Polly Shulman - The Grimm Legacy

“Put that down, Jaya! It’s fragile.”

Jaya was holding a sandalwood fan. “Is this the fan from Auntie Shanti?” She inspected both sides. It was elaborately carved with what looked like stylized feathers.

“Yes. Put it down.”

Jaya flounced carelessly over to the sofa where I was lying and fanned me. The air coming off the fan had a faint, disturbing, familiar smell. Sandalwood, yes, but what else? That fresh smell in the air after a thunderstorm? Vinyl? Toast? “Can I see that a sec?” I held out my hand.

Jaya looked at me suspiciously. “Why?”

“I want to check something out.”

“Promise you’ll give it back.”

“We’ll see.” I kept my hand out.

Curiosity won over contrariness. She handed it over. I fanned my face and sniffed; I sniffed at the back, the front, the handle. Definitely magic. I looked at Anjali. “What is it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Sandalwood?” Was she just being discreet in front of her sister, or did she really not know? I handed the fan back to Jaya. “Put it back on the shelf,” I said. “Carefully.”

A little to my surprise, Jaya obeyed, sniffing it herself on the way over. She reached for an inlaid box next to it on the shelf, but Anjali said, “No!” in a new, quiet voice.

It was clear she meant it; even Jaya paused. “Leave that,” Anjali said.

“But I just want to see inside,” said Jaya.

“Leave it alone. I mean it. Auntie Shanti said it’s bottomless, and so will you be if you touch it.”

Was she kidding, or did she mean it literally? And what was Anjali’s family doing with these magical objects?

In a way, I thought, it wasn’t any weirder for Anjali’s family to have magic than for magic to exist at all. And after all, they had lots of things most families didn’t have, like carved tables and inlaid chests and fancy flower arrangements. I wondered again what magical properties the fan had.

Jaya shrugged and threw herself on the sofa next to me. “So, what’s the scary thing that’s after you?” she asked conversationally.

“Oh, Jaya, go away,” said Anjali. “Don’t you have homework or something?”

“Already did it. What’s the scary thing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why was Elizabeth screaming?”

“She wasn’t screaming.”

Jaya turned to me. “Is something scary after you? Because I know a good protection spell.”

“You do?”

“I need a piece of string. Or thread or ribbon or something.” She flung herself up off the sofa like a fountain of sticks, pounced on Anjali’s sewing box, extracted some fuchsia yarn, and snapped off a length with her teeth.

“Jaya, that’s disgusting,” said Anjali automatically. She knotted off the thread she had been using to sew on the button and snipped it neatly with little bird-beaked scissors.

Jaya ignored her. “Hold out your arm,” she ordered. She wrapped the yarn around my wrist twice and began working on a knot, biting her lower lip, tucking the ends under and over, making loops around her fingers.

At last she took an end in each hand—pinching me slightly—and declaimed, “By this charm, be safe from harm!” With that she pulled the knot tight and grinned at me proudly.

I looked at my wrist. It had a bracelet of hot-pink yarn with a lumpy knot and slightly frayed, spit-wet ends. “Thank you, Jaya,” I said.

“Don’t take that off. As long as it stays on your arm, you should be safe—from bad magic, anyway. I don’t think it works for muggers or car crashes.” “Where did you learn that? Auntie Shanti?” asked Anjali.

“No, Miss Bender.”

“Who’s Miss Bender?” I asked.

“Sewing teacher.”

“You guys take sewing?”

“Of course. All Wharton girls learn how to sew. It’s an important part of a young lady’s education,” said Jaya. She sounded like she was quoting a teacher.

“Miss Bender’s the one who got me the job at the repository,” said Anjali.

“Oh. I see.” Anjali’s equivalent of Mr. Mauskopf.

If their sewing teacher—Anjali’s connection to the Grimm Collection—was teaching the Rao girls magical spells to ward off evil, perhaps Mr. Mauskopf would have some that would help me, I wondered. Should I ask him? What a difference this job was making in my life! On the plus side: magic! And maybe even more important: friends. On the minus side: also magic. The dark, scary kind—the kind that makes you worry about warding off evil.

We heard a knock on the door. “Anjali? Jaya? Dinner is ready.”

Anjali’s parents ate with their fingers. It sounds messy, but it wasn’t, not at all—they had elegant table manners, delicately scooping and pinching morsels with bits of thin flat bread or clumps of rice. Mr. Rao saw me looking nervously at my plate. “Didn’t Aarti give you a fork?” he asked me. “I’m sorry, I should have told her; that was thoughtless of me. Aarti! Silverware for our guest, please,” he called. He was a portly man, genial and commanding. He looked a lot like his younger daughter, despite her skinny spikiness. “Do you need something else to drink, Elizabeth? Some ginger ale?”

“Yes, please, I’d love some.”

“Ginger ale, please, Aarti.”

“I want some too,” said Jaya, jumping up.

“Sit still, Jaya. Aarti will bring it,” said her mother.

We ate a sort of bean stew and a puffy thing and a vegetable I didn’t recognize. It was all delicious; I happily accepted second helpings. I was sorry when the meal ended and a little scared too—scared to walk out into the cold, dark streets where the bird might be lurking. Anjali offered to walk me to the subway, but of course I said no.

I fingered the yarn around my wrist nervously and buttoned the top button of my coat tightly around my throat. But the sky was empty all the way home. Whatever the bird was after, evidently it wasn’t me.

I went looking for Mr. Mauskopf on Monday. Evidently he’d been looking for me too. “Elizabeth,” he said. “When do you next work at the repository?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. Will you give this to Dr. Rust for me?” He handed me a largish package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “Put it in Lee’s own hands. It’s very important. Do not entrust it to anyone else. Can you do that?”

“Sure.”

“And don’t open it.”

“Of course not!” As if I would open someone else’s mail!

“Thank you, Elizabeth. How are you getting on at the repository?”

“It’s fantastic—I love it. They gave me a key to the Grimm Collection.”

“Yes, Lee told me. Congratulations! They don’t give out those keys lightly, you know. If things go well, you’ll have borrowing privileges soon too.”

“Really, you think so? That would be so awesome! I can’t believe the things they have in the collection!”

Mr. Mauskopf smiled. “No, I couldn’t believe it at first either. You understand what an honor it is to be asked to take care of them, don’t you? An honor and a responsibility. It’s not always easy.”

“Yes, I know. Mr. Mauskopf, a strange thing has happened. Remember how you said you’d heard the rumors about an enormous bird? I think we saw it—me and the other pages, Marc and Anjali and Aaron. It was hovering near the skylight at the repository, and then when I went over to Anjali’s apartment, I thought I saw it again.”