CHAPTER FIVE

INSIGHT AT THE GRAVE SITE

After being on the plane for what felt like a week, Conner and the others finally reached London’s Heathrow Airport, where they boarded their connecting flight to Berlin. Seeing so many people of different cultures and nationalities traveling around them made Conner feel very worldly. He was sure he’d return home much more dignified than when he left—dignified but exhausted, that is. By the time their second flight touched German ground, Conner had only slept three hours of their fifteen-hour journey, and wondered if his neck would ever recover from sitting in a cramped position for so long.

“I recommend we try to sleep as soon as we get to the hotel,” Mrs. Peters instructed her group as she led the way to the baggage claim area. “We don’t want to be too jet-lagged for the readings tomorrow.”

Mrs. Peters, Bree, and the Book Huggers collected their luggage at the baggage claim with no problem, but Betsy was nowhere to be found. Conner wasn’t worried about his luggage being lost, though. On the contrary, he thought wearing the same clothes for the next few days might be worth not having to lug the decaying trunk around Germany. Just as he had happily come to terms with the idea, Betsy slid down into the luggage carousel, making more noise than any other suitcase had. Betsy had arrived in Germany and she wanted everyone to know about it.

The group followed Mrs. Peters through the crowded Berlin airport as they made their way toward the Ausgang, or “exit.” They shuffled their way outside where Mrs. Peters had arranged for a small van to pick them up. The driver was a stern older man with a plump face and a thin mustache. He held up a sign that said PETERS.

“Guten Tag,” Mrs. Peters said to the driver. “I’m Evelyn Peters, so nice to meet you.”

“HELLO,” Cindy said very loudly to the driver, and forced him to shake her hand. “WE’RE FROM THE UNITED STATES. IT’S AN HONOR TO BE IN YOUR COUNTRY.”

Everyone rolled their eyes at her except the driver. Clearly this wasn’t his first experience with a tourist like Cindy, the type who gave tourists a bad name.

“I’m German, not hard of hearing,” the driver said in perfect English. “Let me load your bags into the van and we’ll be on our way to your hotel.”

As the driver drove them away from the airport, all eyes in the group widened as they took in the first sights of a new country. Seeing his first glimpses of Germany reminded Conner of seeing the Land of Stories for the first time; they were so far away from home, yet a very familiar world of its own existed here. The Book Huggers took out their cameras and started taking pictures of everything they saw.

“Look, it’s a telephone pole!” Lindy said, and showed the others the photo she’d taken of it.

“It looks just like the telephone poles back home,” Bree said.

“But it’s a German telephone pole,” Lindy said, as if Bree was missing something.

Every street the van drove down gave them something new to gawk at that they would never see at home. A massive cathedral with gargoyles stood next to an office building made entirely out of glass. An abstract art installation of a balloon dog was planted near a statue honoring a famous German opera singer. Tiny shops that looked like gingerbread houses were across the street from strip malls similar to ones in the United States.

Berlin was unlike any city Conner and the girls had ever been to. It was a combination of new and old, with monuments celebrating people and events of the past, alongside tributes encouraging thoughts and ideas for the future.

“Of all the cities in the world, Berlin is very much among those that shaped the world into what it is today,” Mrs. Peters said. “There is history everywhere you look, some noble, some terrible, but highly important nonetheless.”

Conner took what she said to heart. He looked out the window and wondered just how many people had traveled down these streets before him, and what their lives had been like.

“It seems more dirty than historical to me,” Mindy said, not showing any enthusiasm. “Look at that wall over there—it’s covered in graffiti!”

“That’s the Berlin Wall, Mindy,” Bree said. “It’s one of the most important and historic sites on earth.”

The driver let out an amused snort under his breath and Mindy turned bright red. The other girls instantly started taking as many pictures of it as they could.

“Oh,” Mindy said. “Well, you’d think there would be a sign or something.”

Occasionally they would see a brown poster taped to a bus stop or pinned to a message board advertising the Brothers Grimm event.

At a couple stops, they found the poster had even been translated into English:

The University of Berlin Presents

A Grimm-Fest

Be among the first to hear three never-before-told stories by the Brothers Grimm as the University of Berlin opens a time capsule left by the famous storytelling duo.

