. It was a charcoal rubbing, which meant somewhere, there was a carving of this thing. I ran an invisible finger across the paper, smudging the charcoal. My entire body tingled, as if I’d just jumped into a tub of ice water.

“This is important,” I whispered. The feeling wouldn’t leave. It was as if ice crystals had formed under my skin, poking through. I lifted up, slipping between the blue trees, back to the edge of the lake. I willed my hands to grab the front of the boat, turning it in the water. I willed myself forward, pushing the boat through the water, checking the reflection in the surface for those creepy princesses.

The other side of the lake was dark, with just a hint of the blue glow from the trees kissing the water. Even so, I could see one of the princesses as I pushed the boat against the shore. She was crouched over the water, gently stirring it with her finger, sending ripples in every direction, distorting her reflection. She had dark hair and milky white skin and a narrow jaw. Her pink tongue ran across her lush lips.

“They changed the story …”

“Who?” I asked.

In the reflection, her white eyes found mine. “The Brothers Grimm. Our story … it did not have so wonderful an ending. They changed it. They gave us life. And then they cursed us with Corruption.”

“How?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I see things. I hear things. A strange dark force … it seduced the Brothers Grimm … and then it destroyed them. I can see it as if I was there, like a nightmare locked inside my head.”

“Why can you see this?” I asked.

“Because the Brothers Grimm wanted me to warn you.” Her reflection looked at me with sorrow. “Who are you?”

“A dark force …” I repeated. The icy feeling still hadn’t left my skin.

“The Malevolence.”  Her milky-white finger flinched at the word, sending fresh ripples across the surface.

I woke, vaguely aware of my phone alarm beeping. Chase’s arm was still over me, his eyes crusty with sleep. He blinked, staring at me.

“Uh … I’m going to go pretend I’m sick now.”

He smiled, nodding. His warm fingers clutched mine. “You’re ice-cold.”

“Hero dream. All that fun stuff.”

He leaned over kissing me on the lips. “I’ll worry. Every single second.”

“I’ll be careful,” I said. “I promise.”

I grabbed my phone, slipped into my room, shut the door, and waited for the inevitable knock.

“Er …”

I pulled aside the bed covers. Briar gave a little wave. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t feel particularly safe anywhere else in this place.”

“Of course it’s OK. Did you find anything? And how did Seth’s date go?”

“His date went splendid.” Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Thanks to yours truly, of course. And as for the rest of the night … well, I found some strange symbols, but I’m not quite sure what they’re for. Luckily, we might have an answer. It appears there is a Corrupted creature in the castle who may be familiar with it. Given the layout of the tower, I do believe it’s the famous Rapunzel.”

“Uh-oh.” I whistled between my teeth. “I think I killed her already.”

“Drats! Did she happen to mention anything about symbols or magic or spells?”

“No. She just kind of whinnied. Like a horse. It wasn’t a good time to ask questions.”

He rubbed his chin, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, I suppose that will happen with Corrupted from time to time. Back to square one.”

“Maybe you can do a little more snooping—”

There was a knock on the door. I was surprised to hear Mrs. Satrapi’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Dear, Chase tells me you’re sick. Do you want anything?” she asked in a sweet, motherly voice that rose about two octaves too high. Oh yeah, I could definitely see how Jasmine might get tired of hearing that voice on a daily basis.

“Uh …” I turned to Briar. He took a deep breath, then made the most realistic puking noise I’ve ever heard.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Satrapi exclaimed. “Would you like someone to stop by with some medicine?”

“I just want to sleep,” I called out. “Can you please, please, please make sure no one bothers me today? I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Of course, dear. Come to my room if you need anything.”

“Thanks!” I said, hurrying to the bathroom and slipping on my black running pants. I filled up the plastic “Castle Vontescue” cup with cold tap water and drank it down.

“What would you like me to do?” Briar called out.

“Search for those symbols you found. We need to know their purpose.”

“Capital!” Briar held up a finger. “That is what a true hero sounds like. Authoritative! Assertive! Bold!”

My black sweatshirt was slashed nearly in half, so I grabbed my spare violet sweater. It was a little loose, not perfect for maneuvering against monsters, but it would have to do. The cavern would be cold.

I see you trapped in a cavern …

“Shut up,” I told my mind, slipping the magic pen in my pocket. I tied my hair back in a ponytail, then went into my makeup bag for the vial necklace. Inside the vial was the same strange liquid that Sam Grayle’s brother drank. It was the same strange liquid I’d force-fed to Agnim. And yet here it was, full again. It promised to bring life … or Death himself.

“That vial hasn’t exactly worked the way it’s supposed to, has it?” Briar commented.

“Still,” I said, putting it around my neck and tucking it under my sweater. “The previous hero, Juliette, had wanted me to have it. There’s a reason for it.”

I see the death of your loved ones …

I closed my eyes, shutting out the ghastly image of Death, shutting out the prophetic voice of Agnim. I centered my mind, trying to block all of it out, trying to concentrate.

In the darkness, a single word appeared like a ghostly visage:

Malevolence.

I ordered the driver to pull over in front of the pub, getting out before he could open the door for me. Something about letting a Corrupted wait on me just didn’t sit right.

“Stay here,” I ordered. I went into the smelly pub, searching the dim setting for Harper. He was sitting in the back with three other people. When he saw me, he stood up, giving me a nod. I walked over.

“Alice,” he said. “These are our traveling companions.” He waved a hand to the short man to his left. The man had a gray mustache and was wearing khaki pants and a gray jacket. A curved, wooden pipe hung from between his lips. He looked in his fifties, with graying hair and a wrinkled forehead. Slung over his shoulder was a big rifle that looked like it was made for hunting elephants. A pair of spectacles sat in his breast pocket. “This is Christopher Wodehouse, Great Britain’s most intrepid adventurer.”

“Charmed,” he said in a drawling English accent.

Harper pointed to the woman. “This is Angelina Cixi, one of the Seven Daughters.”

“Five,” she corrected him. She had sharp eyes, high cheekbones and a plain face. Her hair was pulled back, braided so it rested over her left shoulder. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red vest that was zipped up only halfway. Two ivory dagger hilts protruded from inside, plain as day.

“Five now?” Harper asked, tipping back his baseball cap.

Cixi nodded. “Two perished in a cave-in while exploring in northern Mexico.”

“Ah.” Harper grimaced. “Cixi and her sisters are master spelunkers.”

“And a fair lot of criminals,” said the third person, crossing his fat arms.

“This,” Harper said, “is Clint McCormack. Our chef.”

“And botanist,” he added. “And geologist. And navigator. And pack mule.” He had a gruff, Scottish accent to match his gruff, heavy features. He looked a bit like a tall dwarf, with an imposing red beard and impressive belly to match. He was wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt, an old ratty green vest and torn jeans. Slung over his shoulder was a massive backpack; two skillets and a metal cup hung from it like jewelry.

He also had a fair number of necklaces. Good luck trinkets.

“McCormack does much,” Harper said with a smile. “But his real skill is in identifying the chemical compounds of minerals.”

“Aye,” the big man said, thumbing the straps of his backpack. “I’ll find yer gold, and whatever else ya want ta find. Provided I get a cut ‘a the loot.”

“Everyone gets a cut.” Harper nodded to me. “Including the girl.”

“Is that wise?” the British Wodehouse asked, picking at one of his brass buttons. “Seems a bit young for danger. I don’t particularly want to explain her death to her parents.”

“I can handle myself, thanks.”

“We’ll see,” Harper said, eyeing me warily. “No point in sitting around scratching ourselves. Let’s go.”

“What about Old Jack?” Wodehouse asked, searching the empty bar. The bartender was eyeing him warily. Or, rather, eyeing his rifle warily.

“He went ahead,” Harper said. “So I’m in charge now.”

“And where, exactly, are we going?” Wodehouse asked once we got inside the big white van that was parked outside. I sat next to Cixi, foolishly thinking “Girl Power” and all that. I immediately regretted it—the woman immediately began giving off a weird vibe. A dangerous vibe. She regarded me, her carefully plucked black eyebrows knotted together, legs uncrossed, one hand resting gently on the door handle, the other clutching the ivory hilt of one dagger.

Ready for anything.

“We’re going to a castle,” Harper answered.

“No,” I said. “We’re going east.”

He looked at me in the rear-view mirror. I smiled.

“See? I told you I’d be useful.”

Chapter 9

The entrance was right where the map said, just like in an adventure movie. The opening looked as if it had been dynamited—large chunks of blackened rock were lying at the base of the mountain, leaving an opening just large enough for someone of medium size to fit through. More stones and rocks were scattered at the feet of the nearby pine trees, along with broken branches and a smattering of green pine needles.

“Old Jack’s been busy, it would appear,” said Wodehouse, rubbing his hands briskly together. His cheeks had begun to redden the moment we left the warm van. “Tell us, Harper, how did he know the entrance to your little cave was right here?”

“We have our secrets,” Harper murmured, studying the entrance. Finally, he turned back to the rest of us. “The girl goes last. And remember: I’m in charge.”

“Just get us to the loot,” McCormack spat. He turned to me, smiling. “The looooooot.”

Wodehouse cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. He also didn’t budge.

“It would be nice if you told us what we could expect,” Cixi said in a low voice. I instinctively took a step away from her—I swear, the woman was radiating the word “sinister” like body odor.

If Harper felt the tension, he didn’t let on. I’m not going to lie here … he was keeping it pretty cool. A real adventurer type, just like the explorers we read about in History class last semester. “Old Jack’s job was to find the entrance,” he said. “Now he’s inside. You want more answers than that? Let’s go ask him.”

“What about the girl?” Cixi asked, pointing to me so quickly that I brought my hands up in a defensive stance.

Harper smiled and turned back to the entrance. “She saw this place in her dreams.”

They all looked at me.

“By golly,” McCormack said, wide-eyed. “That’s strange.”

“Everyone gets a headlight,” Harper said, handing off the little headbands with a small light at the front. “They’re not great, but Old Jack’s decision to venture ahead without us cut down on planning time.”

We put our headlights on and squeezed inside the cave, some of us (me) having an easier time of it than others (McCormack). Cixi the spelunker led the way, stepping slowly on the uneven ground. The tunnel started narrow, then broke off into three separate paths. Harper’s high-powered flashlight illuminated the glistening tan walls. My own headlight did relatively little unless I stared down at the ground at an uncomfortable angle.

“These two lead to dead ends,” Cixi said, pointing to the two tunnels branching to our right.

“How do ya know?” the big McCormack asked.

“Because I can hear water,” Cixi snapped. “Water is what cut these caves to begin with.”

“Aye?” McCormack looked down at me. “Twas just a question is all.”

I cracked a smile.

We moved deeper into the tunnel, taking our sweet time to ensure that we didn’t slip. The tunnel descended very slowly, its slick floor pimpled with little stalagmites.

It was also groaning.

“That fool friend of yours has made the entire cavern unstable,” Cixi told Harper. “He couldn’t have waited for us? I could have found an entrance without blowing the mountain to bits.”

“Old Jack has never been one to wait,” Wodehouse murmured.

“What’s done is done,” Harper snapped, keeping the flashlight shining ahead. I wished I had one too, given I was tasked with bringing up the rear. The groaning of the cave sounded too much like a Corrupted hiding in the shadows. A hungry Corrupted.

“I don’t suppose you have another light in that backpack?” I asked McCormack in a low voice.

McCormack snorted. “Lass, Ah don’t have room for such nonsense. But look!” He reached blindly into one of the side pockets, pulling out a brown stick. “Some jerky for ya! How about that?”

“Great,” I murmured, taking the jerky. I took a bite, wincing. “Uh … what’s in it?”

“What’s in it?” the big man repeated, laughing. “Don’t nobody know what’s in jerky! And best we don’t know, either. Just enjoy it sure enough.”

I took another bite, taking his words to heart. To be honest, the taste wasn’t too bad. And given that I’d had to skip breakfast …

Suddenly, there came a crash deep in the darkness behind us.

“Alice!” Harper shouted.

I fell back into the arms of McCormack, who valiantly turned me, using his own body for protection. The deafening crashing sound seemed to erupt from the darkness, rattling my entire body and tickling the soft hairs on my arms.

I see you trapped in a cavern …

“Oy!” McCormack let go of me, lifting my chin with one fat finger. “Are ya all right, darlin’?”

“I … I …”

I see you trapped in a cavern …

“Easy now,” McCormack said in a soft voice. “Deep breaths. We’re safe enough.”

“So you say,” Cixi said, snatching the flashlight from Harper’s hand. She slipped past us, walking back up the way we came. The scrape of her shoes on the rock echoed in the darkness. A moment later, she returned. “I hope your friend found another way out.”

My breath escaped my lungs. McCormack’s big hand rested on my shoulder. “Easy, lass. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Harper looked at me, the light from the flashlight moving across his face as Cixi walked past us.

“There has to be another way out,” I wheezed, my mind reeling. “We can’t be trapped. The fairy tale …”

“What now?” Wodehouse said, twitching his mustache in a very Briar-like way. “What’s this about fairy tales, Harper?”

“Nothing,” Harper said in a low voice. “Let’s find Old Jack.”

“Let’s find the loot,” McCormack said, giving me a tap on the back to urge my feet forward. “A few minutes of starin’ at some sparkly sparkles will lift all our spirits.”

“Not if we’re trapped in a cavern,” I told him.

He slapped me on the back. “Be optimistic, lass! You’re with some of the best adventurers in the world!”

“Quite so!” Wodehouse said. “Why, this reminds me of the time I found myself lost while exploring one of the few remaining wildernesses in the world: the Amazon Rainforest. I was deep in the jungle, following a trail blazed by the legendary explorer Percy Fawcett. He was searching for the Lost City of Z, you see, and lost his life in the process.”

We turned a bend, spreading out as the tunnel widened. Wodehouse was the least cautious with his steps, occasionally tripping whenever the ground under his feet changed too drastically.

“Careful of the slicker parts, lass,” McCormack said. He pointed to the cave wall illuminated ahead by Harper’s bright flashlight. The walls looked as if they had melted and then dried, repeating the process over and over. “See that? Limestone. Easily dissolved by water charged with carbonic acid, ya see. The water carves out the cave.”

“Fawcett was convinced this lost city existed,” Wodehouse continued. “He was a brash man, given to a variety of weaknesses that I suspect many celebrities of his day no doubt suffered. It gets to your head, you know, being fawned over by the general public. Still, Fawcett was most likely correct. In my own exploration, I found quite a bit of evidence to suggest there indeed had once been a lost city deep within the Amazon.”

“You said you were lost,” I said, grabbing his jacket to prevent him from tripping over a budding stalagmite.

“Yes—thank you, thank you—of course. I’d set off on my exploration with a rather meager amount of supplies. Three guides … three fellow travelers … twelve mules … two crates of foodstuffs waiting for us at the halfway point …”

McCormack snorted. “Aye, what meager supplies! Pray, how did you get by without your butlers and personal diaper changer?”

I snickered.

Wodehouse paid no mind. “Somewhere along the way, we got separated in the dense jungle. Luckily, I was carrying my bug net and so my nights were generally pleasant. Save for the creature hunting me.”

“Creature!” McCormack exclaimed. “What was it … an armadillo? A snake? A deer?”

“I’m quite convinced it was a leopard,” Wodehouse said. “Or a jaguar. I always get the two confused. Regardless, I pressed on, hopeful. It wasn’t long before I came across an ancient road. The bricks were mostly covered by vegetation, but they were there, and in just the place Percy Fawcett suspected.”

“Then why haven’t we heard ‘a this?” McCormack asked. “A city, hidden away and never heard from? Aye, and perhaps ya saw Atlantis on one ‘a yer journeys, too!”

“The ancient world was quite different than our modern world,” Wodehouse said. He grunted, pulling his spectacles from his pocket and setting them on his round nose. He shivered away a chill. “Imagine living just two hundred years ago. Place yourself in a small town. Imagine the town library burning down in a great fire. There! What was lost? Recorded history, that’s what. Who’s to say what pieces of history have been lost to the ravages of time? That is why we must preserve our ancient relics at all costs. It is our history, and when it is gone … it may be lost forever.”

“Is that why you collect your mummies?” Harper asked, cocking his head. He kept the flashlight aimed ahead, where the tunnel made an abrupt turn. We followed it in silence, the question lingering behind us in the darkness.

“I’m no thief,” Wodehouse said.

“I never said you were.”

“Now, listen—”

“It’s just strange is all,” Harper continued. “The Egyptians want their mummies back. You refuse.”

“They don’t understand the importance of those mummies,” Wodehouse snapped, his voice cracking. “Those mummies … the secrets they hold … why, we could study them for a hundred years and they would never cease to yield fresh secrets.”

“Then let Egypt’s archaeologists do it,” Harper said.

“Our scientists are more trustworthy.”

“Oh yeah?” Harper grunted. “I seem to recall when the British Empire invaded Egypt, they burned mummies by the thousands.”

“It’s in the past!” Wodehouse shouted, his voice echoing all around us. “Artifacts must be protected by the most trustworthy people. History is too important ...”

“Aye, perhaps. But if ya came into my town and swiped the blessed sword of our ancestor William McGuiness, I’d probably have ta throw ya out of town by the ears.” McCormack spat right in front of me. “Sorry, lass. Just makin’ a point.”

“How high and mighty you all are,” Wodehouse snarled. “Especially you, Harper. Your success has not come at a cheap price, has it?”

“What’s that now?” McCormack asked.

“Nothing,” Harper said in a low voice.

“Nothing indeed!” Wodehouse scoffed. “The adventure is always the most important thing for you and Old Jack. Even at the cost of human lives, no? At least I can say that much for myself, Harper: I’ve never killed anyone. You, on the other hand …”

“Lives were in danger.”

The words echoed in the cave. A strange feeling came over me, along with a terrible thought: what other secrets are these people hiding?

“Killing is killing,” Wodehouse said. “And I would hardly call my acquisitions of mummies theft.”

Cixi pulled one of the daggers from inside her vest. She held it up, and the sharpness of the blade sent a shiver down my spine. “Japanese blades are the finest in all the world. A good sword has more than thirty thousand layers. In ancient times, each blade was tested by cutting the corpses of criminals.” She put the blade away, glaring at Wodehouse. “After Japan surrendered during World War II, Allied soldiers stole Japanese swords to take home as souvenirs.”

“I can assure you I have no swords in my possession. And I’d rather you keep yours pointed at whatever we may encounter in this tunnel, if you please.”

“Do you worry for your life?” Cixi asked. “If so, you should not have come.”

“I am here because I was told Harper had found the fabled King Radu’s treasure. Just as you all are here. Why the girl is here is beyond me.”

“Ach, she’s not so bad,” said McCormack, smiling down at me. “Though it wouldn’t ‘a been such a bad idea to pack some supplies.”

“I didn’t have much time …”

“Harper, you’ll take back what you said—”

“Never. I don’t—”

“Both of you shut up!” I shouted. “Gawd, you’re like a pair of teenagers.”

McCormack laughed a hearty laugh. “They’re explorers, lass. This is how all explorers act. Keeps ‘em alive in places like this.”

“Up here,” said Cixi, stopping at the next bend. Harper stopped beside her, momentarily awestruck. Cixi snatched the light from him, shining it down the next passage. Wodehouse reached them next and stopped as well.

“Bloody amazing,” he whispered.

McCormack and I stepped carefully around him, peering inside. I gasped.

Crystals.

Crystals taller than me, jutting out of the slick limestone. Some looked like broken swords, white and sharp; others were mostly jagged near the top like trees broken in half by a giant. Some were as thin as my arm, but others—jutting out at violent angles—were as thick as my waist. The flashlight shined over them and the beam reflected onto others, making it seem as if they were glowing. As if they were alive.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. Why oh why hadn’t I brought my phone? I could have taken a picture, for crying out loud.

“It’s not natural,” Cixi said, moving closer to the nearest one. It stood at a lazy angle, its top jagged like a king’s crown. She ran her finger along its body.

“What do you mean?” Wodehouse asked. “There it is. Perfectly natural.”

“Naw, she’s right,” McCormack said, edging around me and stepping inside the cavern. He knelt down, examining a clump of smaller crystals. They were clear, like little glass daggers. “These are selenite crystals. Gypsum. They couldn’t ‘a formed here, not at this temperature. They need heat to thrive.”

“Much heat,” Cixi said. “I have been to a cave in Mexico where these crystals form. It is so hot that you can only stay inside for a few minutes. I do not like this.”

“Old Jack went through here,” Harper said. “So we’re going through here.”

“How do ya know?” McCormack asked. His fingers had found the Buddha statue on one of his necklaces. His thumb rubbed the fat man’s tummy.

Harper pulled a piece of tattered, colorful clothing from the tip of one of the crystals. “Only Jack is stupid enough to wear a Hawaiian shirt while exploring. Come on. Our treasure awaits.”

“The looooooot,” McCormack said, reaching out with his hand. I grabbed it, helping him back onto his feet. “Thank ya kindly, lass.”

There came a groan from deeper inside the cave. We stood in silence for a moment, only the slow trickle of water echoing from somewhere deeper inside the cave. No doubt carving out another tunnel. Harper took a deep breath, then made his way around a cloudburst of crystals. Cixi followed close behind.

“I don’t like this one bit,” McCormack said, discarding his Buddha in favor of a little horseshoe necklace.

“Ah, listen,” I said, clearing my throat. I followed everyone around a massive clump of white crystals, keeping a hand on McCormack’s shirt so I wouldn’t trip. “When we get to the castle, you need to know …”

Wodehouse laughed. “Castle? My dear, we’re far more likely to run into a dragon down here.”

There was a passage ahead, just beyond another clump of crystals with impossibly smooth surfaces. It was as if laser beams had shot through the ceiling of the cavern, freezing when they touched the floor. Between them on the ceiling and floor were much smaller spikes, like the bare branches of a tree. I stepped carefully around them, following McCormack into the narrow passage.

“I should lead the way from here on out,” I said, my voice echoing ahead. “We need to be careful, Harper. This cave is dangerous.”

“Harper, who is this girl?” Wodehouse asked, glancing back at me through his thin spectacles. “How does she know so much? And what of Old Jack, anyway?”

“He’s down here.” Harper took a deep breath, pausing ahead. “He was a fool for going in alone. But what’s done is done. Jack’s down here. So’s the treasure.”

“Aye,” McCormack said, grinning at me. “The looooooot.”

“You’re a strange dude,” I told him. He just grinned wider and reached into his pocket, handing me another salty stick of beef jerky. “Thank you.”

“Gotta keep up our energy, lass. Watch yer step here.”

“Oh my.”

I looked ahead. Cixi had disappeared around another bend.

“Wait!” Harper called out. He disappeared next, taking the flashlight with him.

Darkness surrounded us, held at bay by three very dim headlamps. I felt my lungs constrict. My hand reached out, grabbing McCormack’s backpack for balance.

“Well isn’t this great,” Wodehouse said. I heard his feet shuffle on the ground. “Ah, yes. Do as I’m doing. Shuffle your feet … yes, it’s quite level here.”

“You all right, lass?” McCormack asked in a low whisper. His light went out. Mine flickered, dimming even more than usual.

“Oh I’m wonderful,” I said. “Except for the whole pitch-blackness thing.”

“Ah. Oof.” I heard the distinct sound of Wodehouse’s glasses being folded up. “Right. There’s a wall here. Do you feel it, McCormack?”

“Aye.”

“Turn left. I … oh dear me.”

McCormack and I made our way around the bend. We could see the beam of Harper’s light up ahead, where the cave opened up into a massive cavern. The beam was focused squarely on an old, twisted black tree with long, twisted limbs that seemed to reach out toward us, as if trying to keep us from entering the cavern.

Limbs full of leaves.

Silver leaves.

Chapter 10

We sat beside the tree with the flashlight between us, pointed upward. It cut through the darkness, illuminating the stalactites on the ceiling far above. McCormack turned the leaf of silver around again and again in his hand, marveling at it. Examining it.

“Certainly looks like the real stuff,” he murmured. “Though I’ve never heard ‘a silver growing from a tree. Don’t suppose you’ll tell us what’s going on now?”

“Yes, Harper. Please explain.” Wodehouse was the only one standing, staring at the dark forest ahead. He finished off his water bottle, then tossed it into the darkness. It bounced a few times, and the bounces seemed to echo for minutes. Our voices, too, were carrying. Even a whisper created an echo.

“It’s a forest,” Harper said, shrugging. He took a bite of beef jerky, finishing it off with a sip from his cup of water. McCormack’s metal cup of water. “What do you want me to say? This is the first I’ve seen it, too.”

“Never have I encountered a forest belowground,” Cixi said. She’d sworn off McCormack’s bag of food, opting instead to keep on looking all scary and intimidating.

“Ask the girl,” Harper said. He groaned, leaning back and stretching his legs beside the flashlight. “She’s one who dreamed of this place.”

They looked at me.

“Uh … well, there are these …”

“Out with it then,” Wodehouse said, packing his pipe. He raised an eyebrow to McCormack. “If you don’t mind?”

McCormack reached into his pocket, pulling out a metal lighter and tossing it to Wodehouse.

“Much obliged.” He lit his pipe and tossed the lighter back to McCormack, nearly overshooting him. McCormack reached out, just barely grabbing it.

“Careful, ya bleedin’ high-falootin’ ninny!”

Wodehouse puffed on his pipe, ignoring the big man and gazing out at the forest again. “Well, girl? What say you?”

“This forest … it was in a fairy tale,” I said. “Along with twelve dancing princesses and a lake and some other stuff. And it’s all real.”

“Oh come come now.” Wodehouse scoffed. “Harper, what’s the truth of it all?”

“She may be partially right.”

“Say what now?”

Harper stood, finishing his metal cup of water. He handed it back to McCormack with a nod. “I have a theory. See, the girl’s right. I dunno about her dreams and all that, but there’s a reason this cavern is exactly like the fairy tale: someone was here, long ago, and wrote a story about it.”

Close, Mr. Adventurer.

“So the fairy tale is based on this place?” Wodehouse asked, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. “Hmmmm. What supports such a preposterous notion?”

“Fida’i Castle,” Harper said. His fingers tightened into fists. “One of the castles that belonged to the famous Assassins, otherwise known as the Hashshashins, otherwise known as the Nizaris. Their origins trace back to the first Crusade, when their master Hassan-i Sabbah took over a fortress in Alamut and began training an order of warriors who could assassinate his targets. No one was safe from them.”

“What do they have to do with this?” Wodehouse demanded.

Harper looked down at the flashlight, lost inside his memory. “Fida’i Castle had been lost after the Mongol invasion, but my team found it nearly intact, buried in the sand. Twenty years ago. We explored the castle and found a single bottle tucked away inside a large room that had once been a library. The books were all burned and charred and scattered across the room. But the bottle was intact and plugged with a glass stopper.”

A choking feeling crept up my throat.

“And so what, then?” Wodehouse asked testily. “Get on with it, man!”

“I unplugged the bottle,” Harper said. “From it sprung a … a demon. It was like a little tornado, gathering up the burned pages of books. And inside, you could see its eyes. It began killing our fellow explorers.”

“Aye, of course,” McCormack said, his eyes wide. “But you survived, didn’t ya? And how might that be?”

“What does it matter,” Harper snapped. “Old Jack and I escaped. The others died. But you see, I remembered that demon … that spirit. It was from an old fairy tale my ma used to tell when I was a child. Once there was a boy who tricked a spirit that was stuck inside a bottle. The spirit rewarded the boy for his trickery, and the boy lived happily ever after with his father.”

“A fine tale,” McCormack said.

Harper shook his head. “It wasn’t a tale. It was a real story. Just like the story of the twelve dancing princesses. This is the place the Brothers Grimm wrote about.”

Close but no cigar, Indiana Jones.

I kept my mouth shut. Correcting Harper’s weird theory wouldn’t change anything. In fact, I was starting to get the uneasy feeling that we were all keeping secrets from each other.

“Say we believe you,” Wodehouse said slowly, “what else does this story speak of?”

Harper smiled. “I’ll show you.”

We passed between the trees, following Harper’s beam of light and keeping close. I pulled the magic pen from my pocket, listening carefully for any sounds. Specifically, sounds of ghost princesses who were probably not going to be in the best of moods. I wanted to keep these people alive, no matter what. They could have their bags of treasure and Sam Grayle could have his. And if he didn’t like that, he could—

“Oof!” I said, bumping into the trunk of one of the trees. The rough bark scraped my face. I bent over, rubbing my cheek. “You’d think being a hero would make it easier to deal with pain,” I whispered harshly. Something caught my eye just beyond the tree. On the cave floor. I crawled closer and lowered my head to keep the dim light from my headlamp centered on it, sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.

No. It was an intricate carving in the rock. A small figure and a bunch of much larger figures. And behind the much larger figures: a shadowy mass, just like the rubbing in Old Jack’s satchel.

McCormack laughed, patting me on the shoulder and nearly scaring the bejeebers out of me. “Need glasses, do ya? I bet Wodehouse’ll let you borrow his if ya ask real nice-like.”

“I’m fine. I just got distracted.”

The big man grunted, pulling out another lucky charm from his necklace: a cross. The cross of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. Chase’s mom had a similar necklace. “Don’t see how ya could get distracted in a place like this. I’m about scared witless right now. None o’ this feels right. Sooner we fill our bags with loot, the sooner McCormack’s gettin’ outta here.”

“What are you going to do with your treasure?” I asked.

“Oh, same thing I always do with it: gamble it all away. Buy some junk I don’t need. Maybe take a vacation somewheres. It’ll be gone before I know it.”

“At least you’re honest,” I said, following him around a thick tree. I ducked to avoid the lowest branches. The tip of my head brushed up against one, causing the silver leaves to clink together. “What if we never get out? Then the leaf is worthless.”

“Oh, we adventurers know the risks,” McCormack said. “Doesn’t stop us, though. It’s the thrill that gets us. You can swear off sugar all ya want, but when those chocolate chip cookies come fresh outta the oven, you’ll find yerself diggin’ in soon enough.”

“Up here,” Harper called out. We hurried to where he’d stopped, between two tall trees with thick, twisting limbs. He shined the beam of his light directly above him, to the leaves hanging from the lowest branch.

Wodehouse gasped. “Is that …”

“Only one way to be sure,” McCormack said, pulling one of the metal cups from his backpack. He threw it up in the air, hitting the lowest branch and shaking loose a leaf. Instead of floating gently to the cave floor, it crashed down, bouncing once on the hard rock. McCormack picked it up. Harper shined his light on it.

Gold.

“I’d say it’s impossible,” Wodehouse said, “only we’ve already passed trees with silver leaves.”

I turned to Cixi to see if she was as enraptured by the sight of gold as the guys, but she wasn’t. She was looking right at me. The hilts of her daggers poked out from inside her vest. She had another creepy look cued up on her face, too.

“McCormack,” Harper said.

“Right.” McCormack took off his bag and kneeled on the hard floor, groaning. He pulled out a black rock and rubbed the gold leaf on it, leaving a streak. Then he pulled out two small vials, one marked “1” and the other marked “2.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Applyin’ an acid test,” he answered, grabbing the first vial and pouring its contents on the black rock. “This stuff’s nitric acid.”

“The smudge didn’t disappear.”

“Right. That means it’s probably gold.”

Wodehouse whistled.

“But we can be more sure with this stuff. It’s how ya go from bein’ pretty sure to counting-your-chickens sure.” He poured it on the smudge. The gold residue bubbled and disappeared.

We were silent a moment, staring at the leaf.

“Well!” Wodehouse clasped his hands together, and the sound echoed above us. “Who’s for a little scavenging, eh? McCormack, I’m sure we could empty out that backpack of yours quite easily.”

“I ain’t yer pack mule, ya bloated boot licker!”

“Settle now,” Harper said. “McCormack, what would you price that leaf at?”

The big man picked it up and hefted it in his hand, humming a cheerful tune while he ran calculations in his head. “Oh, I’d say around twenty thousand or so.”

Harper nodded. “Come on.”

Wodehouse jumped comically, grabbing a branch and shaking loose more golden leaves. He covered his head as they came raining down, bouncing with a clang on the rock floor. He picked up two, stuffing them in his breast pocket. He handed one to Cixi, who looked at it strangely before handing it back. Then she looked at me. Same creepy look.

And her headlamp had gone out, too.

I held out my hand to McCormack. He took it and I pulled him up, feeling my back muscles tense. The cuts on my shoulder stung.

“Oh, yer a tough one, all right,” he said, slipping the leaf inside the pocket of his coat. “You just stay close to McCormack now. My bones tell me this place ain’t all roses and perfume. Something ain’t right.”

“In that case, you’d better stay close to me,” I told him. I stared down at the ground, searching for another carving in the cave floor. Nothing. The rock was smooth.

“Up here!” Harper called out. We weaved between the trees. Harper and Wodehouse were staring ahead, Wodehouse’s eyes agog.

“Dear me,” McCormack whispered. “What black magic is this?”

Diamonds. Diamonds of all shapes and sizes, sprouting from the branches of more trees like little budding leaves. The trees themselves were even more grotesque than their siblings, with gangly limbs that nearly reached down to the rocky floor and wide trunks whose black bark was split and peeling.

Wodehouse reached out, plucked a cherry-sized one from a branch and handed it McCormack. “Tell us what you think.”

“I think we should leave ‘em,” he said, not touching the diamond.

Wodehouse looked at Cixi, then Harper. “What are you talking about, man?”

“This place ain’t right,” McCormack said. “You know it and I know it.”

“This is why you’re here,” Wodehouse said. “The sooner you do your job, the sooner we can leave.” He tossed the gem. McCormack caught it, pinching it between two fingers. It wasn’t at all shaped like the diamonds you would find in a jewelry store. Its form was uncut and imperfect, its sparkle hidden.

Still, with the light shining on it ... it looked beautiful. And there was a thrill to it, too. The thrill of discovery. Of being down here even though I was terrified that Agnim’s prophecy was coming true and even though there were some seriously creepy princesses hanging out somewhere in the darkness. Even still, this was a real adventure.

“Well?” Wodehouse asked.

McCormack’s right eye studied it closely, moving it around between his fat fingers. “Aye,” he said finally. “This is a diamond, sure ‘nuff.”

Wodehouse clasped his hands together again, laughing with joy. He turned, reaching up and plucking another diamond from the nearest branch. “This will be for my darling wife …” He plucked another much larger one. “This will be for my darling mistress … this one will be for a grand piano …”

A low groan stopped him. Harper shined his light into the forest, slowly scanning the trees. My headlamp flickered again, then went out, leaving us at the mercy of Harper’s light. I bent down, ready to draw a saber. The darkness felt like a pressure on my eyes, hiding the expansive forest at our backs.

The groan could have come from anywhere.

“Come on,” Harper said. “Let’s find Old Jack and then we can gather up the treasure.”

“Now wait,” Wodehouse said. He turned to me. “You know the fairy tale well, girl. What else is down here?”

“Uh … no more treasure,” I ventured.

Wodehouse turned to Harper. “Then why in God’s name would we risk our lives venturing deeper to save that old fool of a friend of yours?”

“You have your riches,” Harper said. “Now we rescue Jack. That’s my decision. You agreed to abide by my decision.”

Wodehouse shook his head, ducking out of the way of the beam of light so he was cast in shadow. “I was already rich, Harper. This little forest will be my claim to fame. I’ll be the twenty-first century Percy Fawcett! I shan’t risk that by delving deeper into this peculiar cave so long as my headlamp has any battery power left. Go get your friend. I shall wait here, examining my diamonds.”

“A man’s life may be in danger!” Harper shouted. His voice echoed above us.

Cixi’s hand fell on the hilt of one of her daggers. My hair stood on end.

“I’ll go get him,” I said. “I have a pretty good idea where he is. And it might be dangerous.”

“No,” Harper snapped. “I’m coming with you.”

“As am I,” Cixi hissed. My headlamp’s light flickered back on, illuminating her face. For once, she wasn’t staring at me—she was staring at Wodehouse. Glaring at him.

“Aye,” McCormack said, tossing the diamond. It bounced on the rocky floor, disappearing in the darkness. “Better to not leave a free soul in a place like this.”

I turned toward the sound of the bouncing diamond and my eye caught something. I got down on all fours, staring at the carving: a town with little houses. Fires burning. Beyond the fires: lions. Not wolves or werewolves … lions with thick manes.

“Oooooooo-kay,” I said, crawling farther. I gasped.

They were everywhere.

Carvings all over the cave floor. Images of creatures and heroic figures with spears, swords, shields …

And foils. I crawled closer, heart racing, face flush. I licked my clammy lips, leaning closer. It was me. Me and Edward, fighting with our foils.

“What. The. Crud.”

“Come on, lass!” McCormack called out.

I stood, taking a shaky breath, feeling a dull ache in my ribs. I caught up with the others, ducking between the low-hanging branches lined with diamonds. Harper plucked a big one, stuffing it in his knapsack. Cixi grabbed a smaller one, clutching it in her fist before discarding it. What’s your game, creepy dagger lady? Doesn’t all this treasure excite you?

Wodehouse grabbed a dozen more, giggling with glee. “Perhaps I’ll escort you a bit farther, then await your return. It seems the diamonds are getting bigger the farther we go into this forest. Harper! Harper, point your flashlight over there.”

Harper aimed the light at one of the branches ahead. When the light hit the fully formed diamonds, the beam split up into a thousand smaller beams, each one cutting through the darkness at a different angle.

“This one,” Wodehouse said, grabbing a plum-sized diamond near the tip of the branch. “This will be the perfect centerpiece for my nineteenth-century dining table that I’ll be purchasing …”

A low, bass-like groan came from inside the forest, this time much closer. The tree shuddered, as if something behind it had grabbed hold of its trunk and shaken it fiercely.

“What …”

“Wodehouse, get back!” Harper shouted.

But it was too late. A massive branch curled downward, wrapping around Wodehouse’s waist and squeezing. He cried out, dropping the diamond. The branch lifted him up.

The tree groaned.

More trees answered.

“What’s happening, Harper!” Wodehouse shouted, pounding on the branch with his little fists. “Someone save me!”

Cixi pulled her daggers from her vest, moving quickly to the trunk of the tree. Another twisted branch reached down, wrapping around her, its sharp diamonds cutting her arm. She screamed, stabbing at the branch with her blades and chipping away chunks of bark.

Harper turned to me. I bent down, using the pen to draw an axe. Or … my best interpretation of an axe. The truth is, I didn’t really know how to draw one. What materialized was close enough, with a curved wooden handle and a wide, sharp steel axe head.

“Why, I’ve never …” McCormack said in a low voice.

I pushed past him, letting my feet take short, quick steps. I saw another of the tree’s long branches come down and edged left, hefting the axe over my head and taking a mighty chop at the branch clutching Cixi. The wood split. The tree moaned so loud that I could feel it inside my chest. The vibration pained my sore ribs.

More trees answered the call. All around us a chorus of low, brittle groans.

I chopped again, severing the branch. It burned away, and then the burning blackness spread to the trunk. Its limbs—and the diamonds—turned to ash.

Cixi and Wodehouse fell to the ground.

“What in the bloody hell?” McCormack exclaimed. “I swear I’m dreamin’. This ain’t real, is it?”

“Believe it,” Harper said, shining the flashlight on the other nearby trees. Wodehouse and Cixi got up. Their clothes were cut where the diamonds and bark had rubbed against them.

“We should leave,” Wodehouse said. “To heck with Old Jack and to heck with the diamonds!”

“There’s a boat,” I told Harper. “Through these trees. It can’t be far. It’ll take us across a lake. We … well, we’re not going to be any safer on the other side, but at least we won’t be surrounded by man-eating trees.”

“Fair enough. Come on!” Harper led the way, the flashlight’s beam bouncing with each step. We followed him closely, giving every possible branch a wide berth. The groaning was getting louder, echoing all around us. The sound of creaking wood came from every direction.

McCormack, breathing heavily, started to fall behind.

“Come on, you big lug!” I shouted, grabbing him by the shirt.

“I’m … I’m … I’m done, lassy!”

“No!” I pulled him harder, swinging my axe at a twisted branch as it reached out for him. Burning blackness spread across the bark, igniting the massive tree and lighting up the forest. We both drew in a sharp breath. All of the nearby trees were swaying, their branches pulling away from the flames, their trunks reflecting the orange glow. Each trunk had a distinct face, distorted and grotesque.

