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

the gutter drain on the next building!”
    “Use a gladius!” Seth called out from down the street.
    I cringed, waving him away. He pulled out of his parking space, and immediately an old green Toyota took his place. Five hip-looking young people got out, hurrying across the street.
    “Come on!” one of the hipsters called out to me. He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses. “They’re only letting a hundred people in!”
    “Oh crap,” I said, hurrying with them. I hadn’t even expected not to get in. Cripes! This was the beginning of music’s doomsday, for crying out loud.
    When we reached the door, I recognized the bouncer as the bartender. He was eyeing everyone’s clothing before he let them in. “No pictures,” he said to every single person he let in. “No pictures. No pictures. No pictures.” He got to me, eyeing me up and down. “You twenty-one?” he asked.
    I shook my head.
    He sighed, scratching at his monstrous right ear. “No drinking tonight. No pictures, either.”
    “OK, I promise.”
    He held me there a moment more, then raised his slightly glowing, overly hairy arm, letting me inside.
    It was exactly like my dream, only the ceiling lights had been dimmed so that the handful of stage lights on the other end of the room bathed the empty drum set in a glow. The pool tables were pushed to one side of the room. Dozens and dozens of people stood in front of the stage, squeezing up against the booths, squeezing around the bar waiting for the bartender to return so he could make them drinks.
    “This place is so crazy.”
    I turned around. It was the hipster with the thick glasses again. He adjusted them, then licked his thin lips. “You want a drink? I don’t touch the stuff myself. Not anymore. But I could get you one if you want.”
    “No thanks,” I said. I glanced around. “Although a bathroom …”
    He nodded. “I got ya. Need to freshen up and the like.”
    That, and maybe draw a sword in the wall. “Yes. I need to freshen up.”
    “That’s a nice purse.”
    “Hmmm? Oh. Thanks.” I looked down at my little gray handpurse. It really wasn’t a nice purse. It was old, another disposable bag that I could throw away without shedding a tear if the situation got out of hand. If this whole saving-the-world thing kept up, pretty soon I’d have the entire bottom section of my closet cleaned out.
    To our left, the door shut. The bartender twisted the knob in a strange way, then walked over to the bar and started mixing drinks. The door was locked now. There was no escape. If Briar didn’t succeed with his part of the plan, there might be bloodshed.
    “Whoops, too late,” said the man with glasses. “They’re going to go on any minute. Look.” He pointed to the right of the stage, where a little door stood next to an old cigarette machine no longer in use. “They’re gonna come out of that door. I’m so stoked. You wanna get closer?”
    “I do,” I said. “But first I really need to use the restroom.”
    I fought my way through the crowd to the other side of the bar, where the men’s and women’s restrooms were. I went into the women’s, patiently waiting for the stall on the far end. It looked as if the place hadn’t been cleaned in years, with dirty floor tiles and brown scum lining the cracked porcelain sinks, but none of the other women seemed to care. Not even the young girl reapplying dark lipstick in front of a mirror so streaked with grime that you could barely see your reflection.
    When it was finally my turn, I shut the door behind me and pulled the fountain pen from my purse. I drew a sword in the brick wall, which had been painted white and then desecrated with a fair amount of obscene graffiti. I drew a gladius instead of a saber, hoping its short blade might give me an edge if I had to take on the entire band.
    Best case scenario: Briar cuts the power, the crowd disperses, and all four of the Corrupted surrender without a fight.
    Worst case scenario: me fighting