"I highly doubt that. The orphanage doesn't make a habit of letting people take care of children who encourage them to risk their lives on the high seas. Maybe someday… when I'm in charge," Smirt said wistfully. "But for now you're going to live with a Mr. Greeley."
Their caseworker snatched a folder off a stack of books and opened it. Sabrina noticed the title of the book on top. It was called
The Purpose-Driven Life.
"Mr. David Greeley is currently in prison but he's getting out tomorrow and will pick you up as soon as he has met with his parole officer," Smirt said.
"Prison! What was he in prison for?" Sabrina said.
"Hmmm, let me see. Oh, here it is. Murder," the caseworker said.
"Murder?" the girls cried, nearly jumping out of their chairs. "Yes, he murdered someone. No, I'm wrong. That was someone else," Ms. Smirt said. Sabrina caught her breath and eased back in her seat.
"No, Mr. Greeley murdered several people. Seven to be exact. Beat them to death with a crowbar," Smirt said.
"You're going to send us to live with a serial killer?" Sabrina said.
"No, I'm sending you to live with a former serial killer. Mr. Greeley is rehabilitated. Now, off to bed with you. Newbies have to fix breakfast for everyone so you better get some sleep."
Smirt shoved the girls down the hall and back into the sleeping area. They found their beds among the rows of snoring, groaning children, and crawled underneath the scratchy blankets. Sabrina's cot was next to a window that had a baseball-sized hole in it. The cold wind blew directly onto her feet, so she tucked herself into a ball for warmth. Before Ms. Smirt left, she handcuffed the girls to their beds.
"Well, I suppose you're happy now," Daphne said when Smirt had scurried back to her office.
"Happy? Why would I be happy about this?"
"Isn't this what you wanted? To get away from Granny, the Everafters, and Ferryport Landing? Now you can pretend none of it ever happened."
"Daphne, I--"
"Every step you fought her. You've complained and disobeyed and been a real--"
"Jerkazoid?"
"Yes!" the little girl cried. "And don't use my word."
"Daphne, I'm only trying to protect us, all of us. Can't you see what has been happening since we moved in with Granny? I accidentally killed the giant. I nearly got Mr. Canis killed when the school exploded--and look what's happening to him. Puck had his wings torn off trying to protect me and now Cobweb is dead, too. I'm jinxed. I'm not meant to be a Grimm. Everyone I'm close to is in danger, including you."
"That's crazy talk," the little girl whispered.
"I don't even want to be a fairy-tale detective. Neither did Dad, and when he had his opportunity to walk away, he took it. He did it because he thought this life was too dangerous and he was right. I don't want my sister to get killed or fall under some twisted nutcase's magical spell. I want us to get out now while we still can. If Mom had done the same thing, who knows how our lives would be."
"Our mother was trying to help people," Daphne said. "So she failed. I'd rather try and fail than stand by and watch people suffer. We're Grimms. That's what we really do. Help people."
"Daphne, I--"
"I'm getting out of here with or without you, Sabrina," Daphne said. She turned her back on her sister and grew very still. Sabrina knew her well enough to know that talking was over for the night. She only wished that her sister could see her point of view. She had been a "jerkazoid" in the past, but this time she was truly thinking of someone other than herself. With her free hand, she reached for her coat at the end of her bed, searched its pockets, and found her mom's wallet. She opened it up and found the picture she had grown to adore. She stared into her mother's face, unsure of whom Veronica Grimm really was. How could she be so close to her and not know anything about her? Why did Veronica choose this life? Why wouldn't anyone, given the choice, just walk away?
*
Smirt woke them early and seemed to enjoy the fact that the girls were exhausted. She unlocked their handcuffs and dragged them out of bed and into the orphanage's kitchen, where they were put to work on the morning breakfast, a disturbing combination of powdered eggs and milk that had a questionable expiration date. A hulking man, who had hairnets on both his head and beard, instructed them to add whatever he handed them out of the fridge to the mix. Several catfish went into the pot--heads, bones, eyes, and all. Next, a bottle of barbecue sauce, a greasy package of bologna, and some mushrooms that might have been picked out of the orphanage's basement.