Chapter 1: A Grim Family Business

1 A Grim Family Business
Anna Grimsbane’s twin brother, Billy, was growing up too fast, and Anna wasn’t growing up fast enough. In just one week, they were going to turn thirteen. For most kids, this was an exciting day marked with balloons and birthday cake and a peaceful transition into teenagehood. Unfortunately, the second midnight struck on the Grimsbane twins’ birthday, their life as they knew it would be over. Basic activities would turn dangerous for Billy. For him, something as simple as stepping on a skateboard would become akin to skydiving during a lightning storm—an easy way to guarantee his untimely, unusual, and unpleasant death. Anna couldn’t even do anything about it—not yet, anyway.

This problem was at the forefront of Anna’s mind as she skateboarded home on a chilly, gray afternoon, much like all afternoons in Witchless, Indiana—“the Cryptid Capital of the USA.” Anna zoomed down the sidewalk, passing colonial storefronts bedecked with dramatic displays featuring pumpkins, acorns, witches, and ghosts. She bobbed and weaved through the crowd of monster-obsessed tourists who swarmed Witchless every autumn in hopes of spotting Bigfoot, the Mothman, or even a jackalope lurking in the dense forest surrounding the town. The wind whipped at Anna’s long black hair and popped with a magical energy that hinted that Halloween was just around the corner.

Anna shifted the drink carrier full of coffee in her right hand, making sure not to spill the bag of scones in her left. She sped through a pile of leaves and sent them scattering like confetti in her wake.

An elderly couple exchanged a pained look as Anna rocketed past, shaking their heads.

“Just as strange as the others,” the old woman muttered.

The old man nodded in agreement.

Most people in Witchless found Anna’s family odd, though they typically turned a blind eye toward the Grimsbanes’ behavior—either because they actually believed the stories about cryptids lurking in the Not-So-Witchless Woods, or because they appreciated the economic boom that came with tourism. Either way, ignoring the Grimsbanes’ eccentricity was an admittedly difficult task. After all, Grimsbane men always wore bike helmets, bulletproof vests, and elbow pads. They constantly looked over their shoulders, jumped at loud noises, and fearfully clutched onto railings, as if afraid the staircase would slip out from under them. The Grimsbane women, in contrast, would sooner start a barroom brawl than hold on to a railing. They wore leather jackets, cussed loudly in public, disappeared for great lengths of time, and often returned to Witchless sporting a myriad of injuries ranging from infected bites to missing limbs.

If Anna ever lost a limb, she’d make her prosthetic red to match her skateboard.

Soon the Grimsbane Family Funeral Home—an imposing, four-story, antebellum-style mansion straight out of an old-timey movie—came into view. Unfortunately, the safety features ruined the image. Forest-green pool noodles encased the ornate wooden railing. Orange cheerleading mats covered the wraparound porch. Soft, overgrown grass brushed Anna’s ankles as she skated past the vans and motorcycles that lined the long driveway.

The skateboard slowed. Anna dismounted and picked it up, making her way to the front door. As her hand reached out to open it, a tingle sprang up on the back of her neck—like someone was standing behind her, barely an inch away. Anna spun around, expecting to see an annoying trespasser she’d have to tell off.

But the yard was completely empty, silent aside from the rustling grass, the leaves skittering across the drive, and the faint whispering of the wind.

Anna rubbed the back of her neck. She stared at the deserted space, listening to the strange sounds of autumn.

She could have sworn she heard someone breathing.

After a moment, Anna shrugged and opened the door. Maybe she’d imagined it.

The ever-present scent of flowers and formaldehyde hit Anna the second she stepped into the silent foyer. It was always quiet, because everything—the maroon furniture, the coffee-colored carpet, even the slowly revolving ceiling fan—was plush and cushioned, ensuring that if there were ever an accident, something would soften the blow.

If the Grimsbanes knew anything, it was that serious injury was better than death.

Taking her skateboard with her, Anna continued to the door beside the stairs. She briefly glanced at the Grimsbane family crest directly above it: two bloodstained axes forming an X, with the family motto written just beneath in elegant, scrolling script: Engage. Incapacitate. Kill.

Anna knocked.

“Coming!” shouted someone, followed by a series of thuds.

