A Grimm Legacy (Grimm Tales) (14 page)

"I don't think so. I got the impression from Jorindel and Jorinda that Mr. Jackson knows more than the average person living here," Andi told Quinn.

"How does he know? From his master?" Fredrick asked.

"Maybe. We won't know for sure until we see more of this place, and its people." Andi ran her hands around the perimeter of the book as if it were a lamp that might give up a genie with some answers.

The rhythm of the cogs changed and they slowed almost imperceptibly. She glanced out the window. The endless green of the pine forest gave way to the glare and glitter of a city. She shut the book and leaned toward the window, tilting her head up to try and catch the top of the buildings. The others noticed her preoccupation and crowded the windows on either side.

“We aren’t going back to the mansion?” Quinn asked, watching two roosters strut across the street in a cross walk.

“Mr. Jackson is taking us to his place in the city. By the time he caught up with us we were much closer to here than the mansion.”

City noise drifted into the carriage. The cacophony of conversation, screeching brakes, honking horns, music, and shoes clicking by on the sidewalk would have fit right into any modern day city sprawl, but tucked into these familiar sounds were reminders they were not at home; the nicker of a horse, the puff and hiss of steam, the creak of wooden wheels.

The scene outside looked as if New York had gone through some kind of time warp. Electronic billboards flickered on and off, advertisements for things from indoor plumbing to the newest model of car. Cars and carriages shared the street with bicycles weaving their way through the traffic. They saw every manner of dress and person imaginable. Short elves like Cob and Harland hurried along the sidewalks in top hats and tails. Perched on a lamppost, out of the way of passing feet, miniature men and women no bigger than a thumb spoke into cellphone so small they looked like toys. A donkey, rooster, and dog sat on a street corner and serenad
ed a small circle of onlookers.

"Now that’s weird,” Dylan said, his eyes riveted on the singing animals as they slowly chugged by. “What kinds of stories did y
ou say are in that book, Andi?"

They pulled to a stop in front of a modern, glass fronted high rise that looked nearly normal, except for the 20 stories of pink tinted glass, whose reflections made the buildings around it glow an unnatural hue.

As soon as the carriage glided to a stop, Mr. Jackson pulled open the double doors and hustled them from the strange vehicle, under an awning, and through a set of revolving doors. A non-descript young man slouched against the outside of the building, watching their group intently. When he caught Andi’s gaze, he quickly looked away. They passed a bewildered doorman, to whom Mr. Jackson tossed his helmet, and when Andi looked back at the young man, he was gone.

They hurried through the lobby so fast Andi only got a glimpse of grandeur and wild colors before they were shoved into an elevator.

The elevator doors slid closed and Mr. Jackson seemed to relax as he hit the button for the penthouse on the panel of buttons.

"Sorry for the rush. The less people you four come in contact with, the better." Mr. Jackson slumped a little against the
wall as the numbers flicked by.

"German," Andi said suddenly into the silence, turning to Mr. Jackson. "T
he Grimm brothers were German."

Mr. Jackson smiled at her. "Quite right," he said with the accent she now recognized as German as the doors of the elevator slid open.

Jack and the Beanstalk

“From the ground right up beside his window there was growing a great beanstalk, which stretched up and up as far as he could see, into the sky.”

“A giant.”

Fredrick took in the acres of space and walls of windows overlooking the sprawling city as Harland appeared beside the door.

"Nice to see you again, young masters." He bowed low and took their coats before they could really collect themselves. He reached for Andi's cloak and received a glare in response, before gliding to the next in line.

"Wait." Dylan turned to the knee-hi
gh elf. "How did you get here?"

Harland grinned. "Elves can simply be wherever they wish to."

"You mean you just popped out of thin air? I wish our trip was that uneventful." Dylan reached up and rubbed his head.

“Taking things without permission can have… unpleasant consequences,” Harland said mildly before disappearing with their jackets. Dylan frowned after him.

"Harland will see that you get dinner and are shown to your rooms. We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Mr. Jackson said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to prepare.”

