The Grimm Files Collection Boxed Set Read online

  THE GRIMM FILES COLLECTION

  Books 1-3

  SELENE CHARLES

  SeleneCharlesPublishing

  CONTENTS

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Prologue

  1.

  Detective Elle

  2.

  Detective Elle

  3.

  Detective Elle

  4.

  Detective Elle

  5.

  Detective Elle

  6.

  Detective Elle

  7.

  Detective Elle

  8.

  Detective Elle

  9.

  Constable Maddox

  10.

  Constable Maddox

  11.

  Detective Elle

  12.

  Detective Elle

  13.

  Detective Elle

  14.

  Detective Elle

  15.

  Constable Maddox

  16.

  Constable Maddox

  17.

  Constable Maddox

  18.

  Detective Elle

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Prologue

  Prologue

  19.

  Detective Elle

  20.

  Detective Elle

  21.

  Detective Maddox

  22.

  Detective Elle

  23.

  Detective Elle

  24.

  Detective Elle

  25.

  Detective Elle

  26.

  Detective Elle

  27.

  Detective Elle

  28.

  Detective Elle

  29.

  Detective Elle

  30.

  Detective Elle

  31.

  Detective Elle

  32.

  Detective Elle

  33.

  Detective Elle

  34.

  Detective Elle

  35.

  Detective Elle

  A Witch and a Fish

  36.

  Elle

  37.

  Hatter

  38.

  Elle

  39.

  Elle

  40.

  Elle

  41.

  Hatter

  42.

  Hatter

  43.

  Elle

  44.

  Maddox

  45.

  Elle

  46.

  Hatter

  47.

  Elle

  48.

  Elle

  49.

  Elle

  50.

  Elle

  Chapter

  Untitled

  Completed Series!!

  Completed Series!!

  Untitled

  UNTITLED

  The Grimm Files: It’s a Charmed Life

  Welcome to a world of fantasy, fairy tales, and murder most foul…

  My name's Elle. Princess Arielle, for those who know my history. Cursed by my own father and banished to Grimm, I'm a siren, a killer, and one of the best damned cold-case detectives in the hundred realms. I don't stop until I uncover the truth, no matter where that truth leads.

  After discovering a bloodstained ribbon and a poison-tipped cat’s claw at a cold-case crime scene at the Charmings’s castle, I’m sent to Wonderland to investigate. Wonderland is a harrowing place full of madness and dark secrets. I'd rather be landlocked than step foot on that twisted soil, but I don't have a choice. My insatiable thirst for truth reveals a conspiracy that will not only rock the Grimm world but also my own.

  No one ever walks away from Wonderland unscathed… no one.

  Join me for a spellbinding tale you aren't soon to forget.

  UNTITLED

  Copyright 2019 Selene Charles

  The Grimm Collection Boxed set

  Cover Art by RAYVENN

  Formatted by Vellum

  A Charmed Life, Book 1

  The Long Goodnight, Book 2

  A Witch and a Fish, Book 3

  (individual cover art done by Dan Dos Santos)

  My super seekrit hangout!

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events, or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, Selene Charles, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Selene Charles.

  Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2019 by Selene Charles, United States of America

  PROLOGUE

  Grimm Reports

  Cold Case File# 278: The Charmings’s

  DETAIL OF EVENTS

  22 ND OF JULY. Hysterical female calls in to the Grimm PD. Two bodies reported as DOA. One male. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Goes by the moniker Groundskeeper. Dressed in skins. Partial decapitation of skull. Ten yards from his body, a Jane Doe. Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. Nude. Stomach has been mutilated, fingers and toes amputated. Bodies dumped close to a lake behind the estate of one Prince Charming and Snow White. No evidence of weapons on scene. Castle and grounds swept, nothing to indicate those within have any specific knowledge of the crime.

  ACTIONS TAKEN

  NEW HEAD of groundskeeping and head chambermaid taken in for questioning. Neither claims to have seen or heard anything, and everyone else in the Charmings’s employ denies any knowledge of said event. Detectives Mulan and VanWinkle returned for a second sweep of grounds and keep. Neither Charming nor White willing to talk further, and none in their employ will either.

  SUMMARY

  A YEAR LATER, cold-case file remains. Will send one final inspector specialized in water rescue out to the scene to scour lake upon the grounds for any possible clues.

  CHAPTER 1

  DETECTIVE ELLE

  I TOOK a final gulp of water as I stared up at the whitish-blue sliver of moon hanging in the sky amongst millions of glittering stars. There was nothing above me and no life swimming alongside me. It was just me in the cursed pool, alone. Cast out forever from my own kind. A pariah now, where once I’d been exalted, praised as the most beautiful jewel of them all.

  But I did not mind the silence, not anymore. I was a long way away from the girl I’d once been—simple, silly, and naïve. I would never again be those things. My sins were terrible chains upon my soul. Every anguished cry, every tearful plea—I relived it all, night after long night, except now, in this finite sliver of time when my demons slept and I could breathe again, if only for a moment.