We hurried to catch up, ducking low beneath the branches of another tree. Something snagged the collar of my shirt, scratching my neck. I screamed, turning and grabbing the branch with my left hand. I swung my axe at the branch, but the axe head flew off the handle, landing somewhere in the darkness.

You don’t know how to draw an axe head, Alice!

“I got ya, lass!” McCormack’s big hands wrapped around my waist and he pulled while I twisted the branch. It tore the collar of my sweater but I was free! We hurried to join the others, weaving our way around another tree.

“Up ahead!” I told them, pointing with the axe handle. The trees were thinning out, and ahead I could see the lake. On the other side of the lake were the trees with the glowing blue plums, their light reflecting on the surface of the black water.

“Careful!” Cixi said, jumping in front of Wodehouse and slicing a branch in half before its claw-like fingers could grab him. A dozen trees were still in front of us, each one swaying, each one’s branches writhing and twisting toward us. Cixi cut another branch, then another. Harper dodged and ducked, trying his best to keep the beam of the flashlight directly ahead of us.

“Gaaah!” McCormack shouted.

I turned around, cursing. The big man’s arms were pinned to his body, one thick branch squeezing him tightly around the waist.

“They’re—urk!—they’re squeezing my bladder!” he shouted.

“Hold on!” I bent down, drawing a gladius. It wasn’t an axe, but it would have to do. I pulled it from the ground and looked up. Another branch! I ducked, avoiding the shadowy limb and swinging the short sword in a wide arc. I chopped away bark, but the tree refused to burn. I chopped again and again; slowly, the burning blackness appeared. I hurried to McCormack, hacking away at the limbs holding him. Bark chipped away. The burning blackness spread, turning the branches to ash. The trunk burst into flame, sending a hickory-sweet smoke into the air. The tree burned quickly, leaving ashes scattered at our feet.

McCormack clutched his stomach, gasping. “I don’t know who ya are, lass, but I owe ya one.”

“Come on,” I said, pulling him up. He put weight on his right foot, then nearly collapsed. I caught him, feeling the pain in my ribs flare up. We gave the last three trees a wide berth, reaching the others at the boat.

“Thanks for the help,” I said.

“You’re just lucky we waited for you at all,” Wodehouse snapped, pointing a shiny diamond at me. He looked at it, then at me, then shoved the diamond in his vest pocket and zipped it up.

“Hey, buster,” I said, stabbing the air between us. “I’m the reason this boat is even here.”

“Enough,” Harper said. “What’s across this lake?”

“A castle,” I said. “And some ghosts. And your friend.”

“Bloody …” McCormack glanced over his shoulder, spitting in the direction of the groaning trees. “I can’t be sure if the lass is joking or not!”

“We’ll take our chances,” Harper said. “Everyone in.”

I helped McCormack into the boat, then got in, sitting on the stern end. McCormack grabbed the oars, pushing us off.

“We’ll go back,” Wodehouse proclaimed. “If the girl uses her skills to chop away at those trees, we’ll be able to fill our bags with enough diamonds …”

“Shut up,” Harper said. He turned to me. “Well?”

I shrugged. “Well, they’re obviously some pretty ticked-off trees.”

“How did you make them burn?” Wodehouse asked, putting his glasses back on. His headband light had gone off again.

“Magic,” I said, taking off my headband to check the bulb. It was out, too. “McCormack is right: this entire place is the work of magic. And my headlight is out.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Wodehouse snorted. “Except the headlight part.”

“Any more ridiculous than those diamonds you plucked from a tree?” I asked.

McCormack grunted, dipping the oars in the water and pulling with all his might. We moved slowly across the lake. Too slowly for my tastes.

“What are those?” Harper asked, pointing ahead.

“Trees with nightlights,” I said. “Your friend disappeared there. He was—”

“Wait,” Cixi hissed. Her fingers clenched the ivory hilts of her daggers. “I heard something.”

McCormack stopped rowing, tearing off his headlight so he could wipe sweat from his forehead. “Bloody … what now?”

Harper flashed his flashlight over the water. The beam cut through the darkness all the way to the glistening limestone walls of the cavern at the edge of the lake. “There!” he shouted. “I saw something. What is it?”

“A ghost,” I said. “Just stay calm. I can handle this.”

“You?” Wodehouse whimpered. “How? With what?”

Something flew across the flashlight’s beam. A shadow. A princess. She was close, circling us. I looked down, searching the water. In the reflection, I could see myself and McCormack and Harper.

And a princess.

A princess with big, white eyes and terribly pale skin and a tattered pink dress with long sleeves. She was floating above McCormack, one hand reaching down for his head …

“Move!” I shouted, grabbing the big man’s shirt and pulling him down. I stabbed my gladius at the air above him. The princess appeared, burning away and screaming so loud it stung my eardrums.

Ashes fell over McCormack’s head. Wodehouse and Harper stared, wide-eyed. Even Cixi’s stone expression had cracked just a bit.

“What was it?” McComack asked, wiping off of the black ash. “A ghost? A ghost coming for old McCormack?”

“I do believe it’s time to go,” Wodehouse said. “Harper, the spoils of the forest are yours. I’m all for leaving as soon as possible.”

“We have to save Old Jack,” Harper said. “And the only way out is forward. Isn’t that right, Alice?”

“What’s he speakin’ of?” McCormack asked, grabbing the oars.

“In the fairy tale, there was a secret passage through a castle,” I told him, searching the water’s reflection for anything else ghost-related. “A prince uses the passage to find the twelve princesses and he ends up marrying one of them in typical Brothers Grimm fashion. But the passage we went through was the secret passage. First the prince went through a forest of silver, then gold, then diamonds. Then he took a boat across a lake.”

“What’re ya sayin’, lass?”

I see you trapped in a cavern …

“I’m saying there may not be a way out.”

“We’ll find a way out,” Harper said. “And we’ll save Old Jack.”

“And what about the bleedin’ man-eating trees?” McCormack shouted, his voice echoing above us.

More laughter.

“The flashlight,” I said. “Harper, give it to me!”

He handed it over, drawing a pistol from underneath his vest. Wodehouse unslung his rifle.

“A lot o’ good those’ll do,” McCormack said. He crouched low, pulling a little pig charm from his necklace and tapping it a few times. “Best of luck, lass.”

“I’ll need more than luck,” I whispered, shining the light in a wide circle. The boat was drifting slowly to the shore. We could reach it … but would it matter?

More laughter. The sounds echoed all around us. Suddenly, a shadow moved across the beam of light. I tried to follow it, but it was too fast. I leaned in the boat, searching the water.

“Careful,” Wodehouse said. “You’ll capsize us!”

More laughter echoed above.

Come on … come on …

A bead of sweat slipped off my forehead, dropping into the water. Gentle ripples radiated out in a wide circle, distorting my reflection. When it settled, I wasn’t alone anymore.

Another princess, this one with a long face and beak-like nose and pearl-white eyes. Her hair was brown, matted against her skull. Her brown dress revealed two sharp, bony shoulders.

Carefully, I turned the gladius hilt so the blade was pointed behind me.

The princess opened her mouth, revealing terrifying sharp teeth. I stabbed the sword backward.

A scream. Ashes exploded like a firework, dousing Wodehouse.

“Ptoo,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the ashes from his face. “What happened?”

“A ghost,” I whispered.

McCormack grabbed the oars, rowing the boat to the shore. I helped McCormack out last, letting him lean on me to keep pressure of his right foot. We moved cautiously closer to the trees with blue plums, then stopped as the branches shuddered. The plums bounced up and down, their light dancing on the cave floor.

More laughter.

“Wodehouse, how good of a shot are you with that thing?” I asked.

He stood tall. “The best. It’s the only reason I haven’t soiled my nickers at this point.”

“I have an idea. Give me your bullets.”

He looked at Harper.

“Do it,” Harper said. “She’s gotten us this far.”

Wodehouse clicked open the barrel of his long rifle. He pulled out six bullets that were as long as my finger. I set my sword by my feet.

More laughter, definitely closer this time.

“Whatever you’re going to do,” Cixi said, “do it fast.”

I used my pen to color the tips of the bullets. The golden glow stung my eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dark. I carefully loaded them back into Wodehouse’s rifle.

“No time to hesitate,” I told him. “And no pressure, but if you miss them, we’re probably all going to die.”

“Splendid,” he murmured, bringing the gun to his shoulder.

More laughter. The branches of one of the trees just ahead of us swung up and down, dropping one of the glowing blue plums. It bounced twice, rolling toward us, the blue light changing with each rotation of the oval-shaped fruit.

A shadow slipped between the trees.

“There!” I shouted. I was cut off by Wodehouse’s gun. The glowing gold tip of the bullet seemed to travel in slow motion when it escaped the gun, cutting through the air and hitting the shadowy ghost before she could slip behind another tree. She exploded in a cloud of ash.

“Oooooh what a sight,” McCormack said.

“Me,” Cixi said, holding out her daggers. I used the pen to draw a line from the tip of the blade down to the hilt. Harper pulled the bullets from his six-shooter. I colored the tip of each one.

“The light reveals their shadows,” I said, digging in my ears to fight the ringing. The report from the gun had dulled my hearing. I needed my hearing.

“There!” Harper shouted. He fired. A cloud of ash exploded beside the nearest tree. “That’s four of them. Alice, keep the light on those trees!”

I shined the light on the trees, revealing a sinister shadow creeping along the trunk. Wodehouse fired, and ashes exploded across the heavy bark. Two more glowing blue plums fell, rolling down the gentle slope to our feet.

“I can hear ‘em laughin’,” McCormack said. “They’re everywhere!”

I couldn’t hear a danged thing. My ears were ringing worse now. They hurt. I was short one sense, relying only on my eyes. It’d be nice if they left a glowing trail … but things are never easy anymore, are they Alice?

“Here!” Cixi shouted. I turned the flashlight just as another cloud of ashes appeared, landing on Cixi’s outstretched dagger. More shadows moved in the darkness and Wodehouse and Harper both fired.

“That’s eight, I think!” Harper said. “Stay sharp. Watch … Alice, what are you—”

“It’s not me!” I said, tapping the flashlight. The bulb turned back on, flickered, then turned back on, only to turn off again as something knocked it from my grip. We all watched in horror as the light flew through the air, landing on the hard ground.

The glass bulb cracked, leaving us alone in the gloomy blue light.

Wodehouse fired his gun, then again. Bark erupted from the nearest tree. The branches shook, knocking loose three more blue plums. Two of them split when they hit the cave floor, the glowing blue juice seeping out and slowly losing their light.

Leaving one big patch of darkness off to our right.

“You fool,” Harper snapped. “Without those blue lights, we can’t see—”

“Gaaaaah!” Wodehouse screamed. His body lifted from the air, his back arched. Cixi stepped forward, but an unseen force pushed her aside, throwing her against the tree to my left. Another of the blue plums fell, rolling under Wodehouse’s kicking feet.

“Cripes!” McCormack spat.

Shadows slipped through Wodehouse’s body, pulling him higher. His body jerked as if it was being electrocuted. He opened his mouth and a black shadow slipped out.

Harper pointed his gun. I jumped toward him, punching his wrist. The gun’s angle tilted and it discharged, sending a glowing bullet into the dark patch of forest to our right.

I turned back to Wodehouse, wondering if I could swipe at the shadows without hurting him. Too late—an unseen force knocked me back, right into McCormack’s big belly and knocking both of us over.

Wodehouse fell to the ground. Diamonds spilled out of his breast pocket. The shadows grabbed his legs, dragging him into the forest where there were no glowing blue plums.

Toward the old castle.

“Wodehouse!” Harper shouted, aiming his gun again.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Harper aimed left, searching the trees for the voice. We stood together, breathing quickly. My ears had stopped ringing, at least a little bit. I could hear the distinct popping sound of a plum being plucked from its branch. A woman stepped out from behind one of the taller trees, clutching a blue plum with long fingers that were twisted like old branches. The blue light illuminated her pale skin. She was pretty, with curly red hair and a flowing blue dress with white frills around her shoulders and long sleeves.

She took a bite of the plum. Her veins began to glow blue.

“He’ll be taken to the castle. He is our dancing partner now.”

“You already have dancing partners,” I said, trying to shake the ringing from my ears. “Your princes were your dancing partners.”

“Yes, but they’re so old and decrepit and never want to dance anymore,” she said, pouting. “Now go.” She pointed to our left. “The tunnel that way leads to a secret passage. Take your diamonds and gold and silver and leave. Never come back.”

Harper pointed his gun and fired. Click.

The princess smiled. Her eyes lit up—not blue, but a fiery gold. “I could see inside the chamber. I knew it was empty. I can see you are all afraid. I can see a great many things, just like my foolish little sister who hides deep within our castle.”

Cixi ran forward with incredible speed, so incredible that I barely trusted the image my eyes were giving me. Within a hare’s breath, she’d closed the gap between them, both daggers slicing upward, each of their tips still glowing just a little bit.

The princess moved, her body becoming little more than a shadow as she slipped behind Cixi, her shadow pressing forward and shoving Cixi against the trunk of the tree. Blue plums fell all around them, their blue light bouncing across the trees and causing the trees’ shadows to dance.

The princess reappeared. “Escape before I change my mind,” she warned, stepping away from the fallen plums, back into the shadows, only the eerie blue glow of her veins visible until that too disappeared.

Leaving us in darkness.

“Come on,” I said, helping McCormack up and putting his big arm over my shoulder.

“We have to rescue Jack,” Harper said. “And Wodehouse … if we have time.”

“I’ll get him,” I said. “The rest of you can take the tunnel out of here.”

“No.”

“Why?!” I asked, turning back to him. “You can’t do this. I can. I can’t explain …”

“I know what you are.” Harper bent down and grabbed one of the glowing plums. “The spirit in the bottle … I still remember it as if it was yesterday. The spirit had us trapped in the old Assassins library. The old, burnt pages swirled around the room. It took one of the older gents we were with, sucking him right into its body. Then it came for us. It could have gone after any of us, but it went after me. Old Jack stepped in front of me, telling me to run. But I couldn’t. I was frozen.

“Then, a miracle happened: a woman appeared. She tore away her robe, revealing a stick of dynamite and a small blade that was glowing like the sun. She told us to escape. We ran through the old castle’s corridors. Moments later, there was an explosion and a cave-in. The woman met me at the entrance to the castle. All of the people we’d been with had perished. But so had the spirit. She told me this was worth the sacrifice.”

“Juliette,” I whispered. It had to be her. Twenty years ago … that was when she’d been the hero. “Harper … I’ll save Jack,” I said. “And I’ll throw in Wodehouse, too. I promise.”

Harper shook his head. He took a bite of the blue plum. Glowing blue juice ran down his grizzled chin. His eyes began to glow. Then his veins. “You don’t understand. But you will some day. The people you care about will be in danger. And then you’ll do anything you can to save them.”

I turned to Cixi. “Take McCormack …”

But she’d already taken a bite of a plum, too. Her eyes glowed an even brighter blue. Her veins lit up. “With this, we do not need light.”

“Wait for me,” I said. “Let me just get McCormack to the tunnel …”

“You’re afraid,” Harper said, his blue eyes widening. “I can see the fear inside you. I can see your beating heart … I can see in the darkness!”

“I …” Was I afraid? I couldn’t tell. It was as if I’d grown used to the feeling, so much so that it was nothing but a dull throb that complemented the pain in my ribs and the cut on my shoulder. Now frustration? That I was definitely feeling.

They both disappeared into the forest, the soft gold glow of Cixi’s blades periodically appearing as they weaved between the black trees.

“Come on,” I said, helping McCormack along the edge of the forest and kicking two of the fallen plumbs ahead of us to light the way. Sure enough, there was a passage at the far end of the cavern. I kicked one plumb into the tunnel, where it rolled up a gentle slope before coming to a stop beside a greasy-looking stalagmite.

McCormack pulled his arm off my shoulder. He leaned on the limestone. “Go now. Save those bloody fools. But don’t you eat those plums.”

I turned back to the dark forest. “I won’t be able to see.”

“Take this.” He handed me the lighter.

“That’s not going to help me. Especially not inside the castle. The plums will help me see, though.”

“Aye? And what’s the catch, lass?”

The words struck me like a brick. “The catch …”

“Break a branch from that tree,” McCormack ordered. I walked over to the nearest tree, using both hands to snap one of the smaller branches in half. McCormack reached into his backpack, pulling out a piece of brown cloth. He wrapped it tightly around the top of the branch.

“Fire needs oxygen,” he said, “and a combustible material. And fuel.”

“Wait,” I said, uncapping the magic pen. I colored in the cloth so that it had a golden glow. “OK. Now.”

McCormack poured lighter fluid on the cloth, then lit it on fire. The flames caught, burning a golden orange. “You’ll not have much time,” he warned. “And here. Take this.” He reached into his pocket, handing me an acorn. “Acorns are good luck in Norse folklore, ya know.”

“Uh … thanks.”

“Just come back in one piece and we’ll call it even!” he called out after me.

I hurried through the forest, using the golden torch to guide me between the trees. The closer I got to the castle, the fewer blue plums there were. The air was cool and wet, sticking to my skin. I breathed short breaths, aware of the pain in my ribs that had begun to return. I had to hold the torch with my left hand so I could hold the gladius with my right, and the strain on my left shoulder kept me aware of the pain there as well.

Block it out, Alice. Open your senses.

I stopped at the open gate to the castle, listening. I couldn’t hear anything except the dull thud of my heartbeat, but I could feel the air changing all around me. My skin chilled. I spun, holding the torch in front of me, revealing one of the princesses. She hissed, shielding her eyes from the light. I shoved the torch at her and the golden flame leapt onto her tattered black dress.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

“Good to know the flame works,” I murmured, slipping inside the castle. I kept the torch in front of me, keeping an eye out for the creepy glow of Harper’s or Cixi’s eyes. But there was only blackness ahead.

Blackness … and music. Classical music with sharp violins. Just like in my dreams.

“Harper!” I whispered. My voice echoed down the old hallway.

“He can’t hear you.”

I spun around, holding the torch out and bracing myself for another scary princess to appear. But there was only darkness behind me.

To my left, though …

I moved closer to the stone wall, holding the flame close. The golden light illuminated the carving, the warmth of the flame warming the left side of my face as I peered closer. A shadow. A creature. And someone else, too. Two of them.

“The Brothers Grimm …” came the soft, velvety voice.

“I know.” I swallowed, trying to calm my shaking left hand. “And the creature …”

“The Malevolence.” Her whisper carried through the darkness. “I can see it happening. The Malevolence approached the brothers and gave them the gift of black magic. They used the magic to bring their stories to life … but they changed our ending. They cursed us. They cursed us!”

“How?” I asked, aiming the torch down the hall.

“In our original fairy tale, all twelve princesses were executed by their father. The Brothers Grimm changed the ending so that we lived. They cursed us to this life.”

I looked left. There were more intricate carvings in the stone. Carvings of battles. First, the soldiers had spears, then swords, then horses …

“Vlad the Impaler,” I whispered, staring in horror at the third carving.

“The Malevolence is older than the Brothers Grimm,” came the whisper. “It is an evil as old as time itself. It haunts all of my visions. I have seen your arrival. I have seen you trapped here, searching for answers. Here is your answer: the Brothers Grimm cursed us with life so that I could warn you.”

More carvings. More wars. Battles. And through it all, the strange shadowy figure was present … hiding behind the warriors. The last carving was the castle, with the shadow-like creature inside its walls. In each corner was a symbol. But what did they mean?

“The Brothers Grimm changed your story,” I said, “so that you could warn me about the Malevolence. But why?”

“Because the darkness is rising.”

“What do you mean? What else did you see?” I asked, turning and burning away the darkness with the torch. I winced, feeling fresh pain in my shoulder. “Did you see the death of my loved ones?”

No answer. I waited, taking shaky breaths. But she was gone.

The Malevolence … if it’s the source of the Grimms’ magic … does it have the power to undo the magic as well?

The haunting music grew louder, echoing down the hall.

“Always with the scary violins,” I muttered, keeping the torch in front of me as I walked. The room opened up—I was in the dance room. And ahead, lying on the ground, were four bodies.

I hurried over, kneeling beside them. They were breathing, but only the guy named Jack was conscious. Cixi clutched one dagger, the other nowhere to be seen. Already the golden color on its blade had faded. Wodehouse lay beside his gun, its barrel snapped in two.

“No more dancing,” Jack said. “No more dancing … no more …”

“Definitely no more dancing,” I told him, looking him over. His shoes were worn away and his toes had been bleeding at some point. He looked dehydrated and exhausted. I set down my sword and grabbed Harper’s coat, pulling him up. “Harper! Snap out of it, dummy!”

“He ate a plum,” Jack murmured, rolling over and pushing himself to his knees. He fell over, coughing. “The plums pep you up and help you see in the dark, but then the juice affects your nervous system. They fed the plums to me to keep me dancing. It’ll take time for them to snap out of it.”

Laughter echoed in the darkness.

“Looks like I’m about to tango,” I said, grabbing my gladius. I stepped away from them, holding the flame high. “Ugh! Bad joke, Alice. Bad joke.”

“I recognize her,” came a voice. The violins responded with a high-pitched screech. “I saw her reflection in the lake when we took the first man from his boat!”

“Kill her,” came the other voice.

The princesses appeared before me, screeching even louder than the violins. Their tattered dresses—blue and pink—clung to their pale bodies and their hair stood on end as if they’d been electrocuted. I swung at them but they moved swiftly, circling around the flame. I felt an ice-cold hand run across my bare neck, a single nail cutting my skin. I turned, swung the blade, then shut my eyes as a cloud of ash exploded in the air.

“This is all that cursed prince’s fault,” shrieked the princess with the blue dress. “He could have left us alone to dance with our wonderful princes, but all he wanted was our father’s wealth. He stole one of our sisters, but we got her back, oh yes, and we made sure he would never steal from us again!”

“Yeah, the princes are usually jerks.” I spun, waving the torch from left to right. The princess with the blue dress emerged from the darkness, reaching for me. I swung my sword but the blade missed low. My ribs cried out in pain. The princess reappeared, to my left again. There was no way to reach around and hit her with my sword. I swung with the torch instead, and the flame caught the bottom of the princess’s dress. The fire consumed her, sending ashes raining down over my head.

The music stopped.

I held out my torch, fighting to catch my breath. At first, I could hear only the shuffling of feet. My heart raced. What now?

The first one appeared at the edge of the flame’s light. A shadowy man dressed in ashen princely duds, his head lolling forward as if his neck were too tired to prop up the weight. His skin was gray and shriveled like a mummy’s, the eye sockets empty.

“Oh. Right. There were twelve princes too.” I threw my gladius aside, kneeling and drawing a saber in the wooden floorboards. I pulled it out, standing up, swinging it through the air. Good balance. Good weight.

Four more shuffled into the light. One was still clutching an old violin. Another dragged a much larger cello along the floor, clutching its neck.

“Come on,” I said, waiting.

They shuffled closer. Slowly.

“No. Really … come on!”

They shuffled a little closer. Slowly.

“I can see why you stopped dancing.” I closed the distance between us, throwing the torch on the floor. The flame caught the pantaloons of one prince, burning him to ash. I swung in a wide arc, then ducked low and sliced left to right. Ash burned my eyes. I blinked away the discomfort, hopping over the torch and sweeping my blade downward. My foot reached back, kicking the torch behind me. Another prince caught fire. Two more shuffled toward me like zombies clothed in tattered medieval garments. I brought my blade low, then drove it in an upward arc across my body.

Ashes floated in the air all around me. I took slow, deliberate breaths through my nose. In my mind, the action was still unfolding: two princes bursting apart, then another one, then the one raising his violin over his head like a club, then my saber striking him in the chest and turning him to ash … it had all happened so fast, my fencing moves so mechanical that I could barely believe it.

I picked up the torch, returning to the others. Wodehouse was sitting up, rubbing his head.

“I do say, this hasn’t been the most pleasant experience.”

“No,” I said, crouching down and pulling Harper up.

“Jack,” he mumbled, drooling all gross-like. “My friend …”

“First: Jack’s fine. And second: ewww.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome. I hope—”

Something shiny appeared in my peripheral vision. I pulled Harper down, turning, feeling a sharp stinging sensation run through my ribs, reaching out with both hands and grabbing Cixi’s forearm. I squeezed, forcing her to drop the blade. She fought back weakly, then collapsed in exhaustion.

“They must all die,” she whispered. Her eyes were still a hint of blue, and the fingers on her left hand were twitching as if they’d just been thawed out of a block of ice.

“That’s why you’re here,” I said, squeezing her wrist. “To make sure Grayle gets all the treasure. Isn’t it?”

She winced, nodding. “They … all … must die. G-G-Grayle …”

“What is she speaking of?” Wodehouse asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Come on. You can help Harper, I’ll help Old Jack.”

“What about Cixi?”

I shrugged. “Do you want her to kill you?”

Wodehouse, surprised, shook his head.

“Then I suggest we let her find her own way out.”

Chapter 11

Back in the prince’s black car, I called Grayle.

“It’s done,” I said.

“Excellent. I knew you would pull through, Alice.”

“The rest of the crew did, too.”

He was silent a moment. I reached over to the control panel, rolling up the glass divider between the back of the car and the driver’s seat. The car sped up as it reached the highway road that led back to Vontescue’s castle. It was evening, and a nearly full moon hung in the sky.

“All of them are alive?”

“Probably,” I said. “Your assassin was still in the cave last I checked, but she’s a crafty gal so I’m sure she’ll make it out eventually. When she does, you’re going to contact her and end her contract.”

“And how can I rest assured knowing there are others who might take my treasure?”

“Because the treasure is gone,” I snapped. “All that’s left is in a bag sitting at my feet. The cave is emptied out. There’s nothing left.”

More silence. My heart thumped against my sore ribs. Grayle’s slow breaths sounded in the earpiece. Boy, if ever there was a tense moment …

“Very well,” he said finally. “I hope you don’t mind if I send some people to explore the cave, just to be sure.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you. I’ll have the driver drop off your precious loot. I assume you Corrupted have each other’s addresses.”

I hung up before he could offer a snappy response. “How’s that for powerful language?” I told the phone.

The car dropped me off at the rear gate to the castle. I walked into the courtyard, following the gravel path between the gardens. Something didn’t feel right. I’d gone back across the lake, using a fresh torch to destroy the trees after filling McCormack’s sack with diamonds and golden leaves. The diamonds alone would be worth millions, more than enough to satisfy Grayle.

But I hadn’t taken a single one. Somehow, profiting off the Corrupted seemed wrong on an entirely new level of wrongness.

The Malevolence …

What was it? Why had it approached the Brothers Grimm and offered them magic? And why had they warned me? Did they want me to stop it?

The Malevolence created this mess. The Malevolence could clean it up, too. And then I could have a normal life …

“Alice!”

I turned and, seeing Chase and Briar on the path, couldn’t help but grin. Whatever came next could wait. Here was my other life, coming to meet me. The life that truly mattered.

“Hey!” I said. “Enjoying a lovers’ stroll?”

They looked at each other, confused.

“I was just showing Chase where I found the symbols,” Briar explained. “We think we may have found a facsimile in one of the books in the prince’s library.”

I walked over to Chase. He reached out, grabbing my hand. I gave it a squeeze, feeling my face flush. He looked so cute, bundled up in his coat, wearing my earmuffs. He smiled up at me.

A cold breeze crept across the back of my neck. Above, clouds covered the moon. My entire body went numb.

“The Brothers Grimm cursed me with life …”

I spun around, my hand reaching for the pen in my pocket. The voice … sweet and velvety … where …

“… So I will curse you with death!”

Chase’s body lurched. He cried out in pain

“Chase!” Briar said, falling backward.

I screamed, reaching out for Chase and feeling something cold push my hand away.

The clouds above parted. The twelfth princess appeared in the form of a shadow, circling Chase’s body. I swung the pen like a knife, cutting through the shadow. The shadow exploded in a cloud of ashes, raining down over Chase’s still body.

“Chase!” I bawled, grabbing him. Tears streamed from my eyes. One shaky hand went to his throat, searching for a pulse.

I see the death of your loved ones …

“Briar, his heart’s stopped!” I tried picking him up, but he was too heavy. The pain in my ribs flared like a burst of white-hot fire. I let go of him and he slumped back in the chair, eyes closed.

“We need to get help,” Briar said, hopping from foot to foot. “We need an ambulance! But where? How? The prince doesn’t even have a phone!”

“Help!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Briar, it’s my fault. I miscounted the princesses. The last one followed me here. She … sh-she …”

I see the death of your loved ones …

“I can run into town,” Briar sputtered. “Yes, it will take just minutes and I will—”

“There’s no time.” I reached under my shirt, pulling out the vial necklace.

“Alice! That vial …”

“It either saves a person’s life, or it calls Death. That’s how the fairy tale goes. Juliette wanted me to have this for a reason, Briar! What better reason than to save the guy I love?!”

He tapped his paws together. “I … I …”

I poured the liquid into Chase’s mouth, tipping his head back. I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tight. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, please, please, please.” If Death came, I would fight him. I wouldn’t let him take Chase.

I see the death of your loved ones …

A pair of furry paws wrapped around me.

“OK,” Briar said. “So Death takes all three of us.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I sniffled. “We …” We can’t beat Death.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Briar whispered. “Maybe we can reason with the fool.”

“Reason with who?”

We both fell back, landing on the gravel path.

“Chase!” we both exclaimed.

He brushed the ashes off his jacket, blinking a few times. “What happened? My head feels like it’s been worked on by a jackhammer.”

“You’re alive.” I leaned in, collapsing on his lap and sobbing all over his nice jacket. “You’re alive!”

“I’m fine,” he said. His hand ran across my head, caressing me. My entire body shook. My muscles had tensed and refused to loosen. I looked up at him, losing myself in his eyes. Here. Here was my life. Here was what I wanted.

And there. The shadow in the window of the top floor of the keep. There was the force that was keeping me from it.

The Malevolence.

The Lost Diary of Abigail Bauer: Part 2

November 5, 1822

I have arrived in the town of Ukigos in Hungary. The smell of hay and manure permeates the air. I love the smell of hay—the manure not so much. Everyone has horses, so many horses, and the townsfolk share the giant pastures on the western edge of town.

Tired. Need rest. A kind family has agreed to let me stay with them in exchange for two of my dolls, which they gave to their two young daughters. Wilma and Gunter are the names of the parents. They once lived farther west and speak decent German. They remind me of my parents, the way they gently touch when they pass each other in the cramped home, the way they look at each other so lovingly.

I wear a red scarf around my face, and a red hooded cloak to hide my long hair. Wilma and Gunter believe me to be a young man.

November 6, 1822

I woke early this morning and helped the wife of the household—Wilma—milk the dairy cow kept behind the house. We brought a pail of milk inside, where it was distributed into three smaller wooden pails, two of which went to neighboring families whose homes have seen better days. Wilma has seen better days. She has graying hair and a wide waist and hums to herself as she works, her back hunched over ever so slightly. She makes me think of my own mother, how she must have changed all these years since I’ve seen her.

“Since you are a strapping young lad,” she told me, “you can chop some firewood this afternoon as well.”

I agreed, on the condition that I have time to stop by the library. Wilma accepted this without pestering me with questions. I took leave of the family after supping with them—a venison sausage and cheese—and made my way to the library near the center of town. There is a cathedral here, with tall beautiful spires and two large bells inside the towers. I’ve been told the bells do not work. This evening, people congregated inside, and moments later the intoxicating scent of incense made its way down the gravel road, slipping through the old windows of the library.

When I returned in the evening, Wilma and Gunter anxiously asked me when I would leave. I asked them for but a few more days and offered to pay more. They refused, only asking that I leave as soon as I was able. Strange.

November 7, 1822

Two days in the library now and no references about the magic that brought the fairy tale characters to life. I am hampered by my limited knowledge of this region’s dialect, to say nothing of the arcane shelving system this particular library has set up to arrange its books. I am frustrated. I feel there is an answer but I cannot find it. I have searched so many libraries, learned so much about this world, but have found nothing about the magic that created the Corrupted.

Meanwhile, the Brothers Grimm have become ever more famous. And strange occurrences are happening all over the world as the Corruption infects more of the brothers’ characters-come-to-life.

November 8, 1822

Success and tragedy. This morning, I found myself tasked with chopping more wood, and was happy to do it—it’s clear now that the husband of this family is suffering from weary bones that prevent him from doing many chores. Gunter reminds me of my father: proud, stubborn, unwilling to simply sit and let others do his work. So he suffers in silence, delivering pails of milk to other families in town, bringing back cheeses and meat and a cotton blanket dyed red. I suspect he has not used the hunting bow hanging over the front door in some time.

Have I let my family down? I had no siblings when I left. But I have cousins, and my father has three brothers. Had, I should say. I do not know if …

Family is important. Love is important. My cousins will take care of my parents because our family loves each other. But what do they think of Abigail, the girl who abandoned them? Do they hate me? Or would they forgive me? What if I found a way to destroy this magic once and for all? Would they take me back?

“A young man should chop wood faster than this,” Wilma told me once I’d finished. She wore a wry smile when she said it. The smile faded, quickly, though. “You do not sleep well.”

“I have nightmares,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “A forest. And loud thunder.”

Wilma said nothing. She grabbed my hands, holding them tight until the tips of my fingers were no longer cold.

After a meal of bread and cheese, I returned to the library, searching again for anything that might aid me in my quest to vanquish the Corrupted once and for all. I’d learned much from that clever fox I met years ago, and my hope is to return again to his den in spring and find him still in good form. Not yet Corrupted. I passed his way a year ago and he told me that he’d noticed something interesting: the characters who turned Corrupted first were often the nastiest bunch from the fairy tales. Wolves and step-mothers especially.

So perhaps my fox friend will not fall victim to the magic pen for many years to come. I do hope so, for my visits with him are the only time I may talk freely with another. He’s almost a friend, as strange as it sounds. And so I am conflicted, for if I found some magic spell to vanquish all of the Corrupted, I would cast the spell without hesitation. My only friend in the world would die.

Anyway … the man. I must write as much as I can about the strange man before I fall asleep tonight. He arrived early in the evening, while I was pouring through a stack of newspaper clippings that the library had collected but not bothered to store anywhere other than in the far corner, stacked almost as high as myself. They were newspapers collected by merchants and left by travellers, kept here by the library so that townsfolk may learn more about the rest of the world. Some languages I did not know, but others were readable enough … though it seemed every city was full of strange events that may or may not be the work of a Corrupted.

“This is hardly what I would call an afternoon well spent.”

I looked up from the copy of the London Herald. Standing on the other side of the table was a man of middling age, his hair long and haggard. He had a leathery face with graying whiskers and long sideburns. He wore a gray overcoat with brass buttons, the kind a soldier might wear. In the warm orange light of the lantern sitting on the table, I could see that the fabric was ripped in places, leaving frayed edges.

“Who are you?” I asked, my hand reaching for my pen. He certainly wasn’t glowing, nor was he leaving a golden trail. But Corrupted do not always follow such rules, I have learned.

“I am but a weary fool,” he said, bowing stiffly. He looked in pain. “May I sit with you a moment?”

I allowed it, watching him take the seat with considerable struggle. Whatever injury lay behind his overcoat, it was substantial. He noticed my concern—or wariness—and waved it away. “Years ago, I fought a battle. I was injured and now that injury plagues me.” He leaned forward. “I suspect you would be interested in knowing more.”

“Why would you suspect that?” I asked.

“You have come to this library many days. You’re searching for something. You’ve seen clues, but you don’t fully realize it yet. I apologize, but I have been asking about you in town. I have been watching you, girl.”

The jig was up. I pulled down my red scarf and my hood, revealing my long hair. “My secret is not so secret, it seems.”

“Why do you dress as a boy might?” he asked.

“Because the clothes are more practical,” I answered. “Because a girl is treated differently and I cannot afford to waste my time humoring men’s ridiculous expectations of how a lady should behave.”

The man laughed and coughed. “I have expectations of you as well, although I fear mine are far greater than what you are accustomed to.” He leaned close. “Do you believe in magic?”

I regarded him with suspicion. He smelled half-dead already, his breath stinking of onions. “I could be persuaded.”

“What if I told you that many years ago, my master—my lord—encountered a magic so powerful that he feared for humanity?”

“You know more about me than you’re letting on,” I said, fingers squeezing the pen. I suddenly had the urge to run. I had never encountered another human being with such knowledge of the other world that exists in the shadows.

“I know only what my lord told me,” the man said. “He told me that many years ago, an evil force tricked a pair of brothers into casting a magic spell that would unleash creatures into this world. Creatures that did not belong.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. “Your lord was wise.”

The man nodded. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. The muscles in his face tightened and I felt a pain of pity for him. He was suffering greatly just speaking. “My lord hunted down this evil force and took with him his best warriors to destroy it. He failed.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “But how? Where was this?”

The man shook his head. “This evil force was more powerful than we expected. But my lord had another plan. With the help of four magical seals, he bound this creature to its castle.”

“I must speak with your lord,” I said quickly. “He … this magic …”

The man took another deep breath. One hand clutched the edge of the table. The man’s knuckles were red and sore, his fingers wrinkled. “I was the only one to escape from the evil force’s army. The rest of our warriors were slaughtered.” He pulled out a parchment of paper, setting it on the table beside the lantern.

I took the parchment, reading the sloppy handwriting as best I could. It was a southern dialect of German, readable enough. It spoke of the battle, chilling enough in its detail. “But what of the location of this place?” I asked. “That is what I need to know.”

The man shook his head. “You do not need to know.”

“Then I cannot destroy this evil force.”

“No. You cannot.” He stared at me with his sunken blue eyes. I stared back, trying to understand his meaning. He leaned forward, coughing again. “You were chosen to carry that pen.”

I held it up. “Yes. I suppose. But anyone could have walked by and picked it up.”

“The pen chose you. In that pen is the same magic that brought these creatures to life.”

I stared at it, trying to imagine some unseen force inside the pen. Of course it sounds silly … but should I be so surprised?

“The pen cannot fall into the hands of the evil force. Do not go searching for it.”

“Then how will it be destroyed?”

“There will come another,” the man said. He closed his eyes hard, a single tear squeezing out. His breaths came out in rasps now. “The pen will choose her. She will either destroy the evil force, or it will destroy her. But she will not seek out the evil force. She will be drawn to it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My lord saw these things in a dream. He told us all what he’d seen, but he did not believe this chosen one would arrive in time to save the world.”

“So he went to confront the evil himself,” I finished.

The man nodded, swallowing hard. “I believe he knew he could not destroy it. I believe his goal was simply to bind the creature to the castle to ensure it could not freely wander the earth. In this, he succeeded. But at a great cost. Nothing could have prepared us for the evil force.” He opened his eyes. They were glassy now, staring into some empty darkness over my shoulder. “It looked like a man. But it fought like a monster, tearing us apart with such ferocity that I feared it was surely avenging some unresolved conflict between our ancestors.”

I digested the information with a dull ache in my stomach. The pen would choose who faced this dark evil. It would not be me. I knew it in my bones. I would die before the Corrupted were vanquished, which meant I could never see my family again without risking their safety.

“I can’t …” I began, but then from outside came an ear-piercing scream. I rushed to the far window, pulling my scarf up and searching the street. A woman ran by clutching the bottom of her dress, her face knotted with worry. Then a man, pulling two crying children by their wrists with such force that I feared he might pull their arms off. Two more townsfolk passed, each of them clutching the reins of a horse that trotted beside them.

“There is danger,” I said, my warm breath fogging the glass. “But what …”

Then I saw them. Shadows in the darkness at the far edge of town. Shadows with glowing golden eyes.

“Hurry, we must—” I turned, my voice trailing off at the sight of the old warrior slumped in his chair. The smell of death hung in the air. I went over to him, running a finger over his eyelids so that his soul may rest.

I grabbed the lantern and went next to the door, pausing beside it to draw a shield in the old floorboards. I made it wide, V-shaped at the bottom, with two curved leather handles just big enough to snugly fit my forearm so that I may clutch it tight. I imagined cherry wood, strong and sturdy. My hands pulled it from the floor, lifting it by the smooth edges.

More screams. There was no time—the shield would have to do for now.

I hurried outside. More townsfolk passed, making their way to the cathedral. The town was dark, with only a few candles left burning inside some of the small houses. Others were little more than shadows, empty or perhaps filled with a frightened family that had barred its door and snuffed the candles.

