The Council of Mirrors by Michael Buckley
For Sylvie and Phoebe Sanders.
Thanks for riding this flying carpet.
The Sisters Grimm would never have existed if not for my beautiful wife, Alison. She’s as important to this series as Sabrina and Daphne, and her presence is written into every sentence. It’s nice that she’s my literary agent too. She’s managed me through ups and downs, my insecurities, and temper tantrums and helped me grow this “silly idea” into a career.
There are three other people who have made outstanding contributions. The first is my editor, Susan Van Metre, who has been a friend and mentor to me. The second is my other editor, Maggie Lehrman, who came on board midway and has added a new layer to the stories. The third is Jason Wells—probably the hardest-working man in, well, anything. I have been blessed by his cleverness and understanding. They are backed by an army of talented and hardworking people at Amulet Books: Michael Jacobs, Chad W. Beckerman, Laura Mihalick, Chris Blank, and the sales and marketing departments. I am a truly lucky person to have such brilliant people helping me, holding my hand, and demanding the best from me. You have my undying respect, admiration, and loyalty.
I want to thank my family, Wilma and James Cuvelier, Michael and Kassandra Buckley, Douglas Lancaster and Beth Fargis-Lancaster, Paul Fargis and Rev. Dawn Sangrey, Chris Fargis, John and Vida Fargis, Edwin and Maria Buckley, and all the nieces and nephews both here in the United States and in China. I want to thank my good friends Joe Deasy and Josh Drisko. Thanks to Autumn Heard and Jannelle Purcell at Starbucks as well as everyone at Ted & Honey’s for the chair and the free Wi-Fi.
Many thanks to Peter Ferguson, who brought these books to life. At my house, Peter’s drawings and paintings have always been received like Christmas presents. Thank you for your vision and inventiveness. Your pencil is forever linked to my laptop.
Thanks to Finn. I love you, son.
And to every teacher, librarian, student, professor, blogger, and kid who ever took a chance on this series. Reading takes time. I have appreciated all that you gave me. As Daphne would say, you are all very punk rock.
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a sleepy river town called Ferryport Landing. It was nestled on the bank of the Hudson River in upstate New York, where mountains look over valleys and water runs down into the great river and on to the sea. Quaint little shops filled the town center, and trees freckled the landscape. The town’s citizens bicycled along cobblestoned lanes and through community gardens. Apple pies cooled on windowsills, and few people locked their doors at night. If a person didn’t know better, he might have suspected Ferryport Landing had been propped up on wheels and rolled out of a storybook.
But that was a long time ago.
Now it was dead. Its demise wasn’t slow, like so many other tiny dots on the map that rust and decay when the mill closes or the steel plant shuts its doors. No, Ferryport Landing was murdered. Its citizens tore it to pieces. They smashed shop windows and looted goods. They spilled great heaps of trash onto its streets. They lit fires whose hungry flames still lapped at the few buildings left standing. They tipped over cars, leaving them scattered on the streets like the forgotten playthings of a huge child. The little town was wrecked and then abandoned.
The Grimm sisters stood over Ferryport Landing’s poor, broken corpse to pay their respects to a fallen friend.
“Is that it?” Daphne said. “Is that the end?”
Sabrina nodded. “Yes. And it’s about time.”
ctober 14
My name is Sabrina Grimm and this is my journal. My family has been bugging me to write in it for a while. I tried a few times, but to be honest I thought it was stupid. I never wanted to get involved. I wanted to be a girl who lived on the Upper East Side of New York City. I wanted to go to school and make friends and buy bagel sandwiches at the deli on York and 88th Street every morning. But that’s not what happened.