The Grimm Chronicles

Vol. 1

By Isabella Fontaine

-and-

Ken Brosky

Cover art by Chris Smith. Edited by Dagny Holt. Special thanks to Emil Gardin and D.S. Atkinson.

Published 2012 by Brew City Press.

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Table of Contents (click!)

Introduction

Prince Charming Must Die!

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen (part one)

Happily Never After

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen (part 2)

Revenge of the Castle Cats

Introduction!

Let’s keep this brief, so we can get to the fun stuff in the book. Namely, the actual story. But before we get to that, we want to give you a message:

Thank you.

We mean it. From the bottom of our hearts. Since the very start, The Grimm Chronicles has had tremendous support from book bloggers and readers alike, and so we’re greatly in the debt of anyone who’s taken the time to read our story.

It didn’t come easy, you know! We’re pretty sure we emailed a good two hundred or so book bloggers, begging them to give us a shot. We sent out so many emails that our wrists were sore from pointing and clicking. We scoured the web for Young Adult fans, skipping meals and—OK, OK, Ken didn’t skip any meals. He hasn’t skipped a meal since 1998. But he definitely ate in front of his computer, ensuring that every book giveaway’s promises were fulfilled.

Some bloggers had a reach of a couple visitors a day, some were getting thousands. Every single one who took the time to review and promote The Grimm Chronicles helped make these first three books a success (we’re getting ahead of ourselves, we know… but we’re pretty confident this third book is going to be as successful as the first two!). As Ken is fond of saying, book bloggers make the world a better place. They have a voracious appetite for books, and they share their love with other interested readers.

When we started The Grimm Chronicles, we had two important rules:

1. Our hero has to deal with some serious issues. And we’re not talking about which boy to fall madly in love with and live happily ever after, either. Our hero needs to deal with serious issues. In the first three episodes, she’ll make some important decisions that have a profound effect on the world. In future episodes, she’ll make more important decisions, too. And there’s not going to be a love triangle.

2. Our hero needs to rely on her brain. We love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you’d better believe there’s going to be plenty of action in this series, but that’s not enough for us. We don’t just want a positive female hero … we want her smart, too. We want her to enjoy learning and enjoy reading. We want her to value knowledge and use it. She has to be more than just a butt kicker (but she can kick some butt when necessary, too!).

With these two rules in mind, we started crafting the very first story. We wanted it to be bold and exciting and we wanted to make sure it had something to do with the princes and princesses of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. But we didn’t want to stop there! One of the coolest parts about this series is that it can use any of the fairy tales written by the Brothers Grimm. According to the legend in our series, every single character in those stories becomes evil over time.

Some grow more evil than others.

Some find themselves mutating into horrible creatures.

One is a sausage.

Yup, in one of the Grimms’ tales, a talking sausage causes all sorts of trouble. We’d be fools not to try and fit him into our series somehow.

And in case you’re wondering about how long the series is going to last …

Expect 12 episodes. One episode every two months on the Kindle. Every three episodes will be connected in some way (we call this a “story arc”), and we’ll release each story arc in a print collector’s edition with some fun stuff included. For this first arc, we’ve included a “lost diary” and an interview at the end of the book, as well as all of the original fairy tales we mention in these episodes.

OK. So that’s the plan. Hopefully, you enjoy the first story arc of the series. What should we call this arc? Should it have a name? Yes. It should have a name.

Let’s see … how about this:

A New Beginning

What, no good? Too dull? Well then you figure a name out! We’re too busy working on the next episode in the series, for crying out loud!

Enjoy the book. And don’t forget to drop us an email at fontainepen@gmail.com.

Book 1: Prince Charming Must Die!

Chapter 1

It happened, however, that a king’s son came into the forest, and went to the dwarfs’ house to spend the night. He saw the coffin on the mountain, and the beautiful Snow-white within it, and read what was written upon it in golden letters. Then he said to the dwarfs, “Let me have the coffin, I will give you whatever you want for it.” [i]

I should have known Edward was too good to be true.

No. Wait. Let me go back to the beginning. Before I had this curse. Before I went around slaying creatures that shouldn’t exist. Before I made friends with a rabbit.

It was the end of my junior year of high school. That was when all of this really started. I was looking forward to summer. I didn’t have a job but I had something even better: a volunteer spot at the local library. It was the best job in the world—sure, I mostly just put away all of the books and no, I wasn’t getting paid. But I loved being inside that old building. From the outside, it looked like a big old firehouse complete with rusty red bricks and a rusted fire escape on one side. All it needed was one of those big garage doors for the fire truck.

Inside, though … that was where it all happened. When you walked in through the front door, you passed the little checkout desk where one of the old librarians would give a smile. Beyond that: rows and rows of old metal bookcases. Fiction. History. Biography. Science. In the center of the massive space was a circular table with five computers, the only hint of technology in the entire place.

Even the light bulbs were old! I’m not kidding—the lights hanging from the tiled ceiling had old steel shades, something out of the nineteenth century. It was a good thing the library closed before it got dark because without sunlight streaming in through the windows, the place might take on a much creepier tone.

But in the daylight, it just looked neat. On the second floor were more bookcases, mostly children’s books and young adult books, but there was a reading room up there, too. I remember going up there as a child and sitting on the red carpet of the reading room and following along as one of the librarians read one of the children’s novels. My dad sat outside, reading Star Trek books.

Yup … we’re just one big family of nerds. And we’re darned proud of it.

I remember the first time I “graduated” to the first floor. I chose a science book about extinct animals. I’d been enraptured by a drawing on the first page where a long-extinct saber-toothed tiger was battling a ferocious lion. I just knew the tiger had won because tigers are the greatest animals in all the world. They’re the real kings in my book.

I remember that time because I’d almost gone into the basement. The basement door was near the bathrooms and I’d opened the door by mistake. A cool breeze had touched my skin. It was so dark that I squinted, trying to make something out. Anything. But it was too dark, and it gave little 13-year-old me the chills.

The basement. If only I’d known what was waiting for me down there.

Needless to say, by the last week of school, I was ready for summer. Even my last class of the day—hardly a class at all—couldn’t keep me entertained. Fencing. Where other girls chose basic gym because the rules for roller skating and badminton were relaxed enough to allow casual gossip, I’d made the choice to fence with six other guys—including my boyfriend Edward—and a girl named Tina who was on the verge of failing.

“You have to attack,” I told her midway through class. She’d lost twice already during the week and we were being graded on our form. Tina didn’t have form. Tina had nothing more than an amazing ability to swing her sword—called a “foil”—left and right as fast as possible and delay the inevitable.

“I can’t attack,” she told me, shifting in the chair. We were in a small weight training room off of the gym. In front of us, two of the other students were fencing in full gear, their shoes squeaking on the red rubber mats. “The boys are stronger.”

“Oh gawd,” I muttered. “Look,” I pointed to the two boys fighting. They were both wearing white uniforms but one of the helmets had an A printed on the back and the other a B so our teacher—Mr. Whitmann—could communicate the scores.

“What am I looking at?” Tina asked.

“Watch Gregg,” I said. “He’s the A. Watch him parry. See how he always uses the same riposte? He loves stabbing after he parries.” We watched them attack and parry again, the thin blades of their fencing swords clanging together and echoing above us. Gregg took two steps back, parrying his opponent’s swipe. When the time was right, he took the offensive, stabbing wildly at his opponent’s ribs. “Just watch their shoulders,” I told Tina. We watched Gregg attack again. He had a surefire “tell” … everytime he was about to attack, his left shoulder made this little jerk, like he was trying to fake out his opponent.

Mr. Whitmann called an end to the fight and tallied up the scores. Gregg was the surefire winner.

“He’s too good,” Tina moaned. “All these swords just blur my vision. I can’t even see them coming!”

“Just focus,” I said. “We’re not losing to a bunch of stinky boys. Gregg doesn’t even wear deodorant, for crying out loud.”

“Alice,” Mr. Whitmann said, wrinkling his black mustache. “You can’t keep quiet sitting there? Fine, then you’re up. Gregg, you stay on.”

I grabbed the B mask and foil from the quiet boy who’d just been creamed by Gregg. I adjusted the plastic chest protector underneath my jacket, much to the chagrin of the boys seated at the edge of the mat. Edward simply smiled, giving me a thumbs-up. I have to admit, he looked pretty good sitting there. He was one of the few guys who could wear the bulky fencing gear with any grace, like he was actually comfortable underneath all the padding.

“En guard,” Mr. Whitmann called out. I barely had time to get a grip on the foil before Gregg came crashing at me with all the grace of a football player. I parried his thrusts; the clang of the swords was almost lost inside the mask but not quite; I relished it. I loved this moment. I loved the salty smell of sweat inside the mask. I loved the way the world seemed dark and closed-in from behind the black mesh.

And I loved winning. Especially against boys bigger than me. And as Gregg came in again, I parried low, pulling his foil downward, taking a quick step back and then a quick step forward and thrusting the foil into his chest. The tip of my sword pressed into the protective jacket and the narrow blade bent in a U-shape.

“Point,” Mr. Whitmann called out. “Parry-riposte from the right. Good job, young lady.”

“Can you sound more surprised?” I muttered inside the mask. Mr. Whitmann was a small, portly man with jet-black sideburns and hairy arms. He favored the boys; that much was obvious. And he loved Edward, just like every other teacher in the school. From the very first day he transferred to Washington High School, he was universally loved.

Gregg came at me again, this time swinging his sword even more violently. I parried as best I could, stepping away from him. He didn’t even have his free hand behind his back, and if our foils weren’t dulled at the tip I could have nicked the skin of his bare hand. He left me another opening and I took it, stabbing him in the rib.

“Point,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Excellent job, Alice.”

Gregg stepped back, tearing off his mask in frustration. I took mine off and pulled loose strands of black hair behind my ears. I glanced at Edward, who was sitting with the other boys, smiling approvingly. Did you see that? I thought. Look at how good your girlfriend is.

As if he could read my mind, he gave a nod.

Later, after the final bell, he sidled up to me at my locker. “Do you need help with your books, my love?” Students had begun sifting out; the only ones lingering were the select few who needed a few extra minutes to fill our backpacks with notes and textbooks. Our school was like that: a lot of slackers. Kids who preferred C’s because it allowed more time to watch awful TV shows.

I spun around and wrapped my arms around him, planting a kiss on his lips. He had soft, full lips, perfect for smooching. “We’re waiting for Tricia and Seth. I told them you would give them a ride home. Is that OK?”

He smiled, holding me close. “Of course. Will you spend some time with me tonight?”

How could I say no? Edward was dreamy. Edward was everything a 17-year-old girl wanted: dark looks, chiseled body, searching green eyes, short brown hair, and of course an earring to top it all off. That isn’t to say the earring was the deal-maker—more of a cherry on top of a sundae.

A really, really tasty sundae.

Our meeting had been like a fairy tale encounter. It was late August. I’d been at the park down by Lake Michigan with a couple friends right before school started. They’d gone rollerblading and so I took to the opportunity to knock down a few chapters of a new fiction novel, lying back on a bench. My eyes slowly shut.

When I woke up, he was standing over me. In all his hunky glory. Wearing a tight blue button-down shirt. He was looking down at me like he wanted to kiss me to wake me up. Yeah.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was walking by and noticed that something is about to flitter out of your purse.”

I glanced down at my black purse sitting on the grass next to the bench. He was right: a little slip of paper was hanging out, flapping in the wind. “Flitter,” I repeated with a smile. “I like the sound of that word.”

“It used to be quite a popular word,” he said, crouching down beside me. He was regarding me ... really, really staring into my eyes. “Royalty used it for a long time. And then when the peasants started using it, the royalty stopped. Weird, no?”

I laughed. “Do you always walk up to girls and tell them about the history of words?”

He laughed, too, glancing at the piece of paper still flittering as the breeze picked up again. “No, no. I don’t know where that came from. I’m usually much more awkward.”

I felt incredibly calm around him, calm enough to sit up and hold out a hand. “I’m Alice.”

“Edward,” he said, taking my hand in his. “So what is it?” he asked, nodding to the paper. “I bet it’s a shopping list.”

“That’s so goofy!” I said with a laugh. “I hate shopping. My mom shops for me.” I winced. Stupid, stupid. “I mean, I shop for myself. Sometimes. Like, I get yogurt. And stuff. Uh, and orange juice. It’s just a note to myself. It says Alice, please remember to return your book to the library.”

“Ah, a library denizen,” he said. “Do you go to the downtown library?”

“No,” I said. “I live out by New Berlin. There’s a little library right by my house.”

“So you go to Washington High, then?”

I nodded.

“I’m starting there this year,” he said. “I’m a little nervous. I transferred from out of state.”

“Just keep a list of weird words handy,” I offered. “Nothing will help you fit in better than a list of words no one recognizes.”

He smiled. We talked some more. I don’t remember what we talked about because my head was swimming with excitement. A boy, walking up to meet me? Alice, how lucky could you possibly be? And it was all because you decided to not rollerblade with your friends! None of my Health teachers ever mentioned that not exercising had its perks, too.

He came up to me the first day of class. We were leaving English, having been assigned a section of Jane Eyre, one of my favorite classic novels. Just walking through the crowded hall, I could see eyes on me in every direction. That never happened before. But now here the mysterious new guy was talking to little old me, telling me about his parents’ library and promising to show me, but only if I agreed to let him take me out to dinner.

That Friday night, the first Friday of the school year, we had our first date in a crowded dark little restaurant in downtown Milwaukee that featured $25 plates and whose walls were covered with old paintings. I thought I was going to die. Being there with him. Eating food my parents would be jealous of. Staring at the plastic-wrapped original copy of Jane Eyre, with “An Autobiography” in small text underneath the title. Picture. Perfect.

Now my boyfriend of nearly a year and I were waiting at the school entrance for Tricia and Seth, standing in a sort of calm silence. Edward liked his silences. Other girls liked his silences, too, I’d noticed. They called him “brooding,” sometimes when I could overhear. Most of the time, it was a compliment. Most high school guys were too talkative, like they were hard-wired to fill every gap with some trivia about video games. Tricia and Seth didn’t make us wait long; they bounded through the hallway doors like the school was on fire. Tricia was wearing heels today, which made her an inch or two taller than Seth. They were both wearing their Washington Dragons t-shirts to show a little school spirit: the girls’ basketball team—the “Lady Dragons”—had won the state championships again. Seth’s overly large shirt made him look like a freshman who got handed the wrong-sized gym gear. He was already short, and his boyish pimpled face and short blond hair didn’t help things. He’d gotten an ear pierced a year ago but it had become infected and he had to take it out. That was just Seth’s luck.

“That really doesn’t do much for your figure,” I said to Tricia with a smile. I turned to Seth. “Yours either, dear.”

Seth just shrugged. “They were out of small sizes.”

“I got mine for free,” Tricia said proudly. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders. “The cheerleaders were throwing t-shirts into the stands at the last home game.”

Seth jerked a thumb in her direction. “Trish reached over an old lady’s head and tore it out of her hands.”

“I did not!” Tricia said, slapping him lightly on the arm. This could have been the beginning of a long, drawn-out fight. That was how they were. It was the complete opposite of Edward and me: we never fought. But Seth and Tricia? Hoo boy, they could turn anything into a quarrel. Even a shirt could bring them to qualms. I didn’t want to deal with their fight today. I didn’t want either of them preoccupied before our biology final on Thursday. The only sensible course was a diversion.

“Are those the jeans we picked out last week?” I asked.

Tricia lifted up her too-long shirt, extending one leg. “Indeed they are. Acid wash is going to make a comeback, I swear it.”

Edward and Seth both laughed a little. “She’s probably right,” Edward said. “Every style eventually makes a comeback.”

“Yeah but is she going to live that long?” Seth asked with a raised eyebrow.

Another playful slap. But this time, he caught her hand and held it. A good sign that they would stay on good terms and at least try to get some studying done tonight. I didn’t want either of them to fail.

We walked toward Edward’s car on the far end of the parking lot. Nothing but the best for Edward: a great car and a great parking space. Only the upper-class kids had parking spaces in the little lot behind Washington High. The rest of us peasants parked on the streets in the surrounding neighborhood, generally upsetting the owners of the one-story boxes who liked their street quiet and devoid of teenagers.

“You think it’s gonna rain?” Seth asked, glancing up at the gray sky. “I’m so sick of the rain. I gotta start biking to work to save money on gas.”

Tricia wrapped her arm in his. “It’s going to rain every day you have to work. All summer.”

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to him,” I told her with a laugh. Edward’s hand found mine and squeezed it tight. I felt a little surge of warmth spread across my body. I looked up at him. He was a foot taller than me, a good six inches taller than Tricia and she was five-ten. He could have been on the basketball team. I told him that. He would always respond: “I’d rather spend time with you.”

Dreamy, eh? No? Well, what if I mention that he usually added: “Curled up with a good book on a comfy couch with our bare toes rubbing together”? Yeah. Thought so.

In the car, Seth sat up front and controlled the radio dial with calculated fury, making sure we weren’t tortured by any commercials. Edward had one of the nicest cars but he drove in control and always used his turn signals, even in the campus parking lot.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Tricia told him when he made a complete stop before pulling out of the parking lot. “Not even one squealed tire? Really?”

He laughed and gave a little shrug, turning on the wipers as a small sprinkling of rain started up. “I like to be safe. It’s a nice car, if you haven’t noticed. With some nice ladies inside, too.”

“Where?” Seth asked, looking around.

I kicked the passenger’s seat. “Be good.”

“I bet if we were wearing low-cut blouses he’d be nicer,” Tricia said with a smile. We were on 85th street now, heading away from the city of Milwaukee and toward the little suburb of New Berlin. “Remember two years ago when we didn’t have chests? I don’t even think Seth ever even talked to me in the hall.”

“I never talked to anyone in the hall,” Seth muttered. “Especially girls with chests.”

“I bet I would still have talked to Alice,” Edward said, glancing at me in the mirror. His dark eyes narrowed deviously.

“Probably not,” I told him.

Tricia laughed. “Yeah Eddie, she really wasn’t much to look at when she was a frosh. See how straight her dark hair is now? It used to be much frizzier. I had to teach her how to use hairspray. And this face? Zits. Tons and tons of zits. She needed a lot of help.”

“It’s true,” I murmured, swatting away her hand. I’d smoothed out some of the rough edges over the past two years. My skin was clearer (although I didn’t tan well) and I’d filled into a slight hourglass shape. My bright brown eyes seemed brighter now than when I was younger—or maybe I’d just gotten used to them. I used to hate them. Now, I loved how they complimented my indigo-friendly wardrobe.

“Every high school student needs a lot of help,” Edward said with a smile. “Me included.”

“Yeah I think one of your pecks is smaller than the other,” Seth said, giving Edward a poke in the ribs. Edward flinched, smiling, but said nothing.

Suddenly he braked, forcing my body against the seat belt. I looked out the windshield and saw the car of Joey Harrington pass us.

“What an ass,” Tricia said. “Who passes someone on a residential street?”

“Joey Harrington,” the rest of us said at the same time. Joey lived in our neighborhood, too. He kept to his clique of popular students inside the lunchroom. He played football and hockey and was worshipped because of it. He didn’t talk to us, but he didn’t pick on us either. We were the in-betweens—not quite popular, not quite outcasts who were the target of bullies. But we had friends in the outcast cliques, and so Joey and his friends’ taunts affected us too.

After Edward started dating me and word had spread, Joey was even nice to me in the hallway. Not overly nice, mind you … but he’d say hi. And it was hard not to enjoy it. Popularity was like that. It was infectious. Only Edward seemed unaffected by it.

“You should cut that idiot off,” Tricia said.

“I’d love nothing more,” Edward responded. “But not today.”

“Not today,” Seth scoffed. “You always say that. You’ve got, like, the coolest head in the school. And I mean that in a bad way, dude.”

“Yeah,” said Trish, “what happens when you get caught in some drama? You’ll have to take a side. Joey and his friends and those cool girls are obsessed with making drama.”

Edward just shrugged. It didn’t get to him. At least, I don’t think it did. He was cool. He exuded cool—calm, I mean. His short dark hair and square jaw made him look like someone out of an old black-and-white detective film, one of those guys who’s always thinking one step ahead.

As we headed farther west, the houses and properties began to spread out. No more small boxy World War II-era homes … now, everything was getting bigger. Bigger homes. Bigger front yards. Bigger cars. We passed Southridge Mall, and then our rival high school. The street widened into four lanes to accommodate more traffic.

Edward turned right at Cherokee Drive, weaving around bends in the narrow street. The houses in this small patch of neighborhood were crowded with pine and maple trees. Everything was green—green leaves dancing in a gentle breeze, green fresh-cut grass, green bushes sitting underneath tall windows raised open to let in the warm, wet air. Summer was here.

“Your stop, my friends,” Edward said, pulling into the driveway of a short, L-shaped house with brown siding and wide windows overlooking the road. This was Seth’s house. You couldn’t see it from the front road, but in the back yard was one of the most amazing swing sets out there, complete with a climbing tower and monkey bars. As kids, Seth and I had logged hundreds of hours on that jungle gym.

Tricia opened her door, then reached out and grabbed Edward’s shoulder. “So you’ll pick us up tomorrow, right?”

He laughed. “I promise.”

“Please,” she said. She turned to me. “Don’t either of you forget. I can’t miss that exam.”

“You need to focus on passing the exam,” I told her sternly.

“I will.” She smiled her pearly white smile, then blew me a kiss.

Edward gave a wave to Seth, pulling out of the driveway and heading back toward 86th Street. On the way, we passed my house. My parents were both home, their twin Toyotas sitting in the driveway. Our house was narrower than Seth’s. Taller, too—our house had an attic. The paneling outside was dark blue and the windows much, much older. Read: drafty. Edward had never been inside my house, but if he had he would have first noticed the draft coming in through the windows. Everyone noticed that first.

We were quiet for a while. Edward was brooding. I thought it was sexy; it reminded me of the hunks that always showed up in the books that all the girls in school read during Study Hall. The hunks were always silent. Always mysterious. Like Edward. Why he’d zeroed in on plain Alice was the subject of many not-so-quiet guesses.

“Are we going to prom next year?” I asked him suddenly.

He turned right on 86th Street. “Of course.”

I leaned back. I wished I’d gotten in the front seat to be closer to him. I wanted to be close to him suddenly. To make sure he didn’t disappear.

“What made you think of that, love?” he asked.

“I just got this, like, real weird feeling run over me,” I said. “Like, we’re not going to be together next year or something.” Give me reassurance, I thought. There were prettier girls in school. They all liked Edward. They talked to him in class. They tried to make him laugh because he had a nice smile. OK, I’m being modest. A lot of them downright fawned over him. I pretended not to see it, but in reality we’re talking more than a little anxiety. He’d made friends so quickly—that was what happened when you joined track. The runners were popular.

He didn’t respond at first. Not exactly what I was hoping for.

“Seriously?” I asked. “No response? Not even a little reassurance for your neurotic girlfriend?”

“Of course we’re going to be together,” he said finally.

“But you hesitated.”

“A lot of things happen over the course of the year, Alice.” He shrugged. “I’m game if you are. But …”

“But what?” I asked. “You think I might not be up for it?”

He didn’t answer. The downside to having a mysterious boyfriend was sometimes he was mysterious in an annoying sort of way. The popular girly books never prepare you for that.

“You OK?” he asked finally.

I touched my forehead. “Yeah. I think. I’ve just been having some weird dreams.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember them well. But I keep waking up in a cold sweat. I know they’re scary, though. I remember them being scary.”

“Don’t eat pizza before bedtime,” he offered. “It causes nightmares.”

“Thank you, doctor. That’s really wonderful advice.”

Farther out at the edge of the suburb were the much larger houses. These houses were less social than the ones in my neighborhood: each one had a wrought iron gate and expansive yards and high fences that acted as a buffer between their neighbors. Each house was secluded and that, I think, was the way the owners liked it. They were going for a “Secretive Shut-In Lives Here” kind of look.

They liked their yards, too. Edward’s neighbor had put in a number of massive green shrubs that had been cut to resemble animals. Edward’s parents had “installed” maple and ash trees around the edge of the property to give their mansion—a thick, three-story monolith with off-white paneling and narrow, prison-like windows—the feel of a cabin out in the woods.

A really, really big cabin.

He stopped the car at the gate, running his keycard across the little sensor box. The gate opened with a rusty squeal and he drove up the asphalt driveway, parking at the side of the house. Up close, the house looked more “middle class” and less “Super Filthy Rich.” There was a small door that presumably led to the basement and two green garbage bins that always seemed to be overflowing. Rain water had stained the red-brick foundation with ugly black streaks.

“Ugh,” I said, stepping around the garbage bag sitting on the grass next to the overflowing bin. Food wrappers and empty orange juice cartons were leaking out. “The raccoons got to it. Don’t your parents tell you to take out the trash?”

“Every week,” Edward said with a smile. “I hate doing it. It’s a long walk from the house to the street, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said. “You could almost have your own bus line from the street to your house.”

We walked up the concrete steps to the front door. Edward pulled out his keys and unlocked it.

“No parents?”

“What do you mean?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“I thought you said they might be home today.”

“Tonight,” he said. “Later tonight. Much, much later.”

“Rats. I thought today was the day.”

“I’m sorry, love. Things will settle down for them after their grant money dries up. Then you’ll meet them. But it was my choice to stay here instead of travel with them during their research.”

We walked into the house. The front door opened into a massive living room. Near the front door were two blue couches and a large flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Over the beautiful dark gray floral pattern wallpaper. That idea had to have come from Edward’s dad, I thought. No sane woman would hang something over such beautiful wallpaper.

Beyond the living room was the kitchen and a bathroom, the only other two rooms—beside his bedroom upstairs—that Edward said we were allowed to hang out in. The first floor had three more rooms, each one filled with things teenagers weren’t allowed to touch. Edward had shown me one afternoon after I begged him for about half an hour. The first room was full of tall marble statues. Old, old statues. Statues of goddesses and ancient soldiers and Greek figures who had the curly hair and wardrobe of philosophers.

The second room was full of paintings, which hung on the wall and were held in place by solid metal frames whose intricate designs were almost as interesting as the paintings themselves. Lots of cherubs. Edward’s parents had a thing for cuddly little angel babies, I guess.

The third room led to the staircase and the bedrooms upstairs. It wasn’t technically “off limits,” but that was only because it contained the library and Edward knew he couldn’t keep it from me. Heck, it was his fault for mentioning it in the first place. The library was simple, with floor-to-ceiling solid wood bookshelves that tempted me every time we snuck upstairs. Books so old just looking at their delicate broken spines might cause them pain. Books so old the writing on the covers looked as if it had been inked in a different language entirely, the font so obscure you had to squint and remember back to your cursive lessons to figure out each letter. They were beautiful.

We went in there now on our way to his bedroom. I stopped as I always did, exploring one of the bookshelves nearest the large staircase pressed against the far wall. My bare toes sank into the soft red carpeting as I ran a finger along the middle row. This was the only room with carpeting. It looked old, too, as if it belonged in an earlier generation. My toes left indentations that didn’t disappear, marking my presence.

“Fairy tales,” I murmured. “God, there must be dozens of books of fairy tales.”

“They’re important,” Edward said. “Don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

“They are important,” Edward said. “Children need to believe in happy endings.”

“And Prince Charming,” I added. I looked up at him. “Right? Prince Charming is real, isn’t he?”

He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. “Of course, my love.”

“What’s this?” I asked, grabbing a flat wooden box sitting on one of the shelves. There was glass over one side and when I saw what was inside, I nearly dropped it.

“Careful,” Edward said, taking it from me. “They’re just butterflies.”

“Dead butterflies!” I exclaimed, wiping my hands on my pants. “Stabbed with needles!”

“That’s how they’re displayed.”

“Well, it’s gross. Almost as gross as spiders.”

He seemed offended, sliding the box back into the bookshelf between two books. “I have a lot of these, all over the house, so you might as well get used to them. I collect them. Every butterfly species is different. They’re all beautiful in their own way.” He looked at me and smiled devilishly. “I bet spiders can taste the difference, too.”

My stomach lurched. “Oh that is so disgusting. Please stop.”

He put an arm around me. “If you insist, my love. But I must warn you that there are spiders all over your back!” His fingers danced on my back and I screamed, fleeing for my life.

He chased me upstairs. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong: I didn’t sleep with him. In fact, I’d never slept with him. It was strange, especially since we’d been dating for nearly a year, but I was having doubts about whether we should go that far at all. He seemed so much more mature than me. He didn’t laugh at Seth’s ridiculous jokes—he just smiled. He didn’t get excited at the hockey and basketball and football games we went to—he just clapped. He didn’t goof around with his track mates in class.

Me? I wasn’t quite so mature. I was a red-blooded teenager. I spent hours in front of bathroom mirrors with Tricia. I shot spitballs at the wall with Seth. I played on my phone when I should have slept. I even occasionally dumped icky leftovers to force my parents to make something tasty. I know. I know! Total waste of food. I was horrible.

Definitely not mature like Edward.

And if we were going to have sex, I wanted to make sure it meant something. And I still didn’t know Edward, not really … I mean, what about that butterfly collection? What was that all about? Was he going to work in a museum or something? Did his parents study butterflies? And I hadn’t even met his parents yet! Always so busy, running around doing their research.

We necked. There was nothing wrong with that, right? His bed was soft. His dark blue sheets felt silky on my bare toes. His lips pressed against mine, then made their way right under my left ear. This is nice, I thought. This could be every night for the rest of my life and I would be happy.

His hand crept lower. I let it happen until he reached my waist, then pulled it back. “Not now,” I said.

“When,” he whispered into my ear. I could sense the longing. It was hard not to give in. Still, I felt something was wrong about this moment.

“Soon,” I said. “I promise. I turn eighteen on Monday, remember?”

He rolled back, sighing. His tight shirt had rolled up a bit and his strong abs were visible now. I had to fight the urge to run a hand along them. Gawd, I was fighting a lot of urges. Why? I couldn’t say, exactly.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “Really. You’re wonderful. Almost too wonderful. But I want to wait until I’m eighteen.” There. A little lie, yes, but it would buy me some time before I had everything figured out.

“It’s OK,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s OK. This just feels so right for me, that’s all.”

I couldn’t feel anything except shame. Like I’d done something wrong for saying no. Like I should feel bad because I wasn’t ready to have sex with him. Why wasn’t I? He was one of the coolest guys in school. He was dark. He was mysterious. And he was mine and we were in love. Wasn’t that enough? What else was there, for crying out loud?

He drove me home in silence. I fought the urge to apologize. Be tough, I told myself. Be tough. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just because a lot of the kids in the cool clique talked about sex all the time didn’t make it cool. Or right.

I made it past the kiss goodbye. I made it past the kitchen, where my mom was sitting at the table reading a magazine. I made it to my room. Then I cried. I felt as if I’d done something wrong saying no. I felt as if I was supposed to sleep with Edward.

Mom came into my room without knocking. Her soft hand rested on my back and stayed there while I let it all out.

“It’s hard,” I said into my pillow.

Mom—ever the understanding one in these moments—simply affirmed my outlook on life with a quiet “Mmmm-hmmm.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because,” Mom said, “that’s just the way it is. Life isn’t a fairy tale. It has a lot of ups and downs.”

I sighed, dry-hiccupping. The tears were gone. If Dad was up here, he’d call this a “woman thing” and maybe he was right. My cycle had begun acting less on time for the past nine months, ever since I’d started dating Edward. It was nothing spectacularly big—a couple days early, then a couple days late—but it was incredibly strange given how rigorous my cycle usually was. I didn’t want to mention that to my mom. Those types of topics had a tendency to lead to “sex talks,” and I’d had enough of those. Really, just one or two is enough, Mom.

“You’re starting your new job in a few days,” Mom said. “Look forward to that. Just get through these last few exams and then it’s summer and everything is going to start to look up. I’ll run your pillow case through the laundry tonight, too.”

“It’s not a job,” I murmured. Gawd, what a teenager-thing to say. Here she was, trying her best to cheer me up, and I had to go and pick her words apart.

She was unfazed. “Books,” she said in her soothing “Mom” voice, “are what you love.”

It was true. But I loved Edward, too. And something just didn’t feel right.

Chapter 2

One day the servant, who took away the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help carrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door, he lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But when he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it, so he cut off a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it touched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices outside his window.[ii]

Mom was right. The next afternoon after exams, I was inside Franken Library, sitting behind the check-out desk—behind the desk!—with Mary Waters, the head librarian. I only had one exam left and it was the last thing I was thinking about. This was my world now. Right here. Surrounded by books.

“You won’t be horribly entertained,” Mary said to me. That was her first rule of volunteering at the library, apparently. She looked at me over thin glasses with black frames. She was in her fifties, with a round pear-shaped bottom. She wore gray pants and a white blouse with a light brown sweater wrapped around her neck. Cute librarian duds.

“I’m always entertained here,” I said, giving her a look that dared her to try and ruin my good time. It was impossible. I was surrounded by books.

Mary frowned. “Well, I hope you continue to feel that way.” She touched my arm. “It’s so nice having help. I can’t bend over as well as I used to.” She pursed her lips. “Now that I think of it, I can’t stand straight that well anymore either.”

We both chuckled.

“Do I need to tell you where the sections are?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus don’t go calling me ma’am,” she said. “It’s bad enough the janitor calls me Miss Waters.”

“Mary it is,” I said. “It’s just weird … we can never call our teachers by their first names.”

She smiled. Her skin wrinkled up at the corners her lips. Laugh lines, my dad called them. Signs of a life well-lived. I liked that. I liked knowing that Mary had smiled so much. “Why don’t you start with the children’s books? No need to make multiple trips upstairs.”

“OK.”

“So grab the mail bin.”

“Right.” I spun around, walking over to Mary’s little desk and grabbing the empty white mail bin. I walked back to the checkout desk and set it down. We filled it with children’s books and young adult novels.

“I’m so sorry the elevator isn’t working,” Mary said in a barely audible whisper. “Budget cuts. Just not much money left for us.”

“I understand,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m kind of like a superhero who’s really, really knowledgeable about the Dewey Decimal System.”

Mary nodded solemnly. “I just wish we didn’t need you. Not that you’re not a wonderful addition, dear, but we could really use another librarian. We fall so far behind so quickly when new books need to be purchased. The girls, they come in and they want all these new vampire novels and werewolf novels and I just can’t keep them straight.”

I chuckled. “There are a lot of them.”

“And the covers!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Lordy, the number of topless men I see on these covers … well, that’s not worth complaining about, I suppose.”

“I’ll do everything I can this summer to help,” I told her. “I promise.”

She smiled, loading up the last few books. I took the bin upstairs, feeling the weight in my legs. Well, I thought, at least I’ll tone my legs this summer. It would be good exercise. I needed it. I needed to get my legs back into the shape they were in while I was still taking gymnastics in middle school. In high school, that type of thing wasn’t “cool” and I’d quit. Not that fencing was “cool,” either. But it was a lot of fun beating up the boys. There was only one student I hadn’t beaten at fencing yet.

Edward.

Re-shelving the books took longer than I expected. And yes, it was a little distracting. I found myself scanning the shelves after every book I put away. The habit grew worse when I put away books on the first floor in the early afternoon. I was discovering new books as I went, mentally arranging them in the “to-read” bookshelf in my brain. A science book about oceans (why not? Deep sea creatures are weird and cool). A fiction novel by Sandra Cisneros. A collection of short stories by Alice Munro. A biography of Harriet Tubman.

I worked through lunch, hoping to get out early enough to catch a few rays of sun. But by the afternoon there were more books that needed to be put away. I went through the process again, starting with the children’s books and moving down to the first floor and loading up my brain with a dozen more to-reads.

When I was done the second time, Mary had an entirely new job. “Fairy tales,” she said. “Always a favorite.” She held the book out and I touched it cautiously. It looked old. It looked as if it belonged on one of the bookshelves in Edward’s house.

“Where does this go?” I asked, running my fingers across the golden type. The cover was brown, ripped, torn, flaking away, but the words were still readable. Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

“Basement,” Mary said. “Shelved by section, then author. Shelve it under Grimm.”

“It seems like a crime to let this sit in the basement,” I said. “I want to read it.”

Mary smiled. “You can check it out any time you want, dear. But a book like this can’t stay on the shelves up here anymore. Too many greasy little fingers causing too much damage.” She narrowed her eyes at it and I felt a protective urge to hide it from her gaze. “I’m not even sure how it got up here in the first place.”

“OK,” I said. “So I’ll just put it away …”

“And then you can go,” Mary said with a wink.

I walked over to the door leading to the basement. I hadn’t touched this door in half a decade. I don’t think many people had. When I turned the knob, it clicked once before opening. I flipped the light switch and a single light bulb turned on halfway down the wooden staircase.

OK, I thought—here we go. Nothing to be afraid of. My feet padded cautiously on each creaky step. I tried not to imagine something grabbing at my ankles between each step, fighting the impulse to run back upstairs.

“No spiders,” I announced to the shadows below. “I’m not tasty. I’m not fun to crawl on, either. Keep away.”

At the bottom, I could see the basement was much larger than I expected. And more well-lit, too, thankfully. There were ten rows of metal shelves that almost touched the ceiling and a single long horizontal light fixture for each aisle that made it tough for spiders to hide. I walked between the dusty old collections, inhaling through my nose so I could enjoy the old book smell. Why had I been scared? This place was amazing!

I found the G’s in the fiction section and ran my finger along the spines of dusty brown books whose lettering had faded so that their titles were unrecognizable. It would have to be a guess where “Grimm” should go, but I could make out enough letters on the neighboring books to get close. I was surprised none of the books were covered in plastic—budget cuts again, I figured.

“Still a shame,” I said to the pathetic old book in my hands. I ran my fingers along the title again. Well. What was the harm in just a little look?

And before long she opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, sat up, and was once more alive. “Oh, heavens, where am I?” she cried. The King’s son, full of joy, said, “You are with me,” and told her what had happened, and said, “I love you more than everything in the world; come with me to my father’s palace, you shall be my wife.”

And Snow White was willing, and went with him, and their wedding was held with great show and splendour.

“You poor fool,” I murmured to Snow White, closing the book. “Should have just chewed a little better.”

I slid my fingers between two books, feeling them crack apart as if they’d been glued together for an eternity. I was about to slip the Grimm’s Fairy Tales book in when something cut me underneath my nail.

“Ouch!” I said, pulling back. I pulled apart the two books and noticed a slip of paper—old, faded brown—and something silver sitting behind the books. I pulled out the slip of paper first, as carefully as I could, then reached back and grabbed the silver object.

Immediately, I felt something surge through my body. It was warm and for a moment, my eyes seemed on the verge of crying. I held the silver object in my hand and stared at it.

A pen. A fountain pen. I pulled off the cap and stared in awe at the beautiful arrow-shaped nib with curving capillary channels that brought the ink to the tip. It looked old. Centuries old! The silver had tarnished a bit and the nib itself seemed to have been added on, as if the original had worn out.

I put the cap back on and carefully flipped over the crusty aged note, wondering if the pen had been left for someone.

It had.

Alice.

My heart nearly leapt out of my throat.

Go to the far wall. Use this pen to draw a door. Don’t forget the doorknob!

I think I read it ten times, at least. Alice. Alice? Me? Really? Was this some kind of joke? Was this some kind of weird initiation that librarians use on volunteers? A scavenger hunt? What kind of sick person was Mary, anyway?

None of this made sense. I set the note on the shelf, then set down the pen. Immediately, I felt something leave my body. The warmth had disappeared. The strange electrical sensation I’d felt behind my eyes was gone. I grabbed the pen again. The feelings returned.

This is the moment where some people just go ahead and make their way right back upstairs. And yes, I was thinking about doing just that. But I had a curious itch now—how, exactly, was this ancient fountain pen going to write on solid concrete? Why, exactly, was this old note telling me—me!—to draw a door?

You better believe I was going to do it. That isn’t to say I wasn’t a little nervous—I was!—but as I walked slowly to the other end of the basement with the pen in my hand, I had the strangest feeling that this was the right thing to do. I trusted my gut instinct. It was the same instinct that told me not to sleep with Edward. It was the same instinct that told me to volunteer at the library when the “Help Wanted” sign appeared on the checkout desk. This feeling of mine was pretty darned good, overall.

At the far end of the basement, the light fixtures abruptly cut off. No-man’s land. The shelves stopped, too. There was just an open space between the concrete wall and the edge of the shelves, just wide enough to fit a small kitchen table. I tried not to let my imagination run away. Yes, it was a spooky scary corner of an old library. Yes, that note could have been written by some raving psycho who stalked me and knew I was going to volunteer here … but weird enough, that seemed like the least likely possibility.

I stopped at the wall. OK, I told myself, just do it. What are the odds the pen will work at all? It’s probably a practical joke. Librarians crack jokes sometimes, right? I mean, they can’t always be serious.

I took the cap off the pen, stuffing it in my pants pocket. OK. A door. A simple door, and don’t forget the knob. I bent down and pressed the tip of the nib against the concrete. I slowly drew up it upward, surprised to see not just a black line but something else as well. It was as if the ink was reflecting a very subtle fiery light source.

It was glowing.

I stopped. The ink slowly disappeared, leaving only the blank concrete wall as if I’d never drawn on it. I blinked a few times, not believing my own eyes.

“OK,” I said, pressing the pen to the concrete again. This time I kept going, standing on my tiptoes to draw the very top of my close approximation of a door. I drew the pen downward, stepping back when I reached the floor. There it was: a glowing black outline of a door.

“The knob, you doofus,” I muttered, stepping up again and drawing a circle where the doorknob would be. I stepped back again, blinking a few times, expecting the darn thing to up and disappear. It was disappearing. Very, very slowly, the glowing golden black ink was beginning to fade.

I don’t know what came over me right then. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, like how far down does this rabbit hole go? Whatever it was, I watched my hand slowly reach out for the doorknob I’d drawn. It felt like a doorknob. I turned it. It turned!

And when I pulled, the door opened.

I stepped back. The door, such as it was, led into a small room with a single unlit candle and what looked like a silver covered dish. An old faded brown note sat in front of it. I stepped inside, keeping one hand on the door that just moments ago hadn’t been a door at all, and grabbed the note. I scurried back to the edge of the bookshelves so I could read the note under the light. The basement was quiet and I could hear my hurried breath.

Alice,

Congratulations. I knew you could do it. Now, draw a match on the wall. Take it. Strike it. Light the candle. Then uncover the dish.

I read the note twice. What the hell is going on? I thought. I had to laugh. It all seemed so fantastic. My body couldn’t even figure out what it was supposed to feel, for crying out loud. Fear? Excitement? Worry? Of course I went back to the concrete wall and drew a little match. I even darkened in the head and gave the little splinter of wood three dimensions. It was the best match I could draw.

Then I grabbed it. Literally, I reached out, touched it, and pulled it from the concrete wall and there it was in my hands: a real match with a real wooden base, just as I’d imagined it. I crouched next to the candle and struck the match on the black floor. The head ignited. I pressed it against the wick of the candle until the flame caught. Orange light danced on the walls; it was clear something was written on them. I picked up the candle. The flame swayed left and right. I brought it closer to the far wall to make out the writing:

KILL THE SNAKE KILL THE SNAKE KILL THE SNAKE.

I stepped back in horror and the heel of my shoe bumped into the dish cover. The deafening sound of the metal bouncing on the concrete floor sent my heart beating into overdrive. I spun, nearly blowing out the candle in the process. The flame flickered. I fell back, stifling a scream.

There, sitting on the plate, was a white snake. It was coiled up, its diamond-shaped head pointed at me, its pitch-black eyes staring right up at me.

“This isn’t real,” I said. My sweaty hands wrapped tightly around the fountain pen.

As if in response, a long red tongue darted out of the snake’s mouth. It uncoiled, raising its head up to get a better look at yours truly. I held out the candle in hopes the flame would keep it at bay, willing it to disappear. It stared at me for a moment, then turned and slithered out into the basement, disappearing between two bookshelves.

“Ew!” I shouted. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”

I kept the candle in front of me, staring out from inside the little room. The little room that hadn’t been there just minutes ago. The little room I’d drawn.

“Hello?” I called out. “Is this a practical joke or what? Mary? Are you just a crazy old lady with a sick sense of humor? Mary?”

No answer. Then, I heard it: the soft slithering of a scaly belly on hard concrete. I stepped out of the little room, looking right and then left. The snake was still here. Just the very thought of it slithering across my flats, its belly touching the tops of my feet, made my skin crawl. What an awful day to wear flats.

A terrible thought hit me. What if it was poisonous?

“Are you poisonous, you creepy snake?” I called out. “Hello? Is anyone here? Is this some weird librarian initiation?”

No answer. And there would be no answer, either. The door leading to the basement was a foot thick if it was an inch. The only way out was to get to the staircase. And that meant passing between the bookshelves.

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to run. If this snake was like any of the ones I’d seen the last time the family went out west on vacation, it was probably just as scared and weirded out as I was. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten it even more by accidentally running at it.

I stepped slowly, keeping the candle low. Hot wax dripped onto the concrete floor. With the overhead lights and the candle’s flame, I could see a little underneath the bottom shelf of the bookcases, enough to keep my nerves from completely overtaking me.

Steady now. Slow. Move smooth. If you see it, Alice, just step back and take a different aisle.

I made it halfway without freaking out. That’s pretty good, right? But the moment I heard the slithering again—off to my left—my feet picked up their pace. I could see the staircase. I could see the little light bulb hanging above, illuminating the old wooden stairs.

And then I saw the snake. I froze in my tracks. It slithered out from the end of the shelves, right in front of the staircase. It looked at me and its tongue darted out again. Tasting my fear.

The snake had grown.

“That’s impossible,” I said. Impossible, maybe, but that didn’t make the damn thing disappear. Nor did it shrink. It looked five times bigger now, at least—not just longer but bigger. Its diamond-shaped head was nearly the size of a textbook.

It raised its head, then slowly lowered it to the ground and began to slither toward me. I held the candle out for protection. The flame shuddered in fear. The snake hissed, forcing its way underneath the bottom shelf and quickly disappearing.

“Gawd, you smell like a snake,” I said, backing up. My feet moved me back to the other side of the basement where this whole mess had started. Hot wax ran down my fingers, causing me to drop the candle. It landed on the floor but the flame stayed lit. I bent over, grabbed it, and screamed.

The next two seconds seemed to move in slow-motion. The snake was already emerging from the bottom of the nearest bookcase when I lifted the candle, it mouth already in the process of opening, revealing two very long, white, curved fangs. It had grown even larger and the open mouth seemed to be the only thing in my entire line of vision. My other hand came up and the tip of the fountain pen plunged into the soft flesh underneath the snake’s jaw. I fell backward to avoid the cavernous mouth and the massive creature continued forward, landing beside me with the fountain pen still protruding from its shiny white skin.

For a moment, nothing happened. No movement. No blood. Then, slowly, the area around the pen brightened a fiery orange. The color spread across the snake’s body. I could smell the crisp tinge of burning paper. The burning spread until there was nothing left but a small snake-shaped strip of ashes lying on the floor.

And the pen. I crawled over to it and grabbed it, feeling that warm sensation run through my body again. My fingers were shaking. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. A drop of sweat ran down my forehead. I wiped it away and tucked my hair behind my ears.

“Congratulations, Alice.”

I spun around and dropped the pen in disbelief. There, leaning against the nearest bookshelf, was a furry brown rabbit.

Chapter 3

“Born and bred in the briar patch, Br’er Fox! Born and bred in the briar patch …”[iii]

It wasn’t just a rabbit. A rabbit would have been weird enough. No, this rabbit was huge. We’re talking five feet tall, only a few inches shorter than me, not counting his perky ears. And not only was he huge, he was wearing clothes. He had on an old white collar shirt and a brown vest and ridiculous old gray slacks made even more ridiculous by the fact that he didn’t have any shoes on.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked.

The rabbit’s long whiskers twitched. “That’s the first question you have for me? Where are my shoes?”

“You look goofy without shoes,” I said. “You’ve just got little paws.”

The rabbit looked down at his brown feet. There were a couple little white spots near the toes, but other than that he was mostly brown except for the white fur around his mouth. His left ear slumped a little and his right stood straight up like it had been starched.

“Ma’am,” said the rabbit, “I hardly think that’s what we ought to discuss right here and now.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “You’re right. Gawd, what’s happening? I’ve gone crazy. I’m hallucinating.”

The rabbit said nothing, watching me clutch my head and pace back and forth.

“There’s a gas leak down here,” I told him. At this, his little button nose twitched. His long whiskers danced up and down. It would have been cute if not for the fact that he was a giant talking rabbit. “I’ve got to get out of the basement.”

The rabbit stuck his paws in the pockets of his pants. “Now you just hold on one moment, young lady. I’ve been waiting a long time to talk to you and the least you can do is listen to what I have to say.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. No. No, Alice, you’re not responding to an imaginary rabbit. That’s crazy. I walked past the hallucination to the staircase, climbing it two steps at a time, not glancing over my shoulder.

Back at the checkout desk, Mary raised one eyebrow, setting down the stack of books she was checking in. “Find something interesting down there?”

“What?” I asked, eyes wide. “What do you mean? How did you know?”

Mary laughed quietly behind closed lips. “Oh, I’ve found dozens of books down there that gave me pause. Only a true booklover sees beauty in those old tomes.”

“Yeah …” I turned, glancing at the door leading to the staircase. It was closed. Somewhere on the first floor, someone was leafing through rough pages of paper and the sound reminded me of the snake, causing my head to feel light for a moment. I turned back to Mary and nearly cried out.

“We really need to talk,” said the rabbit. He was sitting atop Mary’s metal filing cabinet. Right behind her!

Mary caught my eye and turned, glancing in the direction of the rabbit. She turned back to me. “What is it, dear?”

“I …”

“She can’t see me,” the rabbit said. “Not unless I want her to.” The rabbit started laughing, slapping his leg. “Hoo-boy, would that be a hoot! Should I do it?”

“No!” I said, a little too loud. I lowered my voice and said, “Mary, can I go home? I have a lot of chores to do around the house this weekend.”

Mary smiled. “Of course, dear. I’ll see you on Monday, right?”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Definitely. Thank you.”

Outside, the clouds had parted and the sun’s rays kissed my skin. Back to reality, I thought. A warm sun. A nice day. Almost summer vacation. Whatever had just happened …

“Ahem!”

“I’m not looking,” I said, walking down the sidewalk. The library was located in the center of town, just a mile away from my parents’ house. The sidewalk took me up Mooreland Avenue, a busy street lined with restaurants and a little cream-colored strip mall with a nail salon.

“You need to go back and get that pen,” said the rabbit. He’d caught up with me even though I was moving at a brisk pace. He was walking more or less like a human being would. I was surprised he wasn’t hopping. Rabbits hop. So clearly this was a hallucination. “Your life depends on it, Alice.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” I said, “except take two Tylenol and go to bed.”

“Good gracious, young lady, I’m trying to help you!”

I stopped and turned to him, jabbing a finger at his face. His whiskers twitched fiercely. “You don’t exist!”

“I’m afraid I do,” said the rabbit. “That’s the problem.”

“That’s one of them,” I muttered, spinning around and picking up my pace. Just five more blocks, a quick right down Augden Drive, then three more blocks. I needed a nap. That was the problem here. The science exam had taken a lot out of me. It had been easy, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t worried myself nearly to death the hour before we arrived at class. Edward, Tricia, Seth and I had approached the school as if we were heading to a funeral. Tricia especially had looked more pale than usual. Edward … not so much. He was always confident about classes. Always did well.

The rabbit caught up again. “Boy, you gave that snake a lickin’.” He popped his paws in front of him. “Pow! Right in the old kisser. Just in time, too. That sucker was getting bigger and bigger, so help me.”

“You talk like you’re from the South,” I said. “You have a southern accent. That makes this whole situation even more ridiculous. I’ve never been to the South! How could I possibly hallucinate a southern rabbit?”

“I am from the South,” the rabbit said, laughing. “And I’ll have you know over the years I’ve made a point of tempering my so-called accent. I slip sometimes when I get excited, though.”

“This is insane!” I shouted to the sky, picking up my pace.

“Now you slow yourself,” the rabbit called out. “I’m not properly warmed up to do any running, you know.”

“Rabbits don’t need to stretch before they run!” I began jogging. The soles of my feet hurt. Of all the days to wear flats. Behind me, I could hear the rabbit huffing and puffing, trying to keep up. I ran faster.

At home, I locked the door behind me, then ran through the dining room into the kitchen, locking the sliding glass door that led to our little wooden porch. My parents weren’t home, of course. Every free morning they had, they played 18 holes of golf. They would be gone all afternoon, which meant I would be alone for the entire afternoon. With my crazy, crazy thoughts.

I went to my bedroom and opened the window a crack to let in some fresh air. Mom had made my bed, tucking the dark gray sheets tightly into the mattress. My bedside table had been cleared of makeup, leaving only my black alarm clock and my collection of feathers sitting in the green vase I’d made my freshman year. The eggshell carpeting was freshly vacuumed. All of my bras that had been lying on the floor were gone, presumably in the pink hamper in my little closet.

“Mom,” I muttered.

“She likes a clean house, I guess.”

I spun around. There, leaning against my dresser next to the window, was the rabbit.

“I’ll call the police!”

The rabbit chuckled. “Boy, what a sight that would make!”

“Look,” I said. “I realize something’s going on here, OK? I accept it. This is real. But … but I still have exams to worry about!”

The rabbit waved my excuse away. “Oh come now. Your last exams are History and Fencing, and we both know how good you are at academics.”

I was momentarily taken aback. “OK, well, I didn’t think you would call me out on that lie. Still, I can’t deal with this. That giant snake I just killed? That’s a lot to take in.”

“Agreed,” said the rabbit. He looked around. “Er, where are your parents?”

“They golf,” I said. “All the time. All the time. Any day they’re both free for any reason and it’s not raining, they’re golfing. It’s the thing to do when you hit your mid-forties, I guess.”

“Golf,” the rabbit said. “Never tried it.”

“Look, can I please just take a nap?” I asked. “I really need sleepy time so my frazzled brain can make you go away.”

“Tell you what: let me tell you a story and then I’ll be on my way. How’s that for fair?”

“Fine,” I said, sitting on my bed. “Tell your story.”

The rabbit stood straight, smoothing out his brown vest with his paws. “Well, I think we should introduce ourselves first.”

“Are you kidding? Fine. My name is Alice.”

The rabbit bowed low. “Br’er Rabbit, at your service.”

“Br’er Rabbit?” I asked. “As in the old fairy tale rabbit that always tricked Br’er Fox?”

The rabbit nodded. “The very same, young lady, although my friends call me Briar. A little nickname from where I was born. And it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, by the way.”

I laughed. “Unbelievable. Are you kidding me?”

“I enjoy a good joke as much as the next person,” the rabbit said, “but right now’s not the best time for tomfoolery. Can I tell my story now?”

“By all means,” I said, waving him on. “Continue, Briar.”

“Thank you.” Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Now, where to start … where to start. Ah-ha!” He held up a paw. “Of course: the beginning.”

“Always a good place to start.”

The rabbit—Briar—walked over to the window, glancing out and taking a deep breath. “A long, long time ago, two brothers named Jacob and Wilhelm began collecting stories.”

“The brothers Grimm?” I asked. “Is that who you mean?”

Briar’s fur bristled. “If you please.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

He—at least I assumed it was a he, since he had a somewhat gruff, low voice—glanced out the window again. “Now, these brothers weren’t just good writers. They were darned good magicians too. They liked to get themselves all dressed up in funny masks and black overcoats and put on some of the most amazing acts you ever did see. They were better than everyone because they had the best tricks. And they had the best tricks because they knew a little bit of real magic.”

“Real magic?”

The rabbit nodded. “So one day Jacob got himself an idea. It was an awful idea. He decided to put some of his real magic knowledge to use and started tinkering around in the family attic. No one knows what he did or how he did it, but when he came down two days later he had a stack of paper. He told his brother to start collecting all of the best stories they’d written down while he went into town to find the perfect pen.

“So Wilhelm started digging up all the stories he’d ever heard, and when Jacob returned from town he went back up into the attic with the pen. He came back down two more days later.

“Now here Wilhelm was getting more than a little annoyed. ‘What are you doing up there?’ he asked. To which Jacob replied, ‘Changing the world, brother.’ He pulled out the pen and told Wilhelm this was a magic pen. It could do magic things. And this paper? This paper was magic paper, too. ‘Whatever stories we write,’ he told his brother, ‘they’ll come true.’ So they started rewriting all their favorite fairy tales. They wanted to make the world a magical place.”

“So they were the brothers Grimm,” I said.

Briar nodded. “The very same. And as they wrote down their tales, and sure enough the characters in the tales started appearing all over the countryside. One day a handsome prince rode into town. A couple weeks later, a young boy began boasting he was afraid of nothing, challenging anyone to prove it.”

“That sounds … nice,” I said.

Briar’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what the Brothers Grimm thought, too. They thought they’d done something truly nice for the world. But there was a problem. See, those fairy tale characters didn’t belong in our world. And the magic that had brought them into this world wasn’t good magic, either. In order to get that paper all spelled up, Jacob Grimm had used a fair amount of black magic too. Bad stuff. He didn’t tell his brother out of fear his brother would destroy the pages.”

I leaned forward. “So what happened?”

“If you let me tell my story, you’ll know.” Briar’s whiskers twitched again. “Anyway, the fairy tale characters, they started getting downright troublesome. And I’m not just talking about the big bad wolf, either. I’m talking about all of them. Rapunzel. Cinderella. Prince Charming. The old Miller. Bad things began happening and everyone started getting scared. So the brothers, they finally did the right thing and burned the magical pages.”

“And everyone disappeared?” I asked. “Just like that?”

The rabbit shook his head. “Not a dang thing happened! All the fairy tale characters were still around! The brothers Grimm didn’t know what to do, so they just stayed holed up in their home. It was one of their servants who got a hold of their magic pen. He took it thinking he could sell it for food, only on his way into town, he got chased off the beaten path by a rabid dog. And wouldn’t you know it, he ended up face-to-face with the big bad wolf.”

“The big bad wolf?” I asked, leaning even closer. My fingers gripped the bedsheets.

Briar nodded. “The very one. The young man turned to run but the wolf chased him down. They both went tumbling!” The rabbit bounced away from the window, eyes wide. “Over and over they went, the wolf’s jaws snapping at the tasty soft flesh of the poor servant! The servant knew he only had one chance: the pen. Maybe he could get lucky before the wolf ate him up but good. So he stabbed the wolf with the pen right in the stomach!”

I waited. When the rabbit didn’t continue, I asked, “Well, what happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Briar asked.

I shrugged. “The big bad wolf ate him up and lived happily ever after.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. His mouth cracked into a little smile. “Nope. The wolf didn’t move. Didn’t cry out. Didn’t bleed. He just slowly … burned … away, leaving a pile of ashes. And the servant, kneeling in front of it, clutching the pen.” He stepped closer, eyes wide. “The very same pen you found this afternoon.”

“But how did …”

But before I could finish my sentence, the rabbit disappeared.

Chapter 4

In a certain mill lived an old miller who had neither wife nor child, and three apprentices served under him. As they had been with him several years, he one day said to them, “I am old, and want to sit in the chimney- corner, go out, and whichsoever of you brings me the best horse home, to him will I give the mill, and in return for it he shall take care of me till my death.”[iv]

The next day was Friday. Our last day of exams. Like the rabbit said, I had two: History and Fencing. The history exam seemed so easy that I began second-guessing myself halfway through. Our teacher, Mr. Martin, sat at his desk with his old wrinkled face resting squarely on one fist. I caught him glancing outside more than a few times.

No one else seemed to be having such an easy time. It almost felt like a trick. What’s worse, some of the questions seemed to have two right answers:

The U.S. entered World War II because:

1. Germany attacked the United States.

2. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.

3. The Nazi Holocaust needed to be stopped.

4. Britain asked for help.

Didn’t Britain ask for help? Didn’t the Holocaust need to be stopped? I chose B only because it seemed like the correctest answer. I hate, hate, hate multiple choice exams.

When I was finished, I put the paper on Mr. Martin’s desk, gave him a smile (which he didn’t return) and walked out into the hall. It smelled like the cafeteria, which was right below us in the basement. If there was more time, I would have stopped down there for a grilled cheese sandwich, but I’d spent way too much time second-guessing myself on those stupid trick questions. The Fencing exam started in twenty minutes.

“Concentrate,” I told myself. “Definitely don’t think about the imaginary rabbit’s story.” It was hard not to, though. It had been a good story. And I loved a good story. The worst part? I wasn’t sure my imagination was capable of cobbling together a story that good. Which meant the rabbit might be real.

A few students walked out of the classroom on my left, laughing about something that had happened during their Chemistry exam. I followed them for a while, aware that this was part of the popular clique. Jennifer and Roman were going steady. The other two girls—Cherry and Latrice—had boyfriends waiting for them in the cafeteria, according to their dialogue that was peppered with text-speak. When the girls glanced back and noticed me walking a few paces behind them, they smiled and gave a quiet “Hi.”

I fell back a few paces, not interested in making small talk. This was Edward’s clique, not mine. There was a boundary here, and I wasn’t comfortable crossing it—the only reason they said hi to me was because I was dating Edward. It made me uncomfortable … like, here’s this power. You can totally abuse it, Alice, and join up with them right now and exchange phone numbers and text each other and they’ll let you be a part of it. They’ll do it simply because you’re dating Edward.

I didn’t like that.

The hallway was shaped like a horseshoe and the gym was located on the other end. I stopped at my locker—1164—to put away my backpack so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. I gave my neck a squirt of perfume, knowing full well that whomever I fought for my exam wasn’t going to be easy and I didn’t want to stink up the joint. Mr. Whitmann didn’t give me the easy fights anymore.

I closed the locker, thankful that the hallway was empty now. Most of the freshmen and sophomores were already done with their exams, and soon the janitor would be rolling by with his floor buffer. I started walking again, then stopped.

Something was on the tiled floor up ahead.

I stepped closer. It looked like a trail of something, like oil leaking out underneath a car. Only this trail was slightly golden in color, starting at the doors that opened into the staircase and leading down the hall.

I followed it, kicking it with my shoe every once in a while to see if I could disturb it. I couldn’t—my shoe just went right over it. The trail was dim but definitely glowing just a little bit, as if someone had drizzled some glow-in-the-dark paint on the tiles. A practical joke? An end-of-the-year joke? A lot of the senior boys liked to pull some kind of senior prank after exams were done … marking their territory before they graduate, I guess.

Ahead of me, a boy walked out of classroom 214, walking directly over the trail and then walking the handful of steps to his locker. “Hey,” I said.

He turned and gave me a quizzical look.

“Uh, what’s that?” I pointed down to the glowing trail.

He looked down, then flinched as if I might bop him over the head. “Nice one! You totally got me, Alice.”

“Uh …” I forced a smile. “Yeah, got ya. Have a good summer.”

The trail led right into the gym.

I stopped at the open doorway. Inside, I could hear the basketball players bouncing basketballs, the soft whoosh of shots made. I glanced inside. The glowing trail led to the doorway on the other end of the gym leading to Room B—the fencing and weight training room. I swallowed hard. What did it mean?

“Hey.”

I spun around. Tina flinched, blinking rapidly as if I was going to whap her on the head. She was wearing extra eye shadow today for some reason and it made her face look dark and mysterious.

“You scared me,” I said.

She smiled. “You scared me, too.”

“I’m a little high-strung.” I ran a hand over my hair, retying my ponytail. “I saw a rabbit and … uh. He … talked to me.”

“That’s pretty weird, even for you, Alice.”

“Why are you wearing so much makeup?” I asked. “You’re going to sweat it all off during the exam.”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking the exam. I’m taking an F.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “Why? You’ve been doing better and better! You can at least get a C.”

She shrugged, staring down at the floor. For a moment, I thought she was looking at the glowing trail, but then her eyes shifted toward the boys playing basketball. “I can’t put up a fight against the boys. They’re too big. I’m sick of embarrassing myself. If I wanted to do that, I would have joined home ec so I could burn muffins.”

“Look,” I told her. “Why don’t you just trust me? I’ll be your coach. I’ll tell you exactly how to beat whatever guy you’re paired with.”

She didn’t respond. Tina, Tina, Tina. If there was one thing I learned early on in high school, it was that you couldn’t clam up. You go quiet, and the other students start to drift away. Unless you’re a moody boy like Edward, I should add. The boys always get special rules. Regardless, I didn’t need to help Tina. I didn’t really even want to all that badly. What I wanted was for her to realize she could be just as good as the boys.

“Look,” I said. “Just trust me on this. You’ll get at least a C. And if you fight Gregg, you’ll probably get a B. I know you can do this.”

Tina took a deep breath, then gave a little nod. I put a hand on her back and pushed her through the door into the gym. We walked across the basketball court and into Room B, where the red mats had already been laid out in the middle of the room by a sweaty Mr. Whitmann. The other students already had their white gear on and were sitting on the folding chairs beside the mat. Edward was there, spinning his foil on the ground. When he looked up and saw me, he smiled. I smiled back and walked toward him with the full intention of planting a wet one on the lips, then stopped in my tracks. My heart thumped and my fingertips tingled.

The glowing trail led directly to him.

“Hey,” Tina said, nudging my elbow. “Are you getting cold feet? Because if you are, then I’m getting out of here before Mr. Whitmann calls on me.”

“No,” I said, rubbing my eyes. The trail was still there when I opened them again. It led right to Edward’s feet. Up Edward’s feet, all the way to his face. His skin seemed to have just a hint of a golden glow, barely recognizable, but as I stepped cautiously forward I began to feel it radiating off of him. It felt warm and prickly.

“You two better change quick,” Edward said, standing up and giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Hurry,” he whispered. “Mr. Whitmann isn’t in a good mood.”

I grabbed Tina’s hand and we took the two red uniform bags with our names on them into the girls’ locker room next to the basketball court. As we began the annoying process of fitting our chests into the plastic chest protectors—pink, by the way … as if the boys had blue plastic bras—Tina asked me about Edward.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

Tina dropped her jeans and slid into the white breeches. “Like, how far have you gone? He doesn’t tell anyone about you two. I know. I sit next to the cool kids’ table sometimes and totally eavesdrop.”

“He sits with them that often?” I asked. I swear I hadn’t known. I only had one lunch period with him per week and he always sat with us in-betweeners toward the back of the cafeteria. I mean, I knew he knew them, but I thought he sat with the track kids most of the time. They stuck together.

“Sometimes,” Tina said. She put on the plastron, which protects the more vulnerable sword arm side of the body. “Sometimes he just sits alone, too. He’s kinda weird.”

“So am I,” I said, strapping on my own plastron. It fit tight.

“I know. You’re a weird couple. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“We haven’t gone very far,” I said. I didn’t want to elaborate. “It’s just been tough finding time right now.”

“Do you love him?”

I thought about it for a moment. I did love him. I mean, up until the whole glowing gold thing. Now? Something felt really, really off. “I don’t know,” I said.

“How could you not know after, like, a year?”

“It hasn’t been a year. And besides, I like taking it nice and slow.”

“Is he your first boyfriend?”

“No,” I said with a laugh. She didn’t follow suit and I felt my face redden. I tried to backtrack: “I only dated a little bit here and there. Nothing serious.”

She sighed, pulling up each of her socks. “You should talk to his cool friends more. You can do that, you know. Because you’re dating him.”

“I don’t want to,” I said. “You go do it if you want to so bad.”

She laughed. “I can’t! I don’t know anyone in their clique. You have to know someone. That’s why they treat you differently. You have access.”

“OK,” I said. “Thanks for the advice, but my access is one superpower I’d rather not utilize. Let’s just focus, please.”

We helped each other put on our white jackets, then grabbed our sword gloves. I looked at her. “Is being popular really so important?”

Tina shrugged. “It seems like it.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get this exam out of the way so we can enjoy the summer. We’re ready. We can do this.”

“You can,” Tina said meekly.

We walked back into Room B. Mr. Whitmann was standing on the red mat and when he saw us, he gave a little nod. “Right,” he said. “Now that everyone’s finally here, we’re going to start. Everyone fights once. You’ll be graded on form, not who wins.” He smiled. “But I will make a note of who wins. For the record book.”

The boys laughed. I took a seat next to Edward, pretending to not feel the weird energy emanating from his body. He still had just a hint of a golden glow underneath his skin.

Gawd, how many times has a sane person said something like that?

“Are you OK?” Edward asked, leaning in close so I could feel his hot breath on my ear.

“I’m fine,” I said. Just fine. You’re definitely not glowing, Edward.

Tina went second. Mr. Whitmann paired her with Gregg, the best luck she could possibly have. “Remember,” I told her, “he always stabs to the right. It’s his only move. Sidestep left, then stab.”

“Sidestep left,” Tina repeated, putting on her mask. She stood up and walked cautiously onto the red mat. Gregg was already waiting, swinging his foil in the air as if he was planning out a Hollywood fight sequence.

“All right,” Mr. Whitmann said, grabbing his referee’s mask and putting it on. He looked funny, with his gut poking out of his red fencing jacket. It had obviously been fitted during his leaner years. “Gregg, no going easy on her because she’s a girl.”

“Yeah Gregg,” said one of the boys with a laugh. “You lose, you’re not coming out with us this weekend.”

Edward leaned over again. “You think she can do it?”

“I have no doubt,” I said. My urge was to lean away from him. Why? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but being near him had begun to make my stomach turn. Stop, I told myself. It’s just nerves. It’s just stress.

“Care to make it interesting?”

“Fine,” I said, watching Tina place her free hand behind her back and cautiously lift her foil. “Name the stakes.”

“If Tina wins, I’ll take you out to dinner at the fanciest restaurant in Milwaukee.”

“Oh?” I arched an eyebrow. “And what if Gregg wins?”

“You have to spend the night at my house. This weekend.”

I felt a cold current run through my body. Tina and Gregg began exchanging attacks, their foils clanging together. Click-click-click. Click-click-click.

“Point for Gregg,” Mr. Whitmann announced.

Tina stepped back to gather herself. Gregg spun around and carved a Z in the air, to thunderous applause from the other boys. They were going to throw a drinking party after exams were over—I knew it because that’s what they always did. They would invite Edward because he was cool. By extension, they would indirectly invite me.

“En guard!” Mr. Whitmann called out. Tina and Gregg went at it again, only this time when Gregg parried and made a stab, Tina hopped left. It was such an awkward movement that she nearly fell over. But she kept her balance, extending the tip of her foil and stabbing Gregg’s rib.

“Point Tina,” Mr. Whitmann said with a whistle. “That was a fine riposte.”

“Come on, Gregg!” said one of the boys. “Don’t go down like a sissy!”

Gregg attacked before Mr. Whitmann could even say “En guard,” sending Tina tumbling back as she tried to parry his wild stabbing motions. She tripped on her feet and fell right on her butt, much to the consternation of her classmates.

“No point,” Mr. Whitmann announced. “No touch.” He held out a hand to Tina. Tina let him pull her up. She got into position again, holding out her foil.

“Now let me clear the mat this time,” Mr. Whitmann snapped at Gregg, waddling away from the two white-clad warriors. “OK. En guard!”

They went at each other again. The boys were cheering for Gregg so I cheered louder for Tina. Edward joined in, encouraging Tina with a humorous chant. First one stabbed while the other parried, and then the dancers switched positions. Their foils clicked together again and again and again. The more Tina parried, the harder Gregg’s thrusts became. He was getting upset. Anxious. He’d begun trying to adjust his motions so Tina couldn’t stab at his left side again. Now was the perfect time to strike.

“Go right!” I called out. “Tina, go right!”

Tina did so, narrowly missing Gregg’s stab. She parried his foil, then quickly stabbed at his ribs.

I cheered. The boys laughed. “Winner!” Mr. Whitmann announced, grabbing Tina’s free hand. Gregg took of his mask and threw it on the ground.

“Part of earning a good grade,” Mr. Whitmann said, “is understanding how to lose. Gregg, you just failed that part of the class. Pick up the mask.”

There were more catcalls from the boys as Gregg sulked his way over toward Edward to pick up the mask, which had rolled to the edge of the mat. Mr. Whitmann was still holding Tina’s arm up. “The other part of earning a good grade is showing improvement,” he said. “And Tina aced that one.”

Edward and I cheered. The other boys clapped with a begrudging respect.

“Next up is Edward and Alice,” Mr. Whitmann announced.

My heart sank. Oh no, I thought. Not him. Not now, while I was in this crazy mood. We hadn’t sparred for real since the first class, back when we’d only been dating for a few months, back when I still got butterflies in my stomach every time I saw him. Back when I thought he was the boy of my dreams. I still felt that way though … didn’t I?

I looked at him. His skin was still glowing.

“Double or nothing?” he asked me with a smile, grabbing the mask from Gregg.

I took Tina’s mask, smiling at her as she sat down beside me and wiped the sweat from her brow. “No,” I said.

“Last time we sparred, you won.”

I stood up, pulling my red glove tight before picking up my foil. “Last time, you let me win. You always let me win.”

“This time I won’t be so kind,” he said, following me to the mat. Maybe it was just my imagination—maybe it was the same craziness that was causing him to glow—but I could have sworn I heard something sinister in his voice.

We took our places. Through the mesh of the mask, I studied Edward’s posture. He carried himself with grace. His long legs bent at the knees like a panther ready to pounce. I looked down. The glowing trail had followed him to the mat.

What. The. Hell.

“En guard!” Mr. Whitmann cried out. Immediately Edward lunged forward, stabbing at me with precise movements. I parried, stepping back, trying to read his shoulders to see where he would strike next. He hid his next move, stepping forward, stepping back, shifting his posture ever so slightly so when I began attacking I was immediately off-balance and had to adjust my weight.

The tip of his foil came at me again and again and I parried as best I could. The muscles in my arms tensed and burned. His movements began to blur together in my vision. Then I felt it: the tip pressed against my chest.

“Point for Edward,” Mr. Whitmann announced.

The boys cheered. “Regain our honor, dude!” one of them cried out.

“You can do it, Alice!” Tina said.

“En guard!” came Mr. Whitmann’s war cry once again.

I stepped forward, trying to take the offensive, but Edward slipped by, side-stepping his way around the mat as he parried my blows. The boys made a unanimous “Oooooooh” sound through pursed lips. No one side-stepped. We hadn’t been taught that. He was using the entire mat.

“No fair,” I muttered through the black mesh, trying my best to turn my feet while still keeping pressure on him. Even if he didn’t parry my attacks at all, the tip of my foil wouldn’t touch his jacket. He was moving too quickly, too fluidly, his legs carefully following a complex dance routine that only he knew.

We made a complete circle. I shouted in frustration, trying once more to press the attack. My shoulder was becoming sore. I could feel my lungs aching. I could smell my peppermint-scented breath inside the mask.

“No points if you break the rules!” Mr. Whitmann announced. “Stay on your side of the mat. This isn’t Star Wars, kids.”

We returned to our respective sides of the mat. I took a deep breath, unable to take my eyes away from the glowing trail my boyfriend was leaving on the red mat. Then he attacked again. Suddenly, my weight was back on my heels. I parried as hard as I could, angrily deflecting each precise stab.

“Fight back!” Tina shouted.

“Get her!” the boys responded.

I took another step back and felt the ground give way as my foot slipped off the mat. I fell backward, landing gracelessly on the weight room’s carpeted floor. Right on my butt.

“Ring out,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Point to Edward.” He took off his mask, the usual stern expression replaced by surprise. “Excellent job. The both of you. I’ve never seen such a graceful fight from a bunch of sweaty high schoolers.”

Edward took off his mask, smiling. The glow was still there, just underneath his skin.

We took Seth and Tricia home once again, only this time I was in the front seat. I’d made a deliberate point of looking over my shoulder on the way out of school, curious to see if the trail would follow us. It did. More specifically, it followed Edward.

Now, it was following us behind the car. And my stomach felt little French soldiers were firing off little cannons.

“I can’t believe the literature test Mr. David gave us,” Tricia said from the back seat. “I’m so glad I don’t have to see that scumbucket for three months. Seriously? Who the hell memorizes every single character from A Tale of Two Cities?”

“It’s a good book,” I said to her. “Did you actually read it?”

Tricia, ever the cosmopolitan, shook her head as she responded to an incoming text message on her phone. “Just enough to pass, baby.”

