Snakes covered the floor of the lobby, so deep they writhed upon each other, crawling back and forth. The counter gnome rang a bell.
I waited for security to come over and push me from my perch into a pile of poisonous snakes. Instead, gnomes began to gather behind the safety glass. Five, fifteen, and then a hundred of them at least. Tiny gnome faces watched me from across the counter as they crowded in.
“Go on,” said the counter gnome.
I’d done a lot of things I was sorry for. I’d also done a lot of things I should have been sorry for, but wasn’t really. Fortunately I’d also told a lot of lies while working for Grimm. “I’m sorry I ran over Bernie. It was my fault; I should have been looking more carefully. In fact, I’m sorry for every gnome I’ve ever hit.”
Their eyes went wide.
Too late I closed my mouth and fixed my gaze on the counter.
The counter gnome walked to the edge of the counter, his tiny hands balled into fists. “How many of us have you run over?”
I chewed on my lip for a moment. “How many do you know about?”
“Just Bernie.”
I finally let out the breath I’d been holding in; a long, steady sigh. “In that case, he’s the only one. And I’m really sorry.”
One of the gnomes grimaced at me.
“I mean, I shouldn’t have been driving at all. It was dark, and I had no business driving when I couldn’t see what, I mean who, might be hiding in a pothole. I am sorry for every mean thing I ever said about gnomes. I’m sorry for the time I used a priority mailbox to send regular mail. I’m sorry I kept a little plastic basket you delivered the mail in. I promise I will never spindle, punch, or fold again.”
“What do you want?”
“I made a pickup here a while back. Signed for it to do last-mile delivery myself. I need the address it was going to. You said you kept a copy for your trophy wall. I need the address.”
“Not good enough,” said the counter gnome, and his audience applauded.
“I’ll throw in a pile of stamps. Also, I’ll sign anything else. You can all have a signature to put on your wall.”
“Anything?” asked the counter gnome.
“Anything. You name it, I’ll sign it. I need that address.”
He pushed a button, and the glass over the counter slid upward. I leaped over it, happy to be away from the snakes, and followed him back to his office.
He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
The chair was about six inches square. Heck, the gnome’s desk was the size of a clipboard. If it weren’t for government regulations I wouldn’t fit in the room at all. Another gnome came in with a box of pens, and I began to sign, thankful that the arm Evangeline hurt wasn’t the one I wrote with.
Hours had passed and my hand had cramped into a claw before we were finally done signing things. Every scrap of paper in the place had my scrawl, along with most of the office furniture. I’d signed the counter gnome’s desk seven different times itself. He looked in a mirror to admire my signature on his rear before pulling up his pants, and then walked over to the wall. Behind a glass picture frame I saw a shipping receipt with my name and an address scrawled in Dwarfish. He handed it to me. “Here. Just promise not to drive so fast.”
I took it gingerly with my bad hand; my good fingers hurt too bad from holding the pen. “What exactly was Bernie doing in the pothole?”
A grin spread across the gnome’s face and his eyes lost focus as he daydreamed. “Trying to set a world record for most time spent in a pothole without getting run over. He almost made it too.”
BACK IN DWARF Town I wandered the streets, watching for a match to the puzzling symbols. At last I found it, on a tiny side street near the bottom of Middle Kingdom. The streets of Dwarf Town were empty. The dwarves knew that most of Kingdom was about to become one gigantic no parking zone. I found the house at which we had made our delivery. The symbols matched perfectly.
See, while I’d always known that fleshing silver could clear up acne and get bloodstains out of cotton, at the ball, I saw Fairy Godmother use it on her mirror. Evangeline and I had dropped off fleshing silver here.
Since most dwarvish clothing was so filthy it could basically run around on its own, I didn’t think he was using it for cleaning. And acne? Dwarves had such bad acne that if you wanted a cream cheese bagel, all you needed was a plain bagel and a dwarf who would let you squeeze his cheeks. That left only magic mirror repairs.
I knocked on the door and got no answer. A strange symbol was written on the door, but the color of the paint, bright red, identified it as a warning. I tried the door and it opened.
“Can you not read?” said a voice behind me.
I turned and saw a dwarf guard, a heavy hammer in his hand. “The Red Death lies within. Enter if you will, but if you try to leave, I’ll have your head.”
I pushed the door open and crawled through. Inside, someone had painted the walls brown and black. After a moment, I realized it wasn’t paint. Something had splattered every ounce of blood in a dwarf over the walls. Dwarf blood spread poorly and didn’t cover well. I picked my way through the house and finally up a staircase. The top floor contained only a tiny bed, but what caught my eye was a door. It should have opened a hole in the roof. The house was only two stories high, with a tiny conical roof. This odd door hung on one hinge, splintered. I stepped through it, into a room that could not possibly exist in the same house.
The room was completely empty, with warped wood floors. Out of a porthole window, I saw an ocean of blue-green water. A massive picture frame filled one wall, and the floor was covered in mirror shards. I picked up a tiny fragment and felt his familiar presence. This was Grimm’s original mirror, and it lay in a thousand pieces.
I knelt in the shards and began trying to piece them together. It must have been hours before I found the first two. I slid them into place, matching their curves. My fingertips were bloody from a dozen tiny cuts, and splinters of glass stuck from my fingers like I was a cactus.
I painted a strip of silver along the crack, and it solidified. The shard still showed the room, but I also saw, or thought I saw, a ghostly outline. I found another shard, and another, and sealed them into place. I found the next one. That’s when I realized I could see him, looking out at me with those quiet eyes like always. I slid another piece into place, and as it sealed, he spoke.
His voice had a weird echo in it, like a long-distance call. “If you don’t mind, my dear, I will offer a hand.”
“Be my guest.” The sea of glass quivered, shook, and slid. One piece flicked through the air to snap into place, and another, and another.
“Silver,” said Grimm, and I painted them. Now the shards moved like mice, scampering to the right places. As I painted them in, the glass flew faster and faster. At last the flask of silver rose out of my hand.
“Marissa, hold out your hands.”
I did, and the splinters flew from them like darts.
The fleshing silver rose out of the vial, assuming the shape of a spider web, sealing the last tiny specks.
When Grimm spoke now his voice echoed in the room like he was yelling. “Ah. That feels better.”
I would have hugged him if it were possible. “Good to have you back.”
“I owe you my existence, my dear. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but may I ask how exactly it is you can be here without my geis?” I’d never seen Grimm look like this. His grin was so wide it had to hurt, and at the same time I thought I saw a hint of anger in his eyes, or determination.
“I paid a witch most of my Glitter to curse me.”
He nodded his head. “Of course you did.”
“I need your help. I have to find Ari and Liam, and I have a score to settle with a prince.”