  This was my favorite time of day, not quite night and not quite morning. The witching hour , we Grimmers called it. That point in the day where very little life stirred, and yet the world was expectant, pregnant with the possibility of what was yet to come.

  The morning was calm and cool. Relaxing. But it wouldn’t be for long. Today’s assignment would take me far from my prote
cted waters. It wasn’t that I hated land, but staying out of my waters for too long made me twitchy. I’d learned to deal with the discomfort years ago, but it was never fun.

  Snarling at the thought of just how long I’d be forced to stay in the above this time, I snatched a shell-pink pearl from the river floor with a little more force than necessary, kicking up layers of sediment and turning my normally clear waters murky.

  With a final flick of my fiery-colored tail, I thrust my body through the deep water and, in one smooth motion, jumped clear of it, gills sealing shut and lungs adjusting to breathe air.

  I landed gracefully on my feet upon the cold, wet stretch of sand, needing a second to acclimate myself to the sensation of air versus water. I shuddered but squared my shoulders after a third breath. I was ready.

  A balmy breeze feathered across my naked flesh, causing me to break out in a wash of goose bumps. Clutching the pearl tightly, I raised two fingers to my mouth and released a piercing whistle, the likes of which only a siren could ever achieve. The high-pitched, tonal quality was enough to pierce through someone’s skull and turn a brain to soup if I wished.

  Giving myself a quick shake to dry off, I reached for my skintight black leather pants, which I kept tucked beneath the rocky overhang, and slipped them on. The tighter the better, and not because it showed off my body. I had shapely, athletic limbs that many leggers seemed to find admirable. But I couldn’t care less what my legs looked like. I wore the things out of necessity.

  I needed the tightness of the pants because it mimicked the pressure of water against my tail. The first twenty-four hours outside my water were never fun and usually more than a little disorienting and nauseating for me. I took a deep breath. You’d think, after being forced to wear the bloody things going on almost five decades, I’d have grown used to the queer sensation, but I doubted I ever would. I was a creature of the deep. It wasn’t natural to live my life on land, but I had no choice in the matter.

  Just then, a ball of golden light zigged and zagged through the air, acting drunk as it waltzed closer. The ball of light was actually a sea-dwelling sprite dressed in vines of sea kelp, with long black hair that trailed well past her ankles. It was Caytla, and I had to stifle a groan. Of all the sprites to heed my call, she was the one I dreaded dealing with most. The bitch with wings would just as soon stab me in the back as make a deal with me.

  The miniature woman with pointed ears landed on a jagged edge of rock in front of me. She grinned, exposing razor-sharp teeth that could easily make mincemeat of man or beast.

  “Ye gots the treasure?” Her double-lidded reptilian eyes blinked independently of each other, and her dragonfly wings buzzed ominously. She was in a mood. I hated it when she was in a mood.

  I clenched my jaw, feeling the muscle in my cheek twitch, but I turned my palm over, showing her the pearl. “I’ve got it, you filthy creature.”

  If Caytla felt insulted, she didn’t let on. A sprite’s greatest weakness was her avarice for treasure. She reached her wee fingers out, but I yanked the pearl out of reach just before she could snatch it from me. She hissed, and her wings buzzed, sounding like the droning whir of a disturbed hornet’s nest.

  “Well?” I snipped. “Have we a deal?”

  She swallowed, staring at the pearl with unwavering, greedy focus.

  “Aye, we’ve a deal, fish.” She spat out the slur with a nasty little snarl. The remarkably stunning water sprite thrust out her palm, exposing a ball of golden brilliance.

  Sprites were evil, nasty little buggers, but they were part of the siren family tree, which meant they were as appealing to look upon as I was. Her skin was ivory-fair with not a single blemish upon it. Her hair was the color of a raven’s feather glinting in the sunlight—black and green tinted with hints of darkest violet. She had a lush little mouth, full and bright pink. But in the Grimm universe, the most beguiling and beautiful amongst us often had the cruelest hearts.

  I narrowed my eyes and clenched my fingers over the pearl.

  Caytla’s upper lip curled back, and a heated wash of fury burned through her blood-red pupils. I’d seen that look in her eyes before—determined greed. She might not want to heel for me, but she’d do it because, more than anything, she wanted the treasure. I grinned, and her wee nostrils flared.

  “How many hours of water are in it?” I asked. My kind usually didn’t need spelled trinkets to walk on land. But I wasn’t like most sirens.

  The last time the treacherous fae had sewn me a shirt with water from my pool, there’d only been enough water to last me ten hours. I’d nearly turned to stone before I made it back to my river. If I’d gone even a minute longer without returning, the effects could have been catastrophic and likely irreversible, and the tiny bitch knew it.

  “Forty-eight hours’ worth, just as demanded,” Caytla spit. “Now give or I go.”