After dinner, Fredrick stumbled into the guest room he and Dylan would be sharing. The girls were in an id
entical set-up across the hall.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark long after Dylan started snoring on the other side of the room. Exhaustion dragged at his eyelids, but possible scenarios of tomorrow looped through his head, denying him sleep for a long time.

Fredrick awoke to the penthouse being ripped apart.  Disoriented in the dark, a creaking and groaning vibrated though the room as it lurched to one side, then another. Steel beams squealed in protest and they snapped like twigs. Fredrick stared in shock, clutching his rocking bed until chunks of the ceiling started to fal
l around him.

Dylan’s cry of, “What the—?” spurned him in to action and he scrambled to the floor, wedging himself under the bed. Dylan did the same across the room.

The room continued to fall to pieces around them when one of the girls started to scream. Quinn!

Slithering out from under the bed, he dodged debris, wrenching on the door of the guest room. It stuck fast and Fredrick saw where one of the supporting two-by-fours had fallen across the frame. He shoved against the board pinning him in the room.

“Dylan!” he called frantically.

Another scream, definitely Quinn.

Joining him at the door, Dylan shoved his shoulder against the board and grunted, “Push!”

“Where are the rest of them, Jack?” Bellowed a male voice that shook his eardrums and vibrated through his body.

The board shifted and Fredrick shouldered open the door just enough for him and Dylan to slide into the hall. Moonlight streamed in, the roof having been completely torn off. Fredrick dodged the dump truck-sized object that came swinging at him from above, flattening himself against Dylan and pressing into the doorway.

Pops of gunfire flared farther into the apartment. Fredrick froze, praying he wasn’t the target of the gunman. The flashes of gunpowder that lit up the shambles of the apartment illuminated things that at first didn’t make any sense. A shoulder the size of a large boulder, an ear that could have doubled as a satellite dish, and a heavy browed, brown eye with the same dimensions as a serving platter.

“A giant,” Fredrick gasped, drowned out by the ricochet of the bullets.

The impossibly loud voice roared again and the building listed to the side as if being pushed by an invisible force before bouncing back into place, tossing both boys to the floor. It continued to shudder as the giant climbed down. Fredrick could here his footfalls pounding away, shaking the ground beneath their very feet.

In the silence that followed a small clatter of fumbling fingers in the dark was the hiss and flare of a match. Fredrick squinted in the sudden light of a hurricane lamp. It illuminated Mr. Jackson’s face and the small pistol in his other hand.

“Are you okay?” he said, hurrying to Fredrick and Dylan, who were trying to untangle themselves from each other and find their feet.

“A giant? A real giant?” Dylan repeated stupidly, staring out the hole where the roof used to be.

“Quinn! Where’s Quinn?!” Fredrick asked, trying to shove into the remains of the girl’s room across the hall.

“She’s gone,” a shaky voice said behind Mr. Jackson. Andi came out of the gloom, looking like the victim of a mine collapse. “He took her.”

“What does he want with her?” Fredrick asked, turning on Mr. Jackson.

“He wanted all of you,” Mr. Jackson said shortly, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sweatpants and picking his way to the front of the apartment in his bare feet. “I was not as careful as I should have been. My master sent someone else to collect you.”

“Why didn’t he take Andi?” Dylan asked, trailing after Mr. Jackson with the other two.

“I wasn’t in the room,” Andi said, climbing over an entire wall that was blocking the hallway.

“Where’s Harland?” Dylan asked, peering around the trampled apartment.

“I sent him home when the attack began,” Mr. Jackson said, holding up the lantern to illuminate a large piece of furniture blocking their way. “He’s involved himself in this mess too much already.”

“A giant,” Fredrick said again, watching Mr. Jackson shove aside the dresser so they could slip by. “He called you Jack. As in Jack and the Beanstalk,” he said, almost as an accusation.

“That’s one of the names I’ve been known by,” Mr. Jackson said dismissively. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” He bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs. “Bullets are about as painful as a bee sting to a giant. Either he’ll be back or someone else will come hunting for you.”

“Wait, what about Quinn?” Fredrick asked, putting on the breaks at the entrance to the stairs.

Mr. Jackson sighed and turned to face them. “He’ll have taken her to his ancestral home for safe keeping until my master can collect her. It’s nearly impossible to reach.”