Wednesday, 12:00 noon

St. Matthäus-Kirchhof cemetery

Contact the University of Berlin for ticket information

Seeing the posters around town made the group even more excited about the readings. Mrs. Peters pulled a thick itinerary out of her purse and went over it with her fellow travelers.

“Let’s all take a quick nap when we arrive and then perhaps we can go for a walk around the city before dinner,” she said. “The stories will be read at the cemetery at noon tomorrow, so we’ll meet in the lobby at ten o’clock for the complimentary breakfast, or if you want to sleep in, we’ll be leaving the hotel at eleven o’clock sharp. Then after the readings we can have lunch in a café of our choice and I’ve scheduled a bike tour of Tiergarten Park. Then on Thursday we’ll visit the Brandenburg Gate, the Chancellery, and a couple museums. On our last day I thought we could visit some of the local shops before our flight home.”

They all nodded excitedly although Conner wasn’t as thrilled at the idea of spending a whole day shopping as the girls were.

Soon the group arrived at Hotel Gewaltiger Palast, which Mrs. Peters told them meant the “Enormous Palace Hotel” in German. However, the translation didn’t live up to their expectations. There was nothing very big or grand about the hotel at all. It was fairly small, very plain, and had only a few staff members. According to what the group could make out from the photos framed on the wall, the hotel had been owned by the same family since before World War II.

The older woman behind the front desk also looked like she had been there since before the war. She was tall with curly gray hair, and her beaded eyeglasses chain was the most colorful thing in the lobby. Her English wasn’t as good as the driver’s had been but she was able to check them in without a hitch.

There was obvious annoyance in her eyes as she helped them get settled. Conner couldn’t tell if she didn’t like Americans specifically or just people in general. Mrs. Peters helped her pass out the hotel room keys.

“Although I doubt I have to worry about anything with this particular group, I must remind everyone that even though we’re in a different country, all school rules and policies will strictly be enforced while we’re on this trip,” Mrs. Peters warned them. “Now, everyone, try to get some sleep.”

They boarded the elevator. Wendy and Lindy were sharing a room on the second floor. Bree was sharing a room with Mindy and Cindy on the third floor. Conner had his own room on the fourth floor, but Mrs. Peters stayed in the elevator after he got off.

“Where is your room, Mrs. Peters?” Conner asked, holding the elevator door open.

“I’ve booked myself the Chancellor’s Suite,” she told him. “When you get to be my age, Mr. Bailey, you’ll learn that nothing is worth traveling for unless you can do it in absolute comfort. Sleep well.”

The elevator doors closed and Conner found his room. He wasn’t surprised to see how bleak the room was. The bed was small and looked stiff, the carpet was brown and smelled as old as it looked, and the beige wallpaper was peeling in the corners. Conner didn’t mind too much, though; he knew his accommodations reflected the budget he was traveling on.

He tossed Betsy on the chair in the corner and dived into the bed. It was even stiffer than he’d thought and the sheets felt like they were made of paper. As uncomfortable as it was, Conner still expected to fall asleep instantly upon becoming horizontal, but even after lying there for ten minutes with his eyes closed, Conner was wide awake. He was either jet-lagged or just too tired to sleep.

“I wonder if Alex is around,” Conner said to himself. “She’ll get a kick out of seeing this room.”

He opened Betsy and retrieved the small piece of mirror he had chipped off at home. He tapped the glass with his index finger and it started shimmering as it tried connecting him to his sister in the fairy-tale world. He stared at his reflection, hoping it would change into his sister’s at any moment. Unfortunately, the reflection didn’t change.

“I wish magic mirrors had answering machines,” Conner said, and tossed it back into his suitcase.

He went to the window and looked out at the small piece of Berlin he could see. A little part of him felt at home knowing he was in the part of the world where the Brothers Grimm had lived. Perhaps the Brothers Grimm had met his grandmother and the other fairies on the very street his hotel was on. Perhaps before it was a hotel the building had been an old tavern where Mother Goose had met them for a drink one afternoon.

Mrs. Peters was right: There was so much history in this city—more than Conner could have imagined. He could have sworn he felt Berlin’s old and experienced heart beating in the ground far beneath him.

