Free The Sisters Grimm: Book Eight: The Inside Story by Michael Buckley, Peter Ferguson Page A

the violently shaking beanstalk.
    “I smell the blood of an Englishman!” the giant bellowed.
    “No! You don’t! We’re from the Upper East Side of Manhattan!” Sabrina cried, scampering down the vine as fast as she could. “Puck, take Daphne again. Get her out of here.”
    Before Puck could help, the giant’s big hand scooped the sisters up into its tight, sweaty grip and raised them so that they were eye to eye with his horrid, ruddy face. A tangle of overgrown hairs sprouted from his nose, and each of his broken teeth was a different shade of brown. A cloud of putrid air blasted out of his mouth that rivaled the smell of his boot.
    “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control,” Puck said as he flew casually over to the giant’s ear. He shouted something to the big brute that the girls could not hear. They were too busy screaming and praying. A moment later, Puck fluttered back down to them. “Allow me to introduce you to my assistant.”
    “What are you talking about?” Sabrina whimpered.
    “I just recruited some help. Try to keep up, ugly,” Puck said.
    The giant reared its head and grunted at Puck.
    “Not you!” Puck shouted, then pointed to Sabrina. “She’s the ugly one.”
    The giant squinted at Sabrina and nodded.
    “He’s on our side,” Puck continued.
    “Friends!” the giant roared. Then, with a sudden jerk, the giant climbed down the rest of the beanstalk with ease. In no time at all, the children and their enormous sidekick were on the ground, though the giant still held them tightly ten feet off the ground.
    The girls peered up at him suspiciously, unsure whether to trust Puck or kick their way down and run for their lives. Neither seemed a safe bet.
    “He’s really going to help us stop Pinocchio?” Sabrina asked.
    Puck pointed across the farm. Pinocchio and his tiny helpers were bolting toward the forest not far away. “Hey, big guy, you see that boy running across the field?”
    The giant grunted.
    “That’s the guy who stole your stuff. He’s Jack.”
    The giant growled and took off across the farm, stomping on the little house beneath the beanstalk in his eagerness. Puck flew alongside his new recruit.
    “You told him that Pinocchio is Jack?” Sabrina asked.
    Puck nodded. “Better than telling him you’re Jack.”
    Sabrina looked down at her clothes and saw she was wearing well-worn wool pants, a filthy shirt, and a cap. The Book had turned her into Jack.
    “Good thinking,” Daphne said. “You know, sometimes you’re . . . you’re Pucktastic!”
    “New word?” Sabrina asked. Daphne had her own special vocabulary that seemed to materialize out of thin air.
    Daphne nodded. “It means Puck-like in the best possible way.”
    Eventually, the giant stepped over Pinocchio to block his path. He spun around, set the girls down at his feet, and growled at the little boy.
    “Step aside, brute,” Pinocchio said.
    “Fe! Fi! Fo! Fum!” the giant bellowed. “I smell the blood of an Englishman.”
    “You big idiot,” the little boy said. “I’m not part of your story.”
    “Yes, he is,” Puck shouted into the giant’s ear. “He’s Jack! Jack the Giant Killer. You know, in the killer of giants. Don’t believe a word of what he says.”
    The giant roared and beat his chest like an overgrown gorilla.
    Pinocchio stomped the ground in anger and stretched out his hand. In it he was holding a long black stick with a crystal star on the end. It crackled and popped with magical energy. He flicked it and a lightning bolt shot out and hit the giant in the chest. The giant cried out in rage and agony as he staggered back a step. Sabrina could see the attack had wounded him slightly, but his pride seemed to have taken a bigger blow. He looked perplexed that such a little boy could hurt him.
    “Where did you get that?” Daphne asked Pinocchio.
    “I’ve been seizing some unique items in the stories I’ve visited,” Pinocchio said. “Some of them have proven to be