The Grimm Chronicles, Vol. 2 by Ken Brosky, Isabella Fontaine, Dagny Holt, Chris Smith, Lioudmila Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

me. She looked ahead, humming some song to herself.
    She walked closer. The black smoke warped into little finger-like curls, slinking along the curb, slipping along the concrete. As it passed over the grass of the boulevard, each blade wrinkled up, its color draining.
    “I got to hide from you, baby,” the girl sang, walking closer. She had her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, her little mini-mp3 player hanging onto the collar of her tight yellow t-shirt.
    The smoke slipped closer. I tried to follow it, but I had no control. I tried again, willing myself to run. Maybe I could reach her and somehow push her out of the way.
    But it was too late. The smoke slipped up the girl’s legs, wrapping itself tightly around her torso and squeezing. Her eyes widened. She gasped, her headphones falling off her head. The smoke squeezed tighter, and when the girl opened her mouth a strange blue cloud escaped, rolling down her chin like drool and disappearing inside the smoke.
    It pulled away, slinking along the curb. The girl blinked a few times, looked around, then picked up her headphones. I could hear the music playing through the speakers. The girl listened for a moment, then pulled them off again and tossed her mp3 player onto the ground before walking past me.
    “I’m telling you, that was it,” I told Seth on the ride to school. Trish was already out sick on the very first Friday of the school year, so it was just us in his mom’s car.
    “The Triangle,” Seth said thoughtfully, turning left at the next set of traffic lights. “What does the rabbit have to say about it?”
    “Oh, he’s always ‘certain doom’ this and ‘certain doom’ that. He doesn’t know what it is.”
    “Well, I can tell you what the lyrics are from.”
    I turned to him. “Huh?”
    “The lyrics that the girl was singing. They’re from a band called The Peasants. Good band. Hardly ever play live.” He shrugged. “Haven’t heard much from them lately. The music scene in Minneapolis seems like it just died this year.”
    “Died …” I thought back to the girl. She hadn’t died. But after the little puff of smoke escaped her mouth, it had seemed as if the music had made her visibly annoyed.
    “Yeah, I swear it’s like, a bunch of bands just stopped playing or something. It’s really weird. I always check out the concert venues up in Minneapolis and, like, nothing is selling out. Not even the big acts.”
    “Hmmmm.” I glanced out the window, thinking. There had to be a connection to the fiddler. But why was the smoke creature stealing music ? And why couldn’t anyone remember it happening?
    During fencing, I got paired up with two more boys, both of whom refused to go easy on me.
    “These boys are killers,” Mr. Whitmann announced, and the other boys growled ferociously. Even Chase, who sat in his wheelchair at the end of the row of folding chairs, made a bemused little growling noise.
    I got closer this time, focusing on keeping myself inbounds as I danced back and forth on the mat. But once again, I found myself defeated at the end of class. Sweating. Angry. Frustrated.
    “You want some free advice?”
    I turned to Chase, who was wheeling himself around the soft floor mats. The space was tight, and for a moment his right wheel got caught on the corner of one of the bench press machines. He sighed, shaking his head. One of the other boys—Scott—moved to help but Chase waved him away, rolling the chair back a few inches and then pushing the wheels forward again. He still had his hair styled like Elvis from the 50’s, combed to the side as if he was a troublemaker from a black-and-white movie. And he was wearing a simple red t-shirt and dark jeans, too—no baseball jersey.
    “Fine,” I said. “Let me have it. But just so you know, I’m in a bad mood. And I’m holding a sword.”
    He smiled. “You’re letting your stance open up whenever you attack. It’s making you more vulnerable to counter-attacks.”
    My mind