“It’s really a good book.”

“She’s right,” said Edward. “If you get halfway through, you’ll want to finish the rest in one sitting.”

“I doubt that,” Tricia muttered.

“Does it come in text form?” Seth asked, laughing. “Because then Trish could definitely finish it.”

I laughed. “I’ll text her one line at a time.”

Trish looked up from her phone, glaring at us. “Please do not.”

“All right, kids,” Edward said. “Let’s take it easy.”

“Right, right,” Seth said. I felt his leg press up against the back of my seat. “Are you guys going to Bruiser’s cool kids party this weekend?”

Edward shrugged. “He does throw fun parties. It’s up to Alice.”

“I start my volunteering for real tomorrow,” I said. “I’m not up to it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” Tricia said. She put her phone in her purse. “Some of the people there don’t drink.”

“Yeah but they’re kinda losers,” Seth added.

Tricia slapped him on the arm. “Don’t call Alice a loser.”

“I didn’t!” he said. “I just pointed out a shared quality among those who refuse to indulge in libations.”

“Since when are you all wordy?” Tricia asked with a frown.

“Hey, I’m going to college in another year. I gotta start faking it now.”

“Have you applied anywhere, Edward?” Tricia asked.

He shook his head, turning into the subdivision I shared with Seth. “Hasn’t really occurred to me just yet.”

“Come to Grant College,” Seth told him. “That’s where me and Alice are going for sure. It’s perfect. It’s out in New York, so you’re away from family. But it’s still a short flight home, too. Plus it’s New York.”

“Alice is too smart for Grant College,” Tricia said. “She’ll go to NYU with me.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know …”

“Grant College is fine,” Seth said defensively. “Lots of smart people go there.”

“No,” Tricia said. “No they don’t, dear.”

“Grant College has a pretty campus,” I said. “I like that.”

“No,” Tricia said. “You’re not going there.”

Ugh. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now. College? Who could think about college right now when we still had a year of high school left? Oh, and also my boyfriend was glowing.

Edward parked at Seth’s house. “Off you go.”

I turned and gave them a wave goodbye. Seth looked dour. He wanted to go to Grant College. He wanted to go to a lot of colleges, but Grant was the only one he’d be able to get into. And that meant something to him, even if Trish didn’t care.

“They’re going to be in a fight all weekend,” Edward said. His hand found my leg and began rubbing it. I could feel the strange, prickly heat emanating from the tips of his fingers. Stop it, I told myself—just enjoy the moment.

“Why do they have to do that?” I asked. “They always press each other’s buttons. It’s like they enjoy it or something.”

“Relationships require work,” Edward said simply.

I turned to him. “Why doesn’t ours?”

He smiled, rubbing his hand up my leg. “Because what we have is perfect.”

I crossed my legs before he could get to my waist. “I have to go home today.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“For what?” I asked.

“For beating you at fencing.”

“What?” Yes! “No. No! Not that mad, at least. More mad at myself than anything.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Edward said. “I used to take it up as a hobby back when I was a young angst-filled boy.”

“When was this?” I asked. “You’re only eighteen.”

He smiled. “Listen. Forget all that. Are you sure you don’t want to come over tonight?”

“Definitely. Yup. I … uh, I have to get to the library early tomorrow.”

“The library,” he muttered, pulling his hand away. “The library. I have a feeling that’s going to take up a lot of your time this summer.”

I suddenly felt guilty. Here I was, going crazy, and I’d completely forgotten about Edward’s feelings. He sounded upset. He never got upset. It was such an alien feeling that all my worries seemed to flutter away. Out of pure instinct, I wanted to make things right between us. “Look,” I said, turning to him. “I promise we’ll get together tomorrow night.”

“The cool kids are putting together an end-of-the-semester party on the beach, remember? We’re invited.”

“You are or we are?” I asked.

He smiled. “It doesn’t matter, my love.” His soft fingers caressed my cheek. “Stay the night tomorrow. Tell your mother you’re staying over at Tricia’s.”

“Maybe,” I said.

He took a deep breath and sighed, pulling out of the driveway.

“Don’t be upset,” I told him. Begged him. The tone sounded so alien coming out of my mouth. Alice Goodenough didn’t beg anyone. What was happening? Why did Edward suddenly have this power over me? “Please. I’m just … a little frazzled, that’s all.”

Edward was silent a moment, weaving the car around the twisting road that led to the other side of the little subdivision. “I can wait,” he said finally. “I can be as patient as you need me to. But I feel like this is right. Don’t you?”

I didn’t know. I mumbled a less-than-encouraging “Yes.”

My house was coming up on the right. I unbuckled, anxious to escape the car. I felt like I was completely losing it now. I knew for a fact that if I turned and looked out the rear window, that same glowing trail would be sitting on the road, leading back from Seth’s house. What did all this mean?

“Should I pick you up tomorrow evening?” he asked, pulling into the empty driveway.

“Sure. Yes.” I leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips. He returned the gesture, opening his mouth. When our tongues touched, I didn’t get that warm tingly feeling that I usually got—and that was an understatement. “Morbid disgust” would be more precise … it took every ounce of control to keep from throwing up in his car.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Edward asked.

“I just don’t feel well,” I said.

He nodded. “Do you want me to run to the store and get you anything?”

“No. No. That’s so sweet, but I’m OK. I’ll be ready tomorrow by seven.”

“Six-thirty,” he said. “Good?”

“Good.” I leaned over and forced myself to kiss him once more. Quickly. No tongue. Get a hold of yourself, Alice. Guys this good never come along.

Inside the house, I locked the door, watching him pull away from the driveway through the little diamond-shaped window in the door. It was a nice car. He didn’t act spoiled, though. I think that probably would have turned me off early on in the relationship. I like to think that now, at least. Maybe it wouldn’t. Oh, who am I kidding? I fell head over heels for him. Before he started glowing like some sort of McDonald’s sign, before that last kiss almost made me puke, I was ready to marry the damned guy.

“That you, dear?” my dad called from the living room.

“Who else?” I mumbled, walking through the hallway. Our living room was not like anything you might find in Edward’s house. There were no statues, no ancient books, no paintings that could buy four years at Harvard. All we had was a cream-colored couch, a glass coffee table, a small TV and a big bookshelf. The bookshelf was full of books, family pictures, old clay models I made in middle school, and just about every magazine any of us had read over the past three years.

Not a pretty bookshelf, in other words. Crammed to overflowing was the best description for it.

Dad was sitting on the couch, watching a sports show on TV. “Can you do your chore this afternoon? How were exams?”

“Yes. And good.” I watched the TV for a moment. “I thought you were working today.”

“Already done,” he said. “Your mom wants me to do some yard work. I’m procrastinating.”

“Well you better hurry,” I told him, walking into the kitchen. “It’s supposed to rain again this evening.” I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a cup of strawberry yogurt, then grabbed a spoon from the drawer next to Mom’s new favorite appliance: the new dishwasher. White, sleek, runs like a jet engine. She was easy to please.

“Where’s Mom?” I called out.

“Working on an ad project all day,” Dad called out.

I went upstairs to my room, tearing off the top of the yogurt as I went. I opened my door and tossed the top in the wastebasket next to my little desk. I sat down at the desk, opening my laptop to check the ol’ social network. Status updates were an important part of the afternoon.

“Ahem.”

I spun around. There, leaning against the dresser, was the rabbit.

“You look surprised,” he said.

“I am!”

His whiskers twitched. “I don’t see why. It should be painfully obvious what’s happening at this point.”

“Please tell me!” I said with a laugh. “Am I going crazy?”

“No, no,” the rabbit said. What was his name again? Briar. That was what his friends called him, at least. A giant talking rabbit with friends. “Far from crazy. Nor am I a made-up figment of your imagination. If I wanted to, I could walk right downstairs and reveal myself to your father and he would see me, too.”

“Oh my gawd, please do that.” I laughed again. “I would love to see that.”

Briar shook his furry head. “I’m not interested in giving your father a heart attack. And as much as I enjoy a good laugh, I think right now would be a bad moment to engage in such distractions.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re in a serious mood.”

The rabbit meandered over to my closet.

“Don’t go in there!” I ordered.

“Good gracious!” he exclaimed, stepping away from the open door. “How many clothes does one young girl need? And the shoes! There must be hundreds!”

“Every single pair of shoes is important,” I said, walking over to the closet and shutting the door. “Flats, pumps and tennis shoes all have their place. And I’ll have you know forty-five tops nine pairs of jeans is on the low end of the scale for someone my age.”

“That’s a terrifying prospect,” the rabbit said. He sighed. “Lots of purple, I noticed.”

“Indigo. It’s blue with a hint of violet. It’s my favorite color.”

“It’s a nice color, although I must admit your shirts leave little to the imagination.”

“V-necks are hardly scandalous. I have a nice neck. Lots of girls hide their necklines. We get weird, annoying pimples at this age, if you haven’t noticed.” I sat down on my bed. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“Ah yes,” the rabbit said, stuffing his paws in the little pockets of his comical-looking pants. “Denial. Refusal of adventure. The second step of the journey of the hero.”

“The journey … wait, what hero?”

Briar chuckled. “I’m getting ahead of myself, I know. If I had to guess, I would say right now all you’re thinking about is that strange trail left by the boy of your dreams.”

My heart sank. “How did you know about that?”

“Because I can see it too,” Briar said. He drew back the dark blue curtain to look out the window. “Gosh, it would be nice if your neighborhood didn’t have all these twisty-turning streets. Easy to get lost if you’re a rabbit without a compass.”

“How did you do that?” I asked. “Draw back the curtain, I mean. You’re not real.”

“I am real,” the rabbit said. “And I can do a great many things, young lady. I just so happen to be an amazing cook.”

“The trail,” I said. “What is it?”

“A hint.” His whiskers twitched. “A skill honed by generations of heroes.”

“A hint to what?”

Sunlight gleamed in the rabbit’s dark eyes. “A hint to know who doesn’t belong.”

“Aaaaaand I’m lost again.” I threw up my arms, falling back on my soft bed. I had an intense desire to sleep … even the most twisted dream would make more sense than what was going on.

“Can I tell you another story?” the rabbit asked.

“Yes, by all means. You’re a good storyteller, at least. You’re a giant rabbit, which is creepy and weird, but you tell good stories.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He removed his paws from his pocket, first smoothing his vest and then licking one paw and matting down the fur that stuck up between his long rabbit ears. “Now, a long time ago there was a Miller’s boy and a cat …”

“I’ve read that story,” I said, excited. “It’s a fairy tale by the Grimms!”

Briar nodded. “Now that’s true enough. And when those dastardly Grimm brothers wrote down the story using their magic pen and magic paper, you’d better believe all those characters showed up in real life. Not ten miles away from where the Grimms lived.”

“So there was a castle full of cats,” I said, trying to remember back. “And then the Miller’s third boy, Hans, took care of them for seven years, and then he went back to his father’s mill, right?”

The rabbit nodded.

“And so then a princess appeared with servants and handed over a horse, then took Hans back to a castle made of gold. It turned out she was one of the cats he took care of, and she was grateful, and so then of course she wanted to marry him.”

The rabbit tapped his paws together. Was he clapping? “Close enough. Although the way I was planning to tell it would have been more exciting. But what do I know? I’m just a giant talking rabbit.”

I bit my lip, thinking. “There were no bad guys in that story. Unless you count the two brothers who conspired against Hans.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Briar glanced again out the window. “But good or bad, they didn’t belong in this world. And that story made quite a mess of things anyway. Seven years after the Grimms put the story to paper, well, the young man Hans and his wife ended up at their castle made of gold. And guess what? There were plenty of folk all across the countryside wondering just where this mysterious princess had come from. Wondering even harder about how much gold they had inside that castle.”

“They took the castle?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, it wasn’t so simple. You see, having that much gold can buy you a great many things. Plenty of men in those times more than happy to take up a sword and shield for just a few scraps. And so when the neighboring lords and kings paid a visit to the princess and Hans, they found themselves staring down a whole army of mercenaries. Pretty soon, every lord within a hundred miles was at every other lord’s throat. And through it all, sweet little Hans and his princess got more and more bloodthirsty.”

“They enjoyed it?” I asked. “That sweet couple from the fairy tale, brought to life, turned into bloodthirsty jerks?”

Briar shrugged. “Maybe all that gold got to them. Maybe the greed overtook them. Whatever the case, every year that passed they grew darker and darker. Nastier. Meaner. Corrupted. They took over all the land, including the farm the Grimm brothers lived on. Started taking harvests by force. Executing poor folk who couldn’t pay tribute. So a mysterious hero paid them a visit.”

“Did this mysterious hero just happen to have a mysterious magic pen?”

“Sure did. The very same one used to kill the Big Bad Wolf.”

“He killed them?”

“He sure did,” Briar said. “And just like with the wolf, Hans and the princess both burned away into ashes. Gone from this world. Rightly so, I may add. And the hero, well, he took himself some of that gold from the castle before anyone knew what had happened. And he spent the remaining years of his life searching for the rest of the Corrupted.”

“Corrupted?” I asked.

“Any character from the Grimms’ fairy tales becomes Corrupted over time because they don’t belong in this world,” Briar explained. “They’re people, only they ain’t like you.” He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. I’m getting worked up and letting my accent show. I don’t mean to offend.”

“I’m not offended.”

His whiskers twitched. “Well, that’s kind of you. But regardless, I shouldn’t get all excited. Just cause you’re listening to me all spout all this doesn’t mean you’re ready to believe it yet.”

“Say I do,” I said cautiously. “What would it mean? Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because,” Briar said, “you’re the next hero.”

I sat there, stunned. I mean, who wouldn’t? A man-sized rabbit wearing a swanky old-fashioned vest just told me I was supposed to wipe out fictional fairy tale folk brought to life with black magic.

“You’re at a loss for words,” Briar said, and the white fur around his mouth pulled back just a bit to make way for a smile. “I don’t blame you.”

“OK,” I said. “Say I am the hero …”

“Alice?” came a call from downstairs.

I hurried to the door as if I’d just been caught with a boy in my room. “What, Dad?” I called out.

“Could you please, please do your chore before your mom gets home?”

“OK,” I called back. I turned around, but the giant rabbit was gone.

I crossed the hallway into the bathroom, turning on the light and rummaging through the cabinet under the sink for the cleaning supplies. When I got up, there he was again, standing by the toilet. I cried out in surprise, then quickly shut the door.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Disappearing and reappearing is never easy on one’s mental state,” he said. He laughed. “Good for a chuckle now and again, though.”

“Well, I need to clean the floor. Stand in the tub.”

Briar pulled back the forest-print shower curtain and hopped in the tub. He lifted one long foot. “It’s wet.”

“Just deal with it,” I said, spraying cleaning solution around the toilet. White foam gathered. “Are you going to keep talking or what?”

“Where was I?” His tongue clicked against his large front teeth. “Oh, of course. You’re the hero.”

“OK,” I said, using paper toweling to scrub the white foam away. “Let’s pretend I’m still going along with this. What, exactly, does that mean?”

“It means you’ve been chosen to rid the world of the Corrupted,” Briar stated. “To put it another way: to fix the mistake of those fiendish Brothers Grimm.”

“How do I do that?” I asked.

“Any way you can.”

I crawled backward on my knees, spraying the yellow tiles next to the bathtub. “So I find these, these Corrupted, these fictional characters, and I kill them?”

“Kill is such a strong word,” the rabbit said, clicking his tongue. “You simply cause enough harm to their physical manifestations that they burn away into the black nothingness from whence they came.”

I looked up at him, smiling. “So I kill them.”

A sigh from the giant rabbit. “So to speak.”

“And I have to do this because they’re all evil,” I said, wiping down the tiles. “All of them. Even beautiful, mistreated Cinderella.”

“The longer they remain on this earth, the eviler they get. Might I get out of this tub now?”

“Just hold on.” I pulled back the ugly white bath mat and sprayed another stream of foam across the tiles. “So there’s only one hero, right? I’m the only one in the world?”

“As far as I know. And some day after you are long gone, another will appear. Then another. Until every Corrupted is removed from this world and the mistake of the Brothers Grimm has been fixed. Now, please?”

I nodded. He hopped out of the bathtub, shaking the water away from his furry feet. “And so they’ve just been running around for hundreds of years and no one’s noticed?”

“Oh, I’m sure some have noticed,” Briar said, examining my handiwork. “Hmmmm. don’t forget to get that area right at the base of the sink cabinet … yes, right there.”

“Thank you. So all the fairy tale characters brought to life are Corrupted?”

“Yes.” He sat down on the toilet seat and crossed his legs in a very human sort of way, tapping his mouth with one paw. “But they are rarely found out by anyone living in the real world. You must understand the Corrupted for the most part understand they don’t belong. And those that are still alive have gotten very good at staying hidden.”

“And so as the hero, it’s my job to kill them. Fine.” I got up and tossed the used paper towel in the trash can next to the toilet. “So who do we kill first? The three bears? An evil step-mother? A griffin?”

“You know who you must kill,” Briar said.

“Who?” I asked. “Please. I really don’t know.”

The rabbit’s ears twitched. “Prince Charming. Of course.”

Chapter 5

I tossed and turned for a long time that night. And when I finally slept, I dreamt. It was an awful dream, so vivid that it felt like I was actually there, only instead of inhabiting a body I felt instead like I was looking through a window. I was watching a scene unfold.

It began in a club. I couldn’t tell which club because I’d never been to any of the dance clubs downtown or anywhere else. But it was definitely not the local supper club. Everybody was dancing on this little scrunchy dance floor while the multicolored ceiling lights swirled around in circles. Everyone looked sweaty. Everyone was holding a drink steady as they danced. Some danced close together, while others kept space between them. Some were into it. Some just talked. One woman danced alone with a mad intensity that no one could match.

It was loud. I remember the music, too: some kind of mash-up between an old Beastie Boys song and a new pop single by Lady Gaga. Girls were gyrating and guys tried to keep up with their hips. You could almost taste the sweat.

And then I began to move. Or the scene did, at least. Two people were pushing their way to the front door. A guy and a gal. The guy was wearing a silky red button-down shirt and the girl was wearing tight jeans and a white v-neck top. They finished their drinks and set the glasses on a little table near the entrance. I followed them out into the cool night. I could feel the cool air on my skin.

Immediately after the door closed, the music was gone. The three of us were on an empty city street with bars on both sides and long rows of parked cars. There was no one else in sight. Not a soul.

“What do you want to do?” the woman asked. I followed behind them as they walked, listening to her high heels clicking on the sidewalk.

“Whatever you want,” the man said. He grabbed her hand. “I could stay up longer. I feel great. I feel like … some kind of electricity was running through us when we danced.”

“I felt that too!” the woman said, turning to him. She was staring at his face, examining it. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. You’re so … hot! Did you see the look on my friend Dina’s face? She totally didn’t think you would come over.”

“Are you sure your friend won’t miss you?” he asked.

The girl laughed. “Pretty positive.”

“OK.” He pulled on her hand, down a side street. “My car’s in here.” He pointed to the three-story parking structure to our right. “Can you drive stick?”

“Of course,” the woman said. “I learned when I was a baby.”

“Have you ever driven a BMW?”

I felt my chest grow cold. I had this reaction even though I knew—in the dream, at least—I wasn’t really here. Something terrible was going to happen and I really didn’t want to see the car. They headed into the parking structure. Wake up, I told myself. Wake up before you see the car!

“I totally want to drive your car. What floor?” the woman asked. She giggled. “I mean, what level?”

“Just up the ramp,” he said, then laughed. “I don’t remember what level. I just remember almost slipping when I walked down the ramp. These shoes look nice, but they don’t have treads.”

“You’re funny. Do you … uh, do you do this a lot?”

A shrug of the shoulders. Square, muscular shoulders. “I’m usually more of a stay-at-home type.”

I tried to run forward. I wanted to spin the man around and get a look at his face. There was no waking up now. I couldn’t control my movement. I could only follow behind them, listening, inhaling the sweet smell of the woman’s perfume.

“I can’t believe you danced with me,” the woman said. Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her black leather purse, staring at the number. “Oh god, I have to answer this.”

“Wait,” said the man, wrapping one hand around the phone. “Call them back.”

He pulled her between two parked SUV’s and disappeared from sight. Then the phone dropped to the ground. I began moving closer. I could hear some kind of struggle and now, again, I wanted to wake up. But the invisible force was dragging me closer.

“Please don’t fight,” said the man. “It won’t change what’s about to happen. I know that’s frightening, but you must understand there isn’t any changing things.”

I came into view just as they both fell to the ground. The man was kneeling over her torso with one hand wrapped around her mouth. With the other he pulled out a silver needle from inside the breast pocket of his button-down shirt. The woman’s eyes widened as he pressed it down on the bare skin right below her neck. I tried to scream for her, but nothing came out.

Wake up! Wake up, Alice!

The man leaned down, ignoring the woman’s fists as they smacked against his face and arm. He pressed his lips to the little pinprick on her neck.

And began sucking.

Quickly, so quickly, the woman’s skin began to sink. It was as if all of the meat, all of the liquid, all of the stuff between her skin and the bones was being sucked out. Her face shrank. Her wide eyeballs dried up. Her hair began to fall out. The skin collapsed onto the bone and the once-tight clothes clung loosely to what remained. I tried screaming again but nothing came out. The slurping sound echoed in the quiet parking structure.

When he finished, he stood up and wiped his mouth. A sickening moan of satisfaction escaped his lips. I had this bizarre urge to step forward and swing my fists at him. Maybe I could somehow subdue him until help arrived or maybe I could take him down myself with a little luck. I felt myself move closer. I could smell his sweat and hear the words escape his lips between soft breaths: “A virgin.”

The man turned. But before he could face me, he looked down at the ground. I followed his gaze; he was looking at his shadow created by the yellow light attached to the ceiling of the parking structure. Only it wasn’t a human shadow. No, it couldn’t be. This shadow …

It was a spider. A giant spider.

Then I screamed. For real.

I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat, the alarm on the nightstand buzzing and sunlight streaming in through the window. I blinked rapidly, convinced that finally—finally!—I was back in reality. Everything that had happened had been a total and uncompromising nightmare. No creepy white snake. No glowing boyfriends. And definitely no life-sucking creatures in parking structures.

I put on minimal makeup for my day at the library: eye shadow and a little blush. I dressed in typical summer gear—tan shorts and an indigo v-neck blouse—then added a soft gray long-sleeved shirt to stave off the air conditioning inside the library. I went downstairs, where Mom was already up and making a small stack of French toast.

“On a scale of one to ten,” she said, not turning away from the frying pan, “how excited are you about the library?”

“Eight,” I said. “Your French Toast smells delicious.”

She turned, raising an eyebrow. In the mornings without her makeup and fancy dress clothes she wore to work, she looked so much more like a mom. I’d inherited her black hair and her high cheekbones. Only her hair was short, cut in a decidedly “Mom” way, which meant it was about ten years out of fashion. She was wearing a flowery nightgown, too, which I would never wear in a million years. Floral patterns? No way. Too 1990’s.

“I bet you can put this on your college applications,” she was saying, placing another slice of sugary-smelling toast on the stack. “I bet they get all excited when they see one of their applicants has actually been to a library.”

“Mom. I’m pretty sure they don’t.”

She tsk-tsk’d me, laying two slices of toast on a plate and placing it in front of me. “People don’t read as much anymore. That’s why they’re so stupid.”

“Mom!” I said with a laugh.

“I’m serious! It’s a form of brain exercise. What do you think happens when you spend all day sitting in front of the TV?”

“I turn into Dad?” I asked. We both laughed.

“Do you want to do anything for your birthday?” she asked, sitting down next to me.

“No,” I said. “I’m going out with Edward and the gang tonight. I … might spend the night at Tricia’s.”

She grunted. “I’ll cancel the clown. But the presents I got you are nonrefundable.”

“OK,” I said. “Can we just have a celebration dinner next week? I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be like.”

Mom sat down next to me and sipped at her coffee. “Oh, I imagine the librarians will want you there until the wee hours of the evening, vacuuming and doing other noisy things.”

“Really?” I asked, eyes wide. I hadn’t even thought of that. When did they do the noisy stuff in libraries? Who did them?

Mom smiled. “I’m only kidding. Boy, exams sure have you high-strung!” She sipped her mug of coffee, staring over my shoulder. “Maybe a little vacuuming after close.”

I stabbed at the French Toast, slathering it in maple syrup. Thinking. The refreshing period following the initial wake-up was gone and now it seemed entirely credible that everything that I’d thought had been a dream had in fact been real. “OK, weird question,” I announced. “Did we have any strange relatives?”

“Hmmmmmmm.” Mom took another sip of coffee, staring up at the white ceiling fan. “Yes. My grandmother was a smuggler.”

“What?!”

She nodded, smiling. “She ran a fruit stand in New York City for twenty years. Sometimes, she smuggled exotic fruits in and paid off the dock workers so she wouldn’t have to pay tariffs.”

“That’s insane!”

“That’s my grandmother. She was very creative.”

I decided to walk to the library to enjoy the early morning sun. I needed the rays on my skin. I needed to smell the dandelions and fresh-cut grass. Summer vacation had seriously begun, and tonight I’d be partying with all of the cool kids from school. I’d never done that before. I let myself get a little excited and tried to push aside everything strange that had happened.

At the library, I made the choice to not think about the basement. At least not for the first three minutes. After that, it was all I could think about. Kids and adults came and went throughout the morning, and it was tough to keep up with all of the book returns. Mary’s insidious doppelganger, Fran, was running the checkout desk and seemed in no mood to carry even a lighthearted “How are you?” conversation. Just a little gratitude, please? Walking up the stairs every hour and not asking for a dime in return deserved some recognition.

At 11:00, Fran told me to take a break.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

She pressed a finger to her lips. I couldn’t believe it! I’d talked just as quietly as she had!

I went to the science section toward the back of the first floor, stopping near the restrooms for a sip of water at the water fountain. In my purse were a can of sparkling water and a turkey sandwich, and with a gentle rain coming down outside now, there was nowhere to eat it. I could imagine the moment I popped the top of the can, Fran would probably throw me out for being a deviant.

Fear of Fran drove me into the basement. It was the only safe place. Imagine that: the scary basement where I’d killed a terrifying snake was the safest place to eat in the entire building. Oh, how Mom would have laughed if I could tell her about all this.

I went down the stairs, curious about the pen but trying to convince my mind that it wouldn’t be there. Today’s a new day, I reminded myself. Stress from exam week had taken me apart and now I was back in reality. Firmly back in reality.

And then as I reached the other side of the basement, I saw it.

“Shoot!” I muttered.

“Shoot?”

I spun around, nearly dropping my can of sparkling water. “Oh good,” I said. “The giant rabbit is back.”

He seemed taken aback, stepping away from the shelves and giving his vest a firm tug. “I resent that kind of sassiness.”

A deep sigh escaped my lips. “I was kinda hoping this whole fairy tale situation had just been a dream.”

Briar the rabbit shrugged, stepping between the shelves and running a paw along the spines of the ancient books. He seemed to be admiring them. Did giant rabbits read? “A common response. It’s not easy to accept. Nor should it be.” He chuckled. “Why, if you’d have just jumped into this mess without testing the water first, I’d have thought you really were crazy!”

“Well that’s just wonderful.” I set my sandwich and can of water on the nearest shelf, beside an ancient worn-out copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You’re in no position to call anyone crazy, Mr. Giant Rabbit.”

“The name is Br’er. Briar to my friends. You may call me Briar.”

“I’m honored, but I don’t really know you that well.” A little light clicked on in my head. “Wait, are you the Br’er Rabbit? The one from the old southern stories? Like, the actual Br’er Rabbit?”

“To an extent, yes.” He bowed. “Just as cunning as the one you’ve read about, too.”

“How?” I asked. “I mean, if I believe everything so far … your story wasn’t around when the Brothers Grimm were alive and conducting their magical ‘experiment.’ So how did you come into being?”

“Oh, I had a cunning creator,” Briar said with a hint of a smile. “A real scrapper. He was a hero, just like you. He was a former slave, living in New York after the Civil War. He wasn’t a healthy man, though. Lots of sickness was spreading through the city back then. He knew he wasn’t going to make it very long, and he also knew that some of the people coming over on the boat from Europe weren’t who they said they were.”

“Corrupted.”

Briar nodded. “He saw them, entering America like any other immigrant. Saw that hint of a glow that told him they didn’t belong. He followed their trails, tried to figure out who they were so he’d be ready. You see, back then there were a lot more Corrupted, especially a lot more minor characters who don’t have their very own Disney movie. Characters who’d been mentioned in passing but nevertheless came to life under the Grimms’ spell. The more important characters didn’t die quite so easily and they were better at hiding. My creator was worried future heroes might have some trouble.”

“So what did he do to bring you to life?” I asked.

“Couldn’t tell you, exactly,” Briar answered. “Would love to know, though.” He chuckled. “Boy, was he a funny guy. So nice. I don’t know exactly how he ended up with one of those magic pages, but I figure the Brothers Grimm probably saved a few and lost them at some point. You know how geezers misplace things.”

I laughed. “My grandma used to put her keys in the sugar bowl and forget about them for weeks on end.”

“Same goes for the Grimms, I bet.” The rabbit shook his head and cleared his throat, like he was ready to jump into another long speech. “Anywho, this hero—Eugene was his name—he somehow got a hold of a magic page and he set about telling the story of Br’er Rabbit, the clever trickster born and bred in the briar patch. And at the bottom of the page, he added something else. Something you don’t read about in any of the other stories about me: Br’er Rabbit was dedicated to helping the hero rid the world of Corrupted. And so here I am.” He bowed low. “Here to assist you in any way possible.”

“But that means you’re a Corrupted, too,” I said. “And some day, you’ll start to go evil. And you’ll have to be killed.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Could be. Eugene tried his best to make sure that didn’t happen. In the version he wrote down on the magic page, he made me just about the most loyal friend you could ever ask for. He wrote down that I never went evil and never betrayed the heroes I served. Technically, that’s how my story should play out.” He sighed. “I suppose that might not be enough. I suppose the Brothers Grimm thought they knew what they were doing, too.”

“That’s sad.”

He waved the thought away with his paw. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll do the worrying! And right now I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why me?”

Briar pointed his paw at me. “Because you’re the hero now. That means you need to be ready for whatever comes next.”

“What comes next?”

Briar threw his paws up in the air. “Who knows? The last hero, she was a tad on the wild side. You better believe she left that snake for you as a test. And you’d better believe she knew exactly what you’d be thinking at this point because she was thinking the exact same thing when I first met her. Lord, it took me weeks to convince her.” He hopped between the shelves. “Chasing after her all the dang time! And she was a faster runner than you.”

“So you think she has another gross slimy snake waiting for me somewhere,” I said, shuddering.

Briar shook his head. “Not a snake, but some other little Corrupted for sure. That white snake was from one of the Grimms’ fairy tales, after all. That means Juliette—she was the last hero, if you recall—caught it and hid it in that there wall. Somehow, she knew you’d draw that door.” He took a deep breath, letting it escape between his front teeth in a whistle. “Now she was a handful. Loved taking risks and giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What happened to her?”

Briar looked down at the cement floor. “Can’t quite tell you. All I can say is she seemed to know something was going to happen. She planned all of this. Hid the pen down here and everything. And then she gave me this big hug, told me not to follow her, and then promptly disappeared.”

Tears came to my eyes. I didn’t know this girl and yet I couldn’t help but feel something for her. “Why didn’t you follow her, you jerk?” I asked angrily.

Briar shook his head. “Sometimes, the hero has to walk the path alone.”

“So I may die? Awesome.” I crossed my arms. “Really cool. That sounds like a lot of fun and all, but I kinda like the way things are right now.”

The rabbit sighed, stuffing his paws in the pockets of his pants in a very human sort of way. Everything he did was sort of human. “Well, it’s not my business to convince you one way or the other. I’m here to help you and that’s it.”

I glanced at the pen lying on the floor, next to the door I’d created. “Tell me about the pen,” I said finally. “How does it work?”

Briar slapped his paws together. “Magic! Haven’t you been listening?”

“Be more specific.”

“You draw, it creates,” he said simply. “But it has its limits. You don’t need to be a good artist to create what you want—all you need is knowledge.”

“What do you mean?”

He started hopping toward the pen, so I followed him. When we reached the end of the bookshelves, he stopped. “Well, the pen needs your brain. It needs to know how to create what you’re drawing, so you need to have knowledge of whatever you’re going to create. For instance, this door.” He pointed with his paws to the cement door. “You created this door because you know how a door works. You understand it swings on hinges and needs a doorknob.”

“So I couldn’t draw a nuclear bomb is what you’re saying.”

Briar shook his head. “Not unless you know how one works.”

I bent down and picked up the pen. The moment the cool metal touched my skin, I felt a warm sensation pass through my body.

“Try it.”

I looked at him. “Try what?”

“Try drawing something you know.”

“Something I know,” I murmured, thinking. It took a moment for my imagination to kick in. “OK. Where?”

“Anywhere,” the rabbit said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

I knelt down on the concrete floor. Slowly, methodically, I drew a foil. I started with the grip, then the bellguard and then finally the blade, my shaky hand creating a squiggly line unbecoming of a foil’s edge. I knew how the blade inserted into the handle: a modern foil screwed in with the help of a socket, a washer and a nut. But I had no idea how to draw it.

“What in the heck is that?” the rabbit asked, leaning over my shoulder.

“It’s a foil,” I said. “A sword. Blech! Your breath is awful!”

“I’m a rabbit,” he said with a hint of offense in his voice. “I don’t normally brush my teeth.”

“OK, well, what do I do now?” I asked, staring down at the image in the concrete. It was glowing a dull gold, the color already slowly fading.

“Grab it,” Briar said. “Quick, before the ink dries.”

I reached down, feeling my fingers wrap around the handle. I pulled it free, holding the foil up. It looked beautiful. Pure steel, just as I’d pictured it. The blade was perfectly straight, too. “This is amazing!”

“That,” the rabbit said gravely, “can kill a Corrupted.”

“But what Corrupted?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do next? I mean, that is to say, if I’m going along with all this hero business.”

“I told you already,” Briar said. He took a step back, eyeing the foil’s tip with a bit of wariness in his big eyes. “You must kill Prince Charming.”

“But who is he?”

Briar stood up, walking between the shelves, mumbling to himself.

“Briar?” I asked.

“Hold your horses,” he said. “Grick … Griffon … Ah-ha! Grimm. How ingenious, Juliette.” He walked back over with the ancient Brothers Grimm book, handing it to me. “This is the book you brought downstairs, right? I suggest you read it. Familiarize yourself with the tales.”

“Know thy enemy,” I murmured, flipping through the pages. “So now you want me to steal a library book, too.”

“You’re simply borrowing it,” the rabbit clarified. “That’s what a library is for, no?”

“I suppose.” I closed the book and held it in my armpit so I could re-cap the fountain pen. I put it in my pocket, feeling its warmth against my leg. “So who is Prince Charming?”

“You know,” Briar insisted. “You can see the Corrupted now.”

“How?” I asked.

“Because they glow.”

My heart sank. I’d been hoping against hope that he would say something else. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I … I mean … what if it’s a pretty soft glow? Like, you can barely see it? Maybe it means my Corruption Detector is on the fritz.”

The rabbit’s face was all seriousness. If such a thing was possible. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Wait a minute … how come you’re not glowing?” I asked, pointing a finger at him.

“Because,” the rabbit said stiffly, “I have fur. And I’m different.”

I took a deep breath, staring down at the book. I thought back to Edward, the way the golden glow of his cheeks was obscured by the black mesh of the fencing mask. I pictured his sword coming at me again and again, deftly maneuvering past my best parries.

“Have you had any dreams?”

“What?” I asked.

Briar gave me a curious look. “Dreams. About the Corrupted. Your dreams will become a window into their lives. You can see what they’re doing.”

An icy feeling seeped into my bones. I felt the color drain from my face. “How?” I asked.

“The gift of the hero,” Briar said simply. He shrugged. “Or a curse, depending on the circumstances. Have you had a dream about one?”

“No,” I said.

The rabbit stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I would remember something like that.”

Briar nodded. “All right then. Well, my best advice is to just let it play out if it happens. They can’t see you. They don’t know you’re there.”

“But …” I shut my mouth.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It just seems weird that I can see them but they can’t see me.”

Briar stuffed his hands in his pockets, slowly walking along the shelves and examining the books. “Yes, the hero’s world is a strange, fantastic place. Those pesky Grimms sure made a mess of things, I tell ya. Couldn’t just leave well enough alone, eh? Couldn’t just let parents tell the stories to their kids and let that be the end of it? Nope. They had to ahead and dabble in stuff nobody understands …”

He kept going like this and all I could think about was Edward. Was he the murderer in my dreams, or had that been someone else? They’d looked similar, but not exactly similar. Then again, if he was going around randomly killing people, he might disguise himself a bit. But he was in high school! He was a totally normal guy: moody, dark, mysterious … OK, kinda normal … maybe he was just a little Corrupt. Maybe he didn’t even know he was one!

All these thoughts gave me a severe headache right between the eyes.

It was impossible. What had happened in my dream had been … otherworldly. Vicious. Inhuman. The dream couldn’t be one of these hero visions. I mean, what had happened to that poor girl …

I needed to be sure. Absolutely, positively sure. I wasn’t going to stab my boyfriend with a pen until I had some kind of sign. Proof that Briar wasn’t just playing a trick on me. I’d read Br’er Rabbit’s stories and I knew how devious he could be. And now here he was telling me a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about magic pens and evil fairy tale monsters? No. Definitely had to be one hundred percent sure.

I needed a way to test Edward.

And maybe a way to kill him, too.

Chapter 6

When he awoke, he determined to obey his dream, and went outside the gate, and asked the first person who came up to him to be godfather. The stranger presented him with a little glass of water, and said, “This is a wonderful water, with it thou canst heal the sick, only thou must see where Death is standing. If he is standing by the patient’s head, give the patient some of the water and he will be healed, but if Death is standing by his feet, all trouble will be in vain, for the sick man must die.”[v]

That evening, I waited in my living room for Edward with every light on the first floor on to scare off the shadows. I had no idea how to dress for a beach party. I’d picked sandals and blue shorts and a white t-shirt. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I’d put on a minimal amount of makeup because I had this horrible fear that someone might throw me right into Lake Michigan. The last thing I wanted to do was emerge from the cold slimy water with eye shadow running down my face and foundation caked to my cheeks.

I put the magic pen in my pocket. I had my cell phone and an ID and money in my little red wrist purse. If anything happened tonight, I would be able to call a cab. This was my harebrained attempt at a plan and my nervous body clearly wasn’t impressed.

Edward pulled into the driveway late: 8:00 p.m. It was dark out, and as I stepped out onto the porch, I could hear crickets singing somewhere in the bushes. This was the perfect sound of summer. I should be enjoying it, I thought, not getting in the car of a man who may or may not be a homicidal soul-sucking fictional creature from a fairy tale.

Also, where were my parents? How could they have gone out to dinner on this night of all nights? And why did they give me such a strange look when I threw a tantrum? I was a teenager … they were supposed to be used to my mood swings!

“Are you OK?” Edward asked me when I got in. He had music playing softly. Classical—his favorite. Just the kind of thing a 200-year-old would like. Stop it, I told myself.

“I’m getting better,” I said, leaning over and forcing a kiss onto his lips. Gawd! His lips were so perfect, and best of all, whatever weird feelings I’d had last time had disappeared. There had to be a way through this that didn’t result in me losing those perfect lips. He couldn’t be a murderer. He couldn’t be a … a … Corrupted.

“Tell me about it, my love,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”

I bit my tongue to keep from spilling it all. When he said those types of things, I melted. I just literally melted. Not literally, of course … but close. My inner voice screamed in frustration. I turned to him, hellbent on saying something.

Then I saw the glow.

“I just … have felt weird lately. It’s nothing. I feel a lot better now that school’s done.”

“Are you sure?”

“You were late tonight,” I said, biting my lower lip to keep from spilling any more secrets. “Super late. You said 6:30.”

“I fell asleep. I’m sorry, love.” He pulled out onto 86th Street. He took us east, toward the lake. We drove in silence. Correction: me silent and him humming along to the violins playing through the speakers. I would have loved to be able to compare thoughts right then. I was thinking about killing him … and if my dream had been real, and it was entirely possible he was thinking along those exact same lines.

No, I told myself. Different person. Edward isn’t Prince Charming. He has some faults. Sometimes, he … well, occasionally he’ll look … oh who am I kidding? Everything the talking rabbit said makes complete sense.

He turned the car onto a bumpy road through a small park filled with baseball diamonds and maple trees. It led to an old, dark parking lot. Normally, it was probably empty. Tonight, though, there were a dozen cars parked right up to the sand.

Edward parked next to an old wooden concessions shack, which didn’t look as if it had been used in a dozen summers or more, and jogged around the car to let me out. It was a touching little gesture, one I’d loved when we first started dating. But now … now it felt forced.

I was suspicious.

“Thank you.” I stepped out, my hand brushing against my pocket to make sure the pen was still there. Edward’s hand found mine and he wrapped it around his waist, pulling me close. “We can leave any time,” he whispered. “Please. Just tell me. I care only about you.”

“I’m OK,” I said quietly. His lips brushed against my cheek and a soft moan escaped my lips.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s find everyone.”

The task turned out to be easier than expected. All of the coolest juniors and seniors in school had congregated to the dozens upon dozens of picnic tables sitting on the sand about a hundred yards down the beach. My feet squished into the sand, and twice one of my sandals slipped off. I regretted wearing them—what if something happened tonight? How would I be able to maneuver in sandals, fer cryin’ out loud?

“What are you thinking about?” Edward asked.

“I wish I’d worn shoes.”

He laughed. “You’d get sand in them.” He lifted one leg. He was wearing khaki shorts and sandals. “These are perfect.”

“Those,” I said, “are hundred-dollar Armani sandals. They’re going to be ruined.”

“Then I’ll buy another pair,” he said simply.

“It must be nice to have rich parents,” I said, laughing. “You should get a job at some point, though. So you know what it’s like to work. It’s a good habit.”

His hand locked in mine. He squeezed it. For the first time, I didn’t feel a flutter of warmth run through my body. All I thought about was how I could break from his grip if I needed to. It wouldn’t be easy—he had a vice-like grip.

“You’re just volunteering at the library,” he pointed out. “It’s not a real job.”

“True, but I cooked French fries all last summer,” I said. “You should have seen me. You’d have loved it. I had this little hat and I wore a bowtie. It was easily the worst experience of my life. And the pay was awful.”

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “It sounds like I’m missing a whole lot.”

One of the track boys called out to Edward. They exchanged waves. Someone had brought red and yellow paper lanterns and set them up on the picnic tables, using a lighter to light them one at the time. I picked up the pace, anxious to get to the conforting orange glow of the lanterns.

Coolers sat on the sand next to the tables. A big boombox began belting out pop hits as if announcing our arrival. Snow White and Prince Charming, the guests of honor.

“A real party,” I murmured.

Edward stopped at one of the coolers and opened it, pulling out a bottle of beer and a bottle of mixed alcohol. He handed it to me. I examined the label in the darkness.

“Strawberry?”

Edward nodded. “You’ll like it. Or … you don’t have to.”

I immediately thought back to what Seth said about the losers. “No! No. I’ll drink it.” Or just open it and hold onto it …

“Alice!”

I turned, squinting in the darkness. A blonde bimbo was bouncing toward me, weaving between students and picnic tables.

“Is that Tricia?” Edward asked.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” I laughed. “Tricia?”

She stopped in front of us, out of breath, smiling. She was clutching one of the bottles of strawberry-flavored alcohol. She was wearing an outfit I’d never seen before: short shorts, a low-cut red tube top with her bra straps exposed on her bare shoulders, and a silver necklace. Her hair looked bouncier than usual. “Isn’t this awesome? This is the coolest party ever. Ever.”

“Good to see you here,” Edward said. One of his track mates tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, gave a high-five, then turned and gave me a smooch on the cheek before following them to the other side of the picnic tables. I watched his feet leave a glowing trail in the soft sand.

Tricia burped, breaking my momentary daze. I turned back to her. “How is the weekend?”

“Good. Good!” She laughed again. “Gawd, I’m having so much fun. I can’t believe I got invited to this party.”

“It’s definitely very … loud,” I said. “Where’s Seth?”

“He’s at home. I didn’t bring him.”

“What? Why the hell not? He loves the beach.”

“Because,” Tricia moaned, “I wanted to come alone. We’re not joined at the hip or anything.”

“Are you fighting?”

“No. I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t remember. You have no idea how much fun this is, Alice! We’re at the cool party!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring Seth,” I said, waving my bottle of alcohol in frustration. Sticky strawberry-flavored juice splashed across my wrist.

Suddenly Tricia’s face soured. “Look, Alice. You don’t get it, OK? I didn’t have some random Prince Charming fly in out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet. You got lucky, all right?”

I took a nervous step back. “Trish …”

“No, listen.” She held a finger up to my face. “Let me have my fun tonight. OK? Seth is nice and he’s fun to be around but he’s no Edward. I know you don’t understand because Edward’s your first serious boyfriend, but what happened to you doesn’t ever happen. He’s perfect. And some of the guys here tonight … they’re pretty darned close. I want to be a part of this.”

“But Edward …”

Tricia laughed, looking up at the starry sky with contempt. “And the best part? He went right after you the moment he saw you. Like he just had to have you.”

I stood there, speechless. The pen felt like it was about to burn a hole through the pocket of my shorts.

“I’m going to dance in the sand,” Tricia said, taking a long drink of her bottle. She turned and stumbled toward the group of boys and girls bouncing at the shore while waves gently rolled across their bare toes. Tricia let out a war cry, kicking up water as she danced between two boys.

I turned away and, without thinking, took a sip of the drink. It tasted sweet and sour at the same time, and I nearly gagged when I swallowed it. But then I took another drink. It tasted strange and felt strange inside my stomach. I took another drink, walking alone on the empty beach. It stretched far into the distance, broken up two hundred yards ahead by an old sewage drainage pipe built into the bluff. I was heading toward it without heading toward it, my head just a little dizzy.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself, holding up the bottle and staring hard at the last few ounces of alcohol. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling disoriented as I did so. My vision spun a bit and I didn’t like it. Behind me, students had begun gathering into a larger dancing group. Two young men were splashing into the waves, screaming at the top of their lungs.

I turned back to the tunnel. I had to get rid of this bottle, even if it meant littering. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to feel like this, all dizzy and nauseous. All I could think about was that girl in the parking lot, the way her fluids were sucked out. It was like some weird vampire movie only worse because the vampire didn’t stop at just the blood. And here I was drinking alcohol. Alice Goodenough doesn’t drink alcohol, I thought. And she certainly has no intention of ending up the victim of that vampire creature.

What if Edward came after me?

I spun around, sure that he would be right behind me. But there was no one. Only darkness.

Which was even scarier.

“Stop it,” I told myself. “Gawd, you’re a hero now. You can’t be afraid of the dark.”

I walked closer to the tunnel. It had a concrete base and the rusted iron bars criss-crossing the exit point had long ago been pulled back or cut entirely. The clouds above parted and in the moonlight I could see that someone had spray-painted the words SOUTH SHORE in big dark letters on the side of the massive tunnel. This entire place … it felt oddly familiar. I’d been here before. Long ago, on a school trip.

Sand castles. We’d gone on a field trip to the beach and had a sand castle competition. I remembered it now. I remembered I’d built a horrible tower with a young boy I hated and then the entire castle had fallen apart because it dried out. I’d turned and run down the beach, crying. I got close to this tunnel. It had the same words spray painted way back then.

But not the one below it:

ALICE

I stepped onto the cracked concrete platform next to the tunnel, bent over and set down the glass. “No more,” I muttered.

“No more.”

My heart skipped a beat. I looked up. “Hello?” I called out.

“No more.”

My voice echoed deep inside the tunnel. I turned around: there was no one walking on the beach. Everyone was still by the picnic tables, dancing around the colored lanterns. I heard Tricia’s shrill laugh above the thumping music.

“No more,” came the voice again.

I stepped closer to the tunnel. The little voice inside my head said, “Woah. Wait. You’re getting closer? Really?” Yes, I thought. I had this urge to step closer and I couldn’t fight it.

It was dark inside save for a faint gold-colored trail of light flowing down the drainage ditch like a gentle stream of water. What did this mean? Did this mean a Corrupted was hiding inside?

“No more …”

I reached into my pocket for the pen. With one shaky hand, I began to draw a foil on the concrete slab. My mind whirled. Where did the bolt go? I couldn’t remember. My fingers tensed, trying in vain to draw a straight line. When the picture was complete, it looked awful. I grabbed it anyway and the sword slipped out of the concrete intact. I swung it. The weight felt good. The thin blade cut through the air with ease. My mind had done a good job filling in for my shaky hand … at least it seemed so.

“No more,” came the voice inside the tunnel. I walked toward it, glancing once over my shoulder to make sure none of the partygoers had wandered down the beach.

I was still alone.

“Where are you now, Briar?” I asked aloud.

“Briar … Briar …” came the voice inside the tunnel.

I stepped up to the tunnel entrance, grabbing the rusted iron bar with my free hand. The tunnel was no longer in use; that much was clear. Still, something was in here. Something that left a golden trail.

The glow at my feet illuminated the tunnel just a bit. I could see something up ahead. Something entirely peculiar. A broom. A shovel, too. They were moving back and forth at an intersection, as if some invisible force was making them clean. They were like something out of a cartoon only here they were, real as the hair on my head.

They paid no attention to me as I stepped closer. When I was at sword’s length, I gently reached out with the tip of the foil and pressed it against the wooden handle of the broom. It stopped moving, then shuddered, slowly burning away. I did the same with the shovel.

“Alice …” came a voice deeper in the tunnel, echoing in every direction. My hands trembled. I stepped forward, following the glowing trail around a bend in the tunnel even though my brain was telling me to turn back. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I had to walk closer. I had to follow that glowing trail.

When I saw what was waiting for me around the corner, I hopped backwards.

“Oh, gross!” I said. “Gross!”

There, dancing on the floor of the tunnel, were dozens of severed fingers and hands. Dancing! I reached out with the tip of my foil, stabbing at each one, telling them all how ridiculous they were. What else could I do? They looked fresh and bloody and downright disgusting and they weren’t just moving, they were dancing!

They began leaping at me, grabbing onto my shirt and my legs. A finger clung to my leg like a worm. A hand clutched my wrist. Another finger landed on my shoulder, pressing down. I cried out in pain and used the magic pen to stab at them one by one. They were swarming me. The little creepy things were swarming me!

A hand wrapped around my neck. I dropped my foil, trying to pull the hand away. I could feel my breath catch in my throat and I gagged. Tears burned my eyes. The sudden realization that I might die seemed to ignite something inside me. It was like … like my body knew how to cast aside my instinct of gasping for breath and running for help. Instead, I reached up and drew the nib of the magic pen across the hand’s scaly skin.

The grip loosened. It fell away, burning mid-fall.

“Alice …”

“I’m coming!” I yelled angrily, picking up my foil. “I just had to kill a bunch of FREAKING SEVERED HANDS!”

I followed my echo deeper down the tunnel. As I turned another corner, I could hear a new curious sound. Hissing. Or whispering. It seemed to fill the tunnel like a flood of water and I felt my legs turn into jelly. I just had to yell out, didn’t I? Couldn’t just keep quiet and hope for the best here, huh? I could have slapped myself.

I turned another corner and stopped. The tunnel opened up a bit into a small box-shaped room that looked as if it had once allowed water to gather. Now, with no water, it had been converted into something far stranger. A hundred white candles were lit in a line around the floor at the base of the walls. At the far end, where the tunnel resumed, there was a pile of rags and a dozen or so books. The sizzling sound was coming from two frying pans sitting on the concrete floor. Two strips of filleted fish were in each pan, and crouched over the pan was a man wearing a thick wool blanket.

A man with two long, curved horns protruding from his forehead.

“You can put the sword down,” he said in a low voice. “I mean you no harm.”

“I doubt that,” I told him, keeping the tip of the foil pointed at his demonic head. The smell of fish filled the room.

The man laughed, grabbing the handle of one of the pans and moving it back and forth on the concrete. Strangely enough, there was no fire underneath the scorching hot pans. “I knew Juliette. The last hero. Did you meet her?”

“No,” I said cautiously.

The man grunted. He looked in his mid-forties, with a balding head and broad shoulders. His skin was a pale blue, unwarmed even by all the candles. “A nice enough young lady, I suppose. A little morbid for my tastes. Always talking about her impending doom. Doom this, doom that. It really got quite annoying.”

“Did you kill her?” I asked, stepping forward.

The man ignored the point of my foil and shook the other sizzling pan so the slices of fish meat slid around in their greasy juices. “Don’t think I could have even if I wanted to. She was one hell of a fighter.”

“The fish are cooked.”

He nodded, standing up and tightening the blanket around his body. He turned and looked at me. He had eyes of coal with just a hint of gold in them. Glowing gold. “The fish are never cooked. That’s the awful truth of this place. Those fish don’t cook. They’re part of my story. My fairy tale. Every night, I eat them. Every morning, the pans have fish again. Because that is how the Brothers Grimm wrote my story.”

“Are you the one who spray painted my name outside?”

The man/creature grunted. “Indeed. A rudimentary sign of sorts, but the previous hero was quite insistent that it be done.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked. “Why were you calling my name? If you want to kill me, I’m just going to warn you now that I’m way tougher than I look.” My squeaking voice betrayed me. Dang it, Alice!

The man sighed. He was staring at the tip of my foil—not with a look of fear, but something else: longing. “I made a deal with the last hero. She told me she needed my help and in exchange she promised to give me that which I’ve desired for so long now.”

My heart grew cold. “Me?”

“What?” He furrowed his brow, smiling. “No. Of course not. Don’t be a fool, girl. Look around you! This is no place for a young lady to spend her days.”

“I thought ...”

He laughed a booming laugh. “My days of killing are long gone. I played out my story a thousand times and then I went into hiding. I ended up here, right here in this little hovel, because I threw myself into the ocean one day in hopes of finally reaching the end of my story. The ocean churned me and carried me for years, then decades. I washed ashore right here on this beach in the middle of a fine summer day.”

“I can imagine the surprise of beachgoers,” I said.

The man/creature nodded, cracking a slight smile. “Children are easily frightened. And their fears are easily dismissed by apathetic parents.”

“Why did Juliette need your help?” I asked.

“She had a message for you. And I was to deliver this message.” He walked over to the other side of the room, where the books were strewn around the pile of rags. His long, sharp fingers opened one of the books and leafed through the pages until a small slip of paper fell out. “Here it is,” said the man/creature. He grabbed it and walked over to me, holding it out. “I fear I must not get any closer. The tip of your blade tempts me to break my promise.”

I kept the blade pointed at him, quickly reaching forward with my free hand to grab the note. “What now?” I asked.

“A final caution,” the man/creature said. “And a gift. The gift is water.” He pulled back the old blanket, pulling a small clear glass vial from his pocket. He was wearing ancient, ragged clothes that looked like they would fit in better in a Sherlock Holmes novel. “There will be times in your journey when you will find this water useful. It can save a human life or it can hasten death. It will not always work the way you intend it to.”

“Why?” I asked.

The man/creature smiled. “Because that is what is written in the fairy tale.” He handed it to me. I took the curious vial—no bigger than one of those disgusting severed fingers—and let it hang from its metal necklace. I put it around my neck and tucked the vial under my shirt.

“Now a warning,” the man/creature said. “Death stalks this earth. He was born from the pages of the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales and no hero has ever attempted to kill him. If you see him, do not acknowledge him. Let him pass. Let him do what he does. He takes indiscriminately, and he does it because that is what he was written to do. Corruption pulsates through his milky white bones. I say this again only because I have met with him and danced with him and have tasted the cold blade of his scythe. Let him pass.”

“Does he only take Corrupted, or does he take … well, humans?”

The man/creature rubbed his square jaw and inhaled through his long, hooked nose. “When one of the Grimms’ creations kills another of the Grimms’ creations, there is little concern, is there? After all, they were fated to die by the Grimm brothers themselves the moment the words were written on those cursed documents. But if I tell you Death now takes human beings, you would no doubt be concerned. Is that true?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my foil. I took a deep breath. “It’s true. I would care more.”

“As you should.” His bare feet padded on the concrete slab as he paced across the small room. Above him, an old drainage pipe was leaking a steady trickle of water that threatened to snuff the candles directly below. The water slipped into a crack in the concrete. This wasn’t the greatest of living conditions.

“We are but fictional creations,” the man/creature continued. “We do not belong. That is why the Corruption consumes us all, eventually. We are loved on paper, but not in the flesh. Because on paper, the stories end. When those foolish brothers made us real, they forced us all to live beyond the end of our stories. And we knew not what to do.”

“You could be good,” I said. “You could … I don’t know … people could accept you. Maybe. Well, OK, the horns are trouble.”

He turned to me and smiled. “I apologize for digressing. To answer your question: yes. Death has begun to take human beings. He’s already taken the Corrupted he was scripted to take. Now he scours the world and performs the only duty he knows how to do. Some day, a hero must stop him.”

I didn’t know what to say. A small part of me wanted to volunteer for the job. The rest of me shut up that small part right quick. I didn’t think I could do it.

The man/creature seemed to read my thoughts. “I would not recommend it. I was told to warn you because your ancestor, Juliette, knew your path would cross with Death and she feared for your safety. Death has a way of following the heroes.”

“Maybe she worried I would try and stop him,” I said, shuddering. I had this bizarre image of the Grim Reaper stuck in my head. The cartoonish one that always appeared in movies and picture books. “Boy, I can think of a hundred better ways to spend an afternoon. Shoe shopping, for one. I would even let my mom take me shoe shopping before I’d think about doing that.”

The man/creature stopped pacing. “I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain. Now I must ask for you to fulfill yours.”

“Mine?” I asked. “Woah, woah, woah. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Juliette, promised me release. She said you would do it.”

“Release?” I asked. “Um … like, how?”

He stepped toward me and my hand instinctively lifted the foil. The sharp tip pressed against his rag-covered chest. “Drive your sword into me and end this curse. End my torment.”

“But you’re … nice!” I exclaimed. My hand shook. “I can’t kill you!”

A strong hand wrapped around the blade. His lips curled back in a smile and his thick wrinkled face grew dark. “Listen to me, girl: for a hundred years, I walked from battlefield to battlefield and tore men limb from limb. I ran my spears through children and burned down villages and asked not a single payment for my services. I sequestered myself here to stave off the evil within. It will never leave me!”

“I …” My mouth was dry. My throat seemed to close shut.

“Now!” he said. “End my curse!”

I still hesitated. This wasn’t a severed hand, this was a person. Yeah, he had creepy horns, but …

“Then I will share with you one more lesson,” he snarled, stepping back. His hand found a tall tarnished brass candelabra sitting beside the wall. He swung it at me, sending all three half-burned candles flying. I parried, falling back. He swung again and again and I parried again and again, stepping back and trying to time my movements.

The man/creature swung the candelabra with such ferocity that I felt fear tighten the muscles in my body. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. The only thing keeping me from doing so was that same inner drive that led me through the tunnel in the first place.

He swung again. I parried, desperate for an opening. He swung again—there! I lunged forward and stabbed at his midsection.

He stepped aside and closed the distance between us. He used the candelabra like a bar, pushing me against the wall. “You fight like a fencer,” he hissed, his mouth so close to mine that I could see spittle dripping from his sharp teeth. He pressed the candelabra against my shoulders. “You follow fencing rules. Listen to me, girl: your enemies will not follow rules. They will not fight fair. And they will offer no mercy. Now kill me before the Corruption boils over!”

I pulled the pen from my pocket and stabbed it at the man/creature’s chest, feeling the sharp nib pierce his flesh. He fell back, exhaling. The area around the wound began to burn away. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much … hero.”

He fell to the ground, knocking over the pans of fish. As his fingers touched them, they too burned away. Nothing remained but ashes.

I returned outside, inhaling the night air. I threw my sword into the tunnel and began walking back toward the beach party as casually as I could even though my heart was racing and my neck muscles hurt. There were more people running into the lake now. Just as quickly running out, too. Someone’s loud laughter reached my ears and immediately I felt my skin tingle. It was Tricia.

When I reached the picnic tables again, Edward fought his way through the groups. He was smiling, holding a bottle of water.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“A walk,” I said.

His hand wrapped around my waist. “You should have told me. I would have come with you.”

“It’s fine.” I scanned the students for Tricia. “Where’s my inebriated friend?”

He turned and looked around. “Well, she ran into the lake a few minutes ago, so I bet she’s drying off somewhere.”

A couple topless track boys grabbed their bottles of beer and stepped away from the picnic table with the red paper lantern. When I saw Tricia, my jaw dropped. “Oh. No.”

There she was, soaking wet, clutching her shirt in her hand, her sparkling pink bra soaked through and available for viewing. All the boys were taking in an eyeful.

“Trish,” I said, walking over to her. “Put your shirt on, dummy!”

“No, take your bra off!” one of the track boys said.

I gave him an icy glare and he just laughed. “Tricia,” I said, turning to her, trying to make eye contact but her eyes seemed unable to focus. “Let’s go. Come home with me.”

She laughed. “I’m OK, girlfriend! I just went for a dip, that’s all.”

“And you took your shirt off. Come on.” I looked to Edward for support. He was giving her a strange look. The glow underneath his skin seemed to intensify, and it was like a punch in the gut: he wasn’t human. He couldn’t be.

“Are we really going?” Tricia asked, letting me pull her toward the parking lot.

“Yes,” I said. “Holy crap, yes! You’re … I don’t know what you are. How many of those strawberry things did you have?”

“I dunno,” she said. “Maybe forty.”

“You definitely didn’t have forty.”

Edward gave a wave to his friends and then jogged ahead of us, opening the back seat of his car and getting in the driver’s side. I shoved Tricia in and followed her so I could buckle her up.

“Take us to my house,” I said.

His eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. “We could go to my place.”

“No,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. I forced a little half-smile. “I’ll come over on Sunday. For my birthday.”

“But your birthday is on Monday.”

“I know,” I said. “Twelve a.m., to be precise.”

He grinned, clearly satisfied. “You OK, Trish?”

Tricia, eyes half-closed, gave him a thumbs-up.

“What did they do to her?” I asked Edward.

He shrugged. “She wanted to drink. So she drank.”

I was angry. Intensely angry. Tricia had her head pressed against the window, her eyes closed. She looked like a fool, sitting there with nothing but a bra covering the top half of her body. This was what the cool kids considered fun? And the a-holes who encouraged her to “take it off” … oh, they had some bad karma banked away for that one.

“Are you drunk?” I asked Edward.

“No,” he said. “I stopped after the one drink. I try to make a point of being responsible.”

Well, aren’t you just perfect, I thought. There was a time when those types of things just sent my heart aflutter. Now? Not so much. Everything he said sounded suspicious. Who was the murderer from my dreams? Did Edward know him? Did they have Corrupted slumber parties and discuss their evil intentions?

I’d killed that man with the horns. I’d watched him burn away.

Back at my house, I gently woke Tricia up and helped her out of the car. She mumbled a goodbye to Edward.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to me through the open window.

“Tomorrow,” I told him, hugging Tricia close. Holding her up, too. “Come on, you big butthead,” I told her, pulling her across the driveway. She offered minimal help, mumbling something about Lake Michigan and Poseidon.

Edward’s headlights illuminated the side of my house, then the yard as he pulled out. We were blanketed in darkness. Above us, clouds covered the stars.

“Spoooooooky,” Tricia mumbled.

“Be quiet,” I whispered, ushering her into the pitch-black house.

“I will,” she said. “I love you, dear.”

“Right back at you, darling. Step. Step.” We ascended the staircase slowly, then snuck into my room. I got her a dry shirt from my closet. “Pink pandas,” I whispered to her, helping her into it. I unhooked her bra and pulled it out from under the shirt, setting it on the desk chair so it could dry. It smelled like Lake Michigan and dead fish.

“Pink pandas,” she murmured, falling over on my bed. “I remember when you bought that shirt.”

I took off my shorts to change into pajama bottoms. The note slipped out of my pocket, landing on the floor. I grabbed it and opened it next to the window so I could read the faded ink. It was from Juliette, I was sure of it. The man/creature had held onto it for decades, and it was only two lines long:

Alice.

Deny him.

I sighed, grabbing one of the pillows and setting it on the floor. I hid the note under the pillow.

“Trish …”

I wanted to tell her everything that had happened. But Tricia was already asleep and snoring, her body no doubt trying to work through all the alcohol. So this was what Trish wanted: hanging with the cool kids and letting them goad her into acting like a drunk jackass. I had a funny feeling we wouldn’t be able to go back to that easier time when the two of us stayed up late drinking hot cocoa and rifling through clothing magazines.

I set the magic pen on my desk.

No, there was no going back now.

I lay down beside Trish. The moment I fell asleep, I found myself in an alley. At first, I convinced myself that it wasn’t like the previous dream. I wasn’t at a club this time, or a parking lot. This was just a regular city alley lined with big, green dumpsters.

Then came the scream. I felt myself pushed forward by an invisible force. There was something ahead, where the alley bent to the right. Shadows dancing on the brick wall of a building.

A female shadow, cowering underneath a second shadow that was definitely not human. The shadow’s eight long appendages reached for the woman, clutching her close until both shadows became one. She screamed again, and then the alley was silent.

I waited, unable to move. The spider-like shadow walked around the bend, disappearing as its owner emerged.

Edward.

With a little trickle of blood dripping down his chin.

Chapter 7

We got lucky. My parents had another golf tee time, and as such managed to entirely miss the wonderful “day after.” It was a learning experience, to say the least. I learned that drinking too much can make you vomit. I learned that it was especially helpful to have someone hold back your hair while you did it. I even learned that you might regret the things you did while drunk.

Tricia learned all this the hard way. I got to enjoy all these lessons the easy way.

“You brought this on yourself,” I said, clutching her hair in a ponytail.

Her response was something along the lines of “Blaaaaaarg!”

I flushed the toilet. “You took your shirt off. Do you remember that?”

She shook her head. Her skin was puffy around her bloodshot eyes. “My head hurts.”

“You really did bring this on yourself.”

“OK, I get it!” she said. “I got out of control! Can you please … please …”

“What?” I asked. “Do you have a headache? Do you want an aspirin?”

She answered with another “Blaaaaaaaarg!” That, I decided was the end of the conversation. And the end of my mothering. If Tricia wanted to do this again, she could. But I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help her. This was not how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning.

“I need to go home,” Tricia said after finishing in the bathroom. She located her lake-soaked bra and put it back on. “Ewwww, it feels slimy.”

I followed her to the front door. “Do you want to wait until my parents get home so you can get a ride?”

“Ugh, no,” she said, opening the door. The sunlight hit us. She squinted fiercely, glaring up at the sky with an intense hatred. “Just push me in the right direction.” I did, surprised at my own strength as she stumbled north, toward her house on the other end of the suburb.

When I returned to my bedroom, the rabbit was waiting for me.

“There you are,” I said. “Could have used your help last night lifting my trashed friend up the stairs.”

Briar hopped on the desk, planting his butt right on my old History textbook. “Your bedroom smelled like alcohol. It was making my stomach turn. I’d recommend airing it out before your parents get home.”

“Good idea,” I said, walking over to the window. It was stuck. I tried unlocking it but it was already unlocked. So what’s the deal? I thought angrily. I tried again, hiccupped once, then began crying.

“I can’t even get the window open,” I sobbed. “How am I going to kill some creepy human-juice-sucking murderer?” A gentle paw rested on my shoulder. I laughed. “And now a rabbit is comforting me.”

“You had a dream.”

I nodded, wiping at my eyes with one finger.

“I don’t pretend to have the answers, child.” Briar sighed. “I can’t even help you open the window. No thumbs. But I can tell you this: the last hero, Juliette, she once felt exactly how you felt.”

“So what should I do?” I asked. “I’m supposed to meet with Edward tonight, and I know he’s one of them.”

“Don’t know,” Briar said. “But when the time is right, you will know.”

“Come with me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Can’t. You have to do this on your own.”

“But what do I do?” I asked, turning to him.

The rabbit, for once, was silent.

I sat in my room the entire day, running through every single outfit combination in my wardrobe. Jeans? Too casual. Skirt? Too skimpy. Dress? Too obstructive. What does someone wear to their potential impending doom? What might I like to be found dead in? It wasn’t a question my closet was prepared to answer. And here I thought I’d arranged my clothes in such a logical sort of way.

I settled on a red button-down blouse that had deep pockets, perfect for hiding the pen and my cell phone. I dressed in black leggings, something casual enough to sleep in just in case I did happen to wake up from this absolutely insane dream and Edward was for real. Like, for real real. Not something out of a story book.

And through it all, Briar stayed with me. Turning around when I dressed. Holding different outfits while I scrutinized. Telling me tales of heroes long gone and the Corrupted they’d done battle with. I was glad to know someone had already done away with one of the evil stepmothers. One of them, at least. And the big, bad wolf was gone too. Well, one of them. It turned out the Grimms had no shortage of wolves in their stories.

“But the one you should really worry about is little Red-Cap,” Briar told me in the late afternoon. “Otherwise known as Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Why?” I asked. “At the end of the story, it says she never harmed anyone again.”

He looked at me curiously.

“I read the book,” I told him. “You told me to read Grimm’s Fairy Tales, so I read it.”

“Well I’ll be,” said the rabbit. “There may be hope for you yet!”

“OK,” I said, bouncing around on my feet. “He’s going to pick me up any minute. Gawd, what do I say to my parents?”

Briar licked his paw, rubbing the white fur around his mouth as he stared at his reflection in my closet mirror. “Goodbye would suffice.”

“Goodbye? I may never see them again!”

“Oh dear me,” the rabbit said, staring up at the ceiling. “Tell you what: why don’t you just trust old Br’er Rabbit this one time?”

I grabbed his vest, melodramatically melting to the ground. “How can I trust a talking rabbit?”

“Because,” he said in all seriousness, “Juliette believed in you. She never even met you. You weren’t even born yet. And still she knew you were going to be something special.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ll … see you when I see you, then.”

The rabbit nodded. “That you will. Hero.”

I walked to the door, checking my pocket for the pen. The moment my fingers wrapped around it, I felt an intense heat flash through my arm. I could do this. Whatever this was.

In the living room, my parents were sitting on the couch watching a movie with a green plastic bowl of popcorn between them. They both glanced at me.

“I just want you to know I love you both,” I told them, feeling myself choke up.

“Have fun at Tricia’s,” Dad said.

Right. Tricia’s. I stepped out of the house, following the sidewalk south toward the entrance to the suburb.

“My last night on earth,” I said to the dark sky, “and I had to lie to my parents about where I was going. Some daughter.”

There was no time left to ruminate. I could see Edward’s car parked along the street up ahead. The taillights seemed to bask the entire neighborhood in a blood-red glow. Another world. Some place darker, with no hope. Except: the trail. The golden trail indicating where he’d come from. A trail that led back to his parents’ mansion.

His parents!

“Are your parents home?” I asked him, stepping into the car.

He smiled. “Hello to you, too.”

We locked lips. A quick, final peck goodbye to my first real relationship. OK, so I’m being a little dramatic here. Still, I had this feeling. Edward was more than he seemed. Maybe my dream had just been a dream, but the evidence wasn’t on his side. “Seriously, though. Are your parents home?”

“No,” he said, putting the car into drive. “They’re at a banking conference in New York.”

“Oh. OK.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel … great. Awesome. Top of the world.”

He smiled. “You’re lying.”

“Only a little.” I rolled down the window for some fresh air. The warm breeze fluttered my hair. I wished I’d tied my hair up.

“Do you volunteer at the library tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Not early, though.”

“Do you like it so far? I feel like we haven’t talked about it at all.”

“Yes, I like it. I love books; you know that.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you might get sick of them is all.”

“No,” I said. “Never.”

“That’s good. That’s a good quality to have. Books are gateways to other worlds.”

My heart sank. “You’re telling me.”

He put his hand on my leg, giving it a soft squeeze. I could feel the strength in his hands. “Listen. I know what you’re feeling. Please, just leave everything up to me. Don’t think about anything. Tonight, I want to treat you like the princess you are.”

“OK.” I closed my eyes, trying to will his hand off my leg. But it stayed there right up to the moment the car stopped and the engine shut off. I opened my eyes. Oh for the love of—we’re already there! The ride felt like five seconds. Five seconds! I barely had time to gather my thoughts.

“Come, my princess.”

I got out of the car and took his hand, walking with him into the giant mansion, through the living room and the statue room and the art room and up the stairs and then there we were, inside his bedroom, standing in front of his giant bed. The lights were off but I could see rose petals, hundreds of them, spread across the bed. He leaned down and kissed me passionately on the lips.

“Edward,” I said, stepping back. Just give me a sign. Something that proves once and for all whether my dreams were real. Whether all this is real.

But preferably a non-life-threatening sign.

“I will love you forever,” he whispered.

Forever. The word meant something entirely different to each of us.

“You are the love of my life. My soul mate. Please. Take this final step with me.”

He’d come into my life out of nowhere. And instead of going after one of the prettier, more popular girls, he’d zoomed in on me. It had been a dream come true. It had been the perfect beginning and he was the perfect guy.

“You’ll remember this the rest of your life.” He stepped closer and kissed my neck again. I could smell the synthetic, spicy musk of his cologne.

What had the girl in my dream said as they’d walked into the parking structure? “I can’t believe you danced with me.” Yes! As if she’d been surprised he’d picked her that night.

The note! Juliette’s note! That was how I could test him!

“Edward,” I said. He stopped, cupping my face in his hands, looking into my eyes. “I’m not having sex with you..”

“Why not!” he screamed. The words knocked me back, putting a foot of space between us. I couldn’t speak. All of my courage had slipped away. His face had grown as dark as the night sky and the hint of golden glow underneath his skin dimmed. “Why! Not!” he screamed again, his hot breath bouncing off my face. The stench of rotten meat made me gag.

“I … I …”

A growl escaped his lips and he walked to the far end of his room. He punched the wall with his fist and I heard a sickening crack—the drywall and his knuckles broke at the same time. He pulled back and stared at his hand, laughing. “Well, my hand is broken. For now.”

I stepped closer. With the soft moonlight coming in through the window, I could see his two gnarled knuckles. My hand instinctively reached for the magic pen in my pocket. I could stab him right now … if I could just get the cap off without him noticing.

“Listen to me,” Edward said. His voice had lowered an octave and roughened around the edges. He tightened his broken hand into a fist. “We’re going to have sex, do you understand? I’ve waited a long time for this. Ever since I saw you sleeping on that bench the first time we met.”

Just like Snow White, I thought. My hands trembled.

Edward grabbed my jaw and lifted my head. “Hey. Focus. Do you understand? But you need to calm down. You need to not fight it. Otherwise, you release too much adrenaline. And I don’t like the taste of adrenaline. It’s bitter. Do you hear me? No, of course you don’t.”

“You want to kill me,” I said.

He laughed. “No, my love, no! First I want us to have sex. Then, while we’re having sex, I want to drink all of the delicious innards inside your body. Just. Like. A. Spider.”

I ran to the door. Behind me, he laughed but didn’t immediately follow, and as I stumbled through the dark hallway to the staircase, I told myself I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this! I had to escape. I had to get away and hide under my bed.

“Come back, my love!” he called out in a mocking voice. I ran through every room, not stopping until I reached the front door. It was locked.

“My love!” he called out from the other side of the house, laughing again.

“Come on,” I whispered, fumbling with the lock. It was no use. There was no handle-thingy to turn and disengage the lock. It was captive-proof.

But I could draw one! I pulled out my pen and uncapped it, then pressed it to the solid metal mechanism. I tried to imagine it working. It was simple … wasn’t it? I’d seen them a thousand times before. You turn left, the little metal lock thingy pulls away. You turn right, it sticks into the door frame. Easy!

Finished, I turned my drawn lock. There was a click. My heart beat faster and I grabbed for the doorknob again. Nothing happened.

“Come on!” I screamed.

“Darling,” he called out. He was on the first floor now, his bright voice echoing through the large rooms. “Darling, come back to bed!”