Conner’s gaze eventually returned to the hotel and he saw Bree leaning out a window below him. Both earbuds were plugged into her ears and she was looking out at the city just as he had. He wondered if she was thinking the same things he was. He imagined how excited Bree would be if he told her about the history of Germany that only he knew. Surely she would then think he was as cool as she was.

Bree looked up and caught Conner staring at her. Conner froze and his face went white. He couldn’t believe he had been so careless. Bree just laughed and waved up at him. Conner waved back, acting like he had just noticed her. He quickly shut the window and the drapes before he could seem any creepier and lay down for the recommended nap.

When he woke up from the nap, Conner was so jet-lagged he felt like he was underwater. He went on a walk with Mrs. Peters and the girls, and they got a quick bite to eat at a small restaurant down the street from their hotel. Conner tried to avoid looking at Bree altogether—he was positive his cheeks would explode if she caught him looking at her for another second.

When he returned to his hotel room, Conner tried contacting his sister again, but there was still no reply. He figured she was deep in preparations for the ball.

The next morning Conner awoke just as tired as he’d been when he went to bed—he was worried jet lag may have been a terminal illness. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and panicked when he realized he had overslept and only had five minutes before they were supposed to leave. He jumped out of bed like he was in the middle of a fire drill and quickly threw on his clothes and brushed his teeth.

Conner didn’t even wait for the elevator—he ran down the stairs to the lobby. He quickly grabbed a piece of toast at the complimentary-breakfast table, and met Mrs. Peters and the girls by the hotel entrance at five past eleven. They were standing by a pamphlet rack looking at all the things there were to do in the area.

“Sorry I’m late,” Conner said. “I overslept.”

The Book Huggers glared at him as if he had committed a federal offense.

“Not to worry, Mr. Bailey,” Mrs. Peters said. “Five minutes late is not a tragedy.”

“Good thing you’re not a paramedic or a train operator,” Mindy said, and crossed her arms. She and the Book Huggers were going to take any opportunity to scold him that they could.

“Let’s get on our way to the cemetery so we can enjoy some of the festivities before the readings begin,” Mrs. Peters instructed.

They left the hotel and found the driver from the day before waiting for them outside. They climbed aboard the van and all sat on the edge of their seats, excited about their first German adventure. The van hurried through the Berlin streets and the girls once again took pictures of everything they saw. They drove through Tiergarten Park, which stretched through the center of the city like a German version of Central Park, and past the iconic Brandenburg Gate. Conner instantly recognized the gate’s pillars and its statue of a chariot at the top. A few minutes later, once they’d driven through a winding maze of buildings, they finally arrived at St. Matthäus-Kirchhof cemetery.

Although Conner hadn’t been sure what to expect, the cemetery was different from what he had imagined. It was at the end of a long cul-de-sac and almost looked like a courtyard to the tall apartment and office buildings that surrounded it. A domed playground sat a few feet away from the hundred-and-fifty-year-old cemetery’s entrance; even it was no exception to Berlin’s integration of old and new.

A massive stone gate guarded the entrance to the cemetery. It was covered with traces of dead ivy and had a crucifix at its peak. Although it was the oldest structure in this part of the city, it had maintained its authoritative and imperial prestige over the years. There was something about the gate that demanded respect.

Brown welcoming posters advertising the Grimm-Fest were placed all over the gate. Their van was one of many vans and buses dropping people off for the readings. There were even a couple news crews covering the event.

“Here we are!” Mrs. Peters said. She led her group out of the van and through the stone gate.

“This place is creepy,” Lindy said, and Wendy nodded along with her. They were hesitant to go very far inside.

“This place is awesome,” Bree said, and took a picture of the gate with her phone; it was her first picture of the trip.

Beyond the gate, the cemetery was very festive. Everywhere they looked they saw students from the University of Berlin in brown shirts that matched the posters answering attendees’ questions. Teachers and students of all ages, from all corners of the globe, were clumped throughout the cemetery, speaking in different languages.

