Read Online The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 by Ken Brosky, Isabella Fontaine - Free Book Online Page B

pretty bookshelf, in other words.
    Dad was sitting on the couch, watching a sports show on TV. “Can you do your chore this afternoon? How were exams?”
    “Yes. And good.” I watched the TV for a moment. “I thought you were working today.”
    “Already done,” he said. “Your mom wants me to do some yard work out back. I’m procrastinating.”
    “Well you better hurry,” I told him, walking into the kitchen. “It’s supposed to rain again this evening.” I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a cup of strawberry yogurt, then grabbed a spoon from the drawer next to Mom’s new favorite appliance: the new dishwasher. White, sleek, runs like a jet engine. She was easy to please.
    “Where’s Mom?” I called out.
    “Working on an ad project all day,” Dad called out.
    I went upstairs to my room, tearing off the top of the yogurt as I went. I opened my door and tossed the top in the wastebasket next to the dresser. I sat down at my little desk, opening my laptop to check the ol’ social network. Status updates were an important part of the afternoon.
    “Ahem.”
    I spun around. There, leaning against the dresser, was the rabbit.
    “You look surprised,” he said.
    “I am!”
    His whiskers twitched. “I don’t see why. It should be painfully obvious what’s happening at this point.”
    “Please tell me!” I said with a laugh. “Am I going crazy?”
    “No, no,” the rabbit said. What was his name again? Briar. That was what his friends called him, at least. A giant talking rabbit with friends. “Far from crazy. Nor am I a made-up figment of your imagination. If I wanted to, I could walk right downstairs and reveal myself to your father and he would see me, too.”
    “Oh my gawd, please do that.” I laughed again. “I would love to see that.”
    Briar shook his furry head. “I’m not interested in giving your father a heart attack. And as much as I enjoy a good laugh, I think right now would be a bad moment to engage in such distractions.”
    “Well, I’m glad you’re in a serious mood.”
    The rabbit meandered over to my closet.
    “Don’t go in there!” I ordered.
    “Good gracious!” he exclaimed, stepping away from the open door. “How many clothes does one young girl need? And the shoes!”
    “Every single pair of shoes is important,” I said, walking over to the closet and shutting the door. “Flats, pumps and tennis shoes all have their place. And I’ll have you know forty-five tops is on the low end of the scale.”
    “That’s a terrifying prospect,” the rabbit said. He sighed. “Lots of purple, I noticed.”
    “Indigo. It’s blue with a hint of violet . It’s my favorite color.”
    “It’s a nice color, although I must admit your shirts leave little to the imagination.”
    “V-necks are hardly scandalous. I have a nice neck. Lots of girls hide their necklines. We get weird, annoying pimples at this age, if you haven’t noticed.” I sat down on my bed. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”
    “Ah yes,” the rabbit said, stuffing his paws in the little pockets of his comical-looking pants. “Denial. Refusal of adventure. The second step of the journey of the hero.”
    “The journey … wait, what hero?”
    Briar chuckled. “I’m getting ahead of myself, I know. If I had to guess, I would say right now all you’re thinking about is that strange trail left by the boy of your dreams.”
    My heart sank. “How did you know about that?”
    “Because I can see it too,” Briar said. He drew back the dark blue curtain to look out the window. “Gosh, it would be nice if your neighborhood didn’t have all these twisty-turning streets. Easy to get lost if you’re a rabbit without a compass.”
    “How did you do that?” I asked. “Draw back the curtain, I mean. You’re not real.”
    “I am real,” the rabbit said. “And I can do a great many things, young lady. I just so happen to be an amazing cook.”
    “The trail,” I said. “What is it?”
    “A