Grimm: The Killing Time

by Tim Waggoner

  Monroe was fluent in German, and he translated. “It means symptom of decline. Kind of like dementia.”

  Nick nodded and returned his attention to the book, skimming the rest of the entry. Treatments were listed for spine infection and dermal non-elasticity, but for verfallgerscheinung, the entry had only three words to offer. “No treatment known.”

  “If this Wesen is suffering from some kind of dementia,” Juliette said, “that would explain its erratic behavior. In the animal kingdom, creatures who use camouflage as a means of defense do so by staying hidden.”

  “And cutting the throat of your victim’s husband isn’t exactly keeping a low profile,” Monroe said.

  Juliette nodded. “Exactly.”

  “The entry says that a Wechsel… a shapeshifter can keep a stolen form for years,” Hank said. “But we think this one killed Dana Webber and copied her, and then it turned around and changed form a short time later. No idea who it copied that time, though.”

  “There might have been someone else in the house,” Nick said. “Someone we don’t know about.”

  “Maybe that last change was a defense mechanism,” Rosalee said. “A reaction to being threatened by a Grimm.”

  Nick shook his head. “The creature’s body started falling apart in front of my eyes before it attacked. It was like it was melting or something. It definitely needed a new body.”

  “It could be part of the creature’s decline,” Juliette said. “There could be a physical component to it as well as a cognitive one.”

  “Great,” Hank said. “So we not only have a crazy shapeshifter on our hands, we’ve got one that needs to find new victims to copy every hour or so. That’s going to add up to a lot of dead people.”

  “And if the Wechselbalg keeps assuming new forms, how will we ever be able to find it?” Nick asked.

  “The Wechselbalg stuck you with its finger spines, right?” Rosalee asked.

  Nick touched the pinprick wounds on his throat. “Yeah, but it must not have had them in me long enough to affect me.”

  “You’re hardly an ordinary human,” she said. “Maybe you’re immune to the duplication process.”

  “Yeah,” Monroe put in. “You are looking distinctly ungooified.”

  Juliette turned to Nick. “Are you really sure you’re okay? I mean, if the duplication process normally kills people…”

  He gave her a reassuring smile and took hold of her hand. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

  Hank stepped in. “You told me that you felt cotton-headed after the attack, like you were coming down with a cold.”

  Juliette scowled at that.

  “Okay, so I feel a little off,” Nick admitted. “But just a little. I’m not going to collapse into a puddle of protein slime any time soon. I promise.”

  Monroe made a face. “Now there’s an image I could’ve done without.”

  “We have to find him before he needs to kill again,” Nick said. “Somehow.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for more information on Wechselbagen,” Rosalee said. “Maybe I can find some kind of treatment for verfallserscheinung.”

  “I know what kind of treatment I’d give him,” Hank muttered.

  Rosalee gave him a dark look. She was a healer, and a naturally gentle and empathetic soul. She preferred to help rogue Wesen whenever possible instead of killing them. Nick felt the same way, but he knew that it was all too often easier said than done.

  “I don’t want to sit around and wait for the thing to kill someone else,” Hank said. “There’s got to be some way to track it down.”

  Rosalee turned to Monroe. “Do you think you could follow its trail?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “I could try. But if the Wechselbalg’s scent changes every time it shifts form…” He trailed off and shrugged.

  “Then we should get started,” Nick said. “The fresher the trail, the better, right?’

  Before Monroe could respond the door opened, and Bud Wurstner entered. He was carrying a basket, the contents of which were covered by a red-and-white checkered cloth. Bud was a short, stout, middle-aged man with thinning gray hair, a mustache and a short beard. He gave off so much nervous energy that at times he almost seemed to vibrate. Nick feared that part of the reason for Bud’s nervousness—maybe even the majority of it—was that Bud still hadn’t adjusted to being in the presence of a Grimm. Nick tried to make him feel comfortable whenever they were together, but Bud’s anxiety ended up putting Nick on edge, which in turn only made Bud more anxious. Juliette said that Bud just needed more time to get to know Nick, but he wasn’t sure that any amount of time could help Bud relax around him.

  “I saw the lights were on, so I thought I’d stop and see if you were here. And you are. Well, you all are, but I was coming to see Rosalee specifically. Not that it isn’t great to see all of you, and I apologize if I’m interrupting anything. I’m interrupting something, but I hope whatever it is isn’t too important. Not to say that it’s unimportant, because you wouldn’t be here this time of night if it wasn’t important on some level, right? Which is why I’m glad I drove by on my way to drop this off at Monroe and Rosalee’s house. Because if I hadn’t, you two wouldn’t have been there because you’re here.”

  As usual, Bud’s words came tumbling out of his mouth in a nervous rush, and no one could get a word in until he paused for breath. And he could say a lot on a single breath of air. Nick wondered if that was because he was an Eisbiber. Didn’t beavers have to be good at holding their breath when they were working underwater?

  Bud bustled over to the counter, Nick, Juliette, and Hank moving aside to make room for him. He deposited the basket on the counter next to the book.