Most of the attendees were gathered around the miniature chapel in the center of the cemetery. A red velvet rope blocked the front steps, making the porch into a stage of sorts. In the center of the porch was a white pillar with a glass display case on top of it. Inside the case was a very old wooden chest. Without a doubt, Conner knew he was looking at the Brothers Grimm time capsule. He smiled from ear to ear. Alex and his grandmother would have been as happy as he was to see so many people so enthusiastic about the work of the Brothers Grimm.

“Mrs. Weiss! Mrs. Weiss!” Mrs. Peters called out to the crowd ahead of her. A woman who could only be described as the German version of Mrs. Peters turned to face them. She wore almost the exact same pair of glasses and dress that Mrs. Peters had on.

“Mrs. Peters! It’s so wonderful to see you!” Mrs. Weiss said, embracing her old friend.

“Students, allow me to introduce an old colleague of mine, Mrs. Weiss,” Mrs. Peters said to Conner and the girls. “She’s the reason we’re here. She teaches English in Frankfurt and contacted me immediately once she heard about today’s event.”

“I’m so happy you could make it,” Mrs. Weiss said, and looked down at her watch. “The readings should begin in twenty minutes or so, but until then, please have a look around the cemetery. There is face painting and a short story contest on the south lawn.”

“Yes, please enjoy yourselves while Mrs. Weiss and I catch up,” Mrs. Peters instructed them. “Just don’t go too far.”

The group split up, going in separate directions like moths drawn to different lights. Mindy and Cindy went to check out the face painting while Lindy and Wendy hurried to see if it was too late to enter the short story contest. Conner wandered deeper into the cemetery to discover it by himself.

The perimeter of the cemetery was lined with enormous mausoleums while smaller graves and tombstones were scattered across the center of the lawns. The dates of birth and death spanned to more than two hundred years ago. Conner almost couldn’t believe how long most of the dead had been buried there. He did, however, have an inkling of what it would be like, after flying internationally and being stuck in his own cramped space for a long period of time.

He walked along the mausoleums admiring the pillars, statues, and stained-glass windows. He figured these must be the grave sites of the very important and wealthy—he was sure he would find the graves of Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm among them. But after walking the perimeter of the graveyard twice, he still hadn’t found their place of rest.

A cluster of people were gathered around a row of smaller graves in the center of the cemetery. Conner’s curiosity got the best of him and he went to see what all the fuss was about.

Finally, he pushed his way through the crowd and saw who all the excitement was for. Everyone was huddled around four identical graves lined up in a row. Each tombstone was tall, dark gray, and square. Conner had to read the names on the last two in the row twice before he believed his eyes. He was staring at the very humble graves of Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm, buried alongside Wilhelm’s sons Rudolf and Herman.

“I don’t believe it,” Conner said to himself.

“What don’t you believe?” said a familiar voice. Conner looked to his right and saw Bree standing beside him. She had also just pushed her way to the front of the observers.

“I can’t believe this is it,” Conner said. “You’d think the most important storytellers who ever lived would have flashier graves. I expected a big crypt with statues of fairy-tale characters and stained-glass windows of castles and gingerbread houses. But this is pretty dull.”

“I kind of like it,” Bree said, and snapped a picture of the graves with her phone. “Very simple and refined, that’s how I’d like to be remembered, I think. Besides, I have a suspicion they don’t care very much anymore.”

“I guess,” Conner said. He was disheartened by the whole thing. He felt the Brothers Grimm deserved much more.

Bree seemed to find his disappointment charming. “I don’t think anyone gets remembered exactly the way they want to,” she said. “You just have to do the best you can with what you have and hope you’re recognized for it. But I doubt there’s anyone else in this cemetery that can draw a crowd this size.”

A horn sounded through the graveyard. Everyone turned to the chapel and saw a man dressed in ceremonial lederhosen blowing a trumpet on the porch. Noon had arrived and the readings were about to begin. The crowds of people scattered across the cemetery grounds migrated toward the front steps of the chapel, eager to hear the untold stories of the Brothers Grimm. Conner and Bree walked over together and regrouped with Mrs. Peters and the Book Huggers.

“I’m so excited,” Cindy said, and clapped her hands.

“I hope one of the stories is about an awful curse like in ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ ” Mindy said. “I’ve always loved a good curse!”