From somewhere in the town came screams, then a monstrous roar of satisfaction.

Nearer the eastern edge of town now, I followed one of the dirt roads back to the house of Wilma and Gunter. I kept the lantern in front of me, aware of the scent plaguing my nostrils: fur. Animal fur, wet with oils, as if a pack of ferrets had just passed under my feet.

But not ferrets.

Wolves.

The shadowy creature stood on all fours beside Gunter’s house on the edge of town, chewing thoughtfully on my kind hosts’ dairy cow, which lay in the center of the road. The poor thing had been dragged from her pen. The creature smacked its lips, going back for seconds, watching me approach with a wary gait. As the edge of my lantern’s glow reached first the fallen cow and then the creature, I gasped.

Whatever it was—had been—it was no wolf. It was bigger, with flowing fur around its head and a massive bloodstained mouth. I wish I could offer more, but as my light shined upon it, its form changed. Within a breath it was no longer a creature but a man dressed in fine clothes, his mouth still bloodstained.

“Put the light down,” he ordered, still chewing. He stepped over the cow. A drop of blood trickled down his chin, landing on the collar of his brown vest. I moved left, nearer the front door of my hosts’ house. He watched me with bemusement. “You are not afraid. Are you so brave, little boy?”

“Brave enough,” I answered.

He laughed, stepping back and glancing hungrily at the half-eaten cow. As he moved away from the lantern’s glow, his form began to change. He became more animal than man, the glow in his eyes growing brighter.

I moved closer to the house. The eyes watched, the hulking dark form staying just out of range of the glow of the lantern.

There came another roar somewhere on the other side of town.

“I’ll come back for you,” the creature growled. He turned, disappearing into the night. I risked a step closer to the dead cow, inhaling through my mouth to avoid taking in too much of the scent. On the ground beside the carcass: a very faint glowing trail, like breadcrumbs.

The trail was visible only in the glow of my lantern.

November 9, 1822

Stupid girl. You spent all your time reading about science and mathematics and never bothered to read through a zoology book.

They’re lions, of course. Curse me for so quickly forgetting. What did the fox tell me last we met? He told me to read Grimms’ Fairy Tales again and again. Always I put it off. Had I known who—what—was attacking the town, I might have stopped them. I might have saved some of the people who were taken. Even now, my mind will not allow me a moment’s reprieve. I cannot stop thinking about the fate of those poor souls taken last night. Why did my dreams not warn me? All I’ve dreamt about these past few days is a great forest covered with snow and a terrible sound of thunder. If I would have seen these creatures coming …

No. I must stop for the sake of my sanity. The lions will come again tonight. Wilma says they have been terrorizing this town for months. My frightened hosts cannot say why the lions come on certain nights, but I suspect they wait until the moon is but a sliver so they may hunt in the darkness.

Wilma and Gunter say the cathedral is protected by old magic runes. I saw one carved into the front door—a curious \% symbol—but don’t expect it will do them much good. They cannot spend their lives sleeping in the cathedral every nightfall. The town would rot. With its few remaining livestock and crops unprotected …

“It is madness,” Wilma told me at dinner. It seemed as if she had not let go of her husband’s hand since they woke in the morning. “What gives you such power that you can stop these monsters?”

“A pen,” I told them. “And your old hunting bow.”

They laughed an exhausted laugh. The skin below their eyes was blue and puffy, but it was clear by the way they looked at each other that they feared not just their own lives, but the lives of each other and their children.

I envy their love. I envy the smell of fresh stew cooking over the open fireplace. I envy the children sitting on their bed, so cherished. But I am also sad. Sad that these children must live through this nightmare.

The lions must be stopped tonight, before anyone else can be taken. Night falls soon.

November 10, 1822

They came two hours after nightfall, expecting to carry away perhaps another feast, the Corruption gnawing deep inside their bones. But when they arrived, they found the town deserted. Most of the people had congregated inside the cathedral. As for the others …

So brazen, these creatures. They walked down the main road, one big pack of hunters. Eight of them. Occasionally, one or two of them glanced into the darkened window of a house. They were only shadows but I could imagine their noses testing the cool, dry air for some delicious scent. I could only hope the prospect of my flesh was enough to serve as a first meal. Or perhaps it was the smell of the townsfolk in the cathedral behind me that whetted their appetites and drove them closer.

“Your bravery serves neither of us,” said one of the hulking, cat-like shadows as it moved closer. They were so close I could hear their claws crunching on the gravel road. I could smell their fur. Their dark shapes stopped just two houses away.

I gripped the hunting bow tighter. Gunter’s old wooden milk pail sat by my feet, filled with arrows. The finest arrows the town could offer, each with a carefully crafted tip.

“Hide, or flee,” said the same lion. He was the same one who’d confronted me the night before. “Hide and save yourself, or flee so that your blood pumps hard and your meat tastes sweet.”

“Closer now,” I whispered.

The lion’s ear flicked. “What now? Do you mean to test your bow? We shall let you test it, boy. And then we shall carry you away.”

I held up a hand.

Behind the lions, men poured out of the dark houses, igniting the torches we had set up at the outskirts of the small town. The town was surrounded by a ring of magnificent orange light that reached the tips of my feet. Gone was the darkness. Gone were the lions. They were men again, squinting in the light coming from two torches positioned on either side of the gravel road leading north. The smell of animal fur was gone, replaced by the scent of hay that I’d so enjoyed upon first arriving.

I lifted Gunter’s hunting bow, drawing an arrow from the wooden milk pail at my feet. The eight lion-men watched with bemusement, each one taking a step forward … away from the torches at their backs and nearer the cathedral where there were more shadows.

The leader of the lion-men smiled, the soft glow of his eyes hidden underneath his dark brown eyebrows as he glared at the sharp iron tip of the arrow. “Go on, boy. Test your weapon on us.”

I fired the arrow. My aim was true, hitting the lion-man in his chest. He fell back, burning away so quickly that the warm ashes fell to the ground in a person-shaped pile. The arrow landed on the black pile.

The other lion-men stared, unbelieving.

“Word has not traveled here yet,” I said in a low, loud voice, the same voice I’d practiced for two years to ensure that I would pass as a mature boy. “So I will graciously inform you.”

The lion-men took a confused step back. Three had yet to avert their gaze from what remained of their comrade.

“You are no longer invincible,” I told the lion-men. “You are in danger. From this day forth, this town is under my protection and if I see you here again, I will hunt each of you down and destroy you.”

The lion-men took another step back. Good, I thought; let them not call my bluff. It was clear they could all charge me and overpower me. But perhaps …

I turned my head slightly, watching the townsfolk flood out of the cathedral. Wives and husbands. Children with their entire lives ahead of them. They all stood tall now. Perhaps the lion-men feared the townsfolk’s renewed courage more than the lion-men feared me. And clearly they feared the flames. Good … best to ensure they learn this lesson well, I thought.

I stepped forward, drawing another arrow from the milk pail. I took two more steps forward, two of my fingers pulling the bowstring back. The lion-men moved closer to the edge of the town, between the two torches that flanked the road. They huddled close, then filed into a single line to keep their distance from both torches, their hands held up to shield their eyes from the light. I moved closer, aiming the arrow at the last of the lion-men. He watched in horror as I drew the bowstring back.

“Poor luck,” I told him, firing the arrow. It hit him in the shoulder. The burning blackness spread over his body. Ashes floated down, coating the gravel road between the torches.

The others were on the other side of the ring of fire now, their forms slowly changing as they ran away from the glow of the torches.

November 11, 1822

“Are you sure you must go?” asked Wilma this morning. “They will be back.”

“They will never be back,” I told her, “so long as your priest keeps the magic flame burning, so long as you light the torches every night. And if they do, you’ll take the magic flame and set them on fire.”

We were sitting at the table, all of us. The two daughters were playing with the dolls I’d created. Gunter had cooked some sausage, and the smell of its spices were so mouth-watering that I drew in quick breaths through my nose to enjoy it. Wilma sat beside him on the wooden stool, close enough that their shoulders touched. Underneath the table, perhaps they were holding hands. Not the tense, frightened touch like yesterday morning … instead, their hands were no doubt warm and reassuring, a reminder that their love had survived the darkest of nights.

The magic flame. Created with the sparks of the magic pen’s nib running across a piece of stone. It would do. It would have to do. I could not spend the rest of my life protecting this town.

“Stay with us,” Gunter blurted out, surprising both of us. He cleared his throat, breaking a piece of bread in half. “Not to protect us, but to join our family. We have enough food, and you know much. You could teach the other children in town. You will be respected for all you’ve done.”

I clutched the fountain pen tight. “I cannot. Promise you’ll keep the flame burning, for the sake of your children and your grandchildren and their grandchildren.”

“Always,” Wilma promised. “But where will you go?”

North. To a forest where giant men lurk. Where more Corrupted threaten the lives of people like Gunter and Wilma. I will hide this diary in the town library in hopes that whoever the pen chooses next may find use of it. I will carry on.

And I will try not to think of my family. Or the evil force. Or my imminent death.

Book 9: Malevolence

Chapter 1

“We need garlic.”

“No, we don’t. Turn around.”

Briar turned. I carefully put my t-shirt back on, setting the hospital gown on the examination table. I took a deep breath, testing the pain in my ribs. It felt like someone was pushing on my side. “Someone” being an elephant.

“We need crosses, at least.”

“No, we don’t. Briar, he’s not a vampire!”

Briar spun around, ears pulled back. “Well, what is he then? Certainly not a Corrupted. And so he is something else entirely, and that means neither you nor I are equipped to handle him.”

“We don’t even know if Vontescue is involved, or if … if he’s being used like a puppet or what,” I said. “All we know is that there is a totally dark force of evil that tricked the Brothers Grimm into bringing their fairy tales to life.”

“No doubt for some nefarious purpose.”

I nodded.

“Well.” He tapped his paw on his mouth, thinking. He was sitting behind the examination table where no doctor or nurse would happen to bump into him. That’s right—our lovable hero was stuck in a doctor’s office that looked right out of a movie from the 90’s: white painted cinderblock walls, old wooden cabinets under a stainless steel sink. Hideous orange-brown exam table. I was in Romania. Getting X-rays.

“Briar, the Brothers Grimm wanted to warn me,” I said. “Me! That means I’m supposed to do something about it, right?”

“Perhaps!” he waved his arms wildly in the air. “But who knows what you’re supposed to do or if you can even do anything about it! I … I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Too late for that,” I said. I closed my eyes. The image of Chase’s lifeless body had haunted me all night, and the morning light hadn’t dispelled the image. It was stuck in the darkness behind my eyelids, taunting me.

But Chase was alive. The magic potion that had summoned Death himself to take away Flick Grayle and Agnim the Magician had saved Chase’s life. And now he was sitting outside in the waiting room, unable to shake the pale tint from his skin.

And outside was one of the prince’s black limos, driven by a Corrupted.

“Briar …” I stopped when the door opened. My doctor—middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and kind eyes that belied her stern manner—walked in holding two x-rays. She turned on the little x-ray viewer hanging on the wall and put the images of my torso up there. Gawd, it looked weird. The body of a hero looked no different than the body of anyone else on this planet.

Except for the excessive number of cuts, scrapes, bruises, etc.

“It could be a fracture,” she said, leaning in close to the images. She had a crisp accent and a high-pitched voice that reminded me of one of the princesses from the cavern. Good thing she wasn’t checking my blood pressure right now. “I cannot see anything on the x-rays, but given your discomfort, it is better to err on the safe side.”

“So … you’re going to tape up my chest or something and I’ll be right as rain?”

She turned to me, shaking her head. “Wrapping your chest would ease your discomfort, but delay the healing process. There is no magic cure. You must take it easy for a few weeks. You seem to have no other internal damage, so you should be fine.”

No magic pill. Crud.

“And next time you cut yourself,” she said, motioning to my shoulder, “you should see a doctor immediately. Now you will have scars. And what will your boyfriend say when he sees such a thing?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” I murmured.

Back at the castle, we held an emergency meeting in Chase’s room. It was late morning, the house still mostly asleep except for a cook in the kitchen who was preparing what smelled like waffles. We had two hours before our scheduled practice, the last one before the tournament officially started tomorrow.

“We need garlic,” Seth said.

“No garlic!” I exclaimed, exasperated. “Guys. He’s not a vampire.”

Seth laughed incredulously. “He’s sleeping in dirt, for cryin’ out loud!”

“I know that. But he’s not a vampire. Maybe this dark force feeds on people, I don’t know. Maybe this dark force possessed Vlad the Impaler way back in the day, too.”

“OK, so what do we know?” Chase asked. “I feel really lost here.”

We were sitting on the bed while Seth and Briar took turns pacing. I hadn’t let go of Chase’s hand since we left the doctor’s office. He looked at me, grimacing. For a few agonizing moments the image of him, lifeless, seemed superimposed on his face. My heart hammered frantically against my sternum. Calm yourself, girl. You’re getting into some seriously deep mental anguish here. Just remember: he’s alive! He’s alive! I squeezed his hand, as much to comfort him as to reassure myself. The warmth of his skin under my fingertips soothed my ragged nerves; my heart rate slowly began to return to normal.

“A dark force known as the Malevolence,” Briar began, “forced the Brothers Grimm to bring their fairy tale stories to life. The Brothers Grimm ensured that a hero would eventually be warned. That hero has turned out to be Alice. So this Malevolence has been around for at least two hundred years …”

“Waaaaaaaaaay longer,” I said. “Briar, I saw carvings in that cavern from the Middle Ages, for crying out loud! Who knows how old this thing is?”

“Oh my crap,” Seth said. His hand found his head, slapping it. He turned to Briar. “Dude. Dude, dude, dude … Sanda! She’s up there right now with her lunatic father and she probably doesn’t even know! We have to save her. Right now, we have to go now.”

Briar reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his new blue button-down t-shirt. “Calm yourself, my boy! Sanda is in no immediate danger.”

“That’s true.” I lay back on the bed, thinking. “He adopted her … why? We need to know more. We need information, Briar.”

“I can go to town,” Briar said. “The old library is a vast collection of rare oddities. I’m sure if I just brushed up on the local languages, I could find something of interest.”

“I’ll go, too,” Chase said. “I can, crap I dunno … I can help you take notes.”

I sat up quickly, grabbing his arm with both hands. “No! Please don’t.”

He looked at me, placing a hand over mine and gently prying loose my desperate, viselike grasp. His eyes were soft as he took both my hands in his. “Alice, please let me help.”

“I don’t want you to …”

“To die?” He smiled weakly. “Been there, done that.”

“You have a more important job,” I said. “You’re going to get us ready for the tournament.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

No, Chase … I’m thinking about you sitting lifeless in your wheelchair. I’m thinking about keeping you as far away from the messy side of my life as possible. “Look, we can’t make a move until we know more about the Malevolence. Right now, Vontescue doesn’t know what we know, which means we know more than he knows.”

“Um … what now?” Seth asked.

I rolled my eyes. “We have the upper hand for now. But we can’t act until we know if this dark force is controlling the prince, or if this dark force is the prince.”

“Oh, I’ve got five bucks that says it’s the prince,” Seth said.

Chase pursed his lips. “I’ll take that bet. I think this dark force is controlling him.”

We turned to Briar.

“Oh, absolutely not,” the rabbit huffed. “Br’er Rabbit knows better than to gamble on evil.” He began pacing again. “Although I would wager my weight in gold that the nefarious Sam Grayle is somehow involved. A man as clever as him couldn’t possibly be in the dark about the prince. It would require him to commit a number of mistakes that are wholly outside of his character.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Chase called out.

“We’re not waiting another hour for the girls to get ready,” Miguel said. “Coach says you should round them up and meet us at the gym.”

“Fine.” He shook his head. “They’re using the Jump.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“We saw Scott pop one last night after dinner,” Seth said. “You know, before Chase died and all.”

I felt my stomach lurch. Bile burned my throat.

“They’re taking two a day,” Chase said, frowning. “They’re getting antsy, wound up like they’ve been drinking nothing but energy drinks.”

Seth nodded. “They were crazy at dinner. Seriously out of control, dudette. Luckily, the prince wasn’t there or he’d have probably just drunk all their blood right there.”

“Again, he’s not a vampire.”

“Says you.” Seth shuddered. “But Sanda was there, and she wasn’t pleased. Crap, she’s probably going to have lunch with her dad. What if he decides she knows too much? What if he thinks I’m trouble?! What if he thinks she’s too much trouble?!”

“Easy!” Briar said, grabbing Seth’s shoulders and shaking him wildly. “Get a hold of yourself, consarn it!”

“Maybe Seth is right,” Chase said. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and grabbed my hand before I could reach for his forehead. “Maybe Seth should try and lay low for a bit. You know, take a limo to the library. He could take Sanda.”

“What?!” we all exclaimed.

“Think about it,” Chase said. “Who knows more about the region’s past than her? And who knows the language besides her?”

Briar stood stiffly, tugging on his vest. “Well, I do have some knowledge …”

“And besides, she doesn’t need to actually know anything about our plan. Seth can just say he wants to spend time exploring the library. She’s smart, and into history.” He turned to Seth. “Show an interest in books and she’ll be totally into you, buddy. For sure.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, hands on hips.

Chase smiled. “Well … it worked with you, didn’t it?”

“Oh, snap!” Seth turned to Briar. “What do ya think? You could have your own table and I could sneak over there once in a while whenever Sanda finds something that might have to do with our investigation.”

“Hmmmmm, yes,” the rabbit said, eyes narrowing. “She would be safe with us, too. Very well. Seeing as how your driver will be a Corrupted, I shall arrive via another means and meet you there.”

“Cool.” Seth turned to me. “What about you?”

I shrugged. “I won’t make a move until I know what I’m up against. Until then, we’re just going to have to live uncomfortably with some sort of terrible dark force residing upstairs.”

“Right.” Seth slapped Briar on the shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

After the door was shut, I reached out and grabbed Chase, pulling him back onto the bed with me. He chuckled. “I’m fine. Just a little exhausted. Slowly recuperating from ...”

I squeezed him tighter, ignoring the soft pain in my ribs. It was the left side, but it felt sometimes like it was spreading, like water soaking into a cloth. “Just don’t talk for a minute. Let me have this.”

He stayed silent. I cradled my chin in his neck, breathing in through my nose. I could smell the spicy, citrusy scent of his shampoo. I could feel the rough whiskers of his neck on my soft cheek.

I could see him, in my mind’s eye, sunken in his chair. Eyes closed. Chest still. Mouth hanging slightly open.

I see the death of your loved ones …

I opened my eyes. My fingers squeezed his abs.

“Careful,” he whispered. “That tickles.”

“Chase, I almost lost you.”

His hand gently caressed the side of my face. “I know. I mean, I don’t understand it. But … I definitely felt gone for a moment. It didn’t scare me, though. It should have, but it didn’t. You know why?”

“Why?” I asked, looking up at him.

He looked down, smiling. “Because you were there.”

I groaned. “Chase, that’s soooo much pressure!”

He poked my belly button, eliciting giggles. “You can handle anything the Corrupted throw at you. What I’m worried about are those Italian fencers.”

“What if I have to fight this Malevolence before the tournament is over?” I asked anxiously. “What if he attacks at the tournament? What if he holds our team hostage?”

He squeezed me tight against his body. His warmth calmed the nervous energy coursing through my legs. “We’ll deal with that when we come to it. And not a moment sooner.”

Chapter 2

At practice, Chase gathered the girls together beside one of the two mats reserved for the U.S. team. We were some of the last to arrive, and already the entire gym was beginning to smell a bit like wet socks. Gross? Yes … but you get used to it. Just like you get used to the thick fencing uniform and the stuffy helmet.

“Listen,” Chase said, wheeling in front of us. He’d done up his hair real nice and was wearing his gauntlets. He looked better than he had in the morning. “I want to make some minor changes. We’ve all been moving around from foil to saber to epee, and that needs to change. I want Alice on saber. I want Rachel and Margaret on foil. And I want Jasmine on epee.”

“Why me?” Jasmine asked with a shrug. “I don’t have any more experience with epee than anyone else.”

“Epee is a sturdier three-sided blade,” Chase explained, “and the rules for epee fencing allow the fencer to attack any part of her opponent’s body. There aren’t any rules for right-of-way, which means Jasmine can use her reach and her grace to attack her opponent. She has free reign.”

“And she’s better,” Margaret said, pursing her lips. “It’s cool, Chase. I totally know I’m the worst of us.”

Chase shook his head. “You and Rachel are the best pokers. And what do you do in foil? You poke. So poke ‘em as much as you can.”

Margaret looked at Rachel. They smiled.

“What about me?” I asked, hungry for a heaping of praise.

Chase looked up at me, smiling. “You fill out your uniform very nicely.”

“Oooh!” I hissed, throwing my helmet at him. He laughed, catching it and tossing it back to me even before I was ready. My hands flailed, hitting it aside. It rolled near Mr. Whitmann’s feet; he looked down at it, frowning.

“Everyone relax, and that’s an order,” Chase said. “What we’re doing today is getting a little feel for our enemies. We need to know as much as we can. So diversify. Everyone get what I’m saying?”

“You don’t care if we win,” Margaret said.

Chase nodded.

“Wait, why not?” Rachel asked. She was wearing less black eye shadow than normal, no doubt influenced by Margaret and Jasmine, who’d taken it upon themselves to help Rachel refine her Goth sensibilities. Not change her, though—and that was pretty cool.

“We don’t get any medals for winning a practice fight,” Chase answered. “We get medals for winning in the tournament. The more knowledge we can gather, the more ready we’ll be for the tournament.”

“So who are we facing?” I asked.

Chase nodded to the far end of the gym, where a handful of girls dressed in fencing uniforms were walking our way.

“The Russians,” Margaret said in a melodramatic tone. “Remember that old movie where Russia invades the United States? And then a bunch of high school kids start fighting back? That’s us, ladies. We’re the Wolverines.”

“O.M.G. I don’t know if picturing ourselves in some goofy ‘80s movie is going to help,” Jasmine said.

“Test them,” Chase ordered. “Diversify your attacks. Stay defensive. I want to know what they’re bringing to the table.”

I met my girl on our practice mat, touching sabers with her and introducing myself. “I am Dessa,” she said, then put on her helmet.

I turned, walking to my side of the mat. “Nice to meet you, too,” I said, putting my helmet on and connecting the electrical cord that monitored the hits. I hefted the saber, swinging it a few times. It had a slightly different feel than the saber I’d last practiced with. That didn’t surprise me—every morning, there was a big row of sabers and the first teams to arrive got the first pick. Some of the sabers were older, some a little more used. All of this mattered. A slightly different weight mattered.

“En garde,” Chase announced.

I set my foot behind the blue line on the mat. Across from me, Dessa did the same. She was about my height, my build, only she was wearing flamboyant red socks that were clearly illegal in regular match play. A nice touch for a practice uniform, though.

“Allez!” Chase shouted.

Dessa came forward. I let her attack, parrying low before she swirled her blade in a circular motion, stabbing me in the chest. The light on her helmet went off.

Chase set us up again. This time, I stepped forward, initiating the attack and making three high cuts in quick succession. I nicked her arm, scoring a point. We went again. Dessa’s feet moved quickly. Her attacks were sharp, aiming for that awkward place in the center of my body where I wasn’t sure if I should parry high or low, left or right. She was tricky and fast, and when she gave me the right-of-way, she continually stepped back, forcing me to make a handful of clunky lunges to close the distance between us. It tired me, especially when Dessa successfully parried and then attacked, forcing me back before her quick blade could slip past my defenses.

I lost, 15 to 4, and felt a good deal more exhausted than my opponent apparently did. Dessa either forgot to shake my hand or simply didn’t care, stepping off the mat with a carefree hop. I handed off my helmet to Jasmine before taking a seat next to Rachel and Margaret.

“What do you think?” Rachel asked.

“I think this is going to be tough,” I said, watching Jasmine’s first three points play out one after the other. She was taking the defensive, letting her opponent—also wearing red socks—overpower her. The Russian girl was aiming low, going after Jasmine’s legs, which was fair game with an epee. Chase watched, wheeling alongside the mat. The sleeves of his gray t-shirt curled up, revealing his biceps. In full-on coach mode, he was pretty sexy.

“Do you know what Chase is talking about, finding their weaknesses and all that?” Margaret asked.

“I think he knows what he’s doing.” I turned to her, suddenly suspicious. “Why?”

“Because, you know, we still have the Jump,” Margaret said. She looked at me with a serious expression. “And, OK, I know Chase is your special guy and all that? And he’s totally cute and smart when it comes to this? But I don’t think learning a few extra moves is going to help us win.”

“We said we would try,” I told her. “So get up there and try.”

“Jasmine’s not finished.” Margaret turned back to the mat, where Jasmine was in the process of shaking her opponent’s hand. “Oh. Wow.”

Margaret took the helmet from Jasmine, walking onto the mat with some hesitation. She grabbed the thin blade of her foil, bending it just a bit so that it was as straight as it could be. She got into her stance, glancing over at Chase.

“En garde,” Chase said. “Allez!”

Margaret and her opponent took turns exchanging blows while Chase wheeled alongside the mat, watching. Studying. I tried to do the same, but the movements were so fast that I had a hard time picking out anything specific. Foil fencing is furious, and when the two opponents get too close the blades begin to blur together, making it tough to see who’s scoring the first point. Luckily, the electric sensor helped all of us keep track.

And Margaret’s sensor didn’t go off too often.

“That’s OK,” Chase told her midway through, when she was losing 6 to 2. “Keep your feet moving. Quick strokes, Margie.”

Margaret, frustrated, tried doing what Chase said. But her opponent simply adjusted accordingly, shortening her steps and anticipating quick strokes. Margaret grew more frustrated after each point, stomping her feet and turning her back on her opponent, a big no-no even in practice.

“Aim low,” Chase ordered. “En garde. Allez!”

Margaret aimed low only to find her opponent ready and waiting. More frustrated now, she began swinging wildly, aiming high and at least temporarily surprising her opponent enough to score a direct hit on her chest. Accidentally, though. And only because her opponent had been expecting nothing but low attacks.

Because her opponent could speak English.

“Oh gawd,” I whispered. Margaret finished, tearing off her mask and half-throwing it at Rachel, who managed to catch it with both hands. The sounds of blades clanging echoed above us, then seemed to quiet all at once for a brief moment as if to articulate the depth of our struggles.

“Sorry,” Margaret said. She took a deep breath. Her face was flushed. Her sweaty hair was matted to her forehead, curling just a bit more than usual.

“OK Margaret, I know you’re upset,” Jasmine said, “but your hair looks totally hot when it’s sweaty. You’ve got a serious Angelina Jolie thing going on right now.”

Margaret’s face softened just a bit. She plopped down beside me, causing the flimsy bench to bounce a bit. “Oh great,” she muttered. “If this bench breaks because I sat on it, I’d probably run home crying. All the way back to Milwaukee.”

Chase wheeled over. “Rachel’s next. I’m seeing things. I’m seriously seeing some things. But we need to stay one step ahead of them somehow.”

“Chase!” I whispered. The other team was congregating together on the other side of the mat. None of them looked tired. Or beat. Or frustrated. “They can understand us!”

He cocked his head.

“They know English,” I said. “That’s how they’re anticipating our moves. You shout them out like a loud American, and they understand all of it!”

Jasmine fell over, leaning melodramatically on my shoulder. “Oh cripes! Of course they know English. Everyone knows at least some English.”

“But we don’t know Russian,” Rachel finished. “So we don’t know what their coach is saying to them.”

“Another advantage,” Margaret muttered.

“Let’s just get through this,” Chase said. “Come on, Rachel.”

“What should I do?” she asked, following him to her side of the mat.

“Poke her lots of times,” Chase said with a smile. He wheeled beside the center line, hands sliding over the wheels to brake. “En garde. Allez!”

Rachel closed the gap with a level of intensity the rest of us could only dream of. She kept her blade in a good place, parrying her opponent’s attacks on her midsection. Her opponent’s coach shouted directions in Russian; Chase stayed silent. Her opponent began slowly adjusting, trying out a few new things. Whenever Rachel flailed or missed a parry, the Russian coach shouted something else. Points ensued.

Points for the Russian.

When it was over, we gathered our things and waited for the boys to finish. They returned somewhat triumphant, and it showed on their faces. They’d won a few matches, come close in a few others. They were smiling. There was a bounce to their steps. They were practically glowing like Corrupted.

And I think every single one of us girls was envious.

Chapter 3: Briar

Well! I wish I could say I was envious of the monumental existential crisis Alice and her friends were suffering, but no. I suppose you may be wondering what an existential crisis is. Allow me to provide a simple explanation, and you may use the Google for further elaboration …

An existential crisis is a moment when one questions the meaning or purpose of one’s life. So, in Alice’s case, she was experiencing an awareness of her own freedom: should she take the Jump or should she not?

It was all quite stressful, surely.

But!

But, but, but … I had other fish to fry. What, exactly, was this Malevolence and—more importantly—what in the holy heck was our dear hero supposed to do about it?

And so in the afternoon I made my way back into town to the old library inside the ancient portion of the city. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Europe, but the small towns are a sight to see. Some are hundreds upon hundreds of years old, and they preserve their history by protecting the buildings and restoring them as best as possible, like replacing the old stone rooftops with, well, newer stones. The newer homes and businesses are built at the edge of the town, thus preserving its history and allowing one to walk down the very same cobblestone streets that medieval knights had once used.

It’s all very pretty.

Agnosara has always had the reputation of being a particularly impressive ancient town. Built in the 1200’s, its main feature is a tall meeting hall with two giant curved wooden doors that are each nearly as tall as a school bus is long. Imagine that! How did they even build such giant doors? Then once the doors were built, how in the blazes did they actually fit them into place?

And more importantly, who the devil thought it was a good idea to build the giant doorway in the first place?!

Mysteries for the ages, unfortunately. And while the great hall is a fine place to stop by and snap a few pictures and walk through—enjoying the various sausages and breads available at the market stalls inside—it was not the most curious destination. That was reserved for the old library and its amazing collection of books.

It was much like you might expect of a library of its time: two floors, lots of curved windows to let in natural light, not to mention old wooden shelves with intricate carvings along their bases. The shelves sat on wooden floors that creaked something fierce, and the entire place smelled a bit musty for my tastes.

But the books! Dear me, sweet tea, what an impressive collection of ancient texts! These are not the types of books you can find a copy of. These are not the types of books that one might see referenced on that blasted Wikipedia. These are something entirely different. Leather covers. Many with handwritten text, no doubt transcribed by dutiful monks intent on preserving history during the darkest of ages.

You must keep in mind that this library was once the sole source of information on the entire region. Why, had this place burned down at any point, the information lost would be devastating. No back-ups. No Google searches. Gone forever. History, as we know it, would have been profoundly changed.

And so stepping inside was a bit nerve-wracking, not to mention exciting. I took in the place with a keen eye, not wishing to miss anything.

Printed wood carvings of medieval princes and long-gone kingdoms hanging on the walls.

Old weather-stained windows with arched tops.

Wooden floors, creaky and worn and dark.

Old ornate-looking cast iron radiators, no doubt installed at the turn of the 20th century.

A furless young man staring languorously at the girl of his dreams …

Seth and Sanda had already taken a place at one of the tables on the first floor. Seth was dressed in a nice green t-shirt that wonderful Mrs. Satrapi woman had purchased for him (with the help of Sanda’s keen fashion sense), while Sanda was wearing a long polka-dot dress with black leggings. Her hair was pulled behind her ears, her face pale and smooth, just a hint of red blush on her cheeks.

There were a handful of books scattered across the table, and because Seth was quite illiterate in Romanian, he’d pulled his chair close beside Sanda so she could read and translate for him in a low voice. Hardly necessary, given that the next tour through the library wasn’t for another two hours. Still, there was an intensity to the whole scene, as if perhaps Seth had accidentally let slip more than we’d agreed to tell Sanda about the whole Malevolence affair.

But no, our helper-to-the-hero’s-helper was as steady as could be! It took only a few minutes of very polite eavesdropping to ascertain that they were pouring through Agnosara’s history in search of recorded wars, a topic which excited both of them.

And no, yours truly did not sit around to be a snoop. With my helpers engaged, I went upstairs where there were even older books. I had in my pocket a slip of paper with crude drawings of each of the four symbols I’d found in the towers of Castle Vontescue:

\%

(U)

\_/

/-\

I started first by poring through a few of the books on the town’s history, hoping perhaps to find one of the symbols predating the construction of Castle Vontescue. No good! So I went next to the “younger” texts written around the time of the castle’s construction. These books and documents were quite worn, barely readable in some places where the black ink had been smudged by water and the various elements that contribute to a book’s deterioration (light and friction and the gradual decay of cellulose chains, if you’re curious). The documents themselves were protected by plastic slips, but the slips had hardly staved off the aging process.

Sigh. Like all of us living creatures, even the printed word has a lifespan.

Speaking of life ending, Agnosara had plenty of it during the Middle Ages. There was no shortage of war and suffering, especially after the Black Death passed through the land. That particular disease—spread by fleas on rats—devastated Europe’s population, but the town of Agnosara especially. Again and again it swept across Romania. As if that weren’t enough, there always seemed to be someone interested in invading. Whether it be Hungarians or Turks or Mongols, the lords of Agnosara had their work cut out for them.

And they fared especially well. So well, in fact, that one can only wonder whether this mysterious Malevolence took refuge in the region even earlier than we suspected.

Still. Still, still, still … we needed more information.

I made my way deeper inside the European history section, where the books were dustier and smelled moldier than their brethren in Romania’s section. Germanic history was relegated to two full shelves, and each of the books was thick and delicate, their spines cracking in protest when I opened each one.

“Quiet now,” I whispered to them, double-checking to ensure I was invisible. Of course, if someone did happen to sneak up on me … what’s worse, a floating book or a giant rabbit holding the book?

No matter. I’ll leave that question to the philosophers. My interest in German history was too important and needed to take precedence. After all, this Malevolence had to have visited Germany somewhere around 1812 to meet and harass the Brothers Grimm, since 1812 was the year the fairy tales were brought to life. Surely there was some hint here. Something that indicated a disturbance. Some hint that the Malevolence was indeed the culprit of this terrible black magic.

“There!” I whispered, paw on page, staring at the faded black ink. 1812: the year of a recurrence of the Black Death in Germany. Thought to have spread up from northern Africa, it made its way into Germany and killed an estimated 50,000 people. While it was hardly proof of the Malevolence, it was certainly a strange occurrence. By the 1800’s, the terrible plague had grown less terrible now that science had identified the carriers (fleas) and the spread (rats hitching rides on merchant ships). So what if this recurrence hadn’t originated in northern Africa? What if it had been spread by the Malevolence?

There was more. A series of strange occurrences were recorded in the city of Kassel in Germany, the very place where both of the Brothers Grimm were living in 1812 and working as librarians to support their family. Oh, I should not wish to live in those times. After their father’s death, young Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm had to support their entire family while also keeping up with their schooling. To make matters worse, upon arriving to college they found that they were denied a great many opportunities because of their poverty. They were, effectively, cast aside for being poor. Which of course prevented them from becoming not poor.

But the Brothers Grimm persevered, and in Kassel in 1812 they published the first edition of their fairy tales.

Not a month later, a terrible storm passed through the town and lasted for three days. It was all recorded, not in any news accounts but instead in a very dry table of facts and figures that detailed what was damaged and lost. More than a thousand houses destroyed. More than a hundred people killed. The numbers went up for each successive day, too! For instance, when it came to the destruction of buildings:

Day 1: 55

Day 2: 389

Day 3: 712

Food for thought: if this Malevolence approached the Brothers Grimm during the same time as these disasters, is it possible the Brothers Grimm were forced to bring their stories to life? Is it possible the Malevolence caused this terror, thus forcing the Brothers Grimm to go along with it?

Surely this was important, worth taking the time to write down a few notes with a blasted shortened pencil that was not designed for rabbit paws. Lordy, how I hate pencils. At least give me a pen with a soft rubber grip at its base.

But what about Castle Vontescue’s strange symbols? Well! I found another handful of documents—sketches and measurements—relating to the castle’s construction, but no mention of the towers’ mysterious symbols. Nor could I find anything in the history texts that might provide some insight into the castle’s history. Nor could I find a single blasted image, carving or mention of the Malevolence. If this truly was some ancient evil, it did an amazingly good job of hiding itself from the general public.

And if it was so good at hiding, then why would it choose now of all times to pose a danger?

And could Alice stop it?

I sneezed as quietly as I could, glancing down the aisle between the bookshelves to ensure I was still alone. I was. I carefully tiptoed to the other side of the building, avoiding the noisiest floorboards. Seth’s hardy voice carried up the spiral staircase, stopping me in my tracks.

“And so then she goes up to this dragon, right? And she’s like ‘Come get some,’ and the dragon goes totally crazy. He freaks out on her and tries to eat her. But she’s like, ‘No way, dude!’ And then she stabs the dragon with the jousting lance!”

My heart nearly leapt out of my mouth. I hurried to the staircase, clutching the banister for support. In any other situation, this might be somewhat melodramatic. But the situation warranted it—after all, how many times does someone reveal the dark side of the world to an innocent bystander? How often does one reveal that there are, in fact, real monsters out there that can only be destroyed with magic?

The answer is supposed to be zero, or very near it.

“Then what happened?” came the voice of the girl, a bit too excited under the circumstances, if you ask me.

I got to the bottom of the stairs, fully ready to tackle Seth and perhaps drag him from the library before he could reveal anything else, invisibility be damned.

“Then the dragon explodes in a cloud of ash!” the fool exclaimed, clapping his hands lightly together. “And then she turns, right? And there’s totally another dragon just sitting there waiting for her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he tells her.”

My legs tensed. What in the blazes was the fool talking about? That wasn’t what happened at all! I remembered the battle with the dragons quite clearly, having been on the receiving end of a bite.

“Go on!” Sanda said. I could see them both clearly from between the rows of shelves. The girl was sitting on the edge of her seat, hanging onto his every word. As if this was some exciting movie he was recounting!

“And then … OK. Hold on.” Seth looked up at the ceiling. “Um. OK, so then they go at it. But the hero is sort of hurt, and the dragon gets away with just a scratch. And so then in the next book, she has to fight him again. But he’s bigger now and totally stronger. But so is she. See, she’s got a shield this time, like the kind knights use for jousting. So she’s totally ready for his fire breath.”

“Fire breath!” I whispered, quite confused. “What’s this fool talking about?”

Sanda grabbed his arm. “Seth, you absolutely must write this book. It sounds amazing! Oh, will you name your hero Sanda? Please? I want to be a part of this!”

Seth blushed. “Sure. I mean, I kinda pictured you as the hero anyway. You’re pretty. And smart. And you like swords and stuff.”

They stared at each other, getting that look in their eyes that one finds in all the popular romantic comedies and music videos. I dare say, I half-expected them to start smooching right there in the middle of the library. Thankfully, they showed a bit of restraint, enough so that I felt it was quite safe to escape outside for a few moments and consider my next step.

It should come as no surprise that snow is a particularly tricky situation for yours truly. I can make myself invisible, but of course that doesn’t prevent my feet from leaving imprints on soft surfaces like sand or snow. And this being the middle of winter, it also should come as no surprise that a mid-afternoon snowfall had begun to fall; soon, it would coat the ancient cobblestone street with a thin layer of white powder.

The temperature was quite refreshing, actually. With all this fur, sometimes cold weather can feel quite nice. Yes, a walk in the crisp air would be just the thing to clear my thoughts.

The town square was comprised mainly of ancient two-story buildings of pale stone, with black stone roofs and little shops facing the main street. There was a bread shop and a little restaurant and a souvenir shop where tourists could stock up on snacks and plastic swords and sculptures of fairies and knights. Every single shop had a few people mingling about, and—worse—more yet were walking up from the more modern end of town, snapping pictures at the old buildings. An entire tour bus group was headed straight toward me, marveling at the great hall’s massive doors, zipping their jackets up tightly to stave off the cold.

One giant wall of humanity, coming right for invisible me.

I had but one choice: an alley between the bread shop and the great hall, which wound its way between more ancient buildings before opening up in front of the cathedral’s back door. A funny thing about that cathedral: it’s half-old. And I say that with a straight face. You see, the rear of the cathedral is quite old, built when the town was young, its bricks blackened with age and its flying buttresses supporting its roof. The windows are all made of stained glass, curved at the top. The steeple is impossibly high and quite sharp-looking, as if water had dripped up toward the sky and then frozen.

