Read A Grimm Legacy (Grimm Tales) for Free Online

into Dylan.
    Only as tall as a seven-year-old, he had leathery skin, a long pointed nose, and sparse gray hair combed strictly back. Dylan couldn't decide if the oddest thing about his appearance was his distinctly pointed ears or his three-piece black tuxedo, complete with white bow tie and patent leather shoes. Despite all of this, the thing that caught Dylan's eye was the bottle of water hanging from his hand, dripping condensation on the sand.
    Odd or not, mirage or not, he had water and Dylan was going to get it. The small man stared as he wove down the beach, stumbling over sand and his own feet. His ice-colored eyes considered him impassively, the odd creature’s features unmoving. Within several feet, he held out the water and Dylan grabbed it, bobbing his heavy head in thanks as he forced his fingers to unscrew the cap.
    The icy water punched his raw throat and swollen tongue, causing Dylan to hurl the water from his mouth. The tiny man anticipated the fountain and moved accordingly. Dylan earned a twitch from one angled eyebrow, but that was all. Again, Dylan tried taking a small sip, warming it in his mouth and then easing it down his tortured throat. That one stayed down and, in increasingly larger mouthfuls, he went through the bottle. He poured the last of it over his head, only to realize, as the water tickled down his skin, he was badly sunburned.
    The little person spoke. "That should get you to the house. Please follow me. Mr. Jackson is waiting."
    His voice was low pitched, clipped, with a hint of an accent that sounded familiar. The bottle of water tamped down the cotton clouding Dylan’s head. Other, more alarming thoughts sifted through. Survival had taken priority, but now unease bubbled in his stomach, threatening to explode into full alarm.
    Pointed ears. He was in more trouble than he originally thought.
    "Where am I?” Dylan scanned the deserted beach. “Who are you? Who’s Mr. Jackson?”
    The last question was thrown at the back of the tiny person who followed a dim trail up the beach and into the grass covered hills. Dylan turned back to the beach and his sailboat, riding abandoned on the distant waves.
    “All right, then.” Dylan trudged after him, feeling less than coordinated.
    "Cob." The man paused and turned, giving a small, formal bow. "You may call me Cob."
    He resumed his march through the dunes. No more answers were forthcoming. Dylan watched his retreating back and reached up to straighten his Mariner’s cap. His hand fluttered, confused for a moment before he remembered he’d lost it in the ocean. Maybe following Cob would at least provide more answers. He didn't really see another option, even though he wasn’t thrilled with his rescuer.
    They tramped through the dunes not speaking. At least Dylan tramped. He sweated and wheezed while Cob appeared to glide through the sand. Neither the heat nor the hike perturbed him.
    After only a few minutes, they rounded the side of the red clay cliffs and came into sight of the house, though “mansion” or “small castle” would have been a better description. It had three stories of stone with towers sprouting all over the roof, creating domes and turrets. Arched column walkways connected different wings of the massive house, and balconies sprouted in a haphazard fashion over its face. A gravel drive wound from the front of the estate and ended under a covered carriage house large enough to hold a 747 plane.
    The truly impressive part of the house was the surrounding gardens. Sand and dune grass gradually gave way to cultivated lawn with a cobblestone path. Ribbed palms, birches, oaks, and dripping willows accented the forest of flowers in beds of all shapes and sizes. He couldn't name most of the plants, but some he was sure weren't supposed to grow this close to the ocean.
    The path led him under one of the numerous trees and a glint above his head caught his eye. He thought a light hung from the branch, but, twisting his head, he