“I hope one of them is a sequel or a prequel to one of their other stories,” Lindy said. “It would be amazing to hear what happened to our favorite characters before or after the stories that we know.”

Conner chuckled—he knew, but he wasn’t going to share it with them.

“Is something funny, Conner?” Mindy asked.

“Oh no, I’m just excited, too,” he said with a shrug.

A woman emerged from the chapel and the crowd greeted her with warm applause. Conner figured she must be a local celebrity. She was tall and plump with a round, rosy face. She wore a bright orange dress with large buttons that matched her short, curly orange hair perfectly. She stood at a microphone that had been placed next to the time capsule, and waved to the crowd.

She greeted the onlookers first in German, then in French, and then in English.

“Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to St. Matthäus-Kirchhof cemetery,” she cheerfully greeted in a German accent. “My name is Sofia Amsel and the University of Berlin has given me the pleasure of reading to you three brand-new fairy tales written by the Brothers Grimm. They have never been heard before today.”

The English speakers in the crowd cheered. Sofia removed the wooden chest from the glass case and held it delicately in her hands.

“This chest was recently found in the archives of the University of Berlin from 1811. It was the will of the Brothers Grimm themselves that the stories inside be opened and read to the public two hundred years later,” Sofia announced. “I will read each story in German first, then in French, and finally in English. The stories will be translated into other languages and made available on the University of Berlin’s website. Now, it is my honor to read the first story.”

The crowd happily cheered. She gently opened the wooden chest and removed an aged scroll of parchment wrapped in a white ribbon. The man in the lederhosen carefully took the chest from Sofia and held it while she read the first story into the microphone.

As she had promised, Sofia read it first in German and second in French. Conner and the girls heard the German- and French-speaking people in the crowd squeal and laugh in delight as the story was read, clapping at the parts that tickled them the most.

Conner’s anxiety bubbled up more and more the closer she got to telling the story in English. He couldn’t wait to hear who or what the Brothers Grimm had written about, and wondered if it would be anyone he or his sister knew.

Sofia cleared her throat before beginning to read in English. “The first story is called ‘The Curvy Tree,’ ” she announced.

Conner’s face instantly went red. He gasped so quickly and so hard that he started coughing. He could feel Bree’s suspicious glare on the side of his face.

“How funny,” Conner said to her when he caught his breath. “That’s the name of my story. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah, a coincidence…,” Bree said. Her suspicion was short-lived, though, and soon faded away. After all, what else could it have been but a coincidence? She looked back at Sofia as she began reading from the scroll.

Once upon a time, in a faraway forest, there lived a tree that was different from all the other trees in the woods. While the other trees grew perfectly straight toward the sky, this particular tree grew in loops, twists, and turns. It was known as the Curvy Tree by all who saw it, and many humans and animals came from far and wide to see its splendor.

When the humans and animals were away, in a language that only could be heard by the plants of the forest, the other trees would taunt the poor Curvy Tree. ‘We hate your bark and your branches and your leaves that twist and turn! One day they will chop you into firewood and you will forever burn!’ It made the Curvy Tree very sad, and if you spoke Plant you would hear it cry itself to sleep every night.

Years later, on the last day of winter before spring began, loggers traveled to the forest looking for wood, not to burn, but to build with. They cut down every tree in the woods to build houses, tables, chairs, and beds. When they finally left the forest, only one tree remained, and I bet it will come as no surprise when I tell you it was the Curvy Tree.

The loggers had seen how its trunk and branches twisted and turned and they knew they could never use its wood to build with. And so the Curvy Tree was left alone to grow in peace now that all the other trees were gone. The end.

The English speakers met the conclusion of the tale with thunderous applause.

Conner kept his hands at his sides. “How amazing,” he said to Bree with a guilty chuckle. “I came up with almost the exact same story as the Brothers Grimm. I must be a better writer than I thought.” He was all fake laughs and smiles but he could tell this was no laughing matter to her.

Bree side-eyed him like she had on the plane. “Yeah… amazing,” she said through the corner of her mouth, but amazing was far from the word she was looking for.

Sofia retrieved the second scroll from the chest, also tied with a white ribbon, and began reading it in German. She eventually finished reading it in French, and began her English translation.

