The Council of Mirrors (30 page)

Sabrina smiled at the thought. She shook off her nervousness and took a deep breath.
Bradley is a good man. He is kind and loving and sweet and handsome and normal. Oh so wonderfully normal. He’s the kind of man that makes me want to throw off immortality and grow old with him. I need him. He keeps me sane
.

And then she walked into the church and through a sea of smiles. There were many faces she hadn’t seen in thirteen years, and new faces she suspected masked more familiar faces. One man sat quietly licking his hand—ah, the Cowardly Lion. Mr. Swineheart and Mr. Boarman, Snow and Charming sitting next to Bunny and her seeing-eye wolf—even the Scarecrow had made it back from Oz, and there, with his shock of white hair, was Mr. Canis. As she passed, he smiled and said, “Relda would be so proud.”

And on the other side of the church, there were real, honest-to-goodness people—glorious people—who had no clue that they were at a wedding filled with magic. And at the altar was Bradley, blue eyes gleaming. He had shaved his goatee for the day. It was odd to see him without it. She barely recognized him.

The minister smiled down at her. “Who gives this woman to be married?”

“I do,” Henry said, and placed Sabrina’s hand into Bradley’s. It felt warm and comforting. Henry kissed her cheek and joined
his wife and Basil in the front pew. Her brother, who was no baby any longer, standing nearly six feet tall, grinned and winked at her.

“Marriage is a journey,” the minister said. “A walk down a long, twisting road. Some days the path is clear and bright, and others, murky and mysterious. There are many bends in the road and more than a few crossroads. Today, the two of you take that road together, hand in hand, promising to all here and God himself that you will not let go of each other. Before we start, it is customary to ask the congregation to witness this union. I ask those gathered here, do you promise to support this marriage, in good times and bad, to help this couple down their road whenever possible?”

Sabrina turned to look at the audience just as they all said, “We do.”

The minister smiled. “Very good. It is also customary to ask those gathered if anyone can give cause or reason that this union should not take place. If anyone objects, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Sabrina cringed and looked out to the crowd once more. But no one rose. No one spoke. No one threw an egg. He was not there. He was not going to ruin her wedding. So why was she . . . disappointed?

“Very well,” the minister said. “I believe the bride and groom have written some vows they would like to share with one—”

His voice was drowned out by wings flapping like thunder above the crowd. Everyone craned his or her neck to see what the commotion was, but Sabrina didn’t have to look—she knew. When Bradley’s side of the church gasped and screamed and rose from their seats, she sighed. When Henry and Veronica scowled, and when Daphne bit down on the palm of her hand, Sabrina did not have to look up.

“It’s—it’s an angel,” the minister said, falling back in shock.

“Hardly,” Sabrina muttered.

And then “the angel” was floating down before her, the light from the stained-glass window silhouetting him in color. He was a man. No longer a boy. And he was beautiful.

“Hello, stinky,” he said with a wink that infuriated Sabrina, but not enough to stop her from grinning.

August 16

I love my backyard. It’s small and not much to look at—just a few flowers, a stone path, a birdbath, a hammock, and a shed for tools, but it is my heaven. I can spend hours here, reading, relaxing, and practicing the yoga Red and Mr. Canis have recommended for my stress. (Well, I don’t actually do that, but someday I could!)

In my backyard there are no headaches. No lawyers or judges, no negotiations, petitions to the court, bail hearings, and hung juries. There are no meetings with the mayor, no reporters digging for a story, no campaign dinners, and no elections. Lying in my hammock, I can forget about how the brownstone needs a new roof, and the neighbors are making me crazy with their construction, and how our dogs, Bono and Edge, need a bath. And best of all, for a brief moment, I can forget that I am the mother of two lovely but extremely difficult girls
.

The younger, Emma, is a lot like Daphne at that age—funny, kind, precocious, but unlike Daphne, Emma enjoys antagonizing her sister. They don’t have the relationship that Daphne and I had. Most of the time they can’t stand to be in the same room. Admittedly, Alison is a handful—a total Grimm! Six months ago she turned fourteen, and along with the presents came a surprising change in attitude. Suddenly, my sweet, loving, happy child has turned into a
teenager—headstrong, rude, impatient, and forever embarrassed by her parents. It was as if sometime in the night goblins had snuck in and replaced her with one of their own
.