“So we’re just going to leave her there?” Fredrick demanded.

Mr. Jackson took a step toward him. “My priority is getting you home.”

Fredrick narrowed his eyes at the man. He couldn’t begin to guess at this man’s motivations; he was still a stranger, an unknown.

“Why? Why do you care
what
happens to us?”

Andi stepped up beside Fredrick and studied Mr. Jackson’s face. “Not us, just you,” she said quietly to Fredrick.

“I have my reasons,” Mr. Jackson said shortly, trying to usher them out the door.

“No,” Fredrick took a step back into the apartment. “I’ll go after her by myself if I have to. I’m not just leaving her.”

“You have no idea what you’re up against,” Mr. Jackson said forcefully, reaching a hand toward him like he intended to physically restrain him. “He is not like that fairy, Eulie.”

“I
don’t
know what’s waiting for me, but I’d have a better chance at getting her back with your help,” Fredrick challenged him, folding his arms tight across his chest.

Mr. Jackson watched Fredrick a moment, his expression unreadable, and glanced up at the open sky.

“Follow me.”

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Fredrick lost count of the dozens of floors they walked down. The building was strangely silent, absent of other residence and emergency personnel that would be swarming this place had they been in Fredrick’s world.

The basement was a concrete bunker tucked underground—one large, open space the size of Mr. Jackson’s entire apartment with metal shelves and storage boxes crisscrossed in dozens of aisles. Rolling open a chain link fence, Mr. Jackson quickly pulled things off of shelves, tossing them in a pile near the entrance.

“Find something that fits,” Mr. Jackson said, nodding at a stack of clothes before speeding to another box in another aisle and unearthing more gear.

They were all still barefoot, and in Dylan’s case bare chested, in their night things. Andi bent down and picked through the selection, all black.

“Everything’s too big,” she grumbled, throwing a t-shirt and leggings over her shoulder and finding an empty aisle to change in.

Dylan snagged a strange combination of pinstriped dress pants and a leather jacket, hurrying after her. “She’ll probably need help,” he winked at Fredrick, who silently snagged his arm, forcing Dylan to stay. He groaned in prot
est.

Mr. Jackson came back with an armload of things: backpacks, wads of money, first aid kits, parachutes, helmets, and an impressive array of weapons that made his pistol look like a child’s toy.

“What is all this?” Fredrick asked.

“I told you she wasn’t going to be easy to get to,” Mr. Jackson said shortly, rummaging around until he came up with a wicked looking machete as long as Fredrick’s forearm. He slid it in a sheath and tossed it to a surprised Fredrick along with a belt. “That’s going to work better than the gun. The draw back is you don’t ever want
to be close enough to use it.”

“Yikes,” Andi said, coming around the corner with her borrowed pants cuffed three or four times so she could walk. She watched Fredrick fumble with the belt and the knife. “Are we going after Quinn or skinning deer?”

“You’re not coming,” Mr. Jackson said, jamming a helmet on Fredrick’s head and checking the fit.

“Why not?” Andi asked indignantly.

“There’s only room for myself and one more.” Mr. Jackson turned to Fredrick, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No, I’m pretty used to them, actually. Why?” Fredrick asked.

Mr. Jackson dug a small remote out of the pile of gear and hit the single red button. With a grinding noise, a slice of early morning light appeared at the far end of the bunker. One of the walls slowly lifted, revealing a WWI Stearman biplane parked on a short runway.

“Because that’s our ride.”

The world spun by from the dizzying height of the small, open cockpit. A bird’s eye view made it easy to see the swath of destruction, the dozens of smashed buildings and toppled billboards th
e giant left through the city.

Up ahead, their destination came i
nto view: an island in the sky.

The floating island below them was a tall, craggy piece of mountain someone dug out of the earth with a giant spade. Roots were left dangling from it as it hung in the sky. At one edge, the mountains sloped into a grass covered plain, too small for a plane to land, and a single tower that stood watch over the island like a soldier at attention.

Wasn’t there supposed to be a beanstalk to climb up? In the story, Jack had cut it down. From his position behind the pilot’s seat, Fredrick studied the back of Mr. Jackson’s head. Had he really done that?

