by Tim Waggoner
They had to do whatever they could to prevent that from happening—if it wasn’t already too late.
* * *
“Want some tea?” Rosalee asked.
Monroe didn’t look up from the book currently open in front of him. “Better make it coffee—and strong. We might be at this for a while.”
But as Rosalee started for the back room, Monroe looked up from the page he had been reading—an entry on Siegbarste foot fungus—which was precisely as interesting as it sounded—and gestured to catch her attention.
“On second thought, skip the coffee. It’s too hot in here for coffee. Same for tea.”
Rosalee frowned at him. Actually, it was closer to a scowl. But then her brow smoothed and she smiled.
“I think we have some regular soda in the back. Chock full of sugar and caffeine.”
“And calories,” Monroe said, patting his stomach. “How about energy drinks?”
Now she did scowl. “I said we have soda. If you want an energy drink, maybe you should go get in your car, drive to a convenience store, and get one.”
Normally, Monroe would’ve been shocked by Rosalee’s attitude, which was so unlike her usual easygoing, gentle personality. But all he felt at that moment was a surge of anger that rapidly built to all-out fury. A part of him that was still calm, still in control, warned him not to give in to the turbulent emotions roiling inside him.
“What did you say?” he said, almost growling.
“I thought Blutbaden had strong hearing,” Rosalee said, also through gritted teeth. “Or is that just a bit of exaggerated folklore?”
A snarl escaped Monroe’s lips, and he felt a woge coming. He didn’t try to resist it, but even if he had, it came upon him so fast and strong that he couldn’t have stopped it. He changed so swiftly he was barely aware of it, and his snarl—which had already sounded bestial while he was in his human form—became deeper and more menacing.
As if in response to his transformation, Rosalee woged as well. Her features became a cross between human and vulpine, and reddish-brown hair with hints of white covered her skin. Normally when she changed, her large dark eyes remained gentle, and her expression one of calm watchfulness. But now her lips curled away from sharp teeth, and she returned his snarl. Although hers was higher-pitched and not as loud as his, it contained an equal amount of anger. Fuchsbau might not be Blutbaden, but they were still predators, and Rosalee showed no signs of submitting to him.
Blutbaden were not wolves any more than they were humans, but one of the traits that they shared with their canine cousins was a pack hierarchy based on dominance and submission. As a modern and, more importantly, reformed Blutbad, Monroe didn’t take part in such rituals, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the drive to indulge in them at times. And this was definitely one of those times.
Rosalee’s defiance was what set him off. When a Blutbad snarled and displayed his or her teeth, that was a sign for another to back down or risk getting into a fight. And the last thing most Wesen wanted to do was go claw-to-claw with a pissed-off Blutbad—unless they were Blutbaden themselves, of course.
Monroe’s instincts told him that a Fuchsbau might put up a brave front for a moment or two, but in the end, he or she would always stand down rather than risk getting torn to bits. Monroe’s kind hadn’t been named ‘blood bath’ for nothing.
But Rosalee continued snarling, her voice rising in pitch and volume. He could sense the fury emanating from her, could smell it, could almost feel it roll over him like psychic waves of force. His snarl became a deep-throated growl, and he flexed his hands, his claws growing longer and sharper. He could feel his features taking on an even wilder aspect, fur growing thicker, eyes more feral, nose sharper, teeth longer… This had never happened to him before. Until now, when he changed, he changed. He didn’t get more Blutbady the angrier he got. It wasn’t like he was some kind of Wesen version of the Incredible Hulk. But that was exactly what it felt like was happening, including the increasing rage that threatened to sweep away the last vestiges of his reason and turn him completely into a beast.
The same thing was happening to Rosalee, too. Her fur grew thicker, its colors more intense, her snout lengthened, and her teeth became more pronounced. Her claws normally weren’t very sharp in her Wesen form, and while they were nothing compared to his, they were larger and sharper than he’d ever seen them before.