I ran around the other side of the house, into the kitchen. I tried the back door. Locked. No way to unlock it. Gawd, if only I knew how a simple door lock really worked, I could draw my way out of this …

The basement! I thought. There was a basement door leading outside. Whatever “captive-proof” electronic lock mechanism Edward had installed couldn’t possibly be connected to that beat-up old door. I ran past the refrigerator to the door, opened it, and slipped inside.

Darkness. Pitch-blackness and all the terrible feelings that come with it. I fumbled for a light switch, found one on the wall, and two little light bulbs switched on at the bottom of the stairs. A smell caught me, but I had no idea what it was. It smelled rank, like spoiled meat. It made my eyes water.

“Darling!” came Edward’s voice from the kitchen. “Please! I’ve waited so, so long for this!”

I ran down the stairs, spun my heels in the dirt floor, and then stopped. The door was there on the other end of the large room, but it was blocked.

By bones. Thousands and thousands of bones.

I screamed.

Chapter 8

They were everywhere. Skulls, femurs, hip bones, rib cages. Some were ivory white; others had chunks of rotting meat still clinging to them. They filled the entire basement, piled up against the basement door, and even filled a large hole that had been dug in one corner next to a dusty red rototiller and an old yellow matching washer and drier set. It was one mass grave that just so happened to also be the place where Edward did his laundry.

And there she was: the girl from my dream. She was lying against one of the concrete walls, right under two old shelves lined with empty glass jars and dirt-encrusted gardening tools. She looked just as she had in my dream, her skin clinging to her bones, nothing left inside.

The basement door opened. I stepped back, next to the rusty rototiller, and as my eyes adjusted to the shadows an entirely new horror hit me.

A skeleton, chained to the wall.

“Ah,” Edward said when he reached the last step. “Of course. The rack. I save that for special occasions. It’s old, by the way. I brought it over from Europe more than … what … seventy years ago? Wow, time really flies when you’re eating people.”

“Who?” I asked, unable to look away. The skeleton was still intact, mostly, its arms spread out and tied at the top of the T-shaped wooden monstrosity. The head hung in shame, some of its long strands of hair still sticking out of the white skull.

“A young woman,” he said darkly. “Like all of the others. Only this one … she was a thorn in my side. She tried to kill me. But she failed. And I brought her here and I made her suffer. This was a long time ago, though.”

“You’ve been here seventy years …”

Edward’s hand rested on my shoulder. I flinched and he laughed. “I’ve been around a long time. But I swear, I’m not a vampire. That is what all the kids talk about these days, no?”

“You’re one of the Corrupted. Prince Charming.” I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder tighter.

“That,” he whispered, “is something you should not know.” His hot breath bounced off my neck. I felt frozen. Every inch of my body screamed at me to run, but I couldn’t. “I wasn’t always like this. It’s just a taste I acquired.”

“Her name was Juliette,” I said, staring at the tortured skeleton. “She was a hero.”

The hand gripped my shoulder tighter. “And here I thought you were just another virgin. No matter—hero juices are the tastiest of all.”

Something kicked in. Call it instinct or call it the hero’s reflexes or whatever, but the moment he finished that last sentence, my hand clenched into a fist and I brought it across my body, connecting right with his stomach. He doubled over with a grunt and before he could reach out, I bolted for the staircase.

“You can’t run!” he called out, laughing and coughing.

I reached the top and opened the door, making my way to the other side of the mansion, up the stairs, past his bedroom. What else was here? There had to be something. Something. I checked each of the other doors. There was a bathroom, plain and simple. There were other rooms, but all of them were empty. I ran to one of the windows, expecting it to open. It was locked. It was more than locked—the glass looked thick and unbreakable.

Of course. After decades of doing this and accumulating all those skeletons in the basement, he’d perfected what he was doing.

I had to fight.

I bent down and used the pen to draw a foil on the hardwood floor. Blade. Handle. Bellguard. When I finished, I pulled it out of the floor.

“So predictable.”

I spun around, wielding the foil. There was a crash of metal on metal. The room was dark but I could clearly see my blade pressed against Edward’s blade.

“Did you not think I would have a spare sword lying around this dusty old mansion?” he asked, smiling. His face looked older, as if layers and layers of makeup had been wiped away. Now, his skin looked dark and gray, his eyes sunken, sucking in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. “Come on, Alice. Why do you think I’m so good at fencing?”

I attacked, stabbing at his chest. He parried and swung high; I ducked, taking a clumsy swipe at his leg but he was too fast, hopping out of reach. He attacked again. Our blades clanged together once, twice. I sidestepped just like I’d seen him do and we danced around the empty room. The sound of steel-on-steel echoed through the empty rooms.

“You don’t even know your powers,” Edward said, parrying my blows. “You drew a foil?” He parried my blow and stepped forward, sending a shower of sparks as our blades grinded together. He held his blade against me. His face was only inches from mine and I could see how dead and decayed his skin had become. “Look at me,” he whispered. “I need to feed.”

I pushed him back, stabbing again and again. He parried every attack, laughing.

“Maybe this isn’t working out,” Edward said. “Maybe Tricia would be more willing.”

I swung harder and stabbed faster, faster than I ever had before. Edward parried what he could and ducked out of the way when I got too close. I could feel my breaths quickening and began to slow. The moment he saw his opening, he lunged forward, pressing blade tightly against mine and closing the distance between us yet again.

I tried to pull away but he held our blades together. “Look at my sword,” he said. “It’s a saber. Not a foil. The blade is stronger. If you knew how to draw a saber, you could pose a challenge. You’re a good swordswoman. But you can’t win.”

“You’re right!” I said, stepping down on his foot with my heel. He cried out and fell back, pulling my foil with him as he went. Disarmed, I turned and bolted for the door.

“Alice!” he called out, laughing. “You forgot your weapon!”

I ran downstairs into the statue room. It was darker down here, save for a single lamp from the art room shining through the doorway. Think, Alice … think! You’re the hero! You’re not getting out of this if you don’t think! He killed Juliette because she didn’t have the pen. She left it for me. She sacrificed herself to make sure I was prepared.

And Edward had tortured her before he killed her. Maybe she wanted me to see that. Maybe she wanted me to see what Prince Charming was really capable of.

“Over a hundred years of this!” Edward’s voice called out from the library. “And you know what? I have no idea who gave me the nickname ‘Prince Charming.’ I was just the son of a king and nothing more! I didn’t pretend to be charming in the slightest! It wasn’t until word about Snow White spread around the world that people began embellishing the original blasted story.”

I ran across the room, staring up at one of three giant angel statues. Its feathery wings spread out a good five feet wide. Where had he found this? Had he stolen it? Brought it over from Europe?

“I love angels,” Edward had told me the first time I came over. “I love the way they represent something we never see. I love their long, slender wings.”

Suddenly I had a plan. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pen, setting it in front of the statue.

“I woke Snow White,” Edward called out. He was closer now, making his way toward the statue room. I could hear the heels of his shoes on the floor. “I woke her up and we lived together and then we had no idea what to do. We argued. I hit her and she ran away. She ran away! Soon after, I developed a hunger. I couldn’t satisfy it unless I was tearing into the flesh of my victims. God, I loved the virgins. They just tasted so much sweeter.”

I got behind the statue, pressing my back against the back of the statue. I planted my feet against the wall, my knees scrunched up against my body. It was tight. I climbed toward the top of the statue slowly, alternating my shoulders and pressing my feet tight so they walked me up the wall. My sweaty hands slipped on the marble and I nearly fell, but my feet pressed firmly against the wall and my butt muscles kept me in place.

“Alice?” Edward called out. I stopped. He was in the room now. My heart began racing.

“You dropped your pen,” he said. “Or did you mean to do that on purpose? Is this you giving up? Alice, Alice, Alice.” I heard him bend over, picking up the pen. “You can’t quit. That’s not how this works.”

Now! With all my strength, I pushed my feet hard against the wall.

“It feels warm … I—No!”

The statue fell off its concrete base. I fell with it, turning and spinning as the statue crashed on the floor. My shoulder hit the hardwood floor and I rolled, immediately climbing to my feet.

“Damn you!” Edward screamed desperately.

I spun around. There he was, still on the ground, one of the angel’s wings pinning both his legs. The angel had crashed partway through the floor, sending wood splinters jutting upward in every direction.

I ran forward, grabbing the pen from where Edward had dropped it. He looked up at me, cursing. In the darkness it was hard to see his legs underneath the statue, but they didn’t look good. Still, he was struggling, slowly moving the massive statue.

“Alice,” he said, looking up. For a moment, his eyes returned to those beautiful eyes I’d fallen for in school. Then the color faded, and his dark eyebrows scrunched together in a devilish frown.

“This is for Juliette!” I shouted, stabbing the pen into his neck. He cried out. I stabbed him again. No blood escaped the wounds. The holes grew larger, his skin burning away. Pretty soon, I was stabbing at the air, still crying out.

Nothing remained but a pile of ash.

Chapter 9

“So you said ‘This is for Juliette’ and then you stabbed him?” Briar asked. He strode ahead of me with ease, spinning around to watch me slip between two tall maple trees. We were alone in the forest behind my house, dancing around the underbrush in a mad game of “tag.”

“Yup. What do you think?” I asked, reaching out for him. He hopped away. The sun was out. I’d begun sweating underneath my indigo ruffled t-shirt and I could feel my makeup beginning to cake on my face. Stuff I was going to have to get used to, I thought grimly.

“It’s a bit clichéd,” the rabbit admitted. “And yet, I’m glad he heard it.”

I took a deep breath, running my hand across the rough bark of a maple. “It wasn’t easy. I sat there in the mansion for a long time, just thinking.”

“The young man you cared about,” Briar said sadly, “was not all he seemed. I wish I could tell you it was an isolated incident, but having been around for so, so long …”

I smiled. “The whole innards-sucking thing is making it easier to get over him, I think.”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

Briar hopped atop an old pine tree that had fallen over. His whiskers twitched.

“I thought you said you believed in me!” I reached out to touch his fur but he jumped away again.

“Come on now,” he said, kicking up old leaves in my direction. I swallowed a breath and pushed off, trying to maneuver my way around a crop of tall pines to cut him off. But he was too quick and nimble—I could see why Br’er Fox never caught him. “The hero must be in tip-top shape!” he said. “Tip-top! Acrobatic! Knowledgeable! You can’t create what you don’t understand, after all. And you can’t fight if you can’t catch your breath.”

I stopped and bent over, sucking in fresh oxygen. OK, I was downright panting. My body wasn’t quite ready to be a full-fledged hero just yet. “I won’t be the last hero either, will I?”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But right now, we have more important things to think about.”

“Like what?” I asked.

Briar licked his paw and smoothed out the white fur around his mouth. “Like who we should hunt down next, of course.”

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen: Part One

Now the king had a daughter who was just as beautiful as her deceased mother, and who also had such golden hair. After she had come of age, the king looked at her one day that she resembled his deceased wife in every way, and he suddenly felt a great love for her.

Then he said to his councilors, "I will marry my daughter, for she is the image of my deceased wife, and nowhere else can I find a bride who is her equal."[vi]

July 25, 1934

A strange man arrived today on horse and buggy. He was wearing a beautiful gray suit, and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a white embroidered handkerchief.

I knew immediately that he was a Corrupted, but did not play my hand. There were far too many people walking down Main Street for me to attempt a quick kill. The people were mostly lined up outside of the post office on the eastern edge of town, a small red-bricked building that had been converted into a soup kitchen for the unemployed. Every day, people are lined up outside the front door to wait for a loaf of bread and a bowl of watery soup.

Everyone in town is hungry, it seems. Some people claim the Great Depression is coming to a close, but the suffering continues. My uncle has so far managed to keep his job at the butcher’s store but so many others have been unlucky that it feels like a strange darkness has passed through the town. The nights are cold and long, as if the sun refuses to wake each morning. It’s supposed to be the opposite. Summer days are supposed to be longer.

Maybe the days just feel short.

Br’er Rabbit tells me this man is a dwarf, one of the dwarfs from the story of Snow-White. He certainly was short enough to be one.

July 27, 1934

Three more of the dwarfs have arrived, each on their own horse and buggy. This is strange … our town has cars and modern conveniences like electricity. Although nowadays no-one uses electricity because it’s cheaper to light a candle, and many cannot afford gasoline so they have taken to hitching their horses to their cars. Still, even now with so much suffering, buggies are rare.

The town is located only twenty miles west of the great city of Chicago. Each of the dwarfs has arrived during the day, when the bread line is long, which I suspect is intentional. They know the hero is here, or at least suspect it.

“Business,” Br’er told me. He snickered and added, “That, or there’s a gold mine nearby no one knows about.” He’s a strange rabbit and I must admit I don’t enjoy his jokes very much. But he’s knowledgeable with the Corrupted and if he truly believes that the dwarfs are here on business, I’m inclined to agree with him.

But what business? That … I do not know. And it will take time to find out.

For there are worse things befouling this town.

July 30, 1934

I’ve been in this town for nearly six months, following a trail that has since gone cold. There is a creature nearby that was once a princess. She is hiding from a man who was once a king, and in their story he was her father. Her father! He’d attempted to marry his own daughter because she reminded him of his dead wife.

I saw the king, just once. He was in Gerald’s General Store, the last store on the very end of Main Street, purchasing provisions for a hunt. He is a tall man with a thick gray mustache and dark, beady eyes. He wears a brown suit and keeps a canteen hooked to his belt. He looks much like the pictures of Teddy Roosevelt, before he became president. The king has a big hunting rifle, too, slung over his shoulder. The sight of it clearly intimidated poor old Gerald, who kept one eye on the man as he counted out change for the twenty-dollar bill.

There are a thousand people in this town worth less than twenty dollars.

The king had purchased a significant quantity of canned soup and camping provisions, and Gerald had no bags left. So I walked up to the king and—in my kindest voice—asked him if he would like help carrying his items to his car. He looked me over, then gave a sour nod.

I took the camping provisions out to his car, a new Ford whose exterior had already collected a fair amount of dirt from the rough country roads. Many of the cars in town were sitting collecting dust along the street, waiting to be used again. No doubt this king would become the best friend of Harold Berge, the owner of the gas station.

But this man had a full tank of gas, I noticed. I asked him pleasantly to where he was traveling.

“None of your business,” he said briskly, snatching the box of matches from my grip. He handed me a nickel. “Be on your way now, young lady.”

I stepped away from the car, watching him head south.

August 5, 1934

The dwarfs have set up shop in an old storefront that was once a bank. A year before I arrived in town, the bank was flooded with people demanding their money back. The bank’s owner explained that he didn’t have all of their money—he’d loaned it out to business and farmers, and so he couldn’t pay them all. The bank was shut down and the people unlucky enough to have money there found themselves on the breadline.

Now the dwarfs are starting a new bank, and they’ve hired a dozen able-bodied men to begin rebuilding it. Already, two trucks full of lumber and marble are parked outside. Briar has promised he will keep an eye on the dwarfs, and will also try to find out where they have come from in hopes of learning more about them. I’m indebted to his painstaking research. It has served me well.

But I still don’t fully understand his jokes.

I had a nightmare this past night. The princess … she stalks men in the night. Already there have been deaths, and each night I follow her in the darkness as she searches for her next prey.

August 7, 1934

My aunt and uncle have taken great care of me, but I cannot abide by their rules if I am to find the princess and her hunter. My uncle expects me in bed by nine o’clock every night. My aunt expects me to help with housework each day. My uncle doesn’t allow my aunt to work, nor would she be able to find a job anywhere in town if she could. But that hasn’t stopped other women from marching on occasion demanding the businesses still open consider women for jobs as well. My aunt speaks from time to time about women’s suffrage, and the law in 1919 that gave women the right to vote right alongside men. When she tells me about it in private, she sounds proud. When she mentions it in front of my uncle—on accident, always—she sounds sad.

I will need a job at some point, if I am to continue hunting Corrupted. Briar tells me about the previous heroes from time to time, but I don’t wish to know too much. There have been many. None have lived for very long.

August 8, 1934

The trail is warm again. Another nightmare …

August 12, 1934

I am back in my bedroom, or rather the guestroom in my uncle’s house. I am “grounded,” for lack of a better word, although one can hardly “ground” a 19-year-old girl. No, scratch that. I’m no girl. I am a woman. I even have a gentleman suitor named Richard who has managed to win my uncle’s affection by lavishing him with fancy cigars from Spain.

Apparently, my uncle is very easy to buy.

I, on the other hand, am not quite so excited about Richard. He’s a year younger than me for starters, and has decided that he will attend college in Chicago. He would like to arrange to marry me before then so that I may accompany him. What else? Oh, of course: he already has a home picked out on the south side of the massive city, right near Lake Michigan. His parents are heavily invested in oil speculation out west and give him everything he may need.

He told all of this, of course, to my uncle. Not to me. Although I was sitting on the couch beside my uncle during the entire conversation. I’d been wearing a floral-pattern dress with a small pocket sewn near the waist so I could carry the magical fountain pen at all times. Richard wore a blue suit coat with shoulder pads that dwarfed his shoulders. His sandy blond hair was combed back and held in place with a shiny gel. He has a strange brown mole on one cheek and I couldn’t stop staring at it as he talked. He seemed not to notice.

When the conversation was over, my uncle shook Richard’s hand and they made plans to speak again to “hammer out the details” of the wedding. When Richard was gone, my uncle smiled and asked me what I thought.

“I think he and you will make a fine couple,” I answered.

And now here I sit, allowed to leave my room only to use the restroom and to eat. I’ve buried myself in my worn copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales and taken to talking more with Briar when he’s not off searching for clues about the mysterious dwarfs and their new bank. He keeps his jokes to a minimum.

August 15, 1934

A murder was committed last night. Or, rather, an accident. The body of a middle-aged man was found just a mile north of town. His name was Robert Patrick, and he worked at the supermarket in town. The police have ruled the death an accident because they believe the man was attacked by a wild animal.

I know better. It was a Corrupted that killed him. It happened before, just two months ago and only five miles west of here in a remote forest where the unemployed occasionally hunt for deer. In my nightmare, the man named Robert Patrick had gotten lost, and it was not long before something evil picked up his scent.

The princess has not left this area. Which means the king will be nearby as well. Hunting her. I asked Briar today if it was possible for a Corrupted to kill another Corrupted. He said perhaps, if the Brothers Grimm wrote it into their story. He wryly suggested we catch two Corrupted and throw them in a cage to test the theory.

August 16, 1934

Another death, this one on the west end of town. The sheriff has ruled out another animal attack and instituted a curfew at dusk—but only for women. Despite the fact that both of the victims were men (and both of them were armed), the sheriff seems obsessed with protecting us weak little women. It’s his way.

“I wonder what they might say if they knew I’d done battle with a wolf as big as a car,” I told Briar earlier this evening.

The rabbit was sitting at the rose-colored chair by my window, cooling himself with my fan. He shrugged. “I suppose they might be impressed,” he said. “Or they might laugh and call you a liar.”

“And then perhaps I would draw for them a spear,” I offered. “And then deftly stab their police car just as I’d done the wolf so they might see what it looked like.”

“That,” Briar said, “might cause them some concern. You must never reveal yourself if you can help it, especially to people you do not know.”

What will I do, then, if I marry Richard?

August 19, 1934

(Entry burned)

August 20, 1934

My uncle has demanded that I marry Richard. What do I do? I do not love him. I do not even like him. And I can’t stop staring at that hideous mole on his cheek.

I flew into a rage when I found out. I took one of the chairs from the dining room and threw it against the wall, damaging the beautiful dark blue wallpaper. I instantly regretted it. My aunt loves the wallpaper. It makes her feel calm and safe. It makes her feel as though all of the horrible things happening in the outside world cannot get her while she is safe in this house.

I begged. My uncle is not an unkind man, nor is he a heavy drinker like the other machinists, and he does not dislike me. No, I fear that it is his love for me that is guiding his decisions now. Ever since I arrived at his doorstep and gave them the news of my parents’ deaths so many years ago, he has tried to look over me. My aunt and uncle never had kids. My aunt says she is unable to have them.

And so it has fallen to me to be the daughter. I feel so conflicted.

I cannot marry Richard …

I want to marry for love. I don’t need someone to take care of me, and clearly that is what my uncle believes.

August 23, 1934

I am not writing this in my bedroom. I have run away—or, to be more precise, Briar and I have gone on a camping trip. There was another murder last night, this time three miles west. It’s clear the creature that was once a princess wishes to stay here. Perhaps she wants to confront her father. At first, I thought the king wanted to kill her but now I fear he still wants to marry her after all these years. Does he not realize what his daughter has turned into?

“The Corruption changes them,” Briar explained to me tonight. “Even the most innocent characters grow more evil over time. They must all be destroyed and wiped away from this world forever. Do not pity any of them.”

“And what about you?” I asked. “Were you not created with the same magic pages as them?”

On that, Briar was silent.

August 24, 1934

I’ve been following the king for a day now, ever since I saw his car approaching from the south as Briar and I were making our way along the edge of a small forest where one of the hunters had disappeared. The king took a dusty road north, then parked alongside the road and got out, slinging his massive hunting rifle over his shoulder.

We kept our distance, doing our best to not be spotted.

Briar thinks this is a foolish idea.

August 27, 1934

I write this at sunset, expecting another very long night. Briar is sitting with me underneath a large ash tree, no worse for wear, although his vest will need some stitching. I myself have been forced to discard one of my blouses and am waiting patiently for another one to dry as it hangs from a low-hanging branch. Rain has drenched the area.

Two days ago, the king found us. We’d been following him, but of course in my stupid moment of cockiness I discounted the king’s hunting skills … he’s been alive for over a hundred years, after all. We escaped, doubling back and covering our tracks. Hopefully, it will be enough to throw him off. Briar is not hopeful, and for good reason.

How long has this king hunted his princess and any other manner of earthly creatures? Given his decent aim, I would bet a long time.

After all, what’s a Corrupted to do once their story is over?

In the tale of All-Kinds-Of-Fur, the king tries to marry his daughter, but the princess flees and hides away in another castle, taking on kitchen duties. The princess is of course quite beautiful, and she hides her identity underneath different furs. But then one day the king of this new castle throws a big party and the princess sneaks a peek. The king falls madly in love with her and a happily-ever-after ending is of course in the cards.

It’s all quite wonderful, except after the Brothers Grimm brought the story to life and it reached its conclusion … what then?

Then the princess begins to change. All of the furs that she wore … they began to attach themselves to her. The animal hides became part of her body. She ran away from her king, not uncommon among the Grimms’ princesses. They flee once their tale ends and the princes and kings begin to treat them in the way royalty always treated their wives: like dirt.

Now, 100 years later, this princess is no longer a princess.

And she has been hunting us.

August 28, 1934

(Entry torn apart)

August 29, 1934

We heard the king’s cries late in the evening and I quickly drew a spear in the trunk of a tall oak, pulling it free and running foolishly toward the sound. Just as I had done the night before, when I first met the princess and nearly died. Only this time, I was ready for the monstrous creature to attack me. But she had other concerns.

She was in a clearing, doing battle with her father, who fired off three successive rounds with his gun to no effect. The creature was as large as a buffalo, standing upright, with a bear’s face and dark eyes that glowed in the moonlight. It was as if someone had squished both animals together and then thrown their hides over a woman’s body. Even the king seemed afraid of her.

I was not.

“Be careful!” Briar called out from behind a massive pine tree’s trunk. Ever the brave companion, that one.

I gripped my spear, watching the creature’s father attempt to wrestle the great beast to the ground. I had no idea whom to root for. The creature that had once been a princess wrapped her thick, bear-like claws around her father’s hands. Her father grimaced in the moonlight, then roared.

His daughter roared back. Her rope-like tail whipped side to side. I saw my opening. I charged forward, holding out my spear. The creature’s ear flicked once, then twice. She turned, pulling her father directly in my path. My spear ran him through and he burned away like a page of paper.

We stood, facing each other. If there was any remorse over her father’s death, the creature was unable or unwilling to show it.

She stood two feet taller than me, breathing heavily, her furry barrel chest rising and falling. She looked hungry.

And then a cloud passed over the moon. The creature backed away, disappearing into the pitch-black forest. I called out to Briar, and he shouted down to me from the top of a nearby tree.

“That won’t save you!” I called back. “She can probably climb trees!”

“Well, maybe I can drop something on her head before she gets to me!” he called down.

I clutched my spear, trying to search the darkness. I had this terrible feeling wash over me: what if this was what she’d wanted all along? She’d been able to avoid her father all these years, and it had been me she’d been hunting for days on end. And then I’d seen them in the clearing and I’d charged in just as I had the last time I’d seen her.

And I’d done what she had never been willing to do.

Now she was out there, hunting me on her terms. Playing on my fear. There was just one problem: I was not afraid. I had lost my fear long ago, when it seemed as if Death was at my door every single day. I had no door. I had no home. I spent every night sleeping between buildings in downtown Chicago, fending for myself. The Great Depression had taken it from me. Two years of scrounging for scraps of food, homeless, running from police officers and angry shopkeepers who didn’t want me searching their garbage … it had drained me of fear.

“I think we’ve been lured into a trap!” Briar called out.

“Always the sharp one,” I said sarcastically. I cursed myself again for being so brazen and reckless. We’d been so patient up until this point, waiting for her to strike when we had the high ground. We’d done so much planning and now here I was, prey for a monstrous creature that had once been a beautiful princess.

A snap of a twig brought me back quickly. I spun around, my eyes squinting in the hopes that I might see more. It did not help, and as another cloud passed over the moon, the clearing darkened.

A low growl. I turned again, forcing the breaths to come slowly. I felt no fear. I had nothing to lose. My parents were dead. Friends … I had just one, and he was hiding away in a tree. In just a few short days, I would be married to a man I didn’t love, who no doubt expected children. He was my very own Prince Charming, and our ending would be just as troublesome as the ones in fairy tales.

“It’s good to be afraid,” Briar had told me once. “What you must do is conquer that fear.”

“But I have no fear,” I insisted. He didn’t understand.

All I have now is hope. It was the giant talking rabbit who had given me that. Hope that perhaps even someone like me could make a small difference in this world. Hope that maybe once all the Corrupted are gone … maybe then a peaceful tranquility will blanket the earth.

Another soft sound came from behind. I turned, extending the butt of my spear and jamming it in the snout of the creature. She fell back, snarling, and jumped sideways as I swung my spear around in a circular motion. From somewhere at the edge of the clearing, an owl hooted.

I lost her for a moment as she slipped back toward the edge of the clearing. Rather than wait for her to return I stepped forward, following her into the darkness. She was nothing more than a tall shadow up ahead but I could see her plain enough. I thought I could reach her with my spear but when I stabbed, the shadow moved and the spearhead lodged itself in the bark of an oak.

The spear was stuck. And I was now in the woods, where it was darker. She appeared from behind one of the trees, growling. Through the canopy above, a sliver of moonlight slipped through and for just a breath I could see drool escaping from the creature’s long muzzle.

Still I felt no fear.

I grabbed at my spear, trying to wrench it free from the thick bark. The creature helped, snapping the spear in half and tossing it into the darkness. I backed against a rough tree, then dodged quickly as a handful of long claws swiped at my head. I was lost in the darkness now, hopelessly lost. I could see only shadows.

Then came a voice from the heavens. Or, at the very least, from the branches above …

“To your left!”

I turned left and backed away a step, my eyes frantically searching the darkness. The creature was there, her terrible massive eyes glowing in a sliver of moonlight. She charged recklessly at me and I spun around behind a thin tree, using it as a barrier. The creature quickly encircled the tree and I saw an opening, punching her square in the snout. She snapped her jaws and I punched her again and again, just as Briar had taught me. I aimed for whatever opening she gave me, backing away slowly and using the trees for cover.

Then she disappeared again. I spun around, searching the darkness. The black shadows of the trees were my enemy, and from above came the hooting of the owl once again. It sounded deafening. I tried to concentrate on the sounds on the forest floor … but that owl wouldn’t stop!

“Shut up, you fool!” Briar cried out above. I heard the shaking of a branch and the flapping of wings. The owl hooted angrily as he flew away.

Leaves floated to the ground. My hands tightened into fists. I waited.

“To your right!” Briar cried out.

I spun right just in time to see the creature coming down on me, her heavy paws swiping away my arms in one smooth motion. We lost our footing and fell to the ground in one heap. I felt the weight of the creature on me and air rushed out of my lungs so fast that I feared I may not be able to draw another breath. Heavy paws pinned my arms to the ground.

“So do it then,” I told her, staring into her dark eyes. “I won’t be the last.”

The creature opened her mouth. I thought about my aunt and uncle and quietly thanked them for taking me in.

Then, from above, came a wild crashing sound. “Look out below!” Briar called. I saw the shadow emerge from the branches above, landing right on top of the creature and toppling her to the ground.

“Holy cripes!” Briar exclaimed, kicking wildly at the creature’s snapping jaws. I had to act quick … a giant rabbit had little chance fighting a monstrous buffalo-bear. I reached into my pocket, grabbing the fountain pen. I uncapped it and jumped on the creature’s back, stabbing her again and again and again.

Slowly, she burned away.

I looked at Briar, proud to have him as a friend.

“A rabbit must make do with what skills he has,” he said with a shrug. “I happen to be good at climbing.”

“And landing,” I added with a smile.

August 30, 1934

I’ve returned to my aunt and uncle’s house. They expressed worry, which touched me. I told them I’d run away, but had a change of mind. It was something easy enough to believe, and Briar—a master trickster—always suggested keeping the lies simple enough to remember. Besides, there weren’t exactly all that many people who suspected such a sweet, innocent girl was in fact a monster-slaying hero.

Least of all Richard.

September 1, 1934

I’ve done it. I suspect some day I will look back on this entry and laugh at my foolishness, but for now I truly believe it is the right decision. The dwarfs have concluded their business at their new bank and have returned home to Chicago, which is where I must go.

But to live and survive in Chicago, I must marry Richard. There are few jobs for men, and fewer yet for women, and more people are saying things may get even worse. Some say things will never get better. I wish sometimes that I was a man, simply so that people would see me differently. They would expect me to take care of myself. They wouldn’t dote on me as if I was helpless. They would offer me jobs and the freedom to move about anywhere I choose without disturbing me.

I apologize. I’m rambling now, letting my anger drive my words. I will tolerate Richard as best I can because the Corrupted must be destroyed. And these dwarfs are the worst kind of Corrupted … they hide out in plain sight, mingling among human beings. I detest them for it. They are not like us. They do not belong.

Book 2: Happily Never After

Chapter 1

'What nonsense,' thought the princess, 'this silly frog is talking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me, though he may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell him he shall have what he asks.' So she said to the frog, 'Well, if you will bring me my ball, I will do all you ask.' Then the frog put his head down, and dived deep under the water; and after a little while he came up again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the edge of the spring.[vii]

My name is Alice, and I’m a hero. A hero keeping a really, really weird diary. I learned the hard way that Prince Charming really doesn’t exist … or isn’t supposed to, at least. I learned that all of the characters from Grimms’ Fairy Tales are real and the longer they remain alive, the more Corrupted—evil—they become. Only the hero can stop them because she wields a magic pen, one capable of destroying the Corrupted once and for all.

Oh, and by the way? The Frog Prince is gross. Really, really gross.

It happened about three weeks after Edward’s death. It was a nice, warm summer evening. The setting sun bathed dozens of puffy clouds in beautiful red and oranges along the horizon. I was on my way home from the library, where I’d spent nearly two hours vacuuming between all of the bookshelves on the first and second floor. My back was sore.

I’d made a habit of cutting through the alleys to get home quicker. Really not a big deal in my neighborhood—the most recent crime had happened two weeks ago: some teenagers had toilet-papered a house. They got caught and were promptly grounded for two weeks … it was big gossip.

Briar the giant rabbit was with me, gleefully recounting old stories about past heroes. He seems to enjoy doing that. Usually I listened pretty intently, but tonight I couldn’t stop breathing in the perfect air. Somewhere, a handful of birds were finishing up a conversation before bedtime. The end of a beautiful Wisconsin summer day.

So I wasn’t exactly expecting a giant frog monster to be lying in wait behind the Williamsons’ garage.

“Rabbit!” I shouted, pushing him aside the moment I saw the shadow spring out from behind one of the tall green garbage cans next to the garage door. Briar went flying to safety … and I ended up right in the monster’s path.

I didn’t even get a good look at him before a pair of strong, slimy arms wrapped around my body, pushing me across the alley and toward the Carlyle family garage. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. I could hear saliva vibrating in the back of his throat and it was all I could do to keep from screaming in horror.

My leg planted itself firmly on the concrete. I dropped my weight and spun us around, letting the momentum carry us forward. Only now the slimy creature was leading the way; he slammed into the garage and his grip loosened enough for me to pull away.

Slip away, actually. Because he was really slimy.

I jumped a few steps back so I could get a good look at him. The sun had almost completely set; the light on the Carlyle’s garage blinked on like some serendipitous spotlight.

“You’re disgusting!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help it … he really was disgusting. He looked like a giant human-shaped frog. His arms and legs were thin and green. His head was big and round and he had enormous bowl-sized white eyeballs. His mouth opened, letting thick white drool ooze out.

“Alice!” he said. Or maybe it was just a slurping sound and my mind was playing tricks on me.

He smelled like a sewer. Like rotting grass mixed with old banana peels and dog dung. I smelled that way, too. My second-favorite sleeveless linen Pintuck top was soaked through with whatever stinky slime  had been coating his arms.

“Stay back!” I warned, but the creature stumbled forward, reaching out for me. I dodged out of the way and backed up, trying to put some distance between us. But before I could, the frog-creature turned and hopped.

Right on top of me.

We fell onto the hard concrete. His slimy webbed fingers held me to the ground. His giant mouth opened and more drool oozed out. Deep inside that giant mouth were teeth: little, sharp teeth.

“No!” I cried out. I kicked wildly and connected with one of his legs; he groaned in pain, losing his balance. I pushed with all my might and rolled him away from me. The sharp tips of his webbed fingers cut my skin as he tried in vain to grab me again.

But now I was up. My elbow hurt from when it had landed on the concrete and my arm was bleeding from the stupid creature’s claws, but I was still up.

“The magic pen!” Briar called out.

I turned, searching for his familiar rabbit-shaped form in the darkness. Only a few of the garages had floodlights so most of the alley was full of creeping shadows. My vision blurred. The entire alley seemed to be spinning. Get a hold of yourself, Alice! Use the pen!

I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans and ran to the other side of the alley. I drew a saber on the garage door and pulled it away. I spun, watching the frog-creature stumble to his feet, groaning a stomach-churning guttural groan.

My sweaty hand tightly gripped the handle of the sword. The weight felt good. The blade looked sharp. About 88 centimeters long, give or take. Unlike the foil, which was a fencing sword designed for stabbing, the saber’s entire blade was sharp. I could slice this nasty frog-guy in half if I really wanted.

“Alice! Look out!”

I glanced up and jumped out of the way right before the frog-creature could grab me. He kept going, slamming into the garage door with a thud and falling over. I stepped up and stabbed my saber at his head. He ducked out of the way and the saber’s tip connected with the concrete.

The blade bent, then snapped in half.

“Oh cripes!” Briar cried out from the shadows.

“Settle down, rabbit!” I shouted. OK. I still had half a sword. The end was sharp enough. Don’t panic, Alice. Death by frog is not happening under any circumstances.

The frog creature was standing again. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. Even in the darkness, I could see his sharp white teeth. Each webbed finger twiddled, ready to bury itself in my soft slightly tanned flesh.

“Come on, then,” I told him.

He obliged, taking two steps toward me and then he was airborne, a good ten feet in the air. I clutched the hilt of my saber and drew in a long, deep breath. As he descended, I could see the terrible claws of his webbed fingers, all of them pointed directly at me. I ducked low, stepped left, and then stabbed the broken blade upward.

Poof! The frog-creature burst apart into a thousand little papery shreds that burned away as they floated to the ground.

“Wonderful!” Briar exclaimed, stepping out from behind the Williamsons’ garbage can. He clapped his little paws together.

“Yeah, right,” I murmured. “You know, this whole hero business would be a lot easier if I had some super powers. That really hurt when he landed on me!”

Briar shrugged. “Yes, well, we do what we can with what we have.”

“And where were you, might I ask?” I stabbed a finger at his soft belly. He always wore the same outfit: slacks and a vest.

“I was monitoring your progress,” he said, “from behind the garbage can. I did at one point offer some advice, too.”

“You’re a real help!” I said with wide eyes, layering on the sarcasm. “I can only imagine what might have happened if you hadn’t been here. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome for what?”

I started walking. Back home. I needed a bath. Maybe a few stitches. My arm was still bleeding a little bit. “For pushing you out of the way of that stupid thing. What the heck was he, anyway?”

“He looked rather vaguely like the Frog Prince,” Briar said, hopping along beside me. “Although in the story, he turned back into a human being. I guess somewhere along the line, he started reverting back to the frog.”

“In a totally gross way.” I stopped at the end of the alley. “Look,” I said, pointing to the circular sewer cover sitting in the street. It had been pulled back, sitting on the road.

“Well, I guess we know where he came from, then. Wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning up after him,” I said, pulling the heavy cover back over the opening. The metal edge stung my fingers. “Oof, this is heavy! The hero can’t even have a little super strength, eh? Can’t be too easy, can it?”

“I didn’t make the rules,” Briar said.

“So who did?” I asked.

His whiskers twitched. “That’s a good question, actually.”

I stepped back onto the sidewalk and we started walking again. We were only one block away from home. The neighborhood was quiet, not atypical for a weeknight even during the summer. “So how did this guy find me?”

“That,” Briar said, “is an even better question. And I don’t know. It’s entirely possible he was drawn to you.”

“Drawn to me?” I asked. “Why?”

“Because you’re a charming young lady, obviously.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke, rabbit? Because I’m not really in the mood.”

Briar chuckled. “It’s in my nature. I do apologize, though. And to answer your question more honestly … in the past, I’ve noticed that the hero oftentimes emerges near the center of lots of Corrupted activity. And vice versa.”

“You mean the Corrupted are showing up in the wonderful city of Milwaukee because of me?”

“That, or they really like cheese.”

I chuckled. “A Wisconsin joke. That’s a good one.”

“One for two isn’t bad.”

“So we have a good old-fashioned mystery on our hands, then?” I asked.

“It would appear so. I’ll do some searching. I’ve been keeping an eye on Edward’s mansion to see what happens to it. It’s been three weeks and no one has come by. Not a police officer, not an acquaintance … no one.”

My heart sped up a bit. Edward. Prince Charming. The guy of my dreams. The guy of my nightmares. I still thought about him—not the evil soul-sucking version of him, but the sweet version I’d been together with for nearly the entire school year. It hadn’t been easy to get over. Sometimes, at night, I slammed my fist into the pillow and cursed myself for believing he was so perfect.

“Who normally cleans up these messes?” I asked. My house was coming up on the right. The living room light was on, which meant someone was home and watching TV. “I mean, Edward was filthy rich … if other Corrupted are out in the open like him …”

“I shall continue my investigation.” Briar stopped at the driveway leading to my house. “Have you had any dreams yet?”

“You mean nightmares?” I shrugged. “Bits and pieces. Nothing that makes any sense. Oh, there was a rat in one. I was following him through this narrow tunnel and there was a ladder at the end. Does that help?”

“Not unless you know the rat’s name.”

“Maybe this smelly Frog Prince was the last Corrupted,” I said cheerily. “Maybe they’re all gone now!”

The rabbit’s whiskers twitched. And just like that, he disappeared.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself, “I don’t believe it either.”

I went inside, momentarily distracted by thoughts of what might come next, and walked into the living room completely forgetting about the cuts on my arm.

Dad was out of his chair in an instant. “Kitchen,” he ordered. We went into the kitchen and I sat at the stool next to our kitchen countertop while he rummaged through the cabinets by the fridge. He set hydrogen peroxide, a bag of puffy cotton balls, a white bandage and some bandage tape on the counter.

“What the heck happened?” he asked. “You’re volunteering at a library, for crying out loud. Blood shouldn’t be part of the equation.”

“Oh. I took a shortcut home. It was dark and I brushed up against a tree. Or some branches. Or something.”

He frowned, wrinkling his bushy eyebrows. One of the hairs was growing incredibly long. Most men Dad’s age started losing their hair, but Dad was the opposite. Especially when it came to his eyebrows, which seemed to be growing now with a mind of their own.

“Get ready,” he said, dabbing one of the puffy cotton balls with peroxide. “Your owie is about to get owier.”

“Dad, please! I can handle it. I—ow! Owwwww!”

He sighed, dabbing at the three cuts. The peroxide bubbled on the surface. “Don’t want an infection, dear. Do you like the library so far?”

“It has its moments.”

He unwrapped the square bandage and pressed it to my arm. “Hold this,” he ordered, grabbing the bandage tape and unspooling enough to wrap around my arm. “Look at these muscles,” he marveled, wrapping the tape around and around. “You look like you could bench-press a car.”

“Maybe I could,” I said.

He tied off the tape. “Good as new. What are you up to? Do you want to watch a movie or something? Mom will be home from the store pretty soon.”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

He placed his hands on his hips, his favorite position for lecturing and/or badgering. “Are you still bummed out about Edward?”

“Um … yes.” Maybe a little. Although “bummed out” didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances. I’d told my parents that Edward and I had simply broken up. I hadn’t had to “fake” being upset, either. I had been upset … just not for the normal reasons you’d expect when dating a high school boy.

Dad put an arm around my shoulder, careful not to touch the bandage. “Sometimes, you meet someone who you end up really caring about, but that person turns out not to be who you thought he was.”

Boy, you had that right, Pops.

“People change sometimes,” he continued, leading me back into the living room. The TV was blaring, set to a news channel. “Sometimes, they decide to change for the worse.”

“I just feel stupid for not seeing it,” I said.

We sat down on the couch. Dad groaned, stretching his left leg out on the coffee table. “People are complex. Being in a relationship is work, and if one person isn’t willing to accept that, then sometimes it’s better to break things off. You’ll get over it.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He reached for the massive gray remote on the coffee table. “Now,” he said, running his thumb over the dozens and dozens of brightly-colored rubber buttons, “which one of these gets us to Netflix?”

“Oh my gawd, Dad.” I pointed to the “DVD” button. “You have to turn on the DVD player, remember? I just taught you this last week. For, like, the hundredth time.”

“OK … DVD …”

I glanced at the screen, where the news program had just returned from commercial. I did a double take, then whacked the remote out of my dad’s hand before he could turn on the DVD player.

“What the heck?” he asked.

“Just hold on,” I said, fixated on the screen. “Who is that?”

Dad groaned again as he picked up the remote off the floor. “Who? That guy there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Duh. Of course. Who is that?”

Dad looked at the short little man on the TV. The footage showed him walking into one of the buildings in downtown Milwaukee, then cut to him shaking hands with a much taller man. Someone regular-sized, I should say. The man I was asking about was much, much shorter. Like a dwarf.

“That’s Sam Grayle,” Dad said. “He owns Grayle Incorporated. Big bank. He just bought one of the skyscrapers downtown.”

“Does he …” I swallowed hard, “have brothers?”

Dad scratched his head. “A few, I think. They all run the family businesses. They’re all little people, too. Midgets, I mean. Or are they dwarfs? I can’t remember what the politically correct term is. It would be good to know. Powerful men like Grayle don’t like being offended.”

I stared at the little man as he addressed the news reporter, looking up at her and flashing a smile. He was small, wore a sharp gray business suit and had a close-cut dark beard. He looked in his mid-forties; the hair on top of his head was thick and full, greased down and combed to the side. His orange-ish skin was wrinkled a bit, like he’d been fake tanning for too long. The reporter interviewing him seemed charmed by his demeanor and laughed along with him.

“Come on in,” he said to the camera. “Let’s give Milwaukee a tour of Grayle’s brand-new headquarters. Completely renovated.”

The reporter, star-struck, signed off and promised a follow-up the following night. I wanted to scream at her to run, run and don’t look back. Don’t go into that building. Don’t listen to anything he says!

… Sam Grayle was glowing.

Chapter 2

That night I had another strange dream. It felt jumbled and confusing, as if someone had taken all of the scenes in a movie and shaken them up and then played a few at the same time. The only thing I remembered when I woke up was the rats. Big, dark brown creatures with long slender tails that whipped around as they made their way through a dark sewer. I was following one of them; he was much smaller than the others, small enough that he could slip through the bars of a grate and enter a much smaller tunnel. It sniffed around for a while, then nibbled on something (I really don’t want to know what it was) before slipping through the grate again to join its brethren. Dozens and dozens of them.

What did it all mean?

I picked out a floral print ruffled blouse and a pair of white pants, then made sure to grab the fountain pen from my desk. I didn’t like stuffing it in my pocket. I liked wearing my pants tight, which made the pen stick out like a sore thumb. It was terribly noticeable. Just a week ago, Tricia and Seth had come over to console me over the “break-up,” and Tricia had noticed the bulge in my pocket immediately.

“Darling, school is over. It’s summer!” she said. “Unless you’re an undercover reporter, that pen has got to go. It’s distracting attention away from your legs.”

She was right: I needed to carry around the pen, but I also needed to not look like a total weirdo. I could keep it in my purse, but what if it was stolen? The night of Edward’s death, he’d picked up the pen and it had burned him … was that true if anyone picked up the pen, or just Corrupted?

“A good scientist always runs tests,” I said aloud.

“Tests about what?”

I spun around, letting out a quick “Ah!” and nearly karate-chopping Briar right off my desk. “What is wrong with you?” I asked.

The rabbit innocently looked around. He was sitting on top of my desk, next to my laptop, his legs crossed. “I don’t believe anything is wrong with me.”

“OK listen, rabbit. From here on out, we need to set some ground rules. First and foremost, you do not just appear in my room. I like having my privacy. Get it?”

“Not especially.”

“Well, too bad. From here on out, you knock gently on the door and I let you in.”

He sighed a long, exasperated sigh. “I hate rules.”

“Too bad! You’re here to help me. So I’m in charge.”

“Fine, fine. Then I have a few rules myself …”

“Nope.” I grabbed my purse from the bed, stuffing a tube of lipstick inside.

“It would be nice to have some diced carrots available from time to time …”

“Nope.”

He followed me to the door. “Well at the very least leave me a head of lettuce or a cup of milk! I can get quite dehydrated running around doing my investigations …”

“Nope.” I opened the door and turned back to him. “You want a cup of milk? You get it from the fridge. I swear, you’re like a thirteen-year-old version of me! I used to always say that to my dad. ‘Dad, go get me something to drink.’ And he’d always respond, ‘What am I, you’re servant?’ Gawd.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my throbbing temple. “I’m turning into my parents.”

“Hardly an insult. They seem quite delightful, actually.”

I stepped into the hallway, closing the door before Briar could follow.

Downstairs, Mom was making breakfast. The delicious smell of greasy meat hit my nostrils even before I could make my way into the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. Mom had two skillets sizzling on the stovetop: one for bacon and one for eggs.

“Good morning, sweetie,” she said.

“You’re too cheery for the morning,” I told her, sitting down at the table.

Dad folded his paper and glanced at the kitchen clock hanging over the fridge. “It’s barely morning, to be fair. Don’t be grumpy with us just because we get up before the crack of noon.”

“It’s eleven!” I exclaimed. “You’re exaggerating, just like you always do.”

Mom set a plate of eggs and bacon and toast on the table. “Do you want some cheese?”

“No,” I said, using my fork to pile eggs and bacon on top of a slice of toast.

“Save some for us,” Dad said with a laugh.

“She’s hungry,” Mom told him sternly. “All that exercising is making her hungrier.” She looked at me and frowned. “You’re not taking steroids, are you?”

“Mo-om!”

“I’m just asking, that’s all.” She sat down at the table, drinking from her green Madeline Associates coffee mug. It was the name of her ad agency, the agency that seemed to go out of its way to ensure Mom had the strangest working hours on the planet.

“Looks like good weather this weekend,” Dad murmured.

I turned to take a look at the weather section of the paper; something over Dad’s shoulder caught my eye: the refrigerator door was open. My first thought was: oh, the wind blew it open. My second thought was: Alice, that’s the most ridiculous thought you’ve ever had. My third thought? Well, maybe I was going crazy.

But then the milk jug floated out of the fridge. I realized what was happening and glanced nervously at my parents: Dad was still reading his newspaper and Mom, thankfully, had tasked herself with spreading jelly over three slices of toast.

I could have killed that rascally rabbit.

“Hey,” I said, so suddenly that they both gave a little start. “Hey, look at this.” I pointed to my forehead. “Do you see this?”

Both Mom and Dad leaned in closer, squinting. Behind them, the floating jug of milk was tipping over, pouring its contents into a floating glass.

“It’s like, some kind of zit, right?” I asked. “I mean, what else can it be?”

“I don’t see anything,” Mom said, leaning in closer.

“You have too much makeup on,” Dad said. He returned to his paper. “Probably skin cancer.”

Mom sighed, but before she could turn to admonish him, I pointed again. “No, it’s like a mole or something. Don’t you see it?”

Mom shook her head. “No, I don’t see anything.” Behind her, the jug returned to the fridge. The floating glass of milk tipped, and as the liquid escaped the lip it disappeared. Right down the invisible rabbit’s gullet.

“Well,” I said slowly, watching the glass land on the countertop next to the fridge, “I guess it’s gone. It probably was just a zit then.”

Mom leaned back, eyeing me with more than a fair bit of suspicion. “Are you sleeping all right?”

No. “Yes. Fine. Wonderful. I just read a lot at night.”

Mom leaned in, clutching her mug in both hands. Here we go: interrogation time. “What are you reading?”

Oh, just an old copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales with lots of names crossed out. Studying up on who’s still alive and causing all sorts of mayhem and destruction all over the planet. Corrupted creatures that grow more evil with each passing year, Mom. “Books about monsters.”

“That’s why she’s staying awake all night,” Dad said with a smirk. “She could never handle any of those monster movies she used to watch as a kid.”

“Dad, I’m eighteen. I can handle monsters.”

“Even aliens?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe …”

Mom chuckled. “I remember when you showed her Aliens and she had to sleep with the lights on for an entire month. How old was she?”

“Oh, about sixteen or so!” Dad said with a wry smile.

I pulled the magic pen out of my pocket and set it on the table. “OK, well, I’d love to sit here and be laughed at all day, but I’ve got to get to the library. Oh, Dad, will you hand me my pen?”

He reached out and absently grabbed the pen. His eyes widened. “Wow! Was this in the oven or something?”

I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it back into my pocket. “Yeah, I had it set to three-fifty for an hour. Doofus.”

“Have a good day!” Mom called after me.

“I will!” I called back before stepping outside. The sun was out. The air was hot and muggy. Robins sang from the tall ash tree in our front yard. From down the block came the sound of a riding toy’s plastic tires rolling along concrete. All in all, a great day to be outside. Not a great day to be cooped up inside the library.

“Why so grumpy?”

I didn’t jump, didn’t even turn around in surprise. Gawd, I thought … I’ve gotten used to the giant talking rabbit! “I’m beginning to realize that volunteering inside a dark library has some drawbacks,” I said.

Briar hopped up beside me. “Where’s your purse?”

I stopped. “Crap! I must have left it in the kitchen. I was a little preoccupied making sure my parents didn’t see something that would have given them heart attacks. Like, for instance, a floating jug of milk.”

Briar shrugged. “You told me to get it myself. Personally, I think your parents would find my sense of humor quite refreshing. They’re an enjoyable couple of humans.”

“They’re incredibly annoying,” I corrected him. “You just think they’re funny because they tease me.”

“That is one reason,” the rabbit said. “So would you like to hear what I’ve been up to?”

I glanced around as we crossed the street. The street outside my house was pretty empty for a summer day. Most of the bright green yards had been fresh-cut over the weekend and only a few cars sat in the driveways. At the intersection, I glanced down toward where Seth lived. He had a part-time job but mostly worked in the afternoons and evenings. Meaning Seth, like just about every other teenager in the neighborhood, was still asleep.

“Go for it,” I said.

“Well, it turns out the mansion Edward owns has been foreclosed on by a company called Grayle Bank …”

“Did you say Grayle?” I asked, turning to him. “As in Sam Grayle?”

“Yes. Now if you please.” He cleared his throat. “Now, Grayle Bank has foreclosed on the mansion because Edward apparently wasn’t paying his monthly mortgage. Meaning he borrowed money to buy the mansion, but never paid the bank back.”

“Very convenient. OK, we’re coming up on the main drag. We’re incommunicado until my break this afternoon.”

“What?” Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Why?”

“Because,” I said with a grimace, “that street up ahead?” I pointed a block ahead, where our cute little neighborhood bumped up against the busy main drag filled with restaurants, banks, nail salons, shopping centers and—of course—the old library. “That’s a busy street. And I don’t want someone I know to drive by and see me walking on the sidewalk talking to myself like a crazy person. Get it?”

“Ah.” Briar stopped, bowing low. “Of course. I shall see you very soon.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

“I’m getting so sick of that,” I murmured.

Fran was the librarian on duty. The library smelled like her perfume, which smelled kind of like the stiff vodka drink my parents enjoyed after a long week. One drink each on a Friday night. Instead of consuming it, Fran apparently sprayed a bunch of it all over her body before coming in to work.

“You’re late,” she said to me in a low voice as I approached the check-in counter. I glanced at the clock on the computer in front of her: I was three minutes early.

“Do you want me to start re-shelving or keep cleaning?” I asked.

Fran eyed me up and down. I knew for a fact she hadn’t liked the outfit I’d worn yesterday. Sleeveless was a little too scandalous in her book. No, Fran preferred long-sleeved loose-fitting tan tops and plain black dresses that reached down to her ankles. She also seemed to genuinely enjoy reading classic British literature because there was always one sitting on the desk in the little librarians’ office.

“Re-shelving should always come first,” she said finally, apparently not interested in criticizing my wardrobe … yet.

I grabbed a stack of softcover novels and meandered toward the fiction section, more than content to take my time. It had only taken a few weeks before I felt comfortable moving from section to section. The books were becoming familiar to me, like old friends waiting to say hi. Was it boring? Yeah, sometimes. But once I got away from the checkout desk and Fran’s cloud of perfume, I could smell the thousands and thousands of pages and everything felt good again. I was surrounded by words and stories and famous authors and loved it.

When it was time for my break, I grabbed the book I’d been reading all week and went outside to enjoy the last rays of the afternoon. I sat in the back of the library, on a bench in the little courtyard that during the morning was oftentimes filled with a dozen or so kids from one of the library’s summer reading clubs. The courtyard was a large circle of grass surrounded by an old white picket fence that divided the library property from the parking lot. At the base of the fence was a flower bed consisting of a ring of roses and tulips and bright orange perennials.

“May we talk, finally?” Briar asked, appearing next to me on the bench.

“Yes,” I answered, “but only so long as no one is around. That’s the rule.”

“Fine, fine. Anywho, as I was saying earlier, this Grayle fellow …”

I turned to him. “He’s a Corrupted.”

“Yes … I know.”

“You know? How?”

Briar sighed. “He’s one of the surviving seven dwarfs. He’s taken a few names over the years, but he always pops up with some business or other. Last I spotted him, he was drilling for oil out west.”

“And now he’s here,” I said. “Drawn to me?”

Briar scratched the brown fur on the tip of his head, between his long ears. “It’s possible. Or maybe he just wants Edward’s property. The Corrupted are not all friends. Some just don’t get along with each other.”

“How can we be sure what this Grayle fellow is up to?” I asked.

“Oh, I think if we keep an eye on him, something will pop up. Has he appeared in your dreams?”

“No … just more rats. Big ones. Inside a sewer.” I shuddered. “They’re definitely becoming more defined. More real.”

“We should focus on that,” Briar said. “Your dreams will oftentimes focus on the most threatening Corrupted … although I can’t be quite sure what it is in this case. A rat, perhaps? A rat king? Darned if I can remember all of those fairy tales.”

“I don’t remember reading about any rat kings,” I said, thinking back. The truth was I’d read Grimms’ Fairy Tales twice and had been amazed, not at how many names had been crossed out by previous heroes but by how many still remained. There were so many still out there, causing all sorts of awful trouble.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at my book with his paw.

“Oh.” I closed it so he could see the cover. “It’s a book about springs. Boingy-boingy springs. I got the idea from you hopping around.”

“Hmmmm.” He clicked his tongue against his big front teeth. “Interesting, I suppose …”

I glanced up at a shadow passing over the sidewalk to my left, feeling my heart speed up for a moment before I realized it was just a young college-age woman walking into the library, a beautiful black purse slung over her shoulder. I smiled, waiting for the library door to shut again before turning back to the rabbit.

“You said my magic pen relied on my knowledge to create things, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“Well, so here I am, learning things. On my summer vacation. I’m not having a lot of fun, but I thought it might be good to nail down some of the physics stuff I never really learned my junior year.”

Briar shuddered. “I take it you understand how a spring trap works, then.”

I nodded solemnly. “I think so, at least. The force a spring exerts is proportional to its change in length, so that’s a pretty good measure of how strong a trap would be. If an animal gets caught in one …”

“I’ve avoided many a trap in my day,” Briar said. “And seen many wonderful creatures fall victim to its painful jaws. Terrible things, those traps. Some of them look like metal mouths, metal teeth and all. And you don’t even see them! They’re hiding away in the grass, and then you step down on top of one …”

“And the spring’s energy does the work,” I finished. “A spring trap might help catch some of these little critters the Grimms mention in their stories, though.”

Briar whimpered slightly. “Yes, but … oh, I’m such a softy. It’s just that those spring traps are so painful! It’s animal torture. There. I said it. Think less of me if you will. Call me a Corrupted lover.”

I laughed. “We can modify the design.” I opened the book to the middle page, where the author was very slowly and methodically explaining how a standard bow and arrow worked—another advantage in learning about stored energy. I had a piece of paper there to mark my place, and on the paper were a variety of pencil sketches. “Look at this one,” I said, pointing to the spring trap I’d designed. “I widened the jaws of the trap so that it wraps around the animal’s leg without hurting it. All it does it traps them until we can show up.”

Briar glanced up at me with wide eyes. “I like your style, sister!”

“Yeah, well.” I closed the book. “Maybe I’ve watched too many Disney movies full of talking woodland animals. I have a feeling if we do run into any Corrupted ducks or mules or dogs, they’re not going to have any problem gobbling us up if they have the chance.”

“Still,” Briar said. “It’s nice to know … just in case some innocent animal comes along and accidentally springs a trap. I would feel awful bad. We animal folk get along, for the most part.”

I turned and craned my neck so I could see the clock on the bank across the street. “I have to get back inside. Despite the fact that I’m not being paid, Fran the librarian is obsessed with making sure my breaks aren’t too long.”

Briar stood up with me. “I shall accompany you, for I have need of the library’s resources.”

“You do? Which resources?”

His whiskers twitched and a glimmer of deviousness shone in his eyes. “Periodicals,” he answered.

Chapter 3

Tricia and Seth planned to come over that night to watch a movie, which meant I had to wrench the living room away from my parents. I told them to go out for dinner and a movie.

“But it’s Thursday!” Dad exclaimed, not budging from his place on the couch. “No one goes out on Thursday. There aren’t any discounts.”

“So just pay full price for once in your life!” I said, frustrated. “We have movies to watch and the last thing I need is you and Mom wandering around the house, stomping your hooves like a couple of horses.”

“Hooves!” Mom called out from the kitchen. “Horses? What’s gotten into you, dear?”

“It’s her hormones,” Dad said. He’d bent over to put on his shoes. “Hormones raging all over the place. I’m terrified of her.”

“She just wants to spend some time with her friends,” Mom said. She came out of the kitchen with her spring jacket already on. Her soft dark hair was pulled back behind her ears. It was shorter now than it used to be at the beginning of summer. She’d officially gotten a “mom” cut.

“Go to that place downtown,” I offered.

Dad glanced at me and raised one bushy eyebrow. “Oh yeah? That place downtown? That’s a great place!”

“The Brazillian place,” I said, rolling my eyes. “With all the different kinds of meats.”

“That’s expensive,” Dad said. “We’re going to Arby’s and then the budget cinema.”

“Carl!” Mom said, grabbing his arm before he could finish Velcroing his shoes. Yup, my dad liked to wear Velcro shoes when he wasn’t at work. Wild, isn’t it?

“Have fun!” I said, following them to the door. “Please, by all means, take your time at the movie. Watch two of them. Make out in the bleachers.”

“She has good ideas sometimes,” Dad said as Mom pushed him outside. She turned to me, frowning.

“No drinking.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you for the reminder.”

Mom closed the door behind her. And just like that—finally!—I had the house to myself. I felt liberated. I felt like a million bucks. I felt like eating a strawberry toaster thingy and dancing around while Florence and the Machine blasted through the living room speakers.

So that’s exactly what I did.

When I was finished, I turned down the music. The rabbit was sitting on the couch, watching me with a bemused expression.

“Is this normal?” he asked.

“Perfectly! You know what else is normal? Spending the evening with your friends.”

His whiskers twitched. “I’ll have you know I have plenty of friends, too. Sure, they don’t talk and they live in the forest and some of them try to eat me, but it’s all in good fun. ‘Briar,’ I always say to myself, ‘you can’t be too picky given your unique talents.’ So I’m not.”

“OK, so what if you, like, spent some time with them tonight? Tricia and Seth are coming over and I’d really like to just veg out before these dreams get any worse.”

“Which reminds me,” Briar began, following me up the stairs to my room. “I spent last night in the library and …”

“You spent last night in the library?! Like, all night?!”

He straightened, smoothing out his vest. “Yup. I was searching the old newspaper archives for deaths that mention sewers and combing through histories of Chicago and I came across some startling data.”

He pulled a small folded piece of paper and handed it to me. I unfolded it, examining the names and dates.

“Interesting, no?”

I nodded. “I can’t believe you figured out a way to write even though you don’t have opposable thumbs.”

Briar sighed. “Will you please just focus? Every single name on that list is a person who, over the last twenty years, has been found dead in Chicago in the sewers.”

My heart thumped in my chest. “Not more dead bodies …”

Briar rubbed his big eyes with both paws. “Unfortunately, yes. I combed through Chicago’s newspapers to get all of this and I’m pretty sure there’s a connection. But I can’t see it yet. It could take weeks of night visits to the library to figure this out and by then, more deaths may yet occur.”

“Or …” I walked over to my laptop and opened it. “Take a look at this. Do you know what this is?”

Briar hopped over and stared at the screen. “A computing device, of course.”

“Right. See, we have this magical thing now called the Internet. Look.” I typed in the Chicago Tribune’s web site. “Check it out: you can search for whatever you want here. And then you can click on these links to read stuff.”

I was laying the sarcasm on pretty thick, but the rabbit couldn’t be more impressed. His eyes were nearly bulging out of his skull. “This is amazing!” he exclaimed.

“Try it,” I said.

His paw grabbed the mouse with surprising deftness as he clicked one of the links. “The newspaper at your fingertips. Well played, sister! This could very well change the game!”

I stood back, satisfied. It was a little surreal, seeing a giant rabbit pecking away at the keyboard on my laptop. But at least he was diverted. A quiet night to myself. A day off from our ridiculous exercise routine … perfect.

“So I take it we’re not going for a run tonight?” he asked absently. His eyes were positively glued to the computer screen now as his little paw clicked link after link.

“No,” I said, rubbing my upper leg. “I could use a day off. I think during our last game of ‘tag,’ I stepped on a rock weird.”

“Hellooooooo,” Briar said, bringing up a new page. “What’s this then?”

“Oh.” I reached over and closed the window. “That’s my Facebook page. That’s not for rabbits.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a place where you can talk online to your friends and post to their walls and get addicted and forget about everything else and postpone homework assignments.”

The rabbit’s eyes narrowed. “Fascinating! ”

The doorbell rang.

“Look,” I said, hands on hips. “Can I trust you to stay up here alone while I spend some time with my friends?”

“Yes, yes … go on. Ah, what is the Google?”

“Just play around with it,” I said, shutting the door. I went downstairs and opened the front door. Seth and Trish pushed me aside and hurried in.

“There’s a bat,” Trish said, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. “I feel like he’s on me or something!”

“He was gigantic,” Seth said with wide eyes. “And he was swooping around the streetlight, gobbling up bugs. It was so gross.”

Trish wiped her hands on her white shorts and gave me a hug. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m doing just fine,” I said. Seth had already made his way to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets. “There’s popcorn in the cabinet next to the fridge!” I called out. Then, in a low voice, I asked Trish, “Are you guys fighting?”

“No.” She frowned and playfully slapped my shoulder. “We don’t always fight.”

“Just asking. I like to be prepared.”

We went to the couch. In the kitchen, Seth threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

“What did you guys pick out?” I asked.

“Well …” Trish tossed back her blonde hair. She’d been growing it longer and occasionally putting it in tight braid. It gave her a very senior look. I needed that kind of look before school started up again. Senior year was our chance to show off a more grown-up version of ourselves, and here Trish was doing just that. What was I doing? I needed to do something, specifically with my hair.

“I thought a romantic comedy would help,” Trish said. “Seth thought you needed some kind of gross splatter flick with aliens or monsters or something.”

“Cthulu!” Seth called out from the kitchen. “It’s a slimy squid-like monster.”

Trish rolled her eyes. She pulled out her phone, tapping the screen a few times. “So you get to pick. Did you hear anything more about Edward?”

“Um … actually, they moved.”

“What?” Her mouth remained open for a moment. Dramatic surprise—that was Trish for you. “Where did they move?”

I shrugged. “Does it matter? They moved. Some bank foreclosed on the mansion.”

“Oh good.” She reached across the empty couch cushion and touched my bare arm. “I mean, OK, I know you said it was pretty amicable—whatever that means—but it’s still good to take a little pleasure in his demise.”

“I did,” I said. “But he’s gone now. And that’s the end of things.”

She leaned back in the couch cushion, resting her leg on the coffee table and wiggling her long toes. Her eyes had returned to her phone screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Playing Castle Cats. It’s the most annoyingly addictive phone game I’ve ever played. And now I just lost.” She turned off her phone. “Gosh, I bet that mansion was beautiful inside. Kind of annoying he never invited anyone over.”

“He was … weirder than he let on.”

“Really?” She leaned closer. “Details, darling!”

I shrugged. “Well, he collected dead butterflies. That was pretty weird.”

Seth walked back into the kitchen with a big porcelain bowl full of popcorn and a couple bottles of diet soda. He hopped over the couch, nearly falling forward onto the coffee table. I reached out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him back onto the soft cushions.

“Jeez,” he said. “What are you, on steroids or something?”

I smiled. “Yup. I shave my beard every morning.”

Seth shuddered and reached for Tricia’s red purse on the floor. “Who needs a horror movie with talk like that?”

“Exactly,” Trish said, “which is why we’re watching the romantic comedy.”

Both Seth and I groaned. “Seriously, the last thing I want to see is a sappy happily-ever-after movie,” I said.

Trish gasped. “It’s not sappy! It’s romantic!”

“It’s a load of crap,” Seth said, stuffing a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth. He crunched down and a few fluffy pieces fell out from between his thin lips.

“You just feel that way because you’re a mean boyfriend.”

Seth’s mouth opened in mock outrage and another half-eaten piece of popcorn fell out. “I just bought you a promise ring!”

“From a department store,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “You’re supposed to go out and craft a ring yourself and inscribe it. Mine the diamond yourself, too.”

“Did you see that in a movie?” I asked her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The point is … well, I don’t remember. Don’t you want to find someone who’ll take care of you and make you happy?”

“Make me happy? Yes. But take care of me?” I thought about that one. It had been a while since I’d thought about what I wanted to do with my life. I still thought it would be cool to be a librarian, or work with books in some way. But I had some other ideas, too. No matter what, I couldn’t imagine any future where someone took care of me.

“I think it sounds like a great idea,” Seth said, leaning back on the couch. “Yup. Trish can go out and find a job, and I can sit back and play video games all day. I like it.”

She picked a few popcorn crumbs off his stomach, tossing them at his mouth. “Just because a movie has a happy ending doesn’t mean it’s bad, you know.”

“You’re right.” I chuckled. “It just gets weird sometimes, seeing couples kissing and then the credits roll. Because then life goes on. At least, in my experience.”

“Mine too,” Seth mumbled, stuffing more popcorn into his mouth.

Trish reached over him to touch my arm again. “Darling, being rescued from the dullness of the suburb is every girl’s dream. Why do you think I keep telling Seth to move?”

“I think she wants me to kidnap her,” Seth mumbled.

“Well, I don’t want to be rescued,” I said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I thought maybe I would go into nursing when we get to college.”

“Oh, but you’ll be around blood and guts and stuff!” Trish said with a frown. “Why not something a little cleaner?”

I shrugged. “Nursing sounds like fun. I want to be in a profession where I can save people.”

“Fine,” Tricia said. “Nursing it is. But that doesn’t mean a good guy won’t come along, darling. He still will. And you’ll live happily ever after.”

“Yeah, well. Tonight, I’m not all that excited about seeing it happen on the TV.”

Seth nodded. A veritable pile of half-eaten popcorn was accumulating on his lap. “She’s right. She’s still in pain. She needs a slimy Cthulu monster to cheer her up. Maybe a few dismemberments.” He licked his lips, giving his girlfriend a sinister look. “Maybe a few human sacrifices. Oodles of blood and gore. A couple zombies …”

“OK, OK.” She pushed him back. “Fine. Horror it is. But I’m closing my eyes every time it gets gross.”

She wasn’t kidding, either. In fact, she ended up keeping her eyes closed for most of the movie.

But we still had fun. It was a good diversion. Tricia and I hadn’t talked much about her embarrassing night at the beach, which was fine by me. I wanted to avoid as much drama as I could this summer. I knew senior year wasn’t going to be easy … without Edward as my boyfriend, there was no telling how my classmates would treat me. It made me nervous when I started thinking about how the last year of high school was going to play out.

Thankfully, I had a way-awesome diversion: terrifying rats plaguing my dreams.

My parents came home just as Seth and Tricia were leaving. Mom hassled both of them about school and college applications. Dad hassled Seth about baseball and asked Seth why the Milwaukee Brewers weren’t doing better. Seth had no satisfactory answers and so Dad just nodded and said they were all bums but they’d pick it up after the All-Star break.

Whatever that meant.

Seth talked their ears off, like he always did. He liked my parents. His parents weren’t the greatest parents in the world by any measure. His mom smoked a lot of cigarettes—that didn’t make her a bad mom, but the fact that she just sat at the kitchen table all day smoking … well, it could get a little awkward. And smoky. His dad work third shift at the nuclear power plant, which meant he was usually asleep when Seth was home. And he got really, really mad if someone woke him up when he slept. It was understandable, but I got the feeling Seth would have liked it if his dad wanted to actually do something during the one hour when their schedules overlapped.

So he spent a lot of time over at my house. Once, during middle school, we even took him camping with us. I hated every minute of it. My parents were being totally embarrassing at every point, but Seth didn’t seem to notice at all. In fact, it almost seemed like he was having fun being around them. Imagine that!

I went upstairs, forgetting completely about Briar until I saw him sitting at the desk. “You’re still on the computer? What are you looking up?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m looking up.” He rolled my desk chair back and motioned me closer with his paw. “It’s a map of Chicago.”

I stepped closer and leaned in. It was a map of Chicago, with little green pins clumped together in one little section of the city near Wrigleyville, the neighborhood near the Chicago Cubs baseball stadium. “Impressive. What does it all mean?”

“These little pins are the mysterious murders,” he explained. “Now look at this.” He clicked the mouse. The colorful map disappeared, replaced by a much more confusing series of gray lines. The pins were still in place, though.

“What is this?” I asked.

“This,” he said, “is the sewer system. See anything interesting?”

I leaned in closer, studying the pins. “They’re all in the same sewer system.”

“Correct! And look.” He pointed with his paw.

“Look at what? That gray tube there?”

“No.” He sighed. “OK, so my paw is too fat to point. Here. Put your finger right here.” He put my finger over one of the sewer tunnels. “Now watch.” He switched back to the map.

“An apartment building,” I said, “Right underneath that sewer tunnel. Excellent job, rabbit. I’m impressed.”

He leaned back in the chair, clearly satisfied with himself. “Well, I’ve always been quite the fast learner. Now all we need to do is head on down to Chicago and nip this in the bud.”

“Sure, sure.” I sat on the bed, pulling off my socks. “Hmmmmm …”

Briar absently scratched one ear. It was cute, in a “lovable bunny” sort of way. “I take it your mother will let you borrow the car for a day. Hopefully that’s all we’ll need. Of course, we’ll have to do some investigating to figure out who this particular Corrupted is.”

“Yup, yup. So … we could take a train down to Chicago, right?”

“A train? Why would we take a train?”

“Because … I can’t drive?”

“What?!”

There was a knock at the door. “Honey?” Mom’s voice came through. “Can you talk on the phone a little quieter? Your father and I are going to bed.”

“OK,” I called out. I turned back to Briar. “I don’t have a driver’s license,” I said quietly.

Briar gasped, wide-eyed.

“How is this a surprise?” I asked in a whisper. “I mean, I’ve never driven anywhere!”

“I just assumed you loved the earth or something!” he said, waving his arms around wildly. “How are we supposed to save the world if you can’t drive?”

I fell back on the bed. “I failed my driver’s test last year. I haven’t gotten in a car since. I didn’t need to for any reason. I had Edward driving me places. I walk to the library.”

The rabbit was quiet for once.

“I guess I could take the driver’s test again. I just … I really can’t parallel park.”

“Well. We’re in trouble.”

I took a deep breath, staring up at my ceiling and thinking. “I guess …”

“What? What is it?”

“I could …” I swallowed hard. “I could ask my parents to take me down for a night. They’ve been talking about getting out of town for a couple months now, and they’ve been threatening to drag me along anyway.”

“Brilliant! So what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” I said, “is they might just drive me insane.”

Chapter 4

That night, the dreams got worse. Clearer, too. This time I was clearly in a sewer, floating above a little stream of murky water sitting at the base of the tunnel, following dozens and dozens of big brown disgusting rats.

There were voices, too. A man’s voice and a woman’s voice, echoing from far deeper within the dark concrete tunnel. There was a single light up ahead, coming from an orange-yellow light bulb affixed to the wall. The rats moved toward it and I followed, winding around a bend in the tunnel.

The voices grew louder.

“I’m not jealous,” came a man’s voice. “I just want you to work regular hours so you can get a good night’s rest.”

“I can’t!” came a woman’s voice. “I work all hours, whenever they need me. I can’t tell them when I want to work!”

“Then maybe you should look for another job,” he responded. “You deserve better.”

The rats moved closer. The couple’s voices were louder now and with the light behind us, the tunnel had begun to darken again. I could barely see where we were going, and more rats seemed to be sneaking out of cracks in the curved concrete walls. There were hundreds of them now, the darkness closing in around us like a blanket.

The voices grew louder.

“I can’t quit!” the woman said. “Cleaning is the only thing I’m good at. It’s all I know how to do.”

“You don’t have to quit. Just look for another job. One that lets us be together.”

“I can’t get another job! I’m a house cleaner. That’s all I’ll be.”

Suddenly, the rats seemed to cry out as one, as if they were yelling with the woman. There was an opening up ahead and a light shining down into the tunnel. The ceiling of the tunnel had been broken open and a mound of garbage and dirt sat beneath it, pressed up against the wall. The rats clawed their way up the mound and through the opening, biting each other with their nasty little teeth, their tails whipping left and right.

I followed them up. We were in a closet of some kind, and as the rats packed in, they cried out in frustration. I felt claustrophobic and tried to scream again but nothing came out. The rats continued piling in, crying louder and louder until the closet door opened and they all came tumbling out into a bright room.

A living room. There was an old blue couch in one corner and an old tube TV and a little bookshelf near the opening that led into a little kitchen. The carpeting was old and brown and shredded in places.

A man stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the rats. The man was tall and middle-aged, his face a pale white and his mouth open in horror. A woman was standing next to the closet door, her hand still on the knob. She was plain, but beautiful, too—she wore a red bandana to keep her blonde hair away from her smooth, angular face. She had on tight jeans and an old gray sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her tiny fingers slowly clenched into a fist.

She didn’t look horrified at all.

“We need to get out of here,” the man said desperately. He held out his hand. The rats were circling him, keeping their distance as if testing their prey. They spread across the floor and the furniture like a brown tide of fur.

