A Grimm Legacy (Grimm Tales) (8 page)

“A job?” Quinn repeated in disbelief.

Andi started to panic and searched the porch for a place to run. She’d been kidnapped by child traffickers!

“Yes. A specific position, one that can’t be filled by just anyone.”

“To do what, exactly?” Fredrick asked shortly.

Mr. Jackson shook his head regretfully, “I know you have questions and you’ll need convincing, but I’ve been forbidden to speak of certain things, and the nature of the position is one of them.”

“We aren’t in another world,” Andi scoffed, trying not to shake with fear, anger, whatever was coursing through her right now. “You think you can take advantage of us just because we’re young? That we’d believe…” Andi stuttered to a stop as Harland’s short stature and pointed ears pass through the arched doorway. Oh. Right. An elf.

She stood, leaving the others in a wake of shocked silence, and at the edge of the balcony gave a sharp, shrill whistle. Out of the dark, a tiny ruby-throated hummingbird materialized, zipped around her head, and settled on a lamppost. It cocked its head to one side, gave sharp, short chirp, and buzzed away.

Keeping her back to the others, Andi looked out into the garden after the hummingbird. There was no way Mr. Jackson could manufacture that.

“What did it say?” Quinn asked, and Andi knew she was thinking back to how they found Fredrick earlier that day.

“It was pretty irritated with me,” Andi said with a humorless laugh. “It had already found a place to sleep for the night.”

Dylan shook his head at Andi. “Now you’re trying to tell me you talk to birds?”

“It’s how we found Fredrick,” Quinn told Dylan firmly.

He leaned back in his chair and gripped the armrests like they might anchor him to reality.

Clutching the shoes to her chest, Andi said, “I can understand them, but I don’t know why.” She turned to Mr. Jackson. “Where are we?”

“This realm is known as Elorium,” Mr. Jackson said quietly.

Andi drew back toward the dark of the garden, the ludicrous possibility Mr. Jackson might be telling the truth sinking in.

"I have no idea if you’re lying or just crazy,” Fredrick said, his voice low and tight. “But you’ve no right to keep us here.”

“I agree. But unfortunately, I’ve been forbidden to help you get back to your homes,” Mr. Jackson said evenly.

“Of course you have,” Dylan mocked from across the circle.

Mr. Jackson ignored him. “While I cannot divulge information myself, I do know someone who might be able to tell you what you need to know." Lacing his fingers and leaning in until his elbows rested on his knees, he met their eyes one by one with a serious expression.

The hair on the back of Andi’s neck prickled and a sick, uneasy feeling washed over her. With each dark shadow, she anticipated the terrifying rumble of the chainsaw from her childhood nightmares. This was a horror story, all right. She felt they were teetering on a ledge and were now getting to what would either to make them tumble into the gorge or allow
them to crawl back to freedom.

“I’m supposed to turn you over to my master immediately, but if you’ll let me, I’m willing to hide you as long as I can.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Quinn scoffed. “We’re not actually taking him seriously, are we?” she asked, turning to the others.

“I’ll arrange transportation for you to Cynthia Wellington’s childhood home,” Mr. Jackson said. “Her family might be able to help you. ”

“How—” Andi stuttered glancing at the others in trepidation, “how do know my grandmother’s name?”

“She is from here.”

“She’s not from here,” Andi said in a stiff voice, "and you can’t possibly have any information about her.”

Unperturbed, Mr. Jackson rested his hands on the arms of his chair. "I know that was her cloak, and those shoes you’ve had a death grip on since you got here were hers as well."

Andi narrowed her eyes at him. This was a whole new level of creepy.

“I know you resemble her in a rather remarkable way, and as a measure of good faith, I'll show you what her cloak does.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Unless you've al
ready figured it out yourself?"

He held out a hand for the cloak and Andi tried to contain her mistrust as she considered him. The other three watched her with doubtful expressions, but she unfastened it from her neck and tossed it in his direction. "It’s done nothing but cause trouble so far."