But the front half is newer, no doubt the result of some unfortunate accident that damaged the exterior. As a result, the bricks are bigger and cleaner, and the windows are rectangular.

And the door …

I froze in my tracks, not believing it at first. How had I missed it before? There, on the door, carved so deep into the dark wood that one can only speculate as to its maker’s intent:

\%

I hurried around to the older section of the church, my feet kicking up fresh powdery snow. To heck with the footprints! This was it. This was a piece of the puzzle.

There, on the western door:

(U)

And on the ancient, ancient back door:

\_/

And on the eastern door:

/-\

“By golly!” I exclaimed, hurrying back to the library. I snuck in through the rear entrance, wiping my big feet on the welcome mat so as not to track in melting snow. I slipped between the rows of shelves and waving my paw madly to catch Seth’s eye. He and Sanda were, shall we say, no longer engaged in reading.

“Um …” he said, finally looking up over her shoulder to see my frantic gesticulations. I pointed toward the church, then pulled out the slip of paper with the strange symbols. Then I pointed again. “We should take a walk,” he said. “Um … toward the other side of town? Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Very well,” Sanda said. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face close to hers and smiling. “But I’m not through kissing you just yet.”

Seth blushed so fiercely that I swore his head might explode. The poor fellow pulled himself together in time to utter a “Yeah, let’s take a rain check on that for now” before pulling away from her grasp. They put on their fluffy coats and went out through the front door.

I met them in the street, which was now blanketed with a good inch of snow.

“Oh dear,” I whispered. Seth saw it, too, and was a bit more level-headed than me.

“Why are the roofs made of stone?” he asked, wrapping one arm around Sanda and pointing up. Her eyes followed his finger, and I kept as close as rabbitly possible to ensure my paw prints weren’t quite so obvious.

“They don’t catch fire. And they last a long time,” Sanda said. “It was economical.”

“But how did they make them? Tell me all about it so I can do it on my future home someday.”

She giggled. “The roof is lined with wooden slats, almost like shelves. The thin slabs of rock are fitted between the shelves. And there you have it.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

She sighed. “When you are home-schooled, you learn a lot. I’ve had many instructors from all over the world, paid for by my father. He never spared any expense on my education. I want to be a historian someday, and he supports it by buying me whatever books I wish.”

“I think you’d be a great historian,” Seth said.

I guided us around the great hall. There was less snow down the cobblestone alley so I hurried ahead, pointing Seth toward the cathedral. He gave a quick nod. I clung to the ancient buildings to avoid making paw prints. Then it hit me: why step at all?

“Br’er Rabbit, you genius!” I slid my feet forward, as if I had invisible skis on. Instead of leaving distinct rabbit tracks, I left two very plain-looking lines in the snow, as if someone had skied down the street toward the cathedral.

Right to the front doors. Now all I needed to do was step aside, waiting patiently for Seth to put two and two together.

And boy oh boy, did he take his sweet time. I can only imagine what the two were doing in the relative privacy of the old narrow alleyway, but I suspect Seth was cashing in his rain check, so to speak. No worries on my part, although I couldn’t help but get the jitters. What if Seth was in danger? After all, she was the prince’s adopted daughter …

“Quiet, fool!” I told myself. “Be optimistic for once. For Seth’s sake!”

Yes, I thought, perhaps we could all enjoy a happy ending.

“Oh,” I whispered despondently. “But when has there ever been happy ending with these things?”

When they finally reached the doors, I was well out of the way on the other side of the narrow street, my eyes temporarily distracted by a variety of flaky pastries sitting in the display window of a particularly wonderful bakery.

“Oh!” Seth said. I turned back, smiling when I saw that he’d spotted the strange symbol:

\%

“What the heck is that?” he asked.

Sanda leaned in close. “Hmmm. It’s a Wallachian ward.”

“Like … something with magic?” Seth asked.

Sanda shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Uh … you sure?”

The pretty girl simply nodded. Seth, quite confused, glanced at me with wide eyes. Eyes that rightly asked What do we do now?

I had no answer, and so was forced to shrug.

“We should return to the castle,” Sanda said quickly, hurrying across the street and walking past the cathedral without giving it another look. Her breath came out in quick, frustrated clouds of steam.

“Wait!” Seth called out, but the girl had apparently taken quite a dislike to the entire excursion, anxious to return to the limo waiting at the edge of the medieval quarter. Seth crossed the street, glancing longingly at her posterior before turning to me. “What the heck did I do?”

“I admit I’m at a loss,” I told him.

He sighed. “What the heck is the deal with that symbol, anyway?”

“Er … well …” My whiskers twitched. “Seth, it seemed quite possible that Sanda was lying.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that given her body language and abrupt response … she seemed to recognize the symbol but was unwilling to tell you about it.”

To my surprise, Seth’s face hardened. “That’s crazy, dude. Why would she lie?”

“Perhaps she is protecting the prince?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re wrong. She’s awesome.”

“Yes of course, but …”

He turned. “I’ll meet you back at the castle. And I’m going to prove you wrong, Briar.”

I watched him go, sighing a melodramatic sigh. “Oh, I do hope so, my friend. I do hope so.”

Chapter 4: Alice

But as he approached the tree, a lion leapt from beneath it, shook himself, and roared till the leaves on the trees trembled. “He who tries to steal my singing, soaring lark,” he cried, “will I devour.” [vii]

Dinner. Gawd, how I was dreading dinner. My mind was reeling, trying to make sense of this new danger that the prince posed. Meanwhile, my stomach was telling my brain to just shut up, shut up, the food is way too delicious to worry about ancient evil and Corrupted and all that crazy stuff. Just eat the food.

And then there was everyone else. We’d splintered. The boys’ team sat on one end, outright ignoring us and talking heatedly with each other about a dozen different things at once. Their conversations were dizzying in speed, no doubt a side-effect of the Jump. Dejected by the day’s losses, the girls team sat on the other side, along with Sanda and Seth, the two of whom looked just about punch-drunk in love. At the head of the table was the prince, leaning back in his expensive chair with a bored expression, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. One gloved hand clutched a glass of wine. The food at his table sat untouched.

Mr. Whitmann and Mrs. Satrapi sat in the center of the long table, about as oblivious as adults can be in the secret lives of teenagers. And heroes.

“So,” the prince said in a low voice, his eyes square on the rambunctious boys at the other end of the table. “Tomorrow is your first test. Is this true?”

“Yup,” Chase said. He was already half-finished with his meal of duckling and mashed potatoes, dealing with his nerves by adorably trying to power his way through dinner so he could get out as quick as possible. I didn’t blame him, either—the prince looked different now, as if he’d been wearing an invisible mask and now that mask was off. And it creeped us out.

Excluding Seth, who was madly in love.

“Who will you face?” Vontescue asked, one black eyebrow raised.

“Mostly the Germans in the first round,” Chase answered. He shrugged. “A couple from the Romanian team. Japan, too.”

“And Slytherin,” Seth added, counting off on his fingers, “and the Galactic Empire, and Mordor, and the Klingons …”

Sanda giggled, pulling his hand down. I watched her watch Seth, wary. If what Briar said was true, then the girl was totally hiding something. But what? Why would anyone want to help the creepy prince?

Unless she was forced.

Or didn’t know the truth.

“Alice.” Vontescue’s voice seemed to cut through me like a cold blade. I shivered, turning to him. His dark eyes were on me. “Who did you draw in the first round?”

“A girl from Austria,” I answered slowly.

The prince wrinkled his nose. “Austria! A land of foolish kings, just like Hungary. Daughter, how many kings have the Vontescue family fought?”

“Seven, father,” Sanda answered. Happily, I might add.

“Seven kings,” Vontescue said, staring at his glass of red wine. “Seven who have trespassed on our land. Seven who have failed to take it.”

“Or close enough,” Sanda added.

My head snapped to her. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“One man managed to breach the castle,” Sanda said. “A Hungarian cleric. This was in the 1800’s. It took an army of the best knights money could buy, but they fought their way into the castle, surrounding the keep. The Vontescue family line has never been so threatened.”

I turned back to the prince. A foul sneer had infected his face. Boy, if looks could kill …

“What happened?” Seth asked excitedly. “Oh crap, I bet it was some craziness for sure.”

“The knights were killed,” Vontescue snapped, cutting his daughter off before she could answer. “Hundreds of them met their death that night. Not a single man penetrated the keep.”

“It is said that a foul disease spread quickly through their ranks even before they attacked,” Sanda said.

Vontescue sipped his wine. “The man who led them was no king,” he said in low, gravelly voice. His teeth ground together. “He was a nobody. A worthless cleric who thought himself more important than he truly was.”

“Do you plan on attending tomorrow, Mr. Prince?” Mr. Whitmann asked. He grabbed one of the rolls sitting on the plate in the center of the table, tearing the bread in half with his hairy thumbs.

Vontescue shook his head. “I fear my presence might cause a stir. There are many enemies of the Vontescue family, unfortunately.”

“Come on,” I said. “Just a few matches wouldn’t hurt.”

The prince looked at me. “I shall consider it. I would be more inclined to say yes if one could guarantee a win, but I fear from the looks on your faces that your team is not confident in its abilities.”

“We’ll put up a good fight,” Chase said, not looking up from his meal. He used his fork to cut up a chunk of duck meat, sliding it across the dark sweet sauce. He was so nervous; it would have been cute under different circumstances. “And we’ll do it honestly. That’s the most important thing.”

“How very … honorable.” The prince said the word with such contempt that I was pretty sure he’d thrown up in his mouth a bit. “The sport of fencing knows honor well. Nay, its very history is one of honor. In the old days, a man would challenge another to duel over the smallest of insults. Voltaire, the famous philosopher, found himself the unfortunate recipient of a merciless attack by thugs and responded by training with a fencing master with the full intent of regaining his honor no matter the cost.”

“And he cut them up?” Seth finished.

Vontescue shook his head. “He was arrested before the duel and expelled from the country. It seems his enemies were not quite so interested in respecting his honor.”

“And his enemies won,” Sanda finished. “Is that the sad moral of your story, father? Hardly a story I would tell at dinner. Our guests deserve better.”

Vontescue glared at her, saying nothing.

“I’m done,” Chase said. He wheeled back from the table. “I’m going to sleep.”

“And how are the crutches I’ve provided?” the prince asked him before he could wheel his way around the table. I felt my entire body tense when Vontescue’s eyes landed on Chase. Not my boyfriend. Don’t even look at him, you bastard.

“They’re good,” Chase murmured. “I’m getting used to them.”

Vontescue turned to me. “Do keep it up,” he said in a low voice. “Your well-being is so important to Alice.”

For the first time, Chase looked at him. I could see his jaw clenching, his expression a mixture of anger and helplessness, as if he wanted to say or do something but didn’t know what. The prince ignored him, keeping his hold on my eyes, his gloved fingers gently spinning the glass of wine on the surface of the table.

“I’m going to take him down,” I said later, pacing beside my bed. “I’m going to draw a big sword—no, no! I’m going to draw a big trapdoor with spikes underneath. No! I’m going to draw a dragon that’ll eat him.”

“Hardly doable,” Briar murmured. He was lying on the bed, nibbling on a carrot I’d snuck from the kitchen. “Even if you could draw a dragon, I don’t think it would want to eat that terrible man.”

“Creature,” I whispered. “He’s a creature. Ugh, and why is the floor so cold all the time?”

Briar glanced down. “It’s wood covered by a very thin rug. A very thin expensive rug, I might add.”

I stomped and dug my heel into the soft fibers of the rug, right between two dark red swirling wave-like designs. “Here’s what I think of his rug!”

Briar’s whiskers twitched, then he hopped off the bed and followed suit, digging the heel of his big foot into the rug as well. We both chuckled.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of, I suppose we can go back to the states …”

I shook my head. “The Brothers Grimm tried to warn me about this guy, Briar. Me. There has to be a reason for it.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding briskly. “And the reason was to warn you. As in: get away from this terrible man. Run far, far away and never come back. Alice, I’m not sure how to tell you, but … I simply don’t know how to help you with this. As far as I can tell, the Malevolence is a force of evil whose history has been lost to time. He has covered his tracks well.”

“But we do know some things,” I said, pacing again and gently rubbing my shoulder. I hadn’t told Mr. Whitmann about my cuts or my rib. I hadn’t told him anything, and as far as he was concerned, I was healthy and ready to go for the match tomorrow. But I was anything but healthy. My shoulder was sore. My ribs were sore. The muscles in my legs had stiffened up overnight. The stress from Chase’s experience with the ghost princess had caused my face to break out. The cool air inside my room seemed to penetrate the muscles in my arms, giving them a dull ache.

“We know the symbols are Wallachian,” Briar said. “We know their origins.”

“And we know Sanda knows.”

“Yes, but Sanda doesn’t know that we know.”

“But Sanda knows that Seth doesn’t know.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Say what now?”

“I don’t know either. Gawd, Briar!” I grabbed my hair, pulling gently. I was too afraid to pull hard because I was pretty sure my hair might just give up and come right out. And then it really would be the end of the world.

“Perhaps Sanda is not quite so knowledgeable as we suspect,” Briar said, rubbing his chin. He sat on the bed, crossing his legs. “You say she mentioned a time the castle was invaded by this mysterious Hungarian cleric … perhaps the Hungarians have some history on the subject. I shall investigate post-haste, but I may need to travel to Hungary to find any answers.”

“Do it.”

We looked at each other. I crossed my arms. Briar’s ears perked up. “Right now?”

I shrugged. “Do we really want to wait?”

“We!” The rabbit scoffed, hopping off the bed. “Hardly a ‘we’ situation, since you will be sleeping on your wonderful, comfy bed all night.”

“I’ll pack you a big meal.”

“With cookies?”

I nodded.

Briar stood straight, adjusting his vest. “Well. That changes things a bit.”

“I thought it might. BRB.”

“Say what?”

“I’ll be right back,” I clarified, pulling on a pair of thick socks. I left the bedroom, making my way through the creepy dining room and into the kitchen. When I turned on the light, I was surprised to see Sorin sitting at the cutting table.

Eating dog food. Or … what looked like dog food.

“I’m just getting some cookies,” I said. “Maybe some milk.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, adjusting his dark sunglasses. Half-eaten brown chunks fell out of his mouth, causing my stomach to lurch. “Allow me. I know where all the best cookies are stored.” He started working his way around the big kitchen, reaching into stainless steel cabinets and pulling out various cookies. “Here’s oatmeal … here’s chocolate chip … here’s something that smells like cherries …”

“Great.” I opened the fridge, moving aside big slabs of meat to get at the solitary jug of half-finished milk. When I shut the door, Sorin was standing right there—like, seriously, right there. Close enough to count the little pocket scars from a decade of adolescent acne that I could just tell he picked obsessively at.

“Here you are,” he said. “Seven hundred calories or so. I’m good at these things. The prince has a very strict diet, you know. He must keep his body functioning.”

“I’ll bet.”

“But look!” He pointed to one of the seven colorful magnets sticking to the exterior of the fridge. Each magnet was for a restaurant in town. “Sanda, she can eat anything. She orders disgusting pizzas and sandwiches full of pickles and tomatoes and evil cheeses.” He made a convincing gagging noise. “She is a teenager and has a stomach of lead. But lead is not magnetic, did you know? Magnets only stick together on one side because they alternatively repel and attract. Very fun stuff. I know much more. I am useful to the prince, having so much knowledge. I got the gate outside to work again!”

“Clearly, you are a genius,” I said. “So ...”

He stood there, smiling.

“Right. I’m going to get a glass now for the milk. And you are ...”

“Going to bed?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes. Go to bed. Thank you for the cookies.”

He bowed low, leaving me alone in the kitchen. His plate of food was only half-finished.

Later in bed, I tossed and turned, reaching out blindly and hoping to find Chase’s arm or—better yet—his chest. But the bed was empty, and I felt empty, and my shoulder was sore and the room was cold and the night-light plugged into the wall needed to be about a thousand times brighter to keep the darkness at bay.

And here’s the weird thing: I didn’t exactly fall asleep. At least not right away. Instead, I simply closed my eyes and started breathing deeply, willing myself to sleep so I could get the danged hero’s dream over with. After a moment, I felt my body lift away, moving through the air.

Please be a nice dream. Please be a nice dream …

No such luck.

I was in a forest. Soft moonlight slipped in between the quiet pines. The moment I saw him, I didn’t quite believe it. I wanted to call out but it took all of my energy just to keep up, weaving between tall snow-covered trees like an out-of-shape predator. No wonder he’s survived so long …

“Briar, wait up!” I said, hearing my voice in my ears. The rabbit kept running. I floated behind him, losing ground. We emerged from the forest, traveling across a snow-covered farm field. Briar hopped over the fence, landing on the other side and sending up a plume of powdery snow. My body passed effortlessly through the wooden beams.

From behind us, there came a roar.

Briar turned, squeaked out an “Eep!” and picked up his pace.

“I don’t think I want to know,” I murmured, willing my body to spin in the air. The moon cast a dull, bluish glow over the edge of the forest, reflecting off the trees’ snow-covered limbs. For a moment, there was nothing.

Then they appeared.

Lions. Big, big lions that slipped out of the forest and burst through the farm’s wooden fence. Six of them, each with glowing golden eyes focused right on the delicious rabbit meal behind me.

“Run faster, Briar!” I shouted, stopping in the middle of the field. I’ll hold them off. No matter what, I’ll save my furry friend …

“Say what now?”

I turned. The dummy had stopped at the edge of the field, peering in my direction! I made myself visible and his eyes widened. “Don’t just stand there, slack-jawed! Get outta here!” I shouted.

“Right!” He hopped over the fence, kicking up snow.

I turned back to the lions. Two of them had already reached me and now, seeing me, had apparently changed their dinner selection for the evening. They both pounced at the same time, causing me to both scream in terror and lose control of my ethereal form. I held my arms out to brace myself, but they’d already disappeared.

The lions went right through, landing hard on the snow.

They got up, turning their heads left and right, their snow-covered manes shaking wildly. I slipped behind them, willing my hands to reach out and grab their tails. I pulled as hard as I could and they both roared, turning right into the path of two of their oncoming brethren. All four collided, kicking up snow and tempers. They pawed furiously at each other, rolling in the snow and snarling.

“Keep fighting,” I murmured, watching the last two dart past us. One was bigger than his brothers, with a graying coat of fur and a dark red mane. He had a scar along his right eye, and that eye’s golden glow was duller than the left one. I followed above them, willing my body to soar faster and faster over the snow-covered field, feeling my energy drain as if I were running a sprint. I reached out with both hands, grabbing the muscled rear haunch of the smaller lion and pulling with all my might. He lost control, tripping and flipping over again and again in the snow. I soared past him, feeling the cold air cut through my ghost form like a razor blade, reaching out for the mane of the scarred lion, grabbing and pulling with all my might.

The beast slowed, his head tilting back, his mouth opening to release a deep snarl. He slowed just a bit, then shook his head wildly like a dog shaking off water, throwing me aside with a surprising raw power.

My body flew through the air. I tried to turn, but I’d lost control. I willed myself to turn and land on the ground. I did, only with a little more force than I’d expected. My ghost-like form kicked up snow as I crashed onto the frozen field. I rolled, turning, watching three of the lions close in on me like I was a wounded gazelle. The scarred one took the lead, tilting his head so that his left eye was focused on me. The scar was deep and dark, running across his forehead and down his snout like a lightning bolt.

“Ki van ott?”

We all turned. There, in the doorway of the farmhouse no more than a hundred yards away, was a frail old farmer peering out into the darkness with an old flashlight. The beam landed on the scarred lion and suddenly, instead of a lion, he was a man. A tall man dressed in a black suit and carefully combed brown hair and a well-trimmed graying beard under his jaw. He squinted in the light, smiling and saying something in Hungarian as he took a step forward.

The man responded with relief, his body loosening up a bit. In the darkness, the other lions moved closer to the farmhouse, their padded feet silently pressing down on the snow.

“Oh no you don’t,” I hissed, getting up and kicking off the ground. Three lions reached out for me with their massive paws but I was already ethereal again, flying across the field. I collided with the man in the black suit, willing my arms to wrap around his broad chest. He tumbled away from the beam of light and suddenly his broad chest expanded, the fabric of the suit flitting away, replaced with thick gray fur. The lion twisted before I could will myself into my ghost-form again, and the momentum sent me flying into the snow at the foot of his friends.

“Shut the door!” I shouted to the farmer, turning ethereal again as the lions pounced. They pawed at the snow, clawing up chunks of frozen dirt. The farmer—the danged fool!—still had the door open. He had his flashlight on another of the lions, who of course had turned into a man. The man was walking toward him, holding out a steady hand. With my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the other lions just out of reach of the flashlight beam, skulking silently in the darkness, moving closer to the house.

“No!” I shouted, willing my body into the air. I reached down, scooping up the powdery snow and flinging it in front of the man in the black suit. He flinched, growling and turning my way but I was already past him, reaching out for the farmer and gently—well, not quite roughly—pushing him back inside his house.

I shut the door. The six lions lined up, staring at me. The one I’d flung snow at shook his mane, stepping aside so the gray one with the scar could skulk closer. He had the fluffiest mane of them all, and it looked darker and a bit more snarly, too, like he’d slept on it wrong. If such a thing was possible for a giant Corrupted lion to do.

“Well?” I asked.

The lion with the scar turned his head, sniffing the air. He looked down, pushing past his brethren until he found the rabbit tracks. The others turned.

“Oh, absolutely not,” I said, rushing to the nearest one and lifting from the ground. I pushed him as hard I could, tripping him up with his nearest pal. Two more broke off, circling me. I willed myself to land on the snow, crouching low. Maybe if I could get them to leap at the same time, I could get them to land on each other …

Suddenly, a sharp pain ran through my left leg. Instinct forced me back into my ghost form almost instantaneously, but the pain was real enough for my body to lose control, falling backward. I turned as I fell: the scarred lion had maneuvered behind me and was snapping madly at the space where I’d just been. He’d gotten me. He’d grabbed onto my leg while I was in solid form and he’d bitten down with such an incredible force that it had nearly put me in shock.

My head spun. The darkness grew darker as clouds slipped in front of the moon. I fell backwards, aware of the cold snow between my toes, aware that my ethereal form had shifted to something more solid once again as I landed onto the snowy ground, breaking through a patch of crystallized snow.

I looked up wearily, sure that the remaining lions would be closing in on me. But no, they’d resumed their original intention, bursting through the fence on the far end and following the rabbit tracks into the next patch of trees beyond the farm. The scarred one stopped as the moon reappeared, and from a distance he looked half-human, like a Sphinx. He glared at me, his upper lip curling into a snarl.

And then he too was gone.

“Briar!” I shouted, pulling myself to my feet. My arm was sore from the fall. My left leg stung so fiercely that I couldn’t put any weight on it. I’d turned visible again, as if my ghost-form had malfunctioned during the fall. “Briar, run as fast as you can!”

“Why?”

I spun around, letting out a very awkward, confused scream. In the moonlight, I could see a figure standing on top of the small aluminum shed twenty feet away. A figure with a rabbit’s silhouette, sitting cross-legged on the roof.

“What?! How!”

Briar cocked his head. “I’m Br’er Rabbit, that’s what. And because I’m Br’er Rabbit, that’s how. I made my way north, then climbed the lowest tree and doubled back here.”

“They’ll find you,” I said, breathless, uncaring of the pain in my leg. I was afraid. Afraid for Briar. It was easy to just let him go off and do his thing, but now that I was here, in the middle of the night, watching him get chased by Corrupted lions …

“They might,” Briar said, “if I was going that way.” He nodded toward the forest where the lions had gone. “But west is that way, as the stars above clearly reveal.” He pointed over his shoulder, beyond the aluminum shed.

My nerves settled a bit. I took a deep breath. “You’re freaking brilliant, rabbit.”

He hopped off the shed, taking a low bow. His eyes found my leg. “Oh dear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, putting a hand over it. The moment I did, I immediately started worrying. The lion broke skin. There’s a freaking hole in your leg, Alice! “Just bring back good news.”

Briar hopped onto the fence, traveling along the top beam and then bounding over it when he reached the western end of the farmer’s property. I watched his shadow disappear behind a cluster of houses far in the distance, then turned back to the farm.

“What else?” I asked the black sky. “What else do I need to see here? Why haven’t I woken up yet?”

The stars above decided not to give me an answer.

I willed my body to hover over the snow, sick of the dull cold ache in my toes. I could feel the snow on the bare soles of my feet. I could feel the cold air, only it wasn’t as intense as if I was really outside in my human form. It was like a distant, fleeting sensation, the exact moment after you step into a warm house after an intense day of sledding and can’t quite shake the cold off immediately.

“What do I need to do?” I asked the stars. “How about a hint, at least?”

The response wasn’t exactly what I expected: a boxy-looking police car turning onto the dirt road that led to the farmhouse, its dim yellowish lights cutting across the field. It rolled slowly, its tires crunching on the snow-covered gravel. It parked in front of the farmhouse and a uniformed officer stepped out, his warm breath escaping in a shaky cloud of steam. He drew his gun, shining a flashlight right over me before taking in the strange prints in the snow.

The farmer opened the front door a crack, peering out. He spoke some frantic Hungarian, no doubt at least some of which consisted of “I swear I saw some terrible monsters here and they almost ate me whole!”

The officer listened, nodding and turning back to the field. It looked as if the poor farmer was being 100 percent honest, given his bulging eyes and terrified cracking voice, and the policeman seemed oddly accepting of it all. The farmer pointed to the area where I’d tussled with the lions, where snow had been disturbed and chunks of frozen dirt had been torn up by some very, very big claws. The policeman nodded, shining his flashlight on it for a moment before looking around again.

Here they were: human beings who’d been unwittingly dragged into the affairs of the hero and the Corrupted. Human beings caught in the crossfire, whose lives were forever changed. Just like Harper, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time at the Assassin fortress. Just like the sailors who’d made a deal with the wrong captain. Just like Edward’s unfortunate victims. I felt a pang of remorse for the farmer, knowing he would never forget what he’d seen. In fact, he would probably spend a good portion of his life trying to forget what he’d seen.

The police officer definitely didn’t want to stick around. And the farmer wasn’t too happy about that, but the officer didn’t seem to care all that much about pleasing him. He pulled his blue cotton hat down over his ears, walking back toward his car. The farmer shouted at him, pointing in the direction of the northern forest but the policeman, bidding him a curt goodnight, got back in his car and slowly pulled back in reverse.

The farmer shut his door. With the headlights from the police car still aimed at the house, I could make out the door clearly.

And I could make out the symbol carved into the door:

\%

Chapter 5

I woke to the sound of my phone alarm, my mind not quite ready to jump back into my real body. I reached groggily for the phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking over the who-knows-how-insanely-expensive glass table lamp in the process. I yawned, rolled out of bed, landed on cold floor, and felt a dull ache in my left leg.

“Ouch!” I said, limping around the bed and into the bathroom. I turned on the light to examine my thigh, terrified of seeing a puncture wound that would no doubt mean another trip to the doctor and a thorough cleaning to ensure there would be no infection. But the hole wasn’t there. The skin was badly bruised, and shallowly indented in four places.

Right where a lion’s teeth would be. Not as bad as it had been in my dream, but still bad enough to make walking a chore.

“But it was just a dream,” I whined, sitting on the toilet and examining the bruise closer. The punctures hadn’t drawn blood; the skin was a dark purple around each circular depression. I shuddered—if my body hadn’t instinctively turned ethereal when the lion had chomped down, it might have taken my leg clean off.

And then what would have happened when I woke up?

“It would have been time to pass the torch to a new hero,” I murmured, taking off my clothes and stepping into the little shower stall. I let lukewarm water hit my face, keeping my eyelids half-open so I could get some refreshing water on my eyes. I liked the feeling, especially in the mornings. And I didn’t want to be trapped in the darkness behind my closed eyelids.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the next hero. Just repeating the words in my head sent a chill down my body. The more I thought about it, the worse the chill got. I grabbed the metal railing attached to the tile wall to keep from falling over.

There would be another hero. I would eventually die. It would happen sooner rather than later. Whatever normal life I could piece together would be short and occasionally interrupted by dreams about terrible creatures that lurked in the shadows. One of them, someday, would kill me. Would it be Sam Grayle? Would it be the Malevolence? Or would it be something I’d never seen before, slipping out of the shadows and killing me? It could happen anytime. My last diary entry would be unfinished, splashed with blood, my last words trailing off.

I see the death of your loved ones …

Would I be with someone when it happened? Would the Corrupted kill whoever I was with, or would Briar somehow save them? I thought again of Chase, of his limp body just sitting in his wheelchair in the prince’s courtyard. He’d died. I hadn’t been able to save him without the help of a little magic vial that had once belonged to a fairy tale character.

“Don’t worry about the future. Worry about now,” I murmured, stepping out of the shower and wiping the film of steam off the mirror. I stared at the healing cuts on my shoulder. They were a little red and puffy, so I dabbed the corner of the towel with hydrogen peroxide and carefully patted them. The cuts immediately began to tingle, just another reminder of how fragile my body really was.

I was going to be the next one to die. I could feel it. My body was falling apart, tallying up bruises and cuts and cracked bones faster than Chase used to tally up home runs. This chronicle of my life would abruptly cut off, and then Briar would be tasked with carefully hiding away the pen for the next hero. I’d be laid to rest, or maybe I would suffer a worse fate, like Juliette.

Chase would probably cry. He’d better cry.

Briar had told me once that Eugene Washington, his creator, had been so beaten down after ten years of Corrupted hunting that he couldn’t even stand up straight. His back hurt every morning, forcing him to stay bent over and sometimes keeping him in bed for days at a time. He couldn’t run more than a handful of steps before his legs gave up. And that was after ten years. I hadn’t even made it through one yet.

I dressed, combing my hair and applying a thin layer of makeup in attempt to hide my exhaustion. I couldn’t shake the feeling of my own mortality, and seeing the cuts on my shoulder wasn’t helping. I grabbed another towel, draping it around my neck to hide the wound. There. Mummy Alice. But the terrible feeling still wouldn’t go away! I couldn’t stop shaking this horrible feeling that the words in my diary would simply cut off.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Brenda the Blacksmith.

Brenda was one of Briar’s first charges right after the death of Eugene Washington. She’d been having the same weird pen dream over and over and over and over and over until finally, figuring it probably meant something important, she travelled to a library in New York. Briar and the pen were waiting for her. I’m sure you can imagine what happened next: lots of screaming and freaking out.

But there was no time to waste. After Eugene’s death, someone must have given the “all clear!” to every Corrupted in the world because a bunch of them decided it was the perfect time to visit America for a while. (Briar, smart little rabbit that he is, periodically checked the ship manifests and recorded the number of people arriving with the name “Hans” or “Gretel.”)

It only took five days for the nightmares to start.

You know what I’m talking about. Floating around, invisible … following a scary fairy tale monster as it hunts down its prey … waking up drenched in a cold sweat … all that fun stuff. Brenda’s first quarry was Red Riding Hood herself. Only this wasn’t the cute little girl from the fairy tales … the Corruption had changed her. She kept the red hood, patching it up whenever she needed, making sure no one saw her pale, skeletal face as she skulked from one town to the next. She’d gone positively loopy, according to Briar. She was a modern-day angel of death, slipping into houses and searching for Grandma. When she found someone who looked close enough … well, it didn’t end happily.

So here’s what Brenda did: she made horseshoes. She used her pen to draw horseshoes and she hammered them to her best horse and then she traveled a hundred miles west, hunting down Red Riding Hood and trampling her. Poof! Gone.

But guess what? Red Riding Hood had a friend. A prince from another fairy tale who totally wanted Red Riding Hood to be his wife and wouldn’t take no for an answer—typical fairy tale prince, if you haven’t noticed yet. When he saw his beloved trampled under the magically-endowed hooves of Brenda’s horse, he attacked them both.

And killed them.

End of story. Brenda the Blacksmith, dead at the tender age of 18. She was hero for about a week. That’s the dark side of the hero’s journey. For every Perseus and Luke Skywalker, there are a hundred Brenda the Blacksmiths.

So which one was I? Luke Skywalker or Brenda?

“You’re Alice,” I told my reflection. “And you’re not just a hero. You’re a person with a life and guy who really digs you. And you’re going to kick some butt fencing. That’s all that matters right now. Right, Reflection Alice? Right, Real Alice … totally. Do not worry about the malevolent force of evil that’s biding its time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Thanks, Reflection Alice. You always know exactly what to say.”

I took off my towel, looking down again at my bruised leg. It looked bad, but not as bad as it had been in my dream. In my dream, there had definitely been punctured skin. Lacerations from the scarred lion’s incisors. Like the dull cold of the outside air, it was as if my ethereal form was … tougher.

Showtime. Ten o’clock on the dot and we were suited up, waiting for the Romanian announcer to call on the U.S. team to enter the arena. None of us had any idea what to expect. We’d seen the arena before it was finished being set up and it had looked a lot like a basketball arena, only with seats in place for the scoring judges and the flashy signs above were all for fencing stats and not basketball stats. It had looked like a big deal.

We were standing in the little tunnel that led out to the arena, with Mr. Whitmann pacing at the front. He was wearing blue sweat pants and a red-and-white collar t-shirt, just the kind of thing to embarrass all of us. The boys were bouncing around, no doubt pumped-up by the Jump they’d taken earlier in the morning. Jasmine and Margaret and Rachel kept anxiously glancing back toward the locker rooms, as if they were ready to run.

The only person who looked calm and collected was Chase. My dude. He had his forearm crutches—the prince’s gift—sitting in the little black backpack slung over the back of his wheelchair. He was staring ahead to the end of the tunnel, where we could see France’s team of boys and girls lining up to greet the judges.

“Freaking out,” Margaret said, hopping from foot to foot. “Totally freeeeeeeeaking out.”

“Oh I’m ready,” Adam said. His hands tightened into fists. “We’re gonna pummel them.”

“Crack skulls,” Scott added.

“No prisoners,” Miguel said, high-fiving the other boys.

Rachel turned to me, her face more pale than usual. “I’d settle for a draw.”

Bass-heavy music began blaring through the speakers in the arena, echoing through the tunnel like a frantic heartbeat. The Romanian announcer said something that ended with the words “United States.”

“This is us,” Mr. Whitmann said, wide-eyed. “Remember the plan! Boys announced first, then the girls! Take your time strutting your stuff! We’re kings and queens! We’re the best of the best!”

“Oh, he’s gone nuts,” Jasmine whispered as Mr. Whitmann led the boys up the tunnel.

Chase reached into his pocket, pulled out a few pieces of peppermint gum. “Gather up,” he ordered us. We got close to him. He handed out a piece of gum. “Start chewing. It keeps your nerves at bay. It makes you look tough, too.”

“Thanks, Chase,” Jasmine said. “You’re sweet. And overly optimistic. Is anyone else sweating? I’m sweating here.”

“I’ve got the sweats,” Rachel said. “My armpits feel like a swamp right now.”

Chase laughed. “You’re nervous, and guess what? It’s natural. Just take deep breaths and walk slowly up the tunnel. Whatever’s out there … we’re going to be ready.”

“Do you really believe that, Chase?” Margaret asked. “Like, for reals?”

Chase nodded. I felt a flutter in my heart, seeing his confidence. “We’re going to leave this tournament with our heads held high. I promise you that.” The bass music picked up. “OK,” he said, wheeling beside us. “Let’s go.”

We walked to the end of the tunnel, entering the arena. My eyes adjusted to the bright lights hanging overhead. It was hard to see the crowd in the stands, but we could hear them well enough. There were thousands of people. Thousands!

Jasmine’s hand clutched my shoulder. “O. M. G.”

“It’s like the NBA Playoffs,” Rachel said in awe.

There were six blue fencing mats in the center of the arena, each one with its own table of judges and its own referee. Hanging above were the scoreboards, each one showing two zeroes in bright green letters. Already, Margaret’s name was above one of the zeroes.

“I guess I’m going first,” she murmured. “Whoopie.”

“Confidence,” Chase urged. He wheeled beside us as we were led around two of the long scoring tables, toward the bleachers that were painted yellow. The first four rows were reserved for the teams, but in the fifth row I could clearly see Seth and his special lady and Mrs. Satrapi. They all waved wildly when they saw us approach.

“This is the coolest thing ever,” Seth said, leaning over Sanda so he could high-five Chase.

Sanda pushed him off her, laughing. “I must say, I cannot recall being this excited before.”

“Except when she smooches me,” Seth added, dodging her mock-blow.

“Awwwwww,” Jasmine cooed, grinning. “You two are so cute. Can you do me a favor and look away when I’m fencing? I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

“She’s kidding,” Chase said. “She’s going to do great.”

“Margaret!” Mr. Whitmann called out.

“I’m right here,” she said. “Don’t shout, you big doofus! I’m nervous enough.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to the front of the bleachers. From above, super-hyper dance music started blaring. Some people in the crowd knew the song well enough to start singing along in whatever European language it was in. A few white spotlights flashed over the mats. A calming numbness ran through my body, as if I was on the verge of fighting a Corrupted.

I hope Margaret’s feeling this, too.

The first fencers took their positions.

“I’ll be back,” Chase said, giving my hand a quick squeeze. He wheeled behind Mr. Whitmann and Margaret, following them to the nearest mat in front of the yellow bleachers. I watched Margaret grab one of the dozen or so masks sitting on a rack beside the judges’ table. Then she moved to the rack holding the foils, alternating between two until finally Mr. Whitmann made her decide by gently shoving her toward the mat.

“This is serious,” Sanda said. “There are people from all over the world here. I have never seen such excitement!”

“Is daddy here?” I asked, immediately regretting my choice of words. She’s not your enemy, Alice. In fact, she could be your ally if you play your cards right …

Sanda didn’t seem to take any offense. “He is in his private luxury box with other important people from town. I had to throw a tantrum to avoid being stuck there with him.”

“It was epic,” Seth said with a big, dumb smile. “Alligator tears and all.”

“Crocodile tears,” she said, squeezing his cheeks. “Fake tears are called crocodile tears.”

“Right,” he said. Sanda hadn’t stopped squeezing so his lips were bunched together like a fish’s.

“Darling, do you need anything,” Mrs. Satrapi asked Jasmine, reaching down and rubbing her shoulder.

“Uh, how about a horse tranquilizer?” Jasmine asked, staring up at the massive scoreboards.

“How about some lemonade?” Mrs. Satrapi offered. “You love lemonade when you’re scared.”

“Maaaaaaa!” Jasmine moaned.

Sanda let go of Seth’s cheeks. “I will come with you, Mrs. Satrapi. I will get us frites and soda.”

“With lots of ketchup!” Seth called after her. She sidled through the row of spectators—mostly France’s fans, judging by the colors of their shirts—and gave a wave as she walked up the stairs. Seth turned to me. “Frites are like French fries.”

“We’re aware,” Jasmine said.

Seth ignored her, turning to me. His face grew serious. More serious than I’d seen his face in a long, long time. “I’m never leaving. I’m moving here.”

“You’re crazy,” I told him.

“He’s in love,” Jasmine said. “Uh, by the way, you’re missing the fencing.”

I turned around just as a roar of approval erupted from the stands on the other side of the arena. All six fencing matches taking place were foil matches, with three pairs of girls and three pairs of boys. Margaret was losing 6-3 against her opponent from Germany. On the screen above next to the score, the last point was repeated in slow motion: Margaret coming in for a thrust at her opponent’s midsection, her opponent parrying and counter-riposting, and then the tip of the foil slipping past Margaret’s wobbly blade.

“What if I didn’t come back?” Seth asked over my shoulder.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my sore left leg on the empty seat in front of me. “I don’t think Grayle would send another jet for you.”

“Yeah, but what if I just stayed here for a year or something? I could be a foreign exchange student thingy. We have those, right?”

“You don’t know Romanian!”

“Well, how hard is it?!” he asked, his anxious hot breath bouncing off the back of my neck.

I leaned forward, focusing on the match. “You’re not staying here. Don’t be insane.”

“Look, what’s for me back in the states? A whole bunch of drama and one more semester of high school. But here I’ve got someone I care about.”

