Along Came a Spider

285 Pages·2013·0.96 MB·English

by  SeRine Kate

Acknowledgments

As always, many thanks to my friends, family, and fans. Your love for the
Transplanted Tales inspires me! And a big high five to the amazing group
at Kensington. It is an honor to work with every single one of you!
Special thanks to my unbelievable agent, Nicole Resciniti. You keep me
sane with your friendship, guidance, and encouragement. I don’t know
where I’d be without you, Nic! I also need to thank my agency “siblings,”
all very talented and supportive authors who have been there for me every
step of the way.
And speaking of being there, loads of hugs and kisses to Cecy Robson and
Kait Ballenger—two incredibly talented authors whom I have the privilege
to call my friends. Thanks for all the laughter on the good days and the
encouraging hugs on the bad ones. Love you gals!
Lastly, I have to take a moment to thank my dear friend Paul Parnell, who
suggested the character of Rumpelstiltskin to me. Paul, I hope I did him
justice! And special thanks to Kathryn Merkel for giving Rumpelstiltskin
his “true” name.
Prologue

I remember darkness—deep, impenetrable. Not even a hint of ambient light
in the void that had consumed me. And falling. I was tumbling through
space and time in a nauseating spiral that forced the blood to my feet and
sent another sort of blackness rushing toward me. Clinging desperately to
consciousness, I curled into myself, wrapping my arms around my abdomen
in an attempt to stop that sickening rush that made me want to vomit and
sob at the same time.
A scream of terror surged up from the center of my chest, but I bit it back,
forcing myself to remain in control. I had to keep it together, could not let
the fear consume me. That’s what my father had drilled into my head time
and time again.
You must control your fear, Beatrice, or your fear will control you. Never
let your mind slip into the abyss where chaos reigns. . . .
I’d been there once before and had clawed my way out of the chasm one
agonizingly pitiful inch at a time. And now I was falling again—but this
time the abyss was not of my own making.
One moment I’d been playing on the floor of our cottage with my niece
Mariella, and the next, my body had been snatched away from all I’d
known and loved. I’d heard my family’s cries of surprise, caught the look
of horror and panic in my father’s eyes as his arm shot out to grab my hand,
but his fingertips had just barely brushed mine before I’d been jerked into
the void.
And then I was falling. In darkness.
Suddenly there was light. A blinding flash that made me wince even though
my eyes were already squeezed shut. Then a sudden impact jolted the
breath from my lungs. I had to blink several times before I realized I was
lying on my back in a field, staring up at a sky that was not familiar, at stars
that didn’t shine nearly as brightly as they should have.
Slowly, I sat up and looked around, seeing others nearby—just as dazed and
disoriented as I was. They were Tales, some of whom I recognized from my
little village. But we were no longer in Make Believe. That was clear. Gone
was the scent of dew-kissed roses and sunshine on daisies. The air that now
filled my lungs was stale, thick, heavy. The wind that whispered through
the trees did not bring with it the laughter of fairies or the secrets of the
pixies flitting about in the night. And the grass beneath me was no longer
the velvety soft bed I’d lain upon as a child, watching the clouds drift lazily
into fluffy white knights on pudgy steeds as they leisurely made their way
to battle. Coarse and savage, these blades poked through my muslin dress,
stabbing my skin like a thousand Lilliputian swords.
“Are you hurt?”
My gaze darted toward the sound of the voice. The man standing over me
was devilishly handsome, his chiseled features stark and sharp, giving him
an air of danger, but his dark amber eyes were kind as he gazed down at
me.
“Are you all right?” he asked, phrasing the question differently in response
to my blank stare.
This time I nodded and took the hand he extended, letting him pull me to
my feet. “I think so.”
“Good,” he said, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a mischievous grin
that completely altered his countenance. He lifted his hand and wrapped
one of my buttercup yellow ringlets around his index finger. “Hate to see
harm come to a girl as pretty as you.”
I felt my cheeks growing warm at the intensity of his gaze and quickly
