by Tim Waggoner
“Okay,” Renard said. “Get on your feet. Slowly.”
The Wechselbalg took hold of the Glock and brought it up with him as he rose unsteadily. He angled his body slightly to hide the weapon from Renard. He had hold of the gun by its barrel, and he doubted he’d be able to maneuver it into firing position before Renard could shoot his.
Time to improvise again.
As he stood he hurled the Glock toward Renard as if it were a shuriken and immediately dove to the side. Renard managed to squeeze off a single round which exploded through both the Cherokee’s driver and passenger side windows. The butt of the Wechselbalg’s Glock struck Renard dead center between the eyes. He staggered for a couple seconds before finally going down.
Smiling, the Wechselbalg walked over and retrieved the Glock from where it had fallen. Renard had managed to hold onto his weapon when he fell, and the Wechselbalg removed it from his limp fingers. He briefly considered using Renard’s own weapon to kill him, and he even went so far as to aim the gun at the man’s head and put his finger on the trigger. But now that the Captain was unconscious and no longer an immediate threat, the Wechselbalg didn’t feel the same pressure to kill him. Knowing it was probably a mistake, he took his finger off the trigger and lowered the weapon to his side. He turned away from the Captain and there—lying on the ground several yards from the Cherokee—he saw the vehicle’s key.
Time to go. Good thing it wasn’t too cold out tonight. Thanks to Renard’s bullet, the Cherokee now had permanent air-conditioning.
* * *
Nick drove, while Hank rode shotgun.
“What do you think we’ll find when we get there?” Hank asked.
As they approached an intersection, the light turned yellow. Nick checked to see if any cars were coming, and when he saw the way was clear, he hit the gas and the Charger passed through the intersection just as the light turned red.
“I don’t know,” Nick said. “Bud sounded pretty upset when he called, but—”
“He sounds kind of upset all the time,” Hank said.
“Yeah.”
While Monroe and Rosalee had been getting dressed—a process that required their hunting around in the back of the shop for replacements for clothing that had been shredded by claws—Bud had called Nick. The man had been so upset that Nick could barely understand what he was saying. Something had happened to his wife and children, that much was clear, and he wanted Nick to come over to his house right away. He’d ended the call before Nick could get anything more out of him. Juliette had assured Nick that she’d be all right staying at the shop with Monroe and Rosalee, and she’d insisted that he and Hank go help Bud and his family. Nick hadn’t been so sure it was a good idea. Monroe and Rosalee were his friends, and he’d trusted his life—and Juliette’s—to them on more than one occasion. But he had no idea how the Ewig Woge would affect them. They were both predator-type Wesen. What if they weren’t able to control their bestial impulses? Juliette could be in real danger.
But once Monroe and Rosalee were dressed, Rosalee told him she’d prepare a calming elixir and mix it with some tea. She and Monroe would take it, and it should take the edge off the Ewig Woge’s symptoms.
Should, Nick had thought at the time. Not would.
But Juliette had insisted, and in the end he’d decided to trust her and their friends. He just hoped that in this case his trust wouldn’t be misplaced. After being affected by the Cracher-Mortel toxin, he knew it was possible for someone’s personality to be overwhelmed by the compulsion to enact violence.
Now, driving as fast as he could toward Bud’s neighborhood, Nick once more saw the security video footage that Captain Renard had shown him. In his mind, he watched a black-and-white image of himself spin around and hit a knife-wielding man with all his strength. Watched the man go down and not get up again.
“Nick? Hey, Nick!”
Shaken out of his thoughts, Nick said, “Yeah?”
“Isn’t this Bud’s neighborhood?”
He’d been driving on automatic pilot for the last several minutes and wasn’t sure exactly where they were. He took a quick glance around and saw that Hank was right. This was the section of town where Bud lived.
Bud, like most of the Eisbiber in Portland, worked in construction. Their type of Wesen had a strong talent for building things, and from what Bud had told him, that talent extended to engineering, architecture, and even certain branches of the fine arts.