“What if it’s just an infatuation?” I asked. “What if you both decide a month from now that it’s not going to work out? Then you’re stuck in Romania!”

“Well, maybe I could get a job making shoes or something, I don’t know. Like that guy in your fairy tale book. The cobbler who had help from elves.”

“OK first off, you’re not a cobbler. And B, please don’t remind me about Grimms’ Fairy Tales. And three, there are other things to consider about staying in that castle, hint, hint.”

“Yeah, like spiders,” Jasmine said.

Margaret stepped back, parrying three successive attacks all aimed at her chest. She closed in, using her feistiness to press hard on the attack. Her opponent, stepping back, was too slow to parry every blow. Point for Margaret—we all cheered. But she was still down five points.

And running out of gas. I could see it just by the way her chest rose and fell between points. She took a little extra time after getting stabbed hard in the stomach, using one hand to bend the blade of her foil back into a straighter position. A good stab could bend the blade a bit … but Margaret wasn’t exactly getting in any “good” stabs. “Lucky” would be a better way to describe it.

“What the heck is this?” Seth asked. I turned around. Sanda was back with a little bowl of French fries. Along with a healthy slathering of ketchup, there was a neon yellow cheese as well.

“Just try it,” she told him, dipping a fry in both ketchup and cheese. “You will like it.”

“Psh,” he said, opening his mouth for the fry. “I’m very picky …” She shoved the fry in his mouth. He chewed a few times. The frown disappeared. His eyes widened. “That’s delicious. It’s like cheesy, but with ketchup. Why didn’t I ever think of this?”

“Because you are too picky,” Sanda said with a satisfied nod.

“I love you,” he told her.

Jasmine turned, wrinkling her nose. I felt my muscles tense. Of course it was only a matter of time before Seth put his foot in his mouth. It’s always just a matter of time …

Sanda giggled, feeding him another fry. “Eat up, darling.”

Jasmine turned to me, one sharp black eyebrow raised. I shrugged. Apparently, Sanda was immune to Seth’s goofiness. Or—dear gawd—she actually found it cute.

“Here, darling,” Mrs. Satrapi said, handing a little cup of lemonade to her daughter. “Don’t drink too fast or you’ll get hiccups.”

“Thank you, mother,” Jasmine said, taking the cup and glancing at the boys on our team to make sure they hadn’t heard. They had, judging by their animated smiles.

Seth grabbed Sanda’s hands, smearing a little ketchup-and-cheese on her beautiful skin. “Sanda, before I met you, I used to think the coolest thing in the world would be to head-bang a nail into a block of wood while listening to Metallica. Now, I know I was wrong. Hanging out with you is the coolest thing in the world.”

Sanda’s eyes grew glassy. She cocked her head, fawning. “You are such a sweetie.”

“Maybe he should stay,” Jasmine said.

Margaret returned with Chase. Her shoulders were slumped, her sweaty hair clinging to her forehead. “Did you see?” she asked. “No, don’t tell me. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

“It did and it was good,” Chase said.

Margaret turned to him. “You weren’t even watching half the time! You were watching the other matches!”

Chase rolled his eyes and looked up at the rafters. “I love how no one trusts me! As if I’m not invested in this or something.” He gave me a nod. “You’re up, Alice. Please at least pretend I’m on your side.”

“You’re always on my side,” I told him, hopping off my seat.

“Best of luck!” Sanda called out. I gave her and Seth a wave.

To my surprise, I was scheduled right in front of the yellow bleachers, too. Half the judges were women with tanned skin and black hair pulled back in tight buns. The men were older, feverishly pointing to something on their scoring sheets and ignoring me as I passed by. I shook the referee’s hand and walked over to the helmets, picking one slightly larger than the one Margaret had chosen. I grabbed a saber from the next rack, holding out the blade and examining it.

A little heavy. Straight blade. Good grip, but not quite the same as the ones we’d practiced with. Not as balanced as the ones I usually drew to wipe the floor with Corrupted, but it would have to do.

“Pardon.”

I stepped aside. My opponent—one of the tall blondes from Austria—grabbed the biggest mask and swiped the first saber she saw. She was a good head taller than me, with broad shoulders and short hair that didn’t need to be adjusted before she could put on her mask. She held out the blade and I nearly gasped. She had a reach. Like, seriously long arms.

“How am I supposed to swipe at her?” I asked Chase. “She can just step back and swing at me.”

“So aim for her arms,” Chase said.

I blinked. Above, the music kicked in again to announce the start of the next matches. Competitors stepped onto the mats while the white spotlights danced around the arena. As they passed into the bleachers, I could see the illuminated groups of fans from a dozen different countries standing and cheering and felt a weird electricity course through my bones.

“What’s the problem?” Chase asked. Above us, the music stopped. The spotlights disappeared.

“Uh … that’s actually a good idea. I didn’t think about going for her arms. Duh.” Way to get intimidated, Alice. “So is that what I should do? Go after her arms?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

I followed his gaze to another match, which had just started. My anger flared up. “Are you even paying attention?!”

He nodded absently. “Start. Fight. Your opponent is getting restless.”

I turned back to my mat. The Austrian girl was already in position, one hand on her hip as if urging me to hurry up.

“Thanks for the help,” I muttered, adjusting my fencing jacket before stepping onto the mat. The clanging of steel on steel was the dominant sound of the arena now, intermixed with a few cheers from the bleachers. Someone scored a point and celebrated with a primal scream.

“That must be Italy,” I said, getting into my stance. Across from me, my Austrian opponent did the same. We held our blades out. Once again, I marveled at the girl’s reach. “Don’t get intimidated,” I whispered to myself. “You just killed a giant. That totally happened. And you killed some ghost thingies. This is a human being, just like you.”

“En garde,” the ref said.

I drew in a deep breath.

“Allez!”

My left foot forced me forward before my brain could even decide whether to attack or defend. I swung the blade high, then crossed over her midsection. She parried each blow with the base of her blade and the reverberation made its way up my hilt, numbing my hand. I had to step back, giving her the right of way to attack. She came at me hard, using the length of her arms to minimize my opportunities to counter-riposte. I could only defend, parrying the swings and trying to stay as far away as humanly possible.

Her blade slipped through my defenses, bouncing off my chest plate right next to my sore rib. “Ugh!” I groaned, stepping back. “It had to be right there, didn’t it?” I turned to Chase, hoping he’d seen something. He was still distracted by one of the other matches! “Hey!” I said, giving him an exasperated shrug.

He turned, tapping his arm as if to tell me “Hey, focus on hitting her here.” Then he gave me a thumbs-up.

I stomped the mat angrily, getting back into position and fighting the dull ache in my left leg. The ref shouted “Allez!” and this time I attacked even more sloppily, losing focus and letting my arm carry the blade of the saber in whatever direction my opponent parried. For a while, it seemed to be working, and openings in her defense appeared. I took a point, then another. She came back with a vengeance, evening out the score and then adding three more points. Her blade came high and strong, and with each parry I felt my hand get just a little number, the vibrations of the blade penetrating my glove. There was no opportunity to react, to get in even a quick swipe. I could feel my ears on fire. Every crash of steel on steel made me angrier. I cursed my opponent under my breath, searching desperately for an opportunity to swing right at her long arms.

The opportunity didn’t come. For me, at least. For her? Yeah, she made a pretty good swipe at the top of my sword arm, grazing my shoulder in the process. And even with the protective jacket, it stung.

I turned to Chase, desperate for help. He was still watching one of the other matches. “Hey!” I shouted. “Earth to Chase! What do I have to do to get some help here?”

“Your sword is bent,” Chase said. “Change it.”

I looked at my saber blade. It was a little bent, but I got the meaning: he wanted me to call time-out. I did so, stepping off the mat and taking off my mask, tossing it on the helmet rack. I threw my saber back onto the rack, knocking two sabers right off their perch. I took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm my nerves. And anger. And frustration. And who knows what else.

Chase wheeled beside me. “Hey.”

I didn’t say anything.

“This isn’t life or death right now. This is the first round to determine the rankings for the tournament. If you lose, it doesn’t mean anything. You’ll just have to play tomorrow morning against someone who wins today. That’s all.”

“Oh great,” I said. “So I’ll have to face someone even better than this Austrian chick? Wonderful.”

“Listen.” He looked up at me. “The Austrian chick isn’t going make it past the next round. You know why? Because she’s probably going to get paired with Italy or Japan. You’re the one who’s going to get past the next round. But in order to do that, I need to keep an eye on potential opponents.”

I didn’t say anything. My chest rose and fell briskly.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

“I do,” I said. “I totally do.” I smiled weakly. “I just forget.”

He motioned to the mat. I switched sabers, stepping back into position. I waited, tense, for the referee to give us the go-ahead. Before both syllables of “Allez!” were out of his mouth, I’d taken two quick steps forward. Chase is wrong—I can beat this girl. And I can beat anyone who comes after her. I used every single attack I could remember, focusing on the girl’s long arms to try and turn her advantage into a disadvantage. I beat-parried, aiming for the center of her blade. I remised, continuing each failed attack with an extension of my arm. I kept my steps fast and short, watching her body language to anticipate her moves. I threw everything at her but the kitchen sink.

And I still lost.

Chapter 6

That night, I tested my ethereal form again, lying in bed with my eyes closed, breathing deeply. It took a few moments, but I was sure this time I hadn’t yet fallen asleep. My ethereal form lifted away from the bed, pulling me through the castle, through the foyer’s massive front doors.

OK, let’s test just how much I’m in charge here. This time, I’d like to have a nice little dream about pixies and gumdrops …

But nope! It was back to the lions. Those crazy terrifying giant lions who were doubling as our chauffeurs and were under the “control” of the prince and Sam Grayle, however much a pride of Corrupted could be controlled.

The moment I slipped through the brick walls of the keep, I felt less in control, as if an invisible wind was blowing me to the eastern end of the castle. There, guarding the outer wall of the castle, were the lions, prowling as if defending their territory from some unseen antagonist. Or were they waiting for a certain furry rabbit to return? Briar still wasn’t back yet.

“Just wait,” I told myself, floating above the gravel parking lot, following one of the giant beasts as he skulked between the limos. “Let the dream reveal its purpose.”

There came a crackling sound at the edge of the forest just past the parking lot. The lion’s ear pricked up. He turned his head, searching. In the moonlight, I could see the muscles under his fur tense, ready to attack. His nose tested the air.

The muscles eased. A figure limped out from between a pair of tall pines, flanked by another lion. A lion with a scar.

“Grayle,” I whispered.

He stopped at the edge of the forest, unbuttoning his suit. “Well?” he asked in a low voice. “Must I come to you? Must I risk being seen by whatever surveillance this blasted prince employs around his castle?”

I moved closer, following the sheepish lion as he crossed the parking lot, meeting Grayle at the edge of the dark forest. I kept my distance.

“Thank you,” Grayle said. “I take it you’re all still behaving yourselves?”

The lion nodded.

“You overestimate the Master’s security,” said the scarred lion standing beside Grayle. His glowing gold eyes were narrowed, regarding Grayle with what looked—from a distance, anyway—like a human-like wariness. Without the threat of him attacking me, I could see now that there were more scars on his torso, places where his graying fur hadn’t grown back. I needed to get closer. I needed to see this lion up close. I needed to see just what relationship these two jerks had.

“I wish you wouldn’t call him our master,” Grayle said. “Really. What is he the master of? Us? The world, perhaps? Master of the universe? What?”

The scarred lion didn’t respond. I risked moving closer, but only with caution: I knew lions had a good sense of smell, but if I stayed downwind I could at least minimize any risk—honestly, I had no idea if I gave off a smell at all. The moment I got closer, I regretted it: the scarred lion’s long whiskers twitched once, and he turned right toward me.

But it had been worth it. Because I’d seen the lion’s good eye, the way he was looking down at smug little Sam Grayle. There was hatred in those eyes. Which meant whatever deal the lions had going with Grayle, it wasn’t particularly amicable.

“What is it?” Grayle asked, turning toward me. I floated back a few feet.

“Not sure,” the lion growled. “Maybe nothing.”

“Or maybe something.” Grayle sighed. “Let’s keep it quick, then. What did you learn?”

“The children are not doing well in the tournament.”

“And?”

“The one named Sorin continually harasses us.”

“And?”

“The underground catacombs lead beyond the forest, toward the town.”

“And?”

“The prince’s daughter …”

Grayle cocked his head. “Yes? What of her?”

“She will be his next vessel.”

Grayle smiled. “You’ve finally confirmed this? Now’s not the time to make educated guesses, Scar. I need to know for sure. I have to be certain.”

Scar! What a great name for a creepy lion dude.

The lion named Scar nodded. “The townsfolk fear her. She demanded I take her and her boyfriend into town to explore the merchant quarter. He bought her a necklace. The jeweler nearly died of fright, having her in his store. They sense the prince’s power.”

A necklace! Seth, you bonehead … what are you doing?!

“Interesting. Most interesting.” Grayle began pacing. I floated back a few feet, giving him ample room. He put a finger to his meticulously manicured beard, scratching it with his nail. The sandpapery sound seemed to echo in the forest. “Can we use this to our advantage? No doubt. The question is how.”

“Rapunzel is dead as well. The hero killed her.”

Grayle shrugged. “The Master’s problem, not ours. She was merely a guard, meant to protect the keep. Her part in this story is finished.”

“Remember your promise.”

Grayle stopped. He turned back to Scar. The other lion had moved beside him, sitting on his haunches like Egypt’s Sphinx. “What did you say?”

“Your promise. We want the town of Ukigos.”

“Didn’t I promise to extinguish the flames?” Grayle asked heatedly. “Didn’t I promise to ensure the hero wouldn’t stop you from wreaking your vengeance? I keep my promises, Scar. You should know that by now.”

“I know nothing about you,” Scar said. “Only your story. You saved Snow White. You and your brothers made a selfless act … do you truly believe you’re not capable of it again? I think you are.”

“What are you worried about?” Grayle asked. He buttoned his suit coat and took a deep breath, releasing warm air in a narrow cloud of steam into his cupped hands. He was cold. “Are you worried I’ll have a change of heart, that I’ll try to save the villagers from your terrible vengeance?”

“The Corruption may have made you greedy, but I doubt it’s made you a true monster. Yet.”

“Like you, Scar? And what were you before this? Before the Corruption changed you?”

“Nothing but a prince with a child,” he said. He skulked closer to the trees, weaving his way around the trunk of a young pine with dark green needles. The waning crescent moonlight was too weak to change him back to a human, every so often his human form seemed superimposed on his lion form. “She was my life. But she was not a woman. No, the Brothers Grimm hadn’t let her become one. In the story, they’d said only that my daughter had grown up tall and beautiful. But in those days a child even at the tender age of fifteen was a full-grown woman. And so my daughter was.”

“And she was forced to live out her life as a 15-year-old,” Grayle said, turning to face Scar. “Is that it?”

“It is,” Scar growled. “I played out my part in the tale, and then my daughter and my wife and I sat in our castle and watched the world change. But our daughter … she never changed. She never grew up. Fifteen years old for a hundred years. And then the Corruption took over, turning her into a ferocious little Sphinx, half-lion and half-human. She craved human flesh and riddles.”

“A troubling development,” Grayle said, shifting again so the lion wasn’t at his back. “But you know how teenagers can be.”

“One day,” Scar continued, “she posed a riddle to my wife. She said, There are two sisters; one gives birth to the other, and she in turn gives birth to the first. Who are the two sisters? My wife—still a fair maiden, uncorrupted …” the lion looked down at the snow-covered ground. “She could not answer, and so our daughter consumed her.”

“A Corrupted killing a Corrupted,” Grayle said, tsk-tsking. “A job the hero already has. But what of your interest in this town? Your servants were the ones who terrorized it so long ago, not you.”

Scar stopped. “My daughter had to be hidden away, lest she draw the attention of a hero. I locked her inside a cavern in the hopes that she would never escape.”

“But she did.”

Scar shook his head. “No. I kept close watch, allowing explorers to sometimes find the cave, knowing that what my daughter desired was what all sphinxes desired: riddles. She told them her riddles, and when they couldn’t answer, she killed them. Then one day a hero arrived, as if she’d been drawn to the place by a beacon of light. She killed my daughter with a bow and a magic arrow drawn with that infernal pen. A bow given to her by the townsfolk of Ukigos. A bow that had once belonged the very same hero who had saved the town from my lion servants.”

“The heroes do so love their bows and arrows,” Grayle said with more than a touch of annoyance. “Some relish their power, no doubt. And they are so difficult to kill.”

“All the more reason to punish those who help the hero.”

“Ah.” Grayle raised one devious eyebrow. “And so it all fits, then. You blame the people of Ukigos for the death of your daughter.”

“I have nothing left but vengeance,” Scar snarled. Golden flecks of spittle fell onto the snow-covered ground. “When you have lived this long, what else is left? Love? Happiness? Pleasure? These are the feelings better left for mortals. Happiness is fleeting … I learned that soon enough as the years passed and the world changed but my own flesh refused to age. But anger and vengeance … these are feelings one can carry forever.”

“Feelings that corrupt you,” I whispered.

“Be patient,” Grayle told the lion. “You’ll get your vengeance.”

“What of the hero?” Scar asked. “Are you so sure she’ll play her role in all this?”

“Yes,” Grayle said.

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s the hero,” he said simply.

I felt an unseen force whisk me back toward the castle, leaving the lions and Grayle brooding at the edge of the forest. I passed through the thick castle walls, into the keep, landing at the base of the grand staircase in the foyer. The chandelier’s light was dimmed, as it usually was during the evenings. But at the top of the stairs, I could see clearly that the double-doors leading to the third floor were open. There was something else, too ...

A trail of dirt leading up the stairs.

I woke with a start, tearing the covers off and nearly running out of the room in my pajamas. “No, no, no,” I whispered, hurrying to the dresser and grabbing my black sweatpants and a fresh pair of socks. I put on my athletic shoes, tying the violet laces so tight that they suffocated my ankles. I grabbed the magic pen, stuffing it in my pocket and hurrying into the foyer.

The doors were still open. I took the stairs two at a time, fountain pen clutched in my hand like a knife. The bruise on my leg ached right down to the bone. My palms were sweaty—was this it? Was it time to do battle with whatever the prince was?

Or was it a trap?

Through the doors was a hallway that stretched down to the other side of the keep. The walls were lined with paintings. More battles. More glorious wars that the prince’s ancestors no doubt played a part in. Halfway down the hall was a single cabinet with a flat surface, and perched on top was a single brass lamp with three dim bulbs. I moved closer, inspecting the cabinet. It was old. Old and expensive-looking. Near the top, carved into the dark wood, were ferocious-looking horses rearing up. At the base was a metal plate, and drawn on the plate was a terrifying-looking king on a mighty steed, running down soldiers who were fleeing in terror.

Inside the glass were weapons. Old iron swords with nicked blades and rusted axes and all sorts of other stuff. Stuff that looked like it had been used. A lot.

I walked farther, passing two doors on either side of me. One was open—a bathroom with white tiles and two pink “Castle Vontescue” towels hanging on the rack beside the luxurious shower stall. The other door was closed, but the X-Men decals on the door gave me a pretty good idea of who was in there.

“Definitely not the prince,” I whispered, pausing at the door anyway. But what is your role in all of this, Sanda? What is the role of the prince’s vessel?

I walked to the end of the hall, where another much narrower staircase wrapped around the wall of the keep, turning left at the 45-degree angle. I stopped, drawing a saber into the stone wall, keeping the pen held like a knife in my left hand. There was only a single light on the staircase, a little bare bulb affixed to the wall. The stairs were bare. No red carpet here, folks. No one to impress this far into the prince’s lair—you get this far, you’re probably not going to live to talk about it.

At the top of the stairs was a door. A simple, wooden door with a brass knob and a fat keyhole. I pushed on it and it opened easily enough, swinging back and revealing one large room.

Candles burned along the walls. Hundreds of candles sitting in tall brass candelabras, their flames flickering ever so slightly from the air change as the door swung wide. The room had two windows to my right, each one tall enough for a grown man to fit through but both shut tight to keep out the cold air. A fire roared in the big fireplace to my left, the logs sitting on an ages-old blackened iron grate. The wooden floor was covered by a massive red-and-black Turkish rug, easily the size of my parents’ living room, frayed in the near corner as if someone had rolled it up and then hacked at it with a sword.

… Which I wouldn’t put past this guy.

There was no bed in this room. Just candles, a fireplace, a small desk in one corner, a rack of frightening-looking swords … and two massive piles of pitch-black dirt on the other side of the room.

From one of the piles of dirt sprung a hand. The fingers writhed inside the black glove as the prince pulled himself out. A chill crept over me as he emerged, black granules rolling out of his dark hair. His pale face was stained by the rich, moist dirt. More chunks clung to his black cloak, falling off as he walked over to the desk, pulling one of the sabers from the weapon rack.

I pointed my saber at him, willing my hand to keep from shaking. The candles cast strange shadows over the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling. Shadows of me. Shadows of my saber blade.

But no shadows of the prince. He kept his right hand hidden underneath the cloak; in his left, he clutched the saber, the tip of its blade scraping across the old rug as he skulked closer.

“I knew curiosity would kill you,” he hissed.

Despite my brain’s clear directions to stand my ground, my feet shuffled me backward. Behind me, the door slammed shut.

“You are a strange girl.”

“That’s pretty rich coming from a guy who was hiding in a pile of dirt.”

He cocked his head, moving closer, his black cloak flowing behind him. “You do not move like other humans. At night, humans fight sleep and exhaustion, and their bodies reflect this. But you … you reveal none of this. Are you not tired?”

“I’m super tired.”

Vontescue pointed his blade at my heart, closing his stance so that he was turned slightly sideways. He looked down on me with a look I’d never seen before on anyone, human or Corrupted. It was like a bemused frown, only it was as if the shadows clung to his face and twisted his muscles. He looked ferocious. Impossible. Terrifying.

“These swords,” he said, marveling at the weapons hanging from hooks in the wall, “they have killed kings. Mongol warlords. Ottoman generals. Their iron blades are rusted and stained with blood. Through centuries, I have amassed trophies of death.”

“What are you,” I whispered.

He jumped forward, swinging his saber. Panic gripped my entire body; my hand brought my saber up just in time to deflect the blow, but the strength of the prince nearly caused my own sword to bounce back and hit me right in the head. I spun right, giving myself a good five feet of room and taking a deep breath.

The prince watched with a bemused expression, his dark eyes narrowed as if he was studying a specimen in a glass jar. Note to Alice: you’re the specimen.

“Fight,” he said, twisting his body and stepping closer. He had a good stance. A practiced stance. The kind of stance that takes a long, long time to perfect.

Don’t be intimidated, Alice. Clear your head. Take a deep breath!

I did as my mind commanded. The candles behind the prince became less blurry. My eyes focused on the tall man in front of me, on his posture and his blade and the way his feet were pointed just a little bit too far toward the fireplace.

I attacked, slicing hard toward the left side of his body, feeling the pain in my ribs flare up. I ignored it, swinging again and again. Our blades clanged together. The prince moved left. I followed, stabbing at his stomach, beat-parrying his counter-riposte, slicing again at his chest. Anticipating another attack, I took a quick step back, gaining a few precious microseconds of time before his sword cut through the space between us. I parried left, then right, my heart beating furiously in my ears.

“Is this the best you can offer?” Vontescue asked, locking our blades and coming so close that I could see the deep wrinkles on his forehead, the darkness looming behind his eyes. “Your opponent tomorrow will hound you. She will terrorize you. She will not let you breathe. She will not let you gather your wits.”

He pushed me away, nearly knocking me into one of the tall candelabras. I sidestepped, making my way nearer the fireplace, where the fire could give my eyes some much-needed support. The prince stepped closer, the red light from the flames swallowed by his dark cloak. His left hand swung the saber a few times, dicing the air between us. Flames crackled and warmed the right side of my face.

“You do not know the human condition as I do,” he said. He came at me again, aiming high. A fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through my body, waking up my numb fingers and letting me clutch the hilt of my saber more tightly. I parried the blows one by one, stepping back to avoid a stab to my midsection. “Humans have always been a disease upon this earth. They crave death and destruction, like a drug. They are insatiable.”

I attacked, swinging for his head. When he parried, I stepped back again before he could counter. “Some of us are pretty neat. Maybe deep down, you’ve got some redeeming quality, too.”

The prince scoffed. “You must know by now what I am.”

“You’re the Malevolence,” I said, taking the offensive again, driving him back a step. I swung high, then aimed for his wrist, nearly cutting him. But he flicked his blade downward, ensuring that I only nicked the edge of his black glove, slicing the leather.

“I am that which existed before the dawn of man,” he said, standing tall and piercing me with his dark eyes. He slid left, his cloak flowing hypnotically behind him like a piece of fabric floating underwater. “I seek to return this planet to the way it once was, without your parasitic species.”

“So you helped the Brothers Grimm bring their stories to life,” I said, swinging low again. This time, he stepped out of the way. I surged forward, swinging at his head and nearly dropping my sword when he parried hard. “You gave them black magic. Why?”

“Because my powers are limited,” Vontescue said, stepping back. He lowered his sword, moving swiftly to dodge another swipe of my blade. “But the human imagination … ah, what a wonder that is! The Brothers Grimm could create thousands of tales, bring them to life, and the creatures therein could wipe out humanity. Do you see now?”

“You knew the fairy tale creatures would become Corrupted,” I said. “And you hoped the Corrupted would wipe out humanity.”

The prince smiled.

“I’m not going to let that happen!” I shouted, swinging high. The prince met my attack and our blades clanged together with a deafening crack. We both fell back a step.

“I’m aware of your tenacity,” Vontescue said. “I have been from the start. I apologize for the deception, but I was curious about your abilities. In all honesty, I’d been quite sure that devilish wizard was going to fulfill my wishes.”

“Agnim,” I whispered. “But … if you want humanity destroyed, why have you protected the people of Agnosara for so many hundreds of years?”

“The people serve their purposes,” Vontescue said simply. “I am not an all-powerful entity or I would have wiped humanity out myself. I have … limits.”

“Weaknesses is more like it,” I said.

The prince held out his blade, examining it. It was old, nicked in places, little flecks of rust reflecting the firelight. “The duel is a curious thing. Man pitted against man, while people watch at a safe distance. They strike each other …” He stepped forward, swinging low. I parried awkwardly, stepping to my right. “… And the duel often ends quickly, one man run through or grievously injured. Or sometimes it is a woman.” He stabbed at my stomach, then followed through with a quick slash toward my head. My blade was too low to meet his, so I ducked, losing my balance and falling onto the floor.

I scrambled to my feet, taking a deep breath. The bruise on my leg had begun to throb.

“There was a woman who once dazzled the fencing world,” Vontescue said, stepping closer. He swung low, then high, forcing me back again. “By the age of seventeen, she was besting some of the most talented soldiers in the French army. Her name was Julie d’Aubigny, and her exploits spread throughout France like wildfire. Her first two duels were a tragic joke. The first man she challenged refused to fight, and so she took his watch and paraded around town wearing it on her wrist. The second man who insulted her was forced to beg forgiveness or be cut down by her sword.”

“My kind of woman,” I said, swinging low and then thrusting the blade at the prince’s midsection. He parried, stepping away from the fireplace. We were in the center of the room now, where the shadows were at their strongest. It felt almost magnetic, as if the darkness was pulling at me and enticing me to lower my weapon.

“D’Aubigny’s most famous moment came when she attended a party dressed as a man,” Vontescue continued, “wooing the women and insulting a trio of nobles who promptly challenged her. She accepted the challenge and met the men on a Paris street. The lamps were not yet lit for the night and so they had only the full moon to illuminate their battle. D’Aubigny dispatched all three men, then returned to the party and let the host know where he could find them.”

He attacked with a violent slice aimed at my neck, then lowered his body and aimed for my stomach. I parried both blows, feeling the tip of his blade run across the fabric of my sweater. I risked a glance down—the shirt was undamaged. My heart raced. The flames of the hundreds of candles had begun to blur once again. Only the prince seemed clear. He was a shadow, then a man, then a shadow again as he stepped closer. He moved with an inhuman fluidity.

The prince continued: “D’Aubigny, like others before her, was obsessed with the search for a perfect thrust. It was a myth, something no swordsman has ever found. It was said that the perfect thrust was a single fencing move so perfect that it was indefensible. It guaranteed victory no matter who the opponent was, no matter his skill level, no matter how he chose to parry it. Duelers for centuries obsessed over this guarantee of victory, never succeeding in finding it.”

I swept forward, breathing deep, bringing my sword down on the prince’s head and then sweeping my blade low after he parried. I swept my blade back across his chest, using every ounce of strength in my arm, the muscles screaming out with a fiery pain. I took another deep breath, attacking again, reversing my strikes, hoping and praying that he would leave me an opening. But his parries were all impeccable, and the dancing shadows played tricks on my eyes.

“You fence like a warrior who senses death,” Vontescue said, groaning as he beat-parried my last strike. I nearly lost my grip on my saber, feeling it slip a bit in my sweaty hand. I stepped back, unable to continue my attack.

I was tired. I was afraid.

“You believe this is the end and so you fight with your back to the wall,” he continued. “It’s served you well thus far but it will not help you any longer.”

His face suddenly changed, all calmness dripping away, replaced by that same ferocious look he’d shown me before. Now I could see the candles’ flames reflected in his eyes. He came at me hard, swinging furiously, each attack a little calculated chunk of fury, pushing me back again and again, our blades clanging together so loud that it stung my eardrums. I tried beat-parrying but instead of forcing his blade to bounce back, it was my weapon that bounced back, the dull side of the blade hitting my shoulder.

He was using my own strength against me. Magnifying his intensity.

I fell back into one of the candelabras; my left hand dropped the pen, instinctively grabbing the intricate base of the candlestick holder and throwing it at the prince. He snarled, falling back to avoid the candle flames. I picked up the pen and put it in my pocket, stepping right to put some distance between us.

“Clever,” he mused, kicking aside the candelabra before the candles’ flames could ignite the old rug. The candles rolled along the floor, leaving a trail of white wax.

I grabbed another candelabra, gripping it by its base. I swung it at him, sending droplets of hot wax onto his cloak. The candles flickered, their orange light playing over the prince’s hard features. His eyes narrowed.

“You think the flame will protect you?” With his right hand, he swept back his cloak. All of the candles along the wall went out, including the three at the end of the candelabra I was still clutching. The prince clung to the shadows, stepping to my right. With only the soft red glow of the dying embers in the fireplace, the prince’s body seemed free to be one with the darkness, moving inside it as if it was a part of him. There was no way to attack. I could barely even keep my eyes on his tall form as it slid through the shadows.

“I am the cold wind that snuffs the flame,” he whispered, his voice echoing in the room. “I am the pitch-blackness that haunts your darkest thoughts.”

“I can’t—”

He suddenly emerged from the darkness, each blow pushing me back. I parried. The muscles in my arm were threatening to give up at any moment. My heart beat in my ears between the clangs of steel. Fear gripped me like it never had before and choked the air from my lungs, squeezing my throat.

Ferocious intensity contorted his face. “You must not fear death,” the prince hissed, swinging again. “You must look between your opponent’s strokes and find a place to strike!”

I beat-parried, willing all of the energy I had left into one last, desperate attack. I swung high, then thrust the blade at the prince’s heart. He parried, but left an opening on the right side of his chest. I sliced my blade that way but he parried again, not with his blade but with his right hand, pulling it out from under his cloak.

He closed the gap between us, thrusting his saber into my left shoulder.

I braced myself. The tip of the saber pressed against my skin. My entire body felt numb, expecting death. I thought of Chase. I thought of how badly I wished I’d just said goodbye and kissed him one last time.

A dull pain spread over my shoulder. Not the piercing pain I was expecting. The prince was impossibly close now, his right hand still clutching my blade. His right hand … there was no glove. The sharp edge of my blade had cut two of his fingers. I watched in terror as they cracked like chunks of dry clay, crumbling to the ground and leaving only two black shadows in their place. It was as if I’d cut the fingers off a statue, only inside the fingers there’d been some kind of glue holding them in place. The strange oil-like blackness had spread up his arm, eating away at the fabric of his shirt, covering his pale skin like paint.

The tip of his saber pressed harder into my shoulder. But it still didn’t pierce my skin. I looked down. The tip was dull. So was the edge of the blade.

“Tomorrow, you face Hungary in the tournament,” the prince said through gritted teeth, spittle flying out. “She will attack you relentlessly, just as her ancestors attacked me. She has the blood of kings in her veins. Relentless, foul and forgotten kings who thought they could rule over me and my servants.”

The tip of the blade was digging into my muscle. It hurt. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth. For once, I had no wisecrack.

“You cannot fence the way you fight Corrupted.” He brought his face close, his sharp nose nearly touching mine. I could smell rotten meat on his breath. “You cannot fear death. In a fencing duel, it is only the first strike that counts. Let your opponent strike you … simply ensure you strike her first.”

He pushed me back, holding his left arm up and marveling at his mangled hand. He flexed his fingers. The two shadow fingers bent just like his regular fingers. A terrible realization hit me: The Malevolence is the shadow, Alice! The body is just a shell!

“In two days, there will be a new moon,” Vontescue said. He was breathing heavily, his body slumped just a bit.

Not all-powerful. A dark force trapped inside a very human body. Remember that, Alice.

“We will meet again and finish this. But tomorrow … tomorrow, you must take your glory!” His three human fingers and two shadow fingers curled into a fist. “Dispatch the Hungarians just as I did hundreds of years ago. Taste the sweetness of victory and savor it, for it will not last.”

The door to the staircase flew open, snuffing out half the candles in the room. Suddenly the prince looked twice as large, and I could feel my own shadow drawn to him, tugging at my feet. I turned, hurrying to the staircase, running down the hall, back to my room.

I shut the door behind me, locking it. But the lock didn’t matter. The prince was waiting for something …

A new moon.

Chapter 7

We took the limos into town early the next morning, only instead of going straight to the arena, we went to the practice facility next door. Chase kept us from the boys, who were about as pumped as could be. They’d all won on the first round, and Mr. Whitmann—clueless about the Jump—was ecstatic because it meant they would get to play against some of the weakest fencers in the tournament’s first “official” round.

“Just keep it up!” he said, pacing beside their practice mat as they faced off two at a time. “Crap, don’t listen to me. You know what you’re doing. Swing those swords like your lives depend on it!”

Chase was in a cooler mood, keeping us off the mat while he looked over a notepad full of scribbles. On the other side of the practice facility, South Korea’s team was stretching out, doing a little workout routine that had them alternating between jumping jacks and push-ups. They were all wearing the same black shorts and white t-shirts with their flag displayed prominently on the chest.

“I bet they’ve been here since dawn,” Margaret said. She was nervously wringing a napkin between her fingers.

“No one has to face them in the second round,” Chase murmured. “So don’t worry about them.”

“I’m tired,” Jasmine said. “Can’t we have a cup of coffee or something? I need caffeine.”

“There’s bottles of soda in the limo,” Chase said. “Drink half a bottle, then have some water, too. You don’t want to jack yourself up on caffeine before the match. It’s just going to make you more nervous.” He looked up at Margaret. “Especially you.”

“Chase, what about the Jump?” Jasmine asked. “What if we all took half a pill, you know? Just so we can fight our nerves?”

Chase ignored her. “Margaret and Rachel are up first.” While they put on their masks and the old fencing uniforms, he wheeled over to me. “Hey. You OK?”

“Of course,” I said, uncrossing my arms. They’d been crossed ever since we’d arrived. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You haven’t said two words this morning. You forgot to do your hair up in a ponytail. You didn’t eat the cereal Sorin laid out for us this morning, although I guess I don’t blame you for that. You’re also paler than the prince.”

The last word sent a whole bunch of crazy images into my head. Images of shadows and little dancing flames. I leaned over, kissing him on the lips. Images of his death replaced the shadows. I kissed him harder, forcing my head to clear.

“Uh … do you guys need a minute?” Margaret asked.

“He’s ready,” I said, pushing his shoulder. He wheeled toward the mat.

“OK,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hold on. Let me … just gimme a minute.” He looked over his notes, flipping the page. “OK, now listen. You’re both facing off against girls from Japan. You can’t let them follow through on their attacks. You need to beat-parry to disrupt them and then you need to take the offensive.”

“Why?” Rachel asked.

“Because they have patterns,” Chase said, wheeling beside the mat. “They have each attack sequence planned out four strikes in advance. It all builds up to those last few strikes—that’s when they expect you to leave them openings they can exploit.”

“So we have to stop them?” Margaret asked. “Chase, come on! Make sense, bro.”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “OK. It’s like a video game. Your opponent is going to punch you two times, then kick you two times, then perform a super move. If you just keep blocking, what’s going to happen?”

“She’s going to perform the super move and kill me,” Rachel answered with more than a little enthusiasm.

Chase nodded. “So your job is to hit her before she performs her super move. Let’s practice. Margaret, I want you to attack Rachel’s chest two times, then her stomach two times. Rachel, your job is to beat-parry and counter-attack before Margaret can finish her sequence.”

Margaret began her series of attacks. Rachel parried once, then beat-parried, her thin foil blade clanging hard against Margaret’s and leaving an opening for Rachel to stab Margaret right in the chest.

They both turned and looked at Chase. He had a hard look of determination on his face, allowing only a half-satisfied nod. It was damned sexy.

“Switch roles,” he ordered.

Rachel attacked and Margaret parried, waiting until the very last strike this time before the opportunity to beat-parry arose. Rachel being bigger and tougher, the beat-parry didn’t leave much of an opening … but Margaret’s speed ensured she didn’t need one. She stabbed Rachel in the left ribs.

“Again,” Chase ordered. “Margaret, switch it up. Plan out an attack sequence ahead of time. Rachel, anticipate the plan.” They did it again. And again. And again. Every time, their beat-parries got more intense. Every time, they grew more confident. Jasmine, sitting beside me, grabbed my hand and squeezed. We watched, enraptured, pretty positive that if we’d just walked in, we never would have thought these two masked fencers were from our team.

“OK, stop.” Chase flipped a page in his notes. “After you take down Japan, Rachel is going to be matched up against Germany and Margaret is going to be matched up against England. We need to prep for them.”

I laughed an excited laugh, snorting a bit.

Chase turned, his face still dead serious. “You’re next, sweetheart.”

Later, when we walked into the arena, we strode with all the confidence of a team that felt destined to win.

Seriously, we strutted. We had the walk, and that included Chase. In the tunnel, he’d handed off the wheelchair to Mr. Whitmann, opting instead for the forearm crutches. He took his time and so did we, giving the crowd a nod as we lined up to greet the judges, chomping on peppermint gum. The European synth techno music thumped deep inside our bodies like a pulse of energy.

We can do this.

I looked over at Chase, smiling. He didn’t return the smile. His face was pure game mode: eyebrows knotted together, jaw clenched, lips pressed tightly together. I looked at Jasmine and she gave me a knowing nod. We clenched our jaws, frowning and doing our best Chase impression. For a moment, I forgot all about the Malevolence.

Our time together will come soon enough. Think of this as practice, Alice. Practice for your re-match with the prince.

The music stopped. The arena’s spotlights stopped swirling. The judges took their seats behind their scoring tables. The crowd, for just a moment, quieted. Then the chants picked up. Chants for each country. And from our little section, where Mrs. Satrapi and Seth and Sanda were sitting, there was a small but audible “U.S.A.” cry. They doubled their volume when my name was announced on the loudspeaker. I would be going first, against a Hungarian opponent who had no doubt popped a Jump pill earlier in the morning.

Chase followed me to the equipment table.

“You remember what you’re doing?”

“Make an invitation,” I said, grabbing a helmet. “Leave an opening high for her to attack. Use my speed.”

“What else?”

“Bind her blade,” I said, grabbing one of the sabers. “Push her attack down and move in with a quick swipe to her chest.” I turned to him, concerned. “Chase! Get your wheelchair. Please.”

He shook his head. “Not till you win.”

I turned to the mat. The Hungarian girl was already there, connecting the wires on the back of her helmet to the little battery pack around her waist. She was big; I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was using something more than Jump. A quick flicker of worry ran through my body—she’s got an unfair advantage. How can I compete with that?

I turned back to Chase. He was sweating, but his game face was still on. He had a far-off look in his eyes, like he could already see the match in progress and was watching it play out in the future. “Do it, dragon slayer.”

