A Grimm Legacy (Grimm Tales) Read online

  A Grimm Legacy

  By Janna Jennings

  Copyright © 2013 Janna Jennings

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  First edition.

  Cover designed by Ravven (www.ravven.com)

  ISBN-13: 9780991789702

  www.patchwork-press.com

  For Ryan

  All my base are belong to you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part II

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part III

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part IV

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Part V

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Part VI

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Part I

  A Grimm Legacy

  “Once upon a time, in a great country a far way off…”

  Chapter 1

  “This isn’t what I’d planned for my afternoon.”

  Andi wiggled the screen out of her window, set it aside and slipped onto the garage roof. The sun slid toward the horizon and the air carried a crisp, fall tinge. Andi considered going back in for a jacket, but decided it was too much effort.

  Instead she scooted to the edge of the roof, the brittle wooden shingles shifting under her. She hung her legs over the edge and lay back, lacing her fingers behind her head. A top-of-the-world feeling bubbled out of her, she’d had a ridiculous grin plastered on her face for the last hour.

  She’d got it! The lead in the school musical! A shiver of satisfaction ran through her. After she’d seen her name lined up next to the part of Cinderella, Andi made her way home in a happy daze and gone straight to her thinking spot to hang on to the incredulous feeling a little longer.

  A high-pitched woman’s scream cut the silence, startling her into sliding several inches farther off the edge of the roof. Heart hammering she edged back to safety, cursing herself for changing her ring tone. She had thought it funny every time she got a call and her mother jumped. She slid her phone out of her back pocket.

  “Hello?”

  The silence stretched so long Andi almost hung up. Static blasted through the speakers making her jerk away from the phone. When a voice did break through, she missed the first few words.

  “…coming for—don’t touch—careful…”

  The voice sounded male, but the connection was so bad, Andi couldn’t be sure.

  “Who is this?” Andi asked, but the call already dropped.

  Puzzled, she glanced at the recent history on her phone, but the number was unlisted.

  “Andi!” Her mom’s voice whipped up the stairs and Andi fumbled her phone, juggling it close to the edge of the roof. For a moment she clutched it to her chest, frozen in panic. She’d already lost one phone this year when she dove into the pool with it tucked into the front of her swimsuit. To say her mom had not been pleased was an understatement.

  She also wasn’t a big fan of Andi climbing on the roof.

  She scrambled through the window and replaced the screen just as her mom barged in.

  Her mother’s keen gaze eyed Andi suspiciously. “There you are. Why didn’t you answer?”

  “Didn’t hear you,” Andi said with a half shrug she knew her mother hated.

  “Well, dinner’s ready. Come on down,” came the huffed response.

  Sliding her phone on her desk, the excitement over her big news returning as Andi traipsed down the stairs. The strange phone call already forgotten.

  The trapdoor thumped open sending a cloud of dust into the air. Andi ducked back down the ladder and waited as it settled before crawling through the hole on to the attic floor. Outgrown baby clothes, half working Christmas lights, tired toys and ugly art lay piled in every corner of room.

  “I told you it’s been awhile since I was up here. I’m not sure what we’ll find.” Andi’s mom’s voice followed her up the ladder.

  “There’s got to be something,” Andi said, wrapping her arms around herself in the cooler attic air.

  Rubbing her gritty hands on her jeans, Andi stooped slightly, despite her petite build. The one, small, grimy window gave off just enough light to turn the surrounding boxes, bags, and trunks into mysterious lumps.

  Her mom pulled herself up beside her, hunching over and wrinkling her nose. “This isn’t what I’d planned for my afternoon.” Her mother had high cheekbones and wonderfully red hair, her looks could have made her a model instead of a housewife. It was incredibly unfair that the only thing she passed down to Andi were her delicate lashes. She’d certainly missed out on her height; at 6 feet tall her mom looked crammed in the cramped space.

  Making a face that begged her mother to play along, Andi turned back to the mess. “It’s over there, right?”

  “Under the window I think,” her mom said.

  The clutter was a minefield Andi picked her way across. She reached the round window on the opposite wall and rubbed a forearm against it, succeeding only in smearing the grit instead of removing it. Peering through the gloom she could just make out the snow capped mountains surrounding their ranch in the Utah desert.

  A sparrow appeared and landed on the ledge outside. He cocked his head slightly before hopping from side to side like a sprinter warming up. Andi tapped gently on the glass and the sparrow gave a sharp peep causing two more birds to land beside the first, all emitting sounds surprisingly loud and piercing for such tiny bodies.

  "You’ve the oddest relationship with birds,” her mom said.

  "They just like me," Andi said.

  “Here it is,” her mother said, dragging Andi away from the window. You’re going to have to help me unearth it.”

  Grabbing one side of an enormous oil painting portraying a winter landscape, Andi scooted it to one side, tracking clean marks in the dusty floor. Her mom shoved a pair of skis into the opposite corner with totes full of winter clothing, and they exposed her grandmother’s old steamer trunk.