“We fight too much,” the woman said sadly. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t going to work out, Bradley.”

The man ran a hand through his hair, his mouth fumbling for words. “Cindy … we can work this out …”

The rats pounced, a hundred little snapping jaws. They knocked him over and he screamed a blood-curdling scream. It only took a few quick breaths before they were covering him completely, rolling over each other in a desperate attempt to get at the flesh.

Cindy stood, watching. One of the rats landed on her foot. She reached down and picked it up. It was small and thin and familiar … had I followed it in a previous dream?

“Why can’t you just leave me be?” Cindy asked it.

The rat sat in her open palm, sniffing with its little nose. It glanced over its shoulder to its brothers and sisters who were still chomping on their lunch. She set it down, but it didn’t move toward the feast. Instead, it sat on the floor, watching.

I started awake in a cold sweat. It was morning. My alarm was buzzing on the nightstand and I reached over to shut it off. “Whew,” I muttered.

“Whew?”

I turned. Briar was still sitting at the computer.

“Have you been at that all night?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Did you know there are only three thousand tigers left in the world? That’s outrageous! Why, it feels as if just yesterday they were positively thriving. What happened? No, don’t tell me … I’ll look it up.”

I got out of bed, stretching and glancing at the computer monitor. “I see you’ve discovered Wikipedia.”

“And so much more! I’ve been looking up some histories of German princes in the general area of where the Brothers Grimm lived. I’ve found some interesting coincidences that we should check out at some point.”

I yawned. “Such as?”

“Well, it appears that a number of royalty were regularly marrying their cousins. It was a fairly common way to protecting the bloodline, so to speak, but it would also have been a great way to hide Corruption as well.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Think about it,” Briar said, tapping his paw on the desk. “If you’re a royal prince or princess who can never die, you must pretend to be someone new at some point so the locals don’t start asking questions. Pretending to have a child with your cousin is a good excuse for why, say, Prince George I looks an awful lot like Prince George II.”

“Oh, I get it. So the Corrupted prince pretends to have a child and keeps the child out of the public eye, then pretends to die. The next day, the fully grown child who looks just like the Corrupted prince takes over. It’s brilliant.”

“Brilliant if you’re a Corrupted prince,” Briar said. “Not so much if you’re a princess. They didn’t have the best of lives back then.”

“How so?”

“Well.” Briar cleared his throat. “They were treated more like currency than anything else. You gave away your daughter’s hand in marriage to make a truce with a rival. Or you married off a daughter to expand your land holdings.”

“Well, what charming young lady wouldn’t want to be a part of that?” I asked bitterly. “Did any of these princesses have a fondness for rats?”

He turned, swiveling in the chair. The tips of his furry toes barely reached the floor. “Why? Did you have another dream?”

I nodded. My stomach lurched at the memory of the rats. “Someone died … a guy named Bradley. Eaten alive by rats.”

Briar flinched. “Oh my. Positively disgusting. Anything else?”

“A woman named Cindy,” I said. “She was standing there, watching it all.”

“Cindy … Cindy …” he began pecking away at the keyboard with his paw, a seemingly impossible feat. I guess he’d been practicing a good 8 hours or so during the night. “OK, well, it doesn’t look like there’s anyone named Cindy in the general area. Anyone listed in the address directories, at least.”

“What? Let me see that.” I leaned over the computer, scanning a list of names and addresses. “Hey, this is a paid site! How did you pay to access this?”

His whiskers twitched. “I may have used your credit card at some point during the night.”

“What?!”

He shrugged. “To be fair, your wallet was laying out. I didn’t go through your purse.”

“Oh. Great,” I muttered, grabbing my wallet and stuffing it in my purse. “Why did my alarm go off? What day is it?”

“Thursday,” the rabbit answered.

“Oh gawd!” I ran to my closet. “Stay turned around,” I ordered, tearing away my nightshirt and pajamas and quickly grabbing a pair of jeans and a dark green button-down blouse. “I have a half day at the library. Are you sticking around here?”

“Of course,” Briar said. “I have more investigating to do.”

“OK.” I walked back to the desk, grabbed the fountain pen and stuffed it in my pocket. At the door, I stopped and turned around. I felt a sudden weirdness wash over me: there was a giant rabbit sitting at my desk, playing around on my computer, searching for a mysterious woman who shouldn’t exist. I still wasn’t completely grasping this, but at least my mind hadn’t completely shut down. At least I was thinking through things. “Will you please not use my credit card?”

“I promise,” said the rabbit.

Good enough for me. I went downstairs, surprised to see both my parents sitting at the kitchen table.

“Oh,” I said.

“Once again, you seem surprised we’re in our own house,” Dad murmured, sipping his cup of coffee. He was using his favorite Green Bay Packers mug.

“No, no, I just thought you guys might be golfing is all.”

“Your mother has to go in to work for a few hours,” he said with more than a little annoyance in his voice. “You’d think after thirty years of work, she’d have a few sick day excuses lined up.”

Mom sighed. “If someone else contributed a little more to the retirement account, I wouldn’t have to take on so many ad campaigns and I could sit around in my pajamas all day.”

“OK, OK,” I interrupted, before their little mock-argument could really take off. “Listen, I think we should go down to Chicago this weekend.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. She had a plate of half-eaten toast and Sunnyside-up eggs sitting in front of her that looked awfully tempting. “What brought this up?”

I shrugged. Think, Alice! They’re never going to believe their hormone-imbalanced kid wants to spend time with them! “I just … really, really want to see the aquarium. And this might be the only weekend I’ll have off from the library all summer because … because they’re doing a new reading group on Saturdays which means more books to put away.”

It was true. Technically. OK, so maybe I wouldn’t get stuck working Saturdays at the library, but it was possible!

Mom glanced at Dad. Dad sipped his coffee, humming thoughtfully. Finally, he said, “I wouldn’t mind taking in a Cubs game.”

Mom smiled. “We haven’t been to Wrigley Field in ages. Is there a game? Check your phone, dear.”

I reached into my pocket and used my smart phone to check. An ad popped up for a game called Castle Cats but I X’d it out. “There’s a game Sunday afternoon.”

“Well,” Mom said, “I guess that settles it. We can go Sunday morning.”

“No!” I nearly shouted. “I mean, why not go Saturday so we can all check out the aquarium?”

They exchanged looks. Did they know something was up? Are parents really that perceptive?

Finally, Dad shrugged. “As long as I get a Chicago-style hot dog somewhere along the way, I’ll be happy.”

“Great! Mom, find a hotel. I’ll be back from the library early this afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am. Any other orders?” she called out before I could reach the front door and make my escape.

“Don’t forget to take out the garbage!” I said, shutting the door behind me.

It was a dreary, cool day. Dark clouds covered the sky and the concrete sidewalks were still wet in places from an early rain. Perfect indoor weather. Perfect weather to sit on a soft cushion with a good book and a hot cup of cocoa. Heck, why not re-shelve some library books for a few hours?

Because Fran the meany was the librarian on shift again, that’s why. It was hard to get a good idea of what she was really, really about. Was she just in a bad mood, or did she not realize that so many of the things she said were so mean? She didn’t even smile at the people checking out books. She wore her glasses tight up against her nose and she seemed to always be frowning, her thin little penciled-in eyebrows scrunching together at the bridge of her nose.

I decided to jog to the library even though I was wearing my pair of thin-soled blue slippers. If there was one thing the encounter with that Frog Prince taught me, it was that I should probably be prepared at any time. Whatever Corrupted ended up coming at me next probably wasn’t going to wait for me to change into a more comfortable pair of pants and shoes. I fought through the pain in my heels, bouncing off the curb at each intersection and clutching my purse in one hand.

When I reached the library, I wasn’t even out of breath. My endurance was definitely getting better.

Inside, it was dry and cool. A couple young kids laughed somewhere on the floor above, followed by a sharp “Shhh!” from an adult. On the first floor, a handful of middle-aged people were browsing the fiction shelves. A college-age boy with long hair walked down the History section, running a finger down book spines as he read them.

Fran, as always, sat behind the checkout desk with a stern look on her face. “Lots of young adult books,” she said without so much as a hello.

I went around the desk, set my purse on the floor of the little shared librarians’ office, then grabbed the stack of recently returned titles, sifting through them to weed out all the books that belonged on the first floor.

I took the stairs with ease, skipping the top one and nearly bumping into a toddler and his mother ready to descend. I weaved my way through the Young Adult section, into the rear of the second floor where the Children’s section was. It looked like a tornado had passed through. Big, square children’s books were spread across the beige carpeting, sitting atop the three colorful plastic tables in the corner, and more yet under the tables as well.

“At least they’re reading quality material,” I said, grabbing the wayward copy of a Roald Dahl book sitting at the edge of the table. I went into the Young Adult section and re-shelved it, then re-shelved the other Young Adult books cradled in my arms. This section always felt more alive than the other sections. Each of the shelves had books that looked used—their spines were bent, some had been grabbed and then haphazardly replaced, and a few more yet were sitting on top of their brothers and sister. It was definitely the most used section, especially during the summer.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder just how many young kids were missing out. Books were competing with so many other things nowadays: TV, Internet, cell phones, games and of course those ridiculous cell phone games like Castle Cats, which was apparently the newest craze. Heck, even my giant rabbit helper pal was addicted to the Internet now. Who knew what he was looking up while I was here?

I went back into the Children’s section, crawling across the carpet on my knees to collect all of the scattered books. With no one to talk to, I kept thinking back to the tense fight with the frog creature. Who had sent him? Had he known where I lived? Would he harm my parents?

A chill ran down my spine. I felt guilty that it had taken so long for all of this to sink in. Even now, after so much, it still didn’t feel entirely real. I mean, here I was on me knees in a library putting away kids’ books. Just days ago, I’d been drooled on by a frog monster who nearly killed me because my stupid saber had broken in half.

Speaking of which …

I finished tidying up just as another small pack of wild kids made their way up the stairs followed at a distance by a slightly frazzled-looking mother. She gave me a look—save me from these little monsters!—before plopping into one of the little plastic seats at one of the tables.

Downstairs, more people had shown up to use the computers. I knew the sound of each finger on the old keyboards drove Fran insane. I could see it on her wrinkled old face every time I returned to the check-in desk to retrieve books.

Click. Click-click-click.

“Fran,” I whispered. She looked up from her computer. Click. Click-click. “Do you mind if I take my break a little early?”

“Why?” she snapped. Click-click-click. Click. Her frown tightened.

“I just wanted to look something up before I forget.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly curious in an oh-so-hostile sort of way.

Well, I want to figure out why the saber I designed with my magic pen broke while I was saving the world from a hideous frog monster. “Just something fencing-related,” I answered.

“Fine. Go ahead.” She waved me away. “You’ll just have more work when you get back.”

I fought the urge to sigh dramatically, instead forcing a smile on my face. “Thank you.”

I went into the little Sports section in the far corner of the library, out of the watchful eye of Fran and just about everyone else. All of the shelves along the wall reached up the ceiling. Most people used the step stool when they needed something from the top shelf. Me? I just jumped. Then jumped again. Then jumped again. Finally, on the fourth jump, my fingers gripped the spine of the right book.

The designs inside the fencing book were pretty clear. The saber was just like the foil, only with a slightly different blade that more closely resembled a sword. I scanned the diagram again, wondering if I just didn’t understand it as well as I’d thought. The blade screws into the handle. The bell guard screws in, too. The bell guard protects the hand. All the components are made of steel.

Then I saw it:

The blade of the saber can snap easily, but is easy to replace.

“Crap,” I muttered. Not reading through the entire text had almost gotten me killed. I thumbed through the remainder of the diagrams. There had to be something more here, something that I could use to create a sturdier weapon of choice next time a Corrupted happened to appear.

There! On page 75. It was clear as day: a history of the saber. Curved sabers from ancient Persia. Generals’ sabers from the Napoleonic era. And it had diagrams, too. I could modify my design with ease: give the blade a slight curve and strengthen it by making it just a little thicker. The blade and hilt could also be molded out of a single piece of steel and then the bell guard could be attached. Leather could be wrapped around the hilt and a pommel could be screwed on.

Heck, even without my magic pen, I bet I could build one of these. If I had a forge and knew how to hammer steel, I suppose.

“Excuse me.”

I looked up and it took all of my willpower not to scream. Fran was standing between the rows of books, hands on hips, frowning her terrible frown. As if on cue, a heavy cloud passed under the sun and the light coming in from the windows between the bookshelves suddenly dimmed. Spookier and spookier!

“You’ve been back here for fifteen minutes,” she said. “Why on earth would you be allowed fifteen whole minutes of break time when you’re only here for half a day?”

“I didn’t realize so much time had passed …”

“Well it has,” she snapped. For a moment, the clicking of keyboards stopped and the entire library was silent.

Can you say “embarrassing”?

“I think you should go back and get started on checking in everything that’s come back today,” she continued. Her voice was loud. Everyone else in the library could obviously hear her. Didn’t she understand how mean she was being? I mean, jeez! I was eighteen years old, for cryin’ out loud. My image was important. And I didn’t like being portrayed as some slacker, either.

“OK,” I said.

“And don’t leave your purse on the floor. I nearly tripped on it.”

She was following me now. I had to fight the urge to start running. Where or where was Mary, the “good librarian”? Why couldn’t she be here whenever the library was open? Maybe she could just put a little bed in the office behind the checkout desk and live here and then Fran could retire or return to whatever hole she crawled out of. Mary could be the live-in librarian. Yeah! She didn’t have to leave. Wait, did she have a husband? Well, no matter—he could live here, too. He could put a TV in the little office if he needed it.

“And don’t forget to check the book drop at the shopping mart,” she added. I was almost at the desk now and she was still hot on my heels. Maybe a quick rear kick to the upper leg and I could reach the door before … no, no … no using Briar’s karate moves on librarians, Alice.

“With pleasure,” I murmured.

“What was that?”

I turned to her, mustering up all my courage. Come on, girl! You’re a hero! “I said I will more than happily check the book drop at the shopping mart.”

She put her hands on her hips, glaring at me. My body was tense, like it was waiting for Fran to lunge at me, claws sharpened and ready to kill. There was a young woman and son standing at the checkout desk with a stack of books, waiting patiently. The son seemed blissfully unaware of the awkward scene unfolding beside him. The mother? Well, she was looking at me with a mixture of pity and terror.

“Just don’t take too long,” Fran finally said. Before my big mouth could get me in bigger trouble, I spun and made my way for the exit.

Outside, a few light drops of rain had begun falling. Little wet dots appeared on the sidewalk as I walked down Mooreland Road to the big grocery store three blocks away. The library book drop was a big red metal box right next to a Redbox DVD rental machine. Twice in the last two weeks, someone had dropped their DVD into the library book return box. My response was the same both times: “Jeez!”

Today, there were only a dozen books in the box, but a couple of them were heavy hardcovers, so I stacked all of them and carried them into the store, where I politely asked for a paper bag. The lanky red-haired boy bagging groceries in lane 3 went to my school and gave me a wry smile as I set down the books next to a customer’s gallon of milk.

“Shouldn’t you bring a bag with you when you come collect everything?” he asked.

“Yes, you’re right,” I said. “Thank you so much for pointing that out.”

He nodded, obviously pleased with himself. But he handed over a paper bag, which was a good idea on his part because I was seriously on the verge of giving him a solid kick to the rump. Lots of thoughts about kicking people—that was what working with Fran did to you, I guess.

Outside, it was raining even harder. I stood under the overhang next to the book return box, watching shoppers run to and from their cars in the parking lot. Heavy raindrops seemed to explode when they pelted the ground. There was no way I was running in this. Actually, running in the pouring rain and carrying a heavy bag sounded like a terribly fun challenge, as weird as that sounds. I think Briar’s little “fitness” games were getting to me. Whether we were playing “tag” in the woods and dodging obstacles or sparring in the pitch-blackness of night (stars and moon not withstanding), I found that I had an intense desire to push my body to its limits.

It was probably the only reason I’d been able to think on my feet so well when the frog creature attacked. I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the pelting rain and imagining the new and improved saber that I’d read about in the fencing book. Next time, it wouldn’t break. Next time a giant monster frog knocked me over, I was going to flip him like a sack of bricks.

“Just what are you doing?”

I turned around, ready to throw the entire bag of books right at Fran’s terrifying little head. But it wasn’t Fran at all; it was just an elderly woman with white hair, berating her hunched-over husband for grabbing a little basket instead of a shopping cart.

“We’re buying cat litter,” the woman said. “You know you can’t carry that around the store, you old goat.”

The man mumbled a response, following her through the sliding doors and into the store.

Gawd, I thought, this librarian had me on edge. I could only imagine what might happen if I showed up with a soggy bag full of rain-drenched books. She would probably explode.

When the rain finally lightened up twenty minutes later, I hoofed it back to the library, deftly managing the heavy bag of books, nearly slipping twice on slick patches of smooth blacktop road, and arrived back at the library no worse for wear.

Fran was sitting in the office with the door closed. The shades of the little office window were open. That was strange … she never left the checkout desk except to yell at me or order me around. I walked carefully toward it, setting the bag of books next to the barcode scanner, and risked a glance at the window again. She was sitting in the chair, her head resting on one hand while the other held the old black library phone to her ear.

When she hung up, I quickly stepped away from the office, grabbing the paper bag and pulling out the books one by one. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell … Economics 101 … Ramona the Pest by Beverly Clearly …

“What are those?” she asked, closing the office door behind her with a slam that probably made everyone in the library jump out of their socks.

“The books from the drop box,” I said.

“Oh. Right. Why did it take so long? Where were you?”

I turned to her. Her eyes looked red, as if she’d been crying. Who had she been on the phone with? “It started raining before I could get back,” I explained. “So I smoked a few cigarettes and played dice games with some hoodlums.”

Her eyes widened. “You what?”

I smiled weakly. “It was a joke. I waited until the rain let up.”

She grabbed one of the books from the bag, examining it closely. Searching for a droplet of rain, no doubt. But guess what, Ms. Grumpazoid? I folded the top of the paper bag shut to keep the books safe. Ha!

“Well, check them in and put them away.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I watched her walk back into the office, then scanned the books and re-shelved everything.

The rest of the afternoon, I stood behind the desk and checked out books for people. It wasn’t my job. Heck, I don’t think I was supposed to do it at all! But Fran stayed in the office with the door closed, making phone calls with the same distressed look on her face.

I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder once in a while. I mean, sure, she was a grouch. She could have been nicer. Her perfume stunk, too. But whatever was happening was bad, and I found myself feeling guilty for letting her attitude get to me at all. She still wasn’t as grumpy as any of my bosses from the previous summer when I was cooking French fries for eight hours a day.

When the door finally opened again, it was time to close up. Fran was clutching a wet tissue in one hand and exhaled deeply as she glanced around the empty library.

“Is everyone out?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Let’s go then. I have to work tomorrow morning too, you know.”

“I know, ma’am. Do you want me to vacuum?” I asked.

She sighed, staring at the fiction section. “No. I just want to go home.”

We walked silently toward the entrance. “Oh, my purse!” I said, slapping my forehead.

“Just go get it quickly,” she murmured, staring longingly at glass doors.

Now I knew something was seriously wrong. She’d just passed on a chance to chastise me!

I hurried back to the librarians’ office. Now, I’ll have you know that I’m not a super nosy person. In fact, I had no interest in learning about what was bothering Fran so much, especially since it was draining her of all the negative energy she usually directed at me.

But when I opened the door and saw the letter sitting on the desk next to the phone plain as day, the words written in bold caught my eye.

Foreclosure notice.

From the front of the library, Fran shut off all the lights. The room went dark. But not before I saw the fancy bank logo at the top of the letter. A cold shiver ran down my spine.

Grayle Incorporated.

Chapter 5

I returned home fully expecting Briar to still be in my bedroom. I wasn’t disappointed. He was still sitting right where I left him: at the desk, in front of the computer.

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” we both said at the same time. We gave each other a quizzical expression.

“You go first,” I said.

“Well come over here then,” he said, waving a paw at me. “Take a look at this.”

I shut the bedroom door and walked over, tossing my purse on the bed; the covers were tucked-in and neatly spread without a single wrinkle. “I take it my mother was in here to make my bed.”

The rabbit snorted. “I made your bed, if you must know. But yes, your mother did stop in to do a little snooping.”

“Oh I just knew she was doing that!” I said, stomping my foot. “What did she go through? She didn’t find my diary, did she?”

“Hmmmm …” Briar tapped his paw against his head a few times. “A few carrots would help jog my memory …”

“That’s so clichéd,” I muttered. “Why don’t you ask for something that every single cartoon rabbit hasn’t eaten?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take a handful of those delicious vanilla cookies your mother hides behind the cans of corn in the kitchen cabinet.”

“She doesn’t—wait, does she hide cookies?”

The rabbit shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to go find out, now won’t you?”

I gave him a suspicious look, then left the room.

Downstairs, Mom was sitting in the living room with an old hardcover book sitting on her lap.

“How was work?” I asked.

“Boring. How was the library?” she asked, not looking up.

“Same old, same old. Put a book away in the Fiction section, then put a book away in the History section, then put a book away in the Illicit Drugs section.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she said, still not looking up. It must have been a good book.

In the kitchen, I put together a snack of pretzels and apple slices and cheese with a glass of orange juice. I was starving. I felt like I’d upped my calorie intake by a good thousand or so a day and yet I didn’t seem to be gaining any weight whatsoever. I had no idea how many calories Briar’s bizarre training regimen was burning on a daily basis, but it was doing wonders for my eating habits. It had only taken a week for me to significantly curb my cookie eating habit.

A habit that seemed to have been picked up by another member of the family. I glanced once over my shoulder to make sure Mom was still in the kitchen, then opened up the cabinet full of canned goods. I slipped a finger between two cans of vegetables and, touching something, wiggled the package out from its hiding place.

Vanilla cookies.

“Hey Mom!” I called out. “Do we have any cookies left?”

“Not unless you bought some with your own money,” she called back. “I don’t buy that garbage for my daughter.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take a few of yours,” I mumbled, adding a handful of the little cream-colored slices to my plate of goodies.

I went back upstairs, dutifully setting the plate down on the desk. “Your cookies, dear sir.”

Briar’s paw darted out and snatched one of the cookies, popping it into his mouth faster than I could blink. “And … I … thank you,” he said between bites.

I sat on the bed, pulling the fountain pen from my pocket and setting it on my nightstand. I grabbed an apple slice and nibbled on it, staring down at my pants. “Look at this,” I complained. “The pen is leaving an outline on the fabric of my pants. They’re ruined!”

“That’s nice,” Briar said, grabbing another cookie.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I thought you had something to tell me.” I leaned closer to the desk. “Hey! What is that?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh that better not be what I think it is,” I said, reaching over and smacking his paw away from my wireless mouse. I re-opened the browser window. “You’re using Facebook? Are you kidding me?!”

“It’s purely for networking,” Briar said defensively.

“Look at your profile picture!” I exclaimed, pointing on the screen to the little picture of a smiling, beefy-looking brown-haired stud. “You probably just stole that picture from somewhere!”

“Well I couldn’t very well put my own picture up there,” Briar countered. “Your laptop camera doesn’t do my natural good looks justice.”

“You were taking pictures of yourself?” I asked, slack-jawed. “For the past three weeks now, you’ve been preaching to me how important it is for us to not draw attention to ourselves!”

The rabbit sighed. “I must admit, you have me there. I think perhaps I was spending a little too much time on this today.”

“I’ll say … although I’m impressed you befriended two hundred people. You officially have more friends than me.”

“And yet, I feel hollow.”

“That’s because it’s not real,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. I went back to my bed, grabbing an apple slice on the way. “It’s just a social network. It’s a way to keep in touch with people, but it’s addictive, too.”

Briar said nothing.

I glanced over at him. “You OK?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” He stood up from the desk and smooth out his vest, using his paw to pick away a stray seed of lint. “It was just nice to befriend them all. I was lying before … I don’t have very many friends.”

“Well,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re my friend, I guess.”

His ears perked up. “Is that so?”

I shrugged. “Sure. I mean, sure, I sometimes blame you for this whole hero business, but that’s not fair. You didn’t pick me. And you didn’t volunteer, either.”

“No. No. I suppose we are two peas in a pod.” He sighed. “What I was going to tell you was that I found an old website for the company that used to own the Grayle Incorporated building downtown.”

“And?”

“And I do believe I have the building’s floor plans quite memorized. The Grayle fellow resides on the top floor, but the plans for that floor are intentionally blacked out.”

“Well.” I reached over and grabbed a few slices of robusto cheese. “That’s great, because you’re going to do a little spy work this weekend.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Say what now?”

“I said you’re going to spy for us.”

“On who, specifically?”

“Sam Grayle, of course. Have some cheese. You can’t live on cookies.”

“I most assuredly can,” he said, but grabbed a slice of cheese anyway. “I’m hardly normal. Hence the erroneous profile picture on Facebook. And don’t you think I should be joining you this weekend in Chicago?”

“I do,” I said, “but if I’m going to be a hero—a real hero—I’m going to need to be able to handle things on my own if we ever get separated for any reason. I can’t take your help for granted.”

“Well,” Briar said, grabbing another slice of cheese. “That’s very adult of you, I must say. Still, frightening given that your most recent dream involved a legion of rats feasting on one of your fellow human beings.”

I watched him wash down his snack with my glass of OJ, gripping it with both paws. “Help yourself,” I muttered.

When he was finished, he set the glass down and wiped his mouth with one furry arm. “That was fantastic cheese. Now what were we talking about again?”

“You. Spying.”

“What am I looking for, exactly?”

“Evidence,” I said. “Hints. Foreshadowing, in the words of my old Modern Literature teacher. I don’t know. We need to find out who sent that frog creature. We need to know what they know about me.”

“Right. Can do.”

A thought came to me. “Hey, do me a favor. Look up what a foreclosure notice is.”

Briar carefully pecked at the keyboard. A new webpage popped up. “It says here a foreclosure notice is sent to the owner of a house if he or she fails to keep up with the monthly payments. If the house owner cannot make payments, the bank usually ends up seizing the property.”

“Bummer.”

“Hmmmm.” Briar leaned in closer to the screen. “It says here that sometimes a bank will foreclose on a property instead of offering the home owner another chance.”

“Double bummer.” Was that what was happening to Fran? Was she on the verge of losing her house? What would happen to her? Would she move in with Mary? Did librarians have some kind of bond, a sisterhood (or brotherhood) where they looked after each other? Or would Fran just end up on the street, homeless?

I didn’t want that. I mean, sure, karma should punish her a little for being mean. But really, a wayward spitball to the cheek was good enough.

“Just see what you can find inside the Grayle building,” I said. “On anything. Take careful notes. We need to know everything we can about these dwarfs.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Briar murmured, clicking away on the mouse.

I sighed. “What game are you hooked on now?”

“I have no idea,” Briar said, “but the explosions are fantastic.”

That night, the dream intensified. I was following one of the rats, only this time we weren’t in a sewer at all. We were in an alley somewhere in Chicago. The alley was full of big green dumpsters and there were only three little floodlights hanging between the tall buildings, casting most of the alley in dark, forbidding shadows.

The rat scurried from dumpster to dumpster, sniffing at a little chunk of a sandwich that was laying on the ground. But the rat didn’t seem to want it, and so it kept moving father down the alley, disappearing from time to time in the darkness. I swear to you, I could smell that alley. It smelled like a urinal and an overflowing garbage filled with rotten milk. A good smell for rats, I suppose.

At the end, we turned and traipsed our way up the sidewalk, hugging the buildings closely. The street was mostly empty except for a few cars passing. It looked like a nice neighborhood: every other business we passed was either a café or some kind of store with big windows. I couldn’t see everything. I was following behind the rat, and as a result I could only get a worm’s-eye-view of the scene.

If I could just see a street name …

Suddenly, the rat stopped, pressing its body against the nearest concrete building for a moment. There was a sound of footsteps. A pat-pattering of heels on the sidewalk, growing louder and louder. Before whoever it was passed us, the rat began moving again with more urgency, turning right at the next intersection (what was the name of the street? Patterson? Pattel? I couldn’t see it well enough to be sure) and heading directly toward a smattering of patio tables farther down the block.

It was a café. A café with black outdoor furniture and a handful of young and middle-aged people sitting outside with glasses of beer, enjoying the nice evening. I could feel the warm air. A breeze picked up and then I could smell all of the late-night food sitting on the tables: pepperoni pizza, spicy buffalo wings, and hush puppies.

The rat hid underneath an empty chair at the edge of the outdoor seating area. There were a lot of conversations, and I tried to pick them out one by one to see if I could figure out where we were. But no one was talking about the neighborhood or the café. Lots of gossip, though. Someone complaining about his mother. Another person bragging about her new high score in her Castle Cats phone game.

The sound of footsteps returned. “Turn around, rat!” I commanded, but the rat either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. It stayed where it was, and the tap-tap-tap of the heels on concrete grew louder.

Finally, the rat turned, and I could see two beautiful clear slippers move by. The feet inside those slippers were pale and smooth, and the slippers looked as if they were made of glass.

The rat followed the slippers, ducking from empty chair to empty chair. We were getting closer to the other end of the outdoor seating area, where a single middle-aged man was sitting alone at a table. He had an e-reader in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, and was wearing a dressy button-down collar shirt and dark tie. He had a strong, square jaw and short, combed hair. He looked handsome, I thought. Handsome enough for someone on the verge of being labeled “old.”

The rat stopped underneath the adjacent empty table. It made a little squeaking noise and the man looked up from his e-reader. I could see Cindy’s slippers—she’d stopped right in front of his table and when he noticed her, he looked up and his face immediately lit up.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.

The man smiled. “No. But maybe I should be.”

“May I sit with you?”

“I would love it,” the man said.

The chair next to him slid back, its metal legs squeaking on the concrete patio. Cindy sat down, smoothing out her long dress as she did so. Now I could see her face clearly under the soft light coming from the streetlights: she was beautiful, but aged; her hair had just a hint of gray, the lines on her face hidden away with makeup that had begun to cake. But I still recognized her.

This was the woman from my previous dream, the one who’d watched the rats eat her boyfriend like an entrée. And something told me this new guy friend of hers didn’t have too much time.

Chapter 6

Mom woke me from my terrible nightmare promptly at nine o’clock. I started awake, staring at her with wide eyes. “Where am I? Where are the rats?!”

“You’re in your bed,” Mom said with a warm smile. “Still with the nightmares? Are you thinking about Edward again?”

“Edward?” I looked around, blinking away the morning sun. “Um, yes. Yup. It’s been tough.”

She rubbed my back. “My little baby needs to see some fishies today, I think. Would that help? Maybe see a few dolphins, too?”

“Mo-om!”

She stood up from the bed. “Get dressed, dear. Your father wants to leave by ten. You know how he gets about time.”

“I know, I know.” I waited for her to shut the door, then glanced around. “Briar? Are you there?”

There was a single knock at the door. I stared at it, unsure. Another knock.

“Come in?”

The door opened a crack. Briar slid inside, shutting it behind him. “Your mother almost bumped right into me.”

“Why were you out in the hall?”

He cocked his head inquisitively. “Because you told me to knock before entering.”

“Oh. Well … thank you. You’re all right, rabbit.”

“Same to you. Now!” He clapped his paws together. “What is the plan, dear hero?”

“I’m going to spend the next hour and a half in the car with my insane parents. You’re going to infiltrate Grayle Incorporated and figure out how much they know about me.” I thought back to the document I’d seen on Fran’s desk. “See if you can find out anything about those foreclosures, too.”

The rabbit gave a swift salute. “I shall do my best, madam!”

And just like that, we were split up for the first time.

I won’t bore you with the details of the car ride. Suffice it to say, I had my headphones on most of the time. My eyes were buried in the old copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales, taking in some stories about characters who’d been eliminated by previous heroes, the names carefully crossed out with the magic pen. It was an amazing sight: I would never have to do battle with the big bad wolf. But Red Riding Hood was another matter entirely … she was still around …

I couldn’t find any reference to rats. There were a few critters here and there, and even a talking sausage, but I was beginning to think I was missing something. OK. So there was a woman … and the rats lived under her … and they were using her to find them food? … or did she have some weird deal worked out with them ? … or did she like to nibble on the corpses, too?

Since my mother was driving, Dad took the opportunity to regularly turn around in the front passenger seat to stay up-to-date on my reading. This was followed by “What story are you on now?” which was followed by my annoyed response, which was followed by “Why are you writing in your book? That’s not a library book, is it?”

Which, of course, was followed by a melodramatic sigh on my part.

By the time we arrived at the aquarium in Chicago, it was time for lunch. Before we could actually go in, we had to find a Chicago-style hot dog in order to satisfy Dad’s bizarre craving.

“There’s gotta be a hot dog cart around here somewhere,” he said after we parked. Now, I’m not sure how your parents are, but mine get dead-set on something and follow through no matter what. Dad wanted a Chicago-style hot dog, and so Dad was going to get one come hell or high water. Even if I tripped on a curb and broke my leg, the Chicago-style hot dog was going to come first.

He took us away from the aquarium, toward the city. A strong, cool wind was blowing off Lake Michigan and I’d been stupid enough to leave the house without a jacket despite Mom’s constant nagging.

Maybe I could draw a coat, I thought as we made our way south along a city block lined with tall glass-filled skyscrapers. But I had no idea how even a simple spring jacket was put together—that was the trick with the magic pen. That was why my saber had broken during my fight with the Frog Prince: I needed the knowledge to make the magic work right.

“Dad,” I said as we passed onto the next street. There was a Starbucks on the corner, and beyond that a little restaurant with big glass windows. Not quite like the café in my dreams. “We’re getting farther and farther away from the aquarium. You know, that place that we were going to go to this afternoon?”

“Alice is right, dear,” said Mom. Her arm was locked in his and she tugged on it a little bit. She seemed to know it was a losing battle, though. “Maybe they have hot dogs at the aquarium.”

“This is Chicago,” he said. “There has to be a hot dog cart around here somewhere.”

I crossed my arms. “Says you.”

“Excuse me,” came a soft voice directly behind me. It caught me so off-guard that my legs pushed my body sideways. I pressed up against the big glass window of the restaurant.

There, standing right behind where I’d stood, were a young man and a young woman. Like, right behind where I’d been just a moment ago. They both had dark auburn hair, the man’s cut short and the woman’s pulled back behind her ears, with cute little bangs hanging over her forehead. They had pale skin and green eyes. The woman had dark, full lips that were cracked into a little smile. Both of them wore dark pants and white button-down collar shirts. The woman’s shirt was ruffled around the collar, but otherwise they could have nearly been twins.

Everyone was looking at me, eyebrows raised.

“Dear,” Mom said. “I don’t think the nice people eating there want to see your butt smushed up against the glass.”

I peeled myself away from the window, turning around in embarrassment. Yup, there was definitely a middle-aged couple sitting at the table next to the window, staring at me in shock.

The young man cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but hear you discuss hot dogs,” he said to my dad.

Dad grabbed his stomach. “I’d kill for a dog right now. Especially one slathered in ketchup. No beans, though. Some hot dog fans love beans, but I love my family too much to put them through that, especially since we have a long car ride home tomorrow.”

“Dad!” I cried out. Oh. My. Gawd. Was he really saying this stuff?

The young man smiled warmly. “There’s a hot dog stand not one block away. West, dear sir.”

“Ah-ha!” Dad said, tugging on my mom’s arm as he headed for the end of the block. “I knew it! I just knew it. This is Chicago, after all.”

“Thank you,” my mom called over her shoulder. “Come on, Alice. Your father is on a mission.”

“The sooner I get a hot dog, the sooner we can get to the aquarium,” Dad added before disappearing behind the concrete business building on the corner.

I took a step away from the building, keeping my eyes on the two mysterious strangers. Something told me to keep my distance. Heck, even if I wasn’t the hero, I would still have kept my distance. They looked like they were headed to an opera, dressed up so snazzy.

“That’s amazing that you’re going to the aquarium!” said the young woman. She smiled and I felt my entire body grow cold. There was something wrong with that smile. It didn’t fit her, somehow. “My brother and I were thinking about going there this afternoon, too.”

“The pride of Chicago,” said the brother with a smile.

“Hot dogs are a close second,” I murmured, examining the skin of their smooth cheeks. It wasn’t glowing. So that meant they weren’t Corrupted, right? Right. Just a couple of weirdoes. I turned away, keeping my head cocked just a little bit to see if they would follow. They didn’t.

In fact, when I glanced back again, they were gone entirely.

Chapter 7: Br’er Rabbit

The next morning, Br’er Rabbit went down to where the two roads met. A horse was sleeping next to a fence, its tail slapping lazily at flies. “I hope you’re ready to have some fun!” Br’er Rabbit told the horse, chuckling just a bit.[viii]

Howdy-doo! It’s about time Alice gave me a chance to take over the story. Boy, she’s a crazy one, isn’t she? Acting all jumpy all the time … and that mouth! She’s about as sarcastic as a mule in a cattle field, I tell you. And to be entirely honest, the whole reason she’s writing all of this down is so future generations can learn about it. Honestly, how many people are gonna want to read about what clothes she picked out in the morning?!

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Briar, just how in the heck can you even write in the first place? You’ve got paws!

Well friend, it ain’t easy. In fact, I dare say it’s one of the toughest things to master. But that’s neither here nor there, I think. After all, do you really want me to tell you the long, rambling tale of how I learned to write, or do you want me to tell you about what happened when I snuck into Grayle Incorporated and nearly got myself killed a dozen different times?

I thought so.

So there I was, sitting in front of an old desk, staring at the pencil. The year was 1947 and—oh, right … you’d rather hear about my spy mission.

Well, to start off, I think I should point out that as a giant talking rabbit, I have no means of transportation. Things were a lot easier back in the days before cars. Boy do I hate admitting how old I am! Nothing worse than listening to someone start off a sentence with “Back in my day …” That’s what grandpas do. And Br’er Rabbit is no grandpa.

Anywho! Back in the days before cars, I could just make myself invisible and hitch a ride on the rear of a carriage. Carriages are slow-moving and usually had a steel support bar you could stand on. But hitching a ride on a car? Hoo-boy, you can forget that!

Well what about a bus, you might ask. I admit, I do sometimes sneak on a bus. But you have to remember that just because I’m invisible doesn’t mean someone can’t bump into me. Happened one time just recently. There I was, trying to get from one side of Miami to the other after a nice long vacation by the beach with a couple tortoise friends, and I’d missed two buses already because no one else was waiting at the bus stop. So finally one stops because a sweet old lady is waiting on the corner with me. And it’s blistering hot, by the way. I’m dabbing my handkerchief on my furry forehead every ten seconds, I swear to you.

And so this old lady gets on the bus and before I can sneak on behind her, the door closes! Right on my cute little button nose.

So I wait some more. And wouldn’t you know it, another sweet old lady shuffles her way to the corner where I’m standing. Florida’s full of sweet old ladies, by the way. So the next bus comes by twenty minutes later, and darned if this time I didn’t go ahead and sneak my way on first. But guess what? Someone was getting off. We bumped into each other. Hard. The guy went tumbling back. I went tumbling back, falling right out of the bus.

By the time I gathered my bearings, the bus was already a block away.

So! There you have it. The dire circumstances of being an invisible rabbit in the modern world.

As it was, I traveled to downtown Milwaukee the old-fashioned way: I ran! Yup, old Br’er Rabbit is something of a star in his own right, thanks to a few carefully placed sentences in my creator’s story. Remember that magic page I told Alice about? The one my creator used to write the story about little old me and bring me to life? Well, two of the things he mentioned in that story were that I could disappear at will and I could run really, really fast. Fast enough to outrun all my animal friends.

In other words: pretty darned fast!

It wasn’t hard to find Grayle Incorporated’s building downtown. It was the tallest skyscraper in the city, just a few blocks away from Lake Michigan. A sight to behold, that’s for sure. Forty stories tall. Big, shiny windows like dragon scales. A bright white exterior and a pointy top like a dunce cap.

There were only two ways in: through the front door or through the underground parking structure. The parking structure required a pass code to get in and, seeing as how it was Saturday, no one was coming or going.

The front door was an option, of course. I could always sneak into a building while invisible by opening the door quickly and hurrying in; people just assumed the wind had blown the door open. Or it was ghosts. Lots of people believed in ghosts.

But here’s the problem: the Corrupted … they can see me. Always. I can’t make myself invisible to them. I don’t know why that is—believe me, I’d love to know!—but for some reason they can see me plain as day. So if this Sam Grayle was inside the building, then I needed to be real careful. The last thing I wanted to do was barge my way through the front doors and come face-to-face with one of the seven dwarfs.

The gears in my brain turned and turned. How to get in … how to get in … and then it hit me: I’ll just sneak in through the sewer!

Well. That turned out to be just about the worst idea ever. The sewer system underneath the street was cramped and dark and smelly as all heck. And to make things worse, I’d had to sneak in through an old manhole in the adjacent alley so I wouldn’t be seen … and a rat popped out from behind a big green dumpster and started yelling at me! Rats are so rude, I swear.

Anywho. There I was in the sewer, making my way toward the underground parking structure. Sure enough, it had an emergency entrance to the sewers and wouldn’t you know it, the door was locked. But I’m Br’er Rabbit, don’t you know! If I can weasel my way out of a tar trap set by Br’er Fox, you’d better believe an old locked door won’t stop me. I reached into my pocket for my lucky toothpick—this is what we literary characters call a deus ex machina … look it up on Wikipedia!—and picked the lock easy as pie.

Almost as easy as pie. I admit I used a couple curse words when it didn’t unlock right away.

The door opened into the very bottom level of the parking structure. There were no cars parked down here and half the little lights attached to the concrete pillars between the parking spaces were out. It looked as if this section was hardly ever used. Spider webs in the corners, dust on the ground, and as spooky as it gets.

I kept to the shadows like a good little spy, making my way up the ramp where all of the pillars were marked with a big green 2. There were cars parked on this level, and none of the lights were out. There was scaffolding, too—it looked like they were starting some much-needed renovation work. I moved from car to car, keeping a careful eye out for anyone of small stature.

I admit, I was a little scared. Especially when I made my way to the next level, where everything was marked with a big green 1. Here, just about every parking space was filled. Even though it was Saturday, there were a lot of people working. And how many of them were Corrupted? Sure, the Frog Prince couldn’t drive around in broad daylight, but there were plenty of others who could. Plenty who looked normal. I’d have to stay out of sight as much as possible just to be safe.

Which meant taking the staircase. Yup, forty floors of stair climbing for old Briar. Now, I may not age, necessarily, but I can tell you by floor twenty my knees were aching something fierce. A lot of cursing not fit for this story, that’s for sure.

At the top floor, I took a big risk opening the staircase door a crack and slipping through, but luckily there wasn’t anyone walking around the long hallway. And boy oh boy, was it a nice hallway! Beautiful mahogany wood trim along the walls. Paintings hanging between each of the three double office doors. Big, lush green plants sitting in heavy red clay pots near the elevator.

An air vent on the far end of the room was my ticket in. With the help of my lucky dime I unscrewed the screws and snuck inside—positively brilliant idea, no? Now, I admit the air vent was a bit snug, and a little cold, but it was the best option I had. And thanks to the light coming in through the vents ahead, I could see well enough ahead of me to know I was directly above the three offices.

Br’er Rabbit: master spy!

There were voices up ahead. I could hear them through one of the vents up ahead. I passed the first vent and glanced inside. The office below was huge! We’re talking big-as-a-mansion huge. It had dark green wallpaper and a big desk and behind that was a window overlooking Lake Michigan and the entire coastline. There was nothing on the desk. The dark gray carpeting looked freshly vacuumed. The paintings on the wall all looked old. If I had to guess, I’d say they were originals from the Cubist movement of the early 1900s. I’m no art historian by any means, but I know my Cubists when I see them.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” came a voice farther down. I shuffled through the tight tunnel, doing my best to not let the buttons of my handsome vest scrape against the metal. I suppose a master spy would have removed the buttons before entering the vent so as not to make noise … but this vest looked just so darned nice on me.

“He hasn’t come back,” came another voice. Both of the voices were gruff and manly.

I inched my way to the next vent, peering into the second room. It was much like the first, only with tall wooden bookshelves along either wall. The desk was cluttered with documents, along with a big white mug of coffee. Standing in front of the desk were three immaculately dressed dwarfs. Sam Grayle stood in the middle, running one hand along his glossy suit coat.

“Just calm down a moment, Flick,” said Sam. I have to say, I was quite impressed with his style of dress: a nice glossy gray suit coat and pants and a spiffy red tie. The others were dressed not so well. Oh, sure, they had suit coats too … but their suit coats were both tired and worn-looking. More than a little wrinkled, too.

“It would have been nice if someone would have told me,” said the man with the navy blue wrinkled suit coat. Flick. Why was that name familiar? Corrupted had a tendency to pick rather … interesting names, I’d noticed. They oftentimes picked a name that had some meaning to their original stories.

But Flick? That was a doozy of a brain teaser.

Now, I should tell you that my research skills are paramount. And now that I’ve mastered the Google device I’m even better than before. As it was, I knew a lot of about Sam Grayle but not his brothers. The dwarfs in the Grimms’ fairy tale don’t exactly have too much to say, but Sam Grayle—formerly Carl Grayle, and before that his name was Joseph Guttenheim—has been a man with a plan. In 1859 he purchased a small mining company in western Germany. In 1905 he resurfaced in America, digging for oil out west with a company called Virginia Standard. In 1935 he was known as Carl Grayle and conducted banking operations in New York City.

And so on and so forth.

“We all forget things from time to time,” said Sam. He shrugged. “And this is hardly the biggest problem we’re dealing with as of right now.”

“I just think Gilbert needs to keep us in the loop,” Flick growled through barred teeth. He had a long brownish beard with strings of gray. The brother currently on the receiving end of Flick’s ire—Gilbert, apparently—had a longish beard, too, only it was patchier and darker and unkempt.

“He’s always so reliable!” Gilbert protested. “We tell him to lurk in the sewers and spy, he lurks in the sewers and spy. We tell him to sneak into a rival’s house and kill them, he sneaks into a rival’s house and kills them.”

“The hero is different!” shouted Flick. “She probably ate him for lunch!”

Gilbert coughed. Correction: he quite nearly hacked up a lung. My stomach churned at the sound. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s wet, phlegmy coughs.

When Gilbert was finished, he quietly mumbled, “I doubt the hero eats frog.”

“Frog legs, maybe,” said Sam with a thoughtful smile. He massaged his close-cut beard. “It’s a shame. He probably found out who she is.”

“Then he should have come back and told us,” Flick snapped. He flapped his arms about wildly, like a fish out of water. “I swear, sometimes I wonder exactly why we keep you around at all, Gilbert. Are you really sick again? You’re a walking bag of diseases and you have no good ideas!”

“Sam!” Gilbert said weakly, coughing again. He pulled a hankie from the pocket of his black suit coat and spit into it. My stomach lurched at the sight. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s mucus. I had no idea the Corrupted even got sick!

“Well,” Sam said, “you occasionally make a good business decision.”

“Once every thirty or so years,” Flick muttered, crossing his arms. “Hardly anything to write home about.”

“So what’s your plan, then?” Gilbert asked him. “Tell us what the master hero-killer Flick would do.”

“My plan is already in the works,” Flick said.

Sam raised his bushy eyebrows. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Edward had a girlfriend,” Flick explained. My heart thumped in my chest. “It’s a start. I have two of our best operatives keeping an eye on her right now.”

“Who?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Lina and Fundevogel.”

“What?!” Gilbert exclaimed, wiping feverishly at the snot coming out of his bulbous nose. “They’re supposed to be our protectors!”

“I know that!” Flick yelled. My, but he had a quick temper. His face reddened, too. Cherry-red. Almost so bright it looked like it was glowing. “That’s why I sent them! They’re not going to screw around like that idiot Frog Prince!”

“The siblings,” I whispered. Panic set in. I had to warn Alice now before it was too late. The siblings! I tried backing up, but felt the fur on my arm pull back. Oh for the love of all that was wonderful in life, I was stuck! My fur was stuck right where two pieces of the metal vent were screwed together!

“Calm yourself, brother,” said Sam. He held up his hands. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. But in the future, it would be nice if you extended the same courtesy you expect of dear Gilbert: keep us informed. Rash decisions are costly when dealing with business acquisitions and heroes.”

Flick grumbled something under his breath.

“Mr. Grayle,” came a voice through the phone on the desk. “Mr. Robertson is here to say hello.”

Sam reached over the desk and pushed one of the buttons on his phone. “Send him up, Pam. Thank you so much.”

“Who’s that?” Gilbert asked.

“Just another local businessman looking to suck up to us.” Sam reached out and straightened Flick’s suit coat.

“Oh stop that,” Flick said, slapping away his brother’s hands. I chuckled a little bit, watching them act so foolish. “I’m not a child, damn it!”

I tugged again on my arm. The fur tugged back. Oh, how could it have gotten so stuck? I must have been pushing my weight on the vent—it was supposed to transport air, not rabbits after all. I pressed down on the sheet of metal, trying to dislodge my fur. No dice!

“Don’t act like a child and I won’t treat you like one,” Sam said. He turned and pointed to Gilbert. “And you, get behind my desk. Don’t shake Mr. Robertson’s hand. Don’t go anywhere near him. The last thing he needs are all the diseases lurking under your skin.”

I’d seen enough. With my free hand, I reached into my pocket. Surely I had one more trick up my sleeve—a scissors, perhaps? But I had nothing. Nothing to get me out of this one!

The office door opened. Mr. Robertson walked in. He was a tall man with a balding head and a respectable pinstriped black suit. He was smiling and extending his hand before he’d even made it halfway across the room. He ignored Flick entirely—which only made the dwarf’s face turn a brighter red—as he approached Sam.

“Welcome to Milwaukee, Mr. Grayle!” he exclaimed. “Boy, I tell ya: it is great to have you here. How do you like your new digs?”

“Hm? Oh, the building.” Sam shook the man’s hand, then promptly let go. “Well, it’s quite nice. Could use a little redecorating.”

Mr. Robertson nodded, wrinkling his nose. “Got a smell to it, too. Or is that you?” He laughed and gave Sam a slap on the shoulder that nearly sent the dwarf to the floor. “I’m just kidding with ya!”

“No, that’s quite funny,” Sam said, straightening his coat. “Now that you mention it, I do smell that, too.”

“Probably some dead animal in the central air ducts,” Flick grumbled.

I tugged again at my fur. It was hopeless. I would have to do the unthinkable to get out of this mess. The sooner the better. I just needed to do it. One quick pull, just like ripping away a bandage. Oh, who was I kidding? I was too chicken to do it!

Mr. Robertson turned to Flick. “Ah, the other successful Mr. Grayle! How is the … what do you call it? The app business?”

“Phone games,” Flick corrected him.

“Do they sell well?”

Flick snorted. “Depends on what you mean by well. Our Castle Cats game sells forty thousand a day. Is that well, Mr. Robertson?”

He nodded, whistling. “Boy oh boy, you guys are rolling along. You’re a bunch of little firebrands. I mean big firebrands. Sorry! Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” Sam asked. Behind Mr. Robertson, Flick very gingerly walked over to the bookcase. He opened the cabinet near the base.

“No, no,” Mr. Robertson said. “Just a slip of the tongue. We’re so glad you guys are here. The business community in this town sticks together. We’ve got to. Everyone’s always picking on us. Especially us bankers.”

“We’re a dastardly bunch,” Sam said.

Mr. Robertson laughed. Behind him, Flick reached into the cabinet … and pulled out a rusty pickaxe!

“Oh dear me,” I whispered, pulling again at my fur. I had to get out of here. I had to warn Alice. And I couldn’t bear to see what was about to happen. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s blood.

“Oh, we’re not so bad,” Mr. Robertson said. “We just do what needs to be done. And if that means kicking a few bums out of their homes, well, so be it.”

Flick crept closer. He raised the pickaxe over his head. I nearly cried out a warning, but at the last moment, Sam gave a quick shake of his head. Flick, obliging, lowered the pickaxe and returned it to the cabinet.

“You disagree?” Mr. Robertson asked.

“No, no,” Sam said. “Far from it. Greed drives our society, Mr. Robertson. People who don’t understand that will be crushed by the heel of our shoes and society will be better off without them.”

Now! I wrenched my arm free, biting my tongue to stifle the cry of pain. I was free! I slowly backed away from the vent, staring longingly at the patch of fur that remained. Oh, sweet fur. I already miss you. I just wouldn’t look the same until it grew back.

But there was no time to dally! I returned to the hall, not bothering to put the vent grate back into place. I opened the door to the staircase and hopped down each flight, ignoring the steps. Steps would only slow me down! I needed to hurry now. Every second counted.

Inside the parking structure, I looked around wildly for a solution. The old gears were grinding, I tell you! Think, Briar, think … you’ve been in tighter spots than this and come out just fine. Hoofing back into the sewer was the absolute last resort. I needed something quicker.

Then I saw her: a sweet middle-aged woman stepping out of the elevators on the other end of the dark structure, her high heels tapping on the concrete. She was all alone. In the dim light, I could see her face was lit up: she was using her phone, holding it in her hands in the way teenagers sometimes do when they text.

Well! The only question now was whether I should stay invisible or not. What would potentially be worse: a floating phone or a giant rabbit coming out of nowhere, grabbing it?

I chose the latter. I know, I know, a floating phone probably would have been good for a laugh, but this was serious business. There’s a time and place for pranks, gosh darn it.

I snuck up behind her just as she was opening her car door.

“Oh, you are so annoying,” she said to the phone.

I jumped out of nowhere and snatched it from her little hands. She turned in surprise and screamed.

“Sorry!” I said, spinning and running away while simultaneously trying to exit from the game she’d been playing. Castle Cats! What were the odds? Worse, what were the odds that the little “X” to close the game would be the size of a pinhead? Of course it was a touch screen. Of course it wasn’t rabbit-friendly.

“Come on!” I said, slapping the phone with my clumsy paw. Finally, the game closed, but not before Grayle Gaming thanked me for playing.

Behind me, the woman was still screaming. I felt awful for doing it, but I needed to get a message to Alice. I used the tip of my paw to type in her number, then started putting in the first word tapping on the little keyboard with the tip of a nail.

Whump!

“Oof!” I said, falling forward. My paw hit “Send” and a little envelope animation danced around on the screen, then disappeared.

Whump!

“Madam!” I said, shielding myself from the woman’s purse. She hit me again. And again. And again! “Madam, please!”

“That’s a two hundred dollar phone!” she shouted, swinging her bag wildly at me. I swear she had a brick in there.

“I just needed to make a call!” I said, trying to deflect the blows with my paws. Lordy, I’ve ducked arrows and bullets and cannonballs in my time, but this woman was a new beast entirely.

She whapped me again. “Your mask isn’t even scary! Security is probably on its way right now, too!”

“Here! Here, take it back!” I tossed the phone up toward the ceiling. The woman stopped hitting me and held out her hands, staring up at the phone as it began its descent.

By the time she caught it, I was long gone.

And the message was sent.

Chapter 8: Alice

Lina said to Fundevogel, "Never leave me, and I will never leave thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever." Then said Lina, "Do thou become a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it." When the three servants came to the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but the children were nowhere.[ix]

I lasted two sections of the aquarium with my parents before calling it a day. And quite frankly, I think that’s pretty good for an 18-year-old. We saw some colorful fish from the tropics, we moved into the section full of underwater critters from the Great Lakes, and at that point I couldn’t quite stand to listen to my parents exclaim “Well, now there’s something you don’t see every day!” for a thousandth time. Plus, they were doing this thing they do where they told each other jokes that only they found funny. They just kept doing it again and again with every new fish they saw. After a while, I kind of wanted to kill them.

The Shedd Aquarium is a big place. I figured it could keep my parents occupied for at least two more hours while I went over to Cindy’s neighborhood and did a little sniffing around. I already had a plan: “Oh, hey, I’ll just meet you guys back at the hotel. I want to do some shopping.” Pretty generic, I know. But it would work. I just had to figure out a good moment to lay it on them.

Just as soon as I stopped by the sea otter exhibit.

“I’m going to the oceanarium,” I said. “Hey Ma, wanna go see the whales?”

“Absolutely not,” she murmured. She was staring into a medium-sized tank holding Granddad, an ancient spotted Australian Lungfish thought to be nearly 100 years old. He wasn’t doing much, just sitting near the bottom of the tank staring off into space. Like most human granddads do, I suppose.

“Dad, how about you?” I asked. “They’ve got turtles …”

“No thanks,” he said. “We had enough turtles while you were growing up. I’ve had my fill. In fact, if I ever have to bury another dead turtle again, I might just lose my mind.”

The aquarium was divided into sections that split off from the main area, which consisted of a massive saltwater tank. I made my way around the massive tank where a dozen or so sharks and other funny-looking fish were swimming around lazily. Kids had their faces pressed against the thick glass, their little fingers pointing out all the colorful underwater plants. I stopped to admire the scene. I remembered coming here as a kid with my parents. I remembered them being much less annoying back then.

But that was the magic of being a teenager, I guess. “Gawd,” I muttered as I made my way through the doors on the other side of the tank leading to the oceanarium amphitheatre. I was being too hard on them. It wasn’t their fault they were annoying—they were just being themselves. I was getting sick of their craziness but I had no right to. Look at it this way: I’d asked them to take me to Chicago and they’d said yes without batting an eyelash. That was the sign of great parents.

“OK, so I’ll buy them both a Chicago-style hot dog,” I said. The amphitheatre was a wide-open hall with a few zoo-style exhibits near the front doors. The concrete path wound around a bend and opened up in front of a massive pool of bright blue water where the dolphins did their show. Beyond the pool was a row of big windows overlooking Lake Michigan. On the other side of the pool were the benches where families sat and cheered on the dolphins. The benches were arranged stadium-style so everyone could see. I could remember all of this even though I couldn’t see it when I walked in through the doors. My memories of this aquarium were strong. I was glad to have them, too.

I stopped where the path began bending toward the dolphin pool. To my right was the best exhibit in the world: the sea otters. There were six of them taking turns in their little tank of water, and the glass of the exhibit went all the way to the ground so you could see them underwater as well as above when they emerged to sit on the rocks. They jumped into the water, scratched their bellies, and generally gave me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

“Oh, now aren’t these cute!” came my mother’s voice.

I turned to see Mom and Dad walking toward me.

“I thought you guys were going to check out the Amazon exhibit,” I said.

Dad shrugged. “Been there, done that. It’s really not all that interesting.”

“You know why they do this?” Mom asked, pointing to the cute little stuffed animal currently swimming and scratching his belly. “It’s to get little air bubbles in their fur to keep them warm.”

“That’s … actually pretty interesting,” I said.

Mom nodded toward the bend in the path. “Let’s go see if the dolphins are around.”

“Actually, I was thinking of doing a little shopping this afternoon …”

“Just one loop around the oceanarium and we’ll go,” Dad said.

I sighed. “The sign on the door said the next show was in two hours. There’s not going to be anything over there. They don’t just leave the dolphins in the pool, for crying out loud.”

“Says you,” Mom said.

“Oh, don’t start getting all trendy with your catchphrases,” I muttered, annoyed. “Says you” was totally something I would say to my friends. Who did she think she was?

We passed the next tank, which was larger than the sea otter exhibit and home to two beautiful white beluga whales who looked like they were smiling. I glanced at them, and for once, my parents didn’t have any snide comments to make.

Which was kinda weird, actually.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my little hand purse and glanced at the screen: a text message from an unknown number.

“What is it?” Dad asked behind me, sounding concerned. There was a scream that echoed down the path. I glanced up from my phone. Ahead, two young parents dragged their screaming toddler around the bend in the path.

“We have to pass the whales to leave!” the father shouted.

“No! They’re scary!” said the kid, bawling. “I wanna see the dolphins again!”

“The dolphins are gone,” the father said with a grimace.

I stepped aside to give them a wide berth, then opened the curious text message. It had one word:

Shapeshifters

My heart went cold. I put my phone in my purse and glanced at my parents. They were staring at the screaming kid with a mixture of annoyance and outright hostility: Dad’s eyes were narrowed and his lips pursed. Mom was no better: she was downright glaring at the little tyke.

That wasn’t like my parents. My parents always thought screaming toddlers were cute. Screaming toddlers reminded them of a young version of me.

“I wasn’t like that, right?” I asked them.

Dad turned away from the toddler. He looked like my dad, even right down to the stray eyebrow hair that was growing wildly out of control. “No, of course not. You were Daddy’s little angel. Now let’s go take a look at the dolphins.”

I turned my head, watching the beluga whales glide back and forth through the water. “It’s neat how they move so easily, isn’t it, Mom?” I asked.

“Hmmm?” She glanced at the whales. “Oh, yes. Lovely creatures.”

My mom didn’t like whales. In fact, she downright hated them. I don’t know what it was about her and me and hating certain animals, but we were alike in that way. She hated whales and I hated lions. She loved sharks and I loved tigers. It must have been genetic.

“What about the sea turtles?” I asked, walking backwards to the next display. I didn’t want to turn my back on them. I could feel sweat gathering in my armpits. My entire body felt tense. They looked like my parents. The warning had to be from Briar … but maybe he meant someone else.

Dad walked arm-in-arm with Mom to the next exhibit, divided from the beluga tank by a handful of big brown rocks held together with concrete. The sea turtles’ tank had lots of little stuff floating in the water. The turtles were swimming lazily near the glass, staring out at us with their creepy little eyes. Their awkward little flippers pushed them through the water despite the massive dark green shells. They knew how to use those flippers, that was for sure.

“I suppose turtles are nice,” Dad said. “I’m much more excited about the dolphins, though.”

“Do you think we could get one for a pet?” I asked with a smile. “I mean, like, a regular turtle. Not a sea turtle.”

“Sure, sure,” Dad said with a grin. “But only if you pay for the cage.”

My heart thumped in my chest. That was all I needed to know.

“Yeah. OK. So … the dolphins.” I forced my body to turn even though every instinct was telling me to run. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and found the fountain pen. The warm feeling it gave off soothed me just a bit. Maybe there will be some people already getting seats for the next dolphin show, I thought.

Yeah. The dolphin show that didn’t start for two hours. And maybe there’d be a pot of gold waiting for me, too.

Shapeshifters … shapeshifters …

Of course! The two kids from the fairy tale about the old woman who wants to make them into stew. Lina and Fundevogel tricked their would-be captors by turning into different objects. Now they were the would-be captors … and I would have to trick them.

But how?

As we reached the bend (and a little penguin exhibit), it seemed as if the entire massive oceanarium had gone silent. Like, the entire place. No splashing coming from the sea otter exhibit. No blowhole clearing by the beluga whales. Just silence. Beyond the penguin exhibit, the path sloped downward and split up, leading to the fifty or so concrete benches arranged stadium-style in front of the big pool.

There were no dolphins. There was no one. Just an empty theatre.

I stopped. My parents’ shoes kept crunching on the concrete path as they closed the distance between us. I pulled my hands out of my pocket, listening. Patience, Alice. Take a deep breath.

The crunching grew louder. They were taking slow, deliberate steps.

Now!

I spun, raising my fist high and connecting it with my dad’s chin. Crack! My knuckles stung, and as he staggered back I had a terrible thought: what if I’d just made a huge mistake?!

But then he turned back to me and I saw it: right where I’d hit him, his skin was glowing. “That was unwise,” he said.

“Quite,” said my mom, eyes narrowed.

They looked around once, and then their forms began to change just like in a movie. Their hair changed. Their faces readjusted into something sleeker and younger. I recognized them. They were the two young people we had met downtown!

“I should have known,” I said with a wry smile. “Corrupted always dress awful.”

That seemed to take them aback. Good! If they were here to kill me, the least I could do is levy a few snide comments their way.

“I’ll have you know we’re quite fashionable,” said the young man, tossing back his short hair. Fundevogel, that was his name.

“Yeah, for a nineteenth-century carriage driver,” I muttered. I pulled the fountain pen from my pocket, popping off the cap with my thumb. It landed on the ground, rolling toward the edge of the massive pool. “Before I kill you,” I said to Fundevogel, “please be so kind as to remind me where I dropped my pen cap. I don’t want to lose it.”

He smiled, glancing at his sister. They both laughed. “Do you think you can kill us with that?” Lina asked in a raspy voice. She held out one hand. Slowly, her fingers began to elongate. The tips sharpened into a point. “We can turn ourselves into anything. Anything.”

“We followed you all day,” said Fundevogel. “We were sidewalks. We were garbage cans. We were tour guides. We were disgusting little children picking their noses.”

“We were fossils glued to the wall,” Lina continued. She snorted. “A lot of good that did us, though. We were sure you would stop at the dinosaur exhibit. It’s a wonderful exhibit.”

“Been there, done that.” I looked around. The place was still empty. “I’ll shout for help.”

“Go ahead,” Lina said. “Do you think we didn’t plan ahead?” She glanced at her brother, smiling. “The director of the aquarium just so happened to stop by a few moments ago and reserved this place for the next hour. Something about a snap inspection, if I do recall.”

“Oh yes,” Fundevogel said, nodding vigorously. “I heard it myself. All of the staff of the oceanarium heard it. He was quite explicit, Heh, heh, heh.”

I stepped back cautiously, moving my way to the other end of the pool. They followed me slowly, grinning from ear to ear. Literally. Their mouths had lengthened and when their lips parted, my parents’ nice straight teeth had been replaced with sharp fangs. This had bad news written all over it.

“Did you hurt my parents?” I asked, keeping the pen in front of me like a little knife.

Fundevogel laughed. “I sort of got the feeling you were getting a little annoyed by them. Wouldn’t killing them be doing you a favor?”

Anger flushed my face red. “You’d better not have touched a hair on their bodies.”

Lina stepped forward quickly, laughing when I flinched. “I knew you were the hero. Fundevogel didn’t believe it. He said there was no way the hero wouldn’t have seen through our disguises. The hero is always smarter than that, he said. But I could just smell it on you. It’s a rotten stink.”

She was right about one thing: I hadn’t seen a glow at all. My confidence waned a bit. We were almost at the other side of the massive pool and there was nowhere to go. I had to stand and fight, even if my legs felt like jelly and my head felt dizzy. This was for real. There was no hero coming to rescue me. I was the hero.

I knelt down, keeping my eye on them as I set my little hand purse next to the pool. Lina stepped forward, waving one long sharp finger inches from my face. “No, no, no. No drawing. That just wouldn’t be fair.”

“Your rules suck,” I muttered, standing up. “Someone’s got to be watching all this. There’s cameras, I bet. Or something.”

Lina smiled and shook her head in a sad sort of way. “Dear, dear. Do you know how long we’ve been doing this?”

“Granted, we usually snip the life from our targets well before they’re even aware of our presence,” added Fendevogal, admiring his long, sharp claws. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not good at fighting. We could fight like this, or we could turn into big, bad bears if you prefer.”

I had an idea. It was an awful idea, but it was better than standing there and trying to fight off those long, pointy claws with my little old fountain pen. I slipped off my shoes. “I hope you jerks can swim!” I shouted.

And with that, I jumped right into the pool.

When I surfaced, the siblings were standing at the edge, staring at me with complete surprise.

“That’s right!” I shouted, hoping against hope that someone might hear. “Ten years of swim classes! Try and match these skills!”

“Gladly,” Fendevogel said. They both jumped in, splashing salty water my way. Neither of them surfaced. I kicked myself backward, trying to see what was happening under the water. They were changing, that much I could see. But into what?

“Oh.” I gulped, kicking backward again. The dorsal fins popped out of the water, cutting through it like a hot knife through butter and leaving little bubbles in their wake. As they swam nearer, I could see them more clearly right under the surface.

Sharks. Great white sharks.

They began slowly circling me, testing their prey.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Great idea, Alice.”

But then a strange thing happened: their tail fins thrashed left and right, splashing water across the surface. They swam strangely, not like how all the sharks on nature channels swam. Their tail fins continued to flap around madly, causing them to bump into each other as they passed. My guess had been right: they knew how to turn into sharks, but they didn’t know how to swim like sharks!

They swam closer. I reached out and stabbed at the nearest one, but its skin was too thick—I couldn’t pierce it! It opened its mouth to snap at me but I dove underwater, jamming it in the eye with my thumb as it passed. “Jam it in the eye,” my dad always said. That was his solution for every single wild animal encounter. His one piece of advice for surviving any attack. And you know what? He was right! The shark retreated, thrashing its tail around and bumping right into its sibling and giving me a chance to surface again for air.

The reprieve was short-lived. The moment they saw me taking a breath, one of them broke away and swam toward me, mouth opening. My heart raced. I took a breath, clutching my fountain pen as tightly as I could, and dove under the water, using both arms to push myself deeper. I saw the shark try to dive lower to catch me, but its pectoral fins wiggled too fast and its tail splashed along the surface. I reached out with my pen as it passed and stabbed as hard as I could, cutting the creature’s belly. A black maw opened and the bright orange burn quickly consumed it, leaving nothing but a few ashes floating in the water.

“Ha!” I shouted. Air bubbles floated to the surface, where the other shark was swimming around in a frenzy. Don’t get too excited yet, Alice … you’re almost out of breath.

The second one had started getting the hang of the whole “swimming with a tail” thing, and dove deeper to make its way toward me. It was getting the hang of its fins too, using them to maneuver so that its giant mouth was aimed right at me. My lungs ached for air, pulling me upward, but I used my arms to keep me deep. I needed to see it coming. If I surfaced, one splash of salty water would blind me. Come on, muscles! Don’t fail me now!

Closer it swam. I felt like it was coming at me in slow motion. A few bubbles of air slipped out of my mouth. Adrenaline raced through my body as if it was sure I couldn’t pull this off. Oh yes I can, I thought. Wait for it … wait until you can see every single row of serrated teeth.

Now! I reached out with my left hand, pressing it firmly against the shark’s nose. It pushed us through the water, its mouth opening even wider in anticipation. The force was incredible! It pushed me through the water with ease. My other hand reached out just inches from its mouth. I let go of the fountain pen and watched it float right down the creature’s gullet.

The mouth closed. It stopped pushing forward and I kicked away from it, surfacing for a quick breath. When I went back under, I could see it thrashing in the water, its tail moving left and right and then quivering as if it was being electrocuted. Underneath its skin, a soft golden glow began to shine through. It thrashed more wildly, snapping its jaws and causing the salty water to begin foaming. A small black hole appeared near its stomach, then grew, expanding quickly and consuming it.

And then: poof! The cloud of black ash particles quickly dissipated in the water, leaving only the fountain pen as proof the shark ever existed.

I swam to it and grabbed it before it could descend to the bottom of the pool, then swam to the edge and pulled myself out. My lungs ached. My eyes were sore from the salty water. My mouth tasted awful and dry. I lay there for a minute, breathing heavily, wondering what might have happened if the Corrupted siblings had actually known how to swim as sharks.

I’d probably be shark food.

But guess what? They didn’t. You can’t just turn into a shark and expect to know how to use that massive tail fin. Just like you can’t just draw a sword with the magic pen and expect it to work like a sword. Knowledge, as Briar would say, is power.

I hoped he was all right. I hoped my parents were, too.

Finally, I got up, grabbed my purse and the pen cap, stuffing the pen back in my pocket. I turned to the amphitheatre’s empty rows of benches, only they weren’t empty. Not completely. There was one little boy sitting near the top staring at me in slack-jawed awe.

“That,” he said, “was the awesomest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life.”

Chapter 9

“I still don’t understand how you fell in,” Mom said. We were outside of the aquarium, rightfully escorted out following my emergence from the oceanarium. The little assassin siblings had indeed done their job well: there was a sign at the doors clearly stating that an inspection was in progress, and all of the employees at the aquarium swore they’d seen the director order the inspection himself.

So why had I gone in?

“I didn’t see the sign,” I told my mom. Thank god it had warmed up outside or I would have been terribly uncomfortable. My wet feet squished around inside my shoes as we walked through the aquarium parking lot.

“But you fell in!” Mom exclaimed.

Dad chuckled. “Boy, I bet you felt like a klutz.”

“I sure did.”

“Yes but how did you fall in?”

I shrugged, trying to think of a plausible excuse. I guess one downside of being a secret hero was coming up with explanations for weird events. “I thought I saw something in the water.”

“What if it had been a shark?” Mom asked, hysterical. “It would have eaten you! Oh my god, I feel like I’m having a panic attack.”

“OK so why don’t you and Dad go back to the hotel?”

“What?” Mom asked, stopping at our little car. She squinted in the sunlight. “Where are you going?”

“Shopping,” I said simply.

“In your wet clothes?” she called out after me.

I turned around, walking backward toward the city. “I’ll dry off on the walk!”

I gave a wave as their car passed me on the street. I headed into downtown, slipping between some of the tallest buildings in the country. I dried off quickly—well, everything except my hair, which probably looked a little wild given I didn’t have a hair band and the salt water had made it rough and heavy.

I had, at the very least, been allowed to stop by the bathroom before we were kicked out. So my face wasn’t a total wreck. It was just free of makeup, something that used to bother me but not anymore. Now all I was thinking about was the mysterious Corrupted. She had a bunch of giant rat friends that killed helpless guys … but why?

My line of thought changed the moment I passed a couple cute boys on Broadway. They were leaving the Gap just as I was walking by and suddenly we were pretty much walking right next to each other for the rest of the block. They were tall, my age, dressed in the nice sort of way you would expect from someone shopping at a place like the Gap on a Saturday afternoon.

We waited at the red light together, stepping aside for afternoon shoppers crossing the other street. The boys were talking about a baseball game. I had the urge to interrupt them and ask how I could get over to Wrigleyville, which was right where I needed to get to anyway. But when the “Walk” signal appeared, they sped up and hurried across the street. Not giving me a second look.

OK, I thought, turning around and heading back to the Gap. Just because I was a hero doing reconnaissance didn’t mean I had to look like hell. Inside, I grabbed a cute dark blue maxi dress with short cap sleeves and a scooped neckline, transferring my pen to my purse before I went into the changing room.

I hung up the dress on the door hook and looked in the mirror. Here I was, the hero. Wrinkled t-shirt. Tight jeans still soggy near the ankles. And then there was the dress: smooth, ankle-length, no place to keep the pen. What if someone else was after me? How would I fight in this?

I tried it on. Hmmmm. OK, so it would be impossible fight while wearing it. But on the other hand, I looked fantastic in it. And shouldn’t I still be allowed to look nice once in awhile?

“I’ll buy it but not wear it,” I decided. I left the dressing room and grabbed an indigo v-neck t-shirt with a beautiful white bird on it and a pair of canvas shorts with pockets deep enough to hide the fountain pen. It would have to do for now … but I was definitely wearing that dress at some point in the near future.

Happy with my look now, I walked another block north, then turned left and walked another block to the bus stop that, according to the handy bus map, would take me north toward Wrigleyville. The bus arrived and I had to stand near the front because it was so crowded. Mostly there were college-age people standing with me, but farther in the back I could see much older people sitting. They looked like people who had just finished a Saturday-morning work shift and were ready to go home and veg out.

If you’ve never worked a Saturday morning shift, you wouldn’t recognize the look. It’s the kind of look you sometimes see on people’s faces in the grocery store in the early evening. They’re the people who got home from a long day of work, looked in the fridge and realized there was nothing to eat.

I got off at the stop right next to Wrigley Field, the baseball stadium surrounded by lots of two- and three-story buildings full of bars and restaurants with big windows that slid open on warm weather days. I passed a comic shop, a clothing shop, and a liquor store, crossing underneath the rusty-looking elevated rail line and making my way another block before I decided to consult my little hand-drawn map in my purse.

Briar’s hand-drawn map, actually. Although how the rabbit could use a pencil so well was beyond my understanding. Still, it was a fairly easy-to-read map; it took me another block north to where a small apartment building sat tucked away from the main street. An empty property full of unkempt grass and waist-high weeds sat on the block as well.

I stopped at the empty property, staring at the apartment across the way. It looked more run-down than the other buildings in the neighborhood, a lot of which were new condo units with sparkling new steel patios and cream-colored concrete and big looming windows. But this apartment building was old, with red bricks that had begun to fall away and old windows that looked drafty.

I walked around the block as casually as I could, taking the apartment in more closely as I passed. One door on the side. One door on the front. Definitely a foyer of some kind where guests could be buzzed in. Recently mowed lawn. A little flower pot on the concrete patio. Chipped white paint around the windows.