But most of us like being able to get our hands on our work, you know?
Bud wasn’t a rich man, but he was highly skilled in his profession and did more than all right for himself and his family. He lived in a solidly middle-class neighborhood—nice two-story houses with large, well-landscaped lawns. A homey, quiet neighborhood, exactly the sort of place where Nick would’ve expected Bud to live. As they pulled onto Bud’s street, everything looked peaceful enough, but Nick had been a cop long enough to know that appearances almost never told the whole story. Anything could be happening behind those closed doors and drawn curtains. Anything at all.
At least Bud’s porch light was on. Nick knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything, but he took it as a good sign anyway. He pulled the Charger into the driveway, and he and Hank got out and hurried to the door. Before Nick could knock, Bud opened it.
“Thank God you’re here! Come in, come in!”
Nick tried not to stare. He’d seen Bud in his Wesen aspect many times before, but Bud didn’t often stay woged for long, maybe a few seconds at the most. That wasn’t particularly unusual, though. Most Wesen remained in their human aspects a majority of the time. But over the years Nick had noticed that some of the more timid varieties of Wesen—non-predators such as Mauzhertzen, Seelenguter, and Eisbiber—tended to return to human form as swiftly as they could after they woged. He’d mentioned this to Juliette once, and she’d theorized that this tendency was a defensive reflex on their part. Not only did it benefit them to keep their true natures hidden, when confronted by other Wesen—or by a Grimm, for that matter—reassuming human form was a sign of non-aggression.
Whatever the reason, up to now Nick had only gotten brief glances of Bud in Wesen form. So seeing him fully woged and remaining that way came as something of a mild shock. Bud’s round face was covered with short bristly brown fur that edged to gray around his mouth and chin. His nose was black like a beaver’s and whiskers extended from either side beneath it. His two front teeth were larger and protruded from his mouth, giving him a bit of a lisp when he spoke. His eyes remained more human than those of some Wesen, and they were filled with fear.
Bud stepped aside and Nick and Hank entered. As soon as they were in, Bud closed and looked the door. He then turned to face them, wringing his fur-covered hands nervously.
“Something’s wrong with us, Nick. Really wrong! We can’t woge. Well, as you can see, we can. I mean, look at me, right? But what I’m trying to say is we can’t change back. We’re stuck like this, as Eisbiber. It’s not so bad if only other Wesen can see us like this, although I have to say, I’m not comfortable with certain Wesen knowing me and my family are Eisbiber. Better not to tempt predators like Blutbaden, you know? No offense to Monroe. But if everyone can see us like this, humans included, it’ll be a disaster! We won’t be able to leave the house. And if the Wesen Council finds out…” He shuddered, his fur rippling as if he were trying to shake water off himself. “You have to help us, Nick! Please! For the sake of my wife and kids!”
“Speaking of which,” Hank said, looking around. “Where are they?”
Bud looked at him as if he’d asked an extremely stupid question.
“Hiding, of course.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “From us?” he asked.
“No, of course not. They love you. We all do. I mean, yeah, you’re a Grimm, but you’re our Grimm, you know? They’re hiding because that’s what Eisbiber do in bad situations. And when things are really bad, we hide really well. My family are geniuses at it.�
�� He let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t even know where they’re at!”
Nick remembered something Juliette had said about the Ewig Woge.
I’m afraid that the longer they stay changed, the more they’ll exhibit the behaviors of their particular type.
Eisbiber were already timid by nature, but it appeared the Ewig Woge had made them downright terrified.
“But you’re not hiding,” Hank said.
“Believe me, I would be if I hadn’t needed to call you guys. My wife’s so worried, she even suggested we go to the Hafen. That was before she hid wherever she hid. I’d be worried she took the kids to the Hafen, but her car’s still here, so I figure she’s in the house somewhere. I hope.”
“What’s a Hafen?” Nick asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.”