  Sprites were deadly, perfidious creatures, and I wouldn’t normally bother with any of them, but desperate times and all that. Only the sprites were capable of weaving the sorts of enchantments I required.

  “Give it to me. And I swear to the gods, if you screw me again, little sprite, I’ll take you below water and drown your sorry hide.”

  Caytla zipped from her perch on the rocks toward my palm. The sprite made the transfer quickly, zooming out of my reach with such blinding speed that I’d not seen her move at all.

  Wings buzzing furiously behind her as she hovered before me, Caytla took a tester bite out of the edge of the pearl. Her smile turned lascivious.

  “Unlike some, I don’t cheat,” I hissed.

  She just rolled her eyes. Satisfied I’d not cheated her, Caytla bowed and pocketed her prize, which had now shrunk down to the size of a penny. But there was no reverence in her bow, nothing but loathing irony.

  “Ye ken where to find me, princess ,” she muttered with dripping sarcasm.

  I ground my teeth together, clinging tight to the golden orb in my palm to stay my hand. I wished to the gods I didn’t need to do scratch with the fae, but that was the price one paid for treason against one’s king. I loathed the taste of humble pie.

  The sky was already beginning to lighten with shades of peach and tangerine. The witching hour was nearly gone. Twirling, Caytla streaked like a ball of light back toward the haven of the sprite stronghold. The trail of her maniacal laughter grated harshly on my nerves. Only once I was sure the fae had gone did I sigh and glance down at the orb.

  Sprites could not lie. It was their one fatal flaw. So I trusted that, at least this time, the demonic creature had given me what I needed. But having been a detective for years, I knew the precarious nature of my job and just how often things could change on a dime.

  Turning, I picked up a shell from the sand and, using a bit of my own magick, called my water into it. The funnel of water settled inside the perfectly shaped seashell, which now glowed a deep blue.

  Stringing a bit of cord through a natural hole in its end, I tied the shell around my neck and exhaled deeply, feeling more at ease with the comforting weight of it pressed against my breast. Should anything unforeseen arise, I had an additional day’s worth of water at hand to see me through.

  “Reveal yourself,” I commanded the orb in my palm, and instantly, it transformed into its true form—that of a flowing teal-colored peasant top.

  I dressed quickly, feeling calmer when the waters of my home encapsulated my form. Then, grabbing my badge, holster, and gun, I withdrew the enchanted key card that helped me slip between realms. Walking over to the key card reader set in the rocks, I swiped the card through, stepping back just as a black wrought-iron door materialized where I’d been standing moments ago.

  I strode through and left the safety of my seaside home for the dusty, busy streets of Central Grimm, choking on the thick smog of the city with my first breath.

  The city itself was a network of gothic-style architecture, with buildings that stretched like giant fingers toward the heavens. It always took me a m
oment to adapt to the smog, sights, and sounds of the city center.

  Cobblers peddled their wares from every sidewalk corner. Food hawkers, with shouts of “Fresh fish ere!” or “Sweet buns! Come get your sweet buns!” or any other type of delicacy one could imagine, vied for the attention of the crowds moving with great urgency toward their individual destinations.

  My feet guided me by instinct toward one particular peddler, one who specialized in foods and drinks of the sea. He grinned as he saw me near, and I nodded.

  “Georgie Porgie,” I said, dipping my chin once.

  He was thick and pudgy around the middle just the way his name implied. He had a head of shockingly frizzy orange-red hair that he never tried to tame, a broad forehead, a bulbous nose, and a wide mouth with blunt, flat teeth. He showed signs of aging around the eyes and mouth, but considering he was a sea-cave dwarf and over four hundred years old, he looked pretty good.

  “Elle, my favorite customer.” His thick voice rumbled like a rockslide.

  I snorted. “You say that to all the ladies, dwarf?”

  “Aye.” He agreed while whipping up my usual—a squid-ink latte, heavy on the ink. His movements were smooth and efficient as he whipped up some heated sea foam for the topper.

  “But in this case, it happens to be true. So, what’s on the docket for today, eh?”

  Every morning he asked me the same. And almost always, I’d say, “None of your bloody business.” But today was different.

  Reaching into my pocket, I dug out a miniature diamond. Usually, I paid Georgie in sapphires, but at that moment, I had a bribe in mind.

  Dwarves were generally silent, thoughtful creatures. Because of their small stature, they were also easily overlooked, which meant people got lazy and forgetful in their presence. Dwarves often had their thumb on the pulse of the city and were an easy source of information.

  For the right price, of course.

  Holding up the flawless, half-carat diamond, I pretended to study it. A spoon clattered to the cobblestone floor, and I smirked.

  “What ‘ave you there, siren?” Georgie swallowed hard, words sounding awed and rushed.

  Raising a brow, I pursed my lips and acted as though I hadn’t heard him. The only beautiful thing about Georgie was the color of his eyes. The deep, intense green of them reminded me of my father’s ancient sea-kelp gardens.