By the time I got back to the other side of the block, I was seriously wondering what else I could do to prepare. What exactly did Briar do when he was conducting “research,” anyway? What more was there to this plan besides bashing the door down and taking out the rats?

I sat down on a little metal bench at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to take me back toward the hotel. My hands found my hair and fumbled with it, trying to magically straighten it out and comb away all of the salt. I would kill for a brush right now, I thought.

Across the street, the northbound bus stopped. I watched it for a moment, then got distracted by the looming L’oreal billboards on the building down the street. When the bus pulled back into traffic again, a single woman was standing at the stop. She was wearing a red bandana over her faded golden hair and a big pair of sunglasses with brown frames that sat heavily on her cheeks. She looked both ways, then leaned down and pulled up her hose underneath her polka-dot dress. She looked both ways again, then began walking across the street.

She was glowing.

It all made sense. Cindy … she was Cinderella! The famed poor daughter who’s discovered by the marvelous prince while her wicked step-sisters cut pieces of their feet off to fit in the mysterious glass slipper.

Slowly, I reached into my pocket for my pen. She was paying no attention to me, swinging a green bag in one hand. As she passed me, I snuck a look inside.

Cleaning products. Windex. Yellow rubber gloves. Cinderella was a maid.

For a moment, I felt sorry for her. Two hundred years and all she’d managed was a low-level cleaning job? Edward was rich! The dwarfs were rich! And Cinderella … was a maid.

I started following her on the sidewalk, clutching the pen in my pocket. All of the sounds of the city seemed to melt away as I moved closer and closer. This could end right now. There was no need to wait until later. No need to break down her door or get the drop on her in her hallway or go running through the sewers. All it would take is a quick prick of the fountain pen right now.

“Jamie!”

I stopped. The sounds of the city came flooding back. Cinderella turned at the end of the block, oblivious. From across the street, a young woman was waving her hand at someone standing outside of a little café on the other end of the block.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself, watching Cinderella walk through the front door of her apartment. “You almost just stabbed someone in broad daylight.”

I went back to the bus stop, trying to think up with a better plan. The bus took me all the way back downtown, amidst the skyscrapers and the sea of traffic. Back in the hotel, my parents were sitting up in their bed, watching television. More specifically, Dad was watching television and Mom was doing her nails.

“What did you get?” Mom asked. She eyed my outfit. “Oh, that’s definitely cute. Where did you buy it?”

“Gap,” I said proudly. “And on sale to boot.”

“It looks good,” she said. “A little scandalous, but good.”

“Any shirt that shows skin is scandalous in your opinion,” I pointed out.

“I’m old-fashioned,” Mom said, shrugging. “Less is more.”

I went into the bathroom and took off the bandage around my arm. It had been soaked through during the shark battle but the tape had kept it in place. The cuts were still there. They’d closed a little, but they were still red; the moment I saw them in the mirror, they started to itch fiercely. I resisted the urge, tossing the bandage in the little garbage next to the toilet.

“There’s pizza if you want it,” Dad said, nodding to the little table next to the window overlooking the city. I had to admit, we had a pretty nice view: the building right next to the hotel was a small old structure with a rusted roof, so you could see a pretty fair amount of the neighborhood. A new condo was going up across the street, and the sign up near the sidewalk announced you could have a wonderful two-bedroom unit for “only” 1.2 million dollars.

“Ew!” I said upon opening the pizza box. “Pepperoni? What’s the deal with that?”

“The deal is we didn’t know whether you’d eat something while you were out on your own or not,” Mom said, filing her pointer nail. The sight of it made me think about the nasty little assassin twins. How would I have stopped them without the pool nearby? They’d caught me off-guard and, crazy as it sounds, only Goodenough family trivia had been enough to prove they were doppelgangers.

Imagine that: knowing my mother’s distaste for whales had probably saved my life. It was a hard lesson to swallow.

“I’ll pick off the pepperonis,” I said.

They both gave me a curious look.

Chapter 10

And when it was evening Aschenputtel wanted to go home, and the prince was about to go with her, when she ran past him so quickly that he could not follow her. But he had laid a plan, and had caused all the steps to be spread with pitch, so that as she rushed down them the left shoe of the maiden remained sticking in it. The prince picked it up, and saw that it was of gold, and very small and slender.[x]

We drove down to Wrigleyville at eleven o’clock the next morning, one hour before the game. Dad wanted to explore Wrigley Field. Mom wanted to stop by the nearby falafel café for a quick falafel. I, meanwhile, wanted to take care of Cinderella once and for all.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t grab a falafel with Mom first. We sat inside the restaurant at the counter overlooking the street, watching the hundreds of baseball fans clad in Cubs caps and Cubs jerseys walk by.

“There’s a cute one,” Mom said. “There’s another one. Oh, look! Across the street! He looks a little nerdy, but sometimes the nerds are all right. Look at your father.”

“OK, got it,” I said, taking a sip of my soda. “Look for nerds for next boyfriend.”

My mom was eating the falafel with her fork, cutting away slices and making a general mess on her plate. “Are you thinking of dating again?”

“Oh, at some point. I just have a lot going on.” There was the library, the training, the killing of Corrupted monsters …

“I don’t think Edward was right for you,” Mom stated. She used her napkin to wipe sauce away from the corner of her lip. “He was too quiet and moody.”

“He wasn’t moody,” I said. “Just … mysterious.” Too mysterious.

“Mysterious guys are always mysterious for a reason,” Mom said. “And it’s never a good reason. Trust your mother on this.”

“OK.” I smiled wryly. “Any other pieces of wisdom you’d like to impart?”

She nodded and scooped another forkful of falafel into her mouth. I waited for her to finish chewing—a good habit of hers that I was trying to mimic. “Don’t look for Mr. Right. He doesn’t exist. You know why?”

“Because relationships take work,” I said, repeating her favorite catchphrase.

“They sure do. And sometimes an argument is a good way to get out some things, too. Look at me and your father. We argue every single day.”

“Yeah, but you guys do it melodramatically,” I said. “You’re not really, really fighting. You’re just doing it because you both enjoy it.”

“That’s true,” she said. “But imagine if I’d dumped him the first time he did or said something stupid.” She sighed. “Of course, there are limits. The last thing I want you to do is end up in an abusive relationship. Oh, it’s all so complicated.”

“Mom, I’m pretty sure I could hold my own,” I said, holding out one arm and flexing my bicep. “These guns only shoot bull’s-eyes.”

“That’s nothing.” She rolled up the sleeve of her marketing firm’s XL t-shirt and made a muscle. “Check out this gun.”

I grabbed her muscle and squished it down with my hand. “Deflated!”

“OK, OK,” she said. “So I have more work to do.” She grabbed my empty plate, tossing it on her tray. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the Cubs game with us? Your father’s guaranteed to yell at the players.”

“Positive,” I said. “I’ve got too much I want to do in the neighborhood.”

“Just be careful.”

We threw away our garbage and walked to the door. I held it open for her. “I’m eighteen now,” I said with a smile. “I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Mom muttered, giving me a hug. “Meet us right here outside the falafel place when the game is over.”

“How will I know when it’s over?” I asked.

“You’ll see a lot of disappointed Cubs fans walking around,” Mom said with a snicker.

I laughed, watching her head down the street toward the massive stadium sticking up over the small buildings on the next block. Across the street, people were flooding into a little sports bar to catch the start of the game. I walked north, taking an abandoned side street lined with thin two-story duplexes on one side and tall colorful condo buildings on the other. The sun was warm and felt hot on my back. I was still wearing the same outfit I’d purchased yesterday, hoping against hope that no man-eating rats would nibble on the fabric.

“I probably should have worn my wrinkled clothes,” I said to myself. But you know what? I still wanted to look nice.

And there was no turning back now. I walked until I reached the empty lot next to Cinderella’s apartment building. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Should I barge in through the front door? Could I pick the lock? If someone else saw me holding a sword, would they call the police? Worse—would they take a picture? Gawd, maybe I should have worn a mask!

“Pardon me.”

“Gaaaaaah!” I shouted, spinning and whipping my fist out in a half-circle. The shadowy figure ducked back, his fedora nearly falling off in the process. When I recognized him, I nearly puked. “Briar!”

“Indeed!” he said.

I hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re alive!”

“I feel the same way!”

“How did you get here?”

“I snuck onboard a train!”

“Why do you smell?”

“I was in a sewer!”

“Why are you wearing a hat and overcoat?!”

“I’m a spy!”

I examined him closer. His ears were pulled down underneath the hat. He was wearing a brown trench coat that reached his fuzzy little feet. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you visible to everyone right now?”

“No. Of course not. I would look foolish, wearing a trench coat on such a beautiful day.”

“But …” My mind reeled. “OK. Never mind. Let’s deal with all of that later. How do we do this?”

The rabbit tapped his foot, staring at the apartment building. “It certainly looks more formidable than the pictures online would suggest. Are you sure the Corrupted in question is living there?”

“No doubt. I did a little reconnaissance.”

His whiskers twitched. “Well I’ll be darned. OK, so what do you think we should do?”

“First,” I said, looking around, “I’m going to stop talking like this out in the open. Because someone is going to see me and think I’m insane.”

“What next?” Briar asked. He started walking toward the apartment building and I followed him.

“Well, then I would probably make my way to the back of the building, where it’ll be harder for anyone so see what I’m doing. Then I would probably try to break in through a window. I used to do it as a kid all the time when I forgot my house key and my parents were working all afternoon. It was the only way to get into our house.”

“Interesting, interesting.” At the front door, Briar nodded to me and I opened it.

“Rabbits first,” I said.

“Thank you, kind lady.”

I followed him into the little foyer. It smelled like pizza. There was a little brass intercom system on one wall and a row of steel mailboxes on the other. He reached out with his paw and buzzed unit 108.

“Holy crud!” I exclaimed. “Are you crazy? What if someone answers?”

“Yeah,” came a voice though the little speaker. My heart beat in my ears. I stepped back, ready to run as if we were playing a game of Ding Dong Ditch.

“It’s Mike in two-oh-six,” Briar said in a polite voice. “I forgot my keys. Can you buzz me in?”

There was a pause, then the door made a buzzing noise. I grabbed it and swung it open. “I can’t believe that worked!”

“I’m a trickster by nature,” Briar said, sounding a little insulted. “Talking my way into a locked place is almost as easy as talking my way out. Now, what was this woman’s name again?”

“Cindy,” I said.

He tapped his foot, thinking. “Well, we can be sure she’s not in one-oh-eight. I suggest we just start knocking and see what comes up.”

I looked left. “So … we just do it.”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping you’d have something a little more crafty.”

“Sometimes,” Briar said, “the best plan is no plan. Are you ready?”

“No.” I pulled the fountain pen from my pocket and walked over to the white stucco wall that divided 101 and 103. The hallway was dim and its carpeting was an old, dark green with little faded white floral patterns. At the end of the hall was the staircase and a single lamp fixture.

“This place certainly has a rustic feel,” Briar said, reading my mind.

I finished drawing the saber and grabbed the handle, pulling it from the wall and leaving a saber-shaped hole in the stucco. The sword felt good. It felt sturdier than the one I’d used while fighting the Frog Prince from oh-so-many days ago. Hopefully, it wouldn’t break.

“So should I just knock, or what?” I asked in a low voice.

Briar shrugged. “It’s as good an idea as any.”

“What if she screams?” I asked. “I have a sword and I’m trespassing.”

“Then you stab her really quick-like,” Briar answered. “And then we run like the dickens.”

He didn’t appear to be joking.

I stepped up to unit 101 and knocked gently. Please oh please make this easy, I thought. Briar stepped aside, hiding out of view of the peephole.

The door opened. My heart raced. When I saw the face staring back at me, I quickly hid the saber behind my back.

“Uh … hi,” I said to the man. The man from my dreams. Not the man of my dreams, mind you. This was the guy who’d been drinking a beer at the café. Cinderella’s next potential victim.

“Hi,” he said with a smile. He had a nice smile. He was nice-looking for an older guy, and stood about a head taller than me. He looked me in the eyes as he waited for me to explain myself.

“Um … is Cindy home?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, only instead of calling Cindy, he motioned me inside! “Please, come in.”

“After you,” I told him, a little too forcefully. He gave me a curious look but obliged, leading the way right into the living room. The living room from my dreams. To my right was the kitchen, empty. The sink was full of used dishes. The old yellow tiled countertop had boxes of granola bars and cereal strewn about. Cinderella wasn’t big on sanitation in her own home. Except, I noticed, whatever bloodstains might have been left on the carpeting. I guess all those cleaning products came in pretty handy.

Cinderella was sitting on the couch, staring at the closed closet door. She was wearing her red bandana … had she worked this morning? Did she get days off? Why was I feeling sorry for her?

“I knew you would come some day,” she said quietly.

“Um …” the guy nodded to the open door. “Should we close that? Don’t want to let any flies in, as the saying goes.”

I turned, in the process revealing the sword hidden behind my back. The man stepped back, holding up his hands.

“Woah,” he said. “Easy now.”

Briar slipped inside. I shut the door, then held the saber in front of me. “You need to leave,” I said to the man.

He glanced at Cindy. “Do you know this girl?”

Cindy shook her head. Still staring at the closet door. I was starting to get nervous about it. If those rats were somehow connected to Cindy, then who knew how much time I had before they showed up to spoil the party?

“Look,” he said. “I don’t know who you are. But whatever you need, I’m willing to help. Do you need money? I don’t have much on me, but I can get you some.”

“Um …” I glanced at Briar, who shrugged.

The man’s eyes followed mine. Not seeing anything, he reached for his back pocket. “Don’t throw away your life like this. Robbing someone is a serious crime. I’ll go to the ATM with you right now and give you money.”

Now Cinderella was paying attention. She took a deep breath, her eyelids fluttering. “That’s so romantic, Henry. If we had more time …”

“Give me your phone,” I said to him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and tossing it at me.

“Don’t catch it!” Briar said. I let the phone land on the carpeting. The clean-non-bloodstained carpeting. I wondered if she ever mentioned to her clients that she knew how to get blood out of anything … maybe that was a good selling point for a maid.

The man seemed surprised I didn’t reach out for the phone. I realized then that he’d hoped I would become distracted by the phone flying through the air. Typical guy, I thought, assuming I couldn’t catch it. Assuming he could rush me when I lost my concentration and fumbled with the phone.

OK, so that’s probably what would have happened.

“You have to leave,” I told Henry. “Now.”

The man smiled warmly. “Please, just let me give you some money. I want to help you.”

“Henry,” Cinderella said. “Do as she says.”

“No!” he said. “I won’t leave you.”

I shook my sword at him. “See this, buster? This is sharp and pointy. You really should be doing what I say.”

He stared at me. The curtains were drawn over the windows, but the overhead light was bright. Whatever little decorative fixture had been affixed to the ceiling was long gone, leaving only a bare bulb remaining. He could probably see the beads of sweat gathering at my forehead. “You’re not going to do anything.”

I exhaled a nervous breath.

“Lordy, he’s onto us!” Briar exclaimed.

Below my feet, I could feel something. A dull vibration.

“Henry,” Cinderella said. “You … you must …”

“Save him!” I shouted at her. I knew exactly what was coming. “Save him! Call them off!”

Cinderella turned, looking at me through bloodshot eyes. “They don’t listen to me. They’re simply drawn to me.”

“What?” the man named Henry asked. “I don’t understand. Who’s drawn to you?”

The closet door began to rattle. We all turned and looked at it.

“They protect me,” Cinderella whispered.

Briar stepped closer to me. “I have a bad feeling about this …”

“I can’t control them,” Cinderella said. The closet door began rattling more. We could hear them, right on the other side, squeaking and crying out.

Henry held out a hand to Cinderella. “Cindy, whatever this is …”

“Run!” I told Henry, waving my sword at the door. “Hurry! Get out!”

The big dummy still dallied, glancing again at Cinderella. “But …”

Suddenly the door burst open. Dozens and dozens of rats scurried out, toppling over one another in a mad race to Henry.

“Get out of here, you fool!” I shouted, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him toward the open doorway. I slammed the door shut and locked it, against all of my instincts. The rats had begun swarming across the floor like a living brown carpet, each one squeaking furiously. One of them bit my foot and I cried out, kicking it halfway across the room.

Cinderella just sat and stared.

Briar, for his part, had jumped on the little kitchen table.

“Briar!” I said, kicking the rats away. I swung my sword once, then nearly gagged when I saw the blood. “These rats are real! They’re not Corrupted!”

“Well, duh!” Briar said, kicking at the rats that had begun piling up next to the table.

I sidled away from the door; the rats followed me to the other side of the room, squeaking and snarling at me, piling over one another in a mad attempt to nip at my feet. I glanced toward Cinderella: now they were crawling all over her, and she was just sitting there, staring out like a zombie!

“Briar!” I said. “We have to get out of here!”

“Right-o!” He hopped off the table like a long-jumper, landing on the little tube television right beside me. He hopped again and dove right through the open closet doorway.

“Wait for me at least!” I called out, kicking aside the rats and swiping at them with my saber. I charged through the opening, into the darkness. My feet fell out from under me, and I landed on my butt, sliding through the opening, down the pile of garbage and into the sewer.

“A mound of garbage,” Briar said, helping me up. “They couldn’t just gather some dirt, could they?”

“They’re rats,” I said, pulling him down the long, narrow tunnel. I could hear them above us, gathering near the doorway. “I remember this sewer from my dreams. Come on!”

“But where are we going?” he asked, running with me down the narrow dimly lit tunnel. Our feet splashed in puddles of slimy sewer water. We turned right at the first intersection, walking blindly in the darkness until we reached the end of the tunnel where a single little maintenance light hung right next to a closed steel grate with thin bars.

“It’s a dead end,” Briar said. He turned at the sound of squeaks echoing down the tunnel. “We’re doomed! We’ll be rat food soon enough!”

“Jeez, have a little faith in me, you butthead.” I set down the saber—no use for it here—and stood on my tiptoes so I could draw directly above the steel grate. I used the fountain pen to draw a little hinge for the grate. Above it, I drew a tightened spring.

“What are you drawing?” Briar asked.

“A spring-loaded joint. Remember when we were talking about animal traps? Well, I have an idea.”

The squeaking grew louder. They were there, in the darkness, getting closer. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All of them hungry for our blood.

When I was finished with the design, I grabbed my saber and swung it at the lock holding the steel grate in place. Sparks flew and the lock’s thin clamp broke in half. I lifted the grate up as far as it would go, using all my strength to press it against the wall, where it was held in place by the little spring-loaded joint I’d drawn.

“Now get in,” I said.

“Where does it go?” Briar asked timidly.

“To a place where we won’t be eaten. Keep going,” I said, ducking down and using my pen to continue drawing on the ceiling of the little drainage tunnel. The rats were getting closer now, the collective sound of their whiny cries sending my heart racing. I drew a coil that ran from the entrance all the way to the very end, where the tunnel widened into a little opening with a ladder and another small maintenance light that cast a dim yellow light over us. The floor of the tunnel was dry, just like it had been in my dreams. I drew a large trip bar, the kind that a mouse might press down on when grabbing a piece of cheese from a mousetrap.

“Just like a giant spring-loaded trap,” I said, stepping over the bar. Briar was already climbing up the ladder above me. “You don’t even know where that goes!” I called up.

“Anything is better than down there!” he called down.

I grabbed the iron bar of the ladder and peered into the darkness. The rats were getting closer. I could see them, emerging from the darkness beyond the little tunnel like a flood of brown fur. The maintenance light caught their eyes, making each of the dozens of little orbs glow a sickening yellow.

“OK, brain,” I muttered, clutching the ladder tightly. “Here’s to hoping you got Hooke’s Law right.” Torsion. The mechanical energy is stored in the spring. The spring is connected to the trip bar. On the other end of the tunnel, when the spring releases its stored-up energy, it should slam the steel grate over the opening, trapping them all inside this little room with no way to escape.

The only question was just how many rats could fit in here.

“Alice!” Briar called down. “Do be careful now!”

“I’m coming,” I said, gritting my teeth. The rats had begun slipping into the narrow tunnel, scurrying closer to the trip bar. “I just want them to see the whites of my eyes. Come on!” I shouted. “I’m right here!”

More and more poured through. As the first few reached me, I climbed up the ladder out of their reach. They began piling one upon the other, nipping hungrily at my heels. I climbed a few rungs higher. More yet came, flooding the chamber further.

Suddenly: a snap! I heard the grate slam shut on the other end of the tunnel.

“Huzzah!” Briar cried.

“OK!” I called up. “Open the manhole slowly … we’re probably going to come out in the middle of the street.”

Above me, Briar pushed open the manhole cover at the top of the ladder. He held his ears back with one paw and carefully peered out. “It’s clear!” he said.

I followed him out of the manhole. We were a block away from the apartment building. The street was empty, lined with parked cars with lots of Chicago Cubs bumper stickers. From the manhole came the echo of rat cries.

“The game is probably almost over,” I said, helping him put the manhole cover back on. “We need to finish this quick.”

“I second that objective,” Briar said.

We jogged back to the apartment building. The man named Henry was nowhere in sight. Who knew if he was calling the police or simply running as far away as possible?

We walked into the foyer.

“How do we get in again?” Briar asked.

I reached out and pressed the “call” button for apartment 101.

“Oh, that will never work,” Briar said.

The door buzzed. I grabbed it and held it open. “Rabbits first.”

The door was unlocked. I walked in, not surprised to find Cinderella standing in front of the closet door.

“It’s been so long,” she said. “I almost feel like they’re a part of me. I never understood why they were drawn to me … but they cared so much about my happiness that I couldn’t leave them. They understood what I was searching for.”

I pulled out the fountain pen, uncapping it. Behind me, Briar shut the door. “What were you searching for?” I asked.

She smiled, turning to me. She’d aged, but her eyes were still a beautiful dark green. “I was always searching for my ending,” she answered. “My ending. I was supposed to live happily ever after.”

I stepped closer. Cinderella held out her palm.

“Princes … they could be so cruel. He offered me everything. And then we tried having children. We couldn’t.”

“No Corrupted can,” Briar murmured. “Unless it’s written in their story.”

“And so I was useless,” Cinderella said. She smiled, staring down at the tip of the fountain pen as I brought it to her palm. “That’s all princesses were back in those days: bargaining chips or baby carriers. But I thought my happy ending was out there somewhere. I thought my real prince was always the next one.”

I pricked her hand with the pen. She sighed, watching as the black hole burned its way up her arm. It spread across her body and just like that, she was gone.

“Come on,” I said to Briar, walking back toward the closet.

“Wait! We’re going back into the sewer?” Briar exclaimed. “Whatever for?”

I turned and smiled. “To rescue the rats, of course.”

Chapter 11

They didn’t bite. They didn’t eat us. In fact, when I pulled open the metal grate, the rats seemed downright terrified of me. Whatever power Cinderella had had over them was gone now. They were just ugly, smelly rats once again.

Speaking of smelly …

Well, needless to say, the ride home wasn’t pleasant for my parents. The windows were kept down and I had to promise never to step in another puddle again.

“I’m pretty sure she peed on her shoes,” Dad kept muttering. His hands clenched the steering wheel. “Someone peed on her shoes. Or she stepped in someone’s pee. It’s the only explanation for this stench.”

“Oh honey,” Mom said, pointing to the next exit. “Let’s make a pit stop. All this talk …”

Which of course was totally the type of thing Mom would do. But you know what? All in all, it wasn’t such a bad trip.

“They’re not bad parents,” Briar said the next morning. I had the day off from the library. It was a hot and sunny Monday and deep inside the forest behind my house, Briar and I were back to training.

“You’re right,” I said, chasing him between a cluster of bushes.

“Perhaps they could start a marketing campaign against the Grayle brothers,” he offered, bouncing off the side of a tree before I could tag him. “Something that will drive them out of business.”

“I wish it were that easy,” I said, gasping for air. “But I’d rather not drag my parents into this mess.”

“Then what should we do about Grayle brothers?” Briar asked, hopping between two pine trees with prickly low-hanging branches. Briar had told me all about his spy mission inside Grayle Incorporated. I wasn’t sure exactly how we were going to get to him or his brothers … yet.

“Maybe we could …” The thought flitted away. I glanced around, suddenly dizzy. I reached out and grabbed the trunk of the nearest tree, clutching it to keep from falling. My strength felt like it was being sapped from my muscles.

“Alice!” Briar exclaimed, pointing. “Your arm!”

I glanced down at my arm. The cuts. From the Frog Prince. They’d begun bleeding again and the area around each cut throbbed. My vision blurred.

Everything went black.

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen: Part Two

He might not have turned away his eyes from the consideration of this rarity for some time, if the voice had not once more made itself heard. It ordered him to turn round and look at the glass chest which was standing opposite. How his admiration increased when he saw therein a maiden of the greatest beauty! She lay as if asleep, and was wrapped in her long fair hair as in a precious mantle. Her eyes were closely shut, but the brightness of her complexion and a ribbon which her breathing moved to and fro, left no doubt that she was alive.[xi]

January 15, 1935

It has been a cold, cold winter. The government has been putting those without jobs to work, but still people suffer. Still the lines at the local soup kitchen are long. Richard says the people are to blame and could work if they truly wanted. He yells at me when the house is not clean when he returns from classes each day. But there is nothing to clean! Our house is small and immaculate. I’ve dusted. I’ve washed the hardwood floors. I’ve swept snow from the path leading to our front door.

Still he expects me to do more. Briar has suggested more than once that I mention the particularly terrifying man-eating cat I killed on my visit to my aunt and uncle’s house the previous month. Surely this would impress Richard. Briar’s humor has grown on me, and we enjoyed a good laugh over our impressions of Richard seeing a Corrupted.

He has forbidden me from volunteering at the soup kitchen. So I do it when he’s at class. Should he come home early one day, I will lie again and tell him that I was taking a walk. He will most likely respond in a fit of anger, ordering me to stay seated during the day so that I can retain my strength. He seems to think that a woman is more likely to get pregnant if she rests constantly.

Or perhaps he wants me to gain weight.

Briar suggested this morning that I try to tolerate him more. Easy enough coming from a man—or, at the very least, a male rabbit—but quite frankly I don’t want to tolerate Richard. I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he talks to me, and if I can find a job somewhere in the city that will allow me to survive on my own, then I have every intention of leaving him.

This was a horrible mistake. And in my nightmares, I see only tunnels …

January 18, 1935

The weather has grown colder. I’m wearing two socks on each foot and wool knickers underneath my dress. Sometimes, when I follow one of the dwarfs, I steal a pair of Richard’s comfortable pants and roll up the legs a bit so they don’t drag on the ground. I get a fair amount of looks as I walk down the street but I don’t care. If any of them knew just how difficult it was to fight monsters in a dress … well, I do say they might understand.

I’m following one dwarf in particular. He goes by the name of Vincent Stewart. According to Briar, he used to run an underground bootlegging business and a legitimate tailor shop on the south side of Chicago. He’s no doubt connected to the other dwarfs, but keeps his distance from them because of the … particulars of his operations.

Alcohol sale is no longer illegal, but it appears the dwarf is still using Chicago’s underground tunnels to transport something.

The question is: what?

January 25, 1935

Richard chastised me again this morning for volunteering at the soup kitchen.

“Let the poor wretches starve to death,” he told me. “Then a lot of our problems will be solved.”

“Will they?” I asked him. “I was once one of those wretches.”

He had no response. He rarely does when I challenge his idiotic comments. I sat down and cried at the kitchen table after he left. This house is feeling more and more like a prison each day. I am a princess—not the kind you find in fairy tales but the kind that existed in real life. The kind that were given away by their fathers to princes and kings who cared about nothing more than using their daughters to seal land deals.

But I am more. I’m the hero.

I steeled myself and returned to the soup kitchen, unwilling to take my dear husband’s advice. The people there inspire me. There are men and women, yes, but also children. The children have hope that things were getting better. They have hope that, despite the terribly cold weather, summer will come again. They have a twinkle in their eyes and as they eat hungrily from their bowls of vegetable soup, I can feel my dedication returning to me.

Kill the Corrupted. Kill them all and bring summer back.

February 5, 1935

It took Briar a full week to figure out where the dwarf named Vincent was going each day as he disappeared underground. Once I knew where to look, I needed to only follow the golden trail left behind. Getting inside the tunnel system was easy enough. It wasn’t guarded because no one wanted to draw attention to it.

Also, many of the tunnels were technically sewers. The smell alone was enough to ward off most curious thrill-seekers. Then, inside the narrow sewers, a number of openings led into the deeper tunnels carved out of the earth and held up with thick wooden support beams. I chose not to arm myself and kept my fountain pen hidden inside the pocket of my wool overcoat. I expected any men down here to have guns and seeing a woman armed with a spear would most likely give them reason enough to shoot.

But an unarmed woman? I think not. Especially not one who had just days ago went to the hair stylist and received a beautiful Greta Gabo cut. Why, I was just a defenseless pretty woman! I was lost down there in the horrible sewers after chasing my cat through an open grate. Surely someone would be kind enough to escort me back to the surface?

Men!

I needn’t have feared. Corrupted have a tendency to work alone whenever possible, as Briar has pointed out many times. When I once asked why, Briar simply shrugged and said many Corrupted seemed to have an intense desire to either kill or eat human beings. The smart ones try to avoid giving in to those temptations so that they don’t draw attention to themselves.

Well then. Still, I didn’t expect the dwarf to be wandering through the tunnels all alone, but that was exactly what he was doing, whistling to himself as he walked into the darkness, then screwing in a small dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling, then walking farther to where it was dark, screwing in another light bulb and illuminating another patch of tunnel.

Could it be this easy? I wondered as I bent down, drawing a long spear into the bricks that made up a crude floor. The whistling had stopped but I paid no mind, finishing the drawing and pulling the finished spear from the ground.

I looked up. The dwarf was standing right in front of me. He had a long, gray beard and gray skin that looked as if it had been rotting away for some time. His eyes were wide and pitch-black. He snarled, grabbing my spear before I could swing. He was strong, pushing me on my heels and refusing to let go of my weapon. I tightened my grip and tried to push back, succeeding for only a moment before my feet went sliding back on the bricks once again.

Vincent screamed. His voice seemed to echo in my head, ringing my ears so painfully that I felt my grip on the spear weaken. He pushed me farther back, then threw me down a narrow side tunnel. I flew through the air so violently that my left shoe broke one of the overhead light bulbs before I landed hard and slid through a doorway into another room.

I got up quickly, reaching back into my pocket for the fountain pen.

Then I stopped.

The room was full of dead bodies. They hung from the ceiling like slabs of meat. Men and women both, each with a look of utter horror frozen on their faces. On the far end of the room was a bloody butcher’s block and a cleaver sticking in the edge, waiting to be used again.

“All right then,” said the dwarf as he stepped into the room. He had  long ears that came to a point at the end. He threw the spear on the ground.

“All right?” I asked. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

He shrugged. “It may be that I have a bit of a human-eating problem. I’ve hidden it as best I can, but you know how these things go. We are suffering from a Depression right now … you could say I’m doing the world a favor, picking off a few destitute street rats here and there.”

The words sent a chill down my body. “Is that how you see human beings? As mere food?”

“It is now,” said the dwarf. “I’m changing, you see. Gone are the days where I could go about my business in this world. Now, I’ve developed the most peculiar taste for human flesh. It happened about twenty years ago and has only gotten worse.” He waved a hand around. “Hence this crude storeroom. The last thing I need is for my brothers to find out. They make a point of fitting in.”

I stepped back, bumping into one of the bodies. Instinct brought my hands up and I pushed at the man’s chest. The body swung back and forth. Vincent the dwarf walked around it, glancing up with a look of intense hunger.

“The hunger will consume my brothers, too,” Vincent said. His dark eyes narrowed. “Maybe they won’t hunger for human flesh … but they will all hunger for something. There will come a time when all of them turn into monsters. That’s our curse. Do you despise me for being what I am?”

“Yes,” I said.

He seemed taken aback. “Oh. Well, nuts to you. I have no intention of stopping simply because a hero says so.”

I stepped back again, weaving around another hanging body, this one a woman who was still wearing her best blue Sunday dress. She swung back and forth. Vincent walked around her. The hunger in his eyes was focused on me now.

“I do believe I’ll start with your liver,” he said, licking his lips with a long, reptilian tongue. “Then I’ll devour your arms. I could feel your strength when you tried to run me through with your spear. I just love muscles.”

I bumped into another body. When I saw his face at first, I didn’t recognize him. But as he swung, his eyes opened, revealing two dull green orbs. I gasped. Richard! His normally stiff, combed hair was tussled and hanging from his scalp. His ironed black suit coat had been slashed open and the breast pocket was dangling by a thread, as if he’d been mauled by a great cat.

“Ah, so you do know him.” Vincent the dwarf looked up, touching the sleeve of Richard’s expensive coat. “My brother was correct in his hypothesis, then. He’s got such a weak stomach, my brother. Not a fan of the murder and all. But we’re all capable of horrible things when we’re pushed back against a wall.” He stalked closer. Richard’s shadow danced across his face. “And your successes with the Corrupted have pushed us all back against a wall.”

My hands reached out behind me, fumbling along the wooden chopping block. I found the cleaver, pulling it free.

The dwarf used one hand to stop Richard’s pendulum-like swaying, continuing, “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that …”

I lunged forward, swinging the cleaver at Vincent’s head. The blade stuck in the top of his skull just as it had in the butcher’s block.

“Ouch,” he murmured. “That really hurt.”

I brushed past the body of Richard, pushing him toward the dwarf, knocking the dwarf over. There was no way I could fight him in this room full of corpses. I needed to draw another spear. I needed a plan.

I needed …

February 6, 1935

I fell asleep the previous night while still writing. This morning, I woke up inside an empty house. Too tired to finish writing about my fight with the dwarf. The wound on my leg has gotten worse. Briar has gone in search of medicine, although I have no idea where he plans on finding some. I only pray that he hurries.

The pain is excruciating.

February 8, 1935

Feeling somewhat better. I rang for a policeman and asked him about my husband. The policeman recorded Richard as a missing person and asked me to notify his family, which I promised to do.

The tunnels! Briar has just reminded me to finish my story. He’s also been reminding me on a regular basis to clean my wound and apply the ointment regularly to prevent infection. He’s saved my life once again.

If only he’d been in the tunnels with me …

I escaped the room full of bodies, while Vincent the dwarf struggled with the cleaver in his head. It wouldn’t kill him. In fact, in a few days he would be no worse for wear, with not even a scar to show for it. Only the powers of the fountain pen could kill him.

I needed a plan, but before I could do that, I needed to figure out where I was. I’d escaped the room full of bodies and now I was lost in the narrow tunnels. They stretched out in every direction, twisting and turning deep underneath the city of Chicago. The old bootleggers had built them to transport illegal liquor undetected and hadn’t worried much about comfort: the walls were made of brick and the dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling seemed incapable of providing more than a few feet of illumination in any direction.

From somewhere farther behind me, I heard the dwarf call out, “Where are you, my dear?”

I drew another spear on the brick wall, this time making is shorter so I could wield it more easily in the cramped space. I grabbed it, then headed deeper into the tunnels, into the darkness.

February 9, 1935

I’m going home tomorrow. Well, I’m going to my aunt’s and uncle’s home. The police now consider Richard a missing person, and I dare not tell them where his body is. His parents have sent me a letter that seems rather professional-sounding, as if they consider me a business partner and nothing more. In the letter, they request that I allow the police to investigate. I, meanwhile, should spend some time in the country where I may rest my delicate body and be free of Chicago’s noises and sights.

So Richard told them before he died. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Many wives lose their babies in the first two months … so why would he write his parents so quickly? We’d only found out three weeks ago.

I hadn’t even told you yet, dear diary. I don’t know why I didn’t. I feel unwell. I cannot write any more this morning.

February 10, 1935

I am taking a carriage out of the city. Richard had a fair amount of money saved away—he was always afraid of putting it in a bank, expecting another bank run—and I cannot travel in an uncomfortable car.

Besides, the long ride will give me time to finish writing my story.

I’d been making my way through the tunnels for what seemed like hours. In some stretches, it was so dark that I had to keep my spear held out in front of me to ensure I did not bump into a wall. In other places, a few light bulbs were lit. The farther I went, the worse the smell became. Gone was the soft nose-wrinkling aroma of distilled liquor. Now I could only smell something much more animal.

And I could hear it, too. First came the grunts. Then the soft roar. There was something up ahead. And behind me: Vincent, calling out for me to slow down so he may catch up and bury the meat cleaver in my head.

“It’s only fair,” he called out.

I took my chances, pressing forward through another square of darkness. I followed the tunnels left, and up ahead I saw a light bulb illuminating a single wooden door.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach. Still, I felt no fear, not even an ounce. What manner of Corrupted was behind that door? It did not matter. It would die just as the dwarf would soon die, just as the terrible cat creature had died weeks ago, and just as the princess and her father had died in the woods.

I pushed gently on the door, surprised that it opened easily. The room was lit by a handful of bulbs hanging from the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Old wooden shelves lined the walls, and on some of them sat dusty glass bottles that had no doubt once been used to store liquor.

On the other side of the room was a coffin. It was made of glass, and inside I could see a beautiful princess wearing a shimmering blue dress. Her hands were folded over her stomach, her eyes closed.

Suddenly there was a hair-raising roar, and something jumped out from the wall to my right. I stepped back, spear held out, waiting for the creature to charge.

But he didn’t.

He roared. He stomped his hooves on the dirt ground. He snorted, sending warm clouds of air through his black deer-like nostrils. But he couldn’t move. He took a step back and then I could see why: his arms—man-shaped and muscled—were bound at each wrist by heavy metal braces, chained to two heavy wooden beams holding up the wall.

He was half-man, half-stag, with thick pointy horns and a grotesque deer’s head and a barrel-shaped bare chest. The lower half of his body was covered in a brown fur. His legs bent in the way a deer’s hind legs bent. He stared at me, wild-eyed. I stared back, confused.

Surely the dwarfs had chained him here. But why?

“Ah!” came a voice behind me. I spun around, pointing my spear at Vincent. He smiled, tapping his meat cleaver on the door frame. “I could smell you. You smell like fresh-cooked bacon and my mouth waters at the thought of taking a little bite of flesh from your meaty arm.”

“Who is this?” I asked, nodding to the stag creature. His arms were pulling in vain at the chains.

Vincent laughed. “I thought you’d be more curious about the princess in the glass coffin. She’s a very special princess. Very dangerous.” He took a step forward. “She nearly destroyed the entire city of Chicago in 1871. The Great Chicago Fire.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the peacefully slumbering princess.

“Her touch,” Vincent explained, “is what makes her so deadly. The magician in the Grimms’ story … he cast a spell on her after the story was over. A cruel thing to do, I admit! But then again, what else is a magician expected to do? And so this particular princess slowly began to develop a fondness for fire. Just a touch … that was all it took after a while.”

“And so now she’s sealed away,” I said.

The dwarf nodded. “My angry little brother would love to watch Chicago burn once more … which is why our oldest brother keeps this terrible creature down here. Chained up, but more than happy to protect his dear, sweet sister.”

I stepped away from the coffin, bumping my head on one of the hanging light bulbs. Shadows danced on the wall as the bulb swung back and forth. The stag creature leapt forward again, pulling madly at the chains binding his wrists.

But this time he had not leapt for me.

“You can’t beat me, dear girl,” said Vincent. He chopped at the air with his cleaver, no doubt imagining me a few feet closer. “I’m too strong for you.” His fingers tightened into a fist. “These hands have shed much blood … and they’re about to get bloody once again.”

“I have no intention of beating you,” I told him. I stepped around him, backing up to the far end of the room. The stag creature was watching me, keeping close to the glass coffin.

“Careful,” Vincent said with a chuckle. “He really is one mean son of a gun. He’ll rip you to shreds if he can.”

“Will he?” I asked. “Or will he go after his tormentor first?”

The dwarf’s eyes widened. Before he could react, I swung the tip of my spear at the stag-creature’s chain, slicing it in two. With one free hand now, the stag grabbed the other chain and pulled at it with both of his human-shaped hands.

“No!” Vincent cried. “You fool! He’ll kill us both!”

I cocked my head. “I thought Corrupted couldn’t kill each other … unless it was in the Grimms’ story.”

“Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic,” the dwarf acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t gore me a few hundred times with those antlers!”

One more mighty pull and the stag-creature was free, taking with him not just the chains but also one of the thick wooden support beams. The far end of the ceiling caved a bit, groaning loudly.

The stag-creature looked at me. Then at Vincent. It kept staring at Vincent, breathing in and snorting.

“Fine!” Vincent shouted. “I’ll kill both of you!”

As he ran forward, the stag-creature swung the chain that was still connected to the wooden beam, deftly knocking Vincent toward the other end of the room. The dwarf landed with a grunt, then stood up, wielding the cleaver in front of him. The next time the stag-creature swung the chain attached to his other hand, Vincent grabbed it and pulled with a stunning display of strength, nearly knocking the stag-creature to the ground. But instead of falling, the stag stepped forward, lowering his horns and charging.

For the next handful of tense breaths, the two of them were entwined in one heap, kicking up dry dirt. The stag-creature’s sharp antlers shattered one of the light bulbs; heavy shadows danced on the wall.

I realized this was my best chance. I stepped closer to them, spear outstretched. Vincent had begun swinging his meat cleaver wildly while the stag-creature snorted and stomped his hooves in frustration. He swung his chains again, nearly knocking me over. Vincent grabbed the chain and pulled the stag creature close, bellowing.

This was my moment. With one quick swing, I managed to cut both of them with the tip of my spear. Vincent the dwarf looked at the black cut on his shoulder, then dropped the meat cleaver.

“Oh, what a fitting end,” he muttered. He disappeared in a black puff.

The stag-creature did not. He was too strong. The burning blackness around the cut on his leg refused to grow. Who knew? Perhaps in time it might even heal itself. I would need to act quickly. I would need to stab him again.

The stag-creature was enraged now, swinging with both chains. He used the chain attached to the wooden beam to sweep me close. He used the other chain like a whip, trying to wrap it around my body. Twice he succeeded, and twice I slipped away (though each time feeling the sting of the metal chains on my arms).

I felt some strange urge to escape, compelling me back toward the door. I’d never felt this before, and when the stag-creature stepped closer once again and lowered his sharp antlers to charge, my legs propelled me backward.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I muttered, gritting my teeth and diving out of the way of the sharp antlers. The stag-creature turned, stared at me with his dark, narrow eyes, and charged again. I met him halfway and slid on the dirt ground, lifting the spear up into the stag-creature’s stomach.

Black ashes rained down like snowflakes.

Now it was just me and the princess, encased in her glass coffin. She was beautiful. Near perfection. Flawless pale skin with a hint of rose on the cheeks and curly blonde hair that sat atop her bare shoulders. I had a strange thought: had the magician from the story encased her in the coffin because he knew what she might become? Did the Brothers Grimm create characters with unwritten motivations? There was nothing in the original story about the magician’s desire to protect the world from the princess, to be sure … but was it possible that those terrible brothers had accidentally inserted their knowledge and desires into the characters of their stories?

It was not so impossible to imagine. After all, the fountain pen I carried with me responded to my knowledge as well. It relied on my knowledge to create the things I drew … like my spears. Perhaps the Brothers Grimm had done the same thing when they wrote their stories.

I looked down at the princess. She was looking up at me with icy blue eyes. The glass coffin’s top was heavy, but I could move it. And as I did, the princess took a deep breath.

“I know why you’re here,” she said quietly. She had a soft voice, one that no doubt had not been used in many years. Her soft pink hand lifted up.

I set down the spear, reaching into my pocket for the fountain pen. I reached out for her hand.

“No!” she said in a concerned voice. “Do not touch me. You will burn.”

“Of course,” I said. I held out the pen. The princess looked up at me, her delicate blonde eyebrows raised.

“Why did they make me like this?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said. I felt pity for the girl. There had to be some reason why her touch turned things to fire. There had to be some reason why the Brothers Grimm had written this story.

I gently pressed the nib of the fountain pen to the princess’s palm. She closed her eyes and a look of relief spread across her face as the burning blackness slowly consumed her.

I’m returning home now. I will write more once I’ve spent some time with my aunt and uncle. I will also investigate the dwarfs’ bank with Briar and see what I can find out about their operations.

February 11, 1935

(Entry burned)

February 25, 1935

I’ll keep my baby safe. I’ll hide her away …

March 15, 1935

No one must ever know where I hid her. Especially not the dwarfs. With my daughter safe, I may hunt them again. I will—

(Entry ripped apart)

Book 3: Revenge of the Castle Cats

Chapter 1: Briar

Then two of the eyes that Three-eyes had shut and fell asleep, but the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too, but it blinked, and could see everything very well.[xii]

My name is Br’er Rabbit, and I’m a hero.

OK, OK, I’m not the hero. Alice is the hero. But I’m a hero, and that’s pretty darned good too, if I do say so myself. And I do say so myself, by the way. Alice wouldn’t admit I’m a hero by any degree, that’s for sure. And I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a trickster at heart, and it isn’t my job to perform any heroics, per se, but that doesn’t mean this cuddly rabbit can’t break the mold once in a while.

And while I’ve helped a fair number of heroes through the years, I can say without a doubt in my mind I’d be much happier sitting on the sidelines where it’s safe, offering sage advice and perhaps munching on a carrot or enjoying a cup of coffee. But sometimes, that just ain’t in the cards.

So where did Alice leave off? Ah, yes! Of course! We were in the forest behind her house. We’d been practicing and celebrating just a bit after our most recent victory in Chicago—remember the rats? I sure do!—and then, suddenly, Alice collapsed! Our once thriving and pugnacious hero had gone cold and clammy, pale and sweaty. And I was feeling just how she looked.

It was the cuts. Those darned cuts from the Frog Prince. Well, old Briar isn’t a fool. I know poison when I see it. Actually, I don’t know poison at all. Which is why I hopped around for a few tense moments, trying to figure out what to do.

What would you do if your friend was poisoned? Well … if you’re a human, you’d call the poison control hotline and maybe 9-1-1. If you’re a giant talking rabbit with no cellular phone, though …

Luckily, a black cat had wandered into the forest. I just happened to know this particular cat, too. His name was Boots, and he belonged to a strange family down the street from where Alice lived.

“Boots!” I exclaimed. “I need your help! We’ve got to get this young lady to her house! Can you lend me a paw?”

Boots yawned, lifted his leg, and proceeded to clean himself where the sun don’t shine.

“I say!” said I, hands on hips. “You’re no help at all!”

Boots shrugged and, no doubt seeing something shiny off in the distance, proceeded to be on his merry way.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, Briar, there’s no way you’re getting out of this one! You just aren’t smart enough!

That’s where you’re wrong, dear reader. Old Briar had more than enough brains to deal with this here predicament.

I picked Alice up and tossed her over my shoulder. Only a hero would do that, right? I had an idea, but it was going to require me sneaking her back into the house. I could only hope that her parents weren’t in the kitchen, getting a snack. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how they could stay away from the kitchen. It was full of delicious treats! Cheese in the fridge, ice cream bars in the freezer, cookies in the cabinet …

OK, OK, I’m getting distracted. Alice says I should keep my contributions to this story short, so I’ll try not to digress again. The point was that I needed the kitchen all to myself. But before I could do that, I had to make my way back through the woods with Alice on my shoulders. And boy oh boy, she was not looking good. Not sounding good, either. She was groaning something fierce and breaths came out in raspy gasps. She was heavy, too; by the time I made it to her backyard I was out of breath.

“No time for a break!” I told myself. I’ve got some pretty long legs and I made the best use out of them as I could, cutting through the yard as quickly as possible so no nosy neighbors could spy the confusing scene—I was invisible, after all … anyone watching would simply see Alice floating through the air! Of course, I could have simply made myself visible, but then they would have seen a rabbit carrying a young lady into a house and that would have opened up an entirely different can of worms.

Before I opened the back door, I checked the little window. Her parents weren’t anywhere to be seen so I snuck in through the door, gently closing it. I set Alice on the floor and she made a little groaning noise that broke my heart. She just couldn’t die here! Not like this! Not now!

“Easy now,” I whispered to her. “OK,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”

I grabbed both of the flower vases sitting on the kitchen countertop. In one were a dozen beautiful roses. In the other was a small bouquet of lilies and other such things. Two beautiful displays of affection from a husband to his wife. Unfortunately, they both needed to serve a much more important purpose now.

“Prepare to behave like parents,” I said, and with that I dropped both vases on the floor. Each of them broke in a symphony of cracks and crinkles. To top off the symphony of destruction, I jumped high into the air, landing on flat feet so that they made a loud thump that resonated through the floor, shaking the old windows in the living room.

“Honey?” her mother called out. “Are you OK?” She came walking in, then hurried to Alice’s side when she saw our fateful hero lying on the ground. “Carl, come quick!”

Her father came walking in. A look of surprise registered on his face.

“Honey,” said her mother, giving her shoulders a solid shake. Alice mumbled something. I stifled a concerned whine.

“Get the car started!” her dad exclaimed. Alice’s mother rushed past him, out the front door. Her father scooped her up in his arms, lifting her with a grunt. He carried her through the living room, kicking open the front door with his foot.

And then they were off, speeding out of the driveway before I even had the sense to think of following them.

I was alone, in the dark house, with only my worries and my thoughts. What if she died? Oh, I would have gone bonkers. Curse you, Briar! Of course that disgusting Frog Prince would have some trick up his sleeve! How could you have been so foolish as to not get her to a hospital right after the fight!

“It’s all my fault,” I said, pacing the living room floor. “Oh dear me, what kind of helper am I? The most promising hero in ages, and she’s going to die because of a poisonous frog.”

I never told Alice before, but being a hero never guaranteed a long life. Even the first hero, the servant of the Brothers Grimm, hadn’t lived all that long … and he’d barely even had the chance to pass along the magic pen to another before meeting his untimely death.

How do I know this, you may ask? Well. It just so happens that this is not the first hero’s diary that’s been written. The second hero to have lived was a savvy servant girl named Adele. Back in those days, it was highly unusual for servants to be able to read, and very few masters allowed it. The reasoning was a literate servant was much more likely to try and run away from her obligations. An unfortunate sign of the times, I suppose.

But rules never stopped Adele. She was a strong girl and she understood that something strange had happened to the world. The Grimms’ fairy tale characters appeared alllllll over the world, you see, and the stories themselves played out so quickly that very few people even noticed. And you must keep in mind that there was no Internet back then! Not even phones! By the time a new mysterious king appeared in town claiming the townsfolk as his subjects, the townsfolk simply assumed he was the new fellow in charge.

And so it went. But Adele’s town, which was just a hop, skip and a jump away from the town the Brothers Grimm lived in … well, her town began to experience some strange events. She wrote about it in her diary, before she became a hero. I can’t remember it word for word, but let me see if I can get the gist of it …

Ahem!

Dear Diary,

The strangest thing happened to me on the way to the market in town. I was making my way on the path through the small forest between my master’s house and the town. It was early morning and sunny. I had two baskets with me, as I was expected to purchase cheese and salted meats as well as any fruits that might be for sale at a reasonable price.

I was lost in my thoughts. I’d recently snuck away one of the master’s newest books, a collection of fairy-tales by the Brothers Grimm, and read nearly all of it during the course of the evening. I was tired and did not keep track of my steps.

Out of no-where, a dog jumped out from behind two pine trees!

“Are you lost?” I asked him in a sweet voice. He looked like a husky, with a heavy coat of dark gray fur and beautiful muzzle.

“Indeed!” said he. I nearly fainted. When I did not respond, he asked me, “Are you all right, dear girl?”

“Dogs do not talk!” said I.

But the dog was quite adamant that he did talk, and asked for directions to the nearest town. Although what he might want from town … I cannot say.

You see? Little things like that were popping up all over the world! Most of the people’s reactions are lost to time, and Adele’s diary is no different. It was lost decades ago in a horrible fire started by a particularly malicious Corrupted.

But that’s beside the point. The point was that by the time the Grimms’ servant appeared on the doorstop of Adele’s master’s house, she was already well-versed in the collection of fairy-tales. The master allowed the Grimms’ servant to stay the night, seeing the festering wound on the young man’s leg. A wound caused by a horrible creature that stalked the forest. A conniving Corrupted with three eyes on her head and a mouth full of sharp teeth.

When the master went to sleep, the Grimms’ servant told Adele what she must do. He passed along the magic fountain pen and told her about the three-eyed woman in the forest. He told her about the magic book of fairy tales that the Brothers Grimm had created, then destroyed. And he told her a secret, one I haven’t yet shared with Alice …

Not all of the fairy tales were in that magic book.

Which ones? That, my friend, I cannot tell you. I have no idea. Once their nefarious deed was completed, the Brothers Grimm wrote more stories to be published and read by children all over Germany. Those stories were quite harmless, and the characters lived only in the imaginations of the readers.

Where all fictional characters should remain, I suppose.

Regardless, Adele was ready for the new challenge bestowed upon her. I suspect she said something smart-alecky, just like Alice always does … that attitude has always been a common trait.

But so is respect. The next morning, Adele buried the Grimms’ servant and set out into the forest to find the vile three-eyed Corrupted.

A more terrifying “first encounter” I cannot imagine! I think you could guess at what I might do in this situation. Yes, you’re right: I would run in the opposite direction.

But Adele, she went right on into that spooky forest. The canopy overhead was thick, choking out the sunlight. The forest floor was littered with little green shrubs and rotting tree branches. Not a single bird sang. Not a single animal appeared. There was nothing …

Just silence.

She crept slowly through the woods. Twigs cracked under her thin leather shoes. She was holding a broom—yes, a broom. It was the only thing she’d known enough about to draw. I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking, this girl is doomed!

Deeper inside the forest, the canopy grew thicker. The wind kissed the leaves, creating little beams of sunlight that danced along the forest floor. Something was there with Adele, lurking behind the trees. She could feel it.

“Come face me!” she called out. Fear crept up her throat and she swallowed it down, steeling her nerves and gripping the broom so tight that her knuckles were white.

The creature emerged from behind one of the thick pine trees. She was eight feet tall if she was a foot. Her three eyes blinked in quick succession. She had a long hook-shaped nose and thick saucer-shaped ears and stringy black hair that hung over her face. Her wide mouth opened, revealing two terrifying rows of fangs. She wore nothing but greasy dark brown rags that covered her womanly features. The skin of her long, slender arms was a dark gray. She wiggled her sharp nails.

This is where your dear rabbit friend would have surely fainted.

But not Adele. Adele simply took a step forward and waited. What was going through her head? We can only speculate. I, for one, believe she was thinking about her family. Long gone, they’d been taken by influenza—the flu!—during a particularly widespread pandemic. Her parents had been part of an unlucky number that had not recovered. But if her diary has any truth to it, they’d been good parents. They never would have wanted to see their only daughter end up a servant. They would have rather seen her in school, and perhaps apprenticing with a baker. Her parents had never considered the idea of Adele living a simple servant’s life.

Ahem! I apologize. Back to the confrontation.

The three-eyed creature stared at her nemesis, no doubt bemused. Here was a short, slight servant girl carrying a broom of all things! Surely Adele stood no chance against such a terrifying, foul monster. Surely this would end as so many other encounters with the three-eyed creature had ended: bloodshed.

Adele stood her ground, watching the Corrupted step closer. Above, the tree branches shuddered as a cool breeze blew through the forest—I don’t know if this is entirely accurate, but it makes the story scarier—and suddenly the hideous Corrupted lunged forward!

Adele took a deep breath. She gripped the broom in both hands, lifted it high up …

… And brought it down over her knee! The broom split in two … two sharp staves, to be precise! And as the three-eyed monster closed the distance between them, Adele met her and stabbed with both jagged halves of the broom. The creature fell over, burning away.

And there you have it. The resiliency of the hero.

Where was I now? What were we talking about? Ah, yes ... our current hero. Well, needless to say, I nearly wore a hole in the rug as I paced in worry.

After four hours passed, I started to really worry.

Chapter 2: Alice

I remember ending up on a hospital bed. I remember a metallic taste in my mouth and the smell of disinfectant. I even remember the doctor’s faint voice, and the words “antibiotics,” and then some relieved sighs. But then everything went black.

The dream came on fast and vivid, more vivid than any of the dreams I’d had previously about any Corrupted. I was in the dark woods, moving between the trees with a terrifying swiftness. I could smell the pine and hear an owl calling out somewhere far above. I was following someone … no, something.

He was tall. He moved like some kind of ninja, darting from tree to tree. He breathed heavily, letting a low growl escape from his throat as he lifted his narrow snout in the air, sniffing.

There were lights far ahead coming from a building, but I couldn’t see well enough through the trees. I felt a strange unease come over me. Why had this dream come on so vividly? Was it the poison running through my body?

I moved closer to the creature. I could see its outline a little better now, and it looked strange, almost as if it had something on its back. A creature with a backpack? No, no … the shape wasn’t quite like that. The creature darted to the next tree, grabbing it with one hand-shaped paw. It bent over to sniff at the ground, and its back seemed to arch up. There were things on its back. Pointy things.

We reached the edge of the clearing. Now I could see the creature more clearly: he had a long, rat-like snout and beady black eyes and little pointed ears. On his back were long, pointy quills—hundreds of them, maybe thousands of them. The quills were black, except at the sharp tips where they were a pale white. He had the torso and arms of a strong man, with hands that were a mix between an animal’s paws and human fingers. Definitely an animal’s claws. One hand went to his furry brown belly, scratching absently as he examined his target.

A hospital.

I didn’t need a talking rabbit to help me put two and two together: I was somewhere in that hospital. He was coming for me, and I was fast asleep.

Wake up, Alice! my mind screamed.

The Corrupted glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d heard a noise in the woods. Then he turned, jumping over the tall chain-link fence that surrounded the hospital parking lot and landing with a grunt. I followed, passing through the fence as if I were a ghost. The creature slipped between the parked cars, moving cautiously ahead. Two of the parking lot’s tall overhead lights were out, and the creature seemed to favor the patches of darkness directly underneath, glancing in every direction before it darted to the next car.

“Wake up, Alice!” I cried out again. It was already halfway across the parking lot.

Ahead, a woman dressed in scrubs was walking out of the building. The creature watched her, backing up as she continued in our direction.

Don’t you dare kill her, I thought. Kind of an empty threat, I guess. But the monster was there for me … no one else had to die. And what was the point of skulking around if it was going to just jump out and attack someone anyway? Seriously, did this Corrupted even have a brain?

He continued following her. I’m just going to call him a “he” from here on out because I knew exactly who he was: Hans. Once a sweet young man in a fairy tale, and now here he was in the present-day no doubt working for a shadowy trio of dwarfs, almost fully transformed into a man-sized hedgehog. Sweet little Hans moved from car to car, hunting the woman like she was his prey. Drool dripped from the creature’s chops. The claws on its toes scraped the concrete. The lower half of his body was more animal than human, and as he crouched down behind a red Corvette, his legs bent like the hind legs of a dog.

The woman pulled her phone out, tapping on the little keyboard. She was oblivious, her face illuminated by the screen. She nearly bumped into one of the parked cars as she walked. She slid the phone’s little keyboard shut, then stopped a moment, sliding her fingers across the screen. The familiar sound of annoyed cats broke the silence of the parking lot.

Of course she was playing Castle Cats. Way to go, lady. Your last moments on this earth are going to be spent playing a stupid phone game. Two cars behind you, a mutant hedgehog man is slobbering and wondering which piece of you to eat first.

But when he reached the next car, Hans stopped. His claw gripped the bumper as he watched the woman get into her car, shutting the door.

We turned back to the hospital. The creature seemed to have regained his composure and now we were hurrying from car to car to car. A fresh look of determination—if such a thing was possible—was on Hans’s narrow face now. A red tongue escaped his mouth, licking at the black fur around his cone-shaped muzzle.

Wake up, Alice!

Hans ignored the glass doors leading to the emergency room, darting instead to the outside wall, sneaking around the tall building. From somewhere nearby, I could hear the hum of cars zipping by at a quick speed. I recognized the building now. This was the hospital just off from the freeway, near my house. It had been cut out of the forest nearby, much to the annoyance of local neighbors who wanted to see the land turned into a park. So long as the Corrupted creature didn’t walk around to the other side of the building, there was no chance someone would see him.

The creature had an even better idea. He slipped up to one of the first-floor windows, looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching. Just twenty feet away was the forest, dark and quiet. No animals dared interrupt this monster’s concentration. He reached over his shoulder with one arm, grabbing one of the quills and plucking it. A quiet “Eep!” escaped his mouth … it would have been cute if the stupid thing wasn’t trying to kill me. And also if he wasn’t a giant hedgehog monster creature.

He used the sharp quill to draw a big circle on the glass. Through the window, I could see big steel filing cabinets and a small desk. The lights were out. Whoever this office belonged to was home, probably fast asleep.

The circle complete, Hans extended one claw and tapped on it. The glass fell in, landing on the floor inside the office with a loud crash. He flinched.

Yes! I thought. Thank you for being so stupid, hedgehog creature!

… But no one came to investigate the noise. The creature glanced around, wiggling its nose. He jumped up onto the narrow windowsill and slipped in through the hole, landing on the cluttered desk. I could hear voices coming from beyond the office door. The creature heard it too and quickly hurried to one corner of the dark room. His quills bristled. He opened his mouth and his big red tongue ran across a set of sharp teeth.

The voices passed. The creature stepped to the door, fumbling at the lock with his paws. He opened the door and peered into the bright hallway, looking left and then right. When the coast was clear, he darted out, slinking along the wall. His nose wrinkled at the clean hospital smell.

“Jan, can you bring me some extra gauze?” came a voice down the hall. The creature darted into the next room, pushing open the door with his shoulder. A hospital bed sat in one corner, protected by a thin white curtain. I could see the shadow of a small figure behind the curtain.

“Is that you, nurse?” came a boy’s voice.

The creature’s head turned in the direction of the boy.

“No!” my mind cried out. “Come get me! Come find me instead!”

“Nurse?” the boy called again.

The creature took a step toward the boy. Cool air began blowing out of the vent near the ceiling.

“No!” my mind cried out.

The creature stopped. His nose wrinkled. He looked up, then back at the door. His furry black nose twitched again and I had a sudden realization: he could smell me. He had my scent now.

Wake up, Alice!

He barged out of the room, throwing open the door and knocking over a blonde nurse in the hallway. She landed hard on the tiled floor, and before she could gather herself, we were already at the staircase at the end of the hall. The creature took the stairs two at a time, huffing and puffing, the quills on his back rising and falling with each breath. He growled a low, determined growl. He was on a mission now. No one would get in his way.

Oh gawd, I thought … what if my parents are in the room?

Wake up, Alice!

At the next floor, the creature pawed at the door handle, pulling it open. The hallway was empty and quiet. An empty white gurney sat next to the wall between two of the rooms. I was in one of these rooms. I was behind one of these closed doors.

… And the creature knew exactly which one. He moved quickly down the hall, wrinkling his nose. One of the overhead lights blinked on and off. The creature looked up at it before continuing down the hall. He stopped at room 224 and inhaled through his nose.

His paw pushed on the door, opening it slowly. The room was dark, save for a small reading lamp hanging over the bed. There was no one else in the room—only little old me, all tucked in under the white hospital covers. Next to the bed stood a barrage of electronic monitoring devices, all of them turned off. That was a good thing. If I wasn’t hooked up to all those gizmos monitoring my heart and blood pressure and everything else, then maybe I was just asleep. Maybe they hadn’t knocked me out with any drugs. Either way, I needed to wake up.

Wake up, Alice! Otherwise, you’re gonna be this monster’s dinner!

The creature stalked closer, wiggling his claws. I could see the drool slipping out from his mouth. He snarled, teeth glistening. His quills shuddered like a wave running down his back. On the bed, I could see my chest rising and falling quickly. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

He took another step closer, then crouched, ready to jump. The muscles in his thick furry gray legs tensed.

Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up!

Suddenly, I could hear myself. The entire scene seemed to shift into sharper focus. I was awake! I could feel the sweat on my forehead. I could smell the monster and unmistakable hospital scent, too. I blinked rapidly, breathing deeply …

… And then saw the monster lunge toward me.

There was no time to search for the magic pen. Instead, I lifted back my legs, bending them into my chest. The monster landed on my feet and I kicked with both legs as hard as I could. One of its claws tore through the hospital gown before it flew through the air, landing on the hard tiles on the other side of the room.

I jumped out of the bed. OK … think fast! I was wearing a hospital gown, and an unflattering one at that: it was open in the back with nothing but my skivvies to stave off the cool air conditioning. I used the fabric strips at the opening to tie the gown tightly closed around my rear.

So where were my pants? There, on the other side of the room … a little closet! The door was open and I could see my pants and shirt hung up on one of the coat hangers. I had to get to my pants.

The monster stood up, snarling.

“Did Grayle send you?” I asked. “How did you know I was here?”

The monster glanced at the door leading to the hallway, then looked at me and put one curved yellow claw to his mouth. A quiet “Shhhhhh” escaped his lips. Clever little jerk, I thought. He knew I wouldn’t call for help.

“OK, so what do I know about hedgehogs?” I asked aloud, dodging out of the way of the monster’s claws. He slashed at me again and again, backing me up next to my bed. Every time, I had to fight the urge to hit back—every time I deflected a blow, the monster arched his back and turned sideways, showing his back. I couldn’t fight back without getting stabbed by a dozen quills!

“You should let me have a couple hundred knives, too,” I told him, blocking another swipe. We were next to my bed now. He was pushing me back against the wall, his jaws snapping at me every time I tried to maneuver around him. He was terrifying, a good foot taller than me, his menacing black eyes staring at me with an intense hunger. I had to stay in control. I had to swallow my fear for the time being.

I had to think.

Hedgehogs … hedgehogs … we had a pet hedgehog in middle school, but he’d been far less terrifying than this thing. I blocked another blow, stepping back and feeling the heel of my bare foot touch the wall. Nowhere to go now.

The hedgehog’s name had been Sammy … was that of any help? No, of course not. Sammy got his head stuck in toilet paper tubes a lot … they were his favorite toy to play with …

The monster swiped again. This time I held out my arm and let him grab it. His paws gripped me so tight that it hurt, but at least his midsection was open now. I punched him hard in the stomach once, then twice. My fist bounced off his thick furry flesh; he grunted, taking a step back and swinging with his free paw. I ducked, punching again and again. He fell back another step, letting go of my arm. I ducked under the bed, sliding to the other side and jumping to my feet. I grabbed the bed, sliding it left before the creature could make his way around.

“You should have stayed home,” I said. “I’m a lot tougher than I look. And why aren’t you glowing at all?”

The monster tugged on his fur. A little cackle escaped his lips.

“Right. Not that I need you to glow to know you don’t belong here.”

The monster tried to step around the bed again. I pulled on the bed again. Its wheels made it easy to move along the floor. The monster took another step. I wheeled the bed again.

“Just an uncomfortable mattress between you and your dinner,” I said. “Why don’t you just jump over it?”

The monster cocked its head. Apparently he hadn’t thought of anything so clever. He crouched down, then jumped. I rolled the bed backward so he landed on it and, with one massive heave-ho, rolled the bed—and Hans—to the other side of the room. His big legs wobbled on the bed, as if he was on a surfboard for the first time. When the bed hit the wall, the monster toppled to the floor.

I turned and grabbed my pants from the closet. The magic pen was still in the pocket! I uncapped it and turned back to the monster.

“Go back to the person who sent you,” I told him. “Or I’ll kill you right here. Give your master a message: I won’t go down so easily.”

The monster glanced at the pen. The quills on his back shuddered. He looked surprised, the fur between his little floppy ears standing up the way a cat’s might. He was breathing heavily; I wasn’t. I was just getting warmed up. The pen was steady in my hand even though deep down I was terrified. My strength felt like it was draining from my body. I was putting on a good show, but I wouldn’t be able to keep up this fight.

But he didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was that the formerly bed-ridden hospital patient currently staring him down was wielding a nasty little pen that could kill him.

We stood staring at each other. My heart beat in my ears. Underneath that, I could hear voices in the hall.

Finally, the creature reached over his shoulder, plucking another quill. He ran its sharp tip along the window, popping out a big circle-shaped opening. He took one more look at me, narrowing his black eyes, then jumped right out the window.

My parents and the nurse came rushing in a moment later. Mom reached me first, taking me in her arms.

“You’re awake!” Mom exclaimed. “Oh, sweetie, we were so worried about you.”

“God, I’m glad we’re insured,” Dad said, hands on his hips. He surveyed the messy room.

“What happened?” Mom asked, clutching my cheeks. “Why are you holding a pen?”

“And why is there a hole in the window?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know … and I don’t know.”

The nurse gently grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the bed. “Sit down,” she directed. “You have a lot of antibiotics in your system right now.”

I sat on the bed.

“Look at this room,” Dad said. “Oh my god. Oh, darling, please tell me you didn’t slam the bed into the wall. Our insurance is good, but it’s not going to pay for that.”

I shrugged. “I … had a nightmare. I must have been thrashing around. Maybe I threw something through the window.”

“I can’t believe you’re awake,” Mom said. She grabbed my cheeks again. Her eyes were teary.

“Deep breaths,” the nurse said, sliding a cold stethoscope underneath my gown and pressing it to my chest. I breathed in and out. “Rapid heart rate. We need to get you back in bed and settled down.”

“What was it?” I asked. “What happened?”

“You collapsed in the kitchen,” Dad said. He was obsessed with the dent in the wall. “Oh man, they’re going to add this to the bill …”

“The kitchen?” That didn’t make any sense. I’d been in the forest.

“You had a bacterial infection,” said the nurse. “Probably caused by bad food, although the cuts on your arms suggest it might have gotten in through there somehow. It was a very rare strain. We had to use several broad-spectrum antibiotics to fight it.”

“Yay, antibiotics,” I said, raising my arms in a cheer. They felt sluggish. Whatever adrenaline had been running through my system was gone now and I felt a heavy weight pushing me back toward the plump little white pillow on the bed.

“You’ll need to take it easy,” the nurse said. “The bacteria released toxins into your system, which may leave you feeling weak for a few weeks while your body is on the rebound. Also,  antibiotics can have some side-effects, especially if you use a lot of them. You might feel an upset tummy because the antibiotics sometimes result in the overgrowth of pathogenic bacteria …” she blushed. “Sorry. That probably just sounded a lot more complicated than it needed to be.”

“It did,” I said. I could feel the strength sapped from my body. I didn’t want to sleep, though. I felt unsafe now, as if Hans might just be lurking outside waiting for me to fall asleep again.

The nurse pulled the white blanket up to my neck. “Just get some sleep. Rest for the next few days and you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry,” Mom said, running a hand along the top of my head. “We’ll take you home in the morning.”

“We have to,” Dad added. “Our insurance won’t cover another night.”

“Thanks,” I murmured. For a brief moment, I fought sleep, afraid that something else might be coming for me. But when my eyes closed, for the first time all summer there were no weird or scary dreams.

Chapter 3

Briar was waiting in my room when we got home the next morning. His fur was standing on end and his normally clean vest was wrinkled. He kept himself calm until the door shut, then began hopping up and down excitedly.

“I can’t believe you’re alive!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, gee, thanks for the encouragement,” I said with a smile. “I honestly don’t remember much of what happened.”

Briar filled me in on the details in the sort of roundabout way he was most comfortable with. There were plenty of digressions and side-stories totally not related to what happened, but that was Briar for you. I caught the gist of it, though: he carried me home, then staged a fall to get my parents to notice me.

When he was done, his paws reached for his vest, clutching it nervously. Well, that would explain the wrinkles, I thought.

“Thank you for saving me,” I said.

Briar waved it away with a flick of his paw. “Just doing my job.”

I sat down on the bed, thinking. “OK, so this Grayle guy probably sent the hedgehog monster our way. Probably. I hope. I hope there aren’t multiple Corrupted sending out assassins to kill me.”

“Agreed. One is enough.” Briar’s paws found his vest again.

“Give me that,” I said, pointing to his vest. “It’s all wrinkled. Let me go iron it quick.”

“But … but I’d be half-naked!”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a rabbit. What would I see? A furry chest?”

Briar raised his little pink nose high into the air. “I have my scruples.”

“Your scruples aren’t visible underneath your fur,” I said wryly. My hands found my hair. It felt greasy and unwashed. Totally unbecoming, that was for sure. “Gawd, I need a shower. Give me your vest so I can iron it.”

Briar undid one button. His whiskers twitched. “If you would be so kind as to turn your head.”

“Oh come on!” I exclaimed, spinning around. “This is a bit much. You have fur, for crying out loud.” The vest landed on my head. I grabbed it, along with clean clothes from the closet.

I took my time in the shower, toweled off, then pulled my hair into a perfectly disheveled knot at the nape of my neck. After a bit of makeup and a fresh set of clothes, I was feeling like myself again. I stared at my outfit in the mirror. Violet v-neck shirt with frilly short sleeves that just screamed “summer.” My canvas sneakers with a pretty floral print were stylish yet practical enough to ensure I’d be prepared, if needed, to kick some serious Corrupted butt. Khaki shorts with a cute scalloped hem and of course a clear mark along one pocket where the magic pen was. Maybe storing the pen in a hand purse wasn’t such a bad idea. Then at least I could wear my amazing new dress once in a while. But I could be such a bonehead sometimes … what if I forgot the purse somewhere? How would I find it?

I went downstairs, looking around for my parents. They were already gone, no doubt on another golf outing. Apparently they were pretty confident in the medicine I got at the hospital. Nope, no need to sit around and nurse poor Alice back to health, I guess. Not even a glass of white soda and a plate of crackers, my favorite meal whenever I was sick as a child.

Well, more power to them. Just one more reason growing up sometimes stinks: no more getting babied when you’re not feeling well.

I went into the basement. I hadn’t actually been in any basement since that fateful night at Edward’s house. I didn’t like to think about him or the skeletons, and quite frankly I was more than happy to let Mom do my laundry whenever possible. Our basement was dark and small, with just two rooms. Both had concrete floors. One room had a rug and a treadmill and small tube TV sitting on an old end table. The other room had the washer and drier and an ironing board.

I put the vest on the stand and turned on the iron. While it was heating up, I ran a variety of scenarios through my mind. What if I just barged my way into Grayle Tower? What if I snuck in and killed all three of those pesky dwarfs? What if the hedgehog started chasing my parents around the golf course to get back at me?

The last one was a bit of a stretch. So far, the Corrupted seemed more than happy to focus all of their energy on me, and I was willing to bet that was only going to get worse once the hedgehog gave my message to the dwarfs. How far were they willing to go to ruin my life? It was a question I needed answered.

“What if the Corrupted go after my family?” I asked Briar when I returned upstairs.

He made me turn around while he put his vest back on. “Well, only the Grayles truly know who you are, and even then they might have simply guessed by sending the hedgehog after the most obvious suspect. You may turn around, and I thank you. Ah, there’s nothing quite like a warm piece of clothing.”

I turned. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes. Well. I must confess, most of the heroes I’ve worked with haven’t had such wonderful encumbrances.”

“In English, please?”

Briar clicked his tongue, searching for the words. “Um … many of the heroes were not so lucky—or unlucky, in some ways—to have loving parents. I remember one hero from the thirties, Grace, didn’t have any parents at all.”

“The thirties? Like, the nineteen-thirties?”

Briar nodded. He sat down at the desk, putting his legs up. His furry little toes wiggled. “Not a good time to be alive, when the Great Depression hit. It seemed like everyone was out of work and starving. There were bread lines so long that you would have sworn nothing could possibly be worth the wait. But then you saw the faces of the people waiting in line, and you realized just how desperate things had suddenly become. When I found poor Grace, she was fighting with a much older gentleman for a loaf of bread. She was starving to the point that she could barely stand under her own strength.”

“Grace …” The name was beautiful. I imagined her much like myself, only that wasn’t true at all. I lived in a suburb. We always had food. Heck, my parents had taken me down to Chicago for a day on a whim. I’d just spent a night in the hospital and it was covered by our insurance. And now my parents were golfing, their favorite pastime when they weren’t working.

“I have it easy,” I said. “And that makes it harder. Is that what you’re saying?”

Briar shrugged. “Time will tell. The Grayles did not survive this long by being foolish, I can tell you that. It may very well be that they aren’t even worth the trouble right now.”