“It’s a German word,” Bud said. “It means Haven. I suppose a better translation, at least the way Wesen use the word, is safe place. Every Wesen community has one. It’s a place where we can go in times of emergency, a secret place that humans don’t know about. We even keep it a secret from Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen. No offense.”
Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen was a Wesen word for humans that knew the truth about them, and it also held a connotation of someone who was a friend.
“But you’re telling us about it now,” Hank pointed out.
“I am?” Bud looked suddenly horrified. “Oh God, I am, aren’t I? Please don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll get in so much trouble.”
“So a Hafen is like a hiding place?’ Nick asked.
“Yeah. They’re different for each town, not that every town has a lot of Wesen, of course. A place like Portland, which is tolerant of different lifestyles—Keep Portland Weird, right?—has a ton of us, so we need a big place where we can gather.”
“Forest Park,” Nick said.
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “That would be perfect. Close to the city, yet large enough for a significant amount of people to hide in, at least in the short-term.”
“I’m not saying if you guys are right,” Bud said, “but you didn’t hear about the Hafen in the park from me.”
Hank smiled. “Your secret is safe with us, Bud.”
“So do you have any idea what’s happened to us?” Bud asked. “And more importantly, do you know how to fix it?”
Nick frowned. “Juliette was supposed to call and explain it to you. Didn’t she get through?”
Bud fished his phone out of his pants pocket and checked the display.
“Yeah, she called four times. I had my ringer off, I guess. My bad.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “So what’s going on?”
Nick started to tell him, but Bud insisted that he and Hank follow him into the kitchen so he could make them some coffee. By the time Nick was done talking, he and Hank were sipping from mugs of warm coffee.
“So it’s important that you call every Wesen you had contact with since you left the spice shop,” Nick said. “You need to tell them what’s happening and make sure they know to avoid spreading the condition further. Tell them to sit tight until we can figure out what to do.”
Bud looked suddenly uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than usual, that is.
Nick frowned. “What?”
“I told you I had some more stops to make after I left Rosalee’s shop. Most of them were at people’s houses. But my last stop was at the Blue Monkey.”
“Isn’t that a bar?” Hank asked.
Bud nodded. “Yeah. It caters mostly to Wesen. The owner’s a friend of mine. His brother’s a mechanic, and he gave my wife a really good deal when her car needed some transmission work. I can give you his number if you want. He does great work and his rates are really reasonable.” He let out another nervous laugh. “He’ll probably give you a special Grimm discount.”
“Let me guess,” Nick said. “The bar was packed when you got there. So crowded, in fact, that you had to push and shove to make your way through the crowd.”
“Yeah,” Bud said. “How did you know?”
Hank sighed. “It’s been that kind of night.”
* * *
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Juliette couldn’t help being fascinated. While she’d gotten somewhat used to being around Wesen over the last few months, most of the time she couldn’t see their true appearances, even when they were in full woge—not unless they were so emotionally disturbed that they lost control of their ability to cloak their appearance from ordinary humans. Or if they chose to let her see them woged, of course. But now here she was, in the presence of two good friends while they were in their Wesen forms—and she could see them. Yes, they were still Monroe and Rosalee, but not only did they look different in their Wesen aspects, they moved, sounded, and even acted differently. It only made sense given the large amounts of woge hormone constantly flowing through their bodies, a hormone altered and made stronger by exposure to the Wechselbalg’s “disease.” She thought of how the Cracher-Mortel toxin had altered Nick’s personality not long ago, and how the Hexenbiest potion had nearly killed her and resulted in her losing her memories of Nick for the better part of a year. As a scientist, she understood that biological entities could be seriously affected by chemical substances of all kinds, including those produced naturally by their own bodies. But as a person, she found the thought profoundly disturbing. What are we if we can be changed so easily? she thought. Who are we?
And what did that mean for a being like the Wechselbalg, who changed shape and identity periodically, never truly having a self of its own? The creature was a murderer who knew how many times over, but right then she couldn’t help feeling sorry for it, at least a little.