“Dragon slayer,” I said, stepping onto the mat. “I kinda like that.”

The Hungarian and I tapped blades, then got into our stances. The moment the referee cried “Allez!” she was nearly on top of me. I parried frantically, my eyes trying to adjust to the wire mesh of the fencing mask. It was harder to see out of this one compared to the practice mask. It was heavier, too, and a little uncomfortable around my neck. I had about a million other excuses, too, but I don’t think my opponent cared one bit.

She scored the first point. Then the second.

“Come on!” Chase called out. “Remember what we practiced!”

Use your brain, Alice. Slow this match down.

I took my time getting back into position. Instead of staring at the hulking frame in front of me, I focused instead on what I needed to do to get my opening.

Bind her. Keep an opening high, then push her blade low and go in for the kill.

I lowered my blade a bit. Just a bit. I let my breaths come fast, giving the impression I was fighting exhaustion already.

Let’s see just how cocky you are, sweetheart.

“Allez!” the referee shouted.

She came at me again, attacking high. I anticipated it, my saber already coming up and inside. Instead of deflecting the blade upward, I brought it down and quickly swiped at her arm.

Point for Alice.

Chase cheered. There was more cheering, too, and it could have been for anyone competing at the moment but I soaked it in anyway, then forced the smile off my face. Game mode, dragon slayer. Game mode.

I got back into my stance, this time giving her an opening low-inside.

Let’s see if you’ll bite again.

“Allez!” the referee shouted.

My opponent thrust her blade at my stomach, aiming for the sweet spot inside. I swung high, parrying and pushing her blade away from her body just enough to move in and tap her stomach.

Behind the mask, I couldn’t help but smile.

Fight number two came four grueling hours later. We’d all won, boys and girls. And while the boys didn’t seem all that surprised at their success, we girls were positively dumbstruck.

“Clear your heads,” Chase said, wheeling beside the bleachers where we were all sitting. He’d returned to his wheelchair between matches. “No more talk about how surprised you are to still be here. We’re almost up again.”

Seth leaned over the aluminum rail dividing the spectators from the fencers. “Yeah, you should probably listen to Chase from here on out. He seems to know what he’s talking about.”

“Congratulations, Alice,” Sanda said, reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder. I had to fight the urge to flinch.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. Also: do you realize your father is some kind of pure evil shadow creature? Are you in on this somehow?

I caught Seth’s eye. He was giving me a dirty look—had I been that obvious?

“Excuse me,” Sanda said, standing. “It is nearly three and Seth is surely getting hungry.”

“Thank you!” he called out after her. He turned back to me, still with the dirty look. “Don’t look at her like that.”

“What?” I asked innocently.

“That look. You don’t know anything for sure.”

Before I could weakly defend myself, Jasmine stretched her back with a loud groan. “To be honest, I’m glad we’re up again. Sitting around waiting just made my entire body cramp up.”

“I thought you might,” Mrs. Satrapi said. She reached over her daughter’s shoulder, handing her a small round green case. “Rub this balm on your muscles, honey. And share it with everyone.”

Jasmine looked at it, then at me. Her dark face turned a subtle shade of red. “Mother, please. Please, mother. Please. I can’t think about slimy balm right now. I’m focused.”

Mrs. Satrapi looked at me, then Seth. He shrugged. “I’ll have some balm. I dunno.” While he applied the slimy green stuff to his ridiculously dry elbows, he chastised me some more: “Just give her the benefit of the doubt. Please. I love the girl.”

“I’ll try,” I said. “Only because you’re my best friend.”

Near the other side of the arena two of the last fencing pairs had finished and shook hands. Italy’s girls were creaming their competition in every match. France was doing pretty much the same thing.

“Alice, you’re up first,” Chase said. “Remember what we talked about. Keep your stance tight. Don’t invite openings.”

“Right,” I said, hopping off the bleachers and stretching both my legs. I let the cheers from my teammates invigorate me. My shoulder had begun acting up, and my left leg muscle was beginning to throb, but my ribs had thankfully cooperated so far. No telling how bad they’ll be tomorrow morning, though.

“Not worth thinking about now,” I whispered, walking over to the equipment table and grabbing a helmet. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer called my name, then Park Young-Soo, my opponent. The arena’s spectators applauded politely, with a little extra effort coming from South Korea’s small fan section and the U.S.A.’s even smaller section.

I took the most well-balanced saber available, then made my way to the mat. Park took her sweet time, hefting a few different sabers in her hand before finally deciding. She was calculated and deliberate, just as Chase had said.

“En garde!” the referee cried out. I formed my stance, extending my saber blade in front of my body. I needed to have a perfect form. No giving Park any openings—she wasn’t like the Hungarian girl, according to Chase. Park was quicker, more fluent, and she would go after my arms any chance she got. She had a slew of go-to attacks.

“Allez!”

Park gave me the right-of-way. I made a feint, aiming for her upper body but not following through on the attack. She fell for it, parrying upward. I drew my blade down, slashing her across the stomach and scoring a point.

We got back into position. My feet were tingling, ready to propel my body forward. The adrenaline silenced the soreness in my left leg. I took short breaths, aware of the tense ache forming in my ribs. Brush it away, Alice. Don’t think about it.

“Allez!”

We came at each other at the same time. Park parried my first attack, then saw her opening, slicing her blade across my arm.

“Yipes,” I muttered, stepping back. That attack had come faster than I’d expected. And the cut had been precise—she’d had to hit my forearm, and that was right where she put her blade. It was as if she wasn’t wearing the mesh mask at all, unhindered by its enclosure.

We got in place again. In just a handful of seconds, she’d scored three more points, all of them precise strikes aimed right where I was most vulnerable. I stepped off the mat, bending the blade of my saber a few times. Checking myself. What was I doing wrong? Chase had this girl’s style mapped out. I knew what to do, but I couldn’t execute.

“You’re fighting like your life is in danger,” I whispered. My hot breath bounced off the mask. My heart raced. My skin felt hot and prickly. I took off the mask, glancing up into the bleachers, searching for the prince. But all I could see were the hot, white lights shining down from the rafters. I could still feel where he’d dug the dull tip of his saber into my shoulder. If it had been sharp …

I put the mask back on and stepped onto the mat. Park gave me a brisk nod, getting back into position.

“She’s not going to kill you,” I told myself. “She’s going to swing her blade, and if it hits you it might hurt a little, but it’s not going to kill you, Alice.”

“En garde,” the referee announced.

“Just hit her first,” I hissed. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, resting atop my left eyebrow.

“Allez!” the referee shouted.

Park came at me fast, aiming at my upper body. Our blades met again and again, and it seemed as if the clang of steel was ten times louder than anyone else’s. I took a step back, then forced my nervous body forward after a successful beat-parry. Her blade bounced away from her body and there it was, my moment to attack. I pushed aside the nagging voice telling me to hold off and thrust my blade at Park’s heart. Knowing she couldn’t defend in time, she brought her blade down on my outstretched arm.

Both our helmets’ lights went off. The referee turned to the judges. They conferred behind the little black computer monitor, then announced something in another language.

“Point for U.S.,” the referee announced.

I celebrated with a quick fist pump. I could do this. I could win.

And I did.

To say we were rambunctious during dinner was an understatement. We were flat-out ecstatic. We’d all won our matches, boys included. Mr. Whitmann had burst into tears twice before the main course was even served.

“To the U.S. team,” he said, lifting his glass of wine and getting a little teary-eyed again. “I’m in awe. It was like watching Jedi flinging their lightsabers around. It was like, like a freaking movie! I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m going to have to do push-ups just to sleep tonight.”

We lifted our glasses of orange juice, clinking them together. There was a temporary truce between the boys and girls, and even Chase couldn’t fight a grin from creeping up his mouth.

“I am amazed as well,” Mrs. Satrapi said, one hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I feel as if you’re all unbeatable!”

“We are unbeatable,” Scott said with a devilish grin. His fingers drummed quickly on the table. “It’s like … it’s like we’re destined or something. Right? Destined!”

“Destined,” Miguel said, giving his compatriot a high-five. His leg bounced under the table. All of the boys had nervous ticks. So much energy that they just couldn’t sit still anymore.

The waiters brought out herb-crusted roast chicken and honey glazed carrots. The smell of the chicken made my mouth water—just a hint of smokiness, plus spices and cranberry stuffing. The boys started devouring everything in a matter of moments, demanding two more plates of bread even before Sanda and I got our first course.

“They’re going to choke if they inhale any faster,” Margaret murmured. She glanced over at Sanda. “Where’s your dad? Be honest: is he sick of eating with these pigs?”

Sanda giggled. “No, I fear my father is a bit … under the weather, as you say. This day took a lot out of him. But he insisted on watching you all fight. He would not leave until you’d won. He said he was especially pleased to see Alice dispatch the Hungarian.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Margaret told her with genuine cheerfulness. “You’re a sweet gal.”

Sanda blushed a bit. “It’s really so nice having company. We so rarely have company in this place.”

I turned to Seth. He sighed, glancing down at his untouched chicken. He knew what he had to do. And I knew he didn’t want to do it. I knew he was serious about the whole “love” thing, but we needed to know where she stood. If she was in danger, we needed to protect her. And if she was helping the Malevolence …

I needed a lot of information, and soon. Time was almost out.

Chapter 8: Briar

Nothing would have pleased me more than to return in time to see Alice wipe the floor with her fencing opponents. Unfortunately, my travels in Hungary required a bit more time than expected. There was mayhem! And Terror! And threatening motorized vehicles! But yours truly was quite careful, and clever, and escaped unscathed.

In other words, I was successful.

See, it turned out those symbols I found most definitely did not belong to the prince, nor was it likely he was the one who carved them into his precious castle towers. How do I know this, you may ask? Why, because those symbols are part of a magic spell.

Specifically, a seal.

As in a we-don’t-want-this-terrifying-prince-leaving-the-castle seal. And given the history of the Malevolence, I’m hardly surprised. From what information I could gather in Ukigos’s library, it appears this happened quite recently, around the very same time the Brothers Grimm brought their stories to life. Many of the details are lost, but I’ll recount what I know for sure …

Sometime around 1812, a powerful Hungarian cleric grew suspicious of the prince residing within Castle Vontescue. I know not what tipped him off (the evil, perhaps?), but this cleric got it in his head that the prince of Castle Vontescue—a descendant of Leo, its current inhabitant—was not entirely human.

Well! Rather than sit around waiting for evil to happen, this particular cleric decided it would be best to pin the monster inside its own castle using a spell that required four magical symbols, also known as wards. In order to activate the magic, the wards had to be written carefully, and all four needed to be used. They’re like a string of old Christmas lights … if one bulb is missing the rest don’t work.

Cue the battle music! Imagine this: the cleric and hundreds of his holiest warriors, dead set upon one mission: to infiltrate Castle Vontescue and provide the cleric with enough time to complete his spell. Oh, it was no doubt a terrifying ordeal. The Malevolence had plenty of loyal followers—and an entire town of devoted folk—who held off the charging warriors with a variety of grisly swords and muskets, tossing stones and boiling oil over the castle walls. The holy warriors charged again and again, hindered by a torrential thunderstorm.

Three hours passed. Finally, with more than half of his army destroyed, the cleric infiltrated the castle and set about casting the spell. Still, it was no easy task, as more of the Malevolence’s loyal followers poured out of the keep. The cleric’s warriors fought bravely, giving their lives to buy the cleric more time.

Then the Malevolence got involved.

There is only one account of this moment, written hastily down in the diary of one of the few surviving warriors and left to gather dust in the “fiction” section of Ukigos’s library. The relevant passage is only two sentences long, but I swear to you it chilled me right to the bone, from toe to ear:

And then the creature emerged from the keep, and it was clear he was no man at all but something far worse. And with one sweep of his sword, he cut down five valiant knights who had been tasked with protecting the cleric.

The Malevolence’s effort was in vain: the cleric had finished his spell, having climbed the last tower just as I had so many nights ago. When he was finished writing the last symbol, he leapt from the tower, falling to his death and ensuring that the Malevolence would never be able to wrench the secrets of the spell from him.

Heroism indeed.

And now that very spell is what binds the Malevolence to his castle. Sure, he can leave it still—it’s not a perfect spell, unfortunately—but the longer he’s away from his castle, the weaker he becomes. So he’s stuck, in a way. More importantly, we know these symbols have immense power. While trapped by the symbols, the Malevolence must inhabit a body … or he would perish.

I suspect it’s no coincidence that this happened shortly after the Brothers Grimm brought their stories to life. Perhaps the cleric was even involved in assigning a hero. Perhaps the cleric tracked the Malevolence back to Castle Vontescue. Perhaps I’m wrong and merely being melodramatic. I have been known for it, of course.

Now, where was I before I digressed? Ah, yes! Back to our story.

I returned to the castle in the early evening, having ensured I was not followed by those lions who were quite intent on having rabbit for dinner. To avoid detection, I climbed the western end of the castle wall, choosing a particularly worn-down area where the stones had begun to crumble away. Being more concerned about my own welfare, I nearly bumped right into Little Miss Darkness herself.

Sanda.

Oh, I kid, I kid … she was hardly a force of evil, that much I could tell simply by looking at her. But I suspected I was in the minority … along with Seth, who at that very moment was foolishly trying to explain exactly why he’d been so concerned about his beloved’s father. I’d no doubt entered the scene en media res—in the middle of the action—and could only speculate as to how Seth had broached the subject of the prince’s evil auspices.

“I … OK, there’s this dark power, right? No. Hold on. OK, remember how in Star Wars there’s the Sith Lords … no, wait. This is more like Lord of the Rings …”

And on and on he went. It was all quite dizzying.

“Listen,” Sanda said, one mitten already on the door leading into the southwest tower. She’d dressed nice for him underneath her heavy coat, obvious by the beautiful blue dress covering her legs. She’d at least been wise enough to wear a pair of leggings underneath—wiser than most of the teenagers on Alice’s fencing team who insisted on wearing nothing but sweatshirts when they traveled to and fro.

Also, perhaps just as important: Seth’s cheeks and Sanda’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, indicating they had no doubt been outside for some time.

“What you say makes no sense, Seth! My father … my father a …”

“Possibly a malevolent evil force as old as time itself,” Seth finished. “Possibly.”

“Seth …” she shook her head. She was wearing a pink hat pulled over her ears to stave off the cold. Seth, meanwhile, had no such head protection and the poor fool’s ears were as red as turnips.

“Listen, I know it sounds crazy. And you don’t have to believe me. You don’t! Just … just take a precaution for now. Keep your eyes open. Keep your distance from the prince. Just for a couple days, until we can clear all of this up.”

Sanda seemed to seriously consider it, then shook her head. “Prince Leo raised me, Seth! I was an orphan before he came along. I was doomed to live in a little house with dozens of other kids, always hungry, always thirsty, never taken care of. Our headmaster took donated money and spent it on himself. The older kids stole the younger kids’ food. I remember days when I had to search other kids’ dressers for socks. Leo rescued me, Seth! I owe him everything.”

“But maybe, like, he did it for evil purposes …” He turned in my direction. His eyes went wide. “Briar! Holy crap, OK Sanda, I’m going to prove it to you right now. Briar, go ahead and make yourself visible.”

I cringed, shaking my head.

Seth’s jaw dropped. He turned to Sanda. “Look. He’s just shy …”

“Who?!” she asked, her mittens clenched into little fists of fury.

“Briar!” Seth exclaimed. “He’s a giant rabbit. He’ll explain everything and then you’ll know I’m totally not crazy. Briar, go ahead.”

I shook my head again.

“Seth.” Sanda sighed, opening the door. “I am sorry, but I must go.”

“Wait …” He reached out, as if he had the power to pull her back with sheer willpower. I say, it was a powerfully dramatic action, however fruitless. He sighed and sat on the battlement. “Thanks, pal.”

“Er ...” I sat beside him on the cold stone. “Seth. In my experience, revealing myself has been known to create more questions, not answers. And also, I am under strict orders not to reveal myself to anyone.”

He took off his gloves, blowing into them. “Maybe it would have been a bad idea anyway. Crap, Briar, did I just blow it?”

“You could have been more diplomatic, I suppose. But from what I’ve learned about human love, it’s too powerful a force to be sidetracked by something so meager as potential patricide.”

Seth snickered, sniffing in. “I guess you’re right. But she’s so awesome, Briar! I didn’t know chicks could be so cool. That’s the curse of having dated someone so different from me for so long, I guess.”

I put an arm on his shoulder. “Did she give you back that necklace you bought her?”

“No …”

“Well! That says something. Don’t give up without a fight, friend.”

“I won’t.”

“And …” I pointed one paw at his neck. “It also appears you are suffering from an outbreak of lipstickitis.”

He laughed, rubbing Sanda’s pinkish lipstick off his neck. “The night wasn’t a total loss, I guess.”

We sat, staring up at the stars for a bit. “I’m glad there are no giant lions inside the castle,” I said finally.

“Alice says they patrol the area. Looking for you, probably.”

“Hardly possible. I’ve been chased by worse. Oh!” I clapped my paws together. “Do you want to know what those mysterious symbols mean?”

Seth sighed and shook his head. “No … I think I’m just gonna try and sit this one out, pal. My mind’s mush right now. All I can think about is Sanda.”

“I understand, my boy.”

He turned to me. “Do you?”

I tried to fight the twitch of whiskers, but it was for naught. “No. I admit I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Seth sighed again. “It’s like having your chest in a vice grip while your brain just keeps flashing through images of one thing. One person.” He leaned back against the stone parapet. “I just hope everything works out. I’d hate for the world to end before I can ask Sanda to marry me.”

“Me too, my friend. Me too.” I looked up at the darkness between the stars, not quite certain a happy ending was possible in this cursed place.

Chapter 9: Alice

No weird hero’s dream, thankfully. But that didn’t stop me from going into full ghost mode for a little while after everyone went to sleep. I did what I’d been doing the last few nights, getting as comfortable as I could and then willing my ethereal form out of my body. It was strange at first, but after a few moments the dream-like feeling took over and I felt more in control of Ghost Alice. It was as if I could meditate myself into this out-of-body experience, and then as my physical body went into Sleep Mode, my ethereal form became easier for me to control. Unfortunately, as made apparent by my run in with those lion creeps, it also rendered my physical self susceptible to injury.

Fun stuff.

I went to the kitchen, not surprised to see Sorin there, sitting on a wooden stool beside the cutting table and eating something from a plate that looked a lot like his last meal: brown, chunky, and wet. I shuddered as I turned back to the magnets on the refrigerator. It was such a homely thing to do, adding a bunch of local restaurant magnets. Something Sanda was capable of … not the prince.

And the magnets … now there was something interesting. Iron, cobalt and nickel are magnetic, and all magnetism is caused by electrons, those tiny little things I remembered from chemistry. Magnets are a set of microscopic crystal domains with aligned electron spins. Complicated? Yes. But pictures help. Imagine a piece of iron with lots of little arrows pointed in every direction. That’s not a magnet. A magnet is a piece of iron with lots of little arrows pointing in the same direction.

But the refrigerator magnets were something special. Their little arrows were pointed in different directions—left, up, right, down—so that only the back side was magnetic. The front side could then be painted with the colorful logo of the local goulash café.

Then of course Sanda could call for a delivery, and some poor deliveryman would have to make the drive to this spooky location and hopefully not be killed.

But what about the prince’s weapons? They were all old, made of iron or steel (iron plus carbon, plus some other stuff). Something told me that I was going to need every advantage I could possibly take to take down the Malevolence.

Sorin burped, giggling like a child. I left the kitchen and patrolled the exterior of the castle, searching for any signs of Corrupted. But they were gone, no golden trails to be seen, no mysterious force pulling me one way or another. And so I had a prime opportunity to further test my strange dream powers by cautiously letting Ghost Alice disappear.

Normal Sleep Mode took over, and I found myself back in a good old-fashioned nonsense dream, go-kart driving clowns and all. Gawd, how I missed the nonsense dreams.

I woke a half hour early, showering and giving myself plenty of time to stretch out my sore muscles. There was a dull pain in my ribs, and the bruise on my leg had turned from blue to mottled purple and greenish brown, like some kind of alien mold growing under my skin. I spent plenty of time in the shower, gathering my thoughts. Steeling myself. Trying to condense all of the pain all over my body into one tiny little bubble that I could pop.

“Today’s the day,” I told Briar after I’d dressed and put on a bit of makeup. He’d spent the night splayed out in front of the door like a guard dog. A guard dog with three of the bed’s four pillows.

“Indeed.” He yawned, stretched, and rolled onto his back. “I must say, sleeping on this hard floor seems to have done wonders for my back.”

“Maybe I should try that, too. If we survive the night.”

“Confidence!” Briar said, one paw clenched in a fist.

“Yeah,” I said, putting on my violet sweater. I grabbed my jacket, zipping it up as high as it would go. “OK. So the Malevolence is a dark force that hates humanity, but he’s not powerful enough to destroy humanity on his own. So he moves from body to body to stay hidden, biding his time.”

“Yes. I suspect every single Vontescue for the thousand years—including Vlad the Impaler—was possessed by the Malevolence, who took over their bodies one by one.”

“And then he found the Brothers Grimm,” I continued, “and forced them to bring their stories to life so he could cause some havoc. And then this cleric followed the Malevolence back to Castle Vontescue and used the magic symbols to keep the Malevolence in place. And now he’s upstairs, waiting until the new moon tonight to transfer his essence into Sanda.”

“Excellent exposition!” Briar tapped his paws together. “Um … I take it we don’t have a plan?”

I smiled. “Now what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t learn a thing from time to time?”

His ears perked up. “Does that mean there is a plan?”

“Yup.”

“And what, exactly, is the plan?”

“I’m not telling.”

“What?!”

I laughed. “Just kidding. The plan is for you to save us from the lions. Can you do that?”

Briar nodded. There was a knock at the door. I waited a moment for Briar to hide behind the dresser, then opened it, not surprised to see Scar standing there in human form. I recognized him from the gray-streaked beard under his chin. He looked down at me, his sunglasses slipping just a bit on his nose. He was wearing the same suit they all wore, the same one that magically disappeared when they turn into lions in the darkness. It was a neat trick, and he was scary enough. But I was saving all my worries for the Malevolence … and the tournament.

“The cars are waiting to take you to your tournament,” he growled. “You’re late.”

I walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me. “Wait a sec,” I said. He stopped beside me. The foyer was quiet—no doubt everyone else was already outside. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Tonight, I’m going to turn you to ash.”

He cocked his head in surprise.

Show time: day 2. This was it—the last hurrah.

My first opponent was from Canada. Chase didn’t have much mapped on her, but that hadn’t stopped him from drawing up a plan. The girl was slow—she relied on all sorts of fancy moves to keep her opponents guessing. When we started, her chaotic style threw me off-guard, and I gave up two points on a pair of swipes aimed right at my head. But then I settled down, aiming for fundamentals and pacing my breaths. It was hard—the girl hardly even looked fatigued when we tied things up at ten points each, and I could barely breathe inside the stifling mask.

I collected myself, bending the saber blade a few times and stepping off the mat to snag a few extra breaths. “Confidence!” Briar shouted inside my mind.

“Confidence,” I repeated, stepping back onto the mat. I got into position, waiting for the referee. I was full of adrenaline. My entire body seemed to tingle, right down to each individual toe stuffed inside fencing boots that were just a little tighter than the rest of my shoes. The muscles in my arm ached, waiting anxiously. The saber was steady in my hand.

“Allez!” the referee cried.

I stepped forward, aiming high and giving my opponent a taste of her own medicine, swiping at her head and then quickly bringing my blade down, making an upside-down V in the air. My blade connected with her sword arm, scoring a point.

Then things got weird.

Suddenly, the crowd was roaring—not cheering so much as a thousand voices all crying out at the same time. Play stopped. For a moment, I had the suspicion that the prince was upping the ante and settling things right here and now. But as I surveyed the arena, I saw that the attention—everyone’s attention—was on the boys match between Serbia and France. The French fencer was on the ground, shivering.

“He’s having a seizure!” Chase told our referee.

Pandemonium gripped the entire arena, spreading like wildfire. The fencers returned to their bleachers, all matches suspended. Paramedics took the fencer from France out on a red stretcher while the coach and a middle-aged woman—the boy’s mom, I guess—followed frantically behind, wailing all the way.

“Dude, what the heck just happened?” Seth asked, leaning over the bleacher’s metal bars dividing the spectators from the players. He was alone, and I felt a twinge of guilt for it. I’d been the one who’d convinced him to talk to Sanda. I’d been the one convinced Sanda still had a role to play. But what if she didn’t? What if Sam Grayle had simply bluffed, expecting me to be listening in on his conversation?

Well. Then I’d just broken up the best relationship Seth had ever had.

“The seizure looked worse than it actually is,” Chase explained. “If I were to guess, they’ll probably keep the kid on a sedative for a night. He should recover … if his liver isn’t damaged.”

“Why would his liver be damaged?” Scott asked from the first row.

“Because that’s one of the side-effects of Jump,” Chase said. He looked down at his lap, wheeling beside me. “I should have snitched. That could have been someone on our team out there. I dunno … we just never ratted each other out in baseball.” He hit the armrest with his open palm. The little strings on his gauntlets made a snapping noise as they bounced off the leather. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped them.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “The boys made their own choice.”

“All right!” Mr. Whitmann called out, clapping his hands together as he weaved his way around the nearest scoring table. He was still wearing the ridiculous red, white and blue jumpsuit. “Good news and bad news time. Bad news: we all gotta pee in cups. Most of us. Me and Chase don’t have to. Good news: a couple of cheaters are gonna be out on their butts in an hour or two, so we might move up in the rankings.”

“Wait, what?” Margaret asked. “Mr. Whitmann, it is really hard for a girl to pee in a cup. So you’d better give us a little more detail on just what the heck is going on!”

“That French boy was on drugs,” he answered. There was a distinct murmuring in the crowd now, and it refused to die down. Mr. Whitmann raised his voice a bit: “Something called Jump. His teammates admitted it. So the judges are ticked off and they want everyone tested. They have an easy test for it, but they need urine samples.”

Scott swore under his breath. The other boys matched him with even more colorful curses. I looked at Chase, who simply raised an eyebrow.

The judges called us down into the locker rooms by gender, starting with the girls.

“What if they slipped us something?” Jasmine asked, clutching my shoulders as we made our way down the tunnel along with some very nervous-looking girls from Japan and Russia. “What if that’s why we kicked so much butt yesterday?”

“We won because we’re totally sweet bodacious fighting machines,” Margaret said. “And don’t you forget it. Seriously? Peeing is the scariest part of this whole tournament. I’ve peed in a cup before at the doctor’s office. You know how well it went? Let’s just say my hands—”

“We get it, we get it,” Rachel said, waving away the image.

Inside the locker room, we took turns filling out our names, taking a cup into the stall, and then returning to the tunnel. As we were making our way up, the boys were on their way down, and no one—including our team—looked all that confident.

“Dead men walking,” Margaret murmured. “Wow. What if we’re the only ones left? What if, like, we win gold medals on default?”

“That would be awesome,” I said, smiling. “Except you and Rachel are both in the foil match. You’d have to face each other in the final.”

Margaret turned to Rachel, eyes wide. “That would be ridic.”

“Ridic?” Rachel asked.

“Ridiculous, Rachel. Ridiculous.”

Chase met us at the entrance. “Well? How did it go?”

“As well as you might expect,” I said. “How long is this going to take?”

He shook his head. “Not sure. Just stay stretched out. We have no idea who’s going to be left.”

I did. I had to, if I wanted the muscles in my left leg to cooperate. And my ribs? Well, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the intense lung-crushing pain had begun to slowly return, like someone turning up the volume a few notches every minute.

The boys returned. They sat in silence while Mr. Whitmann told stories about his days wrestling in high school.

The girls waited patiently, with Margaret and Rachel playing a silly game on their phones, Jasmine chatting with her mother, and Seth searching the crowd for Sanda like an overeager puppy. I stretched out my sore leg, pulling it back with one arm, hopping over to my best friend in the whole world.

“Hey,” I said, feeling more than a little bad. “Sorry for screwing things up with you.”

“It’s not screwed up,” he said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. “She’s not here, but I’m not going to give up. Tonight, you can do your ninja stuff on the prince and maybe you can let me be heroic too and then she’ll see I was right and then I’ll ask her to marry me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He nodded briskly. “I feel this, Alice. She’s not evil like the prince. You’ll see. And then I’m marrying her, and I swear if you try to get in the way I’ll karate chop you for a change.”

I smiled. “OK. I believe you.”

“They’re announcing the new match-ups!” Mr. Whitmann called out. We all turned to look up at the electronic scoreboard. On the girls’ side, all of the names were blacked out and for a moment my heart stopped. Maybe someone had slipped a Jump into our drink somewhere along the way … maybe we were all disqualified …

My name reappeared in the Championship bracket, along with Giovanna Verduchi. From Italy. My mouth made an “urp” noise.

Jasmine’s name reappeared in the epee section, along with a girl from Japan.

And in the foils: Margaret and Rachel.

“Uh … is this for real?” Margaret asked. “Are you seriously telling me I have to face off against my personal hero for a freaking gold medal?”

“Where are the boys’ names?” Mr. Whitmann asked Chase. Chase only shrugged. We all waited, staring up at the other screen, which was still blank. A tense murmur ran through the crowd. “Where are the danged names?” Mr. Whitmann asked again, this time just a wee bit angrier.

Miguel sighed. “Mr. Whitmann …”

He turned to the boys. His nostrils flared.

“OK,” Chase said, giving me a push toward the judges’ tables. “Let’s not be around for Mr. Whitmann’s freak-out.” He wheeled beside me, following me to the equipment racks. I walked on legs made of jelly. The Championship. Right here, right now. No turning back. This was for all the marbles.

“Parry a lot,” Chase instructed. He searched his notepad. “Uh … she’s intense. She might make some noises when she attacks. The more you block her, the more frustrated she’ll get. Wait until she makes mistakes.”

“Chase, I’m nervous. It’s all coming so fast, like a weird intense dream! One minute I’m fencing some chick from Canada, now all of a sudden it’s do-or-die!”

“It’s always been do-or-die. Close your eyes.”

I followed the simple order. Behind my eyes was darkness, cold and claustrophobic. “Still nervous.”

“Deep breaths. Good. Now, feel free to pass gas.”

My eyes snapped open. “What now?!”

He laughed at my stunned expression. “Just easing the tension, sweetie.” I rolled my eyes at him, but smiled a little in spite of my nerves. Chase’s expression grew serious for a moment as he grabbed one of the sabers, quickly tossing it my way. I caught it by the hilt. He flashed me a grin. “Now do me a favor and go kick some butt, dragon slayer.”

“Right.” I stepped onto the mat, adjusting my mask. Giovanna did the same, her legs doing a little dance as she got into position. I didn’t bother trying to mimic her—I’d need all the energy I could muster for the fight.

There were no other matches going on now. Just mine. From the crowd, there came a thump. Then another. Feet stomping on the concrete floors.

“En garde,” said the referee.

Thump. Thump.

“Allez!”

The crowd erupted in cheers as our blades met. For the first time, I couldn’t even hear the clang of steel on steel. Giovanna pushed me back with her strength, swinging furiously at the lower half of my torso. She came in with a quick thrust and I awkwardly parried, deflecting it away from my body. She flicked her wrist, bringing the blade up and over mine, stabbing me right in the mask.

The crowd cheered.

“Crud,” I muttered, adjusting my mask. Already, a trickle of sweat had formed near my temple.

The thumping resumed. Thump. Thump.

“En garde,” the referee said.

Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump …

“Allez!”

This time, I let Giovanna attack, parrying her forceful blows with as much strength as I could muster. With each new attack, I could feel the muscles in my arm tense up. My left hand wanted desperately to swing around and try to stop her blade. Giovanna was aiming for my chest, near my right arm. I parried her blade once, pushing it outside, but she came at me again in the same place so I parried inside, pushing the blade down.

The crowd roared as Giovanna closed the gap between us. My heart banged against my sore ribs.

Our blades became sharp blurs, clanging together so fast that my mind couldn’t even keep up. Somehow, she hadn’t scored a point despite her furious attack. She’s rattled, I thought. Frustrated. She’s getting sloppy.

I took a step back, avoiding a thrust to my midsection by swinging my blade over the top of hers. There—there was my opportunity! I slid my blade up hers, over her bellguard and onto her forearm.

The crowd roared its approval.

“Good to know they’re not taking sides,” I murmured, bending my blade a few times before getting back into position. Giovanna was already there, her blade pointed directly at my heart.

“En garde,” the referee said.

Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump …

“Allez!”

Another fierce attack. I parried downward, trying to slip in with a quick thrust. She blocked it with ease, bringing her blade down low and then sliding it across my blade, just as I’d done to her on the previous point. I fell back, withdrawing before she could cut my arm. I waited.

She waited.

The crowd began stomping again. Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump …

She knows. She knows what I’m trying to do.

I took a step forward, leaving my blade low, enticing her to attack my left shoulder. She didn’t bite. Her blade wavered, but stayed in position.

“OK,” I said. “Have it your way.”

I thrust my blade at her stomach, ready with a second move the moment she parried downward: I brought my blade back around, aiming for her sword arm. She leaned left, flicking her wrist and weakly parrying. There was an opening near her right side, but I couldn’t get at it without opening myself up to a counter-riposte. No guts, no glory, Alice! I angled my blade, swinging at her ribs.

The tip of her blade pressed into my shoulder. Right where the prince had stabbed me.

The crowd roared.

We rode home in silence: me, Chase and Seth. Seth stared longingly out the window, no doubt his mind on Sanda and pretty much nothing else. Chase stared at me, one hand gently caressing my bare hand. The window partition was closed, but I had a funny feeling Scar was smiling. The sun had begun to set—through the partition, I could see the little overhead light on, no doubt to keep Scar from turning into a full-fledged lion monster too early.

But when we get out of the cars … that’s when it’s going to happen.

“I’m proud of you,” Chase said. “You almost beat her. That was so impressive, watching the two of you duke it out. She knew what you were doing but you changed things up and you gave her a run for her money.”

“I lost, Chase.”

“You took the silver. So did Jasmine. And Rachel. And Margaret took the gold! Can you believe that? I never thought she’d be able to hold up against Rachel. Am I right, Seth?”

Seth grunted, still staring out the window.

“Chase …” I looked into his eyes. “Everything is culminating right now. This is the climax for reals, and the moment the sun goes down all Hell is going to break loose. How can I stop the Malevolence if I can’t even win a fencing tournament?”

“That girl has spent her entire life studying fencing,” Chase said. “She should beat you ninety-nine times out of a hundred. It doesn’t mean anything about your other life.”

“My other life.” I shook my head, staring down at the floor. “My other life is going to kill me, Chase. I’m going to die. One day, my diary is just going to stop. Briar is going to have to transport the magic pen somewhere safe so the next luckless sap can assume the role.”

“But if you kill this prince,” Chase said, squeezing my hand, “the source of the Corruption will be gone. It could mean that they all disappear, right?”

“Or it could mean nothing,” I said. “We don’t know.”

“He doesn’t have a history,” Seth whispered.

We both looked at him. “What do you mean?” Chase asked.

“Remember what Briar was saying, about how the past just disappears when it’s not recorded?” Seth shrugged. “The Malevolence made sure its history wasn’t recorded. And it’s definitely an it, by the way … not a he. And it’s never gonna let Sanda go.”

Chase sighed, leaning back in his seat. He didn’t know what was about to happen next. Neither did Seth. No one really knew what was about to happen next—if they knew, they’d freak out. Just thinking about it now made me freak out. Earlier, it had been like some event far in the future, something I could avoid thinking about. Now it was coming. The castle loomed in the distance, towering over the pine trees that surrounded it, haloed by clouds painted blood-red by the sun’s last rays of light.

“Seth,” I said. I leaned over snapping my fingers a few times until he drew his eyes away from the window. “Listen to me. You need to help Chase in his chair the moment we park.”

“I can take care—”

I cut Chase off, looking into his eyes. “Everyone needs to stay close. No heroics. No worrying about me. The others are going to freak out, and it’s going to be up to you two to keep them safe.”

Chase grimaced, nodding. “Whatever you need, we’ll do it.”

The car pulled onto the road that snaked its way to Castle Vontescue. I took a deep breath, bending down and drawing a saber in the floor, pulling it out and leaving in its place a sword-shaped hole that revealed the bottom of the car. I took off my jacket. Goosebumps lined my bare arms.

This was it.

Chapter 10

“Remember to keep everyone close,” I told Seth. The car had begun slowly weaving its way around the castle. To the west, the sun’s last orange rays dissipated on the horizon.

Darkness was here.

The car stopped in the parking lot. I opened the door, hurrying out with my sword, surveying the scene. The others were getting out of their cars, unaware of the high stakes—every move, every second mattered from here on out. The castle gate was closed, with creepy Sorin standing in front of it, still wearing his sunglasses and mismatched suit. The drivers were still in the cars, each one with the dome light on to keep them from changing into lions.

The new moon above offered no light.

“Come on, come on!” I shouted, pulling Margaret out of her car. To my right, Seth had already helped Chase into his chair and was pushing him toward the gate.

What are the drivers waiting for?

“Alice!” Mr. Whitmann called out, grunting as he climbed out of the lead car. “Where’d you get that sword? You better not have stolen that.”

“Come on, come on! Everyone this way!” The rest of the team made their way toward the gate, confused. Mrs. Satrapi looked concerned, keeping close to her daughter. Scott and Miguel eyed Sorin as he began cackling.

Suddenly, I realized why the drivers were waiting.

“Lambs at a slaughter,” I whispered.

Sorin bounced up and down with glee. “Oh, I do hope this gets bloody!”

“What the blazes is going on?” Mr. Whitmann asked. He pointed a finger at Sorin. “I’m not in the mood for games. You opening that gate or what?”

“Yes, yes of course!” Sorin said, cackling again. He clasped his mangled hands together. “Just as soon as you are all dead.”

I turned back to the limos. The doors opened. All six drivers stepped out, each one illuminated by the little white lights on the inside of the doors. They shut the doors.

And began changing.

First, their neatly trimmed beards puffed out into fully-fledged manes. Their snouts elongated next, each of their teeth growing longer and sharper in the process, little razor-thin whiskers poking out of their noses. They fell onto all fours, muscles tightening. Their clothes disappeared, replaced by thick fur.

Everyone screamed. Mrs. Satrapi held her daughter tight. Mr. Whitmann grabbed as many of the others as he could, valiantly pulling them behind him. Seth wheeled Chase back a few inches, looking to me for help.

“Just stay there,” I mouthed.

Scar stepped forward, his tail swishing from side to side. He eyed Mr. Whitmann with his bad eye, licking his chops. The others spread out, forming a loose circle around us just like a pride of lions would while hunting down a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti.

“You think you’ve won?” I asked him.

He cocked his head.

I raised my arm. “Watch this, buster!”

Nothing happened. The lions looked around.

“That was the signal!” I shouted over my shoulder.

A torch landed on the ground to my left, right in front of one of the massive lions. It bounced on the gravel, causing little sparks to fly up. The lion roared, his body partially transforming back into a human’s—half-man, half-lion—until he retreated into the safety of the darkness and transformed back into full lion form, his big eyes glowing gold.

“What is this?” Scar growled.

Three more torches flew over the wall, forming a protective ring of light around the group and forcing the lions back. They snarled, hissed, and roared. One, uncaring of the protective semicircle of flames, leapt over one of the torches, his body changing back to a human in mid-air. He landed in front of Margaret and Rachel, who fell backward and collapsed next to Mr. Whitmann, who quickly got in front of them. I reached over, running the Corrupted through with my sword. He exploded in a flurry of ash.

Margaret screamed at the top of her lungs. Mr. Whitmann pulled her and Rachel to their feet and held them close. Rachel kicked at the ashes near her feet.

I turned to Scar. “Your boys aren’t so tough without their claws.”

He stepped closer, his body reverting to human form, his heavy mane retreating into a well-trimmed gray beard under his jawline. He tapped at the torch with one brown shoe, grunting. “These are ordinary torches. They will burn out quickly enough.”

“And you are trapped!” Sorin added, bouncing up and down with glee. “Trapped!”

Behind him, the gate slowly began to open. I watched it out of the corner of my eye, my saber still pointed at Scar.

“No!” Sorin screamed. “That’s impossible!”