“I suppose. Did Grace … did she ever think about fighting Death?”

Briar grunted. “No doubt she did, the crazy girl. But … well, there were more immediate issues that needed our attention. And I would have tried to talk her out of it.”

“It doesn’t sound like any hero is up to the task of facing Death.” I sat down on the bed. “Open up my music player. Turn on some Florence and the Machine. I need to hear her voice.”

“Of course.” Briar turned on the music. Steady, thumping drums escaped from the speakers. For a brief moment, I felt relaxed.

Then my phone buzzed. “If that’s Tricia telling me to download Castle Cats again, I swear I’m going to lose it,” I muttered, grabbing the phone. I had three missed calls. All of them were from the library. “Oh cripes!”

Briar’s ears perked up. “What is it? A nefarious text message from the forces of evil?” He jumped off the chair. “Is someone dead? Is there some Corrupted monster attacking the city?!”

“Worse! I’m supposed to be at the library today!” I grabbed my purse and double-checked to make sure the magic pen was still in my pocket. “I’ll be back in the afternoon … provided Fran doesn’t kill me.”

“Please don’t forget your pills!” Briar called out after me as I barreled my way down the hall.

I doubled back to the bathroom, grabbing one of the antibiotic pills sitting beside the sink. “Thank you, modern medicine,” I said. How many people had the Frog Prince killed before antibiotics had been discovered? I could only shudder at the thought.

I jogged to the library, trying to block out the beautiful sun and the warm, dry weather. There would be more nice days, I kept telling myself. Plenty more nice days. Hundreds, maybe even thousands provided the scary dwarfs didn’t kill me first.

“Why oh why did I volunteer for the library?” I asked, high-tailing it down busy Mooreland Road. At the end of the block, I nearly ran headfirst into a young woman walking out of a small nail salon.

“Whoops,” she said, not looking up from her smartphone. I heard a “meow” and couldn’t help but steal a glimpse of the screen: there were a dozen cartoonish cats sitting in a little castle, waiting to be cleared out by a few swipes of the woman’s thumb. She turned to me, smiling. “I’m on level twelve!” she exclaimed.

“Oh. Awesome for you.”

She walked to the end of the block, crossing the street without looking up from her game.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb,” I said, jogging across the next street. I hadn’t even seen her. I was so transfixed with my own thoughts that I hadn’t been paying attention to the world around me. I’d almost gotten knocked over by someone playing a brainless video game.

When I reached the library, I was surprised to find I was a little out of breath. Not only that, but my legs felt sore. Whatever the Frog Prince had given me hadn’t yet been completely wiped out by the antibiotics. My heart was racing, too—but that was less due to the exertion and more due to the fact that I was no doubt going to get a severe talking-to by Fran.

I walked inside. A cool rush of air kissed my skin. The smell of thousands of books hit my nostrils. I felt my heart rate slow down. My breathing calmed. Serenity! Being outside was nice, especially on beautiful days. Being in the library … boy, I loved it.

And even better: Fran wasn’t working. It was Mary! Oh, sweet, sweet Mary. Mary, the nicest librarian to ever have lived. I could have kissed her.

When she saw me walk in, she smiled. She smiled! Fran never smiled.

“I was growing worried,” Mary whispered with a wide eyes that raised her thin brown eyebrows. Oh, Mary … thank you for making my day, I thought. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m definitely OK,” I said. “Well, I was a little sick yesterday. But I’m doing better now. I had a good night’s sleep.” Minus the hedgehog fight, I could have added.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home for the day?” she asked with motherly concern.

I glanced at the massive stack of returned books sitting behind the checkout desk. “I’m absolutely sure,” I answered.

“Well, you just take it easy today.” Mary gave me a little nod. That was becoming her trademark. It was a crisp, knowing nod, as if we had some secret psychic connection.

“I will. Thank you.” I reached for the books, then stopped. I turned back to Mary. “Um, how is Fran doing?”

Mary looked at me over her glasses. “I think she’s doing just fine. Why, dear?”

“Oh. Um. She just hasn’t seemed herself lately.”

Mary smirked. “Don’t tell me she’s actually acting nice?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not that. She just seems like she’s … distracted.”

Mary pursed her lips, thinking. Finally, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell you.” She sighed, pursing her dark red lips. “Fran likes to keep to herself. Her husband passed away five years ago. Would you be surprised if I told you she was quite the adventurous little vixen?”

“It would!”

“Well, she was. By day, she was a wholesome librarian. By night, she and her husband used to cruise around the city on their motorcycles.”

“Get out!”

Mary nodded. “I’m all serious here, dear. You should ask her about it sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” I said.

“Hmmmm.” Mary was staring over my shoulder, as if she expected Fran to walk through the front doors. “We used to get coffee a lot. I miss it. She’s actually quite nice when you get to know her.”

I had a hard time to believing that. But I trusted Mary, too. So why wasn’t Fran nice to me? Heh. Maybe she knew I was the hero and she was jealous. Not likely, Alice … you’re on your own with this whole crazy situation.

I started on the first floor, putting away a few woodworking how-to manuals and a dozen or so magazines. I stopped in the Animals section, which consisted of two long bookshelves near the computer table, and grabbed a book on hedgehogs, studying the nuggets of information tucked between pictures of creatures much cuter (and smaller!) than the one that had nearly killed me.

When I was sufficiently saturated with new hedgehog-related knowledge, I took some Young Adult books upstairs, distracted for a moment by the stacks of books lying around from one of the morning reading groups. My thoughts went back to Fran: she was losing her house, but she hadn’t told Mary. Or was Mary trying to keep the secret from me? I didn’t think so. Mary was pretty easy to read; she would have given away the secret if she’d known. So why was Fran keeping it to herself? How could she get any help if she didn’t tell anyone?

I put all of the books on the kids’ table and started dividing them into Young Adult and Middle Grade, which were both separate sections. Downstairs, someone sitting at one of the computers was pecking loudly at the keyboard.

What should I do? I thought. I couldn’t just wait around for the next monster to show up and try to kill me or my family. I needed a plan, something that would nip this dwarf business in the bud. But how was I supposed to get at them? They were hiding out in plain view! Their leader, Sam Grayle, had managed to completely hide any evidence that Edward—“Prince Charming”—had ever existed, for crying out loud!

And now I had to figure out a way to sneak into the skyscraper, kill these guys off without being seen, and somehow not get arrested in the process.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket and viewed the text. It was from Tricia.

Tricia: Party 2-nite at beach. Come w/me!

I stared at it a moment, disappointed. I’d been hoping it was from Trish, but I’d been expecting something more … well, friendly. I wanted a “How are you?” or a “Let’s get dinner!” or even a “Weird guy wearing flannel LOLZ.” I didn’t want to be invited to a party. I wanted my friend to talk to me like a friend.

I texted back:

Me: How about movie instead? OK with rom-com.

There was no response for a few breaths. I stared at the screen of my phone, waiting. Hoping. Finally, she responded.

Tricia: Thnx but sum other time.

I sighed, putting away my phone. The modern world was so complicated! I bet in the past, heroes had a much easier time just going about their business and moving on to the next Corrupted. Now there was texting and there were social networks and cameras everywhere and the Internet and just about a million other things that made Corrupted killing more difficult.

“Hey.”

I spun around, whipping my hand like a hatchet and connecting with soft flesh. Seth fell back, clutching his ear.

“You karate-chopped my ear!” he whispered harshly. “Ow. Ow.”

“Why does everyone keep sneaking up on me?” I asked. “I mean, gawd! Since when did ‘excuse me’ go out of style?”

He looked around, confused. “Are people sneaking up on your regularly or something? More importantly, why exactly is your first instinct to karate-chop someone in the head?”

“Keep your voice down,” I said, putting a finger to my lips. Seth flinched, as if I was going to pop him again. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“It’s not funny,” he said quietly. He frowned. “You know I have a soft skull.”

“I’m sorry. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a candy bar with a purple wrapper. He peeled it open. “I’ve got stuff to do. Did you know there are naked women on the first floor?”

“Literally?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we told them to put their clothes back on while they used the computers.”

“Ha-ha.” He took a bite of the candy bar, filling his mouth with chocolate and some kind of gooey brown ooze that coated his teeth. He was wearing his black Against Me! Rock t-shirt and a pair of tattered cargo shorts. “I mean I saw naked ladies in the books.”

“Did you find those books in the Sexuality section?”

“Yeah …”

“Well, those books are mainly intended for mature adults. Not boys who cackle uncontrollably whenever they pass gas.”

His eyes widened. “That was an isolated incident!”

“What are you really here for?”

He took another bite of his candy bar. “Mmmm. Mmmm-mffmmm-grrmphmm.”

“Chew first.”

We waited. He chewed loudly, rolling his eyes. Finally, he swallowed. “Wow. OK. So, I was hoping you could help me find a few programming books. Not beginner’s stuff, either. I’m beyond that. I need something intermediate.”

“Sure, sure.” I led him back downstairs, giving Mary a wave as we passed. She returned it with a wink. Oh, as if I would be interested in Seth, I thought; we were practically siblings, for crying out loud.

I led him past the computer table and over to the west wing, where the library squeezed a variety of unpopular non-fiction subjects into three long bookcases.

“Those computers could use an upgrade,” Seth whispered, taking another bite of his candy bar. “They’ve got really old processors … I bet they freeze up pretty often even when people are just surfing the web.”

“They do, actually …” I ran my finger down the list of subjects listed on the end of the metal bookcase. I took him one bookcase to our left, then followed the catalog numbers. We passed a lot of computing books, but I had a feeling Seth was less interested in “The History of” and more interested in “How to.” It was just his way.

“Ooh, these look like winners,” he said, handing me the half-finished candy bar so he could bend down and grab two books. One was titled How to Write Code and the other was The Language of Coding.

“I didn’t know you like this stuff,” I said. “I mean, I knew a little, but …”

“I’ve had time so far this summer,” Seth mumbled, leafing through the books. “Trish loves her parties. I don’t. You know me … I don’t fit in with that crap. And my sarcasm isn’t appreciated by drunk morons.”

“Oh.” I felt so out of touch with the both of them. The last time we’d hung out, we chilled and watched a scary movie, and then they both had to go. Trish’s parents had decided to make her take a summer class to help her prepare for her senior year, and Seth was serving at a new restaurant and they’d been giving him weird morning shifts; his sole purpose was to make sure the breakfast buffet stayed full of greasy food.

And me? I was off in the woods, training to fight horrible monsters that no one else even believed existed.

“It is what it is,” he said, sighing.

“Why didn’t you just come over and hang out with me?”

He shrugged, scratching absently at his hair, which was in dire need of a trim. He’d begun letting his weird patchy sideburns grow a little bit this week, too. “You had that thing with Edward, and then you had your library thing going on. I’m not gonna burden you with all my goings-on. Plus, I’m tough.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “You can always talk to me, pal.”

He smiled broadly, giving a quick nod.

I took a sniff of the half-finished candy bar. “Oh jeez, this smells awful.” I bit off a small piece. My tongue retreated in my mouth. “Seth!” I whispered harshly. “This is so awful I’m literally mad at you. I’m mad at you for letting me take a bite. It tastes like chocolate dipped in garbage.”

Seth grabbed the candy bar and took another bite. His mouth wrinkled. “Holy crap,” he said, spitting it back onto the wrapper. “This really is awful. Why did I think it was good?”

“Where did you even get it?” I asked. “I’ve never seen that brand before. Carameltastic. It sounds made-up.”

He stuffed the candy bar—including the bits he spit out, by the way—back into his pocket. Such a guy thing to do. “I saw an ad for it while I was playing Castle Cats. So I bought some at the grocery store.”

“Castle Cats? Not you, too!”

He nodded solemnly. “Afraid so, kid. Trish got me hooked. It’s so much fun. You’re this guy who runs through a castle full of cats and you have to swipe them out of the way with your finger.”

I waited for him to continue. After a moment, I finally asked, “And?”

“And … um, sometimes, the cats bounce off the walls and you have to swipe them again. If too many of them show up, they go into revenge mode, which means they’re harder to swipe so you have to really flick them away fast.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” He shrugged. “That’s the whole game. It sounds a lot less fun than it really is.” He hefted the computer books. “That’s why I’m borrowing these. I’ve been toying around with creating my own game. So I downloaded Castle Cats, and of course I’ve been playing it, like, constantly, and I also transferred it to my computer. I’m trying to break into it so I can have a look at the code—you know … its guts—but I can’t get in yet. I’ll figure it out, though.”

“What do you mean about the code?”

“Source code is a list of commands that make a game run,” Seth explained. He sounded very technical; I was proud of him. Usually, he didn’t pay attention in classes. “The commands are basically a language for the computer to read and then the computer executes the commands. It’s all pretty technical crap.”

“Tell me how it goes with Castle Cats,” I said. “I’m actually very interested in knowing about this.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic … so I’m just gonna head out now …”

“Wait. Before you go: quiz me on hedgehogs.”

“Huh?”

“Quiz me on hedgehogs,” I said. “Follow me.” I led him to the Animals section and grabbed the book I’d been reading earlier.

Seth took the book, examining it. “This is a children’s book.”

“It’s not a children’s book; it just has lots of pictures. It’s full of great information, too. Now quiz me.”

He flipped through the pages. “Ok … um … what is the diet of the hedgehog?”

I looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Frogs, insects, mushrooms, berries, bird eggs, and melons.”

“Yes. And also: gross! You missed toads and snakes, too. Very gross, very gross.” He leafed through more pages. “OK … how many quills does a hedgehog have?”

“A hedgehog has spines, not quills,” I said. “Don’t worry, though … they’re pretty much the same thing, and I thought they were quills at first, too. They have … um … thousands of spines.”

Seth raised an eyebrow. “That’s too vague to get an ‘A’ from Professor Seth. Be more specific.”

“Ten thousand?”

He shook his head. “Around five thousand. You were waaaaay off. You get an F.” He closed the book, handing it back to me. “Any other obscure wild animal tests you want me to conduct before I leave? Maybe marsupials or dodo birds?”

“No. I need to study some more on hedgehogs first.”

“Right,” Seth said with a vigorous nod. “For the hedgehog quiz. OK, you’re totally creeping me out. Sudden interest in computer code and random animal quizzes, not to mention karate chops to the head… I’m a little scared to find out what’s next. So I’m gonna go for real now.”

He backed away from me. Slowly.

I wasn’t being sarcastic: I really, really wanted to know what was in that game. Something purple was on the floor. I picked it up and studied the white Comic Sans letters: ELTAS. It was part of the wrapper from Seth’s disgusting candy bar. It had escaped his pocket, I guess. Carameltastic. An awful candy bar, one that Seth had purchased after seeing an ad in the Castle Cats game.

Before I left in the afternoon, I checked out a book on advertising. Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling Grayle Incorporated had a lot more going on besides hero hunting …

Chapter 4

My dream that night was vivid. And it wasn’t good.

I was inside a building, following a young man as he made his way down a dimly lit hallway. With its low ceilings, stony gray walls and caged glass light fixtures every five feet, the place seemed almost like a tunnel. His black loafers treaded lightly on polished concrete floors. He was breathing quickly, running from door to door, trying to find one that wasn’t locked.

“Come on … open!” he called out. His voice echoed down the empty hallway. He pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looked frantic; his forehead was glistening with sweat.

A noise came from somewhere behind us. The man turned and looked, and so did I. There was nothing, but it was hard to see because the hallway seemed unnaturally dim; it was as if someone had turned off half of the overhead lights. The glass light fixtures along the wall flickered, then turned off.

“Come on,” he said, trying another door. This one opened, and he hurried inside, shutting the door behind him. I followed, slipping through the door as if it didn’t exist at all. We were in a dark office filled with lots and lots of crude technical drawings taped to the walls. Given the subterranean feel of the hallway, it was disorienting to see through the windows behind the desk that we were high above Lake Michigan. The moon was out, casting a white glow on the lake.

The man hurried to the other side of the desk, turning on the computer. The light from the monitor made it easier to see the drawings on the walls: they were crude diagrams of cell phones and other electronics. More yet were drawings of smartphone applications, each one quickly sketched out. I didn’t understand much of what was written, but I recognized the company logo at the top of every piece of paper.

Grayle Incorporated.

“Hurry … hurry!” the man said to the computer as it continued booting up. Suddenly, the monitor went black. The computer’s hum slowed, then stopped. “No!” the man cried out. He hurried back to the hallway, turning right and then stopping. A gasp escaped from between his lips. I followed and nearly gasped when I saw the dark not-so-imposing figure standing in front of the elevators at the end of the hall.

It was Flick. The meanest dwarf. He stood wearing a pair of blue jeans and a dark shirt—not exactly a “menacing Corrupted” outfit. What was menacing, though, was the giant rusty pickaxe he held in his hands.

“You seem surprised,” Flick said through gritted teeth. His fingers tightened around the handle of the axe. “As if you’re the first person to question our … motives.”

“I swear I won’t tell anybody,” the man said, taking a step back. His hands shook at his sides.

Flick cocked his head. “Tell them what, exactly?”

“About the hidden code,” the man said.

Flick’s grip loosened. He smiled, stepping forward. “That’s what all this is about? A little hidden code? Oh you sweet, sweet young man … if you’d just said something earlier instead of snooping around all night, we could have reached an agreement!”

“Re … Really?”

The smile faded. “No. Of course not, you damned idiot. Of course I have to kill you. I can’t have rumors of a secret code getting out.”

The man took another step back. “Please! I promise. I promise you I won’t tell anyone.”

“Then what were you doing in that office?” Flick asked. “Just checking your email before you slink out of the building? No, dear boy. You must die.”

The man turned, then stopped and screamed. I was slow to follow, but I wanted to scream too when I saw what was waiting for us just a few feet away.

Gilbert. The sickly dwarf Briar had told me about. He shouldn’t have been frightening. He was wearing blue-and-white striped pajamas, for crying out loud!

But his face …

Big, bubbly boils peppered his skin. His nose was blackened, and the area under his eyes was blue and swollen. Flakes of dry skin hung from his cheeks, as if he was a snake in the process of shedding. His hair was thin, crisp, falling out in clumps. His eyes were sunken and downright gross.

Gilbert opened his mouth. Strings of saliva spread between his rotten teeth. The man stepped back …

… Right into Flick’s swinging pickaxe.

I woke up, shouting “Pickaxe!” over and over and over. A brown furry mass that had been sleeping under the window popped up.

“What is it?” Briar asked frantically, holding out his paws like a boxer. He hopped left and right, eyes wide. “What pickaxe? Where’s the pickaxe?!”

My eyes blinked a dozen times in rapid succession. I looked around. My alarm was buzzing. I turned it off and smacked my dry lips together. “Well, another day,” I muttered.

“What happened?” Briar asked. “Lordy, my heart’s a-thumpin! I need a glass of milk.”

“Wait!” I said, stopping him before he could reach the door. “My parents are home.”

“No, they went golfing an hour ago.”

“Oh. How do you know that?”

“Because your dear mother came in and tucked you in.”

I glanced down at the sheets. He was right: the sheets were tucked in under the mattress, as if a hotel maid had come into the room while I was asleep. The sheets were tucked in so tight that I could barely move my legs. That was definitely Mom’s doing.

“Turn around,” I ordered, walking over to the closet. I heard my computer start up. “Are you still playing around on Facebook?”

“I have many things going on,” was the rabbit’s reply.

“Well, open my music player and turn on some Janis Joplin. I need to get pumped for the day.”

The rabbit complied. The sound of crunching guitars filled the room. My brain quickly booted up again.

I grabbed my go-to sneakers, a pair of cropped white skinny jeans, and a ruffled loose-fitting tank top with cinnamon-colored stripes around the neck. I stared longingly at my new blue maxi dress that I’d bought in Chicago. I had to find a reason to wear it soon or I was going to go bonkers and just end up wearing it to the library.

“Do we have a plan yet?” I asked, turning around. I saw the computer screen over Briar’s shoulder: he was on Facebook. Again. I sighed. “Well, at least you’re not addicted to Castle Cats, I guess.”

His fuzzy ears perked up. “Say what?”

“We need a plan,” I said again, grabbing my sheets and tossing them loosely over the mattress. There. Bed made. I was becoming such an accomplished 18-year-old.

“Yes, I was thinking about that …”

“And?”

“… And I’m still thinking. What happened in your dream?”

I shrugged. “Oh you know, just a poor fool running for his life while a crazy Corrupted dwarf chases him down with a pickaxe. The usual.” I grabbed the magic pen from the desk, flipping it around in my hand. “There was something else, too. The guy said something about the code. What does that mean?”

“Well, they make software, don’t they?”

“Yeah …”

“Software, and games, are composed entirely of code,” Briar said. “It’s a string of commands that tell the game what to say or do.”

“Castle Cats,” I murmured. “Seth said there was something strange about that game.”

“For the record, I find it incredibly humorous that the giant talking rabbit is teaching you about how a computer program works. Don’t they teach you this in your school? It seems important.”

“They were too busy this past year teaching me about biology and literature,” I said. “There’s a lot to learn in high school, you know. We don’t all have an infinite amount of time to surf the web, unlike certain rabbits.”

Briar clicked the mouse, then deftly pecked away at the keyboard. A new web page loaded. He turned the laptop so I could see it easier.

“The Fifth Annual Milwaukee Public Museum Fundraiser Gala,” I read aloud. “Blech, that’s a mouthful. Wait, why do I recognize that place?”

“I suspect because you’ve seen it—or part of it—in a dream.”

I looked closer. The room was huge, with hundreds of people dressed in black suits and dark dresses milling about beside tall windows overlooking a courtyard with a large fountain sitting directly in the center. The fountain was shaped like a fish jumping out of the water. The fish spat a steady stream of water out of its mouth. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The floor was made of a glossy white tile with gold borders.

“Give up?” Briar asked.

“OK. Tell me.”

He pointed with his paw to the floor tiles. Near the center was a strange logo outlined with dark brown tiles. “This is the logo of the old company that used to own the Grayle Incorporated building.”

My fingers tightened around the pen. “So the Grayle brothers bought the building and now they’re hosting the gala. When?”

“This coming weekend,” Briar said. His paw tapped on the desk. “I fear we won’t have enough time to properly strategize …”

“Dude, we totally have time.”

“… and of course you’ll need a dress …”

“I have a dress.”

“… and I of course will need to find a way to slip in so I may provide support ... and of course the Grayles may not even be there.”

“Why wouldn’t the Grayles be there?” I asked. “I mean, they own the building, for crying out loud.”

“Yes, but helping out the community hardly seems like the type of thing they would be interested in.”

I shook my head in annoyance. “Still seems like a good risk to take.”

Briar tapped his paws together. “Yes … I suppose. I just don’t know if we’re ready to deal with them. The Grayles … they …”

“We’re going,” I stated, looking into his large brown eyes. He looked nervous. “This needs to be done.”

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “Maybe if we just left them alone …”

I shook my head. “They know who I am now. We need to end this. I command you to help me.”

“So you want to go in without a plan?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “That seems so very … usual.”

“Just see what more you can do about getting us into this gala,” I said. A sharp cramp hit my stomach, causing me to wince. “Man, I could use a day off.”

Briar glanced at me, concerned. “Are you still taking your antibiotics? You can’t miss a dose, you know.”

“I know, mother. And it’s not that. I’ll be back after the library closes.”

I grabbed my purse and took it into the bathroom, adding a quick coat of mascara and a dab of peachy-pink lip gloss before heading out, locking the door behind me. I hoped Mary was at the library again. All I wanted was a quiet morning where I could really think this whole situation over. We had an opportunity to get inside Grayle Incorporated and we couldn’t squander it.

I reached Mooreland Road and turned left, still racking my brain over some credible way to get inside, trying to walk in a way that wouldn’t make the cramps any worse than they already were. Surely there would be security to prevent just anyone from crashing the party, so we’d have to be extra careful …

I saw the person coming out of the corner of my eye and jumped back, my hand instinctively reaching for the pen in my pocket. The dark-haired woman looked up from her smartphone and smiled.

“Sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.” It was the same woman who I’d bumped into just yesterday.

Her phone made a strange “meow” sound. “Whoops!” she said, swiping her thumb across the screen, making sure not to let her long red fingernail scratch it. The same woman from yesterday, playing the same stupid game.

I watched her walk over to the parked blue car at the end of the street. I looked left: she’d come out of the same little salon, too. She must work there, I thought.

She started her car, then reached for something inside her sparkling silver purse. I walked closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as I could. But I didn’t need to get any closer to see what it was: a candy bar with a purple wrapper.

The same disgusting candy bar Seth had been eating yesterday.

“OK, something is seriously going on here,” I muttered, hoofing it to the library.

My luck didn’t hold out. Fran was the librarian on duty, and the moment she saw me she narrowed her eyes disapprovingly.

“No sleeves?” she asked. “That seems a bit scandalous, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” I said. “I think it’s cute.”

She just rolled her eyes, and I was thankful that she didn’t make a bigger deal out of it. I wasn’t in the mood. I wanted to feel bad for her losing her house, but you know what? Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she’d stopped paying her bills or something. It was possible. And I had more important things to deal with right now—like, for instance, murderous Corrupted dwarfs who just so happened to own one of the most powerful corporations in the city.

And stomach cramps. Really, really bad cramps.

“Gaaaah,” I moaned, grabbing a stack of books from the checkout desk that were ready to be re-shelved.

“What was that?” Fran asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, nothing.” I suddenly realized she might have the wrong idea. “I mean, nothing related to the library, that’s for sure. Just thinking about a bunch of stuff going on right now outside of here.”

“Right. Of course.” Her upper lip was dangerously close to resembling a sneer. She cocked her head. “No doubt you have lots of boy problems and of course there are the text messages pouring in and the constant worries about the next outfit you need to put together for tomorrow. Lots of big problems.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, suddenly angry. I wanted nothing more than to retreat into the maze of bookshelves.

“You have no idea what adult problems are like,” Fran said in a motherly tone. And not my mom’s “motherly tone,” either, which was annoying but at the very least tolerable. Fran had a downright mean motherly tone.

“No, I guess I don’t,” I said, making my way around the checkout desk. The more space I put between us, the less likely Fran was to continue. As if on cue, the cramp in my stomach tightened just a bit more.

I retreated into the Military History section just beyond the table full of computers. No one was sitting at them yet, which I guess wasn’t strange for a … um … Monday? Tuesday? I pulled one of the computers out of sleep mode so I could check its little calendar.

Wednesday. Wow. I could remember when I first started high school, the summer days just sort of melted together. No job, no worries, just a lot of trips to the mall and even more trips to Seth’s house to watch movies.

Now, the days were still melting together, but for entirely different reasons.

“Hey.”

I dropped the books I was holding, cringing when they landed face-first on the ground with a heavy clap. “Seth!” I said, spinning around. “Why are you so sneaky?”

He shrugged. “It’s a library. You’re supposed to be quiet.”

I rubbed my temples. I felt a headache coming on. “I can’t believe you got the jump on me again.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, helping me pick up the books. One of them—an old history of World War II—had landed awkwardly, bending a few of the pages. I tried to un-bend them as best I could, feeling as if I’d damaged something incredibly valuable. “So what’s up?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Since yesterday? I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

“Huh.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out another of those disgusting candy bars. At first, I thought he was trying to be funny, but then he peeled away the wrapper and brought it to his mouth.

I slapped it out of his hand. It bounced off a book on one of the shelves and landed on the floor. “Are you insane?” I whispered harshly. “Do you seriously not remember how gross those things are?”

He shrugged. His finger went to one of the books that had been smudged with chocolate when the candy bar bounced off it. When he brought his finger to his mouth, I nearly gagged.

“Gawd, only a boy would do that.”

“It tastes fine to me.” He bent over, grabbed the candy bar, and took a bite. His face slowly contorted. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I’m right, you doofus.”

He spat out the half-chewed chocolate and whatever else was inside the gross thing, wrapping it up in the wrapper and stuffing it back into his pocket. “That’s weird,” he said. “I swear this morning when I stopped at the gas station before work, I wanted one of these so, so bad.”

“I can only imagine what the inside of your pockets look like,” I said. “Have you managed to do any research on Castle Cats yet?”

He cocked his head quizzically, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, the phone game. You know, it’s the darndest thing, but I can’t for the life of me get inside of it to take a look at its source code. I tried three times, and every time my computer rebooted. It’s insane. You’d need to be a genius to get inside it.”

“Keep trying.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why, exactly?”

I glanced down the aisle to make sure we were alone, then leaned in close. “OK, you want to really know why?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Because you’re not the only person eating those disgusting candy bars and playing Castle Cats. Now, I did a little reading last night about advertising. You know what it said?”

“That advertising works?” he asked with a shrug.

“Well, duh. Of course it works. But sometimes it works really, really well. Remember those old cartoons we watched as kids?”

He nodded vigorously. “I still have some of the toys up in my attic.”

“Exactly.” I jabbed a finger at him. “Those cartoons were made to sell the toys.”

The gears in Seth’s head cranked for a moment. Finally, his eyes widened. “That’s amazing! It makes perfect sense: you want to sell the action figures, so you make a cheap little cartoon to get the kids excited.”

“There’s more, too. What do you know about subliminal advertising?”

“What, you mean like underwater stuff?”

“No, not submarine advertising. Come on.” I led him to the other side of the library, glancing around to make sure we weren’t alone. The cramps in my stomach had subsided for the moment, but not the weird feeling that the dwarfs were nearby. Of course, I would see a glowing trail if any Corrupted were in the library … at least, I probably would. Those sibling assassins had been able to hide their telltale sign, so what other surprises were in store for me?

At the check-out desk near the front, Fran watched us over the top of her glasses. Maybe the next Corrupted that went after me would eat her first, I thought. At least that way, I’d have time to draw a saber and defend myself.

We stopped at the bookshelf labeled Business. I ran my finger along the spines of the books until I came upon one called Subliminal Advertising in the Digital Age. I pulled it out and handed it to him.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asked.

“Read it.”

He thumbed through it. “Eh … there aren’t a lot of pictures …”

“Look. A long time ago, advertisers tried to use subliminal messaging in their ads to try and get people to buy more of their products. It was a total bust and never really worked very well, but that didn’t stop them from getting more creative. Advertisers today use environmental clues to prime customers. Cues like music. Have you ever wondered why supermarkets play slow music?”

Seth shook his head. “My mom shops for my food.”

“OK, well … pretend you’re a regular adult.”

He closed his eyes. “This is hard.”

“OK. Well, just pretend you’re the owner of the supermarket. You realize one day that people shop for more food when you play slow music over the loudspeakers. What kind of music are you going to play?”

“Slow music.”

“Right.” I smiled, pointing to the book. “So what if the company that makes Castle Cats has figured out a way to make subliminal advertising work somehow? Just a hint of something, or the right kind of music, or a well-placed candy bar somewhere?”

Seth shrugged. “Not exactly the most dastardly thing they could be doing. So they tricked me into buying a candy bar or three … so what?”

“OK, well, what if I told you the guys running Grayle Incorporated are really, really bad people? Like, Darth Vader bad.”

He rubbed the nonexistent whiskers on the tip of his chin. “I suppose that might suck.”

I pressed the advertising book against his chest. “Take this book. At the very least, please skim through it. Then try to crack into Castle Cats again to see what’s inside it. Please.”

“OK. OK. Jeez, this is like homework or something.”

“That reminds me … is Trish actually going to her summer classes?” I asked, hoping things had gotten better. Over the course of a single day. Which I guess was a pretty unrealistic hope.

Seth just shrugged, leafing through the book.

“She keeps texting me to go to these stupid drinking parties,” I said. I winced. He didn’t want to hear that, you dummy. I quickly added: “I tell her no, though.”

“Join the club.”

“I’m sure she’ll get tired of them,” I offered. “Trish loves to act stupid from time to time. She gets over it and realizes how dumb she’s being.”

Seth closed the book. “Look, I know she doesn’t like me as much as she used to. I’m not blind. Hanging out with me is getting boring, and going to the parties with the cool kids is always fun.”

“I don’t think it’s that …”

“No, it’s more.” He blinked a bunch of times, like he had something in his eye. “I know I’m not the guy she’s always dreamed of. I have a funny-shaped head and I’m short and I have chicken legs. What’s worse, I always wear black rock ‘n roll t-shirts and jeans with holes in them. Not exactly the best style if you want to hang with Trish’s new friends. The odds have always been against me from day one. So if her Prince Charming comes along, then so be it. I’ll understand.”

“Seth,” I said, shaking my head. “Prince Charming doesn’t exist.”

“Well, Trish sure thinks so. See you soon.”

I watched him walk back to the other side of the library. I felt bad—he already had so much on his mind, and here I was piling more on him. I didn’t like the idea of Seth being involved in this, but it was clear I needed his help. I didn’t know a thing about how computer programs worked, and whoever the man in my dream had been … well, he’d died so the Grayles could protect their secret.

Maybe if I figured their secret out, I could use it against them somehow.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on cleaning tasks. Fran wanted all of the bookshelves dusted, especially the top shelves, and she wanted it done as thoroughly as possible. That meant taking the books down from each shelf and wiping the books down one by one, then wiping down each shelf. It was a time-consuming process, but it gave me the opportunity to get to know each section a little better.

It was a welcome little distraction. The last thing I needed was to spend all of my time thinking about something I really had no control over for the time being. The Grayles were tucked safely away in their modern castle downtown. They were calling the shots for the time being. And as long as they kept their ire focused on me and not my friends or family, I could handle whatever they threw at me.

I hoped.

At the end of the day, I found Fran locked away in the librarians’ office. The library was empty, the computers turned off, the carpeting vacuumed. I debated whether I should just leave—I could see through the front doors that storm clouds were rolling in and I really didn’t want to get soaked on the way home. My cramps had just begun subsiding and a run through the rain seemed like just the kind of thing to make them flare up again.

“Alice,” Fran half-yelled as she opened the door.

I turned, waiting for the next bossy order.

Fran cleared her throat. “I … the …” She sighed, lowering her head. “I was hoping I could convince you to stop by my house and help me move a few boxes.”

“Oh.” I searched for an excuse not to do it, but nothing came. “Well, sure. If you can drive me home afterward.”

“Obviously …” She stopped herself and sighed again, straightening her back. “I would be more than happy to drive you home afterward.”

So off we went, to the parking lot where Fran’s old green Toyota was parked. To say it was an awkward car ride would be an understatement. Fran didn’t talk. Either the radio didn’t work or she just didn’t like listening to music. Knowing Fran, I figured she probably just didn’t like listening to music. “It’s all hippity-hop and death metal,” she would probably say. The thought made me smile a bit, and I turned my head so she wouldn’t see.

We arrived at her house, which was near the border of my suburb. The houses in this neighborhood were older, with rusty-looking windows and tall brick chimneys. Every house looked nearly identical to its neighbor: small, squat, with one window on the second story. Each one had different-colored siding. Fran’s was a soft blue, the color of the sky.

“Well, here we are,” Fran murmured, parking the car in her little driveway. She didn’t have a garage. The driveway’s concrete was cracked in places and weeds had begun sprouting. It looked the weeds had taken up permanent residence.

I got out of the car and followed Fran to her home. One of her neighbors was running a lawnmower, and the familiar sound made me feel a little less tense about the whole situation. My phone buzzed in my purse. I quickly hit the “End” button before Fran could get upset.

“Welcome to my home,” she said quietly, unlocking the door and opening it wide. I took a breath and walked inside.

We were in the kitchen. It was small and cramped, lined with cupboards on one side and lined with appliances on the other. The oven looked old and had a yellow exterior, like something out of the seventies. Food was crusted on the black stove top. Boxes sat stacked on the table, each one labeled either “Plates” or “Cups” or “Misc.”

“The boxes are on the second floor,” Fran said. She very quietly placed her keys on the table. I did the same with my purse and followed her into the hallway, where there was a narrow carpeted staircase leading upstairs.

I followed her up the creaky stairs. At the top was a single room with a single window. The ceiling of the room was triangle-shaped where the roof came together, and the walls were all lined with an ugly fake wood paneling. There were once bookshelves lining the walls. A dozen bookshelves, at least. They were gone now, but I could still see their outlines on the walls and the light brown carpeting. Boxes and boxes sat on the floor. I walked around them, amazed that each one was filled to the brim with books. Old books. Really, really old books with crumbling covers and paper that carried the most wonderful smells.

The smell of old books. I laughed a little.

“What’s funny?” Fran asked sharply.

“Oh. I’m just a weirdo, that’s all. I love the smell of old books.”

She stepped beside me, looking down at the open box and sighing. “Well, I don’t think that makes you weird.” She reached down into the box, pulling out a faded copy of Catch-22. “I bought this book in 1961, two days after it came out. I had to borrow money from my mother to get it, too. I read it twice before Christmas came around.”

“It looks nice.”

“It’s more than nice,” Fran said. The edge had escaped her voice. Holding the book seemed to calm her or at the very least take away whatever anger had been building up inside.

I’d like to see television have that kind of power.

“What about this one?” I asked, pointing into the box. I dared not touch the next book. It looked older than my grandparents, wrapped in plastic to protect it from oily fingers. There was a very familiar character on the cover.

“Oh.” Fran giggled. She actually giggled! “That’s an original.” She reached down and carefully picked up the book, holding it by its edges. “Uncle Remus and Br’er Rabbit, by Joel Chandler Harris. A good collection of Br’er Rabbit stories, although not without controversy. The author tried his best to mimic the dialect used by slaves at the time, and it’s since become quite controversial. Still, the stories about Br’er Rabbit have historical significance and I’m glad someone got them down on paper so his stories could be enjoyed for another century or two. He was quite the trickster.”

“Yeah he is.”

She gave me a strange look, but said nothing, carefully returning the book to its place in the box. “This box and the others need to go downstairs into the living room. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course.” I bent down, lifting up the heavy box of books. Fran seemed surprised by my strength.

“I was thinking we would take them down together,” she said.

“Oh, no. The stairs are too narrow. Better I just get them done myself. Maybe you could just walk in front of me so if I trip, I’ll land on you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“That came out wrong.”

“I suspected as much. But I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

“Whatever way” ended up being her sitting in the kitchen while I did all the work. And to be honest, that was just fine by me. In the kitchen, she couldn’t snap at me for doing something wrong … and she couldn’t see me sneaking a peek at the inside of the boxes. She had everything! Old books about the Civil War, copies of Jane Austin and Charles Dickens classics that looked like originals, even an ancient version of Grimms’ Fairy Tales with a strange cover that looked like a painting of Cinderella.

Ten boxes later, I was nearly spent. An air conditioner kept the first floor cool, but upstairs the summer heat was slipping in through the window. I was sweating. My legs felt sore and stiff. In the living room, I stood in front of the air conditioner sitting in one of the windows and lifted my shirt slightly to let the cool air in. There was a beautiful antique blue couch with tufted cushions resting against the wall, and on the other side of the room was an old, old TV. Like, we’re talking vintage here: it literally was encased in a wooden frame. I loved it.

“Alice, come in here,” Fran called out.

I sighed, forcing my body away from the wonderful cool air. In the kitchen, Fran had taken a seat at her table, moving aside two of the boxes so she could make room for a plateful of weird square-shaped cookies.

“Eat a few of these,” she ordered.

I reached hesitantly for the plate, grabbing one cookie. I bit it in half, then fought the urge to spit it out onto the white linoleum floor. It tasted like cardboard with a hint of caramel.

Fran watched me eat. I must have had a strange look on my face because she asked, “Are you feeling all right?”

“Oh.” I glanced down at my stomach. The cramps had subsided to a dull ache, and I wondered if my hand had unconsciously went to my abdomen from time to time. “Um … well, to be honest, I’ve had sort of an upset stomach lately …”

“Say no more.” She stood up, walking over to her cupboards. “I have the perfect tea for that. You take a seat and let me boil some water.”

“Oh really, you don’t have to do that.”

She pulled out a porcelain mug and unwrapped a tea bag from a small tin that had been in the “Misc.” box. I smelled it immediately: mint, with a hint of ginger and lemongrass.

“On second thought … maybe I should have some tea.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, walking over to the stove and lighting one of the burners. She grabbed a small metal teapot from the “Misc.” box and filled it with water, then set it on the burner.

I took the moment to look around. It really was a nice little kitchen. Quaint. Near the top of the ceiling, the bright blue wallpaper gave way to a horizontal strip of dancing bears. The strip wrapped around the entire room, broken up only by cupboards. The fridge was old and yellow. The sink looked new, though, with a shiny new faucet. I felt bad about the faucet. How recently had she put it in?

“Are you moving?” I asked, curious about how much this nice version of Fran might tell me.

She simply shrugged and ate one of the stale cookies. “A big old house like this is too much for one person. I don’t use the living room. The guest room is full of junk. The basement is—was—full of more junk. I just use my library and my bedroom and quite frankly, a house this big deserves someone who’ll put it to good use.”

That seemed sad. “You probably use the kitchen, though.”

A little smile cracked on Fran’s lips. “Not often. Otherwise, I would have realized these cookies are stale.”

I laughed. “Well, I didn’t want to say anything …”

She set her half-eaten cookie back on the plate. “I wish you would have. I certainly wouldn’t have taken a bite.” Her eyes seemed to sweep around the room with a renewed sense of satisfaction. “Yes, this house is a pain in the butt. I’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

The kettle began whistling. Fran got up with a very quiet groan and grabbed the kettle. She poured the steaming water into my cup. I wrapped the tea bag’s string around one finger to keep it from slipping into the water.

“This should be in every woman’s kitchen cabinets,” Fran declared. “And our men should have to go out and buy it for us if we run out. That’s the least they can do.”

I chuckled. “I’ll remember that.” I took a sip of the tea. It had a wonderful, crisp finish. After just two sips, my stomach felt a little more at ease. “Wow! This really works well.”

“I know some things,” Fran said defiantly. “You don’t get to be as old as me without picking up a few good tips now and again.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. It was a comfortable sort of silence, though, and the cool air blowing in from the living room felt good on my glistening skin. “Can I ask a question about one of the books?”

Fran’s face lit up. She was nearly unrecognizable. “Of course you can.”

“The Grimms’ Fairy Tales book …”

She smiled, nodding. “It’s old. Nothing close to an original, but it was printed in the early 1900’s. It contains the original stories, not the cleaned-up ones that censored all of the violence. I may be an old lady, but I don’t like my books censored.”

“Where did you find that book?” I asked.

“Oh, I do believe it was given to me by my grandfather. He gave me lots of books that I kept. That one, though … it seems like I’ve always had it.”

I took another long sip, staring at the corner of the floor where the doorway opened into the hall. The linoleum had begun to peel. “Mary misses hanging out with you,” I blurted out.

Fran’s eyebrows lifted. “She misses hanging out with me? I had no idea we hung out.”

“Oh. I guess old people don’t use that phrase … not that you’re old or anything! I mean … well, she would probably like having tea with you again.”

Fran grunted, staring at her oven. She crossed her legs. “Maybe after I move.”

“She told me you used to ride a motorcycle.”

“Oh, that sly dog,” Fran said, smiling. “She told you about my motorcycle, did she? Well, you’ll be happy to know I sold it years ago. Ten years of cruising around like some renegade biker was plenty for me. It was my husband’s passion, though. I had fun, but he loved it.”

“I’m sorry he’s gone,” I said.

Fran gave a little nod. “Sometimes, even good people die too young. And he was a good man. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but then again neither was I. We loved each other and we made each other laugh. You get to a point in your life when you no longer search for the perfect Prince Charming … you search instead for the guy who makes you happy.”

“I think I’m already there,” I muttered, taking another long sip of tea.

“Good for you,” Fran said. “I hope you kids aren’t all going out looking for sullen vampire princes to date. They’re really not all that fun outside of a book.”

“I can assure you I’m not.” I sipped, thinking. “I get the feeling my friend is waiting for someone who doesn’t exist. Or maybe she’s looking.” I shut my eyes. “Gawd, I hope she’s not looking. She has a great boyfriend.”

“But it’s not working,” Fran finished.

“Oh, it’s working for him more than it seems to be for her,” I said. “Kind of like, oh I don’t know, like she’s got other priorities now. But like, they sometimes fight.” I buried my hands in my face. “Who am I kidding? They always fight.”

“It sounds like they’re suffering from the hedgehog’s dilemma.”

“Say what?” I set my hands down. I thought I’d misheard her.

“The hedgehog’s dilemma,” Fran said. “It’s used to describe relationships. During hibernation, hedgehogs can stay warmer if they keep close, but they can’t keep too close or they’ll stab each other with their spines.”

“I don’t understand. How does that relate to Trish and—I mean … oops!” I slapped a hand over my mouth. “How does that relate to my friends?”

Fran crossed her legs, sighing. “Oftentimes, human intimacy and mutual harm goes hand-in-hand. To be close to someone, you sometimes feel pain.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, taking another sip of tea. “I just don’t think my friends realize that.”

“Dear,” Fran said, touching the tips of my fingers. “Very few teenagers realize that good relationships take work. And sometimes being close to someone can cause some hurt. Losing my husband was the hardest thing I ever went through. But I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.”

I nodded, staring at her. There was happiness hiding inside the lines on her face. “I hope I experience that some day,” I said. I didn’t say any more. Maybe if Trish had asked me … maybe I would have told her that I was just a little scared about the future. Would I still be hunting Corrupted ten years from now? Or would I be dead? Could I retire somehow?

Fran sighed, tapping her finger on the table. “I should call Mary. She’s right: we don’t see each other enough anymore. It’s …”

She stopped. I didn’t prod. Her eyes had grown a little glassy.

“She … well, my husband was her brother, you see. He and she had the same green eyes and the same clownish chuckle. When I see her, when I hear her laugh … it still hurts a little. That’s the hardest thing about loving someone so, so much.”

“I bet Mary loves you too, though.”

Fran thought about it, then nodded. “You’re right. Today, I’m going to call her.” She looked down at my empty cup of tea. “Do you feel better now?”

“I do. My stomach hasn’t felt this good in days.”

“Here,” she said, standing up and reaching into the “Misc.” box. She grabbed three more packages of tea and shoved them in my hands. “Take these. I’ll make sure I leave some more for you at the library. I’m going to be taking some time off so that I can plan my move. Will you help again?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Any time.” Provided I’m not fighting Corrupted monsters, I wanted to add.

She took a deep breath, placing her hands on her hips. “I should get you home.”

I followed her out the door, taking one last look at her house. I wasn’t sure exactly how we were going to deal with the Grayles, but one thing was certain:

Fran wasn’t going to lose this house.

Chapter 5

I was inside Sam Grayle’s office. For a moment, I feared I’d been captured. But when I tried to move my legs, the strange floating feeling came over me and I realized it was just a dream. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window overlooking Lake Michigan. Sam was sitting at his desk, staring at his two brothers who stood on the other side. Sam was the only one wearing a suit coat. His other brothers were dressed in jeans and dress shirts, some kind of “business casual” tone.

“So the advertising source code is working as it should,” Sam said.

The diseased creature named Gilbert nodded, then coughed. His brother, Flick, wrinkled his nose in disgust and took a step away.

“The, ah …” Gilbert hacked again. He looked even more sickly than he had in my previous dream. His big floppy ears both looked as if they were on the verge of falling off. “Excuse me. The ‘advertisements,’ as you affably describe them, should start bringing in revenue immediately.”

“And you’re sure the code can’t be changed?” Sam asked.

Gilbert nodded. “Not unless they access the code from inside our building. Impossible, I would say. We’re well protected.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, Hans the Hedgehog did such a good job of killing our sleeping beauty.”

“She woke up!” Flick shouted. His face flushed red. “She wasn’t supposed to wake up. The Frog Prince’s victims never wake up.” His fingers clenched into fists. “Oh, I could throttle that idiotic hedgehog … if he wasn’t so tall and prickly.”

Sam picked a piece of lint off the arm of his suit. It was a glossy gray, very high-end. “Modern medicine has made some amazing advancements … in the last fifty years.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted,” Flick said. “You must think your brothers are a merry band of fools.”

“Oh, of course not,” Sam said. “You’re my brothers, after all! I think the world of both of you. But to be entirely honest, I’m not as worried about the hero as you. We live inside a fortress. A marvel of modern architecture! I would much rather spend my time making money.”

“Somebody is going to realize at some point that we’re living here,” said the sickly Gilbert. “They’ll ask questions.”

“And then I’ll put a pickaxe in their back,” Flick said. He shrugged. “It happens.”

“A bit too often for my tastes,” Sam added. “And I’m not a big fan of the financial cost of hiding bodies.”

“I’m spending my own money!” Flick shouted. “From our,” he pointed to himself and his sickly brother, “software business. And while you may not be all that interested in killing the only person on the planet who can stop us, my brother and I are. And we have a plan to kill her, too. Tell him, Gilbert.”

“Um …” Gilbert coughed, then coughed harder. “Well …” He coughed again. “Excuse me. Yes. I’ve inserted another bit of code into the Castle Cats game. If everything works out correctly, the hero should be taken care of quite soon. In fact, any of our enemies from here on out should be quite easy to dispose of.”

Flick cackled, rubbing his beard. “Tell him about the best part. Tell him about the best part!”

“Well …” Gilbert coughed again, as if he had a hairball in his throat. Both his brothers looked a little grossed out. “The best part, I suppose, is the fact that the code I’ve inserted into the game—and any future games we develop—will allow us to send hidden messages to anyone playing the game. Not just subliminal advertisements … messages that the players will obey.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Any message? Not just a little ad for Carameltastic candy bars?”

Flick nodded, smiling a devilish smile. “Any message. And the user will obey, thanks to this disease bag’s subliminal messaging.”

Gilbert bristled, then sneezed, spraying disgusting green mucus onto his hands. He wiped it on his pants. “I resent the term disease bag.”

The intercom on Sam’s desk buzzed. “Mr. Richardson to see you.”

“Richardson?” Flick asked, cocking his head. “It’s seven in the evening. What does that bloated gasbag want?”

Sam smiled. “I do believe he’s here to yell at me.” He stood on his tippy-toes to reach the intercom. “Send him up, please.”

“Should I make myself scarce?” Gilbert asked. “I mean … well, I am a bit of a disease bag, I suppose … and I think I may be coming down with another quite severe cold …”

“No need to leave,” Sam said. “I fear this will not be a positive discussion.”

Flick, smiling devilishly, rubbed his hands together in anticipation. I hovered closer to Sam on the other side of the desk. I was surprised he had a “normal”-sized desk. But nothing on the desk was placed out of reach from where he sat: he had a handful of manila folders, a stack of papers, the intercom and a dozen or so black pens lined up in a neat row. There was also a big white coffee mug with the words “Life’s a Beach” printed on the side.

No computer. No cell phone. Nothing modern.

The office doors suddenly burst open. A sharp-dressed businessman wearing a black suit barged through. His face was red and his dark eyebrows were pushed together in a mean-looking frown. He took a handful of steps before stabbing his finger in the direction of Sam. Flick and Gilbert dodged the much larger man before he could knock them over.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!” the man yelled.

Sam shrugged. “You’ll have to be more specific, Mr. Richardson. I’m a very busy man. And a very successful one.”

“You stole my company!” Gilbert and Flick both covered their ears. Mr. Richardson’s scream was loud enough that even I wanted to cover my ears, and I was just a dream-like ghost thingy.

For his part, Sam just closed his eyes in annoyance. When he opened them, something had changed. The dark green was gone … or it had blackened. It was as if a shadow had crept across his face. “I bought your company,” he said in cool, calm voice. “I do it all the time. I buy other businesses and then I own them and make more money.”

“I’m a respected businessman!” Mr. Richardson said. He jammed a thumb at his chest. Wow! I hadn’t seen a grown-up go this far off the rails since sophomore year of high school, when Mr. Manti—our math teacher—went ballistic because no one did the homework the night before. That guy had thrown a chair. Mr. Richardson looked one step away from throwing poor Gilbert right through the window.

“I am a respected businessman as well,” Sam said calmly. “What’s your point?”

“It’s … it’s …” Mr. Richardson’s chest deflated. “It’s my company.”

“No, it was your company.” Sam stepped out from behind the desk, as if he wanted to show the angry man that he wasn’t afraid. “Mr. Richardson, let me explain to you how I work. When I see a good company being run by an inefficient bunch of fools, that makes me angry. And so I take that company. I gobble it up and make it my own, and then I hire competent people to run it. Those competent people make me more money. And then I use that money to buy more companies.”

“You’re a monster.”

Sam glared at him. “How dare you say that.”

“You … you’re not supposed to do this to your fellow businessmen!” Mr. Richardson shouted. His anger was losing its steam. He sounded more desperate now. “You’re supposed to do this to … to …”

“To the little people?” Sam asked. He smiled.

Flick snickered.

“Money is my overarching goal,” Sam said. “I’m a greedy, greedy creature, no doubt. And yes, I do take pleasure and getting that money any way I can. You call me a monster, Mr. Richardson, but in truth I am just like you. Only successful.”

Mr. Richardson sneered. “You’re a rotten little creature.”

Sam said nothing. A quiet “Oooooh” escaped from between Gilbert’s lips. Flick’s face began to redden again. He turned, walking over to the bookshelf along the wall. He opened the small cabinet at the base.

“I believe we’re done here,” Sam said. “Thank you for your time.”

“We’re not done,” Mr. Richardson said. “You’re giving me back my company.”

Behind him, Flick pulled a rusty-looking pickaxe from the cabinet. I knew better than to try and warn Mr. Richardson, but I gave it a shot anyway. But no sound escaped my ghostly mouth.

“I’ll not give back your company,” Sam said, “because that is charity, and I don’t do charity unless I have no other choice, Mr. Richardson. Also, you’re a horrible boss and a weak leader, and I can’t have someone like that in my employ. Now, I bid you a good evening.”

And then, just like that, Mr. Richardson was lying on the ground. The pickaxe stuck out of his back.

At first, they were silent. Then Flick reached into his pocket and pulled out three Carameltastic candy bars, handing one to each of his brothers. They peeled away the wrappers, eating and mumbling an “Mmmm.”

Flick started chuckling. Sam joined in. Gilbert coughed twice, then started chuckling. Pretty soon, they were all rolling on the floor, having a good laugh about the dead guy on their office floor.

I woke up, breathing heavily. The setting sun was sneaking in through the window over my bed. I sat up, looking around the empty room and waiting for my brain to reboot.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I’d taken a nap and now it was time for bed. I was never going to get to sleep again tonight.

Fran had dropped me off. I’d been tired, so I’d cranked up the air conditioning and thrown myself on the bed, and now it was eight o’clock. At night.

“Well,” I said, lurching my way to the desk. “There’s only one thing to do then.” I looked around, waiting for Briar to appear. He didn’t.

“Briar?”

No answer.

“OK then. I’ll do this on my own.” I grabbed the fountain pen from the desk, then took some money from my purse. It would be enough to get downtown and back, at least.

Downstairs, my parents were sitting on the couch in the living room. Mom was reading a self-help book on dealing with extended family and Dad was watching cable news. Their fancy-shmancy phones were sitting on the coffee table. They both looked at me.

“What’s up?” I asked.

Mom stared at me for a moment, then slowly shook her head. I waited a moment, expecting a “How are you feeling?” or “Do you need some ice cream, sweetie?”

But there was nothing. They simply looked at me, not speaking.

“Ooooookay. So … I’m just going go for a long jog. I’m in training.” I could have kicked myself. Worst excuse ever. I braced myself, expecting the obvious questions, like “Training for what?” and “What about your pills? Did you take your pills?”

They just stared.

“All right,” I said. “Thanks for being so weird.”

I made my way down to Mooreland Road, taking it slow because the muscles in my legs had begun to feel stiff. It took two buses to get downtown, and even then I had another six blocks to Grayle Incorporated. As I got off the second bus at the stop beside a pharmacy, I steeled myself. This had to be done. There was no time to feel weak.

And I was totally going to do it. I swear, I was ready to go right into the building and stab each and every one of those dwarves with a razor-sharp saber. Nuts to the police. What were they going to do, anyway? OK, maybe arrest me for breaking and entering … but that was only if they could catch me.

I was totally going to do it.

But then things started to get interesting.

The first woman to walk out of the pharmacy paid no attention to me. I walked behind her, toward the looming tower of Grayle Incorporated that was just a few blocks east. She crossed the street, hailing a taxi with a loud whistle.

Another woman walked out of the pharmacy, walking quickly past me with only a brief glance in my direction, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. Her phone beeped in her pocket. She reached into her cute little brown purse and pulled the phone out, checking whatever message she had.

She stopped. I kept walking toward her, stepping closer to the street so I could give her a wide berth. It was obvious she was engrossed in whatever was on her phone, her hand absently reaching up to her head and pulling a stray strand of blonde hair back behind her ears. She had a pretty face with dark eyes to match her dark green long-sleeved shirt.

“Excuse me,” I said quietly as I passed. The woman’s head spun in my direction. She looked at me with wide eyes, saying nothing.

Something told me not to turn away from her. Not to trust her. It was a heavy feeling right in the pit of my stomach, impossible to ignore.

“Is something wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

The woman just stared, wide-eyed. My hand found its way to the magic pen in my pocket, as if it might protect me. Suddenly, the woman’s hand rose. I jumped back.

She was holding out her phone.

At first, I thought she wanted to hand it over to me, as if there was something on the screen that had upset her and somehow, coincidentally, it had something to do with me. But when I took a step left, she followed my movement with her phone. And I realized the camera on the phone was pointed directly at me.

I turned and ran to the next block, glancing once over my shoulder. The woman was still standing in place, her phone pointed at me.

I stopped beside a posh Japanese sushi restaurant. My hand ran through my hair, thinking. Was she a spy? Did she somehow know something? Or was she just another weirdo walking around downtown?

My eyes caught my reflection in the restaurant windows. I gave myself a quick once-over, untucking my shirt from where it had bunched up at my waist.

OK. I looked good. I don’t say that too often, but in spite of the muggy weather my hair was behaving itself and the top fit snug and you could barely see the fountain pen sticking out from my pocket. I could have snapped a picture if I had my phone. I’m sure the diners wouldn’t have minded if someone standing outside had very casually taken a picture. Especially if I explained to them just how rare it was that my hair looked so perfect.

I looked past my reflection, noticing the young couple sitting next to the window. The man’s eyes were on me.

“Sorry,” I mouthed with an embarrassed shrug.

The man reached into his pocket. The woman took a sip of her wine, watching her handsome date pull out his phone.

He held it out, aiming his camera right at me. My heart went cold.

The woman turned, saw me, and reached in her purse for her camera.

I stepped back on the sidewalk. There were more people inside the restaurant looking now. Some of them pulled out their cell phones. Some didn’t.

Most of them did. And I had a funny feeling every single person with their camera phone pointed at me had played Castle Cats this evening.

I turned and walked, glancing just once over my shoulder. Through the windows, I could see everyone’s phone camera following me.

I crossed the street, passing a hotel with a red canopy where two well-dressed tourists were standing outside for a cigarette. I tried to shield my face from them, moving quickly. They paid me no mind, but as I walked closer to the next building where a handful of college-aged kids were walking out of another restaurant, two more cell phones appeared.

The others seemed confused. One girlfriend with curly blonde hair seemed especially upset that her boyfriend was aiming his phone’s camera at me.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “Jerry? Jerry! What are you doing, you pervert?!”

I turned my head, hoping it would stop whatever was happening. I bumped into one of the guys as I passed and mumbled an apology, keeping my head turned. The girl shouted obscenities at her boyfriend. I heard the sound of plastic cracking on the sidewalk.

“What the heck just happened?” asked the guy. I was still walking, but had my head cocked so I could overhear.

“You just took a picture of that girl!”

“I did? Oh, man. You broke my phone!”

“I’m gonna break your face, you idiot!”

I hurried across the street before the crosswalk light could change. I was only two blocks away from Grayle Tower. I could see the massive skyscraper looming over the older gothic concrete buildings ahead of me. I knew this street. There was a theatre, a sub shop that would be closed this late at night, and a trendy bar. As long as I just didn’t let my face be seen, I could still get to Grayle Tower and put a stop to all of this.

At the next intersection, I nearly walked into traffic. A red convertible sped by, honking its horn.

“Get it together!” I said to myself. My fingers tightened into fists. I stared down at the concrete curb, listening as best I could for any dangers. Milwaukee was coming alive. It was just after nine o’clock and people were leaving the theatres that lined the street a few blocks west; a symphony of high heels clicked on the sidewalk, followed by a chorus of car horns as taxis jockeyed along the curb.

I had this beautiful memory come to me: a trip to one of the beautiful old theatres with my parents. A dark stage with pillars of thick wood and dark red lights shining overhead. Frankenstein. Two men onstage: Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. Dr. Frankenstein was wearing a lab coat, kneeling on the stage in front of his monster. His monster was topless, dirty, wearing tattered gray pants. He had black scars all over his face and bald head.

Dr. Frankenstein begged his monster to forgive him. The monster shook his head.

Coolest. Story. Ever.

No Frankenstein movie ever came close to that play. The bare-bones stage … the great acting … the creepy lights … the cookies and orange juice during intermission … it was all so fantastic. Afterwards, I watched every single Frankenstein movie. Every single one.

None of them were as good.

I felt a calmness wash over me, temporarily staving off the fear. I looked both ways, then crossed the next street. The sidewalk was empty. On my right was a church with a tall, ancient steeple made of cream-colored bricks. Then a small business building with a clothing shop on the first floor. Through the narrow windows I could see dress racks with “20% OFF” signs.

There was a café at the end of the block. It was a hip joint, the kind that served coffee and wine and had a swanky little patio where the hipsters sat with their sweaters on the backs of their seats and cups of half-finished cappuccinos on the table.

And smartphones. Lots and lots of smartphones.

I kept one hand over my eyes like a visor, but I had to sneak a peak. There was more traffic on the street now and my ears were playing tricks on me. It seemed like a hundred different sounds—car tires on pavement, a dog barking, a couple laughing, the clink of a glass, music blaring from a stereo—were pummeling my eardrums from every direction. I needed to see where I was going.

The moment I looked up, all of the café patrons’ conversations stopped. They set down their cups of coffee, reaching into pockets and purses and little handbags. Their eyes landed on me, studying me with a zombie-like intensity.

“What do you want!” I shouted in frustration.

They held up their cell phone cameras.

I turned and ran around the block. Grayle Tower was right across the street, beside a much smaller old building with dark red bricks. Two of the streetlights were out—the ones right in front of the building. There were no cars parked on the street. No people anywhere. It was just me and the Grayles tonight.

No. Me and the Grayles and someone else. I could feel his presence behind me. To my right. Coming up from the other side of the block. With the empty street and all the sounds of the city partially blocked by the buildings behind me, I could hear the footsteps of one specific person coming up behind me. I could smell him, too: he was wearing cheap, weak cologne that had a nasty alcohol-tinged scent. The kind you buy at a drug store for twenty bucks.

“Boy,” I said quietly to myself, “you’ve gotta be kidding me. No way can you sneak up on me with that stinky cologne.”

The footsteps drew closer. I took a deep breath. I’ll just give whoever it is a quick chop, I thought—after all, it could just be a normal human under the spell of whatever creepy code had been put inside of that stupid Castle Cats game. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally stab a human being with my fountain pen.

The footsteps grew closer. There was a groan and something moved from the corner of my eye. I spun and chopped with my hand. The dark figure fell back, dropping his phone.

“Ow!”

I blinked, stepping back in shock. “Seth?”

Seth grabbed his ear. “You karate-chopped my other ear! What the heck?” He looked around, wide-eyed. “Where am I?”

“You’re in downtown Milwaukee,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Come on. We need to talk somewhere safe. Did you drive here?”

“Did I drive … um … yeah, yeah I think so. I don’t remember.”

I pulled him past a shady-looking bar with tinted windows and a neon Miller Lite sign, sidling into the alley. It was dark, full of dumpsters, and smelled only a little bit better than Seth’s ridiculous cologne.

“What are we doing in here?” Seth asked. “This alley is scary and I’m fragile! Also, was that my phone sitting on the sidewalk back there?”

“Yes.”

“Why was it broken?”

“Because I karate-chopped your head. Obviously.”

“You karate-chopped me again?”

“Yes.”

He pulled back, pulling his arm free from my grip. “Wait, wait, wait.” He looked around the dark alley, then shook his hands wildly in the air. “What the heck is going on?”

“It’s the phone game,” I said. “Castle Cats. The dwa … the creators, they put some kind of code into the game and now it’s affecting me!”

“You?!”

“Well … it’s affecting a lot of people. But you were totally under their trance.” I looked around to make sure we were still alone. The alley was dark and quiet. On the far end, a handful of college-aged students walked by on their way to another bar. “Seth, they’re controlling people’s minds.”

Seth narrowed his eyes, looking up at the night sky.

“Look, I know this is totally weird and unbelievable …”

“No, no,” he said. He snapped his fingers a few times. “You’re right! The whole subliminal messages thing. I remember now! I read that book you gave me. Then I hacked into the Grayle Incorporated computers and got a look at some of the code. It shut down my computer again, and this time it totally wiped out my hard drive!”

“What did you see?” I asked anxiously. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know.” When he saw my annoyed face, he held up his hands in defense. “It’s hard to understand! You could spend four years in college and still not understand code that complex. It’s like it was designed so that it was hard to understand.”

“OK, settle down. I’m not mad.”

“You look like you’re going to hit me again.”

I rolled my eyes. “The alley is dark. You’re just a little scared …”

“What?!” Seth puffed out his chest. “I could take you, if you didn’t attack me out of nowhere all the time.”

“Well, we can settle that another time. But we need to get to the bottom of this.”

Seth nodded, wrinkling his mouth. “So you’re saying I followed you here somehow?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

Well, Seth, because the Grayles are keeping eyes on me. Thousands and thousands of eyes. “Because … the game told you to. I don’t fully know why. Maybe they know …”

“Know what? What could they possibly know?”

“… That I’m onto their little secret,” I offered. I hoped it was enough. I didn’t want to tell him any more.

Seth blew out a puff of air, running his hands through his short hair. He started pacing. “This is wild, Alice. Like, totally wild. I remember turning on the game after my computer crashed. And then it just sort of sucked me in. Before I knew it, I was tossing cats out of the castle left and right … and then I don’t know. I’m drawing a blank.”

“There was a message in the game,” I said. “It told you to follow me.” I took a deep breath. All right. I needed Seth’s help. The least I could do was level with him a bit. “The people who created Castle Cats … they know that I know something about their game. They put a subliminal message in your phone telling you to follow me. Maybe even hurt me.”

“I could never hurt you. You’re my best friend.”

“Awwww.” I cocked my head. “That’s so nice. But in all seriousness, you probably would have killed me.”

“You’re the one who keeps attacking me.”

“All right, whatever. What we need to do is stop this. How do we stop it?”

Seth tapped his foot, thinking. “I don’t know. But at the very least, I can show you what I found. Let’s get out of this frightening alley.”

Chapter 6

We found Seth’s rusty old Honda parked right where I’d gotten off the bus. It made me angry because it meant he’d probably been following me ever since I left my house. And he didn’t remember any of it. He’d been driving in a daze, under the spell of those horrible Corrupted dwarfs. Who knows how carefully he was driving? Who knows what might have happened if a car had pulled in front of him? He could have accidentally killed somebody.

And guess what? The dwarfs wouldn’t have cared at all. They just wanted to keep an eye on me. Maybe they wanted me dead. Maybe they were just devious enough to have Seth do it, too. Or try, at least.

Seth drove back to my house and parked in the driveway, a privilege only he was granted. Being on my parents’ good side had its advantages.

Which reminded me …

“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm before he could leave the care. “My parents. I think they were playing Castle Cats. They were acting really weird when I left. They had their phones sitting on the coffee table. They always keep their phones charging in the kitchen where they get the best reception.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of a mobile phone,” Seth said. “Let’s just get their phones away from them and figure it out from there.”

“Oh man,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared, Seth. What if my parents are under a spell and they try to kill me or something? Weirder stuff has happened today. I don’t think I can handle that.”

Seth took a deep breath. “Let’s just get their phones from them first.”

“Right. OK.” We walked into my house. My parents were watching TV like a pair of normal middle-aged people, as if they hadn’t just hours ago totally acted like a bunch of zombie weirdoes. Mom had her legs up over Dad’s and Dad had a plastic bowl of popcorn on top of her legs.

“Hey Mr. and Mrs. Goodenough,” Seth said.

My parents glanced away from the TV. They both smiled at Seth, then looked at me. Their smiles faded. They both sat up, grabbed their smartphones sitting on the coffee table, and pointed the cameras at me.

Seth looked at me. “Um …”

“You see?” I asked. “Test them.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Goodenough?” Seth called out. He walked around the couch. My parents kept their phones on me. I stepped right. The phones—and my parents’ creepy expressionless gazes—followed me.

Seth waved a hand in front of their face. “I’ve been doing a lot of drugs lately.”

No response.

“Also, I’ve been selling the drugs to children,” Seth added. “And I pooped on your driveway.”

“Ewwww,” I said. My parents were less disgusted. In fact, they still hadn’t even so much as blinked.

Seth walked behind them and looked at the screens of their smartphones. His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Mister Scientist,” I said. “What do you see?”

“I see you,” he answered. “And judging from the little notification on the top of their screens, it looks like this footage is being transmitted somewhere.”

“All right, the party’s over.” I walked over and grabbed the phones, handing them to Seth.

My parents blinked at the same time. They looked at their outstretched hands, confused.

“Honey,” Mom said, staring up at me. “What’s going on?” She looked at Seth. “Oh, hello, Seth. Why do you have our phones?”

“Wait a minute,” Dad said, glancing at the movie playing on the TV. “How did they find out that guy was a spy? What did we miss here? What time is it?”

“You guys fell asleep,” I said. “You were dozing off when we came in.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Oh. So why does Seth have our cell phones?”

“There’s a virus in the Castle Cats game,” Seth explained, sliding his fingers across the screens of my parents’ phones. “I’m deleting them for you so the virus doesn’t spread.”

“A virus?” Mom asked, concerned. “Is that bad? Is that like those viruses on computers that give away your credit card number?”

“Worse,” Seth said with wide eyes. “This virus uses your phone to store dirty pictures.”

“Well, I don’t see how that’s so bad,” Dad murmured. Mom hit him on the chest. He playfully pantomimed pain, reaching for the remote. “I’m going to rewind this movie. I need to re-watch the last fifteen minutes or I’m going to be completely lost.”

Mom ignored him. “Thank you, Seth. How did you hear about this?”

“Oh, word is spreading pretty fast,” Seth said. “It’s all over the Internet. Big news. Haven’t you heard?”

“I didn’t know a thing,” Mom said, wide-eyed. “And to be honest, I’m a little embarrassed that you kids know we were playing that stupid game.”

“Everyone gets addicted to them,” Seth mumbled. His thumbs slid deftly across the phones’ screens. He handed them back to my mom. “Good to go. Don’t download the game again until they fix it, though.”

“You saved us again, Seth old boy,” said my dad. “Help yourself to one snack of your choosing from the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Mr. G!” Seth exclaimed. He made his way into the kitchen. I followed him. The first thing he went for was the fridge. When he opened it, his eyes widened. “Oh boy. We really do have a problem, don’t we?”

I looked inside the fridge. On the shelf underneath the milk and OJ were boxes and boxes of Carameltastic candy bars.

Seth reached for one. I slapped his hand. “Grab an apple, for crying out loud.”

“Oh, right. Like that’s going to be any tastier,” he muttered, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the countertop.

“Seth, are you staying the night?” Mom asked as we passed back into the living room.

“Um …” Seth looked at me.

It was a good question. Obviously, whoever was watching me through the camera phones had seen me with Seth at this point. And the fact that he’d been sent to follow me meant they had a pretty good idea that we were close friends. Maybe that had been their game all along. What a dastardly thought: using my own best friend to kill me. It just made me even angrier.

What if they killed him for failing? Or kidnapped him?

“He’s staying the night,” I said. “If that’s OK.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Mom clasped her hands together excitedly. “I’ll make you waffles in the morning, Seth.”

“Aw, that’s a great idea, Mrs. G!”

“Come on,” I told him. “You can show me that thing on my computer.”

It all sounded so scandalous, but you have to remember: we were best friends. This wasn’t some random guy staying the night; this was a boy who, at the tender age of three, had actually pooped in my parents’ bathtub during a neighborhood cookout.

So … yeah.

“We’re coming in,” I announced at the door to my room. I opened it slowly, hoping Briar—if he was there—would understand.

“That’s a really weird thing to announce,” Seth said.

Inside, my bedroom was empty. My lamp light was on, though, and my laptop was open. I turned on the overhead light.

“Ah, just like I remember it,” Seth said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and admiring the random clutter. He walked over to my pink dresser, examining the dozen or so brushes and combs. “No more David Hasselhoff posters?”

“They were posters of rock stars!” I exclaimed, embarrassed. “And seriously? Who even knows what Baywatch even is anymore besides you?”

“I have the DVD’s,” he said defensively. “And the guys in your posters all looked like the guy from Baywatch.” He flexed his non-existent muscles, strutting around the room. “Everyone with their shirts off, staring at the camera with hungry eyes. Oooh, look at my pecks! Oooh, that shirt was chafing me! Now my pants are chafing me, too!”

I laughed. “Well they weren’t from Baywatch. And they’re gone now so don’t even worry about it.”

OK. The posters were in my closet. But he didn’t need to know that. To be safe, I closed the closet door.

“So how are we gonna do this?” Seth asked, sitting down at my desk. He tapped a few buttons on my computer. “Hey, what are these?” He grabbed two slips of paper.

I walked over and sat on my bed, holding out my hand. “Give.”

“The Milwaukee Public Museum Fundraiser Gala?” he asked. “Are you actually going to this thing?”

“Yeah …” I looked around again. Was Briar here right now, invisible? I glanced at the floor, looking for an indentation in the blue carpeting where the rabbit might be standing.

“Who are you going with?” he asked.

I turn back to him. “What now?”

“Who are you going with? There are two tickets.”

“Don’t worry about that. Worry about the Castle Cats.”

“OK, gimme your phone.” Seth went online, typing in an obscure Web site. A little bar showed up on the computer with a percentage. 10%. 45%. 75%.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m downloading a program I need to see the code,” Seth explained. “I’m also backing up your hard drive so that you can recover all your files after Castle Cats sabotages your computer.”

I watched him connect my phone to the laptop with the white cord that I usually used to put songs on my phone. I don’t think the makers had this type of use in mind when they packaged the cord with my phone. Seth had his program open, and on my phone, Castle Cats was being downloaded directly to the computer. With a click of a button, the screen went black. Lines and lines of strange characters and numbers and words appeared on the screen.

“What is all that?” I asked.

“It’s the code,” Seth said. “This is what every computer program is made of. It’s basically like a word document and on each line is a command. The command tells the program what to do if you press your finger on the screen. Or what happens with a cat is cleared from the castle. Or how to restart the game after the stupid cats take over the castle.”

“It’s confusing,” I said. “I don’t know what any of this means.”

“Even I don’t know what all of this means,” Seth said, “but that’s not important. What’s important is the new code that’s been inserted near the bottom. The code that I can’t read without causing the computer to crash. Get ready.” His finger pressed down on the mouse and the cursor on the screen began scrolling down through the lines of code. The strange numbers and words flitted by, as if he was moving quickly through a Word document with white text on a black background.

“Here!” Seth said, taking his finger off the mouse. All of the code on the screen flickered, then disappeared. The screen went black, save for a little white rectangle blip on the upper left-hand corner.

“What happened?” I asked.

Seth leaned back in his chair. “Same thing that happened when I tried it.”

“Well what was it? What did it say?”

He crossed his legs. “I saw a little more of the code that time, and you’re totally right about the whole subliminal message thing. There’s definitely something in there that’s telling people to buy those candy bars. And that’s just the beginning. I recognized a ton of other products, too. It could be happening all over the country. All over the world, even!”

“So …”

Seth said nothing. He was giving me a weird look. A pitying, worried sort of look.

“There’s more,” I guessed.

He nodded.

“Just spill it. What was it?”

“New code,” Seth said. “I … didn’t see it last time. It caught my eyes because the text was blue.”

I was starting to get nervous. I didn’t like this look he was giving me. It was as if he’d seen my death on that computer screen. “More explanation, please.”

“It just, well, I’m pretty sure I saw your name. Not just your name, but code for a picture, too. Commands, too.”