It was Rosalee who made the first move. In this situation, she should’ve turned to flee, for a Fuchsbau—no matter how skilled a fighter—simply wasn’t a match for an enraged Blutbad. But she raised her claws and came rushing toward him. Monroe responded as if a switch had been thrown inside him. He released a roar and ran forward to meet Rosalee’s challenge.
* * *
“I’m still not getting an answer,” Juliette said. “From either of their phones.”
She sounded worried, and Nick didn’t blame her. He was plenty worried, too.
He drove this time, Juliette in the passenger seat, Hank in the back.
“We’ll be there in a couple minutes,” he said, although he knew it wouldn’t make her feel better. He was glad for his police training. It allowed him to put aside his fear for his friends and concentrate on the task at hand. Mostly.
“So how does this woge sickness work?” Hank asked.
Juliette thought for a moment before answering. “Without blood samples from Nick, the Wechselbalg, and affected Wesen—along with a few weeks in a specially equipped lab with the help of a geneticist or two—I can only speculate. Nick described the Wechselbalg’s true form as looking like a semi-solid silvery mass. All Wesen change shape, but none do so as completely as Wechselbalgen. None that we know of, anyway. I suspect Wechselbalgen possess an enormous amount of the hormone that allows all Wesen to woge. In fact, its entire being might be comprised of a highly evolved form of the chemical.” She thought for a moment. “It’s even possible that this creature is the ancestor of all Wesen. If it can sample DNA and replicate bodies, it might’ve done so with animals as well as humans in the past. And then the two types of DNA become combined, and hybrid creatures developed, which eventually became the Wesen we know today.”
“So how does the Ewig Woge work?” Nick asked.
“When the Wechselbalg tried to duplicate you, it caused a chain reaction in both your bodies. You received an infusion of Wechselbalg super-woge hormone, which your body is working to expel, probably in both breath and sweat. Wesen are so sensitive to this hormone that when they’re in the presence of a carrier—in this case you, Nick—their bodies go into overdrive and produce too much of it. Then their bodies try to shed the excess—”
“And the condition spreads like a disease,” Nick said.
“Right. Technically, it’s not a disease but a severe hormone imbalance. But people in the past wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. By this point, you’ve probably expelled all traces of the hormone, and it’s safe for Wesen to be around you. But the damage has been done. The hormone imbalance will keep spreading, like a row of falling dominoes, until all but the most reclusive Wesen in town are affected.”
“But why is the shapeshifter a carrier, too?” Hank asked.
“Because it copied Nick’s form down to the cellular level,” Juliette said. “So now its own body is trying to expel its own woge hormone just like Nick’s. But because it has so much more of the hormone inside, it will remain a carrier for much longer than Nick.
“And if all that wasn’t bad enough,” Juliette continued, “the Wechselbalg’s version of the hormone is much stronger than the normal Wesen version, and it overwhelms their systems. They can no longer control their woge and remain stuck in their Wesen forms. I’m afraid that the longer they stay changed, the more they’ll exhibit the behaviors of their particular type. If that’s true, then Mauzhertzen would become more meek than usual, and Blutbaden—”
“Would become more aggressive,” Nick said.
She nodded.
“But how can the Wechselbalg dissolve its victims like that?” Nick asked.
“And it’s not just flesh and bone that gets dissolved,” Hank added. “The victim’s clothes do, too.”
Juliette thought for a moment before answering. “A lot of creatures in nature produce powerful chemicals that liquefy their prey, especially in the insect kingdom. The hormone that allows Wesen to woge could act the same way. A substance like that, which promotes change in Wesen, could totally destabilize the structure of a human body. And once the biological material starts to break down, it could in turn become acidic enough to dissolve clothing.”