“Everyone inside!” I shouted. “To the keep! Go go go go!”

“You heard her!” Chase said. “Let’s not wait around to get eaten!”

I took one cautious step backward, my eyes darting from left to right. The lions paced behind the torches, growling low, guttural growls that seemed to resonate deep inside my chest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, numbing my entire body. I breathed deep, stepping under the gate.

“You will not escape,” Scar said, following me. He was inside the circle of flames, where the other lions refused to get near. They were scared of the flames. Scared of what happened in Ukigos so many years ago. It would buy us some time, but not much.

“I don’t plan on escaping,” I told him. “I plan on killing you.”

His snarling smile tugged on his leathery, worn skin. “Perhaps. But ours will be a battle for the ages.”

“No. I’m just going to kill you real quick.” But I wasn’t so sure. I blinked, nearly squeezing a tear out. You lost the fencing tournament. Now you’re going to face something far, far worse.

The gate closed. Scar watched a moment, then turned left, tilting his head.

The front gate.

“Move!” I shouted, turning back to the group. “Hurry! No brisk walking, only jogging and running! Run like you’re about to be eaten by giant lions!”

“You’ll all die!” Sorin screamed, grabbing my shoulder with one mangled hand and squeezing my still-healing cuts. I cried out. “You’ll all be destroyed by the master! He—”

Before I could even turn, his hand was wrenched away, followed by a loud thump. I turned, giving Briar a nod as he stepped off of Sorin’s unconscious body. He dusted himself off, hurrying to my side. “I thought we agreed on Now! as the signal for me to throw the torches,” he whispered.

“I got caught up in the moment,” I said, smiling. “Come on!” I crossed the courtyard, meeting everyone at the rear entrance to the keep. “Everyone to the foyer!” I shouted. They took the entrance two at a time. To my surprise, no one was crying, not even a little bit. They’re in shock, Alice. This is something they should have never seen. There will be consequences for this.

“Hurry!” Chase said. He turned to me, worried, his face pale.

“Go,” I said in as calm a voice as I could manage. “I’m right behind you.”

I followed him and Seth and invisible Briar inside, pulling the door shut and turning the heavy iron lock. It wouldn’t hold long, but we didn’t need much time. Just enough for them to escape. But what about you, Alice? How are you going to escape?

At the foyer, Briar hurried ahead of me, opening the door to my bedroom and scurrying inside. The others watched the door open on its own, but if they were surprised their stoic faces didn’t show it. They huddled in a tight group, pale, sweating, eyes wide as if they’d just been born. In a way, they had been. This was an entirely new world now.

There will be consequences for this. They’ll never be able to undo what they’ve seen. If they live through the night.

If you live through the night.

“Stay here,” I told them. “Seth, make sure they stay. We need more torches.”

“For what?!” Magaret screamed.

“For the tunnel,” I answered, hurrying to my bedroom.

Inside, Briar had laid out six torches on my bed. Each one was made of a thick stick about three feet long, with a thin off-white strip of fabric wrapped tightly around the end. Fabric that had once been a bed sheet, I realized.  “I couldn’t make any more,” he said. “It was too risky, sneaking around.”

“You did good, pal.” I glanced longingly at my suitcase. “I’m going to miss those clothes.”

Briar nervously clasped his paws together. “Perhaps later would be a better time to lament?”

“Right.” I crouched down, drawing a new sword in the floor. Not a steel saber, but a wooden sword with a thick circular blade that was pointed at the end. I pulled it from the ground, feeling its weight in my muscles. It was heavier than a saber. The hilt was long enough for both hands to grasp it, letting my left arm help with the heavy lifting.

“Alice.”

I ignored Chase, hurrying into the bathroom. The bottle of Jump was still sitting next to the sink. I grabbed it, fumbling with the lid.

“Alice!”

I twisted the lid off, but before I could grab one of the pills, Chase was out of his wheelchair, lunging toward me, his heavy body grasping desperately at my sweater and pulling both of us onto the tile floor. He landed on my legs, grabbing for my arms.

“No,” he whispered, tearing the bottle from my hand. A few pills spilled onto the floor. I gave up the bottle and Chase tossed it into the toilet. My shaking hands fumbled for the pills that had spilled. He grabbed one of my wrists with a sweaty hand. My ribs ached and I rolled onto my side. He immediately took advantage of the moment, grabbing my other arm and squeezing.

“Chase!” I said, tears burning my eyes. “I need one! It’s the only way I can get through this!”

“You don’t need these,” he hissed, his fingers pulling at mine. He was on top of me now, his hot breath splashing over my face. I had my eyes closed, unwilling to look at him. Unwilling to let him see the shame in my eyes.

“I can’t, Chase. I need—”

“You need to trust yourself, Alice.” His hand closed around mine. “Don’t put your trust in this drug. Put your trust in yourself!”

I opened my eyes. Tears streamed out. I’d expected him to be glaring at me, angry and ashamed of me. But his face was warm, his muscles soft. Sweat lined his forehead. I opened my hand. He plucked the pill and tossed it in the toilet.

“I love you, dragon slayer,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” I said, hugging him tightly. There was a flash of pain in my ribs, then it began to retreat into a dull ache. Chase’s warmth seemed to infect my body right down to the tips of my fingers. This was what I was fighting for. This was why I had to succeed.

“Come on,” I said, helping him back into his wheelchair. Briar was standing beside the bed, holding all the torches. He set them on Chase’s lap.

“What do you have in mind?” Chase asked.

“You’re going to lead everyone to safety through the underground tunnel,” I said, drawing a steel saber on the floor. I pulled it out, weighed it in my hand, then tossed it on the bed. “The secret tunnel comes out somewhere near the town. You can leave the torches at the end of the tunnel to make sure the lions can’t follow. Get everyone to the safety of the train station.”

“Alice …” He shook his head, looking down at his lap. “I can’t carry a torch and wheel myself.”

“That is where I come in, my dear boy,” Briar said. He disappeared with a little popping noise. A second later, I felt him brush past me. He took the handles of the wheelchair, pushing Chase to the door.

“Wait,” I ordered, pulling out my pen. I colored in the fabric at the end of each torch so that they glowed.

“What are you doing?” Chase asked.

“Something I learned in a cave.” I brought one torch to the stone wall and scraped the edge of the magic pen’s nib along the stone. Sparks rained down on the end of the torch, igniting it. The small flame burned a golden yellow, flickering a few times as it caught on the rest of the fabric and grew brighter. I handed it to Chase. “Magical torches work better than regular torches.”

Chase smiled. “Guaranteed or your money back.”

I leaned down, kissing him. “Be careful. Both of you.”

Briar wheeled Chase back into the foyer. A moment later, I heard Chase barking orders with a shaky voice. I retied my shoelaces, then watched them walk past my door and into the secret passage underneath the grand staircase. I met eyes with Chase one last time, fighting the urge to go to him.

I see the death of your loved ones …

Seth burst through the open doorway, tearing away his jacket and throwing it in a corner. He was out of breath, frantic, panicked, his black Metallica t-shirt stained with sweat under the armpits. He looked at me, then looked at the wooden sword. “Uh … for real?”

“Seth, get out of here!”

He shook his head. “You’re going to need someone just in case …” He swallowed hard. “In case Sanda is in cahoots with the prince. Maybe I can distract her, or talk her down. You need my help.”

I sighed. The sound of claws scraping on the giant front doors echoed in the foyer. There was no time left to second-guess the plan. No time to change course.

It was time to face the Malevolence.

Chapter 11: Briar

So there we were, at the bottom of the secret staircase, making our way down the looming tunnel that would lead us far away from the castle. The farther the better, in my opinion. It could have taken us all the way to France and I would have been happy. I had no intention of being tonight’s dinner for any of those foul lions.

Of course, Chase being the brave and valiant fool that he was, he had to go and bring up the rear of our retreating party. Which meant I had to bring up the rear, too.

“Keep moving,” he said in a low voice. I wheeled him on the uneven gravel floor of the tunnel, doing my best to keep my anxious legs from quadrupling out speed. We needed to stick together so we could all benefit from the light of the magic flames. Thankfully, the rest of his compatriots were too panicked about the entire situation to take notice of the fact that Chase’s wheelchair was moving without his help—they had bigger worries on their minds. I was giving us a little distance so that I wouldn’t accidentally turn visible to the nearest frightened kids. And they were all frightened, shivering like wet cats, unable to keep their heads darting from left to right with each frantic step.

The older gentleman—Mr. Whitmann—had agreed to lead us, clutching a torch in one shaking paw and keeping us all moving at a fair pace. The others were huddled close together, with two of the boys and two of the girls holding their torches with equally shaking paws. The light danced on the stone walls, and every handful of steps someone screamed, sure that the flickering shadows were something more.

“Chase, what the heck were those things?” asked Margaret. She looked most frightened of all, but she’d agreed to carry one of the torches regardless. A true test of bravery if ever there was one.

“They were lions,” Chase said. “Big, big lions.” He glanced over his shoulder. Instinct told me to do the same. The path behind us was lit just a teensy bit by Chase’s torch, but past that there was quite a bit of darkness. Darker than a cloudy night in the woods.

“We’re talking to the American embassy about this,” Mr. Whitmann said. “No, we’re talking to the, the, the president of the United States about this!”

“I’m sorry for cheating,” Scott said. “I’m really, really sorry. I just want to put that out there.”

“We should be quiet,” Mrs. Satrapi whispered. “The lions—”

“Mom! We have torches. They’re going to find us! They’re going to kill us!”

“Reassure them,” I whispered to Chase. He nodded, clearing his throat.

“We just need to keep up this pace. We’ll reach the end of the tunnel, and then we’ll find the safety of the train station. Alice says there’s a train leaving soon. We’ll be safe then.”

Behind us came just about the most terrifying roar I’d ever heard in my life. Chase leaned back, and I spun him in the chair, pulling him backward.

“Faster!” Chase ordered over his shoulder. “Faster, faster, faster!”

“The tunnel is narrowing up ahead,” Scott called out. “You sure this leads out?”

Chase glanced up at me. I nodded. “It’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

More roars from the darkness. A cold shiver ran down my spine, right into my bushy tail.

“Oh dear,” I whispered, my keen rabbit eyes cursing me with the gift of seeing what was just out of the orange glow of the torchlight.

Lions. Four of them, from my count. Scary as all get-out, skulking in the darkness. Drool hung from their jowls, glistening in the torchlight. Boy howdy, it never came easy.

“Briar,” Chase whispered.

I clammed up, ears pulling back. As long as the torches were lit …

Suddenly, one of the girls screamed! … Or at least, it sounded at first like a girl. I glanced over my shoulder: there was a commotion in the group, and for good reason.

“Skulls!” Mrs. Satrapi cried out. “There are skulls everywhere!”

She was right. The walls had narrowed because they were lined with skulls. Skulls and oodles of bones piled five feet high on either side. A veritable wall of bones, decorated with a row of chest-high skulls smiling at our misfortune!

“Dear me,” I whispered. “I suppose I should have explored this place with a flashlight. Well, now we know why the prince loves tourists.”

“Just keep moving,” Chase called out. “The fire will keep them at bay. We can …”

“Chase!” Miguel shouted. “My flame went out!”

“Then move faster!” Chase called. I wheeled him backward as fast as I could. He kept the torch held out, and every few steps one of the lions tested his bravery, stepping into the light and changing into a human being. An ugly human being, all snarls and frowns with just a hint of lion to him, like a distorted blurry image in an old photograph.

We hurried deeper into the catacombs. Every twenty or so feet, the walls opened up a bit, revealing more and more tunnels. And lions. They were moving parallel with us, following us on the other side of the walls of bone. I pulled Chase faster, guiding his wheels over a puddle of rancid-smelling water.

“They’re trying to cut us off!” Scott shouted. I turned right to see what all the fuss was about: the furless drug-addled fool was right! The tunnel wall split open for about five feet, held up with rotting horizontal boards that had been nailed between the old wooden beams holding up the ceiling. Between the boards was first a lion and then a man as Margaret’s torchlight happened upon him. He growled, baring his teeth and disappearing deeper into the side tunnel.

“Keep going,” Chase ordered. His voice had grown shakier but the torch in his hand remained steady, its golden flame still burning bright.

“My torch is out!” Rachel cried out, her voice as shrill and frantic as I’d ever heard. I looked over my shoulder, hoping against hope that the torchlight was still bright enough to protect us. But the situation was even worse than expected! We had only two functioning torches left: Mr. Whitmann’s and Chase’s. As if sensing our urgency, Chase’s flame began to shrink, the darkness behind us closing in.

Along with one big, hungry lion.

“I see the exit!” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Fast now, kids! Old Mr. Whitmann’s gonna get you through this!”

Chase and I exchanged a wary look. “Just keep us going,” he murmured.

“Right-o.” I pulled hard, wrenching his left wheel from a slushy bit of earth where another pool of water had gathered. Water dripped from the ceiling.

“Come on, Chase!” Mr. Whitmann called.

“Put the torch at the exit!” Chase called over his shoulder. “Get everyone moving! I’m coming!”

The bones gave way to slimy-looking limestone. As I looked over my shoulder, I could see the other torch sitting not more than ten feet away, right in front of the tunnel end. I could see trees beyond the torch. We were going to make it!

I remember thinking this very thing when I realized that the darkness to my left and right was not made of limestone at all.

Suddenly, three of the lions were leaping out of the darkness. The side tunnels! I let go of Chase, ducking low. The lions bounced off each other, growling and swiping at my beautiful vest. I pushed Chase forward, unable to stifle a whimper at the thought of even so much as a thread being pulled from my wardrobe. Or a hair being pulled from my body, for that matter.

“Spin me!” Chase ordered. “Keep that last one off my back!”

I reached for the handles of his wheelchair, dodging the snapping jaws of the nearest lion. I spun Chase and he held out the torch, turning our three sneak-attackers into human beings once again. They stepped back, pinned between Chase’s flame and the one at the exit.

“Hold on!” I said, lifting myself up on the handles of my compatriot’s wheelchair with all the grace of a beginning gymnast. I tucked my powerful rabbit legs into my body and—when I felt the fur on my butt puff up—kicked with all my might. Both feet connected with the fourth lion, pushing him back into the darkness. I landed on the rancid-smelling puddle and pushed forward with all my might. Chase held the dwindling torch like a jousting lance, aiming it right at the three terrified Corrupted fools. One stepped onto the torch at the entrance, his pants catching fire. The other two fell away and Chase swung his torch at them, igniting their clothes.

Poof! Poof! Poof!

Chase reached down, grabbing the torch that had been lying at the entrance. “Watch it,” he told me, holding both torches out so there was no danger of their flames harming me. A grateful gesture under the stressful circumstances, I had to admit.

But we weren’t quite finished yet! The fur on my butt alerted me to incoming danger once again. I spun Chase around, hoping the brave fool had enough in him for one more act of heroism. Perhaps he did, but the sight of the lion coming at him, the torchlight only transforming creature partway so that he was a half-human monster of nightmarish proportions … why, it was enough to cause both of us to scream at the tops of our lungs! Chase threw one of the torches with a side-arm precision only a star baseball player could accomplish. The dying flames caught the cuff of the lion-man’s shirt, igniting him on fire.

Poof!

We remained at the entrance a moment, breathing hard. Chase gripped the last torch tightly, staring at the dark tunnel.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I told him, turning him around to face one very frightened-looking group of very fragile human beings. “And I’m worried too, my boy. But we must finish our role in this macabre nightmare.”

“But I love her, Briar. What if she needs our help?”

The torch answered for me, its golden flame shrinking and turning a crimson red before disappearing entirely, leaving only hot embers at the end of the stick.

Darkness consumed the tunnel.

Chapter 12: Alice

I watched the lions disappear into the secret passage behind the grand staircase, not surprised they would go for the group instead of the armed hero.

But Scar … he had other plans. He sat on his haunches beside the large front doors of the keep, staring up at me. I stood at the top of the stairs, clenching my wooden sword. I’d taped my magic pen to the tip using the medical tape from Chase’s little first-aid kit.

Seth stood behind me, peering out from over my shoulder. “Uh … is he coming after us?”

“Eventually,” I said. “But right now, we have bigger fish to fry.”

We passed through the double doors, closing them behind us and lowering the iron latch. That might hold him a bit so I can have some pleasant one-on-one time with the prince. But if you die—no! No! Don’t think like that. Not now.

We passed Sanda’s room. The door was open, her room empty. Seth cursed under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll get her.” I led the way up the winding staircase, aware of the pain in my leg and the fatigue deep within my bones. But it was a distant feeling, vague and undefined. The pain wouldn’t hold me back now.

“Sanda!” Seth called out at the top of the stairs. The door to the prince’s lair was open, and from inside I could see that all of the candles were lit, the fireplace roaring. Sanda, wearing a pair of blue pajama bottoms and a white X-Men t-shirt, stood beside the fireplace.

Right next to Sam Grayle. He had a gun in his right hand, pointed at the floor. I felt a strange chill run over me. I hadn’t expected this. I should have, but for some reason the idea of Grayle with a gun, holding an innocent girl hostage … it just felt out of character.

Seth hurried over to Sanda before I could stop him. Grayle watched with a bemused expression, keeping the gun lowered.

“You were right,” Sanda sobbed into Seth’s shoulder. “My father …”

Seth shushed her, squeezing her tight. “We’re here. And we’re totally going to save you. Well, Alice is. I’m going to just try and stay out of the way.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I murmured. The door shut behind me. The candles fluttered, shadows dancing on the brick walls. “Nice to see you again, Grayle.”

Grayle was uncharacteristically silent, watching Seth pull Sanda away from the fireplace. He turned to me, glancing at my wooden sword. He raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “Sometimes, you have to play your weakness.”

“Never in the history of the hero,” Grayle said, “has one been successful playing their weakness.”

A hand jutted out from the mound of dirt on the far end of the room. The prince emerged, his long black cape smattered with bits of black earth. More fell from his disheveled hair. More yet clung to the pale skin of his face. In his left hand was an old sword, much heavier-looking than a traditional saber. His other hand was still half-destroyed, the missing fingers replaced by slender shadows.

A crack ran down his face, as if his entire body was made of clay and had been left in the furnace too long.

“You need a new body,” I said, stepping to the side. I let the tip of my sword—and the nib of my magic pen along with it—drag on the floor.

“It is but a shell,” the prince conceded, smiling. Another crack emerged along a wrinkle just below his left eye. “A vessel. By now you must know what will happen tonight.”

“You’re going to take Sanda’s body.”

He glanced over at Sanda. She cringed, pushing herself into Seth so fiercely that she nearly knocked him over. “No,” Vontescue said. “Not now. I will take your body instead.”

“Oh holy crap,” Seth whispered. Even Grayle seemed taken aback by that news.

“Why?” I asked. “I’m not all that special, shadow monster. I’ve got bruises and scratches and a broken rib. I’m a mess.”

The prince moved closer to the fire. I followed, still dragging my pen on the ground.

Imagine a magnet. A big magnet. Imagine all those little domains pointed in the same direction.

“You are what I’ve waited so long for,” Vontescue said. “With your pen, I will destroy the symbols binding me to this castle. Then I will use the pen to destroy humanity once and for all.”

“What about your townsfolk?” I asked, stepping back. Still dragging my pen on the floor.

Vontescue laughed. “I will keep some as subjects, for a while. But the Corrupted must perish. They have served their purpose, perhaps unwittingly. With their creation came the hero, a necessary counterbalance to such a new danger. But a hero is only as good as her mind allows, and you have the best of that quality. With your knowledge and power at my disposal, I will finally be able to wipe your parasitic species from the planet forever.”

I glanced at Grayle. He was watching the prince warily now, stepping away from the fireplace as the prince moved closer. He’s afraid, too.

I moved left, dragging my pen across the floor. Think of one big iron magnet, Alice. Think of those little tiny domains like arrows, the electrons spinning as they orbit their atoms. Think of a magnetic field that can attract the prince’s rusty iron sword.

“Your pen will not save you,” the prince said, watching me with bemusement. “This body is a mere shell. When it cracks and falls away, I need only choose another. Join me willingly, Alice. Do it and I will let your friend and his love live out the remainder of their lives in the town of Agnosara, safe from my wrath, treated like royalty by my subjects and then granted a quick death only after the rest of humanity is destroyed. That is the best outcome of this.”

I slid left. “The best outcome is your destruction.”

“Surely you cannot begrudge my passion, Alice. You saw how easily Agnim the magician bent greedy men to his will. What hope is there for such a fragile, dangerous species? You offer nothing. You have nothing.”

I glanced at Seth and Sanda. “We have love,” I said. “That’s humanity’s hope.”

Vontescue stepped closer, his black cloak flowing behind him like a shadow. Like the carvings in the Corrupted cave full of princesses.

I stepped right, eyes darting toward the floor. I’d created a large rectangle that ran from one length of the room to the other. I connected the golden glowing lines, and like a flash of lightning the prince was upon me! He’d crossed the room so fast that half the candles in the room blew out, the others dancing wildly and casting shadows over his cracked face.

He brought his blade back. I tapped the glowing lines with my foot.

A quiet hum sounded, as if an old light had just been turned on for the first time in years. The prince groaned, baring his teeth, slowly bringing his blade around. The sharp tip dipped down, drawn to the magnetized floor.

Still. Even with the powerful magnet, his strength was enough to bring the blade around. I tore my pen from the tip of my wooden sword and parried low. The sharp iron chipped away a chunk of wood from my blade, but the force of my beat-parry was enough to push his blade toward the ground.

The tip touched the floor. The prince grimaced, using all of his strength to pull it away from the magnetic force. His body creaked and groaned, as if his muscles had become brittle and were threatening to break apart under the stress. I thrust my wooden sword at him and he parried, cutting out another chunk from the blade. He laughed, watching the sliver of wood land at Sanda’s feet. Seth pulled her closer to the door.

“A clever trick,” Vontescue said, stepping closer. He clutched his sword with both hands. His other hand was cracked now, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped by a child. “But you can’t possibly expect to kill me, Alice. And if you persist, I will end your life. I will take Sanda’s body and wait a hundred more years for another hero to arrive.”

“I can stop you,” I hissed, bringing my sword up. I thrust again, aiming for his cracked face. He grunted, pulling his blade away from the floor and using every ounce of his strength to swing upward. Another chunk of wood flew away from my sword, this time nearer the hilt. The momentum forced the prince’s blade back around toward the magnetized floor. Another lightning-shaped crack appeared across his forehead, running down his cheek.

Now is the time, Alice. Don’t fear death.

I swung my blade around, stepping in and stabbing the prince’s heart. His dark eyes widened. One of his hands fell away from his blade. With both hands, he brought his sword around, thrusting his blade directly into the left side of my chest.

Sanda gasped. Seth cried out.

The prince coughed, staring down at the wooden blade protruding from his chest. Already, his torso had begun to crack, pieces breaking away like pieces of a boiled eggshell and leaving only the shadowy essence of the Malevolence behind. His eyes followed the length of his blade, where it was stuck firmly in my chest.

I took a deep breath, staring into his dark eyes.

“But … but how …”

I willed my body to become ethereal. The prince’s sword slipped through my ghost form, landing hard on the magnetized edge of the rug with a deafening clang.

“My real body is safely in my bedroom,” I said. “With the dresser pushed in front of the door. I’m meditating real calm-like, you know?”

The prince fell to his knees. He held up his right arm. It crumbled, leaving behind only his shadowy essence. He laughed. “The perfect thrust! And with it, finally, this wretched body falls away. And my next host, locked away in her bedroom.” He coughed, and chunks of his shoulder fell away, landing on the floor and breaking apart. His clothes went with his body, as if they’d simply been painted on. His cape began shriveling, curling at the edges.

I willed my ghostly body back to a more solid form, reaching with each arm and pulling up the sleeves of my sweater. I showed him my forearms.

The Malevolence howled. The prince’s surprised face crumbled away, leaving only a black shadow with dark red glowing eyes that seemed to hover inside the darkness.

“The wards …”

I nodded. I had two on each arm, drawn in black magic marker by Briar before the fencing tournament. “They’re on my real body. Protecting me.”

“Grayle,” the Malevolence hissed, shaking away the remaining fragments of its clay-like body. It was now nothing more than a pitch-black shadow, its essence so cold that I could feel it even without the benefit of a real body. “Go to her bedroom. Shoot her.”

“Why?” Grayle asked. “So you can kill me, my master?” He shook his head, stepping around the creature so that he was nearer the door. The door burst open. Scar stepped inside, swiping aside the nearest candelabras before their light could turn him into human form. They fell to the floor with a clang; the candles left trails of wax, their flames extinguished during the fall.

“Here is where, finally, you are gone for good.” Grayle lifted his gun, pointing it at Sanda.

“Grayle, wait!” I shouted, reaching down and picking up the pen. Everything seemed to slow down. I couldn’t grab the pen fast enough. My vision blurred. My heart raced. Two things happened at once.

Grayle pulled the trigger.

Seth stepped in front of Sanda.

Chapter 13

I opened my eyes, back in the bedroom, heart racing, chest sore but not bleeding. Just badly bruised, like the lion bite on my leg. I sat up, fumbling for the spare saber I’d drawn earlier. I grabbed it and ran to the door, pushing aside the heavy dresser and feeling a pop in my ribs. A fresh wave of pain ran through me, stealing my breath.

My inner voice screamed in my head:

Fight through it, Alice!

And then came Agnim’s haunting prophecy:

I see the death of your loved ones …

I forced a deep breath, compelling my legs to carry me up the grand staircase, through the dimly lit hallway and up the winding staircase to the prince’s lair, my sore leg crying out with each step, the pain in my chest growing heavier, spreading fast.

At the open doorway, Scar blocked my path, growling low. I charged him, matching his roar. He swung his paw and I swung my blade upward, turning him into a cloud of ash.

The room was in chaos. The Malevolence had a hold of Sanda’s left leg, its oil-like arm pulling at her. Her pajama pant was pulled up and her skin was blue all around where the shadowy fingers had grabbed hold.

Grayle was gone, the window near the door cracked and broken.

Seth was lying on the ground, beside one of the tall candelabras. Even with only a few candles still lit, I could see just how bad it was.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” Seth croaked. Sanda clutched him, sobbing uncontrollably, kicking wildly at the Malevolence’s cold shadow at it moved up her leg.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.” He smiled. His hand shakily traced the side of her face.

Then it dropped.

I fell over, knocking over two of the candelabras. My body refused to move. I could only watch in horror as the Malevolence pulled itself into Sanda’s mouth like smoke.

Her skin paled. Her glassy eyes went wide. The Malevolence disappeared inside her. Suddenly, Sanda’s body began to shake. There came a terrible, inhuman scream that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Sanda drew in a breath, her chest heaving. She exhaled …

Black smoke escaped from between her lips. The scream intensified. I covered my ears, unable to look away. As the smoke escaped, it took on the Malevolence’s form. A shadowy hand reached out, clawing at the air as if it were trying to get back inside Sanda’s body. But it was too late.

The Malevolence dissipated, its scream fading.

Sanda collapsed beside Seth, her chest rising and falling slowly, almost peacefully. One hand reached out, blindly grabbing his. “Love,” she whispered in his ear. Her eyes fluttered, then shut.

“Seth,” I sobbed, pulling the vial of magic liquid from around my neck. I opened it, kneeling beside Seth and dribbling it into his mouth. “Seth, wake up. Wake up, Seth!” I lifted his lifeless body up, cradling his head in my arms. “Come on, Seth. Wake up! Wake up!”

A cold wind slipped in through the cracked window. The rest of the candles blew out, leaving only dancing firelight. Shadows infected on the walls.

One of the shadows moved closer.

“No!” I screamed, releasing Seth and diving for my saber. The pain in my chest temporarily stunned me, forcing me to roll over onto my now definitely broken rib. I cried out, pulling myself to my knees.

The shadow materialized. Long, tattered robe. Hood drawn tight, only the very tip of his bony jaw jutting out. Long, rusted scythe clutched in two bony hands.

Death.

“No!” I screamed, rushing at him, swinging my blade. He flew closer. One skeletal hand brushed me aside. I landed on the rug, feeling another pop in my ribs and another wave of fiery pain. The saber fell out of my numb hand. I clawed at the rug, crawling toward Seth.

But it was too late. Death was already over him, reaching down.

A warm ball of yellow light slipped out of Seth’s body. Death grabbed it, stuffing it inside his robe.

“No!” I screamed.

He melted back into the shadows. A strong gust of cold wind snuffed out the fireplace.

Leaving only darkness.

To be continued on October 25th!

[i] Hans in Luck

by the Brothers Grimm

Hans had served his master for seven years, so he said to him, “Master, my time is up. Now I would like to go back home to my mother. Give me my wages.”

The master answered, “You have served me faithfully and honestly. As the service was, so shall the reward be.” And he gave Hans a piece of gold as big as his head. Hans pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapped up the lump in it, put it on his shoulder, and set out on the way home. As he went on, always putting one leg before the other, he saw a horseman trotting quickly and merrily by on a lively horse.

“Ah,” said Hans quite loud, “what a fine thing it is to ride. There you sit as on a chair, never stumbling over a stone, saving your shoes, and making your way without even knowing it.”

The rider, who had heard him, stopped and called out, “Hey there, Hans, then why are you going on foot?”

“I must,” answered he, “for I have this lump to carry home. It is true that it is gold, but I cannot hold my head straight for it, and it hurts my shoulder.”

“I will tell you what,” said the rider. “Let’s trade. I will give you my horse, and you can give me your lump.”

“With all my heart,” said Hans. “But I can tell you, you will be dragging along with it.”

The rider got down, took the gold, and helped Hans up, then gave him the bridle tight in his hands and said, “If you want to go fast, you must click your tongue and call out, jup, jup.”

Hans was heartily delighted as he sat upon the horse and rode away so bold and free. After a little while he thought that it ought to go faster, and he began to click with his tongue and call out, “jup, jup.” The horse started a fast trot, and before Hans knew where he was, he was thrown off and lying in a ditch which separated the fields from the highway. The horse would have escaped if it had not been stopped by a peasant, who was coming along the road and driving a cow before him.

Hans pulled himself together and stood up on his legs again, but he was vexed, and said to the peasant, “It is a poor joke, this riding, especially when one gets hold of a mare like this, that kicks and throws one off, so that one has a chance of breaking one’s neck. Never again will I mount it. Now I like your cow, for one can walk quietly behind her, and moreover have one’s milk, butter, and cheese every day without fail. What would I not give to have such a cow?”

“Well,” said the peasant, “if it would give you so much pleasure, I do not mind trading the cow for the horse.” Hans agreed with the greatest delight, and the peasant jumped upon the horse and rode quickly away.

Hans drove his cow quietly before him, and thought over his lucky bargain. “If only I have a morsel of bread -- and that can hardly fail me -- I can eat butter and cheese with it as often as I like. If I am thirsty, I can milk my cow and drink the milk. My goodness, what more can I want?”

When he came to an inn he stopped, and to celebrate his good fortune, he ate up everything he had with him -- his dinner and supper -- and all he had, and with his last few farthings had half a glass of beer. Then he drove his cow onwards in the direction of his mother's village.

As noon approached, the heat grew more oppressive, and Hans found himself upon a moor which would take at least another hour to cross. He felt very hot, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth with thirst. “I can find a cure for this,” thought Hans. “I will milk the cow now and refresh myself with the milk.” He tied her to a withered tree, and as he had no pail, he put his leather cap underneath, but try as he would, not a drop of milk came. And because he was working in a clumsy way, the impatient beast at last gave him such a blow on his head with its hind foot that he fell to the ground, and for a long time did not know where he was. By good fortune a butcher just then came along the road with a pushcart, in which lay a young pig.

“What sort of a trick is this?” he cried, and helped good Hans up. Hans told him what had happened.

The butcher gave him his flask and said, “Take a drink and refresh yourself. The cow will certainly give no milk. It is an old beast. At the best it is only fit for the plow, or for the butcher.”

“Well, well,” said Hans, as he stroked his hair down on his head. “Who would have thought it? Certainly it is a fine thing when one can slaughter a beast like that for oneself. What meat one has! But I do not care much for beef, it is not juicy enough for me. But to have a young pig like that! It tastes quite different, and there are sausages as well.”

“Listen, Hans,” said the butcher. “To do you a favor, I will trade, and will let you have the pig for the cow.”

“God reward you for your kindness,” said Hans as he gave up the cow. The pig was unbound from the cart, and the cord by which it was tied was put in his hand. Hans went on, thinking to himself how everything was going just as he wished. If anything troublesome happened to him, it was immediately set right.

Presently he was joined by a lad who was carrying a fine white goose under his arm. They greeted one another, and Hans began to tell of his good luck, and how he had always made such good trades. The boy told him that he was taking the goose to a christening feast. “Just heft her,” he added, taking hold of her by the wings. “Feel how heavy she is. She has been fattened up for the last eight weeks. Anyone who bites into her after she has been roasted will have to wipe the fat from both sides of his mouth.”

“Yes,” said Hans, hefting her with one hand, “she weighs a lot, but my pig is not so bad either.”

Meanwhile the lad looked suspiciously from one side to the other, and shook his head. “Look here, he said at last. “It may not be all right with your pig. In the village through which I passed, the mayor himself had just had one stolen out of its sty. I fear -- I fear that you have got hold of it there. They have sent out some people and it would be a bad business if they caught you with the pig. At the very least, you would be shut up in the dark hole.”

Good Hans was terrified. “For goodness’ sake,” he said. “help me out of this fix. You know more about this place than I do. Take my pig and leave me your goose.”

“I am taking a risk,” answered the lad, “but I do not want to be the cause of your getting into trouble.” So he took the cord in his hand, and quickly drove the pig down a bypath. Good Hans, free from care, went homewards with the goose under his arm.

“When I think about it properly,” he said to himself, “I have even gained by the trade. First there is the good roast meat, then the quantity of fat which will drip from it, and which will give me goose fat for my bread for a quarter of a year, and lastly the beautiful white feathers. I will have my pillow stuffed with them, and then indeed I shall go to sleep without being rocked. How glad my mother will be!”

As he was going through the last village, there stood a scissors grinder with his cart, as his wheel whirred he sang,

“I sharpen scissors and quickly grind,
My coat blows out in the wind behind.”

Hans stood still and looked at him. At last he spoke to him and said, “All’s well with you, as you are so merry with your grinding.”

“Yes,” answered the scissors grinder, “this trade has a golden foundation. A real grinder is a man who as often as he puts his hand into his pocket finds gold in it. But where did you buy that fine goose?”

“I did not buy it, but traded my pig for it.”

“And the pig?”

“I got it for a cow.”

“And the cow?”

“I got it for a horse.”

“And the horse?”

“For that I gave a lump of gold as big as my head.”

“And the gold?”

“Well, that was my wages for seven years’ service.”

“You have known how to look after yourself each time,” said the grinder. “If you can only get on so far as to hear the money jingle in your pocket whenever you stand up, you will have made your fortune.”

“How shall I manage that?” said Hans.

“You must become a grinder, as I am. Nothing particular is needed for it but a grindstone. Everything else takes care of itself. I have one here. It is certainly a little worn, but you need not give me anything for it but your goose. Will you do it?”

“How can you ask?” answered Hans. “I shall be the luckiest fellow on earth. If I have money whenever I put my hand in my pocket, why should I ever worry again?” And he handed him the goose and received the grindstone in exchange.

“Now,” said the grinder, picking up an ordinary heavy stone that lay nearby, “here is another good stone for you as well, which you can use to hammer on and straighten your old nails. Carry it along with you and take good care of it.”

Hans loaded himself with the stones, and went on with a contented heart, his eyes shining with joy. “I must have been born with lucky skin,” he cried. “Everything I want happens to me just as if I were a Sunday's child.”

Meanwhile, as he had been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel tired. Hunger also tormented him, for in his joy at the bargain by which he got the cow he had eaten up all his store of food at once. At last he could only go on with great difficulty, and was forced to stop every minute. The stones, too, weighed him down dreadfully, and he could not help thinking how nice it would be if he would not have to carry them just then.

He crept like a snail until he came to a well in a field, where he thought that he would rest and refresh himself with a cool drink of water. In order that he might not damage the stones in sitting down, he laid them carefully by his side on the edge of the well. Then he sat down on it, and was about to bend over and drink, when he slipped, pushed against the stones, and both of them fell into the water. When Hans saw them with his own eyes sinking to the bottom, he jumped for joy, and then knelt down, and with tears in his eyes thanked God for having shown him this favor also, and delivered him in so good a way, and without his having any need to reproach himself, from those heavy stones which had been the only things that troubled him.

“No one under the sun is as fortunate as I am,” he cried out. With a light heart and free from every burden he now ran on until he was at home with his mother.

[ii] Tom Thumb

by the Brothers Grimm

A poor woodman sat in his cottage one night, smoking his pipe by the fireside, while his wife sat by his side spinning. “How lonely it is, wife,” said he, as he puffed out a long curl of smoke, “for you and me to sit here by ourselves, without any children to play about and amuse us while other people seem so happy and merry with their children!”

“What you say is very true,” said the wife, sighing, and turning round her wheel; “how happy should I be if I had but one child! If it were ever so small—nay, if it were no bigger than my thumb—I should be very happy, and love it dearly.”

Now—odd as you may think it—it came to pass that this good woman’s wish was fulfilled, just in the very way she had wished it; for, not long afterwards, she had a little boy, who was quite healthy and strong, but was not much bigger than my thumb. So they said, “Well, we cannot say we have not got what we wished for, and, little as he is, we will love him dearly.” And they called him Thomas Thumb.

They gave him plenty of food, yet for all they could do he never grew bigger, but kept just the same size as he had been when he was born. Still, his eyes were sharp and sparkling, and he soon showed himself to be a clever little fellow, who always knew well what he was about.

One day, as the woodman was getting ready to go into the wood to cut fuel, he said, “I wish I had someone to bring the cart after me, for I want to make haste.”

“Oh, father,” cried Tom, “I will take care of that; the cart shall be in the wood by the time you want it.”

Then the woodman laughed, and said, “How can that be? You cannot reach up to the horse’s bridle.”

“Never mind that, father,” said Tom; “if my mother will only harness the horse, I will get into his ear and tell him which way to go.”

“Well,” said the father, “we will try for once.”

When the time came the mother harnessed the horse to the cart, and put Tom into his ear; and as he sat there the little man told the beast how to go, crying out, “Go on!” and “Stop!” as he wanted: and thus the horse went on just as well as if the woodman had driven it himself into the wood. It happened that as the horse was going a little too fast, and Tom was calling out, “Gently! Gently!” two strangers came up.

“What an odd thing that is!” said one: “there is a cart going along, and I hear a carter talking to the horse, but yet I can see no one.”

“That is queer, indeed,” said the other; “let us follow the cart, and see where it goes.”

So they went on into the wood, till at last they came to the place where the woodman was. Then Tom Thumb, seeing his father, cried out, “See, father, here I am with the cart, all right and safe! Now take me down!” So his father took hold of the horse with one hand, and with the other took his son out of the horse’s ear, and put him down upon a straw, where he sat as merry as you please.

The two strangers were all this time looking on, and did not know what to say for wonder. At last one took the other aside, and said, “That little urchin will make our fortune, if we can get him, and carry him about from town to town as a show; we must buy him.” So they went up to the woodman, and asked him what he would take for the little man. “He will be better off,” said they, “with us than with you.”

“I won’t sell him at all,” said the father; “my own flesh and blood is dearer to me than all the silver and gold in the world.” But Tom, hearing of the bargain they wanted to make, crept up his father’s coat to his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Take the money, father, and let them have me; I’ll soon come back to you.”

So the woodman at last said he would sell Tom to the strangers for a large piece of gold, and they paid the price. “Where would you like to sit?” said one of them. “Oh, put me on the rim of your hat; that will be a nice gallery for me; I can walk about there and see the country as we go along.”

So they did as he wished; and when Tom had taken leave of his father they took him away with them.

They journeyed on till it began to be dusky, and then the little man said, “Let me get down, I’m tired.” So the man took off his hat, and put him down on a clod of earth, in a ploughed field by the side of the road. But Tom ran about amongst the furrows, and at last slipped into an old mouse-hole.

“Good night, my masters!” said he, “I’m off! Mind and look sharp after me the next time.” Then they ran at once to the place, and poked the ends of their sticks into the mouse-hole, but all in vain; Tom only crawled farther and farther in; and at last it became quite dark, so that they were forced to go their way without their prize, as sulky as could be.