“I knew it!” My fist pounded the bed. “Commands for what?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Keep an eye on her. Text an update. Take pictures of her. Kill her.”

My heart nearly stopped in my chest. Those bastards. They would more than happily send someone else to do their dirty work. And it was just so perfect, wasn’t it? Hypnotize some innocent fool who likes playing phone games, and then once I’m dead the innocent fool gets hauled off to prison and those stupid dwarfs keep raking in the money from their super hidden candy bar commands and whatever other devious schemes they had planned.

“So what do we do?” I asked. “How do we stop it?”

Seth shook his head. “It’s impossible. I can’t get inside the code. We’re lucky it didn’t blow up your laptop.”

I stared at him.

“I’m not kidding,” he said. “I mean, unless I can sneak into their server room and access the code locally … and even then I might not know how to delete it without damaging the game, which would then of course cause all sorts of trouble if we got caught. I mean, they could sue me.”

“Or kill you.”

Seth took a shaky breath. “Oh man, this is so crazy. I mean, why do they want you? And how did they figure out how to make subliminal messages work in the first place?”

I fell back on my bed. “Because they’re evil.”

“We should go to the police,” he offered. “Yeah. Yeah, dude! That’s such a good idea. Alice, that’s like, the best idea ever. We just go to the cops and show them this.”

“Oh perfect!” I said, sitting up. I stared at him with wide eyes. “And then after you break into the game and it fries their computer just like it did to mine, the two of us can spend the night in jail!”

“Alice, this is some serious stuff. There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Oh yes there is.” I nodded to the two tickets.

He looked at them, then at me. Then back at them. He narrowed his eyes, reading the address. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can make sure you’re safe,” I said. “And we won’t get caught.”

“Alice, I’m just a dude!” he exclaimed. “I don’t actually know much about what I’m doing. We don’t even know, like, where the server room is!”

I reached over and opened the top drawer of the desk. Briar’s drawer, as I liked to call it now. On the top of a stack of folders containing who-knows-what sat the floor plan for Grayle Tower.

Seth’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”

“One page per floor,” I said, setting the stack beside the laptop. “Find us the server room and I’ll do the rest.”

“This is insane,” he mumbled, grabbing the paper. He began shuffling through each floor. “This is insane … this is insane … got it! It’s on the thirteenth floor. Huh.”

“What is it? Are you superstitious?”

He shook his head. “Not me. Most office buildings skip the number 13 for good luck. They have a twelfth floor and then the next floor is the fourteenth. This is weird.” He studied the floor plan. “I have no idea what any of these lines mean. I’ve never seen a floor plan. Why is it all in blue?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. I glanced around, expecting Briar to magically appear and explain it all to us. But of course he wouldn’t. He knew better than to reveal himself and risk blowing my cover.

So what was I going to do about Seth?

“There’s no way we can figure this out,” he mumbled, turning the floor diagrams around again and again.

“Look,” I said. “I need you to help me with this. If we don’t stop these Corrupt—I mean, these people, they’re going to keep using this game to control people’s minds. And no one’s going to figure it out!”

“Man oh man,” Seth said. “I’m so freaked out I’m sweating. Give me a pillow.”

I tossed him a pillow. He got off the chair and stretched out on the floor, bundling the pillow under his head.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m going to sleep,” he said. “If we’re going to risk our lives infiltrating an evil corporation tomorrow, I’m going to need to be well-rested.”

I smiled. “We’re going to pull this off. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” Seth murmured.

I turned off the lights, getting back into bed. Seth began snoring almost immediately, as if he was sawing logs on the floor. The house was quiet. My parents were in their bedroom, and outside an owl called out from one of the maple trees in the forest behind the house.

Get up, urged a voice in my head. Go downstairs. Make sure the house is secure.

I went downstairs, searching the darkness for signs of life. I felt on edge, as if there was some danger lurking behind the couch, behind the window drapes, underneath the kitchen table. I checked the locks on the front and back door. The back door was unlocked. It was always unlocked but it felt different now. Anything could have come in here. That horrible hedgehog creature could have snuck in. He could have killed my parents and Seth before I even woke up.

“Trouble?”

I turned. Briar was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He looked strange in the darkness. Shadows covered his furry flat face, and his buckteeth were sticking out just a bit. He looked downright sinister, and I felt a twang of hurt: he was, technically, a Corrupted. He could turn evil just like the others, even though it was his sworn duty to help me.

“I wish I was a superhero,” I whispered.

Briar nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “You are certainly not the first hero to voice such a desire. Unfortunately, we must rely on brains rather than brawn. Lucky for you, you’re not alone.”

I went into the fridge and poured Briar a glass of milk.

“Thank you so much,” he said, grabbing the glass with both paws and taking a long gulp.

“How did you get the tickets to the fundraiser gala?” I asked quietly.

Briar wiped the stray milk from his face with one furry arm. “Well, now that’s quite a story. It all began a good forty years ago …”

“Forty years ago? Just give me the shortened version so I can get some sleep.”

“Ah, right then. Let’s see … well, I do confess short stories are hardly my forte. I prefer a good yarn that unspools slowly so that my listener may enjoy the many creative nuances at my disposal …”

“You met a guy who owed you a favor and he got you the tickets?” I guessed.

Briar’s whiskers twitched. “I suppose that is the gist of it. But your storytelling skills leave something to be desired. There was no drama! There was no passion! No conflict! I’ll have you know that the very man who owed me a favor—as you so simply put it—just so happens to have been a protégé of the great Houdini.”

My heart raced. “I love Houdini!” I whispered harshly. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Ahem.” Briar took another sip of his milk, taking his sweet time. “I didn’t know you loved Houdini, for starters. And secondly, I was about to spin you a yarn comparable to the Greek classics. The story itself would have dropped your jaw and drawn applause. I dare say, it was an Oscar-worthy tale.”

I crossed my arms. “A story about a guy giving you two tickets to a fundraiser gala?”

“Yes.”

“Well, thank you anyway, but I’m not convinced.” I shivered, glancing at the kitchen door that led to the backyard. Beyond the backyard was the forest and beyond that: who knew? “What’s waiting out there?” I asked quietly.

“A great many things,” Briar said.

“The dwarfs could come for Seth. Or they could kill him tomorrow night.”

“They could. This is a danger and I don’t recommend it.”

“It’s the only way,” I said. “Unless you know how to write code.”

“I fear I’m not familiar.”

I turned back to him. “Then we have no choice. Every day that passes is another chance for them to get at me with that stupid phone game. Everyone’s playing it. The dwarfs can mind-control anyone they want. They can do anything they want and get away with it.”

Briar nodded. “I do fear that this is …”

He paused. I waited. The only light was coming in through the window over the sink. Moonlight. Cold and blue.

“Well, finish your sentence,” I said finally.

Briar sighed. “I know little about electronic devices, but I understand the ramifications of the dwarfs’ deeds. The dwarfs have always been dangerous. I dare say they are more dangerous now. Perhaps the most dangerous Corrupted I’ve ever come across.”

“What about Death?” I asked.

Briar shook his head. “Death is nothing more than a vessel that moves from victim to victim. Death does what the Brothers Grimm wrote it to do. These three dwarfs have a strong desire to not just survive, but thrive in the world of mortals. They will defend that at all costs, no matter who they end up killing. Which is why, perhaps, we should consider reaching an agreement with them …”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you insane? Deal with the dwarfs? No way. We’re ending it tomorrow night. Seth has to get inside that server room no matter what. He’s the only person who knows how to delete that code.”

“I assume you’re telling me all of this because you want me in there as well, bravely taking command in the heat of battle and devising all manner of schemes to ensure victory.”

I grinned. “I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to crawl back in the ventilation system.”

Briar’s ears dropped.

Chapter 7

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Seth said. He parked the car in a parking structure two blocks away from Grayle Tower. It was seven o’clock, thirty minutes after the fundraiser gala officially began. During our afternoon of preparation, we’d decided that arriving at the gala “fashionably late” would make it easier for us to blend in with the crowd. Showing up on time carried the dangerous risk of being the first to show up, meaning we might potentially be greeted by the hosts.

Before I was ready to kill them.

Seth got out of his car and adjusted his bowtie. “This thing’s choking me.”

“It looks good, though,” I said. I adjusted my blue maxi dress, kicking shut Seth’s passenger door. It was the only way to close the old thing.

“Ditto yours,” Seth said. “It looks a lot more comfortable than my outfit.” He was wearing a near-perfect suit combo we’d picked up at the local Goodwill. The black pants didn’t perfectly match the slightly less black jacket, but it was close enough.

“We could switch,” I offered with a sly wink. “You’ve got the figure to pull off this dress, too.”

He pretended to think about it, then shook his head.

“Good. I’ve been waiting to wear this ever since I bought it.” I looked inside my glittery black evening bag for the fountain pen. Check. There was nothing else inside the purse, another Goodwill score, so I could ditch it if necessary. On my feet, thanks to the twin miracles of online shopping and free overnight shipping, were a pair of new black suede booties with studded heels... maybe not the optimal footwear for kicking Corrupted butt, but at least I knew they wouldn’t go flying off my feet at an inopportune moment. And they did look pretty awesome with the dress. As did a pair of black rhinestone earrings that had belonged to my great-grandmother. I hadn’t worn them since playing dress-up as a child.

I also had a vial of very special liquid hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The strange liquid had been given to me by a Corrupted who’d been tasked with giving me a special message from a previous hero. Remember him? The one living by the beach who wanted me to kill him? The message had been a warning: avoid Death. He’d also said a drop from this vial was capable of saving someone’s life. I just hoped I didn’t need to use it tonight.

“How’s my hair?” Seth asked.

I examined his hair. He’d trimmed his sideburns and dyed his hair a dark black. I’d also gone over his cheeks with a little makeup to hide his pimples. “It’s fine. You totally don’t even look like the old Seth.” I gently touched my hair, which was now a few inches shorter. “How’s my hair?”

Seth eyed it with a mixture of suspicion and malice. “Weird. It’s really, really blonde. And the glasses make you look like a nerd.”

I ran a hand through my hair. It felt damaged and broken. Well, hair dye will do that for you. Thank god my parents had decided to shoot 18 holes of golf instead of nine so they wouldn’t see me during the afternoon. I could deal with their questions tomorrow, once I had some time to think up a plausible lie.

“Heh,” I laughed as we walked down the empty parking structure ramp.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking about how I’m going to explain this new hair color to my parents tomorrow. I’m pretty optimistic it’s the only thing I’ll have to explain to them, despite the incredibly slim odds we’ll be able to actually pull this off.”

He shrugged. “You’ve always been pretty optimistic. Me? I’m more or less expecting to die here tonight. Or be arrested. If the cops come, I have every intention of crying like a baby.”

“We’re going to be fine,” I said. Even I didn’t fully believe it, but the words came out easily, like this was all old hat. It wasn’t. I didn’t even want to know what was going to happen when we got inside.

Think like Briar, the voice inside my head told me. Briar could talk his way into the server room. He could trick his way in there, too, if only he wasn’t a giant talking rabbit.

Speaking of which …

“Remember: we need to go in through the parking structure,” I told Seth.

“Why is that again?”

We stepped out onto the sidewalk. Even at night it was still warm out, and it smelled like rain might be coming in. “Because I need to make sure our escape route is safe.”

Next door, dozens of people were taking advantage of an Italian restaurant’s outdoor seating area. The circular wooden tables ran right up against the sidewalk, and there more than a few people ignoring their dining company in favor of their smartphones.

Here it was: the test.

“Go slow,” I told Seth. I steeled myself, then turned to the dining patrons. Some of them looked up, glancing curiously at the both of us and examining our outfits. A couple of the younger-looking guys gave my dress a much-appreciated once-over. I smiled.

No one stared. No one lifted their smartphones and aimed the cameras at me or at Seth.

“We’re officially in ghost mode,” I murmured. Although if there was one moment when I actually wanted my picture taken, it was now.  The old earrings, new dress, fierce shoes, and a dark wine-colored lip stain combined into something far more glamorous than my usual attire. Even with the dated Goodwill glasses and bottle-blonde hair, I still thought I pulled off the whole look pretty well.

“Wonderful,” Seth said. “Hooray for our team.”

We walked across the street. I could see Grayle Tower a block ahead, looming over Milwaukee like a cavity-stricken incisor. Through the windows on the top floor, I could see lights on. Were the dwarfs in there, or would they be downstairs, greeting donors and pretending they weren’t Corrupted?

We passed another bar. I looked inside, sure that there would be a few trendy folks with their cell phones out. A few people who’d no doubt downloaded that stupid Castle Cats game. If they had, none of them recognized me. Two young men stopped playing darts to glance at me. Through the windows on the other side of the entrance, a table full of young college-aged girls with identical short-banged haircuts examined me with a bored look while they sipped their clear drinks.

The disguise was working. We were going to go inside Grayle Tower totally undercover. Just the fact that we’d outsmarted the dwarfs so far made me feel excited. All three of them thought they were so freaking clever. But I had something they didn’t have:

A rabbit.

“Look at them,” Seth said when we reached the next corner. He nodded to his left, across the street. There were a dozen or so young people standing outside of Zed’s Burgers, chatting and playing on their smartphones. Eight of them were eating Carameltastic candy bars. “Zombies, man. Just eating whatever the little messages inside their phones tells them to eat. It’s pathetic, dude.”

I nudged him, nodding to the Carameltastic candy bar he was in the process of unwrapping. He looked at it, did a double-take, and threw it in the trash can beside the traffic light.

“Gross! I must have bought it at the drug store when I bought our hair dye. Holy crap, I don’t even remember buying it. It’s like I was totally brainwashed.”

I put a hand on his back, urging him across the street. “After tonight, no one’s going to ever have that problem again.”

He shook his head, looking up at Grayle Tower. “This place is huge. I feel like I’m going to pee my pants.”

“Just breathe,” I said.

We walked to the ramp leading to the underground parking structure. Just as Briar had predicted, there were two middle-aged men wearing tuxes standing by the entrance. A white sign beside them read “Valet Parking.”

“Wait,” Seth said, grabbing my arm. His hand was sweaty and hot. “OK. I’ve been thinking about this. Even if I do manage to delete the nasty let’s-control-the-world code, they could just put it back in again at some point.”

I shook my head. “You let me deal with that.”

“Oh. OK. Just like that, huh?”

I smiled. “Just like that.”

“OK, wait again,” he said, pulling me again before I could take a step. “What if I told you I’m totally scared witless right now?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I’d say that’s good. You should be scared in a moment like this. I’m scared, too. But we need to conquer that for the time being because what’s happening inside this building is … wrong.”

We walked up to the valets, who gave us a suspicious look. “We’re ah … here,” Seth said, reaching into his pocket and flashing the tickets. “So we’re just, like, I mean we need something …”

“I forgot something in my car,” I told the valet, flashing a smile. “It’s a lady thing.”

The valet glanced at the tickets in Seth’s shaky hand, then gave a little nod. We walked into the dark garage, making our way farther and farther down the ramp, stopping beside a flashy Cadillac as another valet parked a red Corvette and got out, making his way upstairs. He gave us a quick look but didn’t seem concerned.

“Looks like a lot of people are already here,” I said quietly. “I think we’re in good shape.”

“Dudette, whatever. I bet those valets are calling the police right now.”

I grabbed Seth’s arm, pulling him farther down the ramp. “We haven’t even broken any laws yet! We’re here to enjoy the fundraiser gala. We have real tickets. What are they going to do … kick us out of a fundraiser? We’ll throw a stink.”

“Yeah … I guess you’re right.” Seth snorted. “Man, it’s just like these Grayle guys to throw a benefit. I bet the reporters here are gonna write it up all nice and pretty in the paper tomorrow. And then the same guys brainwashing everyone across the country look like just the nicest sons of guns. Look! They donated a thousand dollars to the museum. Big deal. I donated five bucks once and that’s waaaaaaay more money if you think about it. Because I’m poor.”

“When did you donate five dollars?” I asked.

“Pish-posh. Don’t sound so surprised. I like dinosaurs. I like the museum. I think it’s cool. So I go there sometimes. Used to go sometimes with Trish, before she got all sick of it. ‘Ugh! There’s a bug on the wall.’ No, Trish, it’s plastic. This is the rainforest exhibit. Rainforests are full of strange, frightening bugs, Trish.”

I laughed. “Sounds like Trish all right.”

We stopped at the strange door at the bottom of the ramp. I tried the handle.

Locked. Just as Briar had suspected.

“OK, plan’s over,” Seth said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Let’s go home and call in the Army or something.”

“Just hold on,” I said, pulling my fountain pen from my purse. “Um, stand behind me and keep an eye out.”

“Sure, sure.” He turned. “Later, when the police ask, I can honestly say I didn’t see Alice Goodenough picking a lock.”

I used the pen to draw a cut right through the padlock, then pulled it apart and tossed it on the ground. Another trick Briar taught me. I opened the door and gave a little nod, keeping it open long enough for Invisible Briar to slip through. He was in full stealth mode, invisible even to me so that he didn’t accidentally reveal himself to anyone else.

I felt a gentle rush of air, then a soft tap of his padded foot on the concrete.

Our signal.

Yeah, we’re pretty cool.

“Did you hear something?” Seth asked.

“Just the wind,” I answered, shutting the door again. “Come on. We have a gala to attend.”

We made our way back up the ramp, to the top floor where a little sandwichboard sign pointed us in the direction of the double doors that led inside the building. We walked inside and made our way down a small hallway lined with potted dark green ferns. It smelled like expensive perfume.

“Getting nervous now,” Seth said. “Getting nervous …”

“Just breathe,” I said. I followed my own advice, pressing my fingers on the frosted glass door with the big “G” of the Grayle Incorporated logo printed on it. I pushed on the door.

Nothing happened.

“You have to pull,” Seth said.

“Right.” I grabbed the metal handle and pulled the door open. Inside the main lobby, a man in a tux led us down the hall, past four elevators with brass-colored doors, past the bathrooms where a woman wearing a low-cut red dress was bending over, adjusting her high heel. Seth snuck a peek at her cleavage and I gave him a gentle elbow to the ribs.

We walked through another pair of frosted glass doors at the end of the hall.

… Into one of the grandest atriums I’ve ever seen. The room was large, filled with circular high tables holding a menagerie of boozy-looking drinks. A small bar sat in the far corner with two male bartenders in crisp white shirts and black vests were taking orders and shaking their metal mixer thingies. On the opposite wall was a grand piano. A man was sitting at it, very gently playing a soothing classical tune.

The windows on the far end of the atrium were two stories tall, separated by marble pillars that I assumed were mainly for look. Outside, you could see the courtyard and the fountain.

The room was full of people. They were all dressed in fancy suits and long evening gowns. A lot of them looked middle-aged and the rest looked even older.

“Um, we’re the youngest people here,” Seth pointed out.

“Just walk and pretend to mingle,” I said. “We need to find the schedule.”

“Why?”

“So we know when to slip away. Come on.” I led him through the sea of people, to the tall poster stands that had been placed strategically around the room. Each poster had a picture of one of the museum’s exhibits. We stopped and looked at all of them, pretending we were interested but in reality we really were interested. I’d forgotten half the exhibits and seeing pictures of them reignited a lot of good memories.

“Gawd, how many times did we take a school field trip to the museum?” I asked with a laugh.

“Every single year,” Seth answered. He pointed to the picture of the saber-toothed tiger skeleton. “That was always your favorite. You’d make me stay in the Ice Age exhibit with you so you could draw the tiger. It was so annoying. We’d get separated from our group and then when the teachers found us, they’d always give us a demerit. You were kind of a jerk.”

“I didn’t force you to stay with me,” I said defensively.

“You were my partner!” he exclaimed. “If I lost you the teachers would have gone crazy on me! We’re talking like, total meltdown. ‘How could you lose your partner? You’re supposed to keep an eye on your partner!’ They would have cut off my thumbs or something.”

“Well, we came out of it all right.”

“Yeah, hooray for friendship,” he muttered.

We walked to the other side of the atrium, to the large windows overlooking the courtyard. A handful of middle-aged men and women were standing near the fountain, sipping glasses of dark red wine.

“Man oh man, I’m so terrified,” Seth said. “I mean, like, even my butt is sweating right now. I wish you would have just let me shower at home this morning.”

“No. The Grayles know what you look like. They might know who you are. We can’t take any risks.”

“They’re going to see through this disguise,” Seth said. “I stand out like a sore thumb. Heck my head sort of looks like a sore thumb, for crying out loud.”

“Oh, stop it.” I giggled. “We’re bickering just like we used to do in middle school.”

Seth sighed, smiling. “Yeah. Those were such simple times, weren’t they? Man, you know what the craziest thing is? This,” he waved his hand around the atrium, “isn’t even as scary as starting senior year. Everything is going to change this year. I can just feel it. Do you get scared about it?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I just haven’t really had time to think about it too much yet.” Too much time spent trying to figure out this new aspect of my life. I wondered what it might be like to tell Seth … maybe just give him a few hints and let him guess. I wanted someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t a giant talking rabbit.

“You’re right: I shouldn’t be thinking about it yet either,” Seth said. He shook his head vigorously. “I need to focus on the task at hand: vandalizing a multi-million-dollar company’s property.”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s the spirit!”

“OK.” Seth’s foot was tapping on the tiled floor. “Let’s do this. Before I lose my nerve.”

“Just wait a moment,” I said. “We need our distraction.”

I turned back to the party. More people had streamed in, crowding the bar area. The pianist changed tempo, offering something upbeat and deep. The chandeliers hanging above had circular rows of lights shaped like candle flames, and as someone standing near the bar tapped on his glass, the lights dimmed.

Everyone turned to look.

“Now,” I said. “Come on!”

We slipped between a handful of nicely dressed old fogies, keeping to the other side of the room.

“Can everyone see me all right now?” asked a familiar voice. The crowd laughed politely.

I turned. There, standing on a chair beside the piano, was Sam Grayle. Gawd, he could dress so stylish. His gray suit was so sleek that it seemed to glisten, tailored perfectly at his wrists, his shoulder pads square but not too broad.

Maybe I could squirt some ketchup on him if he got in our way. At least we’d cost him one big dry cleaning bill.

“I just want to thank you all for coming,” Sam Grayle said in a loud, booming voice. He smiled. “This fundraiser meant a lot to the former owners of this building, and it means a lot to us, too. The history of the natural world is a beautiful, amazing thing, one that Grayle Incorporated wants to continue supporting every single year. Which is why we’ve decided to match the donations made tonight.”

A hearty round of applause.

“Yeah, soak it up,” I murmured, pushing Seth to the doors. “And enjoy it while it lasts.”

We made our way back into the hall, hurrying to the elevators. I pushed the “up” button. Two doors opened. We hurried to the nearest one, slipping inside. Seth pushed the button for the thirteenth floor.

Soft elevator music played through a speaker in the ceiling. I felt our weight sink into our feet.

“Are you feeling OK?” Seth asked with one narrowed eye. “You look tired.”

“This week has taken a lot out of me,” I said.

“We could reschedule this. Maybe think it over for a few more days …”

I glared at him. He shut up.

The elevator doors opened.

“Wait,” I told Seth, stepping out and quickly glancing left and right. The hallway was empty, save for a few potted plants sitting between the office doors. “OK, let’s go.”

Based on what we could make of the floor plans, the hallway on just about every floor wrapped around the building like a square-shaped doughnut. I kept Seth behind me as I peered around the corners. We made our way to the other side, where there were only two doors on the left side of the hall. Between the doors were old paintings of pastoral scenes made with swift brush strokes, each one held in an intricate brass frame.

“This is it,” Seth said, stopping in front of the first door. The words “Server Room” were written on a plaque on the wall.

“Yeah, I sort of guessed that.”

He looked at me. “Sarcasm duly noted. Are we ready to really do this? Last chance to back out. I mean, someone is probably watching us on a camera right now. We could pretend we were lost and go back to the gala and maybe have a glass of soda before heading on our way. Man, I could use an iced cola right now.”

I peered down the hall, examining the walls and ceiling. “You’re right: there’s probably are cameras somewhere. We need to hurry.”

Seth grabbed the door handle, pulled, then looked at me and whimpered.

“I think you have to push,” I said with a wry smile.

He pushed. The door opened. And immediately an alarm went off.

Chapter 8: Briar

Br’er Rabbit just kept digging nice and slow. “My eyes ain’t big for nothing, Br’er Wolf.”[xiii]

Well, things just couldn’t go down without a hitch, could they now? Nope … that would be too easy, and you know those dastardly dwarfs aren’t so stupid as to leave their wonderful fancy computing devices unprotected.

I saw it all, of course. Dear old sweet Briar the helper rabbit was no slouch during all of this, I can guarantee you that. The moment Alice let me in through the secret sewer entrance, I high-tailed it to the stairwell, slipping in and out with nary a soul in sight. On the thirteenth floor, I broke into a vent near the ceiling—no small feat, I must say!—and made my way into the server room.

Which is where I remained for the next twenty minutes. Stuck, once again.

If you remember, it happened before. My fur got stuck in a little crack where two pieces of the vent were screwed together. It was an awful, traumatic experience, one which I vowed would never happen again.

Well, it happened again.

This time, it was my vest that got caught, and being inside a tight vent made it impossible for me to maneuver myself in such a way that I could gain any sort of pull on the piece of fabric caught on one of the screws.

“Oh, some spy you are,” I muttered to myself. “Here you are, stuck in a vent. You’re supposed to be the back-up!”

I tugged again. It was no use. Every time I gave a strong pull, the entire vent shook and wobbled, audibly groaning under my very average weight. The only way I was getting out of his vent was down. And quite frankly, I didn’t want to be down there. The entire room was lined with rows of big, loud, humming machines that made my fur stand on end. A room full of vacuums wouldn’t have been as scary.

My lamentations were cut short as the door inside the server room opened. I could strain my neck and peer through the air grate well enough to see the room was pretty darned dark; when the light from the hall shined in, I could see all of the big refrigerator-shaped machines sitting in neat rows along the floor. They hummed and had little blue lights blinking and were generally the type of thing that would send my fellow animal kingdom friends running in the opposite direction … much like a vacuum cleaner. It was obvious to me that these infernal machines were the work of evil … something so big and loud could only be used for nefarious purposes.

Alice and Seth walked through the door. I nearly hollered a greeting, but before I could, a strange quiet beeping noise began going off.

“An alarm!” Alice said. She pushed her furless friend into the room. “Hurry! Do whatever you have to do!”

“Oh dear,” I mumbled, tugging again at my vest. It was incredibly important that I get my vest unstuck post-haste. Things were getting hairy—furry, so to speak—and I was desperately needed.

OK, perhaps I’m being just a bit melodramatic. Officially, I was expected to keep watch and eventually make my way through the ventilation system to the dwarfs’ floor.

But no matter what my “official” role was, I’d be of little use if I didn’t—grunt!—get—grunt!—free from this blasted vent!

“OK,” said the nice young man, slipping between two of the big humming machines, “All I need to do is sneak into their mainframe and work some coding magic. The Castle Cats program will send a message to everyone’s phone telling them to download the updated version. It’ll be like nothing happened.”

“Just hurry!” Alice said, glancing back to the door.

“I’m trying!” said her pink-skinned compatriot. I do say I liked his outfit, especially the bow tie. It made him look very much like a spy.

“Well try faster,” Alice said. For all of her outward urging, she sounded calm. She had pulled her fountain pen from her little purse and tossed the purse next to one of the big machines. It was quite possibly the first time I’ve ever seen a woman throw away a purse.

Seth kneeled in front of the machine, which had a small monitor and keyboard attached to its exterior, much like a laptop computing device. He began typing. I fear I cannot be more specific, as I was looking down from the ceiling grate and not in the best position to provide many details. I can tell you that the young man was typing furiously, if my ears are to be believed.

And I assure you: my ears are to be believed. I’ve always prided myself on my exquisite hearing.

There came from the hallway the unmistakable “ding!” of the elevators. At the same time, the air conditioning turned on and a cold breeze blew across my bum. I was glad to have been blessed with a pair of trousers.

Alice glanced nervously at the door. “Seth …”

“Almost there,” Seth said. “Holy crap, I can’t believe it. I’m actually in! I’m in!”

“Good,” Alice said. She bent down, drawing a sword on the floor. She pulled it away, swinging it a few times. Oh, I was so proud of her.

“I still don’t know how you plan on keeping them from changing the code back to the way it was,” Seth said.

“Don’t worry about that,” Alice said. “Just hurry.”

“I’ve got it!” Seth laughed like a mule who’d just kicked a farmer.  “I did it! Holy crap I totally did it! This is the coolest thing ever, dudette!”

“Great!” Alice said. “Now we need to … we need to …”

A shadow appeared in the doorway. I strained to see, peering through the grate and feeling the fabric of my beautiful vest strain ever so slightly.

Seth looked at the doorway, then at Alice. “OK, clearly I fell asleep. Because I know for a fact that there isn’t a giant porcupine standing in the doorway and I’m even more positive my best friend isn’t holding a sword.”

“It’s a hedgehog,” Alice said. She got into a fighting stance, pulling up her dress to stretch out her leg. “A giant hedgehog. And I’m not holding a sword. I’m holding a saber.”

Her furless friend stood up. He tugged at his bowtie. The poor fellow had gone quite pale.

“I’m sorry, Seth,” Alice said. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

The Corrupted hedgehog monster stepped inside the room, growling a low growl. I felt the fur on the back of my neck stand on end. The creature’s quills bristled.

“This … this is too much,” Seth said. “What the heck is going on? Like, for real? Who is this dude?”

“He’s a monster,” Alice answered. She held her saber in front of her and put her free hand behind her back. A quiet whine escaped my mouth. I tugged on my vest again, rattling the vent. Oh, how I hated these situations! Here I was, stuck, while poor Seth was doing his best impression of a possum.

The hedgehog monster took another step forward. I tell you, he was a terrifying beast, with human-shaped paws and long claws and the strong legs of a wolf. He reached his arms over his shoulders, whimpering quietly as he plucked two long sharp quill thingies from his back. He pointed them at Alice as if they were swords.

“Oh dear!” I exclaimed.

Everyone looked up at the vent. I realized then that I’d accidentally turned myself visible in my flustered state.

“Oh. Um, howdy!” I said.

“Now who the heck is that?” Seth asked with wide eyes.

Suddenly, the hedgehog monster lurched forward, stabbing wildly at Alice with one of his quills. Alice parried the blow, stepping back. “Seth, get out of here!” she said. “Hurry!”

The devious hedgehog stepped forward again, stabbing with both of the quills at the same time. Alice fell back, parrying with one smooth motion as she fell to the ground with a thud. If I hadn’t been so sure of her abilities, I might have gasped at this point in time. But I didn’t, and before the hedgehog creature could move closer, Alice was back on her feet.

“Seth!” she said, pulling the awe-struck young man behind her again. “Get out of here!”

“Where am I supposed to go?!” Seth asked. “This entire situation is just a little too difficult to comprehend!”

Alice parried another swipe of the hedgehog’s giant quill, then kicked him right where the sun don’t shine. He bent over and she stabbed at him, but he deflected the beautiful attack with his quill. Alice turned and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying down the next row of giant machines.

“Now, Seth!” she said, following the hedgehog out of my line of sight.

Seth took a cautious step toward the door, then stopped. “Oh holy crap.”

Another much smaller shadow appeared in the doorway.

“A dwarf!” I gasped.

The dwarf stepped forward and I heard the strangest metallic sound. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was until he took another step towards Seth. Then I saw it …

A pickaxe!

“Oh dear me,” I said, struggling mightily with my vest. I tugged and pulled, and heard a distinct metallic ping from somewhere above.

Below, things had gone from bad to worse. Seth was now pinned near the back of the room, the dwarf with the pickaxe blocking the exit. From somewhere behind one of the other rows of serving machines, Alice grunted and cursed. The dwarf watched Alice get thrown back against one of the frightening humming machines in the next aisle, then shrugged.

“I’ve been hoping we’d meet like this,” he said. He was Flick, and he would surely not hesitate to kill Alice’s best friend. I had to get free.

“Um … can you just call the police?” Seth asked. He nervously wiped the sweat from his brow. “I mean … I’m ready to be arrested now. I think a nice quiet night in jail might be just the thing to set me straight.”

Flick laughed. He lifted his pickaxe, hefting its weight in his arms. “I’m going to enjoy this, boy.”

“Alice!” Seth called out. “There’s a dwarf with a pickaxe threatening me! Alice!”

“Briar!” Alice yelled. There was a metallic clang as her sword sliced into one of the machines. Sparks flew and the hedgehog creature cried out.

“Right then,” I mumbled. “This will require the most delicate of solutions.”

I bounced up and down in the vent, shaking it wildly until I heard another metallic pop somewhere above. I shook the vent harder …

And went crashing through the tiled ceiling. The vent broke apart. I landed on the floor directly beside the horrible dwarf, and before he could swing his horrible pickaxe, I jumped up.

“Now who the hell are you?!” asked Alice’s furless friend.

“Br’er Rabbit, at your disposal,” I said, turning to the stunned dwarf and holding out my paws in a karate stance. “I do believe we’ll have time for pleasantries at a later date. As of right now …” The dwarf swung his pickaxe at me and I ducked out of the way. “… We need to get you out of here, dear boy!”

“Yeah, dude.” Seth grabbed my vest, which under less hectic circumstances would have been quite rude. “We definitely need to get me out of here. Please, giant talking rabbit, get me out of this nightmare.”

Flick swung his pickaxe again. I hopped back, nearly bumping into Seth.

“I should have known the idiotic rabbit would show up,” Flick growled. His eyes darted to the next row of servers as Alice and the hedgehog took turns throwing each other against them. We could see them moving past the spaces between the machines, which were not stacked so close that they touched.

“Idiotic?!” I exclaimed, puffing my fur out. “I’ll have you know this clever little idiot has been spying on you for some time.”

“Oh, I know,” Flick said. “Why do you think we locked that emergency exit in the parking structure? We’re not fools, rabbit.”

He swung again, this time aiming for Seth. I pulled the wide-eyed boy out of the way and gave him the heave-ho toward the door. “Run, my boy! Find a safe place!”

“But what about Alice?” he asked.

I dodged another swing of the pickaxe, hopping back. “Alice can take care of herself! Trust me!”

“Yes, trust the giant rabbit!” Flick said with a devious cackle. “Boy, if you turn and run, I’m going to pick you apart piece by bloody piece and leave the crows to eat your eyeballs while you’re still alive!”

“He’s mostly full of hot air!” I shouted, dodging another blow. “Best to not let him get to you!”

“Right. OK! Well, good luck!” Seth called, turning and disappearing into the hallway.

“Beaten once again!” I exclaimed to the horrible dwarf, allowing my ears the satisfaction of pulling back in a more intimidating posture. “It’s only a matter of time now!”

Flick smiled, stepping forward. “I hope the little brat isn’t taking the elevators. Because every single one of them is programmed to go to the top floor.”

From the hall came the unmistakable “ding!” of the elevator. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. “I do say …”

Flick laughed a rotten, dastardly laugh. “You forget, dear rabbit … this isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with a hero.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I told him, backing up beside one of the giant humming servers. It took all my fortitude to not bolt for the door.

“Yes, I’ll bet you haven’t,” Flick said with a grin. His eyes were dark and wide, like saucers that had been dipped in tar. His teeth were yellow and cracked, like … well, like popcorn covered in mustard, I suppose. I must admit, I was a bit afraid of the loony little creature. My legs quivered in anticipation.

From behind us came another crash. My ears twisted uncomfortably toward the sound. Flick raised his pickaxe again. Steady, I thought to myself … steady yourself now, Briar.

He brought the pickaxe down. I slipped out of the way and the sharp end dug into the giant humming machine behind me. Bright, hot sparks erupted from the machine and the dastardly dwarf cried out, flying backwards.

Well! I didn’t need any more invitation to skee-daddle, I’ll tell you what. I hurried to the door, taking one quick look back at Flick, who was groggily trying to push himself to his feet.

“Seth!” I called down the hall, running as fast as my rabbit legs could, “don’t get on the elevator!”

But when I reached the elevators, he was already gone.

Chapter 9: Alice

When he was baptized, the pastor said, "Because of his quills he cannot be given an ordinary bed." So they put a little straw behind the stove and laid him in it. And he could not drink from his mother, for he would have stuck her with his quills. He lay there behind the stove for eight years, and his father grew tired of him, and thought, "If only he would die." But he did not die, but just lay there.[xiv]

I parried another stab from the hedgehog, stepping into a riposte attack and swinging with all my might, slicing the razor-sharp quill in half. The hedgehog growled, reaching over his shoulder and plucking another.

“Crap,” I muttered. Down the row of servers, I saw Seth bolt for the door. “Thank you, Briar.”

The hedgehog came at me again. My feet danced backward, hindered by my dress. In one hand was my pen, clutched like a knife. In the other hand was my saber. I kept two feet of space between myself and the monster, who loomed over me and stared down with terrible burning eyes. All around us, the massive servers hummed a one-note tune.

“Your story ends here,” I hissed.

The hedgehog snorted, stabbing at me again with a quill in each hand. I parried the blows, sidling closer to kick his exposed stomach. But my dress got in the way again, stifling my leg’s movement. This wasn’t working. I was losing. And the dress wasn’t helping things, either.

Suddenly, from the other side of the room came a shower of sparks. I heard Briar giggle, hopping to the door. He was followed quickly by the dwarf.

I dodged another wild stab from the hedgehog, then—seeing an opening, sliced at the monster’s chest. The blade connected, and a small black slit appeared under his fur. The monster dropped one of his quills and clutched the wound, groaning and slamming his eyes shut.

I felt a surge of energy rush through me. I’d done it! I’d stopped him!

The hedgehog opened his eyes. They looked like they were on fire. A string of drool escaped his lips. His paw slipped away from the wound. It wasn’t spreading. The wound wasn’t spreading!

“This is the part where you sort of burn away,” I told him.

The hedgehog shook his head, reaching over his shoulder for another quill.

“Well,” I said with a heavy breath, “I suppose we could keep doing this until you don’t have any quills left. That should only take another hundred days or so.”

The hedgehog’s muzzle quivered. I could have sworn he was trying to smile. He shut his eyes and stabbed one of the quills up at the ceiling, shattering the overhead light. There was a bright flash as the bulb burst. Pieces of glass rained down on us.

The entire aisle went dark. Only the little blinking blue lights on the servers illuminated us. They bathed the hedgehog in blue, then blinked off. When they blinked on again, the hedgehog had closed the gap between us, his terrible drooling muzzle open just a hair so I could see the sharp row of teeth. He stabbed with both quills and I swung my sword defensively, falling back and tripping on my dress again. The hedgehog leapt at me and I rolled right, feeling one of the quills nick the skin on my upper arm.

“Ow,” I muttered, feeling an intense firework of pain. My shoulder began throbbing; it took all of my willpower to focus.

I rolled again, dropping my saber and grabbing the quills before he could stand up and stab at me again. We were locked together, each of us clutching one end of the quills. He pushed me backward. I pressed my toes into the ground and pushed off as hard as I could, forcing him back a step. His long hand-like paws tightened around the quills. I could feel the pointy ends moving ever so slowly closer to my head. He was stronger than me.

But maybe I could use that to my advantage. I gave another strong push, and this time the hedgehog’s head moved toward me, his jaws snapping viciously. I crossed the quills, giving myself an X-shaped barrier between my tender flesh and the monster’s teeth.

One more push, I thought, willing all of my strength into my arms. I pushed the monster back another step, enraging him further. When I felt him push back, I took a step back and shifted my weight, using his momentum to throw him over my shoulder. He landed hard on the ground on the other side of the room, the quills on his back bristling.

“OK, now it’s time to get serious.” I reached down and drew a horizontal line near the bottom of my dress, just above my knees. When I’d drawn the circle all the way around, the length below my knees fell to the floor.

“Now that’s much better,” I said.

The hedgehog stood up, grabbing the two quills from the floor rather than plucking two more.

“I don’t blame you,” I told him. “I know those quills don’t come off as easily as the quills on a porcupine.”

The hedgehog cocked his head.

I smiled devilishly. “Yeah, that’s right … I’ve been reading up on you.” My foot slipped underneath the hilt of my saber. I kicked it up, grabbing it in mid-air. I could feel adrenaline coursing through my body and it felt good. The exhausting side-effects of the antibiotics were temporarily masked. “Come on, Hans. You and I are finishing this right now.”

Instead of charging, the hedgehog slid sideways, disappearing behind the next row of servers. There was a pop and another shower of sparks overhead.

And another aisle went dark. I ran to the far wall just in time to see another row of lights overhead pierced by the monster’s quill. I tried to catch up to him but he was too fast, darting from row to row and stabbing every single one of the long fluorescent bulbs.

I reached the other side of the room too late. Behind me, the door to the hallway slammed shut.

The room was dark. The servers hummed, their little blue lights blinking on and off. My head felt dizzy. My heart thumped in my ears. I steadied my breath, trying to listen, trying to trust my other senses to guide me through this. I swallowed the fear, pushing it deep down, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress. There was only one way out now. I had to stay sharp.

Think, Alice! What else do you remember about hedgehogs?

For starters, those things on his back weren’t quills, really … they were called spines. Spines! I’d totally forgotten. They just looked like quills. Not that that helped much in this instance.

Hedgehogs could roll into a ball to protect themselves.

They enjoy eating berries.

My ears picked up the sound of padding feet crunching on shards of glass. I turned, not seeing anything at first except shadows. Then three of the servers’ blue lights blinked on, and the hedgehog was just feet in front of me, his terrible sharp teeth bathed in blue. I parried the spines, then stabbed at his chest with the fountain pen. The tip found its mark and the monster roared, stepping back and dropping one spine so he could clutch the wound.

He still didn’t burn away!

The blue lights on the servers flickered off. When new lights blinked on, the hedgehog was gone.

But not dead. His throaty growl came from one of the other rows.

My nerves had begun to take hold. My hand gripping the saber was sweaty and hot, and as I forced my legs to shuffle down the dark aisle, I heard the hedgehog’s wet breaths coming from somewhere nearby. It was in the next aisle, right on the other side of the massive server to my left.

“Courage, Alice,” I whispered to myself, trying to silence my heart’s drum beat in my ears. “Fight through the fear.”

I reached the end of the row, stepping around the last one, keeping my back to the wall. I looked right, waiting for a few blue lights to blink on so I could see farther down the aisle. I slipped into the next aisle, trying to force my eyes to peer through the darkness. A few blue lights blinked on, then quickly flickered off, as if they knew I needed them.

A terrible growl came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Come on,” I whispered, fighting the creeping terror that was choking my breath. I had to keep my mind clear. I had to trust my ears instead of looking frantically in every direction.

I had to think.

I took a few steps into the aisle, listening over the humming of the servers. I could definitely hear the padding of feet, but where were they coming from? I turned around, searching the darkness behind me. I turned around again. Blue lights blinked on, illuminating the floor.

What else do you know about hedgehogs, Alice? I was missing something. Something important.

They hibernate.

They’re lactose intolerant.

In the Brothers Grimm tale, Hans the hedgehog marries a princess.

The blue lights flickered off. The entire aisle went dark. There came another low growl. My ears picked up the padding of feet—slow steps, then quicker. Then quicker.

I ducked low and felt the tip of a spine dig into my shoulder. A dark shadow fell over me. Blue lights blinked on and then there he was, standing over me. A few drops of my own blood coated the tip of the spine he held in his right paw.

There was a piece of my dress, too.

I glanced at my shoulder, where the dress had been ripped. “You’re such a jerk, Hans.”

The hedgehog howled and stabbed one of the spines down at me. I parried, sweeping one of his legs and sending him crashing to the ground. We stood at the same time. I couldn’t let him slip away again. I had to stay close, close enough to smell his horrible breath, close enough to see the fur on his muscled chest standing on end, close enough to be able to count the massive spines running along his back.

My shoulder stung. I could feel a small trickle of warm blood staining what remained of the left strap of my dress.

A dozen more blue lights flickered on. The hedgehog’s left eye blinked.

That was it! Hedgehogs are nocturnal!

In my mind’s eye, I watched him stab that that first overhead light. He’d closed his eyes right before he did it. Right before the bulb popped with a flash.

“You want to fight?” I asked. “Then let’s fight!”

I swung my saber, aiming high. The monster parried with one spine. I swung again, this time low, then again and again and again, forcing him on the defense. He stepped back. I stepped forward, showing only the side of my body. I stabbed at his stomach and he parried, falling off-balance, and I took a swipe at his arm. He turned, letting my saber cut across the spines on his back. A few of them burned away.

“So you’re not invincible,” I said. “You’re just really, really strong.”

The hedgehog answered with an attack of his own, pushing me back a handful of steps. I ducked one blow, then raised my saber to deflect the next before the tip of the spine could cut my face. He stabbed at my chest and I turned, jumping on the offensive, swinging down, then up, then down again.

A handful of the lights flickered off. The hedgehog took the offensive again, swinging wildly at my face. I stepped back until more blue lights blinked on, giving my eyes some sorely needed help. I swung once, then twice, and then raised my saber high and swung down and to the left. The hedgehog stepped back and my saber struck the nearest server tower. Bright hot sparks flew out. The hedgehog cried out, wincing.

I closed the gap between us, swinging high and low, stabbing at his chest, then his stomach, then swinging high again. The hedgehog blocked, his eyes blinking furiously.

“Come on!” I shouted, swinging my saber at another server tower. More hot bright sparks lit up the aisle. The hedgehog cried out again. I swung again, then stabbed, each time forcing the hedgehog back. I swung at another server tower, then stabbed at the hedgehog, then swung at another server tower, sending more furious sparks flying all around us. The hedgehog took another step back, then stopped.

He was up against the wall. He turned, ready to slip into the next aisle. I swung my saber at the last server in the row in one long arc, sending sparks flying out in a crescent shaped shower. The hedgehog howled. Now was my chance! I stabbed at him with all my might. For a moment, there was only darkness. I could hear the humming of the servers and our deep, frantic breaths. I could smell the monster’s sour breath. We were so close he could nearly bite me, but I knew he didn’t have the strength.

The blue lights blinked on. There we were, pressed up against the wall. The burning blackness had begun spreading around the saber in the monster’s chest. Slowly.

The monster growled. He snapped at me and I ducked, jamming the fountain pen into his shoulder. The burning blackness spread quicker now, engulfing the monster’s body until nothing but ashes remained.

The blue lights blinked off.

Chapter 10

I followed the glowing golden trail to the elevators, and my worst fears were confirmed. The elevator where the trail—Flick’s trail—stopped was sitting on the top floor. I pushed the “up” button.

There was no other way now. I only hoped Seth and Briar were all right. I would never forgive myself if I let Seth die here.

Or Briar.

The far elevator doors opened. I hurried inside and pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator zoomed upward, pushing my weight into my feet. I touched the wound on my shoulder. It stung something fierce, but at least it had stopped bleeding. The worst part was the shoulder of my dress was torn right in two and hanging in tatters.

“This night could have gone better,” I said to my reflection in the glossy metal elevator doors. The reflection looked more than a little worn down. And unfamiliar. My hair was all frizzy, puffed out on top and matted to my sweaty forehead as well. It looked like a style from the 80’s.

The doors opened. There was a glowing trail on the floor. I followed it, taking in the entire hallway in the process. Briar had been right: everything looked incredibly expensive. The carpeting was plush and dark. Gold trim lined each of the three office doors. Each door was made of a dark wood with even darker knots.

Extravagant wealth, accumulated over decades and decades. But it wasn’t enough, was it? No matter how much they had, they wanted more. That was why they’d put those hidden advertisements in their game: they wanted more money, as much of it as they possibly could.

Just to have it.

I walked up to the middle door, where the glowing golden trail stopped. My hand touched the handle. From inside came a crash. I turned the handle and burst into the room.

Sam Grayle and his sickly brother were standing beside the desk on the far end of the room. Seth and Briar stood with their backs pressed against the large bookcase. In front of them was Flick, his pickaxe held out in front of him, his face red. A handful of books were lying at Flick’s feet. I didn’t fully understand why until Briar grabbed another book from the bookshelf and hurled it at the dwarf, hitting him in the face and turning his face even redder.

They all turned to look at me.

“Finally!” said Sam. “Now, Flick, you may kill her friend.”

“Which one?” Flick growled.

“Either one,” Sam said. “Just kill them already and be done with it.”

“Sorry, chap,” Briar said to Seth. “I really thought throwing books at these fellows was wearing them down.”

Seth shook his head. “It was my fault, giant rabbit creature. I should have taken the stairs. It was such a stupid horror-movie move.”

Flick raised his axe. I lunged forward, sliding feet-first on the hard carpeting. I felt the rough fibers burn the skin of my bare leg and winced, lifting the saber as Flick brought his pickaxe down. Our blades clanged together. I twisted my body and stabbed at the dwarf with the fountain pen. Its tip pierced the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Oof,” Flick said, falling back. He dropped the pickaxe, staring at the burning blackness that began to slowly to spread across his body. “Never seen a hero slide before …”

I lowered my sword. Flick lurched forward, and his eyes landed on my chest. Before I could stop him, he reached out, quickly snatching the vial necklace, snapping it from my neck.

I lifted my sword, cutting his arm. He paid no attention as the blackness spread.

“I’ve seen this,” Flick said, holding out the vial. The burning had turned his arms black, spreading like little tree roots across his chest. “I know what this is.”

“Careful, brother …” said Sam.

Flick ignored him. “This potion can save me!” He uncapped it, took a sip, and then stepped back.

The burning blackness stopped, then began a full retreat. Flick laughed. “You see? You see?” He held out the vial. “You can’t stop me, puny girl! You can’t stop me!”

“Oh man,” Seth said. “That was weird on so many levels.”

The lights overhead flickered. Flick’s laughing stopped. An ice-cold breeze seemed to slip into the room. I felt a chill run down my spine. For the first time, Sam Grayle looked concerned.

“Look away, boy!” Briar ordered, grabbing Seth and turning him toward the bookshelf.

The lights continued flickering. Both Sam and the sickly Gilbert had taken a few steps away from Flick. Flick looked around.

“What is it? What’s happening?”

My mind reeled. What was happening? I tried to think back to that night at the beach, when I’d snuck into the drainage sewer and found myself face-to-face with a strange Corrupted man with horns. He’d had a message for me. A warning. What had he said when he’d given me the vial? It seemed like so long ago already. He’d given me a warning, both about using the vial and avoiding a certain Corrupted named …

Death.

“What’s happening?” Flick demanded. The cold breeze blew papers off Sam’s desk. Goosebumps popped up on my arms. I stepped back, more concerned with protecting Seth and Briar than dealing with Flick.

There was no reason to deal with Flick now.

A shadow slipped in through the office door, moving along the far wall before popping out like a drawing springing to life from a page of paper.

“Look!” Gilbert cried out. “What is that?”

The shadow grew, then slowly changed its form. First came the tattered brown cloak, then the hood pulled tightly over a terrifying rotted skull whose eye sockets stared down at the hapless Flick. Two bony hands slipped out from the sleeves of the cloak. A long scythe materialized, clutched by bony fingers.

An icy fear ran through my body. Here he was. Death. The most horrible of the Grimm brothers’ creations.

Flick backed away, screaming. He tried to run, but it was too late; Death held the blade of his scythe against Flick’s body and very slowly pulled him screaming into the pitch blackness underneath his cloak.

And just like that, they were both gone. The lights stopped flickering. A horrible cough escaped Gilbert’s mouth.

“That,” Sam muttered, “is why I so very much hate my creators.”

“What just happened?” Seth asked, peering over Briar’s shoulder. “Where did the angry guy go?”

“He’s gone,” I said in a low voice, staring at the place where Death had been just moments ago. He’d towered over even me, his heavy hood weighing down his bare skull. Flick had drunk a drop of liquid from the vial, and Death had come and taken him … somewhere.

Briar tapped Seth on the shoulder. “You may let go of me now, I believe. The hero will take care of things.”

“Oh. Right.” Seth let go of Briar. He looked at me. “Wait. Hero?”

“Yes, she’s the hero,” Sam said with a sigh. “She’s the one chosen to rid the world of the Corrupted, yadda yadda yadda, Brothers Grimm this and Brothers Grimm that. It’s all very droll.” He stepped forward, facing me. “I’ll have you know that it was never my intention for things to get so out of hand, Alice. Flick … he was a loving brother, but he had a mind of his own.”

“And anger issues,” added the sickly dwarf named Gilbert. He coughed a fierce fit, sending blobs of phlegm all over the expensive carpeting.

“And anger issues,” Sam said. “And I apologize for my brother Gilbert as well. For you see, he is quite a sickly creature. Always has been.” Sam laughed, loosening his glossy silk tie. “The diseases he’s spread over the years … my oh my. Why, I do believe he was the first to introduce the Black Death to most of the western hemisphere. Once, when he had a particularly bad case of pox …”

I stepped forward and stabbed Gilbert in the stomach. He lurched, coughed, and burned away.

“Woah. Woah!” Sam said, stepping back. “All right. Maybe he deserved that.”

“You deserve it, too,” I said, holding out my saber. “You’re just like them.”

“… Although not quite so murderous, I think.” Sam smiled. “The Corruption affects us all in different ways. You’ve seen that. For poor Hans the Hedgehog, his transformation from hedgehog to prince lasted only a few short years before he mutated again. For Flick and Gilbert, their most dominant emotions began to take over. Flick’s anger drove him to become a murderous monster. Gilbert’s fear of sickness turned him into a walking disease bag.”

“And what about you?” I asked.

Sam shrugged. “I was always the first into the mines in the story of Snow White, and after our story played out, I stayed in those mines. I loved mining for gold. It was a passion. It was the first thing I remember. The very first thing.” He ran a finger along his desk, taking a deep breath. “No doubt for you, the first thing you remember was something from your childhood. I never had a childhood. I was never born. I simply existed one day because those blasted Brothers Grimm decided to dabble in very dark magic.”

“A sob story no doubt meant to lower your defenses,” Briar said to me. “He is a monster like the others.”

“Greed gets the best of me, sometimes,” Sam admitted. He puffed out his chest. “But I’m not quite so evil yet. I’m a crude, calculating businessman to be sure … but a murderer? I think not. Not yet, at least.”

“You told your brother to kill my friends,” I said.

Sam plucked something from the sleeve of his suit coat. “A cold calculation. I knew you would save them. I knew you would kill my brother.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m better off without him,” Sam said simply. “Although I will so dearly miss Gilbert. He was a sweet little disease bag. He couldn’t control his sickness, the poor fool.”

“He has to die,” Briar said. “All of the Corrupted must die. They are all evil, Alice.”

Sam’s head snapped to Briar. His eyes narrowed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t kill anyone,” Seth offered. “I mean, like, maybe we should just go home and get some sleep and see how things look in the morning.”

Sam ignored him, turning back to me. His eyes moved to the tip of my saber for just a moment. “Alice, you must understand that you have no choice in this matter. Has your idiotic rabbit helper told you about dear, sweet Grace?”

“Only that she was a good hero,” I said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“Oh dear,” Briar said, tapping his paws together.

“Grace had a family once,” Sam said. “Oh yes, she did. She was a tenacious hero, always bravely throwing herself into the heat of battle as if she had nothing to lose. She found soon enough that she had everything to lose, Alice.”

“She had a family,” I whispered. My thoughts went to my parents. I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

“She threatened my life,” Sam said. “She went after my brothers, killing one of them. So I killed her aunt and uncle. I told her if she ever came after me, I would kill her baby.”

“Her child …” the words slipped out of my mouth.

Sam’s eyes seemed to glow. “Grace learned fear. Fear for her baby.”

“Then you are a murderer,” I said.

Sam shook his head. “I was merely acting in self-defense. Surely that is not murder, right?”

I turned to Briar. His ears were down, pulled back. “I’m so sorry, Alice. I … you were already so upset about everything else. I was afraid you would be angry with me.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “You should have told me, friend.”

He lowered his head. “I’m so sorry. Friend.”

“This is incredible,” Seth said. “I mean, absolutely incredible. I have to be dreaming this.”

“I fear not, dear boy.” Sam took a deep breath, glancing at the tip of my saber again. “But luckily, this story has a happy ending. I continue running my business, maintaining a low profile, and Alice continues on her merry way, slaying much more dangerous Corrupted until the day she finally makes a mistake and dies.”

“Dies?” Seth asked. “That … that …”

“I can’t let you live,” I said. My mouth was dry. I couldn’t stop thinking about my parents. My grandparents. My stupid cousins who lived in Minnesota and were obsessed with pop music.

“Then your family will die,” Sam said simply. “The moment I disappear, the order is sent out. I’m sorry, but like I told you before: I’m a cold, calculating businessman. I didn’t get this far with just my looks.”

The saber shook in my hand. I didn’t know what to do. Up until this point, it had always been kill-kill-kill. And now here was a Corrupted who’d managed to get the upper hand. And now I couldn’t bring myself to kill him.

“I’ll sweeten the pot,” Sam said. “I can see you’re a shrewd businesswoman and I respect that. I am, perhaps, not giving enough ground. What, exactly, do you want?”

“I want you to save Fran’s house,” I blurted out.

He cocked his head.

“I mean … you can’t foreclose on any houses anymore. None.”

“But that’s what my bank does when someone can’t pay their bills,” Sam insisted.

“No. Not anymore. You’re going to help them out and figure out a way for them to stay in their homes.”

“That would cost me millions every year. It’s impossible.”

“How much did you make from Edward’s foreclosure?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Well, the man was a prince in another lifetime. So a fair amount. Of course, I had to hire a special crew to dispose of those awful skeletons in his basement.” A smile crept across his lips. “Your ex-boyfriend was quite sick.”

I ignored the jab. “Well … what if you kept the spoils of the Corrupted I kill? I bet there are more with fortunes and riches, like Edward.”

Sam’s face loosened up. He stroked his short beard. “Ah, now that … is a fair deal. I have but one condition.”

“No.”

“Alice, this is how negotiations work.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

“If I find any Corrupted who possess a sizeable fortune … you must kill them for me.”

“I’ll make an effort,” I offered. “I’m still in high school, after all.”

Sam tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants, nodding to himself. “Still in school, eh? You do realize you’re the hero.”

“I also realize that my knowledge is the only thing that’s kept me alive so far.”

He grunted. “You did manage to kill all of Flick’s favorite assassins …” He paced in front of the desk, glancing once at Briar and Seth. “Anything else?”

“No more subliminal ads in that stupid Castle Cats game or anywhere else.”

“Fine. Wonderful.” Sam threw his arms in the air. “Allelujia! I was nearly run over just the other day by some careless teenager more interested in playing on his phone than driving. I’ll be more than happy to sell off our software division now that Gilbert is gone. You have a deal. Now get out.”

I exhaled, feeling a rush of nervous energy escape my body. I followed Seth and Briar to the door. What had I done? Had I really made a deal with a Corrupted? Before I closed the door, I turned back. Sam had returned to his seat at his desk. He was staring at me. Examining me, no doubt.

Calculating.

Chapter 11

“Hey!” Seth called out.

I re-shelved the philosophy book in its proper place and hurried over to the library’s reading table, where Seth was buried in mounds of books on weapons.

“You have to whisper!” I hissed. “Got it?”

Seth held up the book he was reading. “See this?”

“Yes. It’s a sword.”

“No, no, no … it’s a gladius. A short sword the Romans used to wield in battle. It’s lightweight but durable, and it’s easier to swing than a longer sword. It would work perfectly if you ever find yourself caught in a cramped place again.”

“Like a server room,” I mumbled, staring at the sword’s design. It had a beautiful look to it … “beautiful” this sense mostly meaning “deadly,” I guess.

Beside Seth, a page in a history book turned on its own. Seth looked at it, shaking his head. “Man, I can’t believe there’s a giant rabbit sitting next to me. And he’s invisible right now because he’s self-conscious about reappearing on accident.”

“Believe it,” I said, “and be quiet about it.” Briar had told Seth everything, and Seth had accepted it all pretty easily, probably because he’d already seen so much.

I wish I could have said the same about my parents’ reaction to my new hair. You would have thought I’d cut off an ear or something. And of course, being about as pooped as I’d ever been in my life, I left my fake glasses on when I walked into the house that evening. I swear, my mom was on the verge of calling an asylum to have me committed.

After seeing the grim reaper … maybe my mom was on to something.

“Ms. Goodenough,” came a harsh whisper.

I turned in time to see Fran making her way between the Military History and Biography shelves, her long polka-dot dress flowing with each step. It was wrinkled, as if she’d packed it away in a box, then pulled it out a week later and simply put it on. Rather not like the old Fran.

But maybe this was the new Fran. The Fran who had just a few less worries. The Fran who I’d seen just a day ago having coffee with Mary down at the café by the grocery store.

“I’m almost done, Fran,” I said. “My friend sidetracked me.”

She gave him a quick nod, clutching a small package wrapped in brown paper tightly. “Before I forget, Alice, I was hoping I could convince you to help me with a few boxes next weekend. It turns out …” She smiled, then stuffed it away to resume her stern expression. “It turns out I won’t be moving after all.”

“Had a change of heart, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do believe I’ll stick with that old house after all.”

“It does have a wonderful library.”

“It does. Which reminds me … this is for you.”

“For me?” I grabbed the package. The brown paper was tied in twine. “What is it?”

“Just open it carefully,” Fran said.

I untied the twine, then carefully unwrapped the package. Grimms’ Fairy Tales. My heart raced. It was still wrapped in plastic. “Thank you so much!”

“Keep your voice down,” Fran said. “And you’re welcome. And do be careful with it. And please ensure all of the Young Adult books are put away before closing time.” She nodded to Seth. “Good day, young man.”

“Yeah,” Seth murmured. He’d become engrossed in his book of swords once again.

We were alone once again. Beside Seth, an invisible paw flipped to a fresh page.

“So what’s next?” Seth asked.

I smiled. And I had a feeling my furry friend was doing the same.

“It’s not a matter of what is next,” I said. “It’s a matter of who is next.” I thought of Sam Grayle, sitting at his desk in his tower overlooking the city. Untouchable. Protected. Calculating.

“OK, so who is next?” Seth asked.

I sighed, seeing Grayle’s horrible smile and cold, gray eyes in my mind. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we get to decide.”

Click here to buy The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2!

An Interview with the Creators!

Where did you come up with the idea for this series?

Ken was tinkering around with the idea of a hero somehow being chosen to rid the world of monsters. Classic stuff, really! But in his original idea, he had a young man fighting demons. But there was nothing original in all of that, and this was right around the time a lot of Young Adult novels started becoming bestsellers. Specifically, Young Adult novels with female protagonists who really weren’t all that tough or smart. So we wanted to change that.

Why was it important for you to create a strong female protagonist?

Because Young Adult readers need one! It’s important. And it was especially important for us to show Alice using her brain to solve the problems that arise. Just because Alice is smart and enjoys reading doesn’t mean she can’t kick some butt, too. Yes, we’re fond of pointing that out. Because there’s a lot of butt-kicking to come.

What’s the hardest part about writing this series?

The deadlines! And the final draft. That’s when a lot of pieces start to come together. Then, when you think you’re done, you get another idea and you have to decide if you should put it in the book or just let it go. The problem is you always have another idea for the story … it’s never-ending! At some point, you have to just stop and say, “No. This book is finished, darn it.”

Why did you include Br’er Rabbit as a sidekick?

Ken is a big fan of the Br’er Rabbit stories. In elementary school, he had a teacher who read all of the stories in class and even had the students come up with their own stories, too. It was fun. Br’er Rabbit is a fantastic trickster who borrows a little from Native-American culture, but his origins are in the African-American culture. And Br’er Rabbit is a character who uses his wits to overcome adversity.

We wanted Alice to have a sidekick, too. This is important because Alice needs someone to explain to her what the heck is going on!

What are your favorite Young Adult books?

We’re fans of the classics. The Ramona series is great, and so is just about anything by Roald Dahl. Also, we enjoy comics … especially Generation X.

How does the writing process work?

Ken usually writes the first draft. Then Isabella makes it good.

What are your plans for the remainder of the series?

Well, there are 9 books left to go. The next three books are going to deal with Alice in her senior year of high school. The following three books are going to be about a fencing tournament in Europe (along with an epic battle with a very cool Corrupted!). The last three books are a surprise, but they’re going to be intense!

How do you find characters for the books?

We’ve read and re-read Grimms’ Fairy Tales. From there, it’s just a matter of finding certain characters who might be a good fit for the storyline. The best way to approach the stories is to simply let your imagination take a hold of you. What would this particular character in Grimms’ Fairy Tales be like if he was living in the modern world? How would he change in an evil sort of way?

Who’s your favorite Corrupted character so far?

Sam Grayle, without a doubt. He’s one of the few Corrupted so far who hasn’t turned into a total monster … at least not the kind that feasts on humans. But Sam Grayle is totally evil. In the story of Snow-White, he was one of the dwarfs who spent his time in the gold mine. And when his story ended … well, he just wanted to get back to all that gold.

So now greed drives him. It’s become an incredible force that he bases his entire life around. And he loves being alive. He doesn’t want to die. He’s gone so far as to plan ahead to make sure he never does die … and that makes him scarier. Alice isn’t the first hero he’s been face-to-face with. And he’s still alive.

Sam was mentioned in “The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen.” Why did you decide to include that?

Because, first off, we wanted to make sure readers buying the paperback edition get their money’s worth. But we also wanted to start fleshing out the history of the hero. There are a lot of great stories to tell. Grace’s was fun because she lived during the Great Depression. She was fearless. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

We’ll do more with each of the volumes. This definitely isn’t the last time a “lost” diary is found!

What’s the promotion process like?

Lots and lots of pointing and clicking. We’ve contacted hundreds of book bloggers, sending out emails and offering free review copies. We’ve had tremendous feedback, too. And we try to make a point of continuously thanking the book bloggers who work with us. They’re great, and they’re doing a great thing. We can’t stress that enough.

[i] Little Snow-White

By the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were falling like feathers from the sky, a queen sat at a window sewing, and the frame of the window was made of black ebony. And whilst she was sewing and looking out of the window at the snow, she pricked her finger with the needle, and three drops of blood fell upon the snow. And the red looked pretty upon the white snow, and she thought to herself, “Would that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the window-frame.”

Soon after that she had a little daughter, who was as white as snow, and as red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony; and she was therefore called Little Snow-white. And when the child was born, the Queen died.

After a year had passed the King took to himself another wife. She was a beautiful woman, but proud and haughty, and she could not bear that anyone else should surpass her in beauty. She had a wonderful looking- glass, and when she stood in front of it and looked at herself in it, and said, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” the looking-glass answered, “Thou, O Queen, art the fairest of all!”

Then she was satisfied, for she knew that the looking-glass spoke the truth. But Snow-white was growing up, and grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years old she was as beautiful as the day, and more beautiful than the Queen herself. And once when the Queen asked her looking-glass, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” it answered, “Thou art fairer than all who are here, Lady Queen. But more beautiful still is Snow-white, as I ween.”

Then the Queen was shocked, and turned yellow and green with envy. From that hour, whenever she looked at Snow-white, her heart heaved in her breast, she hated the girl so much.

And envy and pride grew higher and higher in her heart like a weed, so that she had no peace day or night. She called a huntsman, and said, “Take the child away into the forest; I will no longer have her in my sight. Kill her, and bring me back her heart as a token.” The huntsman obeyed, and took her away; but when he had drawn his knife, and was about to pierce Snow-white’s innocent heart, she began to weep, and said, “Ah dear huntsman, leave me my life! I will run away into the wild forest, and never come home again.”

And as she was so beautiful the huntsman had pity on her and said, “Run away, then, you poor child.” The wild beasts will soon have devoured you, thought he, and yet it seemed as if a stone had been rolled from his heart since it was no longer needful for him to kill her. And as a young boar just then came running by he stabbed it, and cut out its heart and took it to the Queen as proof that the child was dead. The cook had to salt this, and the wicked Queen ate it, and thought she had eaten the heart of Snow-white.

But now the poor child was all alone in the great forest, and so terrified that she looked at every leaf of every tree, and did not know what to do. Then she began to run, and ran over sharp stones and through thorns, and the wild beasts ran past her, but did her no harm.

She ran as long as her feet would go until it was almost evening; then she saw a little cottage and went into it to rest herself. Everything in the cottage was small, but neater and cleaner than can be told. There was a table on which was a white cover, and seven little plates, and on each plate a little spoon; moreover, there were seven little knives and forks, and seven little mugs. Against the wall stood seven little beds side by side, and covered with snow-white counterpanes.

Little Snow-white was so hungry and thirsty that she ate some vegetables and bread from each plate and drank a drop of wine out of each mug, for she did not wish to take all from one only. Then, as she was so tired, she laid herself down on one of the little beds, but none of them suited her; one was too long, another too short, but at last she found that the seventh one was right, and so she remained in it, said a prayer and went to sleep.

When it was quite dark the owners of the cottage came back; they were seven dwarfs who dug and delved in the mountains for ore. They lit their seven candles, and as it was now light within the cottage they saw that someone had been there, for everything was not in the same order in which they had left it.

The first said, “Who has been sitting on my chair?” The second, “Who has been eating off my plate?” The third, “Who has been taking some of my bread?”

The fourth, “Who has been eating my vegetables?” The fifth, “Who has been using my fork?” The sixth, “Who has been cutting with my knife?” The seventh, “Who has been drinking out of my mug?”

Then the first looked round and saw that there was a little hole on his bed, and he said, “Who has been getting into my bed?” The others came up and each called out, “Somebody has been lying in my bed too.” But the seventh when he looked at his bed saw little Snow-white, who was lying asleep therein. And he called the others, who came running up, and they cried out with astonishment, and brought their seven little candles and let the light fall on little Snow-white. “Oh, heavens! Oh, heavens!” cried they, “what a lovely child!” and they were so glad that they did not wake her up, but let her sleep on in the bed. And the seventh dwarf slept with his companions, one hour with each, and so got through the night.

When it was morning little Snow-white awoke, and was frightened when she saw the seven dwarfs. But they were friendly and asked her what her name was. “My name is Snow-white,” she answered. “How have you come to our house?” said the dwarfs. Then she told them that her step-mother had wished to have her killed, but that the huntsman had spared her life, and that she had run for the whole day, until at last she had found their dwelling. The dwarfs said, “If you will take care of our house, cook, make the beds, wash, sew, and knit, and if you will keep everything neat and clean, you can stay with us and you shall want for nothing.”

“Yes,” said Snow-white, “with all my heart,” and she stayed with them. She kept the house in order for them; in the mornings they went to the mountains and looked for copper and gold, in the evenings they came back, and then their supper had to be ready. The girl was alone the whole day, so the good dwarfs warned her and said, “Beware of your step-mother; she will soon know that you are here. Be sure to let no one come in.”

But the Queen, believing that she had eaten Snow-white’s heart, could not but think that she was again the first and most beautiful of all; and she went to her looking-glass and said, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” and the glass answered, “Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, and none is so fair as she.”

Then she was astounded, for she knew that the looking-glass never spoke falsely, and she knew that the huntsman had betrayed her, and that little Snow-white was still alive.

And so she thought and thought again how she might kill her, for so long as she was not the fairest in the whole land, envy let her have no rest. And when she had at last thought of something to do, she painted her face, and dressed herself like an old peddler-woman, and no one could have known her. In this disguise she went over the seven mountains to the seven dwarfs, and knocked at the door and cried, “Pretty things to sell, very cheap, very cheap.” Little Snow-white looked out of the window and called out, “Good-day my good woman, what have you to sell?”

“Good things, pretty things,” she answered; “stay-laces of all colors,” and she pulled out one which was woven of bright-colored silk. I may let the worthy old woman in, thought Snow-white, and she unbolted the door and bought the pretty laces. “Child,” said the old woman, “what a fright you look; come, I will lace you properly for once.” Snow-white had no suspicion, but stood before her, and let herself be laced with the new laces. But the old woman laced so quickly and so tightly that Snow-white lost her breath and fell down as if dead. “Now I am the most beautiful,” said the Queen to herself, and ran away.

Not long afterwards, in the evening, the seven dwarfs came home, but how shocked they were when they saw their dear little Snow-white lying on the ground, and that she neither stirred nor moved, and seemed to be dead. They lifted her up, and, as they saw that she was laced too tightly, they cut the laces; then she began to breathe a little, and after a while came to life again. When the dwarfs heard what had happened they said, “The old peddler-woman was no one else than the wicked Queen; take care and let no one come in when we are not with you.”

But the wicked woman when she had reached home went in front of the glass and asked, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” and it answered as before, “Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, And none is so fair as she.”

When she heard that, all her blood rushed to her heart with fear, for she saw plainly that little Snow-white was again alive. “But now,” she said, “I will think of something that shall put an end to you,” and by the help of witchcraft, which she understood, she made a poisonous comb. Then she disguised herself and took the shape of another old woman. So she went over the seven mountains to the seven dwarfs, knocked at the door, and cried, “Good things to sell, cheap, cheap!” Little Snow-white looked out and said, “Go away; I cannot let any one come in.”

“I suppose you can look,” said the old woman, and pulled the poisonous comb out and held it up. It pleased the girl so well that she let herself be beguiled, and opened the door. When they had made a bargain the old woman said, “Now I will comb you properly for once.” Poor little Snow-white had no suspicion, and let the old woman do as she pleased, but hardly had she put the comb in her hair than the poison in it took effect, and the girl fell down senseless. “You paragon of beauty,” said the wicked woman, “you are done for now,” and she went away.

But fortunately it was almost evening, when the seven dwarfs came home. When they saw Snow-white lying as if dead upon the ground they at once suspected the step-mother, and they looked and found the poisoned comb. Scarcely had they taken it out when Snow-white came to herself, and told them what had happened. Then they warned her once more to be upon her guard and to open the door to no one.

The Queen, at home, went in front of the glass and said, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” then it answered as before, “Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see, But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell, Snow-white is still alive and well, And none is so fair as she.”

When she heard the glass speak thus she trembled and shook with rage. “Snow-white shall die,” she cried, “even if it costs me my life!”

Thereupon she went into a quite secret, lonely room, where no one ever came, and there she made a very poisonous apple. Outside it looked pretty, white with a red cheek, so that everyone who saw it longed for it; but whoever ate a piece of it must surely die.

When the apple was ready she painted her face, and dressed herself up as a country-woman, and so she went over the seven mountains to the seven dwarfs. She knocked at the door. Snow-white put her head out of the window and said, “I cannot let any one in; the seven dwarfs have forbidden me.” “It is all the same to me,” answered the woman, “I shall soon get rid of my apples. There, I will give you one.”

“No,” said Snow-white, “I dare not take anything.”

“Are you afraid of poison?” said the old woman; “look, I will cut the apple in two pieces; you eat the red cheek, and I will eat the white.” The apple was so cunningly made that only the red cheek was poisoned. Snow-white longed for the fine apple, and when she saw that the woman ate part of it she could resist no longer, and stretched out her hand and took the poisonous half. But hardly had she a bit of it in her mouth when she fell down dead. Then the Queen looked at her with a dreadful look, and laughed aloud and said, “White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony-wood! This time the dwarfs cannot wake you up again.”

And when she asked of the Looking-glass at home, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?” it answered at last, “Oh, Queen, in this land thou art fairest of all.”

Then her envious heart had rest, so far as an envious heart can have rest. The dwarfs, when they came home in the evening, found Snow-white lying upon the ground; she breathed no longer and was dead. They lifted her up, looked to see whether they could find anything poisonous, un- laced her, combed her hair, washed her with water and wine, but it was all of no use; the poor child was dead, and remained dead. They laid her upon a bier, and all seven of them sat round it and wept for her, and wept three days long. Then they were going to bury her, but she still looked as if she were living, and still had her pretty red cheeks. They said, “We could not bury her in the dark ground,” and they had a transparent coffin of glass made, so that she could be seen from all sides, and they laid her in it, and wrote her name upon it in golden letters, and that she was a king’s daughter. Then they put the coffin out upon the mountain, and one of them always stayed by it and watched it. And birds came too, and wept for Snow- white; first an owl, then a raven, and last a dove.

And now Snow-white lay a long, long time in the coffin, and she did not change, but looked as if she were asleep; for she was as white as snow, as red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony.