  “My wife’s been baking thank-you gifts for people all day, and I’ve been delivering them all night. She made a spice cake for you, Rosalee, to thank you for the toothache remedy you made for our daughter.” He turned to the others. “Believe me, when an Eisbiber gets a toothache, it’s a big deal.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Rosalee said. “Thank her for me, Bud, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” He glanced down at the open book. “Grimm trouble? Not to say that Grimms are trouble, you understand, but that you might have trouble to deal with. But then, that’s what Grimms do, right? Not that it’s my place to tell you what a Grimm’s job is, Nick. You’d know better than anyone, right?”

  Nick jumped in before Bud could go any further.

  “We think we may have a Wechselbalg in town. Do you know anything about them?”

  Bud frowned as he thought. “Wechselbalg? That’s some kind of shapeshifter, isn’t it? I mean, technically all Wesen are shapechangers. But this one changes shapes the same way most people change clothes. I’ve never met one—that I know of. Unless one introduces him or herself as a Wechselbalg, how would you know? One of my cousins said she heard there was one in the town where she lived as a kid, but that might’ve just been a rumor.” He paused. “Now that I think of it, isn’t there a legend of some kind involving a Wechselbalg? I think I remember hearing one once, but I can’t remember the details.” He gave Nick an apologetic look. “Wesen have a lot of legends. It’s hard to remember them all.”

  “It’s the whole oral history thing,” Monroe said. “With some exceptions—” he tapped the volume open on the counter “—we don’t write a lot of stuff down. Easier to stay hidden that way.”

  “How about you two?” Nick said to Monroe and Rosalee. “You ever hear of this legend?’

  “I haven’t,” Rosalee said. “But I can keep looking through my brother’s books and see what turns up, if anything.”

  “Sorry, man,” Monroe said. “If I ever heard anything about this legend, I forgot it.”

  Juliette turned to Nick. “While you guys go see if you can track down the Wechselbalg, I can go to the trailer and research the legend.”

  “Hank and I already tried that,” Nick said.

  “But you didn’t know the shapeshifter’s
name,” Juliette pointed out. “Now we do. That might make a difference.”

  He smiled. “It might. But—”

  “Some of the books are written in German. I know. If any of those mention Wechselbalgen, I’ll bring them back here for Monroe to translate.”

  “And if we get lucky, we may have the shapeshifter captured before then,” Hank said.

  “We don’t need luck,” Monroe said. He tapped the side of his nose. “Not when we have this baby on our side.”

  “I’ve got a couple more deliveries to make,” Bud said. “I’ll ask if anyone knows anything about Wechselbalgen and if they can remember anything about the legend.” He drew the back of his hand across his forehead. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

  Rosalee frowned. “Now that you mention it, it is a little warm.”

  “I hadn’t noticed, but yeah, you’re right,” Monroe said. “Maybe the heat’s turned up too high.”

  Nick exchanged looks with Juliette and Hank. He felt fine, and from their expressions, so did they. He shrugged. Maybe it was a Wesen thing.

  “Well, I’ll let you good people get on with your work,” Bud said. “Hope you like the cake, Rosalee. And keep the basket. We’ve got a ton of them. Nick, I’ll call you if I learn anything about the Wechselbalg legend. Good look and take care.”

  He headed for the door, wiping his forehead one more time as he went. He turned to give a final wave before stepping back out into the night.

  Monroe clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Let’s get to work. That scent trail isn’t getting any fresher while we stand here gabbing. Besides, it’ll be nice to get out into the cool air.”

  “Yeah,” Rosalee said. “Maybe I’ll open up a window while I work.”

  Monroe gave her a quick kiss and then came out from behind the counter. Nick wasn’t sure, but he thought his friend’s face looked a little flushed. Rosalee’s too, for that matter. And hadn’t Bud looked a bit red as he departed? Maybe.

  “You feeling all right?” Nick asked Monroe.

  Monroe frowned. “Who me? Never better. Why?”

  “It’s nothing.” Nick turned to Juliette and gave her a kiss.

  “Be careful,” she cautioned.

  He smiled. “Always.”

  “Hank?” she said.

  “I’ll watch out for him.” He smiled, amused.

  “Me too,” Monroe added.

  “I’m relieved to know I’m in good hands,” Nick said. “Let’s go.”

  Juliette left with them, and as they went through the doorway, Rosalee said, “I’ll call if I find out anything, Nick.”

  He turned to wave goodbye and saw Rosalee looking down at the open book and pulling her sweater collar away from her throat as it were stifling her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Wechselbalg—who increasingly thought of itself as Nick Burkhardt—was walking down the sidewalk when a sound came to his ears. His senses were much sharper than he was used to, especially his hearing, and over the sounds of vehicles passing by on the street, he detected a hissing noise that sounded like escaping air. His instincts told him it was out of place, so he turned in its direction—an alley he’d just passed—and walked back toward it.

