The Fairy-Tale Detectives

  ALSO BY MICHAEL BUCKLEY:

  In the Sisters Grimm series:

  BOOK ONE: THE FAIRY-TALE DETECTIVES

  BOOK TWO: THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS

  BOOK THREE: THE PROBLEM CHILD

  BOOK FOUR: ONCE UPON A CRIME

  BOOK FIVE: MAGIC AND OTHER MISDEMEANORS

  BOOK SIX: TALES FROM THE HOOD

  BOOK SEVEN: THE EVERAFTER WAR

  BOOK EIGHT: THE INSIDE STORY

  In the NERDS series:

  BOOK ONE: NATIONAL ESPIONAGE, RESCUE, AND DEFENSE SOCIETY

  BOOK TWO: M IS FOR MAMA’S BOY

  BOOK THREE: THE CHEERLEADERS OF DOOM

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-0186-3

  Copyright © 2012 Michael Buckley

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 Peter Ferguson

  Published in 2012 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  115 West 18th Street

  New York, NY 10011

  www.abramsbooks.com

  For Sylvie and Phoebe Sanders.

  Thanks for riding this flying carpet.

  The Sisters Grimm would never have existed if not for my beautiful wife, Alison. She’s as important to this series as Sabrina and Daphne, and her presence is written into every sentence. It’s nice that she’s my literary agent too. She’s managed me through ups and downs, my insecurities, and temper tantrums and helped me grow this “silly idea” into a career.

  There are three other people who have made outstanding contributions. The first is my editor, Susan Van Metre, who has been a friend and mentor to me. The second is my other editor, Maggie Lehrman, who came on board midway and has added a new layer to the stories. The third is Jason Wells—probably the hardest-working man in, well, anything. I have been blessed by his cleverness and understanding. They are backed by an army of talented and hardworking people at Amulet Books: Michael Jacobs, Chad W. Beckerman, Laura Mihalick, Chris Blank, and the sales and marketing departments. I am a truly lucky person to have such brilliant people helping me, holding my hand, and demanding the best from me. You have my undying respect, admiration, and loyalty.

  I want to thank my family, Wilma and James Cuvelier, Michael and Kassandra Buckley, Douglas Lancaster and Beth Fargis-Lancaster, Paul Fargis and Rev. Dawn Sangrey, Chris Fargis, John and Vida Fargis, Edwin and Maria Buckley, and all the nieces and nephews both here in the United States and in China. I want to thank my good friends Joe Deasy and Josh Drisko. Thanks to Autumn Heard and Jannelle Purcell at Starbucks as well as everyone at Ted & Honey’s for the chair and the free Wi-Fi.

  Many thanks to Peter Ferguson, who brought these books to life. At my house, Peter’s drawings and paintings have always been received like Christmas presents. Thank you for your vision and inventiveness. Your pencil is forever linked to my laptop.

  Thanks to Finn. I love you, son.

  And to every teacher, librarian, student, professor, blogger, and kid who ever took a chance on this series. Reading takes time. I have appreciated all that you gave me. As Daphne would say, you are all very punk rock.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1 Two Weeks Earlier

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  13 Years Later

  16 Years After That . . .

  About the Author

  ONCE UPON A TIME there was a sleepy river town called Ferryport Landing. It was nestled on the bank of the Hudson River in upstate New York, where mountains look over valleys and water runs down into the great river and on to the sea. Quaint little shops filled the town center, and trees freckled the landscape. The town’s citizens bicycled along cobblestoned lanes and through community gardens. Apple pies cooled on windowsills, and few people locked their doors at night. If a person didn’t know better, he might have suspected Ferryport Landing had been propped up on wheels and rolled out of a storybook.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Now it was dead. Its demise wasn’t slow, like so many other tiny dots on the map that rust and decay when the mill closes or the steel plant shuts its doors. No, Ferryport Landing was murdered. Its citizens tore it to pieces. They smashed shop windows and looted goods. They spilled great heaps of trash onto its streets. They lit fires whose hungry flames still lapped at the few buildings left standing. They tipped over cars, leaving them scattered on the streets like the forgotten playthings of a huge child. The little town was wrecked and then abandoned.

  The Grimm sisters stood over Ferryport Landing’s poor, broken corpse to pay their respects to a fallen friend.

  “Is that it?” Daphne said. “Is that the end?”

  Sabrina nodded. “Yes. And it’s about time.”

  ctober 14

  My name is Sabrina Grimm and this is my journal. My family has been bugging me to write in it for a while. I tried a few times, but to be honest I thought it was stupid. I never wanted to get involved. I wanted to be a girl who lived on the Upper East Side of New York City. I wanted to go to school and make friends and buy bagel sandwiches at the deli on York and 88th Street every morning. But that’s not what happened.

  If you’re reading this, you’re either Puck (stop snooping, stink-face!) or you’re one of my descendants. If you’re a descendant, then maybe you’re like me and you kind of got dumped into this life where everything is upside down and nothing makes sense. Well, I need to fill you in on a few things, and you might want to sit down for this.

