Chapter 1

The frog spat water,a big squirt that hit my leather jacket and dripped harmlessly but still annoyed.

I gritted my teeth. "Look here, you little green puke, you cannot stay in this fountain."

Croak. The frog disagreed.

"We've had too many complaints." Like, literally a dozen this morning alone about this amphibious jerk harassing all the women walking by, flicking his tongue at them, getting between their feet to peek up their skirts.

Ribbit.

"I don't care if you're cursed. You cannot try and tongue kiss everyone to try to reverse it. Besides, it won't work." Despite decades of living with the Grimm Effect, some folks still hadn't read the original stories, which were more horror than fairytale. "Come here, right this instant." I used my sternest voice and pointed to the fountain ledge.

Rather than obey, the frog chose to leap away from me—sproing, sproing—right in front of a car.

Apparently, he'd not played Frogger before his transformation because he didn't manage to avoid the sedan speeding past.

Splat.

The frog got flattened—literally squished into a puddle of green goo—which then expanded and expanded until a man lay naked on the pavement groaning, "Argh, I think I'm broken."

I headed for him and planted my hands on my hips as I huffed, "Next time, read a damned book. The frog wasn't cured by a kiss but by the princess getting peeved and tossing his ass against a wall."

"I need a doctor," he complained.

"And pants." Transformation spells were the worst when broken, as the person returned disoriented and naked. I put a call in to dispatch. "Frog problem resolved but the Grimpher"—the name given to a person caught up in the Grimm Effect—"requires medical assistance."

"On it," stated Darren, our guy manning the office phone line.

"What's going to happen to me?" whined the guy lying on the pavement.

"Nothing. Lucky for you, while annoying, you didn't harm anyone during the course of the curse, and now that it's broken, you can go back to your life. That is, once you get those bones set and do some rehab."

"But what about my princess? I was supposed to get a princess." He had the nerve to pout.

"Only the prince gets a princess in the book. And you, sir, are no prince."

With that, I left. Another mission accomplished. Although I would admit to being miffed that I didn't get to smack the frog myself. He'd tried to lick me on the lips with that nasty tongue of his when I'd first arrived. Almost lost it in the process. More annoying, this was the third frog I'd dealt with in the last month. I really hoped a true frog prince would find his damned princess and put that particular fairytale curse to bed, because that really was the only way to stop the cycle for a bit. See, since the Grimm Effect—also known as Fairytale Apocalypse and the Grimm Fuckeroo—through some kind of magic scientists couldn't explain, fairytales had been infecting people. One day, a girl walks to the store, dangling her basket, and the next thing, she's being stalked by a wolf and would have gotten eaten but for the handsome huntsman. Ask me how I know. It happened to my mother, and what do you know, the Little Red Cap curse was genetic. It passed down to me.

In high school, Dylan, a guy with wolfish intent, tried to corner me on my way home. A well-meaning kid named Nolan tried to step in and be my hero. Did I mention Nolan liked to hunt and wear plaid? Spotting the curse from a mile away, I kneed Dylan in the balls, broke his nose, and told him if he ever came near me again, I'd skin him for his fur. Then I told Nolan to take a hike. This Red Riding Hood didn't need a hero.

Breaking the fairytale mold, that was me, hence why the Fairytale Bureau hired me as part of their investigation and prevention unit. Those of us who bucked the trend made the best agents because we weren't afraid to stop a story dead in its tracks.

The bureau had a prime spot downtown, and I parked my motorcycle right in front on the sidewalk because a sign said no parking or stopping on the street. Would I get a ticket? Most likely not. Peter, the parking bylaw officer for this sector, had a crush on me. Contrary to what the boss said, I could play nice if necessary. I'd been known to smile for the guy at the sandwich shop so he'd load my sub with more meat.

I swung off my steel steed and removed my helmet, shaking out flame-red hair. All natural to my annoyance. Don't get me wrong. The color suited me, and I did love its vibrancy, but I hated how people acted when they saw it. Because they A) asked me if it came from a bottle, B) accused me of lying when I said it didn't, and C) snickered and said I must have a temper. I did and usually showed it at that point.