Mr. Jackson didn't respond. He only shook the cloak, turned it velvet side out, and handed it back. "Try it on now."

Giving her shoes to Quinn, Andi refastened the cloak around her. Nothing happened, and the drop in her stomach forced her to admit part of her thought she might reappear in her kitchen.
             

"Hood up," Mr. Jackson instructed with his arms crossed. Andi used both hands to flick the hood into place and a sense of
déjà vu made her dizzy
. Had she really been at home only this afternoon? Again nothing happened, but the others reacted immediately.

They all vaulted from their chairs, Fredrick shouting, "What did you do to her?" and Dylan’s eyes growing wide. Mouth slack, shoes loose in her grasp, Quinn’s eyes slid past her. Andi looked down at her toes and let out an unintelligible shout.

Her body had simply disappeared.

The others froze.

"Candide?" Dylan asked, turning to her, eyes still unseeing.

"Andi," she replied automatically. Flipping back the hood she noticed the relief of the other three as she reappeared. She gave Dylan a small smile, suddenly in a much better mood. She could see definite pluses to being invisible. If only this place were Hogwarts. "Nobody calls me Candide, and don’t even
think about calling me Candy."

"That was awesome." Dylan looked at her with envy. "I want one."

Quinn gave her a wry smile. "You almost gave me a heart attack, and that's saying something after the day we've had."

Fredrick simply nodded, but the relief was plain on his face.

"Do the shoes do anything?" she asked.

Mr. Jackson smiled for the first time. It reached his eyes and transformed his face. She may have liked him under different circumstances, she realized. He sat back down with the others. "They do. I would hold on to them." 

No other information was forthcoming. Andi rolled her eyes at the cryptic response. "Where’d my grandmother get the cape?" she asked, running a finger over the plush fabric. She was still wary of his claim that he knew her grandmother, but was keeping an open mind. After all, she could talk to birds and recently was waited on by an elf.

"I’m not sur
e." Mr. Jackson shook his head.

Fredrick, by far the quietest of the group, spoke up. “Why are you helping us?”

Mr. Jackson stood and paced between the arch leading into the house and to the edge of the porch’s stone wall. "I have my reasons." He stopped at the wall and faced the distant ocean where the moon slowly arced its nightly path. The gas lights backlit him, making him no more than a smudge against the darkness.

Andi noticed he didn’t answer Fredrick’s question.

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning for the Wellington’s. Cob and Harland will show you to your rooms. I'll see you at breakfast."

They were finally alone with each other. Andi felt uncharacteristically shy, but Dylan coul
dn't seem to stand the silence.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a shower and some aloe. And possibly dessert."

Quinn glanced at the doorway where Mr. Jackson disappeared. "I'm itching from this mud. I second the idea."

"I’ve got to hear how you three got here,” Dylan said, smirking. “From the look of you, it’s quite a story.”

“You can drive if you know how to hot wire a car.”

Dylan squinted in the dim light of the corridor, just able to make out the doorknob of the girls’ shared room.  He put out a hand, silently indicating Fredrick should stay in the hallway.  He nodded, looking relieved.

Slipping through the door with a quick knock, Dylan found himself in a small sitting room. The view was breathtaking, with an entire wall of open windows looking out onto the beach, and he felt a pang of homesickness. Focusing on the closed bedroom doors on opposite ends of the room, he chose one at random and tiptoed in.

Andi slept sprawled across the enormous king size canopy bed, somehow managing to be both dwarfed by the monstrosity and take up most of the mattress space. He stole to the bed and hesitated, watching her for a second, Bella Burkiss a distant memory. 

In sleep, Andi seemed delicate and peaceful, her blonde hair splayed around her face.  Dylan grinned to himself. He might not know her well—yet
—but he knew in this case, her serene look was very deceiving.

Gently, he shook her shoulder.