  You know those bedtime stories your parents read to you at night? You know, the ones filled with fairies, giants, witches, monsters, mad tea parties, princes on white stallions, sleeping princesses, jungle boys, cowardly lions, and guys with straw for brains? They’re not stories. They’re history. They’re based on actual events and actual people who are as real as you and me. They call themselves Everafters—real-life fairy-tale characters—and that’s where our family comes in. We’re Grimms, descendants of one-half of the Brothers Grimm, and we keep an eye on the Everafter community—which is no picnic. OK, I know you’re probably thinking I’ve been sitting too close to the microwave, but I’m telling the truth.

  Let me start at the beginning. Two years ago my parents, Henry and Veronica Grimm, disappeared. My sister, Daphne, and I were tossed into an orphanage and bounced around the foster care system for a while. For a long time we thought we had been abandoned, but it turned out Mom and Dad were kidnapped (long story). Enter Granny Relda, our long-lost and believed dead grandmother (another long story). Once she tracked us down, she brought us to live with her in a little town called Ferryport Landing. That’s where a lot of the Everafters live.

  You’ve probably never heard of Ferryport Land
ing. As I write this, the town is being destroyed. There’s an angry mob of ogres, trolls, talking animals, and assorted creeps running down its streets, terrorizing everyone. Anyone with any sense has left or gone into hiding—but not us. Oh no! Our family has no sense to lose, which means we’re knee-deep in trouble and things don’t look like they’re going to get any better.

  But you still need to know about Ferryport Landing and what happened here. Which gets me to another of the Grimm family responsibilities. According to tradition it’s our job to keep a journal of everything we see and hear that involves Everafters. The journals might just help you out, and your journals might help out the Grimms that come after you. So, take it from me: just bite the bullet and do it. I can’t count how many times the journals have saved my sister and me.

  Of course, there may not be any more Grimms after me. I might die and then no one will be reading this. Like I said, things are pretty bleak.

  But that’s enough backstory for today. I’ll write more when I can. For now I have to go save the world.

  Sabrina snapped her journal shut and tucked it into the folds of her sleeping bag for safekeeping. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then got to her feet, stretching the stiffness from her aching body. Sleeping on the cold, marble floor of her bedroom was no fun.

  Not that where she and her little sister, Daphne, were sleeping could actually be called a “bedroom.” A bedroom had a bed. A bedroom had a window. A bedroom had a place to put your clothes, a closet, a rug, and other things to make it comfy and homey. What the girls had was an empty space with walls of stone and an unforgivingly hard floor. Sabrina hoped the living situation was temporary, but to make sure, she knew she had to get to work.

  Next to her sleeping bag she kept a rusty cowbell and a drumstick. She scooped them up and padded over to where her sister lay, still slumbering. First she called out to the little girl. She even gave her a few shakes, but Daphne could sleep through a tornado and rousing her meant Sabrina had to take drastic measures. She found that the most effective of those tactics was a cowbell ring to her sister’s ear.

  DONK! The cowbell clanged as the drumstick smacked its side.

  Daphne did not stir.

  DONK! DONK! DONK!

  Nothing.

  “Wake up! We’re under attack. Monsters and lunatics and weird dudes with pitchforks! They’ll be here any second!”

  Still nothing.

  DONK! DONK! DONK! DONK! DONK! DONK!

  Finally, Daphne poked her head out from underneath the flap of her sleeping bag, as did the humongous brown snout of Elvis, the family’s two-hundred-pound Great Dane. Both of them eyed Sabrina sourly.

  “You are a terrible human being,” Daphne croaked.

  “Woof!” the dog agreed.

  “C’mon. Get up. We’ve got to get to work,” Sabrina said.

  Daphne scowled but did as she was told. When she and Elvis were on their feet, they stretched and yawned in unison. Sabrina noticed a huge book hiding in the folds of her sister’s sleeping bag, and she frowned. It was called the Book of Everafter, and it was a collection of magical fairy tales. A person could do more than read it, though. They could actually go inside and visit the stories they loved. It gave people powers, too—dark powers, like the ability to rewrite the past and entrap people in its literary prison.

  “You shouldn’t leave that lying around,” Sabrina said. “I told you when we took it out of its room that you had to be careful with it. Haven’t we had enough trouble without that thing falling into the wrong hands?”

  Daphne snatched it up in her arms. “Sorry.”

  “Have you found anything in all those stories we can use to fight Mirror?”

  The little girl shook her head. “There’s a lot of stories—like thousands! I’m still reading.”

  “Let’s see if anyone else is having any luck,” Sabrina said, then led Daphne and the big dog into a huge hallway known as the Hall of Wonders.

  Massive columns held up a ceiling as high as the sky. Beneath it were hundreds—maybe even thousands—of doors. No one knew for sure. Each opened into its own unique room, and even after many months, the closed doors still sparked the curiosity of Sabrina’s inner detective. The Hall of Wonders was a magical place. She could spend a lifetime exploring it, but now there were more important concerns at hand.