My briefcase, which the bureau insisted agents carry around, took only a second to unstrap from the rear fender. As to what it contained… A few items that could come in handy when in the field, such as a jar for capturing evil spirits—don't ask me how it worked. They just gave it to me with instructions to unscrew the lid in the presence of ghostly entities, of which I'd thankfully not yet met any. It also held a vial of holy water, which honestly didn't work on much, but it made some people feel better. There was a mirror for deflecting spells and evil stares. A silver dagger for stabbing things trying to kill me. Gold coins for bribing. Gems for the same reason—the irony being, in the post-Grimm-Effect world, those things lost all value except as bargains with monsters and tricksters. Oh, and my favorite to soothe savage beasts, the miniature harp I could play a single song on. "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." At least I didn't have to sing, or I'd have been mauled for sure. My voice tended toward the huskier side. Blame the cigarettes I occasionally smoked, mostly to drive my mom wild.

With my briefcase case swinging from my hand, I strode inside the bureau, whistling. The boss wouldn't be too pissed with me this time. The frog would survive despite his injuries, I'd broken the spell, and, best of all, hadn't destroyed any public property.

Yet.

The day wasn't done.

As I walked in, Luanne glanced at me from behind the reception desk. "Hey, Hood."

They didn't call me that because I wore a stupid red cape—I didn't own a cloak, or anything red for that matter. However, I had the misfortune of being named Blanche Hood, courtesy of my granddad, Marcus Hood, an actual woodsman before the curse made it a thing.

"What's new and exciting?" I asked, pausing to chat.

Luanne was one of the few in our office who'd not defeated her curse. She'd been caught, but in a good, not bad way. She was currently married and popping out kids. A lot of kids, thanks to her fairytale, which was based on "The Twelve Brothers." For the moment, she'd birthed seven boys, and the plan was she'd get her tubes tied before she hit twelve, because the thirteenth child, if a girl, would result in the death of her sons. Did I mention the fact Grimm stories tended to be dark and very murderous?

Luanne leaned forward with an excited gleam in her eyes. "What's new? I'm surprised you didn't hear. We have a serial killer on the loose."

"Really? Since when?"

"Since this morning. Someone discovered a bunch of bodies in an old shack in the woods. Word is they were torn to pieces by a wild animal."

My brows raised. "Sounds like it might be a case for the bureau."

"Most likely," Luanne agreed. "I heard from Sally upstairs that Hilda was on the phone with the police chief."

"Then I guess I'd better get up there if I want to get assigned to the case." Unlike some, I didn't shirk jobs. I found satisfaction in solving cases and breaking curses. Not to mention, a serial killer sounded way more interesting than smashing another frog or cutting yet another wannabe-Rapunzel's hair. Funny how a simple snip was all it took to break that curse, which had the unfortunate side effect of turning the women into agoraphobics. The way they carried on after their trim, you'd think I cut off a limb. Apparently I'd ruined their chance at true love. Never mind the fact that, again, the world did not have enough princes for all these hopeful damsels. I never understood how some wanted the torture of being stuck inside, waiting to see if they'd be lucky enough to snare one of the rare royals caught in the same cursed storyline.

The Rapunzel one rarely ended well. Even decades later a fairytale that needed royalty wouldn't settle for a commoner. Although that might change. Rumor had it a few monarchies were offering to knight and give titles to those willing to pay big bucks. Would the curse recognize that they'd been anointed and not born? Guess we'd find out.

"If you find out any juicy details, do spill," Luanne said as I went on my way.

I ignored the elevator for the stairs. I didn't trust the box strung on the cable. It would be too easy for a fairytale curse to decide I needed rescuing. No thanks.