There was no sign of the giant or Quinn. How sure Mr. Jackson was that she was even there?

The distinctive whop whop of the propeller and whine of the vintage engine made it impossible to hear Mr. Jackson. He gave Fredrick a silent thumbs up to get ready. Fredrick pulled himself from the gunner’s seat, determined not to regret his decision to go after Quinn. He crawled along the tail of the plane, the wind managing to finger its way under his helmet, and watched Mr. Jackson.

Mr. Jackson checked his position, glanced back briefly at Fredrick, and waved his arm down in a clear, “Go!” Knowing timing was critical, Fredrick launched himself off the side of the plane.

The sensation of a hand squeezing his heart and then trying to shove it out of his chest accompanied his free fall. He was used to drifting, not falling, and for a moment he was terrified beyond reason and reached for the pull cord on his parachute. He tried to count steadily, but it was tempting to match the tempo of his hammering heart. In his crash course in skydiving, Mr. Jackson had said to wait 30 seconds before pulling the parachute cord. Hitting the designated number, he yanked the ripcord.

With a rumble of fabric, the chute unfolded. The air caught him and he jerked against the harness, his fall slowing. He angled his body toward the flat, green expanse of grass beside the tower.

With the ground approaching quickly, Fredrick pulled on the toggles to stall his decent. Several yards from the ground, his parachute jerked sharply up, leaving him breathless and twisting in his harness. Glancing skyward to see what he’d snagged on, Fredrick stared into the angry eyes of the giant.

A distraught Quinn was clutched in his fist, crushed between his fingers so tight she looked limp and lifeless. Yanking on the cutaway handle, the shoot detached from his harness and Fredrick dropped to the ground hard, smashing on to the giant’s right foot.

Reflexively, the giant kicked, sending Fredrick sailing into the side of the tower where he bounced against the unforgiving stone and crumpled into a heap. The ground jumped and slid under Fredrick as the giant approached. He clawed at the grass, willing the ground to quit rolling. He’d done some serious injury to his chest that sent stabbing pains through his torso every time he tried to breathe.

The giant’s shadow fell over him from the rising sun and Fredrick rolled to his back in time to see the disgusting blackened bottom of his bare foot descending on him. Moving quickly and smoothly, his hands didn’t seem his own as they drew the machete from its sheath and thrust upwards, connecting with sole of the giant’s foot.

His skin was tougher than Fredrick anticipated, and he leaned into the blade, feeling it slide through the skin and into the muscle beneath. Blood welled around Fredrick’s hands and spilled over him as the weight of the giant continued downward, threatening to crushed him.

The giant howled in pain and kicked out in a panic, wrenching the knife from Fredrick’s blood slicked hands. The massive foot swung out of his line of vision just in time for Fredrick to watch him throw his hands in the air, releasing Quinn. She arced high and sailed over the side of the floating island.

Fredrick wondered why—later, when he had time to reflect—he started thinking he was some kind of superhero, and apparently one that flew. But at the time, he simply sprinted for the side of the island and launched himself into space, desperate to catch Quinn before the ground rushed up to meet them.

The air screamed past Fredrick, who’d left his sense of self-preservation somewhere on the floating island. Then Quinn was tumbling beneath him. He tried to streamline his body and angle toward her, hoping she had the sense to slow her fall as much as possible. Time seemed to speed up as he fell and, at first, the distance between them wouldn't change.

At the point his terror was about to roll over into panic, he made out more details of Quinn and he knew he was getting closer. Fredrick could see the individual hairs escaping her braid, streaming straight up as she fell, and the whites of her eyes, enormous and frightened in her bloodless face.

He was falling much faster than she was now with her arms and legs spread. He almost shot past her, but she scrambled frantically at him, catching his arm. They pulled toward each other and Quinn latched herself on to the front of his blood soaked body, wrapping her legs around his torso and her arms around his neck so tight his ribs flared in agony and the air flowing to his lungs slowed down to a trickle.

"Hang on!" He gasped, and she nodded, her head buried into his neck. He pulled the ripcord and clinched his arms together as tightly as he could behind her back as his emergency chute opened, bucking them backward into the sky.