  The trunk was enormous, large enough for Andi to sit inside and close the lid. Faded gray wood with tarnished brass fittings and two cracked leather straps made the piece look like something that should be heaved aboard a train at the turn of the twentieth century. Her mom knelt and unbuckled one strap while Andi worked on the other.

  “If there’s something in here, will I still be able to use it?” Andi asked.

  “I assume so; it depends how it was packaged up all those years ago.”

 
Together they lifted the lid with a protest of warped wood and rusty hinges. Andi sneezed as a cloud of dust wafted into the air.

  Peering into the trunk and shifted aside mountains of tissue paper, Andi joined her mom in shoving aside the crumbling packaging.

  “Ah ha!” Andi lifted a picture frame out of the trunk. “What have we here?” It was an old black and white photograph in a tarnished silver frame. She studied the figures she found behind the glass. A slight woman clutched the arm of a man in a dark gray suit and black tie. She beamed at the camera, her blonde curls frost-like under a filmy veil, her simple dress alabaster and trailing. The man whose arm she held was slightly older with early gray showing at his temples. He stood awkward and uneven with an uncomfortable look in his eye, like he wanted to sidle out of the frame.

  "Is that her?" Andi trailed a finger over her face. The resemblance was a little unsettling. It was like looking at a picture of herself she didn’t remember posing for.

  Her mom peered over her shoulder. "Yes, her and your grandfather on their wedding day. I’d forgotten about that picture. I haven't seen it since you were little...” She took the photograph and studied it intently. "Goodness, Andi this looks—a lot like you." Her glance darted between Andi's expectant face and the photo.

  "So? You knew that, right?” Andi hated it when her mom seemed to know what she was thinking. She wound her curls in a knot on top of her head and turned back to the trunk. “I mean I don't really remember Grandma, but you do."

  "I didn’t know her at this age.” Her mother’s voice sounded slightly awed. She waved her hand taking in the whole of the photograph and rubbed the glass. “You would have loved her. Very soft spoken and kind, but opinionated and immovable as steel when provoked, especially if it came to her family. “

  “We obviously weren’t that similar, “Andi said grimly.” I don’t think you’ve ever called me soft spoken.”

  She took back the photo, setting it gently on the floor next to the trunk before she continued to dig.

  Raising herself out of the trunk, Andi clutched a stack of faded, tattered books to her chest. She shuffled through them, uninterested in the clothing patterns, sewing tips and knitting stitches. Tucked inside the cover of the last one, she found a slim volume, the leather cover faded beyond recognition and an opened envelope. It was addressed to her grandmother in an unfamiliar, precise calligraphy. The stamp was bright blue with the word INDIA running down the side as well as a picture of the country.

  “Did Grandma know anyone from India?” Andi asked, glancing at the return address. It wasn’t written in English, Hindi she supposed.

  “Not that I know of,” her mom said, clearly distracted as she continued digging through the box. Andi checked the envelope: empty.

  She picked up the small leather bound book and opened it to the title page: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Andi smiled. If nothing else, this was worth the trip to the dusty attic. It would be perfect to study up on her part. She slipped it into her back pocket to examine more closely later.

  A stack of folded skirts and dresses landed in Andi's lap. "Make yourself useful, please."

  A pair of knitting needles tumbled out of the folds of a skirt. Seeing them, a forgotten piece of memory surfaced; the cadenced click of yarn being worked, the faint smell of a floral powder. Her mom interrupted Andi’s thoughts. "Anything?"

  She shook her head, "The clothes are really neat, but they won’t do for a Cinderella costume. They look like they're from the 1950's."

  “No retro fairy tales?” her mom teased.

  “Nope. We’re doing an old version—very grim in the hacking of limbs and absence of fairy godmothers,” Andi said enthusiastically.

  “Wait.” Her mom’s voice was muffled from being head and shoulders in the trunk. Straightening up, her arms full, she set a pair of shoes on the floor and unfurled yards of light blue fabric. A hooded cloak emerged as her mom straightened the bundle. As it drifted down Andi saw it flowed light as silk, but was much softer and sleeker. The material caught the dusty light and a ripple effect like water washed down it. Her mom flipped it over. The backside was a slightly darker blue with a plush, velvet finish.

  "This," Andi reached her hand toward the cloak, her excitement at having found something useful growing, "is perfect. It looks like it was made for the part. Know where it comes from?" A tiny spark leapt from the cloak and stung her hand. She pulled back and rubbed it on her jeans as the pain receded.

  "I don't recognize the cloak or the shoes at all. Maybe they’re things from before she married?” Her mom fingered the fabric; “I don’t know if I want you taking these to school Andi, they’re awfully old.”

  “Mom!” Andi said, wishing her mother could be less of a kill-joy sometimes.

  “Come on, we might as well see if they fit before I make up my mind,” her mom sighed as she wove her way back toward the ladder.