The door swung open, revealing Anna’s sixteen-year-old sister Madeline, who resembled Wednesday Addams if Wednesday Addams spent a great deal of time throwing knives, lifting weights, and sticking it to the man. Madeline examined Anna as if she were smeared dog poop stuck to the bottom of her combat boots.

Anna stood on her toes, peering over Madeline’s shoulder down the only non-plush staircase in the house. Her female relatives’ shouts and laughter echoed from the basement, mingling with the familiar scent of lavender and the distinct chorus of the Mamas & the Papas’ “California Dreamin’.”

“Coffee?” asked Madeline, holding out a perfectly French-manicured hand.

“Not just yet,” Anna said, maneuvering the coffee tote behind her back.

Madeline raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“I think you, and everyone else”—Anna glanced down the stairs—“might have noticed I’ve been making the coffee runs in record time for the last few weeks. I’ve kept everyone’s bags stocked, made two new batches of lavender water well in advance of Halloween, and even alphabetized our records. You might say that I’m mature for my age. You might even say that though I’m physically twelve, my mind, body, and soul are sixteen. Therefore, I should start hunting ahead of schedule.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Anna complained, falling back to her heels as all thoughts of prepped speeches and rehearsed lines fell tumbling from her brain. “I brought the coffee so quickly! I’m fast! Naturally agile! One of the many reasons I should be allowed down.”

“How many times do we have to tell you you’re too young to train?” asked Madeline, snatching the coffee tote from Anna’s hands with near-inhuman swiftness.

“I am not ‘too young’!” Anna shouted, so sick of hearing that stupid phrase.

Madeline sighed. “If you really want to help—”

“No.”

“My backpack needs refilling—”

“No!”

“Aunt Jane and I are going to Ohio tonight to hunt a witch. We’ll need iron bullets, salt bombs—”

“I’m not helping you refill your stupid backpack!” yelled Anna. “I can help with the actual stuff! I want to help break the curse!”

“Backpack refilling is actual stuff that can help break the curse, moron.”

Anna crossed her arms, staring into her older sister’s dark eyes with the utmost malice. Madeline knew exactly what she was doing—she was torturing Anna by refusing to let her downstairs. And based on the way Madeline was smirking, she thought it was funny, which only made Anna angrier.

Anna darted forward.

Madeline blocked her path easily. She punched Anna in the chest, sending her stumbling backward into the mint-and-tissue table.

“You think you’re ready to be a hunter?” asked Madeline, scoffing. “You couldn’t kill a Sasquatch.”

Before Anna could retort, Madeline slammed the door, leaving Anna cut off from the rest of the family witch hunters. As usual.

Anna thumped the door. “JERK!”

She rubbed her sternum. It hurt a lot more than she’d like to admit.

Another shout of laughter echoed from the basement. Anna’s heart clenched in a way that had nothing to do with Madeline’s punch.

Would it really have been so bad for the family to let her help?

Anna turned away from the door and started upstairs toward the attic. The bag of scones was somewhat smooshed, but she knew Billy—the only member of the family who never doubted Anna and her abilities—wouldn’t mind.

When Anna got to the attic landing, she threw open the door on the right side of the hall, revealing her tiny bedroom. The brick-colored paint and sloped ceiling were barely visible behind posters that featured the stars of Vampires of West Grove High and famous American witch hunters. Discarded clothing, pencil drawings of cryptids, and empty Gatorade bottles covered every visible surface. Despite the mess, each cluttered inch of this bedroom was as familiar to Anna as the back of her hand.

Billy sat in a cushy brown armchair beside the circular window overlooking the front lawn, wearing his usual sweater, jeans, and lace-up old-man boots. Like Madeline and Anna, Billy possessed Dad’s spindly, spidery appearance, though only he had inherited Mom’s freckles and auburn hair, which almost seemed to glow in the soft, yellow light of the reading lamp. He was reading a worn-out paperback copy of The King of the Jewels that was studded with colorful sticky notes.

“It didn’t work!” shouted Anna, setting down her skateboard and slumping onto her twin bed. She shrugged off her leather jacket and threw it on the floor. “They still won’t let me downstairs.”

“Really?” asked Billy, placing a bookmark to save his page. “You said what I told you to say, right? All about your mind, body, and soul being more mature than your actual numerical age?”

“I tried to.” Anna fished through the bag for a pumpkin scone and tossed it to Billy.

