Granny Relda filled the girls in on their equally fascinating family history. She was a detective, a fairy-tale detective to be exact, just like all the Grimms before her. Their ancestors, the Brothers Grimm, had been detectives too, investigating the strange and magical cases they encountered. If the world thought their book was a collection of bedtime stories, it was probably for the best, because the truth would keep everyone up at night.
The girls had lived with Granny Relda for almost a year, and in that time she trained them to take over the family business. It was dangerous work. The girls learned that sometimes the good guys were villains and sometimes the bad guys were their greatest allies. Sabrina never really let her guard down and continued to call the shots for her sister and herself. Inevitably, she butted heads with her grandmother and nearly everyone else they met. When her mother and father were returned to her, she saw it as an opportunity to go back to being a normal kid. She should have known better. As Grimms, they could never be sure what danger might appear around the next corner.
“Well, we can’t sit here all day, I guess. We should go outside and see if Mirror and Sammy are in this story,” Daphne said.
“Sammy?” Sabrina asked.
“We can’t call the baby ‘what’s-his-name,’” Daphne said. “You don’t like the name Sammy?”
Sabrina shrugged. “Whatever. The real problem is that this could be dangerous, Daphne. Some of the stories in this book aren’t exactly kid friendly. A lot of them are pretty . . . well, twisted. What if we step through one of these doors and walk into Bluebeard’s house or onto the plank on Long John Silver’s boat?”
“We’ll kick butt and take names like we always do,” the little girl said, stepping into the karate stance she had learned in a self-defense class.
Sabrina wished she could muster the same confidence. “I’m just saying we need to be careful. One look around and you can see that something is off. The colors are weird. Everything is too bright and cheery, and there are too many things with the same color. There are flowers in the square the same color blue as the houses. The Munchkins outside look strange too. Like the details aren’t all there.”
“So the colors are off. I don’t think we have anything to fear from the color blue,” Daphne said.
“What I’m saying is this book has its own rules. Like the dress you’re wearing: You didn’t have that on when we stepped into the Book.”
Daphne looked down at the yellow dress she wore, and then back to her sister. “So the Book changed my clothes. Big deal.”
“If it can do that, what else can it do?”
“It didn’t change you at all.”
Sabrina was still wearing her jeans, sneakers, and sweater. She had no explanation.
Daphne continued. “Unfortunately, big sister, the only way to learn the rules is to get started.” She pointed out the window to a sea of Munchkins that had circled the house.
Sabrina groaned. “Fine! But stay close. And just so you know, I have no problem serving up a plate of knuckle sandwiches to these weirdoes if they get in the way—whether they’re real or not!”
Daphne opened the door and a crowd of Munchkins gaped in wonder, letting out a collective “Oooohhhhhhhh!” The lumpy old woman in white hobbled forward. She cleared her throat and bowed as low as her old bones would allow. “You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the East, and for setting our people free from bondage.”
“No problem,” Sabrina said, rolling her eyes at Daphne. “So, we’re looking for a man carrying a small boy. Has anyone seen them?”
The Munchkins seemed startled by her response, as if they were waiting for a different reply.
“Wait a minute! We killed who?” Daphne shouted as she pushed through the crowd. Sabrina followed, and the girls rounded the side of the little farmhouse. Sticking out from beneath the house was a pair of legs wearing bright silver shoes.
“Call 911!” Daphne cried as she knelt beside the feet.
“There is nothing to be done,” the squat woman in white said in an irritating singsong voice. “She was the Wicked Witch of the East. She held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all set free and are grateful for the favor.”
Daphne ignored her and shouted at the feet. “Don’t worry, lady! We’ll get you out of there.”
One of the tiny men stepped forward. “That’s not the line.”
Sabrina and Daphne eyed one another, confused. “Huh?”
The woman in white looked around her and then leaned in close and whispered in a voice no louder than a mouse. “That’s not what you say. You’re supposed to ask me if I’m a Munchkin. That’s what happens next.”
Sabrina scowled and clenched her fists. “What is she talking about? Every person from this nutty place is—”
Daphne turned to the little woman. “OK, we’ll say what you want us to say. Are you a Munchkin?”
The woman sighed in great relief and smoothed some wrinkles out of her dress. “No, but I am their friend. When they saw the Wicked Witch of the East was dead, the Munchkins sent a swift messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North.”