Rosalee and Monroe stood behind the counter, looking through more old books. Juliette stood in front of the counter, doing the same. The main difference between their earlier research efforts and now was that they were attempting to find some kind of treatment for the Ewig Woge. Juliette had hoped that since they now had a name for the condition, they’d be able to find references to it more easily in Rosalee’s collection of Wesen lore. But so far, they hadn’t had any luck.
“Too bad the Wesen Council doesn’t have a database of lore we could access,” Juliette said. “It might make our job easier.”
“They do,” Rosalee said, “but it’s for their own personal use. It’s supposed to be protected by some of the best security software on the planet.”
“Besides,” Monroe said, “even if we could access it, the moment we searched for Ewig Woge, you can bet it would set off all sorts of alarms. They’d have a squad of agents on a plane to Portland in minutes to deal with the outbreak—not to mention everyone who’s infected.”
Juliette still hadn’t gotten used to her friends’ more guttural Wesen voices, but Monroe’s was especially disturbing to her for some reason. Maybe it was an instinctive reaction to being in the presence of a predator, even if he was a friend. It didn’t help that he seemed constantly on the verge of snapping at either one of them if they said anything to him. Juliette knew he was doing his best to keep a rein on his temper, and she knew he wasn’t angry with either one of them specifically. The overabundance of woge hormone in his system was acting like an overdose of caffeine, making him jittery and irritable. But she could feel the tension radiating from him, and that made her uneasy. A pissed-off Blutbad, even if he was a friend, was an intimidating creature.
Several more minutes went by as they worked, the only sound the occasional turning of a page. But the silence was broken when Monroe let out a roar, grabbed the book he’d been looking through, and hurled it across the room. The volume struck a shelf filled with bottles and vials, causing glass to shatter and sending liquids and powders spilling onto the floor.
“This is hopeless!” The words were as much growled as spoken. Monroe dug his claws into the countertop and began to draw them toward him, digging furrows into the wood.
Rosalee stepped closer to him and reached out to take hold of his hands in an att
empt to calm him—and to keep him from further damaging the counter. Monroe’s head snapped to the side to face her. His eyes blazed with anger and his lips curled back to display his fangs. Juliette was so startled that she took several steps away from the counter without realizing she’d done so. Rosalee, however, showed no sign of fear. She kept one hand on Monroe’s, but with the other she reached up and scratched behind his left ear. If Juliette hadn’t been so frightened by Monroe’s outburst, she might have found the scene amusing. But as it was, she was just glad that Rosalee’s soothing gesture seemed to do the trick.
Monroe’s brow smoothed and his lips relaxed and once more covered his teeth. His gaze still held a hint of menace, but it was subdued, distant. In her veterinary practice, Juliette had a great deal of experience calming scared and aggressive animals, but she doubted she’d be able to work up the courage to calm an enraged Blutbad. But then Rosalee had a huge advantage: she was, after all, Monroe’s mate.
When she pulled her hand away from Monroe’s ear, he gently took hold of it and kissed her palm.
“Thanks,” he said.
Rosalee smiled as Monroe continued to hold her hand.
“I take it my special tea isn’t doing its job,” she said.
He sighed deeply. “The sad thing is, it is working. Without it, I’d be even worse.” He turned to look at Juliette, his eyes filled with shame. “I’m so sorry, Juliette. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know,” she said. Mentally, she added, And that scares me even more. How much worse would it be if he completely lost control? And if he did, how far would he go before Rosalee could stop him—if she could? She’d assured Nick that she’d be fine with Monroe and Rosalee, and at the time, she’d believed it. But now she was beginning to wish she’d made a different choice.
She was debating whether it would be safer for her to leave—and maybe easier for Monroe if she wasn’t around to irritate him unnecessarily—when the door to the shop opened.
Everyone froze. Juliette felt so stupid. With Monroe and Rosalee woged, they should’ve locked the door to make certain no one came in and saw them. But with everything that had been going on tonight, they’d all forgotten. When Juliette saw who entered, she felt an equal mixture of relief and surprise.