“The second story is titled ‘The Walking Fish,’ ” Sofia declared to the eager crowd.

Conner’s eyes grew twice in size—he was in serious trouble now. Bree shook her head; surely she had heard it wrong.

“Wait a second, did she just say the second story was called ‘The Walking Fish’—” Bree began, but before she could finish Sofia had already started the second story.

Once upon a time there was a fish who lived in a deep lake all by himself. Every day the fish would watch with envy as a boy from the nearby village played with the animals on the land. The boy would run with the horses, wrestle with the dogs, and climb the trees with the squirrels. The fish wanted so badly to play with the boy, too, but he knew that as a fish it was impossible.

One day a fairy flying high above the lake dropped her wand in the water. The fish, being the gentleman he was, retrieved the wand for the fairy.

‘As a reward for this kind gesture, I will grant you one wish,’ the fairy told the fish. He thought long but he didn’t think hard, for the fish knew which wish he wanted the fairy to grant him.

‘I want legs, just like all the animals on the land, so I, too, can play with the little boy from the village,’ the fish said. With one simple flick of her wand, the fairy magically turned the fish’s fins into legs and feet and he walked on land for the first time.

The next day when the boy appeared, the fish happily showed him his new legs. The two became very good friends and every day they ran with the horses, wrestled with the dogs, and climbed trees with the squirrels. However, one day the little boy was playing too close to the edge of the lake and fell into the water. The fish ran to the edge of the lake and tried to save him, but he couldn’t go in the water without his fins. The little boy couldn’t swim, either, and drowned in the lake.

The fish wished he had never wished for legs, because had he just stayed the normal fish God had intended him to be, the little boy would still be alive to this day.

The English speakers, including Mrs. Peters and the Book Huggers, all made an aww sound at the sad ending. Conner and Bree were the only ones who didn’t make a sound. Both their mouths had dropped open while the story was read.

“Wow, another coincidence” was all Conner could say to Bree, but she didn’t respond.

“It’s a very sad story, but I think we can all agree that great lessons come from tragic tales,” Sofia said to the crowd. “ ‘Be careful what you wish for’ is what the Brothers Grimm are trying to tell us with this story, I presume.”

Mrs. Peters was inquisitively furrowing her brow. “I swear I’ve read these stories before somewhere,” she said to herself, and Conner’s pulse rose. “Didn’t you write similar stories, Conner?”

“I did!” Conner said, deciding it was in his best interest to seem excited about it. “My stories are creepily similar—it’s crazy.”

The Book Huggers unanimously rolled their eyes at him. Mrs. Peters smiled and patted Conner on the back, thankfully not spending any more thought on it.

Bree was as quiet as ever but her expression was so intense Conner could practically hear her trying to logically assess the situation. She was a girl who loved a good mystery, but this was baffling. How could Conner have known these stories before the rest of the world did? Bree must have known this was more than a coincidence.

Conner couldn’t believe his bad luck. What were the chances that two of the three stories the Brothers Grimm had locked away in their time capsule were stories Conner had tried passing off as his own? At least the odds were in his favor: The situation was so unlikely that the worst thing he could be accused of was psychic plagiarism. But from the way Bree was looking at him, he knew plagiarism was the last thing on her mind.

“Now it’s time for our third and final story,” Sofia regretfully told the crowd. “Since our English-speaking friends have been so patient, I will read this one in English first.”

Conner let out a long, heavy sigh, bracing himself for whatever trouble the third story might cause him. Sofia removed the last scroll from the chest. Unlike the others, this scroll was tied with a red ribbon.

“This must be a very important story if it was tied with a different ribbon from the rest,” Sofia said. She opened the scroll. “The last story is called ‘The Secret Castle.’ ”

Conner slumped a few inches with relief. He definitely had never heard or written a story about a secret castle. With any luck, the third story would be so good Bree would forget about the first two. He looked at his feet, wanting this whole event to end as soon as possible.

Sofia cleared her throat again and began reading.

Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived two brothers who liked to tell stories. Everyone in their village loved to hear their stories and thought the brothers were very creative, but the brothers had a secret. The stories they shared with their village didn’t come from them, but from someone else.