When Tom found they were gone, he came out of his hiding-place. “What dangerous walking it is,” said he, “in this ploughed field! If I were to fall from one of these great clods, I should undoubtedly break my neck.” At last, by good luck, he found a large empty snail-shell. “This is lucky,” said he, “I can sleep here very well,” and in he crept.

Just as he was falling asleep, he heard two men passing by, chatting together, and one said to the other, “How can we rob that rich parson’s house of his silver and gold?”

“I’ll tell you!” cried Tom.

“What noise was that?” said the thief, frightened; “I’m sure I heard someone speak.”

They stood still listening, and Tom said, “Take me with you, and I’ll soon show you how to get the parson’s money.”

“But where are you?” said they. “Look about on the ground,” answered he, “and listen where the sound comes from.”

At last the thieves found him out, and lifted him up in their hands. “You little urchin!” they said, “what can you do for us?”

“Why, I can get between the iron window-bars of the parson’s house, and throw you out whatever you want.”

“That’s a good thought,” said the thieves; “come along, we shall see what you can do.”

When they came to the parson’s house, Tom slipped through the window-bars into the room, and then called out as loud as he could bawl, “Will you have all that is here?”

At this the thieves were frightened, and said, “Softly, softly! Speak low, that you may not awaken anybody.”

But Tom seemed as if he did not understand them, and bawled out again, “How much will you have? Shall I throw it all out?”

Now the cook lay in the next room; and hearing a noise she raised herself up in her bed and listened. Meantime the thieves were frightened, and ran off a little way; but at last they plucked up their hearts, and said, “The little urchin is only trying to make fools of us.” So they came back and whispered softly to him, saying, “Now let us have no more of your roguish jokes; but throw us out some of the money.” Then Tom called out as loud as he could, “Very well! Hold your hands! Here it comes.”

The cook heard this quite plain, so she sprang out of bed, and ran to open the door. The thieves ran off as if a wolf was at their tails: and the maid, having groped about and found nothing, went away for a light. By the time she came back, Tom had slipped off into the barn; and when she had looked about and searched every hole and corner, and found nobody, she went to bed, thinking she must have been dreaming with her eyes open.

The little man crawled about in the hay-loft, and at last found a snug place to finish his night’s rest in; so he laid himself down, meaning to sleep till daylight, and then find his way home to his father and mother. But alas! How woefully he was undone! What crosses and sorrows happen to us all in this world! The cook got up early, before daybreak, to feed the cows; and going straight to the hay-loft, carried away a large bundle of hay, with the little man in the middle of it, fast asleep. He still, however, slept on, and did not awake till he found himself in the mouth of the cow; for the cook had put the hay into the cow’s rick, and the cow had taken Tom up in a mouthful of it. “Good lack-a-day!” said he, “how came I to tumble into the mill?” But he soon found out where he really was; and was forced to have all his wits about him, that he might not get between the cow’s teeth, and so be crushed to death. At last down he went into her stomach. “It is rather dark,” said he; “they forgot to build windows in this room to let the sun in; a candle would be no bad thing.”

Though he made the best of his bad luck, he did not like his quarters at all; and the worst of it was, that more and more hay was always coming down, and the space left for him became smaller and smaller. At last he cried out as loud as he could, “Don’t bring me any more hay! Don’t bring me any more hay!”

The maid happened to be just then milking the cow; and hearing someone speak, but seeing nobody, and yet being quite sure it was the same voice that she had heard in the night, she was so frightened that she fell off her stool, and overset the milk-pail. As soon as she could pick herself up out of the dirt, she ran off as fast as she could to her master the parson, and said, “Sir, sir, the cow is talking!” But the parson said, “Woman, thou art surely mad!” However, he went with her into the cow-house, to try and see what was the matter.

Scarcely had they set foot on the threshold, when Tom called out, “Don’t bring me any more hay!” Then the parson himself was frightened; and thinking the cow was surely bewitched, told his man to kill her on the spot. So the cow was killed, and cut up; and the stomach, in which Tom lay, was thrown out upon a dunghill.

Tom soon set himself to work to get out, which was not a very easy task; but at last, just as he had made room to get his head out, fresh ill-luck befell him. A hungry wolf sprang out, and swallowed up the whole stomach, with Tom in it, at one gulp, and ran away.

Tom, however, was still not disheartened; and thinking the wolf would not dislike having some chat with him as he was going along, he called out, “My good friend, I can show you a famous treat.”

“Where’s that?” said the wolf.

“In such and such a house,” said Tom, describing his own father’s house. ‘You can crawl through the drain into the kitchen and then into the pantry, and there you will find cakes, ham, beef, cold chicken, roast pig, apple-dumplings, and everything that your heart can wish.”

The wolf did not want to be asked twice; so that very night he went to the house and crawled through the drain into the kitchen, and then into the pantry, and ate and drank there to his heart’s content. As soon as he had had enough he wanted to get away; but he had eaten so much that he could not go out by the same way he came in.

This was just what Tom had reckoned upon; and now he began to set up a great shout, making all the noise he could. “Will you be easy?” said the wolf; “you’ll awaken everybody in the house if you make such a clatter.”

“What’s that to me?” said the little man; “you have had your frolic, now I’ve a mind to be merry myself,” and he began singing and shouting as loud as he could.

The woodman and his wife, being awakened by the noise, peeped through a crack in the door; but when they saw a wolf was there, you may well suppose that they were sadly frightened; and the woodman ran for his axe, and gave his wife a scythe. “Do you stay behind,” said the woodman, “and when I have knocked him on the head you must rip him up with the scythe.”

Tom heard all this, and cried out, “Father, father! I am here, the wolf has swallowed me.”

And his father said, “Heaven be praised! We have found our dear child again,” and he told his wife not to use the scythe for fear she should hurt him. Then he aimed a great blow, and struck the wolf on the head, and killed him on the spot! And when he was dead they cut open his body, and set Tommy free. “Ah!” said the father, “what fears we have had for you!”

“Yes, father,” answered he; “I have traveled all over the world, I think, in one way or other, since we parted; and now I am very glad to come home and get fresh air again.”

“Why, where have you been?” said his father. “I have been in a mouse-hole—and in a snail-shell—and down a cow’s throat— and in the wolf’s belly; and yet here I am again, safe and sound.”

“Well,” said they, “you are come back, and we will not sell you again for all the riches in the world.”

Then they hugged and kissed their dear little son, and gave him plenty to eat and drink, for he was very hungry; and then they fetched new clothes for him, for his old ones had been quite spoiled on his journey. So Master Thumb stayed at home with his father and mother, in peace; for though he had been so great a traveler, and had done and seen so many fine things, and was fond enough of telling the whole story, he always agreed that, after all, there’s no place like home!

[iii] The Brave Little Tailor

by the Brothers Grimm

One summer morning a little tailor was sitting on his table near the window. In good spirits, he was sewing with all his might. A peasant woman came down the street crying, “Good jam for sale! Good jam for sale!”

That sounded good to the little tailor, so he stuck his dainty head out the window and shouted, “Come up here, my dear woman! You can sell your goods here!”

The woman carried her heavy basket up the three flights of stairs to the tailor, who had her unpack all of her jars. He examined them, picking each one up and holding it to his nose. Finally he said, “This jam looks good to me. Weigh out four ounces for me, even if it comes to a quarter pound.”

The woman, who had hoped to make a good sale, gave him what he asked for, then went away angry and grumbling.

“May God bless this jam to give me health and strength,” said the little tailor. Then taking a loaf of bread from his cupboard, he cut himself a large slice and spread it with the jam. “That is not going to taste bad,” he said, “but I will finish the jacket before I bite into it.”

He laid the bread aside and continued his sewing, happily making his stitches larger and larger. Meanwhile the smell of the sweet jam rose to the wall where a large number of flies were sitting. Attracted by the smell, a swarm of them settled onto the bread.

“Hey! Who invited you?” said the little tailor, driving away the unbidden guests. However, the flies, who did not understand German, would not be turned away, and they came back in ever-increasing numbers. Finally, losing his temper, he reached for a piece of cloth and shouted, “Wait, now I’m going to give it to you!” then hit at them without mercy. When he backed off and counted, there were no fewer than seven of them lying dead before him, with their legs stretched out.

“Aren't you someone?” he said to himself, surprised at his own bravery. The whole town shall hear about this.” He hastily cut out a banner for himself, then embroidered on it with large letters, Seven with one blow. “The town?” he said further. “The whole world shall hear about this!” And his heart jumped for joy like a lamb's tail.

The tailor tied the banner around his body and set forth into the world, for he thought that his workshop was too small for such bravery. Before leaving he looked about his house for something that he could take with him. Finding nothing but a piece of old cheese, he put that into his pocket. Outside the town gate he found a bird that was caught in a bush. It went into his pocket with the cheese.

He bravely took to the road, and being light and agile he did not grow weary. The road led him up a mountain, and when he reached the top a huge giant was sitting there, looking around contentedly.

The little tailor went up to him cheerfully and said, “Good day, comrade. Are you just sitting here looking at the wide world? I am on my way out there to prove myself. Do you want to come with me?”

The giant looked at the tailor with contempt, saying, “You wretch! You miserable fellow!”

“You don’t say!” answered the little tailor. Unbuttoning his coat, he showed the banner to the giant. “You can read what kind of man I am.”

The giant read Seven with one blow, and thinking that the tailor had killed seven men, he gained some respect for the little fellow. But he did want to put him to the test, so he picked up a stone and squeezed it with his hand until water dripped from it.

“Do what I just did,” said the giant, “if you have the strength.”

“Is that all?” said the little tailor. “That is child’s play for someone like me.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the soft cheese and squeezed it until liquid ran from it. “That was even better, wasn’t it?” he said.

The giant did not know what to say, for he did not believe the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high that it could scarcely be seen. “Now, you little dwarf, do that.”

“A good throw,” said the tailor, “but the stone did fall back to earth. I'll throw one for you that will not come back.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bird, and threw it into the air. Happy to be free, the bird flew up and away, and did not come back. “How did you like that, comrade?” asked the tailor.

“You can throw well enough,” said the giant, but now let’s see if you are able to carry anything proper.” He led the little tailor to a mighty oak tree that had been cut down and was lying on the ground. He said, “If you are strong enough, then help me carry this tree out of the woods.”

“Gladly,” answered the little man. “You take the trunk on your shoulder, and I will carry the branches and twigs. After all, they are the heaviest.”

The giant lifted the trunk onto his shoulder, but the tailor sat down on a branch, and the giant, who could not see behind himself, had to drag long the entire tree, with the little tailor sitting on top. Cheerful and in good spirits, he whistled the song “There Were Three Tailors Who Rode Out to the Gate,” as though carrying a tree were child’s play.

The giant, after dragging the heavy load a little way, could not go any further, and he called out, “Listen, I have to drop the tree.”

The tailor jumped down agilely, took hold of the tree with both arms, as though he had been carrying it, and said to the giant, “You are such a big fellow, and you can't even carry a tree.”

They walked on together until they came to a cherry tree. The giant took hold of the treetop where the ripest fruit was hanging, bent it down, and put it into the tailor's hand, inviting him to eat. However, the little tailor was much too weak to hold the tree, and when the giant let go, the tree sprang upward, throwing the tailor into the air. When he fell back to earth, without injury, the giant said, “What? You don't have enough strength to hold that little switch?”

“There is no lack of strength,” answered the little tailor. “Do you think that that would be a problem for someone who killed seven with one blow? I jumped over the tree because hunters are shooting down there in the brush. Jump over it yourself, if you can.”

The giant made the attempt, but could not clear the tree and got stuck in the branches. So the little tailor kept the upper hand here as well.

The giant said, “If you are such a brave fellow, then come with me to our cave and spend the night with us.”

The little tailor agreed and followed him. When they reached the cave, other giants were sitting there by a fire. Each one had a roasted sheep in his hand and was eating from it. The little tailor looked around and thought, “It is a lot more roomy here than in my workshop.

The giant showed him a bed and told him to lie down and go to sleep. However, the little tailor found the bed too large, so instead of lying there he crept into a corner. At midnight the giant thought that the little tailor was fast asleep, so he got up, took a large iron bar, and with a single blow smashed the bed in two. He thought he had put an end to the grasshopper.

Early the next morning the giants went into the woods, having completely forgotten the little tailor, when he suddenly approached them cheerfully and boldly. Fearing that he would strike them all dead, the terrified giants ran away in haste.

The little tailor continued on his way, always following his pointed nose. After wandering a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal palace, and being tired, he lay down in the grass and fell asleep. While he was lying there people came and looked at him from all sides, and they read his banner, Seven with one blow.

“Oh,” they said, “what is this great war hero doing here in the midst of peace? He must be a powerful lord.”

They went and reported him to the king, thinking that if war were to break out, he would be an important and useful man who at any price should not be allowed to go elsewhere. The king was pleased with this advice, and he sent one of his courtiers to the little tailor to offer him a position in the army, as soon as he woke up.

The messenger stood by the sleeper and waited until he stretched his arms and legs and opened his eyes, and then he delivered his offer.

“That is precisely why I came here,” answered the little tailor. “I am ready to enter the king’s service.” Thus he was received with honor and given a special place to live.

However, the soldiers were opposed to the little tailor, and wished that he were a thousand miles away. “What will happen,” they said among themselves, “if we quarrel with him, and he strikes out against us? Seven of us will fall with each blow. People like us can't stand up to that.”

So they came to a decision, and all together they went to the king and asked to be released. “We were not made,” they said, “to stand up to a man who kills seven with one blow.”

The king was sad that he was going to lose all his faithful servants because of one man, and he wished that he had never seen him. He would like to be rid of him, but he did not dare dismiss him, because he was afraid that he would kill him and all his people and then set himself on the royal throne.

He thought long and hard, and finally found an answer. He sent a message to the little tailor, informing him that because he was such a great war hero he would make him an offer. In a forest in his country there lived two giants who were causing great damage with robbery, murder, pillage, and arson. No one could approach them without placing himself in mortal danger. If he could conquer and kill these two giants, the king would give him his only daughter to wife and half his kingdom for a dowry. Furthermore, a hundred horsemen would go with him for support.

“That is something for a man like you,” thought the little tailor. “It is not every day that someone is offered a beautiful princess and half a kingdom.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I shall conquer the giants, but I do not need the hundred horsemen. Anyone who can strike down seven with one blow has no cause to be afraid of two.”

The little tailor set forth, and the hundred horsemen followed him. At the edge of the forest, he said to them, “You stay here. I shall take care of the giants myself.”

Leaping into the woods, he looked to the left and to the right. He soon saw the two giants. They were lying asleep under a tree, snoring until the branches bent up and down. The little tailor, not lazy, filled both pockets with stones and climbed the tree. Once in the middle of the tree, he slid out on a branch until he was seated right above the sleepers. Then he dropped one stone after another onto one of the giant's chest. For a long time the giant did not feel anything, but finally he woke up, shoved his companion, and said, “Why are you hitting me?”

“You are dreaming,” said the other one. “I am not hitting you.”

They fell asleep again, and the tailor threw a stone at the second one.

“What is this?” said the other one. “Why are you throwing things at me?”

“I am not throwing anything at you,” answered the first one, grumbling.

They quarreled for a while, but because they were tired, they made peace, and they both closed their eyes again. Then the little tailor began his game again. Choosing his largest stone, he threw it at the first giant with all his strength, hitting him in the chest.

“That is too mean!” shouted the giant, then jumped up like a madman and pushed his companion against the tree, until it shook. The other one paid him back in kind, and they became so angry that they pulled up trees and struck at each other until finally, at the same time, they both fell to the ground dead.

Then the little tailor jumped down. “It is fortunate,” he said, “that they did not pull up the tree where I was sitting, or I would have had to jump into another one like a squirrel. But people like me are nimble.”

Drawing his sword, he gave each one a few good blows to the chest, then went back to the horsemen and said, “The work is done. I finished off both of them, but it was hard. In their need they pulled up trees to defend themselves. But it didn't help them, not against someone like me who kills seven with one blow.”

“Are you not wounded?” asked the horsemen.

“Everything is all right,” answered the tailor. “They did not so much as bend one of my hairs.”

Not wanting to believe him, the horsemen rode into the woods. There they found the giants swimming in their own blood, and all around lay the uprooted trees.

The little tailor asked the king for the promised reward, but the latter regretted the promise, and once again he began to think of a way to get the hero off his neck. “Before you receive my daughter and half the kingdom,” he said, “you must fulfill another heroic deed. In the woods there is a unicorn that is causing much damage. First you must capture it.

“I am even less afraid of a unicorn than I was of two giants. Seven with one blow, that is my thing.”

Taking a rope and an ax, he went into the woods. Once again he told those who went with him to wait behind. He did not have to look very long. The unicorn soon appeared, leaping toward the tailor as if it wanted to spear him at once.

“Gently, gently,” said the tailor. “Not so fast.” He stopped, waited until the animal was very near, then jumped agilely behind a tree. The unicorn ran with all its might into the tree, sticking its horn so tightly into the trunk that it did not have enough strength to pull it out again, and thus it was captured.

“Now I have the little bird,” said the tailor, coming out from behind the tree. First he tied the rope around the unicorn's neck, then he cut the horn out of the tree with the ax. When everything was ready, he led the animal away and brought it to the king.

The king still did not want to give him the promised reward and presented a third requirement. Before the wedding, the tailor was to capture a wild boar that was causing great damage in the woods. Huntsmen were to assist him.

“Gladly,” said the tailor. “That is child's play.”

He did not take the huntsmen into woods with him, and they were glad about that, for they had encountered the wild boar before and had no desire to do so again.

When the boar saw the tailor he ran toward him with foaming mouth and grinding teeth, wanting to throw him to the ground. But the nimble hero ran into a nearby chapel, then with one leap jumped back out through a window. The boar ran in after him, but the tailor ran around outside and slammed the door. Thus the furious animal was captured, for it was too heavy and clumsy to jump out the window. The little tailor called to the huntsmen. They had to see the captured boar with their own eyes.

The hero reported to the king, who now -- whether he wanted to or not -- had to keep his promise and give him his daughter and half the kingdom. If he had known that it was not a war hero, but rather a little tailor standing before him, it would have been even more painful for him. The wedding was thus held with great ceremony but little joy, and a king was made from a tailor.

Some time later the young queen heard in the night how her husband said in a dream, “Boy, make the jacket for me, and patch the trousers, or I will hit you across your ears with a yardstick.” Thus she determined where the young lord had come from. The next morning she brought her complaint to her father, asking him to help her get rid of the man, who was nothing more than a tailor.

The king comforted her, saying, “Tonight leave your bedroom door unlocked. My servants will stand outside, and after he falls asleep they will go inside, bind him, and carry him to a ship that will take him far away from here.”

The wife was satisfied with this. However, the king's squire, who had a liking for the young lord, heard everything and revealed the whole plot to him.

“I'll put a stop to that,” said the little tailor. That evening he went to bed with his wife at the usual time. When she thought he was asleep she got up, opened the door, and then went back to bed. The little tailor, who was only pretending to be asleep, began crying out with a clear voice, “Boy, make the jacket for me, and patch the trousers, or I will hit you across your ears with a yardstick! I have struck down seven with one blow, killed two giants, led away a unicorn, and captured a wild boar, and I am supposed to be afraid of those who are standing just outside the bedroom!”

When those standing outside heard the tailor say this, they were so overcome with fear that they ran away, as though the wild horde was behind them. None of them dared to approach him ever again.

Thus the little tailor was a king, and he remained a king as long as he lived.

[iv] The Fox and the Horse

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

A peasant had a faithful horse which had grown old and could do no more work, so his master no longer wanted to give him anything to eat and said, "I can certainly make no more use of you, but still I mean well by you, and if you prove yourself still strong enough to bring me a lion here, I will maintain you. But for now get out of my stable." And with that he chased him into the open field.

The horse was sad, and went to the forest to seek a little protection there from the weather. There the fox met him and said, "Why do you hang your head so, and go about all alone?"

"Alas," replied the horse, "greed and loyalty do not dwell together in one house. My master has forgotten what services I have performed for him for so many years, and because I can no longer plow well, he will give me no more food, and has driven me out."

"Without giving you a chance?" asked the fox.

"The chance was a bad one. He said, if I were still strong enough to bring him a lion, he would keep me, but he well knows that I cannot do that."

The fox said, "I will help you. Just lie down, stretch out as if you were dead, and do not stir."

The horse did what the fox asked, and then the fox went to the lion, who had his den not far off, and said, "A dead horse is lying out there. Just come with me, and you can have a rich meal."

The lion went with him, and when they were both standing by the horse the fox said, "After all, it is not very comfortable for you here -- I tell you what -- I will fasten it to you by the tail, and then you can drag it into your cave and eat it in peace."

This advice pleased the lion. He positioned himself, and in order that the fox might tie the horse fast to him, he kept completely quiet. But the fox tied the lion's legs together with the horse's tail, and twisted and fastened everything so well and so strongly that no amount of strength could pull it loose. When he had finished his work, he tapped the horse on the shoulder and said, "Pull, white horse, pull!"

Then up sprang the horse at once, and pulled the lion away with him. The lion began to roar so that all the birds in the forest flew up in terror, but the horse let him roar, and drew him and dragged him across the field to his master's door. When the master saw the lion, he was of a better mind, and said to the horse, "You shall stay with me and fare well." And he gave him plenty to eat until he died.

[v] THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES

By the Brothers Grimm

There once was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve beds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up; but every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody could find out how it happened, or where they had been.

Then the king made it known to all the land, that if any person could discover the secret, and find out where it was that the princesses danced in the night, he should have the one he liked best for his wife, and should be king after his death; but whoever tried and did not succeed, after three days and nights, should be put to death.

A king's son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was taken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their twelve beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance; and, in order that nothing might pass without his hearing it, the door of his chamber was left open. But the king's son soon fell asleep; and when he awoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been dancing, for the soles of their shoes were full of holes. The same thing happened the second and third night: so the king ordered his head to be cut off. After him came several others; but they had all the same luck, and all lost their lives in the same manner.

Now it chanced that an old soldier, who had been wounded in battle and could fight no longer, passed through the country where this king reigned: and as he was travelling through a wood, he met an old woman, who asked him where he was going. “I hardly know where I am going, or what I had better do,” said the soldier; “but I think I should like very well to find out where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time I might be a king”

“Well,” said the old dame, “that is no very hard task: only take care not to drink any of the wine which one of the princesses will bring to you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves you pretend to be fast asleep.” Then she gave him a cloak, and said, “As soon as you put that on you will become invisible, and you will then be able to follow the princesses wherever they go.”

When the soldier heard all this good counsel, he determined to try his luck: so he went to the king, and said he was willing to undertake the task.

He was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered fine royal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led to the outer chamber. Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of the princesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all away secretly, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself down on his bed, and in a little while began to snore very loud as if he was fast asleep. When the twelve princesses heard this they laughed heartily; and the eldest said, “This fellow too might have done a wiser thing than lose his life in this way!”

Then they rose up and opened their drawers and boxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and dressed themselves at the glass, and skipped about as if they were eager to begin dancing. But the youngest said, “I don't know how it is, while you are so happy I feel very uneasy; I am sure some mischance will befall us.”

“You simpleton,” said the eldest, “you are always afraid; have you forgotten how many kings' sons have already watched in vain? And as for this soldier, even if I had not given him his sleeping draught, he would have slept soundly enough.”

When they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he snored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were quite safe; and the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands, and the bed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier saw them going down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest leading the way; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, put on the cloak which the old woman had given him, and followed them; but in the middle of the stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest princess, and she cried out to her sisters, “All is not right; someone took hold of my gown.”

“You silly creature!” said the eldest, “it is nothing but a nail in the wall.”

Then down they all went, and at the bottom they found themselves in a most delightful grove of trees; and the leaves were all of silver, and glittered and sparkled beautifully. The soldier wished to take away some token of the place; so he broke off a little branch, and there came a loud noise from the tree. Then the youngest daughter said again, “I am sure all is not right—did not you hear that noise? That never happened before.”

But the eldest said, “It is only our princes, who are shouting for joy at our approach.”

Then they came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of gold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering diamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there was a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear; but the eldest still said, it was only the princes, who were crying for joy. So they went on till they came to a great lake; and at the side of the lake there lay twelve little boats with twelve handsome princes in them, who seemed to be waiting there for the princesses.

One of the princesses went into each boat, and the soldier stepped into the same boat with the youngest. As they were rowing over the lake, the prince who was in the boat with the youngest princess and the soldier said, “I do not know why it is, but though I am rowing with all my might we do not get on so fast as usual, and I am quite tired: the boat seems very heavy today.”

“It is only the heat of the weather,” said the princess: “I feel it very warm too.”

On the other side of the lake stood a fine illuminated castle, from which came the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed, and went into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and the soldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and when any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it all up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always silenced her. They danced on till three o'clock in the morning, and then all their shoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave off. The princes rowed them back again over the lake (but this time the soldier placed himself in the boat with the eldest princess); and on the opposite shore they took leave of each other, the princesses promising to come again the next night.

When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses, and laid himself down; and as the twelve sisters slowly came up very much tired, they heard him snoring in his bed; so they said, “Now all is quite safe.” Then they undressed themselves, put away their fine clothes, pulled off their shoes, and went to bed. In the morning the soldier said nothing about what had happened, but determined to see more of this strange adventure, and went again the second and third night; and every thing happened just as before; the princesses danced each time till their shoes were worn to pieces, and then returned home. However, on the third night the soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a token of where he had been.

As soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken before the king with the three branches and the golden cup; and the twelve princesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would say. And when the king asked him, “Where do my twelve daughters dance at night?” he answered, “With twelve princes in a castle underground.” And then he told the king all that had happened, and showed him the three branches and the golden cup which he had brought with him. Then the king called for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said was true: and when they saw that they were discovered, and that it was of no use to deny what had happened, they confessed it all. And the king asked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he answered, “I am not very young, so I will have the eldest.”

And they were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king's heir.

[vi]Rapunzel

By the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who had long, but to no avail, wished for a child. Finally the woman came to believe that the good Lord would fulfill her wish. Through the small rear window of these people’s house they could see into a splendid garden that was filled with the most beautiful flowers and herbs. The garden was surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared enter, because it belonged to a sorceress who possessed great power and was feared by everyone.

One day the woman was standing at this window, and she saw a bed planted with the most beautiful rapunzel. It looked so fresh and green that she longed for some. It was her greatest desire to eat some of the rapunzel. This desire increased with every day, and not knowing how to get any, she became miserably ill.

Her husband was frightened, and asked her, “What ails you, dear wife?”

“Oh,” she answered, “if I do not get some rapunzel from the garden behind our house, I shall die.”

The man, who loved her dearly, thought, “Before you let your wife die, you must get her some of the rapunzel, whatever the cost.”

So just as it was getting dark he climbed over the high wall into the sorceress’s garden, hastily dug up a handful of rapunzel, and took it to his wife. She immediately made a salad from it, which she devoured eagerly. It tasted so very good to her that by the next day her desire for more had grown threefold. If she were to have any peace, the man would have to climb into the garden once again. Thus he set forth once again just as it was getting dark. But no sooner than he had climbed over the wall than, to his horror, he saw the sorceress standing there before him.

“How can you dare,” she asked with an angry look, “to climb into my garden and like a thief to steal my rapunzel? You will pay for this.”

“Oh,” he answered, “Let mercy overrule justice. I came to do this out of necessity. My wife saw your rapunzel from our window, and such a longing came over her, that she would die, if she did not get some to eat.”

The sorceress's anger abated somewhat, and she said, “If things are as you say, I will allow you to take as much rapunzel as you want. But under one condition: You must give me the child that your wife will bring to the world. It will do well, and I will take care of it like a mother.”

In his fear the man agreed to everything.

When the woman gave birth, the sorceress appeared, named the little girl Rapunzel, and took her away. Rapunzel became the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old, the fairy locked her in a tower that stood in a forest and that had neither a door nor a stairway, but only a tiny little window at the very top.

When the sorceress wanted to enter, she stood below and called out:

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

Rapunzel had splendid long hair, as fine as spun gold. When she heard the sorceress's voice, she untied her braids, wound them around a window hook, let her hair fall twenty yards to the ground, and the sorceress climbed up it.

A few years later it happened that a king's son was riding through the forest. As he approached the tower he heard a song so beautiful that he stopped to listen. It was Rapunzel, who was passing the time by singing with her sweet voice. The prince wanted to climb up to her, and looked for a door in the tower, but none was to be found.

He rode home, but the song had so touched his heart that he returned to the forest every day and listened to it. One time, as he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw the sorceress approach, and heard her say:

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

Then Rapunzel let down her strands of hair, and the sorceress climbed up them to her.

“If that is the ladder into the tower, then sometime I will try my luck.”

And the next day, just as it was beginning to get dark, he went to the tower and called out:

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

The hair fell down, and the prince climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as she had never seen before came in to her. However, the prince began talking to her in a very friendly manner, telling her that his heart had been so touched by her singing that he could have no peace until he had seen her in person. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him as her husband, she thought, “He would rather have me than would old Frau Gothel.” She said yes and placed her hand into his.

She said, “I would go with you gladly, but I do not know how to get down. Every time that you come, bring a strand of silk, from which I will weave a ladder. When it is finished I will climb down, and you can take me away on your horse.” They arranged that he would come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day.

The sorceress did not notice what was happening until one day Rapunzel said to her, “Frau Gothel, tell me why it is that you are more difficult to pull up than is the young prince, who will be arriving any moment now?”

“You godless child,” cried the sorceress. “What am I hearing from you? I thought I had removed you from the whole world, but you have deceived me nonetheless.”

In her anger she grabbed Rapunzel's beautiful hair, wrapped it a few times around her left hand, grasped a pair of scissors with her right hand, and snip snap, cut it off. And she was so unmerciful that she took Rapunzel into a wilderness where she suffered greatly.

On the evening of the same day that she sent Rapunzel away, the fairy tied the cut-off hair to the hook at the top of the tower, and when the prince called out:

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

Let down your hair.”

she let down the hair.

The prince climbed up, but above, instead of his beloved Rapunzel, he found the sorceress, who peered at him with poisonous and evil looks.

“Aha!” she cried scornfully. “You have come for your Mistress Darling, but that beautiful bird is no longer sitting in her nest, nor is she singing any more. The cat got her, and will scratch your eyes out as well. You have lost Rapunzel. You will never see her again.”

The prince was overcome with grief, and in his despair he threw himself from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell poked out his eyes. Blind, he wandered about in the forest, eating nothing but grass and roots, and doing nothing but weeping and wailing over the loss of his beloved wife. Thus he wandered about miserably for some years, finally happening into the wilderness where Rapunzel lived miserably with the twins that she had given birth to.

He heard a voice and thought it was familiar. He advanced toward it, and as he approached, Rapunzel recognized him, and crying, threw her arms around his neck. Two of her tears fell into his eyes, and they became clear once again, and he could see as well as before. He led her into his kingdom, where he was received with joy, and for a long time they lived happily and satisfied.

[vii] The Singing, Springing Lark

by the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time a man who was about to set out on a long journey, and on parting he asked his three daughters what he should bring back with him for them. Whereupon the eldest wished for pearls, the second wished for diamonds, but the third said, “Dear father, I should like a singing, soaring lark.”

The father said, “Yes, if I can get it, you shall have it,” kissed all three, and set out. Now when the time had come for him to be on his way home again, he had brought pearls and diamonds for the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for a singing, soaring lark for the youngest, and he was very unhappy about it, for she was his favorite child. Then his road lay through a forest, and in the midst of it was a splendid castle, and near the castle stood a tree, but quite on the top of the tree, he saw a singing, soaring lark. “Aha, you come just at the right moment!” he said, quite delighted, and called to his servant to climb up and catch the little creature.

But as he approached the tree, a lion leapt from beneath it, shook himself, and roared till the leaves on the trees trembled. “He who tries to steal my singing, soaring lark,” he cried, “will I devour.” Then the man said, “I did not know that the bird belonged to thee. I will make amends for the wrong I have done and ransom myself with a large sum of money, only spare my life.” The lion said, “Nothing can save thee, unless thou wilt promise to give me for mine own what first meets thee on thy return home; and if thou wilt do that, I will grant thee thy life, and thou shalt have the bird for thy daughter, into the bargain.”

But the man hesitated and said, “That might be my youngest daughter, she loves me best, and always runs to meet me on my return home.”

The servant, however, was terrified and said, “Why should your daughter be the very one to meet you, it might as easily be a cat, or dog?” Then the man allowed himself to be over-persuaded, took the singing, soaring lark, and promised to give the lion whatsoever should first meet him on his return home.

When he reached home and entered his house, the first who met him was no other than his youngest and dearest daughter, who came running up, kissed and embraced him, and when she saw that he had brought with him a singing, soaring lark, she was beside herself with joy. The father, however, could not rejoice, but began to weep, and said, “My dearest child, I have bought the little bird dear. In return for it, I have been obliged to promise thee to a savage lion, and when he has thee he will tear thee in pieces and devour thee,” and he told her all, just as it had happened, and begged her not to go there, come what might.

But she consoled him and said, “Dearest father, indeed your promise must be fulfilled. I will go thither and soften the lion, so that I may return to thee safely.” Next morning she had the road pointed out to her, took leave, and went fearlessly out into the forest. The lion, however, was an enchanted prince and was by day a lion, and all his people were lions with him, but in the night they resumed their natural human shapes. On her arrival she was kindly received and led into the castle. When night came, the lion turned into a handsome man, and their wedding was celebrated with great magnificence. They lived happily together, remained awake at night, and slept in the daytime.

One day he came and said, “To-morrow there is a feast in thy father's house, because your eldest sister is to be married, and if thou art inclined to go there, my lions shall conduct thee.”

She said, “Yes, I should very much like to see my father again,” and went thither, accompanied by the lions. There was great joy when she arrived, for they had all believed that she had been torn in pieces by the lion, and had long ceased to live. But she told them what a handsome husband she had, and how well off she was, remained with them while the wedding-feast lasted, and then went back again to the forest. When the second daughter was about to be married, and she was again invited to the wedding, she said to the lion, “This time I will not be alone, thou must come with me.” The lion, however, said that it was too dangerous for him, for if when there a ray from a burning candle fell on him, he would be changed into a dove, and for seven years long would have to fly about with the doves. She said, “Ah, but do come with me, I will take great care of thee, and guard thee from all light.” So they went away together, and took with them their little child as well. She had a chamber built there, so strong and thick that no ray could pierce through it; in this he was to shut himself up when the candles were lit for the wedding-feast. But the door was made of green wood, which warped and left a little crack, which no one noticed. The wedding was celebrated with magnificence, but when the procession with all its candles and torches came back from church, and passed by this apartment, a ray about the breadth of a hair fell on the King's son, and when this ray touched him, he was transformed in an instant, and when she came in and looked for him, she did not see him, but a white dove was sitting there.

The dove said to her, “For seven years must I fly about the world, but at every seventh step that you take I will let fall a drop of red blood and a white feather, and these will show thee the way, and if thou followest the trace thou canst release me.” Thereupon the dove flew out at the door, and she followed him, and at every seventh step a red drop of blood and a little white feather fell down and showed her the way.

So she went continually further and further in the wide world, never looking about her or resting, and the seven years were almost past; then she rejoiced and thought that they would soon be delivered, and yet they were so far from it! Once when they were thus moving onwards, no little feather and no drop of red blood fell, and when she raised her eyes the dove had disappeared. And as she thought to herself, “In this no man can help thee,” she climbed up to the sun, and said to him, “Thou shinest into every crevice, and over every peak, hast thou not seen a white dove flying?”

“No,” said the sun, “I have seen none, but I present thee with a casket, open it when thou art in sorest need.”

Then she thanked the sun, and went on until evening came and the moon appeared; she then asked her, “Thou shinest the whole night through, and on every field and forest, hast thou not seen a white dove flying?”

“No,” said the moon, “I have seen no dove, but here I give thee an egg, break it when thou art in great need.”

She thanked the moon, and went on until the night wind came up and blew on her, then she said to it, “Thou blowest over every tree and under every leaf, hast thou not seen a white dove flying?”

“No,” said the night wind, “I have seen none, but I will ask the three other winds, perhaps they have seen it.”

The east wind and the west wind came, and had seen nothing, but the south wind said, “I have seen the white dove, it has flown to the Red Sea, where it has become a lion again, for the seven years are over, and the lion is there fighting with a dragon; the dragon, however, is an enchanted princess.”

The night wind then said to her, “I will advise thee; go to the Red Sea, on the right bank are some tall reeds, count them, break off the eleventh, and strike the dragon with it, then the lion will be able to subdue it, and both then will regain their human form. After that, look round and thou wilt see the griffin which is by the Red Sea; swing thyself, with thy beloved, on to his back, and the bird will carry you over the sea to your own home. Here is a nut for thee, when thou are above the center of the sea, let the nut fall, it will immediately shoot up, and a tall nut-tree will grow out of the water on which the griffin may rest; for if he cannot rest, he will not be strong enough to carry you across, and if thou forgettest to throw down the nut, he will let you fall into the sea.”

Then she went thither, and found everything as the night wind had said. She counted the reeds by the sea, and cut off the eleventh, struck the dragon therewith, whereupon the lion overcame it, and immediately both of them regained their human shapes. But when the princess, who had before been the dragon, was delivered from enchantment, she took the youth by the arm, seated herself on the griffin, and carried him off with her. There stood the poor maiden who had wandered so far and was again forsaken. She sat down and cried, but at last she took courage and said, “Still I will go as far as the wind blows and as long as the cock crows, until I find him,” and she went forth by long, long roads, until at last she came to the castle where both of them were living together; there she heard that soon a feast was to be held, in which they would celebrate their wedding, but she said, “God still helps me,” and opened the casket that the sun had given her.

A dress lay therein as brilliant as the sun itself. So she took it out and put it on, and went up into the castle, and everyone, even the bride herself, looked at her with astonishment. The dress pleased the bride so well that she thought it might do for her wedding-dress, and asked if it was for sale?

“Not for money or land,” answered she, “but for flesh and blood.” The bride asked her what she meant by that, so she said, “Let me sleep a night in the chamber where the bridegroom sleeps.” The bride would not, yet wanted very much to have the dress; at last she consented, but the page was to give the prince a sleeping-draught. When it was night, therefore, and the youth was already asleep, she was led into the chamber; she seated herself on the bed and said, “I have followed after thee for seven years. I have been to the sun and the moon, and the four winds, and have enquired for thee, and have helped thee against the dragon; wilt thou, then quite forget me?” But the prince slept so soundly that it only seemed to him as if the wind were whistling outside in the fir-trees.

When therefore day broke, she was led out again, and had to give up the golden dress. And as that even had been of no avail, she was sad, went out into a meadow, sat down there, and wept. While she was sitting there, she thought of the egg which the moon had given her; she opened it, and there came out a clucking hen with twelve chickens all of gold, and they ran about chirping, and crept again under the old hen's wings; nothing more beautiful was ever seen in the world!

Then she arose, and drove them through the meadow before her, until the bride looked out of the window. The little chickens pleased her so much that she immediately came down and asked if they were for sale. “Not for money or land, but for flesh and blood; let me sleep another night in the chamber where the bridegroom sleeps.”

The bride said, “Yes,” intending to cheat her as on the former evening. But when the prince went to bed he asked the page what the murmuring and rustling in the night had been? On this the page told all; that he had been forced to give him a sleeping-draught, because a poor girl had slept secretly in the chamber, and that he was to give him another that night.

The prince said, “Pour out the draught by the bed-side.” At night, she was again led in, and when she began to relate how ill all had fared with her, he immediately recognized his beloved wife by her voice, sprang up and cried, “Now I really am released! I have been as it were in a dream, for the strange princess has bewitched me so that I have been compelled to forget thee, but God has delivered me from the spell at the right time.”

Then they both left the castle secretly in the night, for they feared the father of the princess, who was a sorcerer, and they seated themselves on the griffin which bore them across the Red Sea, and when they were in the midst of it, she let fall the nut. Immediately a tall nut-tree grew up, whereon the bird rested, and then carried them home, where they found their child, who had grown tall and beautiful, and they lived thenceforth happily until their death.