looked away, not wanting to peer too deeply into those amber eyes for fear
of what I might see. “What has happened?” I asked, glancing around the
crowd as confusion and panic began to make them uneasy, their frightened
voices growing louder. “Where are we?”
The man at my side shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
“Not in Make Believe, that’s for damned sure.”
I let my gaze drift over his shoulder and saw a tall Tale I recognized from
the story of Aladdin trying to take control of the rapidly deteriorating
situation, his deep voice booming over the din of sorrow. “My friends—
please! You must remain calm!”
A woman with long black hair and eyes as blue as robins’ eggs hurried past
me, glancing my way and giving me a terse nod before joining Aladdin as
he tried to herd the crowd toward a series of carriages drawn by black
horses. “That was Tess Little,” I breathed.
“Little Red Riding Hood?” my companion asked, his brows arching with
interest.
I nodded. “Yes, but . . . Well, it can’t be! She disappeared almost a hundred
years ago with the others.” My heart began to pound. “Have we been
transplanted, too?”
He shook his head. “No idea, but I’ll tell you one thing—I’m not letting
them haul me in like a criminal just so I can find out. If I’ve broken out of
Make Believe, I’m making the most of it.”
At this, his eyes met and held mine. I felt the connection beginning and
started to look away, but his gaze was so unguarded, so unapologetic, I let it
come. And in that glimpse, I saw a soul so steadfast, so dauntless and true,
that I gasped at the beauty of it.
It was rare that a Tale let me past his defenses, rarer still that I was so taken
with what I saw. But here was an intensely intelligent and quietly
courageous man who could command respect from his friends and instill
fear in the hearts of those who weren’t. He was also capable of genuine
kindness and the deepest and most profound love. But I was shocked to see
that he had absolutely no idea what a remarkable man he could be.
“Want to come with me?” he asked, grasping my hand in his and severing
the connection between my soul and his.
I blinked at him, hardly daring to believe what he was saying. But more
surprising was that I did want to go with him even though logic and reason
warned me that such a thing was reckless and foolish. I swallowed hard,
hating what I was about to say. “I cannot,” I told him, wishing I had the
courage to flout propriety and take my chances with a man whose name I
didn’t even know. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “Well, maybe some
other time.” He backed away, grinning a little sadly as he released my hand,
his fingertips touching mine for just a moment before he gave me a wink
and turned away.
“Wait!” I called, hurrying a few steps after him as he sauntered toward the
tree line. “What’s your name?”
He turned and offered me a rakishly charming grin that held more than a
hint of mischief. “Nicky Blue.”
“You there—with the curls!” I started at the voice behind me and whirled
around to see Tess Little striding toward me, her long black duster flapping
around her dark skirt and cherry red high-button boots. “Time to go.”
I obediently moved toward the carriages with her. “Is it true?” I asked.
“Have we been transplanted?”
“Afraid so,” she replied. “But don’t worry—we have people with the FMA
who will help you settle in.”
“The FMA?”
“Fairytale Management Authority,” she explained. “I’ll tell you everything
on the way to headquarters. By the way—I’m Tess Little. But everyone
calls me Red.”
“Beatrice Muffet,” I replied, attempting a smile. “Everyone pretty much
just calls me Beatrice. Or Ms. Muffet.” I chuckled a little. “Except my niece
Mariella—she has trouble pronouncing my name.” My voice caught in my
throat, the words lodging around the lump of sorrow that had rapidly
developed at the thought of never seeing little Mari again. I coughed,
forcing my emotions away, and blinked rapidly to clear the tears that
pricked the corner of my eyes. “She calls me Trish.”
Tess motioned me toward the last remaining carriage. “Well, welcome to
the Here and Now, Trish.”
I placed my foot on the step, but paused and turned to search for Nicky
Blue, hoping that perhaps he had changed his mind and had decided to
come with the rest of us after all. My heart sank when I didn’t see him. I
sighed, a part of me already regretting that I hadn’t gone with him. But it
was too late to change my mind. Nicky Blue had vanished, having faded
deep into the shadows like a spider in the night.
Chapter One

I pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the no-nonsense snap as comforting as
always. As the head of Forensics for the Fairytale Management Authority, I
never quite knew what I might find at a crime scene, but as I strode toward
the shadowy figure standing at the mouth of the narrow alley on Chicago’s
South Side, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, mentally preparing
myself for what always came next.
“What do we have, Grimm?”
Nate Grimm, the FMA’s lead detective and part-time Reaper, doffed his
fedora and ran a hand through his dark hair, stirring the shadows that
surrounded him. “It’s not good, Trish.”
I raised my brows, perplexed by the fact that he seemed a little distressed.
The guy had been a Reaper for centuries. Seeing him rattled by death was
enough to drop a cold stone of dread smack-dab in the middle of my
stomach. “Is that why you called me personally instead of going through
headquarters?”
He nodded. “I didn’t want Red to show up here.”
That stone of dread got a little heavier. If he was keeping something from
his fiancée, who was six months pregnant with his child, this was going to
be even worse than I’d thought. “She’ll be here eventually,” I told him. “I
was in the lab when you called. My assistant knows I went out. Tess is
probably already on her way, and she’s going to be seriously pissed when
she finds out you were trying to keep this from her.”
Nate placed his fedora back on his head, pulling it down a little over his
eyes. “Come take a look and you’ll know why.”
I followed him into the alley and felt the hair on my arms begin to rise even
though I was bundled up against Chicago’s bone-numbing February winds.
I’d been working for the FMA as a coroner and forensics investigator for
going on a century, but that initial hit of negative energy surrounding a
violent death still had the power to bring me to my knees if I let it get to
me. And this one was particularly nasty, sending a chill of apprehension up
and down my spine. I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat
and focused on the details of the crime scene, making note of everything I
saw and cataloging it in my head to include in the report I’d write later that
night.
I glanced up as I walked, searching the network of fire escapes for anyone
who might be lingering to watch as his deeds were discovered by the
authorities, but the rusting ladders were deserted. And no one peeked out
from behind the curtains of the dilapidated apartment building. Apparently,
whatever had occurred had gone down quietly, not drawing the attention of
any of the people living in the low-rent apartments.
Dumpsters heavy with trash that wouldn’t be picked up until morning lined
the length of the alley in evenly spaced groups of two. It was just beyond
one of these groupings in the darkest part of the alley that Nate paused and
jerked his chin toward the shadows. “There.”
I peered into the darkness and gasped, my arm coming up reflexively so I
could bury my nose in the sleeve of my FMA standard-issue wool pea coat.
“Shit.”
I shook my head slightly, clearing away my emotional response, and ran the
facts in my head. White male, medium build, sandy blond hair. Deceased.
But the manner of his death was what got me. His throat had been ripped
open. No, that wasn’t exactly true. It had been gnawed open. And his blood
had been drained from his body so quickly, his skin had shriveled and
sunken in upon itself.
Frowning, I pulled my small flashlight from my pocket, shining it on the
ground, the wall, the dumpsters, but there were no blood splatters that I
could see in the immediate area. He’d either been killed elsewhere and
dumped here, or drained so swiftly no blood had even dripped from the
wounds. Either way, not good. I’d seen wounds like this before and knew
the kind of creature behind it.
“Vampire,” I announced, a wave of apprehension washing over me again as
I uttered the word aloud. I heard Nate curse roundly under his breath. There
was no shortage of vampires that had crossed over from the folklore of
Make Believe—and even some who’d already been hanging out in the Here
and Now long before we ever showed up—but their attacks rarely resulted
in death. We made damned sure that our bloodsuckers were rehabilitated
and taught how to control their cravings to keep them from showing up in
the Ordinaries’ tabloid newspapers and blowing our cover among the
humans.
Every once in a while one would lose it and we’d need to call in FMA’s
Damage Control agents to spin some ridiculous story that was promptly
debunked and then forgotten. But this particular attack—so savage and
brutal—wasn’t like anything I’d seen in decades. Not since—
“Dracula,” Nate growled. “He’s back, isn’t he?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the Reaper, understanding the deadly edge in
his voice. It’d been almost two years since the infamous vampire had gone
to ground after being involved in a series of killings perpetrated by an
enchantress named Sebille Fenwick. Nate had killed Sebille when she’d
tried to add Red to her list of victims, but a radical group of Tales had tried
to raise her from the dead a few months ago, believing she would lead them
to a new day where Tales ruled supreme in our adopted world. I’d been
around to witness that incident first-hand, having nearly become one of
Sebille’s victims myself. But Lavender Seelie, Cinderella’s former fairy
godmother and the reason why we’d been transplanted in the first place,
had killed Sebille for good, making it impossible for her to ever return.
Knowing that Sebille and Dracula had been in league once before, I’d done
a full investigation of the events at The Refuge, but had found no
connection between Vlad Dracula and the plot to resurrect Sebille Fenwick.
The findings were comforting in that he hadn’t been behind the plan, but
had also left me with more questions.
Like what the hell Dracula had been up to since he’d disappeared.
There’d been murmurings of sightings now and then—but they always
turned out to be unsubstantiated, Tales who’d been spooked and just
blamed the ultimate villain at large. What was indisputable, however, were