  In the alley, a couple of teenagers—one male, one female—held cans of spray paint and were hard at work defacing a brick wall. They’d evidently been at it a while, for several empty cans lay on the ground around their feet. Light from the street filtered into the alley, providing enough illumination for the Wechselbalg to make out the graffiti artists’ features. They looked to be in their mid-teens, fifteen, maybe sixteen. The male had shoulder-length hair and wore a leather jacket and jeans. The female had shorter hair, most of which was concealed beneath a stocking cap. She wore a gray sweater, the sleeves a bit too long for her arms, and jeans.

  The Wechselbalg approached them, moving silently as a cat. While he was within six feet of them—a distance his new memories told him was close enough to get their attention, but not so close he was within their reach—he spoke.

  “What’s wrong? Run out of canvas?”

  The two whirled toward him, shocked, and in their surprise they let their guard down for an instant and involuntarily woged. Their human features gave way to lizard-like countenances. Mouths stretched into savage grins and revealed pointed teeth, and forked tongues emerged and flicked the air, as if tasting it.

  The Wechselbalg recognized them. Or rather, Nick’s memories did. Skalengeck.

  Aunt Marie’s voice whispered in his mind.

  Hunt down the bad ones.

  The female spoke in a rough voice, like two rocks grinding together. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and walk away right now.”

  The male hissed and held up clawed hands, his grin widening. “What she said.”

  The Wechselbalg ignored them and glanced at what they’d been painting. It was a green lizard, roughly ten feet long, with bright red eyes, a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth, and a coiled tail.

  “Not bad,” the Wechselbalg said. “You two have talent. Shame you couldn’t have applied it to something more constructive.”

  The Skalengeck female’s eyes narrowed. “You can see us, right? Really see us. So why aren’t you afraid?”

  The male lowered his head and extended it forward, as if examining the Wechselbalg more closely. He made a choking noise deep in his throat and withdrew his head so fast there was an audible click as his neck vertebrae snapped back into place.

  “He’s a Grimm!” He practically spat the word.

  “The one that’s supposed to be living here in town?” the female said.

  “How many Grimms do you think there are in Portland?” the male said.

  The Wechselbalg could feel the fear rolling off of them. He could smell it, too. The Skalengecken were exuding an acrid odor of some kind, probably a defense mechanism designed to discourage an attacker. Too bad it had no effect on him.

  He was surprised to find that he was rather enjoying this. Throughout his long existence, the Wechselbalg had been forced to hide, to conceal his true nature from all around him, including his fellow Wesen. He’d always done his best to fit in with whatever family or community he’d found himself in, but even when he’d come to believe his stolen memories were actually his, he’d never felt he’d truly belonged anywhere. Plus, there was always this feeling, as if he were a consummate actor who, no matter how spectacular a performance he gave, never got to hear the audience’s applause. But now here he was, standing before these two Skalengeck teens, feeling their fear… no, their absolute terror, and it was delicious. They were his audience tonight, and he was determined to give them a hell of a show.

  “You know tagging is illegal, right?” He took a step toward them, just to see how they’d react. The male took a step backward, but the female held her ground. Interesting.

  She resumed her human aspect once more, perhaps in an attempt to appear less threatening, the Wechselbalg thought. Even so, she tried to maintain a tough façade. She held the can to the wall and defiantly sprayed GRIMM. “You may be a Grimm, but you’re not a cop.”

  When a Wechselbalg took on a new identity, it shed its outer layer of skin, which transformed into duplicates of its victim’s clothes. So perfect were these copies that they’d pass all but the most sophisticated of scientific scrutiny. But there was a limit to what the Wechselbalgen could create from their shed skin. They couldn’t replicate the contents of pockets—wallets, keys, phones, and the like—and thus the Wechselbalg that had duplicated Nick Burkhardt hadn’t been able to copy his badge, or his gun, for that matter. Since he had nothing to prove he was a cop, he supposed he’d have to let attitude do the work for him.

  “Who says I can’t be both?” the Weschselbalg said, smiling.

  The male Skalengeck remained in Wesen form the entire time, and although he’d retreated when the Wechselbalg had first advanced, he found his courage now. He hissed loudly and hurled the can of spray pa
int he’d been holding at the Wechselbalg. Skalengecken were stronger than humans, and the can was a blur as it hurtled toward the Wechselbalg. Without being consciously aware of it, the Wechselbalg’s hand reached out and plucked the can out of the air as easily as taking low-hanging fruit from a tree. He held the can for a moment, enjoying the expressions of disbelief on the teens’ faces. Then he drew his arm back and with a single swift motion, hurled the can back at the male Skalengeck. It flew through the air and struck the boy directly between the eyes. Nick’s memories informed the Wechselbalg that Skalengecken were highly resistant to pain, but that didn’t make them invulnerable. They could still be hurt, regardless of whether or not they felt it.

  The can made a satisfyingly solid thunk as it connected with the Skalengeck’s lizardish hide. The impact knocked the boy off his feet, and he hit the ground hard. The spray can bounced off his head, ricocheted off the wall, and clattered to the ground, spinning several times before coming to a stop. The male Skalengeck resumed his human form and groaned, but he made no move to get up.