  The sisters stopped at a door that opened into a room not much bigger than their own, but its contents were quite a bit more unusual. Mounted on every wall were a number of beautifully ornate, full-length mirrors—twenty-five of them, to be exact. Of the twenty-five, only five were intact. The rest were broken, only their frames remaining, but Sabrina had collected their shards and carefully glued them onto the walls of a room much closer to the Hall’s exit than the original Room of Reflections. When the light hit the fragments just right, it created a dazzling play for the eyes, full of twisted reflections.

  Moving the mirrors from their home at the far end of Hall had another advantage: other members of Sabrina’s group could keep an eye on them. At the moment, two people watched the mirrors. The first was an elderly man resting in a chair. He had hair like a lightning strike—white and untamed. His suit was several sizes too big for his thin frame, and his arthritic hands trembled in his lap. His name was Mr. Canis. The second figure was almost his opposite. She was no older than Daphne, with amber curls that spilled down to her shoulders. She wore a red sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans, and her face was full of possibility and hope. Everyone called her Red.

  “You two look tired,” Sabrina said.

  “We’re all tired,” Canis said without taking his eyes off the mirrors. He was an old man, and recently his age had been catching up with him fast. He was prone to coughing fits and seemed to wince when he walked. Sabrina was very worried about him.

  Red turned to the girls and smiled. “He won’t sleep. He’s been up for days.”

  “I will sleep when Mrs. Grimm is safe and sound,” Canis growled, then turned his attention to Daphne. “You two should really lock that book up where it belongs.”

  “Geez, the walk to its room is like three hours long. I won’t let anything happen to it. See anything new?” Daphne asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Canis said, gesturing to the five intact mirrors. Instead of reflecting back Sabrina’s image, they revealed a bird’s-eye view of Ferryport Landing. Ugly purple and ebony clouds hovered in the sky—the same clouds that had appeared two days earlier, and now sat over the town, blasting lightning and ear-splitting claps of thunder. “We have found your grandmother. Mirrors, tell them.”

  The five mirrors suddenly glowed with otherworldly light. They shimmered and rippled like the surface of a wishing well recovering from a tossed penny, and when they calmed again, Ferryport Landing was gone and four strange faces materialized. In one mirror, a brutal barbarian named Titan appeared; the second showed a seventies-era nightclub owner who went by the name Donovan; the third was a West African with long dreadlocks named Reggie; and the fourth was Fanny, a roller-skating waitress with hair as alarmingly red as a fire engine. The fifth mirror remained empty but continued to glow.

  “One of the reasons we couldn’t find her is we were looking in the wrong places. She’s still in Ferryport Landing,” Fanny said. She stood in what looked like an old-fashioned ice-cream shop, complete with red counters and matching stools. Behind her, a milk-shake machine hummed and a jukebox waited for a nickel. Fanny chomped on chewing gum—she never seemed to run out—and could be very sweet, but she had a tendency to spin around on her roller skates from time to time, which made Sabrina dizzy.

  “What? How?” Sabrina asked.

  “He hasn’t broken through the barrier,” Canis said.

  “But—why not? Mirror is in Granny’s human body now. That was his whole plan,” Sabrina said.

  “Who cares?” Fanny cheered. “Let’s just be happy Mirror is stuck here in Ferryport Landing with the rest of us.”

  “He can’t be thrill
ed about that,” Daphne said.

  “You said it, kiddo. The light show outside isn’t a storm. It’s a temper tantrum,” Reggie said. When he spoke, his long, thick dreadlocks shimmied like streamers at a New Year’s Eve party. “He’s as stuck as ever, and quite salty, if the storm’s any indication.”

  Daphne slipped her hand into Sabrina’s and gave it a squeeze. Sabrina knew her sister must be just as relieved as she was. Since Mirror hijacked their grandmother’s body two days prior, Sabrina had feared his plan to escape the town had worked. If Mirror had gotten free, he could have gone anywhere, unleashing his magic on an unsuspecting and unprepared world and taking their grandmother with him. But now . . .

  “Serves him right!” Titan roared, and Sabrina spun to face his mirror. He was a rugged man with long rust-colored hair and a scraggy beard. Everything he said came out in a blustery rage, turning his face the shade of his mane. He appeared in front of a medieval torture chamber filled with spiked weapons and boiling oils. Despite his fearsome appearance and strange living quarters, Sabrina could see his heart was in the right place. Now he cried, “If only I were a living, breathing man, I would put a painful end to our brother’s atrocity!”

  “He’s no brother of mine,” Reggie grumbled in his thick Caribbean accent. “The First is a scoundrel of the worst kind.”

  “The First?” Sabrina asked.

  “That’s what we’ve been calling him, sister. He was the first magic mirror the Wicked Queen ever made—you know, the prototype,” Donovan explained.

  “Anything is better than his other name,” Red said. “‘The Master’ is—”

  “Creep-tastic?” Daphne asked, pretending to shudder.

  Sabrina didn’t have to pretend. Every time anyone mentioned Mirror her blood cells flash-froze inside her veins. How could she have ever called him friend? How could she have confided all of her hopes and fears to him? He had played her like a child’s toy, betraying her and her entire family, and now he had her grandmother, manipulating the old woman like a helpless marionette in his twisted puppet show.