Quinn slipped down his front as her legs lost their death grip from his waist and her arms slid from his neck. He tightened his hold across her back until his muscles threatened to give out and he was sure his ribs broke free of his skin.

The initial jerk was over and their decent leveled out, but they were still approaching the ground very fast. The parachute wasn't designed for this much weight and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold onto her.

He craned his neck to peer over her shoulder and saw the ground screaming toward them. "Roll!" Was all he managed to shout as they tumbled in to the hard earth, barreling along the ground in a tangle of limbs and parachute until they came to a rest. Fredrick felt a pop in his chest and gratefully, he lost consciousness.

A ripping noise woke Fredrick. He gasped and tried to sit up as a blinding pain crushed his chest.

“Hold still,” Mr. Jackson said, pulling tight on the medical tape and applying it to his rib cage.  

“What happened?” Fredrick croaked, trying to move his head. All he could see was empty blue sky and grass on either side of his head.

“You jumped off a floating island and broke several ribs,” Mr. Jackson said.

Fredrick tried to place his tone. Frustrated? Incredulous?

“I think they were broken before I jumped,” he said and gasped as Mr. Jackson applied another strip of tape to his bare chest.

“Then your crash landing didn’t help the situation.”

Mr. Jackson leveraged him to his feet. Fredrick’s vision darkened at the edges, but he willed it away. He couldn’t pass out now.

“Where’s Quinn?”

“Already in the car with the others. You four will be taken directly to the train station,” Mr. Jackson said, prodding him toward the nondescript black sedan waiting in the middle of a meadow.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Plans have changed. You’ve stirred up quite a hornets’ nest and I’ll need to make sure they don’t follow you,” Mr. Jackson said, opening the door one handed. Fredrick leaned on him heavily. “Fredrick,” Mr. Jackson’s tone made him pause and search the man’s eyes. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exasperated and proud of any individual.” He leveraged him into the car and shouted up to the driver, “Go, Otto!” before Fredrick could think of a reply.

Cinderella

“Then she took her clumsy shoe off her left foot, and put on the golden slipper; and it fitted her as if it had been made for her.”

“There's no reason to negotiate with this goon."

Andi made a face at the platform where the train dropped them. Weeds poked their heads through the cracks of the splintered wood and the small ticket window sagged so badly, it looked like it w
as held up by nothing but hope.

The train pulled away with an ear-piercing whistle as soon as they stepped off. There were no other passengers, just them, each clutching a small backpack—or in Andi's case, the messenger bag she’d rescued from the mangled car.
             

Quinn stood so close to Fredrick their arms were almost touching, which Fredrick didn’t seem entirely comfortable with, but he didn’t pull away. Andi had noticed she’d been this way since he’d plucked her out of the air and crashed landed in that field. Not that she blamed Quinn. Andi had a front row seat as they had come screaming out of the sky and hit the ground hard enough they actually bounced. It didn’t help that Fredrick had been covered with blood and it took Mr. Jackson several minutes to figure out it wasn’t his.

A single black crow perched on top of the ticket booth gave a loud, “Caw!” and clacked his beak at Andi.

“None of your business,” Andi addressed the crow.

“What did he say?” Dylan asked.

The crow cocked his head to the side so he could regard her with one of his beady, black eyes.

“He’s just being nosey,” Andi said, crossing the worn boards of the platform and approaching the cage of the ticket window. An ancient wrought iron fan whirred in the corner, but no one was there.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed around the empty station. She looked back to the others who shrugged, and turned to face the empty cage again and jumped with a small shriek. Peering at her from behind the bars was a pair of dark eyes and a bald head.

"Wh'da you want?" A high-pitched voice barked at her.

"Uhhh... " His sudden appearance threw Andi off. "I mean, hi. Do you know where the Wellingtons live?"

He eyed her up and down. "Let's say I do." He raised a wild eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

"Uhhh..." Andi said again.

"There something wrong with you girly? You want my help or not?" the bald head asked.

"We can pay you." Quinn dug in her bag of supplies Mr. Jackson gave them. "How much?"