The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 (27 page)

“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.”