It happened, however, that a king’s son came into the forest, and went to the dwarfs’ house to spend the night. He saw the coffin on the moun- tain, and the beautiful Snow-white within it, and read what was written upon it in golden letters. Then he said to the dwarfs, “Let me have the cof- fin, I will give you whatever you want for it.” But the dwarfs answered, “We will not part with it for all the gold in the world.” Then he said, “Let me have it as a gift, for I cannot live without seeing Snow-white. I will honour and prize her as my dearest possession.” As he spoke in this way the good dwarfs took pity upon him, and gave him the coffin.

And now the King’s son had it carried away by his servants on their shoulders. And it happened that they stumbled over a tree-stump, and with the shock the poisonous piece of apple which Snow-white had bitten off came out of her throat. And before long she opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, sat up, and was once more alive. “Oh, heavens, where am I?” she cried. The King’s son, full of joy, said, “You are with me,” and told her what had happened, and said, “I love you more than everything in the world; come with me to my father’s palace, you shall be my wife.”

And Snow-white was willing, and went with him, and their wedding was held with great show and splendour. But Snow-white’s wicked step- mother was also bidden to the feast. When she had arrayed herself in beautiful clothes she went before the Looking-glass, and said, “Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall, Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

The glass answered, “Oh, Queen, of all here the fairest art thou, But the young Queen is fairer by far as I trow.”

Then the wicked woman uttered a curse, and was so wretched, so utterly wretched, that she knew not what to do. At first she would not go to the wedding at all, but she had no peace, and must go to see the young Queen. And when she went in she knew Snow-white; and she stood still with rage and fear, and could not stir. But iron slippers had already been put upon the fire, and they were brought in with tongs, and set before her. Then she was forced to put on the red-hot shoes, and dance until she dropped down dead.

[ii] THE WHITE SNAKE

By the Brothers Grimm

A long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through all the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of the most secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had a strange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared, and no one else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more dish. It was covered, however, and even the servant did not know what was in it, neither did anyone know, for the king never took off the cover to eat of it until he was quite alone.

This had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took away the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help carrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door, he lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But when he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it, so he cut of a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it touched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices outside his window. He went and listened, and then noticed that it was the sparrows who were chattering together, and telling one another of all kinds of things which they had seen in the fields and woods. Eating the snake had given him power of understanding the language of animals.

Now it so happened that on this very day the queen lost her most beautiful ring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty servant, who was allowed to go everywhere. The king ordered the man to be brought before him, and threatened with angry words that unless he could before the morrow point out the thief, he himself should be looked upon as guilty and executed. In vain he declared his innocence; he was dismissed with no better answer.

In his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and took thought how to help himself out of his trouble. Now some ducks were sitting together quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst they were making their feathers smooth with their bills, they were having a confidential conversation together. The servant stood by and listened. They were telling one another of all the places where they had been waddling about all the morning, and what good food they had found; and one said in a pitiful tone:

'Something lies heavy on my stomach; as I was eating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under the queen's window.' The servant at once seized her by the neck, carried her to the kitchen, and said to the cook: 'Here is a fine duck; pray, kill her.' 'Yes,' said the cook, and weighed her in his hand; 'she has spared no trouble to fatten herself, and has been waiting to be roasted long enough.' So he cut off her head, and as she was being dressed for the spit, the queen's ring was found inside her.

The servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the king, to make amends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favour, and promised him the best place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused everything, and only asked for a horse and some money for travelling, as he had a mind to see the world and go about a little. When his request was granted he set out on his way, and one day came to a pond, where he saw three fishes caught in the reeds and gasping for water. Now, though it is said that fishes are dumb, he heard them lamenting that they must perish so miserably, and, as he had a kind heart, he got off his horse and put the three prisoners back into the water. They leapt with delight, put out their heads, and cried to him: 'We will remember you and repay you for saving us!'

He rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice in the sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain: 'Why cannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That stupid horse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people without mercy!' So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried out to him: 'We will remember you—one good turn deserves another!'

The path led him into a wood, and there he saw two old ravens standing by their nest, and throwing out their young ones. 'Out with you, you idle, good-for-nothing creatures!' cried they; 'we cannot find food for you any longer; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.' But the poor young ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings, and crying: 'Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves, and yet we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?' So the good young fellow alighted and killed his horse with his sword, and gave it to them for food. Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied their hunger, and cried: 'We will remember you—one good turn deserves another!'

And now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long way, he came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in the streets, and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud: 'The king's daughter wants a husband; but whoever seeks her hand must perform a hard task, and if he does not succeed he will forfeit his life.' Many had already made the attempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth saw the king's daughter he was so overcome by her great beauty that he forgot all danger, went before the king, and declared himself a suitor.

So he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, before his eyes; then the king ordered him to fetch this ring up from the bottom of the sea, and added: 'If you come up again without it you will be thrown in again and again until you perish amid the waves.' All the people grieved for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him alone by the sea.

He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly he saw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very fishes whose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in its mouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth's feet, and when he had taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell. Full of joy he took it to the king and expected that he would grant him the promised reward.

But when the proud princess perceived that he was not her equal in birth, she scorned him, and required him first to perform another task. She went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten sacksful of millet-seed on the grass; then she said: 'Tomorrow morning before sunrise these must be picked up, and not a single grain be wanting.'

The youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be possible to perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there he sat sorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to death. But as soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden he saw all the ten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a single grain was missing. The ant-king had come in the night with thousands and thousands of ants, and the grateful creatures had by great industry picked up all the millet-seed and gathered them into the sacks.

Presently the king's daughter herself came down into the garden, and was amazed to see that the young man had done the task she had given him. But she could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said: 'Although he has performed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband until he had brought me an apple from the Tree of Life.' The youth did not know where the Tree of Life stood, but he set out, and would have gone on for ever, as long as his legs would carry him, though he had no hope of finding it. After he had wandered through three kingdoms, he came one evening to a wood, and lay down under a tree to sleep. But he heard a rustling in the branches, and a golden apple fell into his hand. At the same time three ravens flew down to him, perched themselves upon his knee, and said: 'We are the three young ravens whom you saved from starving; when we had grown big, and heard that you were seeking the Golden Apple, we flew over the sea to the end of the world, where the Tree of Life stands, and have brought you the apple.' The youth, full of joy, set out homewards, and took the Golden Apple to the king's beautiful daughter, who had now no more excuses left to make. They cut the Apple of Life in two and ate it together; and then her heart became full of love for him, and they lived in undisturbed happiness to a great age.

[iii] Br’er Rabbit Fools Sis Cow

A Georgia Folktale

One day Br’er Rabbit was skipping down the road heading for his home in the briar patch when he spotted Sis Cow grazing in the field. It was a mighty hot day and Br’er Rabbit was thirsty. Some milk would be real fine on such a warm afternoon, but Sis Cow always refused to let Br’er Rabbit milk her when he asked. So Br’er Rabbit came up with a plan.

"Howdy Sis Cow!" said Br’er Rabbit.

"Howdy yourself, Br’er Rabbit," said Sis Cow. "How are your folks?"

"How’s Br’er Bull?" Br’er Rabbit asked.

"Oh, he’s doing just fine,” said Sis Cow.

"Say, maybe you could help me out," Br’er Rabbit said to Sis Cow. "I'd like to get some apples down out of that tree, but it's too high for me to climb." He pointed over to a nearby apple tree.

"I ain't no good at climbing," said Sis Cow. “I got these hooves that are only good for stomping around on the ground.”

"Well now, you don’t need to climb at all," said Br’er Rabbit. "Just butt your head against the tree a few times, and the apples will fall down."

Sis Cow thought about it, then nodded. She backed up a bit and ran at the tree with her horns down.

WHAP!

She butted the tree as hard as she could. But none of the rascally apples fell down. So Sis Cow backed up again and ran at the tree with her horns down.

WHAP!

She butted the tree as hard as she could. This time, her horns got stuck in the tree! She pulled and tugged, but nothing doing.

"Help me out, Br’er Rabbit," Sis Cow pleaded.

“I'll run and fetch Br’er Bull!” said Br’er Rabbit.

Well now, Br’er Rabbit ran home to fetch his wife and all of the kids. They brought a big pail to the field and they milked Sis Cow until not a drop of milk was left. Sis Cow kept pulling and snorting, but she couldn't get free.

"I'll come back tomorrow for more milk," Br’er Rabbit said. "Seeing as you're probably stuck 'til daybreak. Have a good night, Sis Cow!"

Well, Sis Cow tugged and tugged, trying to free her horns from the tree. It took her til morning, but finally she broke loose. Once she was free, she munched on some grass to calm herself down. As she ate, she made a plan to play her own little trick on that troublesome Br’er Rabbit.

Before daybreak, Sis Cow put her head down and stuck her horns back into the holes she had made in the tree, pretending she was still stuck. Course, Br’er Rabbit had come early to the field and had seen Sis Cow grazing, so he knew exactly what was going on.

"How’s things going, Sis Cow?" asked Br’er Rabbit as he hopped across the field.

"I been better, Br’er Rabbit," said Sis Cow with a devilish grin. "I been stuck here all night. But if you grab my tail, you can help pull me out."

Oh she’s not fooling me, thought Br’er Rabbit. He told her, "I'm a puny little fool, Sis Cow. If I pull your tail, I might get crushed. So I’m not getting a hair closer!"

Sis Cow was furious! She pulled her horns out of the tree lickety-split and started chasing Br’er Rabbit back to the briar patch. But Br’er Rabbit was too fast, and when Sis Cow stepped into the briar patch she howled in frustration as her her hoof got caught. She pulled it free and ran home angry. Br’er rabbit howled in laughter and went home to enjoy himself a nice cup of milk.

[iv] The Poor Miller’s Boy and the Cat

By the Brothers Grimm

In a certain mill lived an old miller who had neither wife nor child, and three apprentices served under him. As they had been with him several years, he one day said to them, “I am old, and want to sit in the chimney- corner, go out, and whichsoever of you brings me the best horse home, to him will I give the mill, and in return for it he shall take care of me till my death.” The third of the boys was, however, the drudge, who was looked on as foolish by the others; they begrudged the mill to him, and afterwards he would not have it. Then all three went out together, and when they came to the village, the two said to stupid Hans, “Thou mayst just as well stay here, as long as thou livest thou wilt never get a horse.” Hans, however, went with them, and when it was night they came to a cave in which they lay down to sleep. The two sharp ones waited until Hans had fallen asleep, then they got up, and went away leaving him where he was. And they thought they had done a very clever thing, but it was certain to turn out ill for them. When the sun arose, and Hans woke up, he was lying in a deep cavern. He looked around on every side and exclaimed, “Oh, heavens, where am I?” Then he got up and clambered out of the cave, went into the forest, and thought, “Here I am quite alone and deserted, how shall I obtain a horse now?”

Whilst he was thus walking full of thought, he met a small tabby-cat which said quite kindly, “Hans, where are you going?” “Alas, thou canst not help me.” “I well know your desire,” said the cat. “You wish to have a beautiful horse. Come with me, and be my faithful servant for seven years long, and then I will give you one more beautiful than any you have ever seen in your whole life.”

“Well, this is a wonderful cat!” thought Hans, “but I am determined to see if she is telling the truth.” So she took him with her into her enchanted castle, where there were nothing but cats who were her servants. They leapt nimbly upstairs and downstairs, and were merry and happy. In the evening when they sat down to dinner, three of them had to make music. One played the bassoon, the other the fiddle, and the third put the trumpet to his lips, and blew out his cheeks as much as he possibly could. When they had dined, the table was carried away, and the cat said, “Now, Hans, come and dance with me.” “No,” said he, “I won’t dance with a pussy cat. I have never done that yet.” “Then take him to bed,” said she to the cats.

So one of them lighted him to his bed-room, one pulled his shoes off, one his stockings, and at last one of them blew out the candle. Next morning they returned and helped him out of bed, one put his stockings on for him, one tied his garters, one brought his shoes, one washed him, and one dried his face with her tail. “That feels very soft!” said Hans. He, however, had to serve the cat, and chop some wood every day, and to do that, he had an axe of silver, and the wedge and saw were of silver and the mallet of copper. So he chopped the wood small; stayed there in the house and had good meat and drink, but never saw anyone but the tabby-cat and her servants. Once she said to him, “Go and mow my meadow, and dry the grass,” and gave him a scythe of silver, and a whetstone of gold, but bade him deliver them up again carefully.

So Hans went thither, and did what he was bidden, and when he had finished the work, he carried the scythe, whetstone, and hay to the house, and asked if it was not yet time for her to give him his reward. “No,” said the cat, “you must first do something more for me of the same kind. There is timber of silver, carpenter’s axe, square, and everything that is needful, all of silver, with these build me a small house.” Then Hans built the small house, and said that he had now done everything, and still he had no horse. Nevertheless the seven years had gone by with him as if they were six months. The cat asked him if he would like to see her horses? “Yes,” said Hans. Then she opened the door of the small house, and when she had opened it, there stood twelve horses, such horses, so bright and shining, that his heart rejoiced at the sight of them. And now she gave him to eat and drink, and said, “Go home, I will not give thee thy horse away with thee; but in three days’ time I will follow thee and bring it.” So Hans set out, and she showed him the way to the mill.

She had, however, never once given him a new coat, and he had been obliged to keep on his dirty old smock-frock, which he had brought with him, and which during the seven years had everywhere become too small for him. When he reached home, the two other apprentices were there again as well, and each of them certainly had brought a horse with him, but one of them was a blind one, and the other lame. They asked Hans where his horse was. “It will follow me in three days’ time.” Then they laughed and said, “Indeed, stupid Hans, where wilt thou get a horse?” “It will be a fine one!” Hans went into the parlour, but the miller said he should not sit down to table, for he was so ragged and torn, that they would all be ashamed of him if any one came in. So they gave him a mouthful of food outside, and at night, when they went to rest, the two others would not let him have a bed, and at last he was forced to creep into the goose-house, and lie down on a little hard straw.

In the morning when he awoke, the three days had passed, and a coach came with six horses and they shone so bright that it was delightful to see them! and a servant brought a seventh as well, which was for the poor miller’s boy. And a magnificent princess alighted from the coach and went into the mill, and this princess was the little tabby-cat whom poor Hans had served for seven years. She asked the miller where the miller’s boy and drudge was? Then the miller said, “We cannot have him here in the mill, for he is so ragged; he is lying in the goose-house.” Then the King’s daughter said that they were to bring him immediately. So they brought him out, and he had to hold his little smock-frock together to cover himself. The servants unpacked splendid garments, and washed him and dressed him, and when that was done, no King could have looked more handsome. Then the maiden desired to see the horses which the other apprentices had brought home with them, and one of them was blind and the other lame. So she ordered the servant to bring the seventh horse, and when the miller saw it, he said that such a horse as that had never yet entered his yard. “And that is for the third miller’s boy,” said she. “Then he must have the mill,” said the miller, but the King’s daughter said that the horse was there, and that he was to keep his mill as well, and took her faithful Hans and set him in the coach, and drove away with him. They first drove to the little house which he had built with the silver tools, and behold it was a great castle, and everything inside it was of silver and gold; and then she married him, and he was rich, so rich that he had enough for all the rest of his life. After this, let no one ever say that anyone who is silly can never become a person of importance.

[v] The Godfather

By the Brothers Grimm

A poor man had so many children that he had already asked every one in the world to be godfather, and when still another child was born, no one else was left whom he could invite. He knew not what to do, and, in his perplexity, he lay down and fell asleep. Then he dreamt that he was to go outside the gate, and ask the first person who met him to be godfather. When he awoke, he determined to obey his dream, and went outside the gate, and asked the first person who came up to him to be godfather. The stranger presented him with a little glass of water, and said, “This is a wonderful water, with it thou canst heal the sick, only thou must see where Death is standing. If he is standing by the patient’s head, give the patient some of the water and he will be healed, but if Death is standing by his feet, all trouble will be in vain, for the sick man must die.” From this time forth, the man could always say whether a patient could be saved or not, and became famous for his skill, and earned a great deal of money. Once he was called in to the child of the King, and when he entered, he saw death standing by the child’s head and cured it with the water, and he did the same a second time, but the third time Death was standing by its feet, and then he knew the child was forced to die.

Once the man thought he would visit the godfather, and tell him how he had succeeded with the water. But when he entered the house, it was such a strange establishment! On the first flight of stairs, the broom and shovel were disputing, and knocking each other about violently. He asked them, “Where does the godfather live?” The broom replied, “One flight of stairs higher up.” When he came to the second flight, he saw a heap of dead fingers lying. He asked, “Where does the godfather live?” One of the fingers replied, “One flight of stairs higher.” On the third flight lay a heap of dead heads, which again directed him to the flight beyond. On the fourth flight, he saw fishes on the fire, which frizzled in the pans and baked themselves. They, too, said, “One flight of stairs higher.” And when he had ascended the fifth, he came to the door of a room and peeped through the keyhole, and there he saw the godfather who had a pair of long horns. When he opened the door and went in, the godfather got into bed in a great hurry and covered himself up. Then said the man, “Sir godfather, what a strange household you have! When I came to your first flight of stairs, the shovel and broom were quarreling, and beating each other violently.”

“How stupid you are!” said the godfather. “That was the boy and the maid talking to each other.” “But on the second flight I saw dead fingers lying.” “Oh, how silly you are! Those were some roots of scorzonera.” “On the third flight lay a heap of dead men’s heads.” “Foolish man, those were cabbages.” “On the fourth flight, I saw fishes in a pan, which were hissing and baking themselves.” When he had said that, the fishes came and served themselves up. “And when I got to the fifth flight, I peeped through the keyhole of a door, and there, godfather, I saw you, and you had long, long horns.” “Oh, that is a lie!” The man became alarmed, and ran out, and if he had not, who knows what the godfather would have done to him.

[vi] All-Kinds-of-Fur

By the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time there was a king, who had a wife with golden hair, and she was so beautiful that her equal was not to be found anywhere on earth.

It happened that she fell ill, and when she felt that she was about to die, she called the king to her and said, “If you want to remarry after my death then do not take anyone who is not as beautiful as I am, and who does not have such golden hair as mine. That you must promise me.”

After the king had promised her this, she closed her eyes and died.

For a long time the king could not be comforted, and he did not consider taking a second wife. Finally his councilors said, “There is no other way. The king must remarry, so that we will have a queen.”

Then messengers were sent out far and wide to seek a bride, who in beauty was entirely the equal of the deceased queen. However, no such bride could be found in the whole world. And even if a bride this beautiful had been found, she would not have had such golden hair. Thus the messengers returned home without success.

Now the king had a daughter who was just as beautiful as her deceased mother, and who also had such golden hair. After she had come of age, the king looked at her one day that she resembled his deceased wife in every way, and he suddenly felt a great love for her.

Then he said to his councilors, “I will marry my daughter, for she is the image of my deceased wife, and nowhere else can I find a bride who is her equal.”

When the councilors heard this they were horrified and said, “God has forbidden that a father should marry his daughter. Nothing good can come from sin, and the kingdom will be pulled along into ruin.”

The daughter was even more horrified when she heard her father's decision. Hoping to dissuade him from his intentions, she said to him, “Before I fulfill your wish, I must have three dresses: one as golden as the sun, one as silver as the moon, and one that glistens like the stars. Further, I must have a cloak put together from a thousand kinds of pelts and fur. Every animal in your kingdom must contribute a piece of its skin for it.”

Now she thought, “That will be entirely impossible for him to achieve, and in this way I will divert my father from his wicked thoughts.”

But the king did not give in, and the most skilled maidens in his kingdom had to weave the three dresses, one as golden as the sun, one as silver as the moon, and one that glistened like the stars. And his huntsmen had to capture all the animals in his entire kingdom and take a piece of skin from each one. From these a cloak of a thousand kinds of fur was made.

Finally, when everything was finished, the king had the cloak brought to him. Spreading it out, he said, “Tomorrow is our wedding day.”

When the king's daughter saw that there was no more hope to change her father's mind, she made the decision to run away. During the night, while everyone was asleep, she got up and took three things from among her valuables: a golden ring, a little golden spinning wheel, and a little golden reel. She put the three dresses from the sun, moon, and stars into a nutshell, put on the cloak of all kinds of fur, blackened her hands and face with soot. Then surrendering herself to God, she set forth. She walked the entire night until she came to a great forest. Being tired, she sat down in a hollow tree and fell asleep.

The sun came up, and she continued to sleep, and she was still asleep by broad daylight. Now it came to pass that the king who owned these woods was hunting in them. When his dogs approached the tree they sniffed then ran around it barking.

The king said to the huntsmen. “See what kind of wild animal is hiding there.”

The huntsmen followed his command, and when they returned they said, “A strange animal, like none we have ever seen before, is lying in the hollow tree. There are a thousand kinds of fur on its skin. It is just lying there asleep.”

The king said, “See if you can capture it alive, then tie it onto the cart and bring it along.”

When the huntsmen took hold of the girl, she awoke. Filled with fear, she cried out, “I am a poor child who has been abandoned by her father and mother. Have pity on me and take me with you.”

Then they said, “All-Kinds-of-Fur, you are good for the kitchen. Come with us. You can sweep up the ashes.”

Thus they set her on the cart and drove her home to the royal castle. There they showed her a little cubbyhole under the stairs, where the light of day never entered, and said, “This is where you can live and sleep, you furry little animal.”

Then she was sent to the kitchen, where she carried wood and water, tended the fire, plucked the poultry, sorted vegetables, swept up the ashes, and did all the dirty work.

All-Kinds-of-Fur lived there miserable for a long time. Oh, you beautiful princess, what will become of you?

Now one day it happened that a banquet was being held in the castle, and she said to the cook, “May I go up for a little while and take a look? I will stand outside the door.”

The cook answered, “Yes, go ahead. But you have to be back here in a half hour and carry out the ashes.”

Then she took her oil lamp and went into her cubbyhole. Taking off her fur cloak, she washed the soot from her hands and face so that her full beauty again came to light. Then she opened the nut and took out her dress that glistened like the sun. And after she had done all this she went upstairs to the banquet. Everyone stepped out of her way, for no one knew her, and everyone thought that she was a princess.

The king approached her, reached his hand out to her, and danced with her, and thought in his heart, “My eyes have never before seen such beauty.”

When the dance had ended, she curtsied, and while the king was looking around, she disappeared, and no one knew where she had gone. The guards who stood watch in front of the castle were called and questioned, but no one had seen her.

Now she had run back to her cubbyhole, quickly taken off her dress, blackened her hands and face, put on the fur cloak, and was once again All-Kinds-of-Fur.

After she had returned to the kitchen and was about to set to work and sweep up the ashes, the cook said, “That's enough until tomorrow. Make the king's soup for me, so I can have a look upstairs, but don't let a hair fall into it, or in the future there will nothing more for you to eat.”

Then the cook went away, and All-Kinds-of-Fur made soup for the king. She made bread soup, and as good as she knew how. When it was done, she got her golden ring from the cubbyhole and placed it in the bowl that the soup was in.

When the dance was over, the king had his soup brought to him. He ate it, and it tasted so good to him, that he thought he had never eaten a better soup. But when he reached the bottom of the bowl, he saw a golden ring lying there, and he could not imagine how it had gotten there.

He ordered the cook to come before him. The cook was terrified when he heard this order, and he said to All-Kinds-of-Fur, “For sure you let a hair fall into the soup. If that's true, you'll get a beating.”

When the cook came before the king he was asked who had cooked the soup, and he answered, “I cooked it.”

The king said, “That is not true, for it was made in a different way, and much better than usual.”

The cook answered, “I must confess that I did not cook it, it was the little furry animal.”

The king said, “Go and have her come up here.”

When All-Kinds-of-Fur arrived, the king asked, “Who are you.”

“I am a poor child who no longer has a father or a mother.”

He asked further, “What are you doing in my castle?”

She answered, “I am good for nothing, except having boots thrown at my head.”

He asked further, “Where did you get the ring that was in the soup?”

She answered, “I do not know anything about the ring.”

Thus the king could learn nothing, and he had to send her away again.

Some time later there was another banquet, and All-Kinds-of-Fur, as before, asked the cook for permission to have a look. He answered, “Yes, but come back in a half hour and cook the bread soup for the king that he likes so much.”

She ran to her cubbyhole, quickly washed herself then took from the nut the dress that was as silver as the moon and put it on. Then she went upstairs and looked like a princess. The king came up to her and was delighted to see her again, and because a dance was just beginning, they danced together. But as soon as the dance was over she again disappeared so quickly that the king did not notice where she went.

She ran to her cubbyhole, turned herself back into a furry animal, and went to the kitchen to make the bread soup. While the cook was upstairs she got the golden spinning wheel and put it in the bowl, so that the soup was prepared on top of it. Then it was taken to the king, who ate it, and it tasted as good to him as the last time. He had the cook brought before him, who again had to confess that All-Kinds-of-Fur had made the soup. All-Kinds-of-Fur again came before the king, and she answered that she was only good for having boots thrown at her head, and that she knew nothing at all about the little golden spinning wheel.

When the king gave a banquet for the third time, everything happened as before. But this time the cook said, “You are a witch, you furry animal, always putting something in the soup that makes it very good and taste better to the king.” But because she asked, he allowed her to look in on the ball at the appointed time.

This time she put on the dress that glistened like the stars, and thus clothed she stepped into the hall. The king danced again with the beautiful maiden, thinking that she had never been so beautiful. And while he was dancing he placed a golden ring on her finger, without her noticing it. Further, he had ordered that this dance should last a long time. When it was over, he tried to keep hold of her by her hands, but she tore herself loose and jumped so quickly into the crowd that she disappeared before his eyes. She ran as fast as she could to her cubbyhole beneath the steps, but because she had stayed away too long, more than a half hour, she could not take off the beautiful dress, but instead just threw the fur cloak on over it. And in her haste she did not cover herself entirely with soot, and one finger remained white.

All-Kinds-of-Fur now ran into the kitchen, made the bread soup for the king, and while the cook was away, put the golden reel in it.

When the king found the reel at the bottom of his bowl had All-Kinds-of-Fur called before him. Catching sight of the white finger, he saw the ring that he had put on her while they were dancing. He seized her by the hand and held her fast. As she attempted to free herself and run away, her fur cloak opened a little, and the dress of stars glistened out. The king grabbed the cloak and tore it off. Her golden hair appeared, and she stood there in full splendor, no longer able to hide. And after she had wiped the soot and ashes from her face, she was more beautiful than anyone who had ever been seen on earth.

The king said, “You are my dear bride, and we shall never part.”

Then their wedding was celebrated, and they lived happily until they died.

[vii] THE FROG-PRINCE

by the Brothers Grimm

One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool spring of water, that rose in the midst of it, she sat herself down to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her favourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and catching it again as it fell. After a time she threw it up so high that she missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded away, and rolled along upon the ground, till at last it fell down into the spring. The princess looked into the spring after her ball, but it was very deep, so deep that she could not see the bottom of it. Then she began to bewail her loss, and said, 'Alas! if I could only get my ball again, I would give all my fine clothes and jewels, and everything that I have in the world.'

Whilst she was speaking, a frog put its head out of the water, and said, 'Princess, why do you weep so bitterly?' 'Alas!' said she, 'what can you do for me, you nasty frog? My golden ball has fallen into the spring.' The frog said, 'I want not your pearls, and jewels, and fine clothes; but if you will love me, and let me live with you and eat from off your golden plate, and sleep upon your bed, I will bring you your ball again.' 'What nonsense,' thought the princess, 'this silly frog is talking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me, though he may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell him he shall have what he asks.' So she said to the frog, 'Well, if you will bring me my ball, I will do all you ask.'

Then the frog put his head down, and dived deep under the water; and after a little while he came up again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the edge of the spring. As soon as the young princess saw her ball, she ran to pick it up; and she was so overjoyed to have it in her hand again, that she never thought of the frog, but ran home with it as fast as she could. The frog called after her, 'Stay, princess, and take me with you as you said,' But she did not stop to hear a word.

The next day, just as the princess had sat down to dinner, she heard a strange noise—tap, tap—plash, plash—as if something was coming up the marble staircase: and soon afterwards there was a gentle knock at the door, and a little voice cried out and said:

'Open the door, my princess dear,

Open the door to thy true love here!

And mind the words that thou and I said

By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

Then the princess ran to the door and opened it, and there she saw the frog, whom she had quite forgotten. At this sight she was sadly frightened, and shutting the door as fast as she could came back to her seat. The king, her father, seeing that something had frightened her, asked her what was the matter. 'There is a nasty frog,' said she, 'at the door, that lifted my ball for me out of the spring this morning: I told him that he should live with me here, thinking that he could never get out of the spring; but there he is at the door, and he wants to come in.'

While she was speaking the frog knocked again at the door, and said:

'Open the door, my princess dear,

Open the door to thy true love here!

And mind the words that thou and I said

By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

Then the king said to the young princess, 'As you have given your word you must keep it; so go and let him in.' She did so, and the frog hopped into the room, and then straight on—tap, tap—plash, plash—from the bottom of the room to the top, till he came up close to the table where the princess sat. 'Pray lift me upon chair,' said he to the princess, 'and let me sit next to you.' As soon as she had done this, the frog said, 'Put your plate nearer to me, that I may eat out of it.' This she did, and when he had eaten as much as he could, he said, 'Now I am tired; carry me upstairs, and put me into your bed.' And the princess, though very unwilling, took him up in her hand, and put him upon the pillow of her own bed, where he slept all night long. As soon as it was light he jumped up, hopped downstairs, and went out of the house. 'Now, then,' thought the princess, 'at last he is gone, and I shall be troubled with him no more.'

But she was mistaken; for when night came again she heard the same tapping at the door; and the frog came once more, and said:

'Open the door, my princess dear,

Open the door to thy true love here!

And mind the words that thou and I said

By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'

And when the princess opened the door the frog came in, and slept upon her pillow as before, till the morning broke. And the third night he did the same. But when the princess awoke on the following morning she was astonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome prince, gazing on her with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at the head of her bed.

He told her that he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, who had changed him into a frog; and that he had been fated so to abide till some princess should take him out of the spring, and let him eat from her plate, and sleep upon her bed for three nights. 'You,' said the prince, 'have broken his cruel charm, and now I have nothing to wish for but that you should go with me into my father's kingdom, where I will marry you, and love you as long as you live.'

The young princess, you may be sure, was not long in saying 'Yes' to all this; and as they spoke a gay coach drove up, with eight beautiful horses, decked with plumes of feathers and a golden harness; and behind the coach rode the prince's servant, faithful Heinrich, who had bewailed the misfortunes of his dear master during his enchantment so long and so bitterly, that his heart had well-nigh burst.

They then took leave of the king, and got into the coach with eight horses, and all set out, full of joy and merriment, for the prince's kingdom, which they reached safely; and there they lived happily a great many years.

[viii] Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox

A Georgia Folktale

Now, not many creatures were fond of the water, and Br’er Bear and Br’er Fox and Br’er Rabbit all vowed they couldn’t never get into that habit. It was so bad that when Br’er Coon’s daughter tried to get ‘em swimming in the creek or the river, they ran for cover!

But when other folks got to the river, Br’er Fox noticed they would ride a horse. And that seemed like a mighty fine idea to Br’er Fox.

“I wish I had one,” Br’er Fox said. “I’d get a bridle, and a saddle, and get right on that horse. And you’d better believe I’d get that horse trottin’ around. And I’d cross the river, too, to get at those chickens Farmer Joe keeps in his back yard.”

Well, Br’er Rabbit smiled himself a big smile and said, “Br’er Fox, I do believe I can solve your horse problem for ya! You meet me down where the two roads cross tomorrow morning and we’ll get you a horse.”

“I’ll be there,” Br’er Fox said.

Br’er Rabbit tipped his cap and said, “So long, friend! We’ll get that horse, by golly!”

Br’er Fox strode home, whistling a merry tune. Br’er Rabbit chuckled to himself like a cat purring. Boy, he was gonna get Br’er Fox good.

The next morning, Br’er Rabbit went down to where the two roads met. A horse was sleeping next to a fence, its tail slapping lazily at flies. “I hope you’re ready to have some fun!” Br’er Rabbit told the horse, chuckling just a bit.

Br’er Fox came striding down soon enough, and when he saw the horse, he was mighty excited. “What do I do?” he asked.

Br’er Rabbit pulled a rope from his pocket and handed it over to Br’er Fox. “All you gotta do is tie this here rope to the horse’s tail. You keep that tail steady enough, you’ll be able to hold him down and make him trip and roll and swim right over the river.”

So Br’er Fox tied the rope to the tail of the sleeping horse. The horse woke up sure enough, sighing and whipping its tail.

“Hold him steady!” Br’er Rabbit said, unable to control his chuckling.

Well, Br’er Fox held the horse steady. But the horse wasn’t all that happy about having a rope tied around its tail. And the first chance it got, it gave poor Br’er Fox a mighty kick. Br’er Fox went flying through the air, and the horse went busting through the nearby fence, running off with the rope still tied to its tail.

And Br’er Rabbit doubled over, laughing. “Dearest Br’er Fox,” he said, “I do believe your shirt is ripped!”

[ix] Fundevogel

By The Brothers Grimm

There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as he entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were there. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at the top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in her arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.

The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself, "Thou wilt take him home with thee, and bring him up with thy Lina." He took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. The one, however, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that when they did not see each other they were sad.

The forester, however, had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out to the spring. Lina saw this and said, "Hark you, old Sanna, why are you fetching so much water?" "If thou wilt never repeat it to anyone, I will tell thee why." So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, and then the cook said, "Early to-morrow morning, when the forester is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it."

Betimes next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel, "If thou wilt never leave me, I too will never leave thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever will I leave thee." Then said Lina, "Then I will tell thee. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water into the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said that if I would promise not to tell any one she would tell me, and I said I would be sure not to tell any one, and she said that early to-morrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle full of water, throw thee into it and boil thee; but we will get up quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together."

The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the bed-room to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in, and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly alarmed, and she said to herself, "What shall I say now when the forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be followed instantly to get them back again."

Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina said to Fundevogel, "Never leave me, and I will never leave thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever." Then said Lina, "Do thou become a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it." When the three servants came to the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but the children were nowhere. Then said they, "There is nothing to be done here," and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the old cook scolded and said, "You simpletons, you should have cut the rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with you; go, and do it once." They had therefore to go out and look for the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance. Then Lina said, "Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever." Said Lina, "Then do thou become a church, and I'll be the chandelier in it." So when the three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in it. They said therefore to each other, "What can we do here, let us go home."

When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them; so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and that there was a chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said, "You fools! why did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home with you?" And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however, saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling after them. Then said Lina, "Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave thee." Then said Fundevogel, "Neither now, nor ever." Said Lina, "Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it." The cook, however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were heartily delighted, and if they are not dead, they are living still.

[x] Aschenputtel

By the Brothers Grimm

There was once a rich man whose wife lay sick, and when she felt her end drawing near she called to her only daughter to come near her bed, and said,

"Dear child, be pious and good, and God will always take care of you, and I will look down upon you from heaven, and will be with you."

And then she closed her eyes and expired. The maiden went every day to her mother's grave and wept, and was always pious and good. When the winter came the snow covered the grave with a white covering, and when the sun came in the early spring and melted it away, the man took to himself another wife.

The new wife brought two daughters home with her, and they were beautiful and fair in appearance, but at heart were black and ugly. And then began very evil times for the poor step-daughter.

"Is the stupid creature to sit in the same room with us?" said they; "those who eat food must earn it. Out upon her for a kitchen-maid!"

They took away her pretty dresses, and put on her an old gray kirtle, and gave her wooden shoes to wear.

"Just look now at the proud princess, how she is decked out!" cried they laughing, and then they sent her into the kitchen. There she was obliged to do heavy work from morning to night, get up early in the morning, draw water, make the fires, cook, and wash. Besides that, the sisters did their utmost to torment her,—mocking her, and strewing peas and lentils among the ashes, and setting her to pick them up. In the evenings, when she was quite tired out with her hard day's work, she had no bed to lie on, but was obliged to rest on the hearth among the cinders. And as she always looked dusty and dirty, they named her Aschenputtel.

It happened one day that the father went to the fair, and he asked his two step-daughters what he should bring back for them.

"Fine clothes!" said one.

"Pearls and jewels!" said the other.

"But what will you have, Aschenputtel?" said he.

"The first twig, father, that strikes against your hat on the way home; that is what I should like you to bring me."

So he bought for the two step-daughters fine clothes, pearls, and jewels, and on his way back, as he rode through a green lane, a hazel-twig struck against his hat; and he broke it off and carried it home with him. And when he reached home he gave to the step-daughters what they had wished for, and to Aschenputtel he gave the hazel-twig. She thanked him, and went to her mother's grave, and planted this twig there, weeping so bitterly that the tears fell upon it and watered it, and it flourished and became a fine tree. Aschenputtel went to see it three times a day, and wept and prayed, and each time a white bird rose up from the tree, and if she uttered any wish the bird brought her whatever she had wished for.

Now it came to pass that the king ordained a festival that should last for three days, and to which all the beautiful young women of that country were bidden, so that the king's son might choose a bride from among them. When the two step-daughters heard that they too were bidden to appear, they felt very pleased, and they called Aschenputtel, and said,

"Comb our hair, brush our shoes, and make our buckles fast, we are going to the wedding feast at the king's castle."

Aschenputtel, when she heard this, could not help crying, for she too would have liked to go to the dance, and she begged her step-mother to allow her.

"What, you Aschenputtel!" said she, "in all your dust and dirt, you want to go to the festival! you that have no dress and no shoes! you want to dance!"

But as she persisted in asking, at last the step-mother said,

"I have strewed a dish-full of lentils in the ashes, and if you can pick them all up again in two hours you may go with us."

Then the maiden went to the back-door that led into the garden, and called out,

"O gentle doves, O turtle-doves, And all the birds that be, The lentils that in ashes lie Come and pick up for me! The good must be put in the dish, The bad you may eat if you wish."

Then there came to the kitchen-window two white doves, and after them some turtle-doves, and at last a crowd of all the birds under heaven, chirping and fluttering, and they alighted among the ashes; and the doves nodded with their heads, and began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and then all the others began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and put all the good grains into the dish. Before an hour was over all was done, and they flew away. Then the maiden brought the dish to her step-mother, feeling joyful, and thinking that now she should go to the feast; but the step-mother said,

"No, Aschenputtel, you have no proper clothes, and you do not know how to dance, and you would be laughed at!"

And when Aschenputtel cried for disappointment, she added,

"If you can pick two dishes full of lentils out of the ashes, nice and clean, you shall go with us," thinking to herself, "for that is not possible." When she had strewed two dishes full of lentils among the ashes the maiden went through the back-door into the garden, and cried,

"O gentle doves, O turtle-doves, And all the birds that be, The lentils that in ashes lie Come and pick up for me! The good must be put in the dish, The bad you may eat if you wish."

So there came to the kitchen-window two white doves, and then some turtle-doves, and at last a crowd of all the other birds under heaven, chirping and fluttering, and they alighted among the ashes, and the doves nodded with their heads and began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and then all the others began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and put all the good grains into the dish. And before half-an-hour was over it was all done, and they flew away. Then the maiden took the dishes to the step-mother, feeling joyful, and thinking that now she should go with them to the feast; but she said "All this is of no good to you; you cannot come with us, for you have no proper clothes, and cannot dance; you would put us to shame."

Then she turned her back on poor Aschenputtel, and made haste to set out with her two proud daughters.

And as there was no one left in the house, Aschenputtel went to her mother's grave, under the hazel bush, and cried,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me, That silver and gold may come down and cover me."

Then the bird threw down a dress of gold and silver, and a pair of slippers embroidered with silk and silver. And in all haste she put on the dress and went to the festival. But her step-mother and sisters did not know her, and thought she must be a foreign princess, she looked so beautiful in her golden dress. Of Aschenputtel they never thought at all, and supposed that she was sitting at home, and picking the lentils out of the ashes. The King's son came to meet her, and took her by the hand and danced with her, and he refused to stand up with any one else, so that he might not be obliged to let go her hand; and when any one came to claim it he answered,

"She is my partner."

And when the evening came she wanted to go home, but the prince said he would go with her to take care of her, for he wanted to see where the beautiful maiden lived. But she escaped him, and jumped up into the pigeon-house. Then the prince waited until the father came, and told him the strange maiden had jumped into the pigeon-house.

The father thought to himself,

"It cannot surely be Aschenputtel," and called for axes and hatchets, and had the pigeon-house cut down, but there was no one in it. And when they entered the house there sat Aschenputtel in her dirty clothes among the cinders, and a little oil-lamp burnt dimly in the chimney; for Aschenputtel had been very quick, and had jumped out of the pigeon-house again, and had run to the hazel bush; and there she had taken off her beautiful dress and had laid it on the grave, and the bird had carried it away again, and then she had put on her little gray kirtle again, and had sat down in the kitchen among the cinders.

The next day, when the festival began anew, and the parents and step-sisters had gone to it, Aschenputtel went to the hazel bush and cried,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me, That silver and gold may come down and cover me."

Then the bird cast down a still more splendid dress than on the day before. And when she appeared in it among the guests every one was astonished at her beauty. The prince had been waiting until she came, and he took her hand and danced with her alone. And when any one else came to invite her he said,

"She is my partner."

And when the evening came she wanted to go home, and the prince followed her, for he wanted to see to what house she belonged; but she broke away from him, and ran into the garden at the back of the house. There stood a fine large tree, bearing splendid pears; she leapt as lightly as a squirrel among the branches, and the prince did not know what had become of her. So he waited until the father came, and then he told him that the strange maiden had rushed from him, and that he thought she had gone up into the pear-tree.

The father thought to himself,

"It cannot surely be Aschenputtel," and called for an axe, and felled the tree, but there was no one in it. And when they went into the kitchen there sat Aschenputtel among the cinders, as usual, for she had got down the other side of the tree, and had taken back her beautiful clothes to the bird on the hazel bush, and had put on her old gray kirtle again.

On the third day, when the parents and the step-children had set off, Aschenputtel went again to her mother's grave, and said to the tree,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me, That silver and gold may come down and cover me."

Then the bird cast down a dress, the like of which had never been seen for splendour and brilliancy, and slippers that were of gold.

And when she appeared in this dress at the feast nobody knew what to say for wonderment. The prince danced with her alone, and if any one else asked her he answered,

"She is my partner."

And when it was evening Aschenputtel wanted to go home, and the prince was about to go with her, when she ran past him so quickly that he could not follow her. But he had laid a plan, and had caused all the steps to be spread with pitch, so that as she rushed down them the left shoe of the maiden remained sticking in it. The prince picked it up, and saw that it was of gold, and very small and slender. The next morning he went to the father and told him that none should be his bride save the one whose foot the golden shoe should fit. Then the two sisters were very glad, because they had pretty feet. The eldest went to her room to try on the shoe, and her mother stood by.

But she could not get her great toe into it, for the shoe was too small; then her mother handed her a knife, and said,

"Cut the toe off, for when you are queen you will never have to go on foot." So the girl cut her toe off, squeezed her foot into the shoe, concealed the pain, and went down to the prince. Then he took her with him on his horse as his bride, and rode off. They had to pass by the grave, and there sat the two pigeons on the hazel bush, and cried,

"There they go, there they go! There is blood on her shoe; The shoe is too small, —Not the right bride at all!"

Then the prince looked at her shoe, and saw the blood flowing. And he turned his horse round and took the false bride home again, saying she was not the right one, and that the other sister must try on the shoe. So she went into her room to do so, and got her toes comfortably in, but her heel was too large. Then her mother handed her the knife, saying, "Cut a piece off your heel; when you are queen you will never have to go on foot."

So the girl cut a piece off her heel, and thrust her foot into the shoe, concealed the pain, and went down to the prince, who took his bride before him on his horse and rode off. When they passed by the hazel bush the two pigeons sat there and cried,

"There they go, there they go! There is blood on her shoe; The shoe is too small, —Not the right bride at all!"

Then the prince looked at her foot, and saw how the blood was flowing from the shoe, and staining the white stocking. And he turned his horse round and brought the false bride home again.

"This is not the right one," said he, "have you no other daughter?"

"No," said the man, "only my dead wife left behind her a little stunted Aschenputtel; it is impossible that she can be the bride." But the King's son ordered her to be sent for, but the mother said,

"Oh no! she is much too dirty, I could not let her be seen."

But he would have her fetched, and so Aschenputtel had to appear.

First she washed her face and hands quite clean, and went in and curtseyed to the prince, who held out to her the golden shoe. Then she sat down on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and slipped it into the golden one, which fitted it perfectly. And when she stood up, and the prince looked in her face, he knew again the beautiful maiden that had danced with him, and he cried,

"This is the right bride!"

The step-mother and the two sisters were thunderstruck, and grew pale with anger; but he put Aschenputtel before him on his horse and rode off. And as they passed the hazel bush, the two white pigeons cried,

"There they go, there they go! No blood on her shoe; The shoe's not too small, The right bride is she after all."

And when they had thus cried, they came flying after and perched on Aschenputtel's shoulders, one on the right, the other on the left, and so remained.

And when her wedding with the prince was appointed to be held the false sisters came, hoping to curry favour, and to take part in the festivities. So as the bridal procession went to the church, the eldest walked on the right side and the younger on the left, and the pigeons picked out an eye of each of them. And as they returned the elder was on the left side and the younger on the right, and the pigeons picked out the other eye of each of them. And so they were condemned to go blind for the rest of their days because of their wickedness and falsehood.

[xi] The Glass Coffin

By the Brothers Grimm

Let no one ever say that a poor tailor cannot do great things and win high honors; all that is needed is that he should go to the right smithy, and what is of most consequence, that he should have good luck. A civil, adroit tailor's apprentice once went out travelling, and came into a great forest, and, as he did not know the way, he lost himself. Night fell, and nothing was left for him to do, but to seek a bed in this painful solitude. He might certainly have found a good bed on the soft moss, but the fear of wild beasts let him have no rest there, and at last he was forced to make up his mind to spend the night in a tree. He sought out a high oak, climbed up to the top of it, and thanked God that he had his goose with him, for otherwise the wind which blew over the top of the tree would have carried him away.

After he had spent some hours in the darkness, not without fear and trembling, he saw at a very short distance the glimmer of a light, and as he thought that a human habitation might be there, where he would be better off than on the branches of a tree, he got carefully down and went towards the light. It guided him to a small hut that was woven together of reeds and rushes. He knocked boldly, the door opened, and by the light which came forth he saw a little hoary old man who wore a coat made of bits of colored stuff sewn together. "Who are you, and what do you want?" asked the man in a grumbling voice. "I am a poor tailor," he answered, "whom night has surprised here in the wilderness, and I earnestly beg you to take me into your hut until morning." "Go your way," replied the old man in a surly voice, "I will have nothing to do with runagates; seek for yourself a shelter elsewhere." After these words he was about to slip into his hut again, but the tailor held him so tightly by the corner of his coat, and pleaded so piteously, that the old man, who was not so ill-natured as he wished to appear, was at last softened, and took him into the hut with him where he gave him something to eat, and then pointed out to him a very good bed in a corner.

The weary tailor needed no rocking; but slept sweetly till morning, but even then would not have thought of getting up, if he had not been aroused by a great noise. A violent sound of screaming and roaring forced its way through the thin walls of the hut. The tailor, full of unwonted courage, jumped up, put his clothes on in haste, and hurried out. Then close by the hut, he saw a great black bull and a beautiful stag, which were just preparing for a violent struggle. They rushed at each other with such extreme rage that the ground shook with their trampling, and the air resounded with their cries. For a long time it was uncertain which of the two would gain the victory; at length the stag thrust his horns into his adversary's body, whereupon the bull fell to the earth with a terrific roar, and was thoroughly despatched by a few strokes from the stag.

The tailor, who had watched the fight with astonishment, was still standing there motionless, when the stag in full career bounded up to him, and before he could escape, caught him up on his great horns. He had not much time to collect his thoughts, for it went in a swift race over stock and stone, mountain and valley, wood and meadow. He held with both hands to the tops of the horns, and resigned himself to his fate. It seemed, however, to him just as if he were flying away. At length the stag stopped in front of a wall of rock, and gently let the tailor down. The tailor, more dead than alive, required a longer time than that to come to himself. When he had in some degree recovered, the stag, which had remained standing by him, pushed its horns with such force against a door which was in the rock, that it sprang open. Flames of fire shot forth, after which followed a great smoke, which hid the stag from his sight. The tailor did not know what to do, or whither to turn, in order to get out of this desert and back to human beings again. Whilst he was standing thus undecided, a voice sounded out of the rock, which cried to him, "Enter without fear, no evil shall befall you thee." He hesitated, but driven by a mysterious force, he obeyed the voice and went through the iron-door into a large spacious hall, whose ceiling, walls and floor were made of shining polished square stones, on each of which were cut letters which were unknown to him. He looked at everything full of admiration, and was on the point of going out again, when he once more heard the voice which said to him, "Step on the stone which lies in the middle of the hall, and great good fortune awaits thee."

His courage had already grown so great that he obeyed the order. The stone began to give way under his feet, and sank slowly down into the depths. When it was once more firm, and the tailor looked round, he found himself in a hall which in size resembled the former. Here, however, there was more to look at and to admire. Hollow places were cut in the walls, in which stood vases of transparent glass which were filled with colored spirit or with a bluish vapour. On the floor of the hall two great glass chests stood opposite to each other, which at once excited his curiosity. When he went to one of them he saw inside it a handsome structure like a castle surrounded by farm-buildings, stables and barns, and a quantity of other good things. Everything was small, but exceedingly carefully and delicately made, and seemed to be cut out by a dexterous hand with the greatest exactitude.

He might not have turned away his eyes from the consideration of this rarity for some time, if the voice had not once more made itself heard. It ordered him to turn round and look at the glass chest which was standing opposite. How his admiration increased when he saw therein a maiden of the greatest beauty! She lay as if asleep, and was wrapped in her long fair hair as in a precious mantle. Her eyes were closely shut, but the brightness of her complexion and a ribbon which her breathing moved to and fro, left no doubt that she was alive. The tailor was looking at the beauty with beating heart, when she suddenly opened her eyes, and started up at the sight of him in joyful terror. "Just Heaven!" cried she, "my deliverance is at hand! Quick, quick, help me out of my prison; if thou pushest back the bolt of this glass coffin, then I shall be free." The tailor obeyed without delay, and she immediately raised up the glass lid, came out and hastened into the corner of the hall, where she covered herself with a large cloak. Then she seated herself on a stone, ordered the young man to come to her, and after she had imprinted a friendly kiss on his lips, she said, "My long-desired deliverer, kind Heaven has guided thee to me, and put an end to my sorrows. On the self- same day when they end, shall thy happiness begin. Thou art the husband chosen for me by Heaven, and shalt pass thy life in unbroken joy, loved by me, and rich to overflowing in every earthly possession. Seat thyself, and listen to the story of my life:

"I am the daughter of a rich count. My parents died when I was still in my tender youth, and recommended me in their last will to my elder brother, by whom I was brought up. We loved each other so tenderly, and were so alike in our way of thinking and our inclinations, that we both embraced the resolution never to marry, but to stay together to the end of our lives. In our house there was no lack of company; neighbors and friends visited us often, and we showed the greatest hospitality to every one. So it came to pass one evening that a stranger came riding to our castle, and, under pretext of not being able to get on to the next place, begged for shelter for the night. We granted his request with ready courtesy, and he entertained us in the most agreeable manner during supper by conversation intermingled with stories. My brother liked the stranger so much that he begged him to spend a couple of days with us, to which, after some hesitation, he consented. We did not rise from table until late in the night, the stranger was shown to room, and I hastened, as I was tired, to lay my limbs in my soft bed. Hardly had I slept for a short time, when the sound of faint and delightful music awoke me. As I could not conceive from whence it came, I wanted to summon my waiting-maid who slept in the next room, but to my astonishment I found that speech was taken away from me by an unknown force. I felt as if a mountain were weighing down my breast, and was unable to make the very slightest sound. In the meantime, by the light of my night-lamp, I saw the stranger enter my room through two doors which were fast bolted. He came to me and said, that by magic arts which were at his command, he had caused the lovely music to sound in order to awaken me, and that he now forced his way through all fastenings with the intention of offering me his hand and heart. My repugnance to his magic arts was, however, so great, that I vouchsafed him no answer. He remained for a time standing without moving, apparently with the idea of waiting for a favorable decision, but as I continued to keep silence, he angrily declared he would revenge himself and find means to punish my pride, and left the room. I passed the night in the greatest disquietude, and only fell asleep towards morning. When I awoke, I hurried to my brother, but did not find him in his room, and the attendants told me that he had ridden forth with the stranger to the chase by daybreak.

"I at once suspected nothing good. I dressed myself quickly, ordered my palfrey to be saddled, and accompanied only by one servant, rode full gallop to the forest. The servant fell with his horse, and could not follow me, for the horse had broken its foot. I pursued my way without halting, and in a few minutes I saw the stranger coming towards me with a beautiful stag which he led by a cord. I asked him where he had left my brother, and how he had come by this stag, out of whose great eyes I saw tears flowing. Instead of answering me, he began to laugh loudly. I fell into a great rage at this, pulled out a pistol and discharged it at the monster; but the ball rebounded from his breast and went into my horse's head. I fell to the ground, and the stranger muttered some words which deprived me of consciousness.

"When I came to my senses again I found myself in this underground cave in a glass coffin. The magician appeared once again, and said he had changed my brother into a stag, my castle with all that belonged to it, diminished in size by his arts, he had shut up in the other glass chest, and my people, who were all turned into smoke, he had confined in glass bottles. He told me that if I would now comply with his wish, it was an easy thing for him to put everything back in its former state, as he had nothing to do but open the vessels, and everything would return once more to its natural form. I answered him as little as I had done the first time. He vanished and left me in my prison, in which a deep sleep came on me. Amongst the visions which passed before my eyes, that was the most comforting in which a young man came and set me free, and when I opened my eyes to-day I saw thee, and beheld my dream fulfilled. Help me to accomplish the other things which happened in those visions. The first is that we lift the glass chest in which my castle is enclosed, on to that broad stone."

As soon as the stone was laden, it began to rise up on high with the maiden and the young man, and mounted through the opening of the ceiling into the upper hall, from whence they then could easily reach the open air. Here the maiden opened the lid, and it was marvellous to behold how the castle, the houses, and the farm buildings which were enclosed, stretched themselves out and grew to their natural size with the greatest rapidity. After this, the maiden and the tailor returned to the cave beneath the earth, and had the vessels which were filled with smoke carried up by the stone. The maiden had scarcely opened the bottles when the blue smoke rushed out and changed itself into living men, in whom she recognized her servants and her people. Her joy was still more increased when her brother, who had killed the magician in the form of the bull, came out of the forest towards them in his human form, and on the self-same day the maiden, in accordance with her promise, gave her hand at the altar to the lucky tailor.

[xii] One-eyes, Two-eyes, Three-eyes

By the Brothers Grimm

THERE was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was called One-eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and the second, Two-eyes, because she had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-eyes, because she had three eyes; and her third eye was also in the centre of her forehead. However, as Two-eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could not endure her. They said to her, "Thou, with thy two eyes, art no better than the common people; thou dost not belong to us!"

They pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make her unhappy. It came to pass that Two-eyes had to go out into the fields and tend the goat, but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to eat. So she sat down on a ridge and began to weep, so bitterly that two streams ran down from her eyes. And once when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside her, who said, "Why art thou weeping, little Two-eyes?"

Two-Eyes answered, "Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my sisters and mother hate me for it, and push me from one corner to another, throw old clothes at me, and give me nothing to eat but the scraps they leave? To-day they have given me so little that I am still quite hungry."

Then the wise woman said, "Wipe away thy tears, Two-eyes, and I will tell thee something to stop thee ever suffering from hunger again; just say to thy goat,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,

Cover the table with something to eat,"

and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before thee, with the most delicious food upon it of which thou may eat as much as thou art inclined for, and when thou hast had enough, and hast no more need of the little table, just say,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,

And take the table quite away,"

and then it will vanish again from thy sight." Hereupon the wise woman departed. But Two-eyes thought, "I must instantly make a trial, and see if what she said is true, for I am far too hungry," and she said,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,

Cover the table with something to eat,"

and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered with a white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife and fork, and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there also, warm and smoking as if it had just come out of the kitchen. Then Two-eyes said the shortest prayer she knew, "Lord God, be with us always, Amen," and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it. And when she was satisfied, she said, as the wise woman had taught her,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,

And take the table quite away,"

and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again. "That is a delightful way of keeping house!" thought Two-eyes, and was quite glad and happy.

In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not touch it. Next day she again went out with her goat, and left the few bits of broken bread, which had been handed to her, lying untouched. The first and second time that she did this, her sisters did not remark it at all, but as it happened every time, they did observe it, and said, "There is something wrong about Two-eyes, she always leaves her food untasted, and she used to eat up everything that was given her; she must have discovered other ways of getting food." In order that they might learn the truth, they resolved to send One-eye with Two-eyes when she went to drive her goat to the pasture, to observe what Two-eyes did when she was there, and whether any one brought her anything to eat and drink. So when Two-eyes set out the next time, One-eye went to her and said, "I will go with you to the pasture, and see that the goat is well taken care of, and driven where there is food." But Two-eyes knew what was in One-eye's mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, "Come, One-eye, we will sit down, and I will sing something to you." One-eye sat down and was tired with the unaccustomed walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes sang,

"One eye, wakest thou?

One eye, sleepest thou?"

until One-eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep, and as soon as Two-eyes saw that One-eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing, she said,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,

Cover the table with something to eat,"

and seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was satisfied, and then she again cried,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,

And take the table quite away,"

and in an instant all was gone. Two-eyes now awakened One-eye, and said, "One-eye, you want to take care of the goat, and go to sleep while you are doing it, and in the meantime the goat might run all over the world. Come, let us go home again." So they went home, and again Two-eyes let her little dish stand untouched, and One-eye could not tell her mother why she would not eat it, and to excuse herself said, "I fell asleep when I was out."

Next day the mother said to Three-eyes, "This time thou shalt go and observe if Two-eyes eats anything when she is out, and if any one fetches her food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret." So Three-eyes went to Two-eyes, and said, "I will go with you and see if the goat is taken proper care of, and driven where there is food." But Two-eyes knew what was in Three-eyes' mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, "We will sit down, and I will sing something to you, Three-eyes." Three-eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and with the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes began the same song as before, and sang,

"Three eyes, are you waking?"

but then, instead of singing,

"Three eyes, are you sleeping?"

as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang,

"Two eyes, are you sleeping?"

and sang all the time,

"Three eyes, are you waking?

Two eyes, are you sleeping?"

Then two of the eyes that Three-eyes had shut and fell asleep, but the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too, but it blinked, and could see everything very well. And when Two-eyes thought that Three-eyes was fast asleep, she used her little charm,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,

Cover the table with something to eat,"

and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the table to go away again,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,

And take the table quite away,"

and Three-eyes had seen everything. Then Two-eyes came to her, waked her and said, "Have you been asleep, Three-eyes? You are a good caretaker! Come, we will go home." And when they got home, Two-eyes again did not eat, and Three-eyes said to the mother, "Now, I know why that high-minded thing there does not eat. When she is out, she says to the goat,

‘Bleat, my little goat, bleat,

Cover the table with something to eat,’

and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of food, much better than any we have here, and when she has eaten all she wants, she says,

‘Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,

And take the table quite away,’

and all disappears. I watched everything closely. She put two of my eyes to sleep by using a certain form of words, but luckily the one in my forehead kept awake."

Then the envious mother cried, "Dost thou want to fare better than we do? The desire shall pass away," and she fetched a butcher's knife, and thrust it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.

When Two-eyes saw that, she went out full of trouble, seated herself on the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman once more stood by her side, and said, "Two-eyes, why art thou weeping?" "Have I not reason to weep?" she answered. "The goat which covered the table for me every day when I spoke your charm, has been killed by my mother, and now I shall again have to bear hunger and want." The wise woman said, "Two-eyes, I will give thee a piece of good advice; ask thy sisters to give thee the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front of the house, and thy fortune will be made." Then she vanished, and Two-eyes went home and said to her sisters, "Dear sisters, do give me some part of my goat; I don't wish for what is good, but give me the entrails." Then they laughed and said, "If that's all you want, you can have it." So Two-eyes took the entrails and buried them quietly in the evening, in front of the house-door, as the wise woman had counseled her to do.

Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house door, there stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more beautiful or precious. They did not know how the tree could have come there during the night, but Two-eyes saw that it had grown up out of the entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the exact spot where she had buried them. Then the mother said to One-eye, "Climb up, my child, and gather some of the fruit of the tree for us." One-eye climbed up, but when she was about to get hold of one of the golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands, and that happened each time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what she might. Then said the mother, "Three-eyes, climb up; you with your three eyes can look about you better than One-eye." One-eye slipped down, and Three-eyes climbed up. Three-eyes was not more skillful, and might search as she liked, but the golden apples always escaped her. At length the mother grew impatient, and climbed up herself, but could get hold of the fruit no better than One-eye and Three-eyes, for she always clutched empty air.

Then said Two-eyes, "I will just go up, perhaps I may succeed better." The sisters cried, "You indeed, with your two eyes, what can you do?" But Two-eyes climbed up, and the golden apples did get out of her way, but came into her hand of their own accord, so that she could pluck them one after the other, and brought a whole apronful down with her. The mother took them away from her, and instead of treating poor Two-eyes any better for this, she and One-eye and Three-eyes were only envious, because Two-eyes alone had been able to get the fruit, and they treated her still more cruelly.

It so befell that once when they were all standing together by the tree, a young knight came up. "Quick, Two-eyes," cried the two sisters, "creep under this, and don't disgrace us!" and with all speed they turned an empty barrel which was standing close by the tree over poor Two-eyes, and they pushed the golden apples which she had been gathering, under it too. When the knight came nearer he was a handsome lord, who stopped and admired the magnificent gold and silver tree, and said to the two sisters, "To whom does this fine tree belong? Any one who would bestow one branch of it on me might in return for it ask whatsoever he desired." Then One-eye and Three-eyes replied that the tree belonged to them, and that they would give him a branch. They both took great trouble, but they were not able to do it, for the branches and fruit both moved away from them every time.

Then said the knight, "It is very strange that the tree should belong to you, and that you should still not be able to break a piece off." They again asserted that the tree was their property. Whilst they were saying so, Two-eyes rolled out a couple of golden apples from under the barrel to the feet of the knight, for she was vexed with One-eye and Three-eyes, for not speaking the truth. When the knight saw the apples he was astonished, and asked where they came from. One-eye and Three-eyes answered that they had another sister, who was not allowed to show herself, for she had only two eyes like any common person.

The knight, however, desired to see her, and cried, "Two-eyes, come forth." Then Two-eyes, quite comforted, came from beneath the barrel, and the knight was surprised at her great beauty, and said, "Thou, Two-eyes, canst certainly break off a branch from the tree for me." "Yes," replied Two-eyes, "that I certainly shall be able to do, for the tree belongs to me." And she climbed up, and with the greatest ease broke off a branch with beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the knight. Then said the knight, "Two-eyes, what shall I give thee for it?"

"Alas!" answered Two-eyes, "I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want, from early morning till late night; if you would take me with you, and deliver me from these things, I should be happy."

So the knight lifted Two-eyes on to his horse, and took her home with him to his father's castle, and there he gave her beautiful clothes, and meat and drink to her heart's content, and as he loved her so much he married her, and the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicing. When Two-eyes was thus carried away by the handsome knight, her two sisters grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. The wonderful tree, however, still remains with us," thought they, "and even if we can gather no fruit from it, still every one will stand still and look at it, and come to us and admire it. Who knows what good things may be in store for us?" But next morning, the tree had vanished, and all their hopes were at an end. And when Two-eyes looked out of the window of her own little room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it, and so it had followed her.

Two-eyes lived a long time in happiness. Once two poor women came to her in her castle, and begged for alms. She looked in their faces, and recognized her sisters, One-eye, and Three-eyes, who had fallen into such poverty that they had to wander about and beg their bread from door to door. Two-eyes, however, made them welcome, and was kind to them, and took care of them, so that they both with all their hearts repented the evil that they had done their sister in their youth.

[xiii] Br’er Rabbit and the Gold Mine

A Georgia Folktale

Well, it happened one year that the crops dried up mighty good. If you’d ‘a struck a match anywhere near the town, the whole county would have blazed right up. The only animal doing right was Br’er Bear, who could just sleep and live off his fat. And Br’er Rabbit, too; he had himself some turnips and carrots and sugar cane so his wife and kids were OK, but all that was running out mighty fast.

So the animals had a meeting one day, and when they weren’t drinking up the last of the lemonade they were talking about Old Man Hongriss, the only person in town who was sitting pretty and always seemed to have lots of money. “Say,” Br’er Wolf said, “I heard Big Money Hongriss talking to his grampa about a gold mine near Br’er Bear’s house.

“Boy oh boy,” said Br’er Bear with a growl. “He’d better not let me find it before he does, cause after I’m done with it, there won’t be no gold left.”

Everyone had a good laugh at that, but when they went home later in the evening they were all thinking about that gold mine. Every animal except Br’er Bat, who was thinking about all those fat juicy bugs gathering by the lantern outside his house.

The next morning, just about every animal in town was digging somewhere. A couple were digging in the fields, a couple were digging in the woods … heck, a couple were even digging in their own backyards. Some were so hungry and tired that they could scarcely hold their own shovels. The sun was beating down, too, and no one liked that except Br’er Lizard, who was mighty lazy.

The next day, Br’er Wolf said they’d best just work together, so they grouped up and started digging next to one another. Now, Br’er Wolf wasn’t thinking with his brain too much at this point … he was thinking with his stomach. And his stomach told him any one of these hard-working animals might cure what was ailing him.

It just so happened that Br’er Rabbit got stuck with Br’er Wolf, and he knew he had to keep his eyes open. Instead of digging, which Br’er Rabbit didn’t like doing anyway, he made a good show of just going through the motions, pretending he was the best darned digger in the group.

Pretty soon, Br’er Wolf started to get a rumbling in his stomach, and figured some rabbit would be mighty good. “Hey, Br’er Rabbit!” he called out. “Guess what? I found me some gold! Get over here and help yourself!”

Br’er Rabbit, still pretending to dig, replied, “Oh, you just take whatever you want, Br’er Wolf. I’ll take what’s left. I’m hardly picky, after all.”

Br’er Wolf dug a bit more, then said, “Hey, Br’er Rabbit … come here! I wanna show you something.”

Br’er Rabbit just kept digging nice and slow. “My eyes ain’t big for nothing, Br’er Wolf.”

Br’er Wolf grumbled to himself, dug a bit, then said, “Hey, Br’er Rabbit … come here! I wanna tell you a secret about this here gold mine.”

Br’er Rabbit dug his hole just a little bit deeper. “My ears ain’t big for nothing, Br’er Wolf.”

Well that was the last straw. Br’er Wolf dropped his shovel and went right after Br’er Rabbit, ready to pounce. Br’er Rabbit hopped over the little hole he’d dug, but the hungry wolf stepped right in it, getting his paw stuck right good. Before his big snout even hit the ground, Br’er Rabbit was a good twenty feet away.

“I think I’ll just go looking for the gold on my own!” Br’er Rabbit called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Br’er Wolf … I wasn’t much for digging anyway!”

[xiv]Hans My Hedgehog

By the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time there was a peasant who had money and land enough, but as rich as he was, there was still something missing from his happiness: he had no children with his wife. Often when he went to the city with the other peasants, they would mock him and ask him why he had no children. He finally became angry, and when he returned home, he said, "I will have a child, even if it is a hedgehog."

Then his wife had a baby, and the top half was a hedgehog and the bottom half a boy. When she saw the baby, she was horrified and said, "Now see what you have wished upon us!"

The man said, "It cannot be helped. The boy must be baptized, but we cannot ask anyone to be his godfather."

The woman said, "And the only name that we can give him is Hans-My-Hedgehog."

When he was baptized, the pastor said, "Because of his quills he cannot be given an ordinary bed." So they put a little straw behind the stove and laid him in it. And he could not drink from his mother, for he would have stuck her with his quills. He lay there behind the stove for eight years, and his father grew tired of him, and thought, "if only he would die." But he did not die, but just lay there.

Now it happened that there was a fair in the city, and the peasant wanted to go. He asked his wife what he should bring her.

"A little meat, some bread rolls, and things for the household," she said. Then he asked the servant girl, and she wanted a pair of slippers and some fancy stockings.

Finally, he also said, "Hans-My-Hedgehog, what would you like?"

"Father," he said, "bring me some bagpipes."

When the peasant returned home he gave his wife what he had brought for her, meat and bread rolls. Then he gave the servant girl the slippers and fancy stockings. And finally he went behind the stove and gave Hans-My-Hedgehog the bagpipes.

When Hans-My-Hedgehog had them, he said, "Father, go to the blacksmith's and have my rooster shod, then I will ride away and never again come back." The father was happy to get rid of him, so he had his rooster shod, and when it was done, Hans-My-Hedgehog climbed on it and rode away. He took pigs and donkeys with him, to tend in the forest.

In the forest the rooster flew into a tall tree with him. There he sat and watched over the donkeys and the pigs. He sat there for years, until finally the herd had grown large. His father knew nothing about him. While sitting in the tree, he played his bagpipes and made beautiful music.

One day a king came by. He was lost and heard the music. He was amazed to hear it, and sent a servant to look around and see where it was coming from. He looked here and there but only saw a little animal sitting high in a tree. It looked like a rooster up there with a hedgehog sitting on it making the music.

The king said to the servant that he should ask him why he was sitting there, and if he knew the way back to his kingdom. Then Hans-My-Hedgehog climbed down from the tree and told him that he would show him the way if the king would promise in writing to give him the first thing that greeted him at the royal court upon his arrival home.

The king thought, "I can do that easily enough. Hans-My-Hedgehog cannot understand writing, and I can put down what I want to."

Then the king took pen and ink and wrote something, and after he had done so, Hans-My-Hedgehog showed him the way, and he arrived safely at home. His daughter saw him coming from afar, and was so overjoyed that she ran to meet him and kissed him. He thought about Hans-My-Hedgehog and told her what had happened, that he was supposed to have promised the first thing that greeted him to a strange animal that rode a rooster and made beautiful music. But instead he had written that this would not happen, for Hans-My-Hedgehog could not read. The princess was happy about this, and said that it was a good thing, for she would not have gone with him in any event.

Hans-My-Hedgehog tended the donkeys and pigs, was of good cheer, and sat in the tree blowing on his bagpipes.

Now it happened that another king came this way with his servants and messengers. He too got lost and did not know the way back home because the forest was so large. He too heard the beautiful music from afar, and asked one of his messengers to go and see what it was and where it was coming from. The messenger ran to the tree where he saw Hans-My-Hedgehog astride the cock-rooster. The messenger asked him what he was doing up there.

"I am tending my donkeys and pigs. What is it that you want?" replied Hans-My-Hedgehog.

The messenger said that they were lost and could not find their way back to their kingdom, and asked him if he could not show them the way.

Hans-My-Hedgehog climbed down from the tree with his rooster and told the old king that he would show him the way if he would give him the thing that he first met at home before the royal castle.

The king said yes and signed a promise to Hans-My-Hedgehog.

When that was done, Hans-My-Hedgehog rode ahead on his rooster showing them the way, and the king safely reached his kingdom. When the king arrived at his court there was great joy. Now he had an only daughter who was very beautiful. She ran out to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and was ever so happy that her old father had returned.

She asked him where he had been during his long absence, and he told her how he had lost his way and almost not made it home again, but that as he was making his way through a great forest he had come upon a half hedgehog, half human astride a rooster sitting in a tall tree and making beautiful music who had shown him the way, but whom he had promised whatever first met him at the royal court, and it was she herself, and he was terribly sorry.

But she promised that she would go with him when he came, for the love of her old father.

Hans-My-Hedgehog tended his pigs, and the pigs had more pigs, until there were so many that the whole forest was full. Hans-My-Hedgehog let his father know that they should empty out all the stalls in the village, because he was coming with such a large herd of pigs that everyone who wanted to would be able to take part in the slaughter.

It saddened the father to hear this, for he thought that Hans-My-Hedgehog had long since died. But Hans-My-Hedgehog mounted his rooster, drove the pigs ahead of himself into the village, and had them butchered. What a slaughter! What a commotion! They could hear the noise two hours away!

Afterward Hans-My-Hedgehog said, "Father, have my rooster shod a second time at the blacksmith's. Then I will ride away and not come back again as long as I live." So the father had the cock-rooster shod, and was happy that Hans-My-Hedgehog was not coming back.

Hans-My-Hedgehog rode into the first kingdom. The king had ordered that if anyone should approach who was carrying bagpipes and riding on a rooster, that he should be shot at, struck down, and stabbed to prevent him from entering the castle. Thus when Hans-My-Hedgehog rode up, they attacked him with bayonets, but he spurred his rooster on, flew over the gate and up to the king's window. Landing there, he shouted to him to give him what he had promised, or it would cost him and his daughter their lives.

Then the king told the princess to go out to him, in order to save his life and her own as well. She put on a white dress, and her father gave her a carriage with six horses, magnificent servants, money, and property. She climbed aboard and Hans-My-Hedgehog took his place beside her with his rooster and bagpipes. They said farewell and drove off.

The king thought that he would never see them again. However, it did not go as he thought it would, for when they had traveled a short distance from the city, Hans-My-Hedgehog pulled off her beautiful clothes and stuck her with his quills until she was bloody all over. "This is the reward for your deceit. Go away. I do not want you." With that he sent her back home, and she was cursed as long as she lived.

Hans-My-Hedgehog, astride his rooster and carrying his bagpipes, rode on to the second kingdom where he had also helped the king find his way. This one, in contrast, had ordered that if anyone looking like Hans-My-Hedgehog should arrive, he should be saluted and brought to the royal castle with honors and with a military escort.

When the princess saw him she was horrified, because he looked so strange, but she thought that nothing could be done about it, because she had promised her father to go with him. She welcomed Hans-My-Hedgehog, and they were married. Then he was taken to the royal table, and she sat next to him while they ate and drank.

That evening when it was time to go to bed, she was afraid of his quills, but he told her to have no fear, for he would not hurt her. He told the old king to have four men keep watch by their bedroom door. They should make a large fire. He said that he would take off his hedgehog skin after going into the bedroom, and before getting into bed. The men should immediately pick it up and throw it into the fire, and then stay there until it was completely consumed by the fire.

When the clock struck eleven, he went into the bedroom, took off the hedgehog skin, and laid it down by the bed. The men rushed in, grabbed it, and threw it into the fire, and as soon as the fire consumed it, he was redeemed, and he lay there in bed entirely in the shape of a human. But he was as black as coal, as though he had been charred. The king sent for his physician, who washed him with good salves and balms. Then he became white and was a handsome young gentleman.

When the princess saw what had happened, she was overjoyed, and they got up and ate and drank. Now their wedding was celebrated for real, and Hans-My-Hedgehog inherited the old king's kingdom.

Some years later he traveled with his wife to his father, and said that he was his son. But the father said that he did not have a son. He had had one, but he had been born with quills like a hedgehog and had gone off into the world. Then he said that he was the one, and the old father rejoiced and returned with him to his kingdom.

Table of Contents

Introduction!

Book 1: Prince Charming Must Die!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen : Part One

Book 2: Happily Never After

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Br’er Rabbit

Chapter 8: Alice

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

The Lost Diary of Grace Cohen : Part Two

Book 3: Revenge of the Castle Cats

Chapter 1: Briar

Chapter 2: Alice

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Briar

Chapter 9: Alice

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

An Interview with the Creators!

Excerpt from Little Snow-White

Excerpt from THE WHITE SNAKE

Excerpt from Br’er Rabbit Fools Sis Cow

Excerpt from The Poor Miller’s Boy and the Cat

Excerpt from The Godfather

Excerpt from All-Kinds-of-Fur

Excerpt from THE FROG-PRINCE

Excerpt from Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox

Excerpt from Fundevogel

Excerpt from Aschenputtel

Excdrpt from The Glass Coffin

Excerpt from One-eyes, Two-eyes, Three-eyes

Excerpt from Br’er Rabbit and the Gold Mine

Excerpt from Hans My Hedgehog