  Grabbing the shoes, Andi followed, already envisioning the finished costume in her mind.

  "When do you need these by?" her mom asked as Andi unlaced her running shoes in a chair at the table, glad to be back in the warmth of the kitchen.

  Andi glanced out the big bay window as the orange sun slid behind the mountains; another sparrow appeared on the ledge as she turned to face her mom.

  "I’m not sure." Andi pulled off her socks and wiggled the lint off her toes. She picked up one of the shoes and examined it. A light slip on dress shoe with a small heel, it was made out of silk. It glinted a strange color, metallic, like a tarnished mirror. The most remarkable thing was the beadwork on the toe of each slipper, fingering its way around the heel. The beads shone tiny, translucent, and their sheer number astonishing in the delicate scrolls twining over the shoe.

  Andi slid her feet into the shoes. "They fit."

  Her mother raised an eyebrow as she handed her the cloak. With a theatrical swirl, Andi let it settle on her shoulders, silky side out. “Well?” Andi raised her arms and spun. “What’d you think?”

  “It actually looks pretty good. Pull the hood up,” her mom said.

  Andi reached past her ears, grasping the slick fabric and snapping her wrists. The hood settled onto her head, shrouding her face in shadow. Her mother gasped, the sound echoing in the silent kitchen. The shock on her mother’s face was all Andi caught before the kitchen vanished before her eyes.

  Chapter 2

  “You fly often?”

  Fredrick Avery scrunched his toes, thick wool socks bunched in his boots. His feet tingled as blood struggled to circulate back into his feet--but his toes stayed unforgivingly cold. He tugged his ski hat more firmly on his head and jammed his hands in his pockets. Glancing at his dad, he hoped they were done standing around in the chilly fall air.

  The helium balloon that Fredrick’s dad released to test the wind had become a tiny speck in the sky. He watched by the tailgate of their aging blue truck, disregarded the numbing effect of the weather.

  They were the same height, but Fredrick’s lean frame more like a runners and his dad a linebacker. With his light brown hair cut military short, and his wide green eyes set in a pale freckled face, he contrasted sharply with his dad's sun-browned complexion.

  “Time?” Fredrick’s dad asked without turning.

  Freeing his hand from the warmth of his pocket Fredrick glanced at his watch. “Three minutes, forty-one seconds.”

  His dad clapped his gloved hands together, reaching for the tailgate of the truck. It careened down with a familiar clang. “Perfect conditions, gentle breezes all the way up to 10,000 feet. Get our crew out of the truck and get the basket down.”

  The hot-air balloon basket was triangular shaped and woven out of incredibly sturdy wicker. The dried plant material’s green cast on this basket looked different from the usual tans and browns on a basket.

  Their passengers, also their crew, crawled out of the warmth of the truck into the clearing. They unfolded their stiff limbs and looked around the isolated area. A ring of looming lobloll
y pines, an overly frequent sight in east Texas, formed a protective circle around the parked truck.

  Today, they would be taking the Lambdin family up, a mom, dad and a boy about 8 years old. They all looked slightly rumpled, like most people did before their morning coffee. All except the boy, Samuel, whose excitement obviously overrode his sleepiness. The boy’s attitude had a reluctant smile tugging at Fredrick, it reminded him his two younger brothers. He bet Damien and Alex weren’t even awake yet.

  “Grab a pair of gloves.” Fredrick kept his head down, speaking mostly to his shoes. He’d have preferred a job that didn’t involve talking to strangers. “We’ve gotta get the basket down.”

  A familiar look passed between Mr. and Mrs. Lambdin. They were from Minnesota and he could tell the dreaded, “Isn’t-his-southern-accent-darling?” comment that was on the tip of their tongues.

  “Won’t it be too heavy?” Mrs. Lambdin asked. Fredrick shook his head, still avoiding her gaze.

  “Ready? Lift!” Fredrick’s dad grunted as he took the weight of the basket and they all staggered forward several yards, clearing the truck. The helium tanks clanked together in their canvas sleeves as the basket bumped gently on the wet grass before tilting on to its side.

  The process was repeated and the small group hauled the canvas bag containing the hot-air balloon to the front of the wicker basket. Fredrick busied himself unbuckling straps, hoping no one would talk to him.

  Mr. Lambdin sidled up next to him and tugged at the D-rings that held the ties in place. “You seem pretty good at this. Do you fly often?”

  No such luck then.

  If Mrs. Lambdin appeared at home on the cover of Vogue, Mr. Lambdin could easily be the cover for Field and Stream. His get up reminded Fredrick of Elmer Fudd, straight out of the Bugs Bunny cartoon, his brother’s watched, complete with the earflaps tied up on his hunter's cap.

  Fredrick nodded an affirmative to his question. Seeing the expectant look on Mr. Lambdin’s face he added, “Almost every weekend for the last eleven years.”