“And we kind of irked him,” Puck said. “He’s very sensitive.”
“So I’ve heard. Trixie writes that she was startled by his bad attitude and suspected there would come a day when he would become difficult. I suppose that’s why she placed this key inside,” Granny Relda reached into her handbag and took out a bright golden key. “It won’t get us into any of the other stories, but Trixie said it would get us into his library. Once we get there we’re just going to have to use our considerable charms to convince him to let us follow Mirror into Snow White’s tale.”
Granny flipped through the Book, read a small passage to herself, and then stuffed the Book back into her handbag. Then she leaned over as if inserting the key into an actual lock. Suddenly, a door appeared in front of her around the key. She opened it and a blast of wind nearly knocked off her bonnet.
After the wind died down, they could hear the familiar sound of pages turning and a fireplace crackling. Granny reached out for the children and hurried everyone in ahead of herself.
“I wish you luck,” Daphne said, turning to the genie.
The creature nodded respectfully as the family disappeared through the portal.
“Well, that was most disagreeable,” Granny Relda said once they stepped into the Editor’s study. She took her journal out of her handbag and jotted a note: “The doors between stories are best traveled with empty stomachs.”
The Editor sat in his leather chair, a single reviser resting at his feet, licking its huge mouth as if it had just finished the last bite of a bucket of fried chicken. When he saw them, the Editor leaped from his chair as if shocked.
“How did you get in here?”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Granny said, ignoring his question. “My name is Relda Grimm.”
“More Grimms? How many of them are there?” the man said dryly.
Granny ignored the sarcasm. “I believe you know my grandchildren, Sabrina and Daphne, as well as Puck. This is my son, Henry, and my daughter-in-law, Veronica. We are descendants of Trixie Grimm.”
“A most troublesome woman, even if she did have a hand in my creation. She’s very much responsible for many of my personal headaches—and that pesky streak appears to run in the family,” the Editor said, flashing a dark look at the girls.
“Well, hopefully my request will be quick and painless,” Granny replied. “We have need of your services.”
The Editor’s face fell in shock. “You come to me for help? You realize your granddaughters and this poor excuse for a Trickster King have caused me nearly a million times the grief of any Trixie? After making a deal with me, they raised an army of characters who attacked me in my own sanctuary. They attempted to aid them in their quest to escape the Book.”
“Sabrina!” Henry said.
“That’s not exactly what happened,” Sabrina said sheepishly.
“We weren’t helping them, Dad,” Daphne added.
“Mr. Editor, I highly doubt my daughters are capable of betraying you,” Veronica said.
“And I’m hardly a poor excuse for a Trickster King. I’m the first and the best, pal. Everyone after me is a copy,” Puck said indignantly.
“Perhaps we can start over,” Granny said. “I can assure you we will not be helping anyone escape this book. In fact, we’re here to remove two individuals who have no business being in your pages. There’s a man running through the stories carrying a child. We believe he has found his way into the tale known commonly as ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.’ We tried to chase him, but there seem to be barriers preventing our entrance. We’d like you to let us into the story. When we catch him, we’ll all leave and you won’t have any more problems from us.”
“The magic mirror. I know all about him and the boy,” the Editor said. “I have revisers chasing them as we speak.”
“You can’t!” Daphne cried. “They might hurt the baby.”
“I have no concerns for the child,” the Editor said. “My only goal is to keep these stories safe.”
“Then you won’t help us?” Henry said.
The Editor shook his head.
Henry rushed to the old man and snatched him by the collar. He pushed him hard against a bookshelf and several volumes tumbled down on their heads. “That’s my child in that story. If he gets hurt and you could have prevented it . . . well, there’s nothing a skinny, magical entity with a lousy attitude could do to save himself.”
The Editor eyed him closely. “I will not help.”
Henry pulled back with a closed fist, but before he could punch the man, Granny stopped him.
“Let him go, Henry. I think we can persuade him without violence.”