The Grimm Legacy

“That depends on the settings too. I left the dereifier on duplicate instead of replace, so it just made electronic copies of the paperwork. The originals are still on Stack 6.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I objected. “What if somebody used it on people—what if they put it on replace and turned us all into fictional characters?”

“How do you know they haven’t?” asked Marc.

“Wow, that sounds like a seriously powerful object! How did you get your hands on it? Did they just, like, let you borrow it?”

“No, it was more like . . . an unofficial loan. I have the key to the Gibson Chrestomathy, like Aaron has the key to the Wells Bequest. I’m good with computers—it’s kind of my special domain. I just went in and took the dereifier. I put it right back afterward.”

“How big is a dereifier? What does it look like?”

“Like a cross between a quill pen and a remote control.”

“And it’s just sitting there in the Chresto? Why couldn’t someone borrow it and make perfect identical copies of the Mona Lisa, or duplicate diamonds, or make a vast robot army and conquer the planet?”

“I don’t think a dereifier can make exact copies of anything,” said Marc. “It makes virtual representations—pictures and sculptures and descriptions, stuff like that.”

“But what’s the difference between the Mona Lisa and a picture of the Mona Lisa, if it was good enough? They’re both pictures.”

He thought about that. “Okay, maybe you could duplicate the Mona Lisa. But that would only work for stuff that was already a representation of something—art and that kind of thing. It wouldn’t work for things that are, you know, real.”

“I’m not sure you’re right—I think you can make copies,” said Anjali. “There’s an identity setting. I think that makes the object represent itself. If you set the dereifier to duplicate and identity, you might be able to make identical duplicates. But you would have to be a pretty serious computer geek to do that, or anything else really dangerous. You can’t use the advanced settings without tons of passwords and access codes. I played around with it a little, and the worst I could get it to do was change my French textbook cover into a cartoon of the Eiffel Tower. My little sister draws better than that, and she couldn’t draw her way out of a paper bag.”

I sympathized. I couldn’t draw my way out of a paper bag either.

“Plus the dereifier is supposed to be incredibly buggy,” Anjali continued. “I seriously doubt you could get it to make a perfect Mona Lisa. It’s just not good enough.”

“Still—wow,” I said.

“Hey, guys? I have to be at basketball practice in forty-five minutes,” said Marc. “Can we talk about that list?”

“Oh, sorry! Right. Here, these are all the objects Ms. Callender wanted, with all the info I could think of that might help. Elizabeth, do you remember which ones are duds?”

“I think so,” I said. I went through the spreadsheet, clicking on boxes next to the items that had smelled wrong.

“Great. Is there anything that jumps out at you as different about those items?” Anjali asked.

Marc and I studied the screen. Some of the objects had been borrowed as recently as last week; some hadn’t been requested for over a year. With one or two exceptions, the latest patrons for each object were all different. A few names repeated here and there, but those patrons also seemed to have taken out many of the objects that smelled magical.

Marc shook his head. “I don’t see a pattern.”

“Me neither. What about you, Anjali?” I said.

“Not yet. But I have a strong feeling . . . Give me a few days.”

We paid our check and went our various ways, Marc back to school for basketball practice and Anjali toward home. I walked to the subway half worried about the magic items but more than half relieved that the two of them were treating me like a friend again.

Friday was the big game, the one I had promised to go to with Anjali. I’d loved all the compliments on my “haircut.” Even my stepmother had noticed; she accused me of using her good shampoo. But the effect had died down disappointingly soon. What if I borrowed the mermaid’s comb from the GC to use it again before the game? I wanted to use my new borrowing privileges, and Doc had warned me to start with something small. There was no harm in looking my best for the occasion, I told myself—perhaps some of the kids at school would notice I existed. 

I found Ms. Callender at her desk. “Excuse me, Ms. Callender, do you have a minute?” I asked. “Doc told me I could borrow things from the Grimm Collection now, so I wondered—can I take this out?” I handed her the call slip I’d filled out. 

“Your first Grimm loan! How exciting! . . . What’s this? A mermaid’s comb? Hot date tonight?” asked Ms. Callender with her dimpled smile. 

I felt myself blush. “Not a date, exactly. There’s a big basketball game at my school Friday.” 

“Oh, wait a minute.” Ms. Callender looked at the call number more closely. “This is one of the objects I have out for study.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m asking you. I . . . noticed it when Aaron and I were pulling the objects for you. Have you figured out what’s going on with them yet?” 

“No, we’re just getting started,” said Ms. Callender. “You and Aaron were really helpful, the way you sorted out the questionable ones. You have a great nose!” 

“Thank you. So can I borrow the comb, or should I find something else?” 

“No, it’s okay, I guess—I don’t really need it right away. There are plenty of others to keep me busy. You’re sure it actually works, though, right? This isn’t one of the questionable objects?” 

“No, it’s fine. I . . .” Should I tell her I tried it? “It smelled right.” 

“That’s all right, then. Let’s see . . . Grimm objects usually circulate for three days, but I’ll let you keep this until Saturday so you can look your best for the big game.” She scribbled a revised due date on the slip and handed it back to me. “Dr. Rust has the deposit kuduo. You’ll have to go downstairs to leave your deposit. Come back when you’re done, and I’ll give you the comb, okay, hon?” 

“Great. Thanks so much, Ms. Callender.” 

She winked at me. “I was your age once.” 

She must have been fun to hang out with back then, I thought. I hurried downstairs to Doc’s office and knocked on the door, feeling nervous but excited about my first magic loan. 

“Come in? Ah, Elizabeth. What can I do for you?” 

“Ms. Callender says I need to give you a deposit before I can borrow a comb from the Grimm Collection.” 

“A comb? As your first loan—are you sure? Some of those are rather dangerous . . . Sit down, sit down. Let’s have a look.” 

I handed Doc the call slip. 

“Oh, a mermaid’s comb. Heady stuff, but safe enough as long as you don’t use it around water. Or a busy highway. You’re not planning to lure any young men to their doom, are you?” 

How embarrassing! I shook my head, blushing. “I just want to look nice for the big basketball game.” 

“I see. You know there’s a three-hour limit on this?” 

“Three hours? But Ms. Callender said I could bring it back on Saturday!” 

“No, I mean a limit on the effects. They taper off, and everything goes back to normal after three hours. Most of the Grimm Collection objects have a time limit—some of them last three days, or a fortnight, or a year and a day. This one’s just three hours. If you’re looking for a permanent love potion, this isn’t it.” 

A freckle was floating up Doc’s nose like the shadow of an airplane skimming across the grass. It fascinated me. I made an effort and tore my eyes away. “Really? Is there a permanent love potion in the Grimm Collection?”