Conner’s eyes shot straight up toward Sofia. There was something very familiar about this story—something too familiar.

Every day the brothers traveled into the forest where they would meet a beautiful fairy. Each time they met, the fairy gave the brothers a new story to share with the people in their village. The fairy lived in a Secret Castle far away from anywhere man had ever been, and her stories were usually about one of the many magical creatures that lived with her in the castle. The brothers were very grateful to the fairy and never told a soul that she and her castle were real.

Conner could feel his heart beating in the back of his throat. He was listening so intently he forgot about everyone in the crowd around him. Many troubling thoughts filled his head as the story became more familiar. Had the Brothers Grimm staged this whole event to come clean about the origin of their stories? Were they about to admit to the world that the Fairy Godmother was real and had supplied them with their greatest work?

One day the king got word of the brothers’ stories. The king was very smart and had a hunch that there was truth to their tales. He had his soldiers follow the brothers into the forest the next time they met the fairy, and their secret was unveiled. The king ordered the brothers to come to see him at his palace and demanded that they take him and his army to the Secret Castle where the fairy lived so they could conquer it.

The brothers pleaded with the king, and told him they didn’t know where the Secret Castle was. The king showed them no mercy and said that if they didn’t supply him with directions to the Secret Castle he would have everyone in their village killed.

Not wanting to trouble the fairy who had been so kind to them, the brothers asked a great magical bird that also lived at the Secret Castle for help. The magical bird gave the brothers a map to give the king, showing a way to the Secret Castle. But what the king didn’t know was that this map was of an enchanted path; it would take him and his army of thousands two hundred years to reach the Secret Castle.

The magical bird assured the brothers that by the time the king and his army arrived at the Secret Castle, it would be prepared to face them. The brothers gave the map to the king and he and his army immediately began their quest to find the Secret Castle.

With the king and his army gone, the brothers’ village was saved from the greedy king’s wrath. However, the brothers never saw the magical bird or the fairy again. As time went by, the brothers worried that the magical bird, being old and careless, would forget to warn the other magical creatures in the Secret Castle that the army was coming. So the brothers decided to write their last known story themselves and they knew it would be the most important one they would ever tell.

The brothers wrote a story similar to their own lives, about a Secret Castle and magical creatures and a greedy king who wanted to conquer it all. They spread the story across the land, from one generation to the next, hoping the tale would eventually reach someone who would recognize it for what it really was—not a fairy tale, but a warning in disguise.

There was a long pause before the crowd realized the story was over. Their applause was as confused as their expressions—it seemed like such an odd, unfinished story.

“That is all there is, I’m afraid,” Sofia said. “I certainly hope the Secret Castle was warned of the approaching army. Perhaps the Brothers Grimm purposely left their last story unfinished, so that we would all finish it ourselves in our own imaginations. Now I will read the story in French.…”

Conner felt light-headed and sick to his stomach. His mind was racing with so many questions he couldn’t focus. He didn’t even hear Sofia read the story in French or German; everything was white noise around him. He replayed the story again and again in his head—everything the Brothers Grimm had written in the third story was so obvious and so carefully planned. They were the brothers in their own story, the fairy was Conner’s grandmother, the magical bird must be Mother Goose or one of the other fairies, and the Secret Castle was the Land of Stories. And just like in the story, the story wasn’t actually a story—it was a warning.

The Brothers Grimm were trying to warn someone that something was on its way to the Land of Stories. And since they had so carefully planned for the story to be heard two hundred years later, whatever was approaching the Land of Stories must be arriving soon.

It was all so blatant; Conner looked around the crowd hoping to see someone else who had interpreted the story for what it was, but there was no one who had interpreted it like he had. The fairy-tale world was in great danger and he was the only one in the Otherworld who realized it.

“Conner, are you okay?” Bree asked him. “You just went from bright red to pale white in a couple seconds.”

“I’m fine,” Conner lied. “It’s just that story… it was just so strange…”

“Was it coincidentally close to something you were planning on writing?” Bree asked him playfully, but she knew from the look on his face that something was terribly wrong.