At first it didn’t seem possible that a victim’s clothes might be dissolved by a biologically produced chemical, but as a homicide detective, Nick had seen bodies in all sorts of conditions, and he knew it didn’t take long for a corpse to basically become toxic waste. He’d seen some horrific crime scenes where the bodies weren’t discovered for some time, and the things that happened to their clothes or any cloth, upholstery, or carpet the corpses were in contact with… When he thought of those scenes, he had no trouble believing the Wechselbalg’s super-woge hormone could dissolve an entire victim, clothing and all.
He recalled his encounter with a type of Wesen called a Fuchsteufelwild. That creature had two bone-like fingers which released a type of acid. He wondered if the Wechselbalg was related to Fuchsteufelwilden in some way. He supposed it was possible.
“If the victims’ remains are acidic enough to dissolve clothing, are the CSU techs in danger from them?” Hank asked.
“I doubt it,” Juliette said. “It would be difficult for the residue to remain that volatile for any length of time. My guess is that it becomes safe to handle after a few minutes.”
“Sounds like Mrs. Webber’s remains might’ve dissolved some of the sidewalk before they cooled off,” Hank said. “CSU’s going to be scratching their heads over that one.”
“So why didn’t I dissolve?’ Nick asked. “Not that I’m complaining about it.”
Juliette smiled. “Grimms must have some kind of immunity—or at least resistance—to the hormone the Wechselbalg injects. Speaking in purely biological terms, you wouldn’t make a very effective predator of Wesen if you didn’t possess resistance to a wide range of Wesen-based chemical attacks. Even a substance as powerful as the Cracher-Mortel toxin didn’t affect you the same way as it did others.”
Nick grinned. “You are so sexy when you talk all sciencey.”
She grinned back. But her grin quickly fell away.
“I just hope Monroe and Rosalee are all right,” she said.
“Even if they are woged, and stuck in their Wesen forms, that doesn’t mean they’ll become aggressive,” Hank said. “After all, this is Monroe and Rosalee we’re talking about.”
“If they’re affected, and I believe they are,” Juliette said, “then their animal natures have been intensified. So we’re not talking about Monroe and Rosalee. We’re talking about a Blutbad and a Fuchsbau.”
After that, she fell silent and continued trying to call Rosalee and Monroe without any more luck than she had before.
Nick pulled into the spice shop’s neighborhood, found a nearby parking space, and moments later the three of them were running down the sidewalk toward the shop, Nick in the lead. As he ran, he drew his Glock from its holster. He didn’t want to hurt either of his friends, but he couldn’t let them hurt each other, either.
When he reached the shop’s front door, he was relieved to find it unlocked. He threw it open and rushed inside. He swept his gaze around the shop, searching for Monroe and Rosalee. He didn’t see them, but he heard snuffling and snarling coming from behind the counter. He headed for it as Juliette and Hank entered the shop. The snarls grew louder, and now they were accompanied by yipping noises. Keeping his weapon low, Nick moved around the side of the counter.
He paused and blinked several times, not quite able to believe what he was seeing. Then he lowered his gun, stepped back, turned, and walked slowly toward Juliette and Hank.
Juliette stopped when she saw the look on Nick’s face. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Are they all right?”
“They’re more than all right,” he said softly. “They’re, uh… well…”
At that precise moment Monroe let out a long, loud howl.
“Oh,” Juliette said. And then her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh!” she repeated, her cheeks reddening.
Hank grinned. “I guess the side effects of this woge disease aren’t all bad.”
* * *
The Wechselbalg pulled into the parking lot of the Justice Center, where the Central Precinct was housed. He was relieved to have finally found the place. He’d spent much of the last hour driving around the area, knowing he was close but unable to recall the building’s precise location. This little victory encouraged him. With any luck, he’d be able to access more of his new memories as time went on. And even if he couldn’t, that was okay. He’d make do with what he had.
