Polly Shulman - The Grimm Legacy

Marc turned to Jaya. “Thank you,” he said.

“Yes, good job, kid,” said Anjali, hugging her sister. “Although I could have done with a lot less of the whole moving-me-around-like-a-puppet thing.”

“I liked you as a puppet,” said Jaya. “And you have to admit I’m a good puppet master. You would still be a puppet if I weren’t.”

“Welcome back, both of you,” said Doc.

“Thank you,” said Marc. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Aaron. I, um, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. You tried to save me from Badwin back there. I owe you.” It’s hard to look dignified and repentant with a crowing three-year-old on your shoulders, but he did it.

“Yeah, well,” said Aaron. He sounded embarrassed. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“That’s not the point. She could have killed you. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Aaron,” said Anjali. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He turned bright red and looked at me.

I felt a sudden breeze, as if I were fainting.

“Elizabeth, watch out!” Jaya yelled.

The enormous bird had opened its eyes and leapt out of the tree straight at me. I ducked and threw my arms over my face. It landed on my shoulder—it was like having a motorcycle land on you—and reached for my head with its vast, hooked beak.

I was too scared even to scream. I shut my eyes. Why hadn’t I left well enough alone? The bird was dying before I helped it. Was this my reward?

It was taking the bird an awfully long time to tear me to pieces. I peeked at it.

“Crawk,” it said. With its vicious beak, it began gently combing my hair.

“You seem to have made a friend, Elizabeth,” said Doc.

The bird looked at me with one yellow eye. It was the size of a cereal bowl.

“I expect she likes being scratched under the chin,” said Doc.

“But its neck—her neck,” I said. “She’s hurt.”

I was wrong. The wound was gone. My fingers found nothing but soft feathers.

“You washed her wound with fountain water, didn’t you? The water here has healing powers.”

“Creek,” said the bird softly, taking my earlobe in its beak and twirling my earring around with its tongue. It tickled.

“You’re kind of heavy, bird. And that tickles. Dr. Rust, what is this bird?”

“I’m not sure, probably a crossbreed. She looks like a roc, only a whole lot smaller.”

“Smaller!” It was the biggest bird I’d ever seen, or even heard of.

Doc nodded. “Rocs are the size of a house—a big one. Our friend here would fit nicely in a Manhattan studio apartment. And she has those scallops on her wings and the pink cere. A cross between a roc and a parakeet, maybe.”

“A parakeet? Those little birds they sell for ten dollars at the pet shop?”

Doc nodded.

“You’re a pretty big parakeet,” I told the bird.

“Crock,” she agreed.

“That still tickles.”

“Why is Polly being nice now, when she tried to kill us before?” asked Jaya. “Isn’t this the monster bird that was chasing you?”

“Wallace Stone must have put her under a spell, and the fountain water must have broken it,” said Doc.

“But why was she following me?” asked Anjali.

“I bet Mr. Stone sent her to try to kidnap you, to sell you to collectors,” I said.

“Could be,” said Dr. Rust. “Or to throw us off his trail so we wouldn’t guess he was the thief. I’m ashamed to say it worked. I really believed he was on our side. That reminds me. Where’s that kuduo ?”

“Here,” said Marc.

“Thanks.” Doc took the lid off, said a few words I couldn’t quite make out, and tipped the contents out on the grass. “Let’s see if we can figure out who trapped me in that bubble. I bet Wallace Stone was using something in here to control them.”

The contents piled up in a shining mound. I saw my sense of direction—bright, complex, and embarrassing—come tumbling out. “Oh!” I said, before I could stop myself.

Andre banged on his brother’s shoulders. “Let me down,” he said. Marc swung him to the grass, and Andre ran over to look at my sense of direction. He reached out one hand and poked it. I felt momentarily dizzy.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth,” said Doc. “With Wallace out of the picture, I’m sure we’ll find that comb, so you can get your sense of direction back.”

The flow of kuduo contents slowed. Doc shook the box a little and pulled out something flat and dark, then something fluffy like cotton candy, then something sharp, which he put down carefully on the grass. Something shining oozed out next. It looked infinitely vulnerable and undefined, like a thought before you put it into words. “Oh!” said Aaron, chokingly.

“So that’s your firstborn! I can’t believe you traded that for the Snow White mirror.” I still felt shocked by this.

Aaron bristled. “Not traded! It was a deposit—and not for the mirror, for the chance to save Anjali! I thought it would be safe!”

“It is,” Doc reassured him. “You kept the mirror safe, right? Then there shouldn’t be a problem getting it back . . . Ah, here we go, I think.”

Something hard and angular clattered out of the kuduo. It lay on the grass, denting the dandelions. Doc picked it up and twisted it this way and that.

“What is it?” asked Anjali.

“Somebody’s willpower.”

“Whose?”

“I’m not sure—I expect it belongs to whoever locked me up in that bubble. We’ll find out soon. I’ll use it to summon them. They have to obey whoever controls their willpower.” Doc wrapped a corner of the thing around a finger and pulled it tight. “Okay, they’re on their way now.”

“Here?” I asked.

Doc nodded.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” asked Anjali.

“Oh, I doubt they wanted to hurt me. Their willpower was in Wallace Stone’s hands, and now it’s in mine. I won’t let them hurt anyone. Who has the Golden Key? Aaron? Would you mind letting whoever it is through the gate?”

“Not at all,” said Aaron.

“Meanwhile, perhaps the rest of you could put this stuff back in the kuduo, since I have my hands full.” Doc gestured with the willpower.

“I’ll do it,” said Jaya eagerly. She began picking things up and stuffing them indiscriminately into the kuduo.

“Gently, Jaya. Some of that stuff is . . . sensitive.”

Anjali and I went over to help. I found it uncomfortable work. Every one of the objects alarmed me, some so much that I hesitated to touch them. Jaya had no such scruples.

“What is this?” she asked, holding up a long, translucent, sweater-shaped thing. I had trouble focusing on it.

“Is that the elusive cloak of invisibility?” I asked.

“No, somebody’s sense of privacy, I think,” said Doc.

“I wonder how it works?” said Jaya, turning it inside out and poking at the folds.

“Quit it, Jaya! That’s none of your business,” I said.

She laughed—“It obviously doesn’t belong to you ! Your sense of privacy is working just fine!”—and tucked it into the kuduo.

“I’m helping too,” announced Andre. He picked up corners of things and held them out.

“Thanks, Andre,” I said, gathering up the rest of something large and orange and stuffing it into the kuduo. It didn’t look like it would fit, but it did.

“Oh, there’s Aaron’s firstborn,” said Anjali.

“Baby,” said Andre, poking it with one finger.

“I’ll deal with that,” I said, quickly scooping it up. I held it for a minute before sliding it into the kuduo. It trembled a little—or was that me?

“And here’s your sense of direction,” said Anjali, holding it out to me. It whirled over the edges of her fingers.