Chapter 2
JACOB
THE BLACK FOREST
“Faster!” I urge Storm, flicking his reins and hunkering lower in the saddle as we canter across the meadow.
Tall grass whips against my riding boots and sweat drips from my brow even though it’s autumn.
The hoofbeats create their own rhythm, and I allow my body to sink into the hunt.
Not far ahead, I spot the balding head of a small man, ducking in and out of the bramble of the hazel trees before he darts into the forest.
Bleeding skies. The last place I want to enter is the forest. Locals warned me it’s haunted, grounds inhabited by witches and prowling with wolves hungry for a midnight snack. Outsiders likely scoff at those tales, chuckling over the stories while enjoying a brew at the tavern.
But I believe every word.
My life’s a cursed existence. I suppose it’s only fitting I haunt these lands, rather than settle with a family. I certainly deserve it. As I draw up to the forest edge, Storm skitters alongside the brush and snarling tree boughs.
“Don’t worry, old boy.” I slip to the ground, patting his lathered side. “Stay here and munch on this juicy grass while I dare the unthinkable. Again.”
That last word is more of a grumble as I tie him to an oak, giving him a wide berth to graze.
From my pouch, I withdraw the hourglass, heavy as stone, and assess how much time I have left.
The crimson liquid nearly fills the entire bottom bulb.
Panic rises inside me, threatening to choke all reason.
This is the closest we’ve come to not completing a story.
I left Wilhelm sitting in our new bookshop, hunched over and ashen. Every minute of my delay means his time is ticking. Before I left, he smiled, promising he’d unpack the rest of our belongings.
I grind my teeth. I need to find a way to free us of this madness. Until then, I’ll finish this story. Even if it kills me.
A chill spiders over my skin as I creep into the forest. The trees fold around me, the sharp tang of magic clinging to the air.
Footprints imprinted into the soft earth create a trail, which I follow.
Whispers shudder around me. The wind wails, rattling the tree boughs.
I spin in a circle, trying to pinpoint where the voices are coming from.
“This way.”
“Jaaaaccooobb.”
“Come, come, come.”
I hunker to the forest floor and press my palm to the dirt.
Closing my eyes, I listen. My professor used to tell me I was a poor listener, but that was only because I found he had little worth listening to.
This forest, on the other hand, overflows with stories.
They call to me, itching at my skin, whispering in my ears, tingling my nerves.
A smile curves my lips. I’m close.
I take off until I find the hovel tucked in the hillside.
Thorny brambles and moss offer protection from the careless eye.
Probably fooled travelers or hunters. But I’m not your average hunter.
Lightly, I inch closer, sword ready. There isn’t much to the place other than a tiny window, hardly bigger than my torso, and a wooden door fit for a child.
I rap my fist on the door. Might as well be civilized, right?
“Go away!” a voice squawks from inside.
“You and I are due for a long chat.”
“Never!”
“Over a nice drink perhaps?”
“Over my dead body!”
I lean against the door and sigh, twirling my sword in my palm. Truth is, being civilized is never effective.
“Fine,” I say. “Have it your way then. I know how you tried to steal that child. Because of that your time here is finished.”
Not to mention his name is on the hourglass. I try the door. Locked. Gritting my teeth, I step back, and with a running start, crash my body into the wooden frame. The wood buckles, and a piece even splinters, but the bolt on the other side holds fast. I stalk to the window and peer inside.
The room is simply outfitted with a table, single chair, bed made of straw, and large pile of additional straw with a golden sheen in the corner.
But it’s the spinning wheel glistening like honey that makes my eyes narrow.
No sign of the little man. Then I spot his bottom, sticking out of the fireplace as he ducks inside to climb the chimney.
I glower, hating when the scoundrels make me work for it. Sheathing my sword, I abandon the hut and scurry to the edge of the hillside where his hut is built. I reach the chimney just as the man’s head pops out.
I grab him by the cuff of his shirt, but he wiggles and squirms free like a slippery trout. Thin golden threads shoot out from his palms. They twist through the air and wrap around my wrists, cinching so tight the strands cut deep into my skin.
Blood spurts from my wrists, causing my temples to throb.
Ashes and bone, I hate these Forbidden. The sooner we get rid of them from our world, the better.
The man spins around, studying me with large eyes that drink in the whole world with one glance.
He breaks into a cackling laugh that makes his pointed white beard jiggle.
More of his gold threads snake across the ground toward me, folding around my legs as if to mummify me.
“Release me this instant!” I demand, struggling.
“You think you’re so smart,” he taunts, hopping on one foot like this is a Summerfest game. “No one visits me without consequences. You’ll bleed to death just like the others. But unlike those before you, I’ll laugh and dance over your dead body.”
“And here I was merely hoping we could have a nice chat.”
The trees blur as my blood seeps out of me, dripping from my fingertips, splattering over my boots. My palms are so slick, it takes every ounce of mental energy to lift my sword and slice the golden threads binding me. In seconds, I close the space and press the tip of my steel to his neck.
He stills. “How did you do that?”
“Run away and I’ll slice off your head,” I say in a half-growl. “I’m in no mood to go gallivanting through the forest and ruining my new cloak, so if you must be killed, so be it.”