Conner was looking right at her, but none of his thoughts had anything to do with her. He didn’t care if she knew he had a crush on her, and he didn’t care if she or the Book Huggers were close to finding the truth about his sister; all he cared about was warning his grandmother and his sister that they were in danger.

Before he knew it, Sofia had finished reading the story in the other languages and the Grimm-Fest had come to an end.

“On behalf of the University of Berlin, I’d like to thank you for joining us today,” Sofia said. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities today as much as I have.”

She placed the third scroll back into the chest the man in lederhosen held for her and together they disappeared into the chapel. The crowd began heading out of the cemetery and Mrs. Peters rallied her group to do the same.

“Wasn’t that a remarkable reading?” Mrs. Peters asked. “I’m certain to remember it for the rest of my life.”

“Mrs. Peters, I’m starving! Can we get something to eat?” Mindy asked.

“Of course,” Mrs. Peters said. “Mrs. Weiss was just recommending we meet up with her and her students at a little café near our hotel if no one objects—”

“Mrs. Peters!” Conner interrupted. “Can I just go back to the hotel? I’m not feeling very well and I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

Mrs. Peters was disappointed but not surprised to hear this given the look on his face. “I’m so sorry, Conner,” she said. “Of course you may. I’ll have the driver drop you off before he takes us to lunch.”

The van couldn’t drive back to the hotel fast enough. Conner even thought about faking a few dry heaves to speed things up. As soon as they pulled up to the hotel Conner jumped out and ran inside before anyone could say good-bye. He zoomed through the lobby, almost knocking into three guests on his way, and ran up the four flights of stairs to his room—he didn’t want to waste any time waiting for the elevator.

He burst into his room and locked the door behind him. He immediately searched through Betsy until he found his piece of mirror. He impatiently tapped the glass and anxiously waited for it to connect him to his sister. Conner prayed Alex would be available. Unfortunately the only reflection he saw in the mirror was his own.

“Come on, Alex!” Conner said. “You’ve got to answer! Trust me, nothing is more important than this right now!”

He tapped the mirror again and again, trying to reach his sister, with no luck. He spent the rest of the day trying—and still, no result. They were the most frustrating hours of his life. In the evening Conner heard a knock on his door. Mrs. Peters had come to check on him. She and the girls had returned from their bike tour of Tiergarten Park.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Bailey? Any better?” she asked at the door.

“I’m all right, just really nauseated,” Conner told her. “I think I caught a bug at the cemetery.”

“Do I need to call for a doctor?” she asked.

“No, I think I’ll feel better in the morning,” Conner said. “I should be fine as long as I get some sleep.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mrs. Peters said. “I would hate for you to waste your whole trip locked in your hotel room.”

She left him alone to rest, but rest was the last thing Conner got that night. After trying to reach his sister for a couple more hours, he couldn’t stand being in the hotel room any longer. He couldn’t sit around while he knew something very wrong was going on somewhere.

Conner decided to go back to the cemetery, for clarity if not for answers. He grabbed his coat and quietly left his room. He took the stairs again, trying to avoid as many people as possible. He snagged a map from the pamphlet rack in the hotel lobby and followed it all the way back to the cemetery. It took him an hour to walk there in the dark, and to make matters worse it also started to rain.

When he reached St. Matthäus-Kirchhof cemetery all the posters had been taken off the gate and all the guests were gone. It was so much more peaceful now that it was empty. He retraced his steps to the modest graves of the Brothers Grimm. The ground around the graves was littered with flowers and gifts from the attendees of the readings earlier that day.

Conner squinted at the graves as if he were looking not at two big blocks of stone but rather two very silent people.

“So that was some story,” he said to the graves. “Was there anything else you failed to mention? Were there any clues you forgot to include?”

The rain increased with Conner’s frustration. He was actually upset that the graves weren’t responding.

“What army is approaching the fairy-tale world? Where did it come from? Are my grandmother and my sister in danger? Please, I need to know,” Conner said, this time asking the rainy sky above him.

Unfortunately, there was no sign for Conner to witness. He had to rely solely on what his gut was telling him. Conner knew he had been meant to be in the cemetery earlier that day, he had been meant to hear and correctly interpret the story, and now he was meant to warn the fairy-tale world of the approaching danger.

He just didn’t know how.