Instead of startling awake, Andi smacked his hand and, without opening her eyes, rolled over and mumbled into her pillow, “Not getting up.”

He shook her again, hissing, “Andi!”

This time she sat up slightly, giving him a bleary-eyed stare. “Whadda you doin’?”

Dylan knelt next to the bed so he was level with her. “Fredrick and I’ve decided to get out of here. You and Quinn want to come?”

Andi looked around her room like she wasn’t sure where here was. “Where are you going?”

“We’re not sure, but there’s only one road leading out of here. We’ll find a town and ask around. Both of us think Mr. Jackson’s not quite on the level. He’s got to have an ulterior motive, offering to help when he’s supposed to hand us over.”

Dylan stood, his knees starting to cramp.

“There is something about that man that doesn’t add up,” Andi said, grabbing a small, nondescript book off the nightstand and stretching like a cat as she slid off the high bed. Dylan’s eyes were riveted on the thin slip of fabric Andi had worn to bed.  How had he missed that when he walked in?

Andi followed his gaze down and met his eyes with a slightly amused, exasperated expression. 

“Out,” she said, shoving on his shoulder. “I’ll go talk to Quinn and meet you in the hall.”

The girls joined them silently a few minutes later, both wearing strange combinations of clothes—Quinn in a shirt with sleeves half attached at the shoulder and a skirt that looked like it was made out of handkerchiefs, and Andi in longish filmy dress with a leather vest laced tight over the top. Both girls wore heeled boots that laced up to their knees. Andi had a small messenger bag on her hip. 

Dylan and Fredrick’s closets had been the same mix of eclectic clothing. He hadn’t minded--the funky clothes were kind of fun--but Fredrick had taken personal offense to the lack of blue jeans.

Just getting out of the mansion proved to be a challenge. Dylan wound through so many rooms and corridors he felt like a rat searching for cheese. The entire building was deceptively quiet—no servants, no guards. Maybe they weren’t really prisoners, but Dylan wasn’t about to stick around to find out.

Behind what felt like the millionth door he tried, the four of them stepped into what was kept under the glass dome of the covered carriage house.

The gravel driveway looped in from the front of the house and ran the length of the airplane sized room. Along the perimeter, tucked into the shadows, was every type of vehicle from every conceivable era. There were '68 mustangs cozied up to Model T's. The Lexus convertible that Dylan was positive was released just last year sat adjacent to an Indian Four motorcycle from the 1940's. The entire collection was meticulous, the shined chrome and carefully cared-for leather making it look more like a museum than garage.

Wandering though the dark garage, Dylan was examining the assortment of vehicles when Quinn called everyone over, "Guys, come see this." 

Jogging over, Dylan found her standing in front of spoked wheels and a lofted driver's seat that belonged in history and fairy tales. He circled the covered carriage, taking in the curved lines and gas lamps of a time supposedly long gone.

"Why would he have something like this?" Andi asked.

"I don’t know. I’m pretty sure these ran on literal horse power," Dylan said, looking under the carriage.

"What about this one?” Fredrick called from a corner of the room. Tucked into the shadows, the long, low dark form of an old muscle car gave a distinctive silhouette. With its black fins, bubble top and white wall tires, it belonged in a car show.

Dylan circled the car with a grin. "A 1961 Chevy Impala." He ran a hand over a fin. “Now we’re talking.”

Fredrick peered into the red and white striped leather interior. "My dad has one like this but it's not in great shape."

“Yeah? Is he a car guy?” Dylan asked.

“No. I think he hangs on to it because it was my grandpa's,” Fredrick said, straightening up.

“Everyone in,” Dylan said, opening the door and folding back the seat.

“Wait, we’re stealing a car?” Quinn asked, backing up a step.

“No,” Dylan said impatiently, waving her and Andi into the backseat. “We’re borrowing one of hundreds of cars from a rich, crazy person who is trying to hold us hostage. He’ll just have to relocate it on his own once we dump it.”