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“Jacob Grimm, and I merely wish to hear your life story. Is that too much to ask?”
“Probably.”
“So much bitterness for a Monday. The week has hardly begun.”
I check his neck for the mark just to be sure.
It’s there. Whirls like the golden straw he spins.
Every Forbidden’s mark is different, and from what I can tell, each signifies an element of that Forbidden’s magic.
Satisfied, I haul him down the incline and through the forest, where I hope Storm is happily munching on grass.
“Listen,” the man says. “How about we trade? I’ll give you whatever you wish if you just let me free.”
“You speak as if you have great power.”
“A beautiful woman to keep you warm at night?”
“I’ve no time for love or warmth.”
“Then gold. Infinite riches. Yes, that’s what you wish, isn’t it? I can spin gold for you. Heaps of it! Just take me back to my home.”
“The only thing I wish for is something no king, witch, or even the Devil himself can offer.” Then I mutter, “That said, a decent necktie which doesn’t get bloody every time I go on a hunt might be nice.”
“I have the power of a king,” the man presses. “Merely guess my name and your wish will be granted.”
This conversation teeters on territory I avoid at all costs.
“Power? Granting wishes?” I chuckle mirthlessly as I clean myself off in a stream. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“Your wounds.” His eyes widen as he points to my now clean, smooth wrists. “They’re healed. Not a single mark from my threads. How is that possible?”
“I’d rather not discuss private matters.”
Why do the Forbidden always ask so many maddening questions? I need Wilhelm to make up a list of excuses I can use. I march the man out of the forest and into the open field. Thankfully, Storm is still where I left him. In one piece to boot. Sure, he’s a bit frantic, pacing about, but he’s alive.
“Fine,” I say, tying Baldy up so he’s attached to me. Might as well play his game to pass the time. “How many guesses do I get?”
“How many?” He scratches the top of his head as if the question bothers him greatly. “No one has asked that of me before.”
“How about three?” I offer as I untie my horse, who’s pawing at the earth. “I guess your name, you tell me your story. I don’t, you trot along free as a weasel.”
I hold out my hand to shake on it. He spits on his palm and then slaps the slimy gooeyness into the handshake.
“Lovely.” I grimace and try to wipe my hand free. “Is your name Conrad?”
The man stands taller, adjusting his brown tunic and belt. “Nope.”
“Harry.”
“Not even close.” He eyes the forest with a smile.
“Perhaps it’s Rumpelstiltskin?” I finish with a wicked grin.
His face falls. He studies me in a mix of surprise and horror.
I sigh, deciding there’s actually no joy in playing this ridiculous game of mouse trap.
It’s been years of misery, hunting for stories.
I’m supposed to be full-time at the university, but instead, here I am, traipsing about the countryside like a lunatic.
Curse the Enchantress and her Forbidden minions.
“You are evil! The Devil himself!” Rumpelstiltskin cries. “Nasty man. You knew who I was even before you laid eyes on me.”
“So much sour just makes Mondays dull.” I pat the saddle of my horse. “Come along and I’ll give you a ride back—”
Dark forms slip out of the forest, padding with calculating sureness over the soft earth. Their fur juts up at the ends like blades, and their size is triple to my own. Wolves, a whole pack of them. Strange red eyes focus on me, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight.
I mount my horse in one swift move, dragging the man up behind me. The wolves launch out of the shadows. The horse rears up on its hind legs. It takes all my strength to keep both of us on the horse.
“Ride!” I order, and we take off, streaking across the plain like a bolt of lightning on a summer’s night.
But the wolves are clever. Too clever. They flank themselves out to keep us from heading back to the road, instead forcing us toward a manor rising up in the distance.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t kill me if I told you my story!” Rumpelstiltskin says.
Ahead, a wooden fence stretches out, running along the full expanse of the field.
Oxen and cows graze in a pasture while another field is golden with wheat ready to be harvested.
I flick the reins, urging my horse faster.
He leaps over the low stone wall. I glance back.
Oddly, the wolves halt at the barrier, even though they easily could have bounded over the wall.
They pace along the edge, whining as if wishing to cross.
“Well, look who’s swifter now?” Rumpelstiltskin laughs.
My muscles relax, and I allow our pace to slow.
“We got away from them too easily,” I mutter. “Something isn’t right.”
As if in answer, dark forms swoop down from the sky. Ravens—seven in fact—along with a flock of crows squawking as if crying out a battle charge, start flying our way. Experience warns me they could be trouble.
“That doesn’t look promising,” Rumpelstiltskin says. “I’m fairly certain that staying at your side guarantees death.”
“So it would seem.”
I calculate the distance to the manor, but gauging the swiftness of the birds, there’s no way we can make it there in time. The only thing close is a large hazel tree stretched out in the center of the field. It will at least keep them from attacking us mid-air. I urge Storm faster.
The ravens swoop down, veering straight for us like birds of prey.
And attack.
Beaks peck at my hair. Claws rip into my flesh. Sharp feathers slice my skin. It won’t be long before they devour us, piece by piece.
I really hate my job.