Humming to himself, he pulled his recently acquired vehicle into an empty parking spot. He’d picked up his new ride—a red Jeep Cherokee—outside of a twenty-four-hour diner. The vehicle had been locked, but the Wechselbalg ran his fingers beneath the wheel rims until he found a small magnetic box with a spare key in it affixed to the metal. Couldn’t have been easier if the vehicle had been delivered to him. It wasn’t bad as SUVs went, but he would’ve preferred a Toyota.
He turned off the engine, got out of the vehicle, locked it, then pocketed the key. He carried his “borrowed” Glock tucked into his pants against the small of his back. He started toward the building’s entrance, enjoying the dual sensation of seeing it for the first time and returning to a familiar, even comforting place. He felt as if he belonged here, a feeling that wasn’t easy for his kind to come by and was all the more precious because of it. Wechselbalgen changed forms and identities often during the course of their long lives, and the feeling of stability—of being home—was difficult, if not almost impossible, to come by. But seeing the Justice Center gave him the feeling now, and it was almost enough to make him weep.
As he walked into the building’s lobby, he was hit by a combination of smells, some of which were the same as any workplace. Coffee, body wash, shampoo, deodorant… But there were other smells unique to a police department: metal and gun oil, and the sour tang of suspects’ sweat, desperation, and fear. In and of themselves the smells weren’t strong, and he doubted most of the men and women who worked here were aware of them. As he reached the top of the lobby steps, he stood, eyes closed, savoring the mingled scents.
I am Nick Burkhardt, and this is what my workplace smells like.
“Falling asleep on your feet?”
The Wechselbalg opened his eyes and found himself looking at a uniformed officer.
He struggled to recall the man’s name and was glad when it came to him.
“Hey, Wu. I am a little tired, I guess. Been a long night.”
“Tell me about it,” Wu said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only officer in the precinct on duty, you know? Good thing I have tomorrow off. So what brings you in so late—and without your trusty partner?”
Why was he here? The Wechselbalgen had originally headed for the Justice Center out of instinct. But now that he was here, he needed a reason. Especially this time of night. He wasn’t sure how late it was. It hadn’t occurred to him to check. He guessed it might be close to midnight, or even later. He saw the manila folder filled with paper—yellow sticky notes attached to some of the pages—that Wu held, and Nick’s fragmented memories supplied the answer for him.
“Figured I’d get the paperwork out of the way while everything’s still fresh in my mind.” He searched his memories for the name of Nick’s partner. “I told Hank I’d take care of it. I’m too wired to sleep anyway.”
“Same here. I need to start cutting back on the coffee, especially when I’m working late. Mr. Caffeine isn’t always kind to m
e.”
The Wechselbalg frowned. “Do you want me to have a talk with this man? Does he work here?” The Wechselbalg swept his gaze around the lobby, searching for the person who’d been treating Wu badly.
Wu looked at him for a long moment without expression before breaking out in laughter.
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I can handle him.” He clapped the Wechselbalg on the shoulder and then walked away, grinning.
The Wechselbalg watched Wu go, puzzled by the man’s response to his words. Finally he shrugged. Humans could be so strange sometimes.
He dismissed the encounter with Wu from his mind and started walking. He entered the Central Precinct’s main office area and paused for a moment as he worked on identifying which desk was Nick’s. No, which desk was his. About a third of the desks had people sitting at them, typing on computer keyboards, filling out forms by hand, or talking on the phone. Nick’s memories told him that the office was quieter and less busy than during the day, and that was fine with the Wechselbalg. This was, in a sense, his first day on the job, and he wanted to ease into it. Just because Wechselbalgen could duplicate their victims’ memories didn’t mean they were automatically perfect at all aspects of their new identity. In some ways, they were like actors who’d been instantly programmed with all the information they needed to play their roles effectively, but who hadn’t had a chance to run through their lines yet. They needed a bit of time to settle into their new roles, and coming here this late, when the precinct was less crowded, would give him a chance to familiarize himself with his new workplace. The less pressure on him right now, the better. It was taking longer than usual for his new memories to settle, and he could use a bit of peace and quiet to help the process along.