Daphne says I was exactly the same way, but I don’t remember myself being so self-centered. Well, Daphne will be a lot more sympathetic soon enough with her twins. Basil’s the smart one in this family. He says he’s going to be a bachelor for life. I just have to laugh. Love does not allow you to make plans. I remember what I used to say about marriage, but—

Suddenly, there was a scream. Sabrina threw down her journal and reached under the garden table, where she had duct-taped a dagger. Yanking it free, she dashed into the house. If it was them, she would make them pay. They had made threats lately. She had seen their mark in the streets. She would not let them harm her family.

She dashed up the stairs two at a time, then darted around the corner, running as fast as she could down the hallway. Emma was waiting by her sister’s bedroom door.

“The spaz won’t open up,” Emma said.

Sabrina tried the doorknob but found it locked. “Allie, open the door!”

But Alison didn’t open the door and the screaming didn’t stop.

“She’s probably just got a zit, Mom,” Emma said. “You know how dramatic she can be.”

“Alison! I’m coming in right now,” Sabrina shouted, then kicked the door, ripping the lock out and sending it flying open.

“Wow!” Emma said. “You have to teach me how to do that!”

Sabrina charged into the room fully prepared to face a monster, but all she saw was Alison, looking right at her, tears streaming down her face.

“What? What happened?” Sabrina said.

“Mom!” Alison cried. “Mom! I need you!”

Sabrina peered around the room for intruders, then quickly hid the dagger in the pocket of her shorts. “What is it, honey?”

“It’s horrible!”

“Did Parker break up with you again?” Emma said.

“Emma, stop teasing her,” Sabrina snapped. “And Allie, stop crying and tell me what’s wrong!”

Alison turned her back on her mother. Sabrina saw something begin to poke out of the back of Alison’s shirt. There was a loud pop and then there were wings—huge, glorious, pink insect wings. They fluttered at a fantastic speed and lifted Alison off the ground. She hovered in midair awkwardly, elbows and head slamming into the ceiling and walls.

“That’s no zit!” Emma shouted.

“Mom? What is going on?” Alison sobbed.

“Honey, I know you are a little freaked out right now—”

“A LITTLE? I’m turning into a bug!”

“I bet you’re going to grow pinchers next,” Emma said.

“You’re not turning into a bug!” Sabrina said. “Now both of you calm down. I promise everything is going to be fine. Your father will be home soon from the castle and—”

“The castle?” the girls cried.

Sabrina sighed. She wanted to go and hide in her backyard. “He’ll be able to tell you what you are.”

“What am I?” Alison cried.

Sabrina cringed. “You’re a fairy princess.”

Alison burst into tears. “I don’t want to be a fairy princess!”

Emma’s eyes were as big as full moons. “Wait, if she’s a fairy princess, that means I’m one, too, right?”

Sabrina nodded.

“OMG,” Emma said, then did a little tap dance on the bathroom floor.

“Girls, I need to tell you some things about our family,” Sabrina said. “Have you ever heard of the Brothers Grimm?”

T
HE
E
ND

Michael Buckley is the
New York Times
bestselling author of the
Sisters Grimm
and
NERDS
series. He has also written and developed television shows for many networks. Michael lives in Brooklyn, New York.

This book was designed by Melissa J. Arnst, and art directed by Chad W. Beckerman. It is set in Adobe Garamond, a typeface that is based on those created in the sixteenth century by Claude Garamond. Garamond modeled his typefaces on those created by Venetian printers at the end of the fifteenth century. The modern version used in this book was designed by Robert Slimbach, who studied Garamond’s historic typefaces at the Plantin-Moretus Museum in Antwerp, Belgium.

The capital letters at the beginning of each chapter are set in Daylilies, designed by Judith Sutcliffe. She created the typeface by decorating Goudy Old Style capitals with lilies.