Polly Shulman - The Grimm Legacy

I went on, “Doc told me there’d been some thefts here recently. So did Mr. Mauskopf, the one who got me the job. They both told me to keep an eye out and tell them if I saw anything suspicious. You’re not—you don’t—?” I didn’t know how to put it diplomatically.

“Not what? Stealing things?” said Marc. He had that haughty look of his, like a prince being accused of something far beneath him.

“Well, I didn’t mean to accuse you, but . . . I don’t know, they trust me, and I helped you, and I just want to make sure . . .”

“I’m sorry—you’re right,” he said. “It does look bad. But I wouldn’t do anything to hurt this place. I belong here. It’s like it’s, I don’t know, part of me.”

He looked so sincere I put my doubts aside. “Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry. But you still need to tell me what’s going on. You pulled me into this and got me locked up in a pretty scary place! That was a big deal. You can’t just not tell me why.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ve been borrowing the seven-league boots. I have to pick up Andre from my aunt’s in the Bronx and drop him off at day care in Harlem, in between basketball practice and work. That would take hours on the subway. If I use the boots, I can do it in no time.”

“You’re kidding me—real seven-league boots! So you take them instead of the A train!”

Marc smiled. “Yeah—it’s a lot more fun than the A train. And like I said, way faster. You never get stuck in between stations.”

“But it’s—you know— magic !”

“Yeah,” he said. “Magic. You’ll get used to it.”

Okay, so it was silly of me to expect Mr. Cool himself, Marc Merritt, to express astonishment, even at real magic. I told myself to be cool too. “How long is a league?” I asked.

“About three miles.”

“So that’s twenty-one miles per step? Even the Bronx isn’t that far away.”

“Yeah, the tricky part is making my steps small enough.”

It did sound tricky, but if anybody had control over where his feet went, it was Marc.

“Aren’t you worried Andre will tell somebody?”

He shrugged. “Who’s going to believe a three-year-old when he says his big brother can fly?”

“But I don’t get it—why not just borrow the boots officially? You have borrowing privileges.”

He nodded. “I tried that at first, but they keep crazy tabs on the stuff in the GC. You can’t take it out more than once a month. Plus you have to leave a serious deposit, not to mention the late fines.”

“But why do you have to drop Andre off anyway? Why can’t your parents do it?”

“They’re both busy,” he said shortly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . ,” I trailed off.

“That’s okay . . . I shouldn’t have snapped at you. We better get to work. You know how to sew?” He led me to a table piled with cloth.

I shook my head. “That’s really not the kind of thing I’m good at,” I said.

“Okay, then. I guess you’ll be learning today. We’ve got to get through all this so it can go back on the shelves.”

“Is this from the Grimm Collection?”

“Nah. Just normal, everyday priceless treasures.”

Marc was a surprisingly good sewer. His hands could handle a needle almost as well as a basketball. Not mine, that was for sure—especially not when I was distracted by thoughts of magic and Marc Merritt. The sky was starting to darken and my fingers were riddled with jabs by the time I managed to tack together the sides of a torn tunic.

I thought of all the fairy-tale girls who ran afoul of needle-work: Snow White’s mother, who wished for a daughter with lips as red as the blood from her pricked finger. Sleeping Beauty, with that fateful spindle, and Rumpelstiltskin’s victim, locked up with the impossible task of spinning straw into gold. I had more sympathy for them than ever.

“Let me see that,” said Marc. I handed him the tunic. He laughed. “You really weren’t kidding, were you? Well, practice makes perfect.”

“Where did you learn to sew so well, anyway?” I asked.

“Same place you will. All the pages have to.”

“Who taught you, then?”

He got a dreamy half smile on his face. “Anjali.”

As if he’d conjured her, the door opened and in she walked.

“It’s dead quiet on Stack 2,” she said. “Ms. Callender sent me up here to see if you need help—unless you’re done already?”

“Ha,” said Marc. “With Ms. Thumbs here? You’re dreaming.” He winked at me.

Anjali laughed. “How gracious! You should be extra polite—you owe her. Don’t worry, Elizabeth, I remember not so long ago when Merritt had five big toes on each hand. Just call him Toe Jam and see how he likes it.”

They grinned at each other.

Anjali picked up an embroidered silk garment—I couldn’t tell if it was some lord’s ceremonial cloak or just a fancy bathrobe—and selected a spool of thread in a matching shade of teal. She threaded a needle and began sewing with quick, tiny stitches. It looked so easy when she did it.

“Hey, Elizabeth,” she said seriously, her eyes on her sewing, “I’m really sorry I forgot to tell you how to get out. I feel like such a lamebrain.”

“That’s okay. It all worked out.”

“I know. But I’m still sorry.”

“Well, if you’d just waited a little while, I could have used my own key—Doc just gave me one.”

“Wow, congratulations!” Anjali put down her sewing and gave me a hug. “Let’s see! Oh, a binder clip? Cool!”

“Hey, that reminds me. I better give you yours back,” said Marc, handing her the barrette. She clipped her hair up with it.

“So what was Zandra like—the page who got fired?” I asked. “Doc and Ms. Callender were talking about her.”

“I didn’t like her,” said Anjali. “All she cared about were things —clothes and vacations and music players. She always wanted the newest, most expensive stuff. I wasn’t that surprised when they caught her stealing.”

“But why a vase?” I said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” said Anjali. “Why would she care about a Ming vase? You can’t wear it. She must have been planning to sell it.”

“She’s too dumb to think of that herself,” said Marc. “I bet she was working for someone.”

“Who?” I said.

“That’s the big question,” said Marc.

“What about the other page, the one who disappeared?”

“Mona? I really liked her,” said Anjali. “But something was freaking her out. Before she left, she started getting really jumpy, but she wouldn’t talk about it. Then one day she turned in her key and just . . . disappeared.”

“What was she scared of? Was it really that gigantic bird? That sounds so unbelievable. At least—it did before I saw the Grimm Collection.”

“I know, that’s why I wasn’t sure I should tell you at first,” said Anjali. “I thought you’d think I was crazy. But now you’ve seen some magic firsthand. And if you think about it, there are plenty of gigantic birds and fantastic creatures in fairy tales.”

I remembered how scary the Snow White mirror was, and it didn’t even have claws. “All right, so where did you hear this rumor about the bird?”

“I overheard some of the patrons talking about it,” said Anjali. “Then that creepy little art dealer said something to me.”

“The one who keeps staring at you?” I asked.

Anjali nodded. “He told me to keep an eye out for an enormous bird and to make sure I didn’t carry anything valuable around alone. He even offered to walk me home.”

“Eeewww!” I said. “Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to . . . I don’t know, get close to you?”

“I can walk you home anytime you want,” said Marc. “You don’t need any slimy patrons to take care of you. I hope you told him that.”