The scone bounced off Billy’s finger and nearly fell on the floor. He barely caught it with his other hand. “So what happened?”

“Madeline.”

Billy huffed. “Of course.”

“I twied to get pathst her,” Anna explained through a mouthful of cinnamon scone, “but she blocked me. She wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say.”

“They never do,” said Billy, taking a bite out of his scone.

“So, I’m guessing things didn’t go well with Mom and Dad?”

Billy had been trying to convince Mom and Dad to let him stay in school for weeks, to no avail. Like all the other Grimsbane men, Billy was going to be pulled out of school when he turned thirteen. Between bullies and gym class and all the other dangers that came with middle school, it was just too unsafe to educate the Grimsbane boys in a traditional manner once the curse set in. Though Anna recognized that Billy would be endangered if he kept going to school with her, she hated the idea of leaving him behind.

“Same old, same old,” said Billy. “It’s all ‘too dangerous’ and ‘going to kill me even if I’m careful.’?” Billy made mocking air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes. “They’re determined to homeschool me. They want me to start working in the funeral home as soon as possible. You think Dad would understand, seeing as he got cursed when he turned thirteen too, but no! He’s just as bad as everyone else. Based on the current, deplorable state of our communications, it looks like I’m going to end up handing out tissues and recommending headstone designs forever.”

“Don’t say that. There’s still plenty of time until…” Anna sat up, struggling to find the right words, not wanting to come out and say it. “You know.”

“I get cursed to die a horrible, miserable death?”

Anna sighed. He’d said it. “You don’t need to be so casual about it.”

“Well, there’s no point in teetering around the issue. I’m well aware of my impending doom.” Billy stood up and sat down beside Anna, taking the scone bag from her hands. “It’s just”—he sighed—“I was kind of expecting the curse to be broken by now.”

“It still might get broken before our birthday,” Anna assured him, “especially if I can convince the family to let me help out.” Though the Watcher—the witch who had cursed their family—was the most dangerous witch in history, Anna was certain that, given the chance, she could take the Watcher down quickly and easily, largely due to the excessive amount of time she’d spent studying witches and using practice weapons in her bedroom—eager to try out the real-deal stuff when she was older.

“You really think you’d be able to hunt the Watcher in seven days?” asked Billy.

“For sure,” answered Anna confidently. “I know everything there is to know about hunting.”

“I wouldn’t say you know everything.”

“Please,” said Anna, holding up a hand. “Gimme a few questions.”

Billy sighed but played along. “Where was the Mothman first spotted?”

“Point Pleasant, West Virginia, in 1966,” Anna recited from memory, a perfect image of the flash card she’d made clear in her mind. She turned back to Billy. “But that’s an easy one.”

“Which weapons can kill witches?”

“Again, easy, and also a trick question. You need salt, kindling, and a lighter. Only fire can kill witches.”

“And what are three alternative names for Ozark Howlers?”

“Devil Cat, Black Howler, and…” Anna furrowed her brow. She could picture the flash card in her mind—light purple, with Mom’s scrawled handwriting written across it. Why couldn’t she picture the last name for an Ozark Howler?

“Nightshade Bear?” finished Billy.

“Yeah, a Nightshade Bear!” Anna smiled. “I totally knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

Anna shoved him with her shoulder so hard, he nearly fell off the bed, but nonetheless laughed. “Even with my lack of your school brains, I do know everything about the Watcher. That’s why I’ll be the greatest hunter of all time, as soon as the family lets me downstairs.”

Before Billy could respond, Dad shouted the two most dreaded words in the world up the staircase.

“FAMILY MEETING!”

The words hung in the air as if made of fog. Anna’s mind began to spiral—memories of every bad thing she’d done in the last few months rising to the top of her consciousness. She and Billy didn’t exactly have the best conduct record. If Principal Myers had sent a note home about the water fountain incident (they’d meant for the water to shoot their friend’s bully in the face, not an elderly teacher just months away from retirement), or had somehow discovered that the twins were the ones who had set off the stink bombs before the football rally, or even had found out about Operation Bullfrog Breakout (carried out seamlessly just before dissection day), the twins were going to be in serious trouble.

Oh God. Mom and Dad were going to kill her.

Billy was growing paler by the second. “We better get downstairs,” he said quickly, standing up. “We’ll be in even more trouble if we’re late.”