“Are they sick?” Daphne asked as she held her mother’s hand.
“No, liebling. Just sleeping,” Granny Relda said.
Sabrina put her head on her father’s chest and heard his heart beating. Then she reached up and kissed him on the forehead. “Did they find the baby?” she asked.
“No sign of it,” Sheriff Hamstead said. “All that was there was an empty bassinet.”
“Why won’t they wake up?” Daphne asked.
“It’s a sleeping spell,” Granny explained.
“And a strong one at that,” Mirror said as his face appeared in the reflection. “I’m sure we don’t have anything in the Hall of Wonders that can break it.”
“Then what can we do?” Sabrina said.
“These sleeping spells . . . some of them are fairly normal potions, sometimes poisoned flowers or apples, but overwhelmingly they are cast by someone with a vendetta against the victim,” Uncle Jake said. “Luckily, even bad magic has a backup plan, and in nearly every case I’ve ever heard, the spell can be broken with a kiss.”
Elvis hopped up on his back paws and licked Veronica on the face.
“Elvis, this is my mom,” Daphne explained to the big dog. “You’re going to love her.”
“I kissed Dad on the forehead. Why didn’t he wake up?” said Sabrina
“It has to be a romantic kiss from someone who truly loves them,” Granny Relda explained.
“If one of them was awake then this would be no problem,” Mr. Canis said.
“Wait, if that’s how you break the spell, how are we going to wake them?” Sabrina said. “My parents love each other. They are the only ones that could wake each other up.”
When no one answered, Sabrina thought she might cry.
“We’ll find a way,” Granny said as she took Sabrina into her arms.
“In the meantime, we should address the problem with Puck,” Mr. Canis said. “He is growing weaker. If we can use the Vorpal blade to cut a big enough hole in the barrier, I’d like to take the car and get the boy to his people.”
“I’ll go with you,” Hamstead said. “I happen to be between jobs at the moment.”
“The Queen of Hearts won the election?” Daphne cried.
“By a landslide,” Hamstead grumbled.
“Oh, dear,” Granny said.
Sabrina stared down at her parents. She knew they would understand. “I’ll go, too. Puck would never have been hurt if he weren’t trying to help us find Mom and Dad. I owe it to him.”
“Me, too!” Daphne said.
“Jacob, can I trust you in the house all alone?” Granny asked her son.
Uncle Jake smiled. “Probably not, but I’ll keep the place safe.”
Mr. Canis helped Granny Relda put Puck in the front seat of the car and then helped her in as well. When everyone had squeezed into the jalopy, Uncle Jake waved and wished them them all the luck in the world.
“You be careful among the Faerie folk,” Uncle Jake said. “If you think this town is full of nuts, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
“We’ll be careful,” Sabrina said.
“Take care of my Elvis,” Daphne said. The big dog leaped up to her window and gave her a farewell lick on the face.
Mr. Canis started the car and backed it out of the driveway.
“We’re an odd group of people for an adventure, don’t you think?” Hamstead squealed.
Granny smiled. “Pig and Wolf and Grandma. Who would have thought it?”
Even Mr. Canis laughed. Sabrina hoped he would never do it again. It was an obnoxious snorty sound.
Daphne hugged her sister. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first Christmas in Ferryport Landing.”
Sabrina gazed out the window as the car rolled down the road. Would they be able to save Puck? Would they find a way to wake their parents? And would the family Grimm ever get its happily ever after?
Michael Buckley is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sisters Grimm and NERDS series. He has also written and developed television shows for many networks. Michael lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife, Alison, and his son, Finn.
This book was designed by Jay Colvin and Vivian Cheng and art directed by Chad W. Beckerman. It is set in Adobe Garamond, a typeface that is based on those created in the sixteenth century by Claude Garamond. Garamond modeled his typefaces on those created by Venetian printers at the end of the fifteenth century. The modern version used in this book was designed by Robert Slimbach, who studied Garamond’s historic typefaces at the Plantin-Moretus Museum in Antwerp, Belgium.
The capital letters at the beginning of each chapter are set in Daylilies, designed by Judith Sutcliffe. She created the typeface by decorating Goudy Old Style capitals with lilies.
abrina sighed, shifted in her seat, and wondered for the hundredth time when they’d get to Faerie. Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted blue-and-red lights flashing in the window behind them. Mr. Canis pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine.
“What’s going on?” Sabrina asked.
“We’re being pulled over by the police,” Granny said. She and Mr. Canis shared a concerned look.
There was a tap on Mr. Canis’s window. The old man rolled it down and a very angry police officer, wearing a short navy blue coat and sunglasses, peeked inside. He eyed the family suspiciously.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he said.
“Were we speeding?” Mr. Canis asked.
“Oh, I didn’t pull you over for speeding. I pulled you over because this . . . this tank you’re driving is violating at least a hundred different environmental and safety laws. Let me see your driver’s license.”
Mr. Canis glanced at Granny Relda and then turned back to the policeman. “I’m afraid I don’t have one.”
The policeman laughed, seemingly in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. OK folks, everyone step out of the car.”
“Officer, I’m sure we can—”
The officer bent down. His smile was gone. “Step out of the car.”
Granny turned in her seat to look at the girls and Mr. Hamstead. “OK, let’s get out of the car.”
Daphne was sound asleep, so Sabrina shook her until the little girl opened her eyes.
“Whazzabigidea?” Daphne grumbled.
“Get up, we’re going to jail,” Sabrina said, helping her out of the car.
They were parked on a bridge and the wind coming off the water below was brutal. The cold air froze Sabrina to the bone as she watched cars and trucks whiz by. It was a terrible day, and the dark clouds hanging in the sky warned that it was going to get worse.