I took the steps two at a time and arrived on the third floor, only slightly huffing. Who needed a gym membership when I got all the exercise I needed for free? First floor held interview rooms, as well as a staging area for larger operations. Second floor was where we kept those who had to be detained, as well as our lockup for magical artifacts until they could be neutralized. Third floor held the main office, which bustled as agents—who happened to be Grimphers who'd beaten their curse—worked at various tasks.

You had Sally, who monitored for budding curses by watching social media for keywords. Tyrone, who kept track of former freed Grimphers to make sure they didn't fall right back into another story. Belle, Mahoney, and Judd were field agents like me, while Cinder in the corner handled any of the legal stuff that cropped up, like a homeowner trying to sue when I accidentally blew a hole in her roof getting rid of the goblins infesting her place.

At the far end of the chaos, the director's office. As I strode for it, Belle hissed, "I wouldn't go in there." Belle, like me, had also managed to foil the curse afflicting her. In her case, the beast proved unredeemable, and when she kept rejecting him, he tried to break into her house, which didn't end well for him. The case was a slam-dunk self-defense one, and she could now live without fear of getting stuck with a monster.

"I am totally going in because I hear there's a juicy crime scene that needs someone from our office."

"You might want to skip this one because, from the sounds of it, it might be a wolf," she divulged.

My brow arched. "Which is exactly my specialty." I'd spent my life studying them, even wrote my college thesis on wolves, so who better than me?

"I just don't know if you should be getting near any wolves."

I snorted. "I already told my wolf and the huntsman to take a hike." Despite Nolan being cute and well-meaning, I knew better than to sleep with him and give the curse anything to work with.

"You say that, and yet rumor has it the Grimm Effect is possibly evolving and is now trying to trick people who've managed to escape into a second shot."

I uttered a disparaging noise. "It can try all it wants. Not only will I send any wolf packing but anyone wearing plaid too." My dating profile on the app Not Looking for a Happily Ever After specifically stated no one in the forestry or wildlife industry. I wasn't about to end up suddenly bound in a magical curse that would fool me into thinking I was happy. I'd seen the results. Girls who'd been kissed awake out of a coma regretting the stranger they'd hooked up with, or the Snow Whites, pregnant and abandoned because they tended to be seduced by guys who liked the idea of a virgin in need of saving. So many didn't understand that, after the curse ran its course, the happily ever after part rarely lasted. On the contrary, I'd found most Grimm-induced relationships finished in violence, much like the original tales.

Was that to say everyone ended up miserable? No. I mean Luanne adored her husband. And my cousin beat the evil-stepmother curse and chose to love her stepkids rather than having them abandoned in the woods. But my mom… She'd let herself be seduced by the huntsman when he rescued her from the wolf, but he was a cad who left her pregnant and alone.

Now don't think I didn't believe in love, because I did. My grandmother loved my granddad, and he was pretty awesome until a tree fell on him in the woods. And before you ask, if a tree falls on you in a forest, you do scream, but even if heard, it doesn't help when your whole body is crushed.

Belle sighed. "I'm glad you're so confidant. I swear I've been on tenterhooks this past month waiting for a beast to appear."

I frowned. "You think your curse is active again?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't shake a feeling something's about to happen."

"You should try a distraction. You want first crack at this serial killer case?"

"No thanks." Belle grimaced.

Surprising since Belle had been bitching about the fact she kept getting the most boring cases. Like her most recent one where she helped a Grimpher spin gold so she wouldn't have to give away her baby to a guy named Rupert Stilt. His real name. I checked.

"You sure? Because if you need this case, it's yours."

"No way. I've got my vacation coming up."

"Ah yes, camping in the woods." I made a face. "Doesn't sound relaxing to me."

"I enjoy getting close to nature."

"Better you than me." And I meant it. My idea of relaxing had a pack of smokes, bottle of tequila, some good tunes, and a video game where I got to blow up zombies.

"Hood! My office. Now," Hilda bellowed, and I grinned.

"Looks like I am up. Sweet."

Despite what Belle cautioned, I was afraid of neither wolf nor curse. I'd beaten it once, and if it decided to come after me for round two, I'd shelve it again.