House of Grimm: Book One of the Grimm Trilogy

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

We pull up in Rella's driveway slowly, trying not to draw any extra attention to us. I help Rella down from the bike and walk her to her front door.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask, and she nods emphatically.

"I'll go to my room quickly," she says, trying to open the front door but fumbling with the lock. "No questions, no answers." Rella lifts a finger to her lips and chuckles to herself. I try not to laugh.

When I turn around, Ryan is still there, waiting for me.

"Okay Red," I say, strolling back over to her and shoving my hands in my pockets. "How did you actually know we were in that cabin?"

She sighs, taking off a glove and shaking out her hand.

"I know what you're doing," she says finally, turning and looking at me. "And I want you to know that you're going to get yourself killed."

"Who's trying to kill me?" I ask.

It's a simple question, but something in her eyes tells me it's not a simple answer.

"Just know I warned you," she says, kicking up her kickstand and revving her engine. "But if you're going to find your friend, you're going to need reinforcements."

And with that she's gone.

I choke on her exhaust and cough. If there was an award for "being the most ambiguously frustrating" first place would go to Jakob Grimm, and a close second would go to Ryan Red. I make my way down the street and toward my house, fingering the little metal compact in my pocket the entire way. Seeing Rachelle's face in the mirror was both horrifying and exhilarating, just like when I saw her in the funhouse glass.

She's alive, but I'm still no closer to finding her.

I'm pulled away from my thoughts as I reach my house, and my stomach drops.

"What the hell?"

As I walk up the drive, I stare at the three squad cars with Grimsby City Police tattooed across their sides in big block letters. They're parked on the curb, bumper to bumper, blocking the mailbox. I swallow nervously and my aunt tumbles through the front door.

Shit.

What is she doing home?

"Are you hurt?" my aunt's voice shakes, and then she's taking me in her arms. I'm expecting her to yell at me, to scream that I'm grounded for twice as long, but all she does is sob into my shoulder and hold me tight. It hits me then that I didn't write an actual time for her and my uncle to come home, and that she may have reported me missing to the police.

"Come on," a deep voice grunts. The policeman that interrogated me at the hospital last night, Officer Lowe, is standing on our porch. Sergeant salt-and-pepper.

"Let's get her inside."

My aunt nods, and then she leads me up the front steps of our house. Something hard drops in my stomach, like some sort of reality shifting. All of these officials wouldn't be here for a kid who'd only been missing a few hours. Something was wrong. Something had changed.

"Over here Ma'am," the officer says.

He gestures to our living room couch, where two other policemen are sitting, sipping mugs of coffee. They don't smile as I enter.

"Should I stay?" my aunt asks.

The first officer motions for her to sit down. Uncle Phillip grunts from the kitchen and comes to join us. The three officers crowd the little couch with their broad bodies, and I sit on a kitchen chair my uncle brings in.