“Officer, if I could be of any assistance,” Mr. Hamstead said as he tugged his pants up over his belly. “I happen to be the former sheriff of Ferryport Landing and—”
“Where?”
“Ferryport Landing. It’s about two hours north.”
“Well, as a former sheriff you should know it’s against the law to ride around with someone who doesn’t have a driver’s license, let alone who is driving around in this menace.” The policeman poked his head back into the car and spotted Puck. “Who’s the kid?”
“He’s my grandson and he’s not feeling very well. We’re taking him to a doctor,” Granny said.
“Not in this thing, lady,” the policeman said. “I’m impounding this vehicle for the good of humanity. I’ll call an ambulance and have him taken to Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital.”
He reached down to the walkie-talkie strapped to his waist and brought the device to his mouth. He barked an order for a tow truck as he watched the family suspiciously.
“If Puck is sent to a hospital, they’re going to discover he’s not human,” Mr. Hamstead mumbled to Granny Relda.
“The boy needs a special kind of doctor,” Canis growled to the cop.
“And the devil needs a glass of ice water,” the officer snapped back. “You should be worrying about yourself. You’re g
oing to be lucky if you don’t spend the night in jail. Does anyone have any identification?”
“Of course,” Granny Relda said as she reached into her handbag. “I know I have my ID in here somewhere.”
But the police officer was now focused on Mr. Canis. A big brown tail had slipped out of the back of the old man’s pants and was blowing in the wind. The cop studied it for a moment, unsure of what it was, and then walked around Mr. Canis to get a better look.
“Is this a tail, buddy?” the policeman asked.
Sabrina looked anxiously at the old man, who was sweating in the icy air. His expression was nervous and angry. She’d been seeing that expression more and more these days. It was the look he got when the transformation came over him.
“Stay calm,” Sabrina urged Mr. Canis, but he didn’t seem to hear her. The change had already begun. Canis’s nose morphed into a hairy snout and fur grew on his neck and hands. His body expanded, filling out the oversized suit he always wore. Black talons sprang from the tips of his fingers. Fangs crept down from his upper jaw. He was changing into his true form—that of the Big Bad Wolf, the carefully suppressed beast everyone feared would someday come out and never go back in.
The cop stood bewildered for a moment, then reached for his weapon.
“Oh, here it is,” Granny said. She pulled her hand from inside her purse, opened her fist, and blew a puff of pink dust at the police officer. He froze, looking a bit befuddled, and then his eyes went glassy.
“You know, some days, being a policeman can be downright boring,” Granny said.
“You’re telling me,” the officer said in a sleepy voice.
“Why, you didn’t hand out a single speeding ticket today.”
“Yeah, today was real dull.”
“Now, get back into your car and have a great afternoon,” Granny said.
“Will do,” the officer said, obeying. Moments later he hopped into his squad car and drove away.
“Lucky I brought the forgetful dust,” Granny said. She rested her hand on Mr. Canis’s shoulder and immediately the transformation stopped, then slowly reversed. The old man shrank back to his human state.
“Relda, I am sorry,” he said. “It has been a struggle as of late. Any little thing seems to set it off.”
“No harm done,” the old woman said. “But for the rest of this trip I suggest you hide your tail.”
The old man nodded and did his best to tuck it into the back of his trousers.
“Wait a minute!” Sabrina cried as she watched the squad car drive away. On the back, painted in bright white letters, was NYPD. “That guy was a New York City cop!”
“Well, of course he was,” Granny said as she pointed beyond the side of the bridge. Off on the horizon massive buildings reached upward along the skyline, as if competing with one another for heaven’s attention. Airplanes and helicopters flew above them. It was a scene Sabrina had witnessed many times before and her throat tightened as she fought back happy tears.
Daphne squinted out at the sparkling metropolis. One building stood taller than all the rest, tapering at the top into a fine silver point. She grabbed her older sister’s arm and pointed at it.
“That’s the Empire State Building,” she cried, quickly placing the palm of her hand into her mouth and biting down on it. It was one of Daphne’s many quirks—the one that signaled that she was happy and excited.
“We’re home!” Sabrina shouted back. “We’re in New York City!”
The girls jumped up and down, chanting the sentence over and over again, louder and louder.
“Well, I’ll be,” Mr. Hamstead said as he approached the bridge railing. Pants were always a problem for the big-bellied gentleman, and he tugged on his now until they were hoisted back over his gut. Satisfied, he leaned on the railing and soaked in the view. The girls noticed his eyes well with tears.
Daphne rushed to his side and wrapped him up in a hug. “Don’t cry, Mr. Hamstead. You’ll make me cry.”
“They’re happy tears, Daphne,” he said. “I never thought I’d see this place. I’ve been trapped in Ferryport Landing for a long time.”
“You’re going to love it! The city is the best! There is so much to do and see and eat! Oh, I can almost smell the hot dogs from here.”
“Hot dogs!” Hamstead cried as his nose morphed into a runny, pink snout. Hamstead rarely slipped out of his human form, but when he got very excited his true identity as one of the Three Little Pigs was revealed.
“What did I say?” Daphne whispered to Sabrina.
“Hot dogs are made from pigs,” Sabrina whispered back.
Daphne cringed. “I mean, uh, I would never, uh, eat a hot dog, you know . . . they’re . . . uh, gross. What I meant to say was pepperoni pizza!”
The little girl looked at Sabrina for reassurance, but Sabrina could not give it to her. “Pepperoni, too.”
“It is?”
Sabrina nodded.
Daphne cringed, again. “I mean broccoli. I can’t wait to get a big piece to chew on. There’s nothing like walking around the city with a big ol’ head of broccoli.”
“Oh yeah, New York is famous for its broccoli,” Sabrina said.
Daphne stuck her tongue out at her sister.
Michael Buckley, The Problem Child
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