Grimm: The Killing Time

by Tim Waggoner

  In his well-tailored suit he resembled nothing so much as an old-world European banker, and in many ways, that wasn’t too far off the mark. He spent his days doing calculations and risk assessments, but as a high-ranking member of the Wesen Council, the currency he worked with was not euros or dollars, but rather lives.

  He was looking through a report regarding a group of Hadosheru suspected of planning a takeover of the Yakuza when there was a knock at his office door. Without looking up from the report, he said, “Come.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the door opened and one of his assistants entered. It was Adelbert, and De Groot knew at once that the man was bringing bad news. His hesitation before entering was a telltale sign.

  De Groot looked up from the report then. Adelbert was thin, blond, in his late thirties, and had much to learn about mastering his emotions. De Groot could see the tension in his eyes and in the tight line of his mouth. He was the most junior of De Groot’s assistants, but if he didn’t acquire more self-control, he’d soon be looking for a new position. As far as De Groot was concerned, self-control was the single most important quality for a Wesen to cultivate, It was, after all, the core of the Code of Swabia, was it not?

  “What is it, Adelbert?” As always, De Groot kept his voice soft and his words measured.

  “We’ve received a communication from America. From Portland, Oregon, to be precise.”

  Despite himself, De Groot’s pulse quickened. Recently, Portland had become an area of special interest to him, and any news from there had his complete attention. He closed the folder in front of him and motioned for Adelbert to come all the way into his office. He did not, however, give the man any indication that he wanted him to sit, and Adelbert remained standing.

  Without any further encouragement, Adelbert began speaking. De Groot listened intently and with increasing concern. When his assistant finished, De Groot sat back in his chair and clasped his hands on top of his desk. He thought silently for a time, and Adelbert remained standing where he was, nervously quiet.

  At length, De Groot spoke once more, and only someone who knew him exceedingly well would’ve detected the note of worry in his voice.

  “I want our best agents on a plane to Portland within the hour. They are to do whatever is necessary to deal with this situation.”

  De Groot knew he didn’t have to explain further.

  Aldebert bowed his head.

  “At once, sir.”

  Aldebert started for the door, stopped, and turned back to De Groot.

  “How many agents, sir?”

  De Groot’s ever-present frown deepened into a scowl.

  “All of them.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nick told the responding officers that Juliette had been cleaning her gun when it accidentally went off. He didn’t like blaming the disturbance on her, but he knew there was no way the officers would believe a police detective would make that kind of mistake. As it was, they barely believed Juliette had. Besides, who cleans guns this late at night? But eventually they left, and Nick returned to the house, relieved.

  Juliette had taken Hank to the bathroom to tend to his injuries. She called for Nick to join them, since he was banged up, too, but he told her to take care of Hank first. He knew she wasn’t happy with his response, but she didn’t insist. As far as Nick was concerned, he only had a few scratches and cuts, and they’d heal soon enough on their own. Right now, he wanted to check in with Captain Renard. He tried calling, but he got Renard’s voicemail. He left a quick update, then disconnected. Renard was probably busy patrolling the city, just as Nick and Hank had been. Nick hoped he hadn’t run into any trouble he couldn’t handle. Renard was highly intelligent, emotionally controlled, and tough as hell in a fight. The man could more than take care of himself one on one. But against an entire city of fully woged and panicking Wesen? That might well be a different story.

  He went into the kitchen, got three bottles of water out of the fridge, and took them to the bathroom. Hank sat on the toilet lid with his shirt off, while Juliette sat on the edge of the tub, wrapping tape over a large gauze pad she’d applied to his arm.

  “The Wechselbalg’s finger spines sank deep into the muscle,” Juliette said, “but I don’t think they did any lasting damage. My primary concern is making sure the wounds don’t get infected.”

  She glanced up at Nick.

  “Which is why I wanted you in here in the first place. Grimm or not, your cuts and scrapes should at least get treated with alcohol wipes and antibacterial cream.”

  Hank smiled. “Juliette, you know I love you, but you need to work on your toilet-side manner.”

  “You know why I became a vet? Because my patients don’t talk back.”

  She finished with Hank’s dressing, examined it, then nodded, satisfied.

  “You’re good to go. Try not to get punctured again.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Hank’s shirt was draped over the towel rod. He pulled it off and slipped it back on. He moved a little stiffly, but otherwise he seemed all right. Nick was glad. Not only because Hank was his friend and partner, but because they needed all hands on deck tonight. They couldn’t afford to have a single one of them out of commission.

  Juliette patted the toilet seat. “Your turn.”

  Nick wanted to tell her that he’d be fine, that he and Hank needed to get back out on the street as soon as possible. But the look in her eyes told him she wasn’t going to tolerate any protests, so he removed his shirt and handed it to Hank. She worked quickly, cleaning and dressing his pinpoint wounds with swift, efficient motions. She used small adhesive bandages on him instead of the gauze pad she’d used on Hank.

  “How come he’s not getting the full treatment?” Hank asked. “You two have a lover’s spat I don’t know about?”

  “Since Nick heals faster than ordinary humans, this is all he needs,” she said. “Plus, it’s about all I can get him to sit still for.”

  She gave Nick a loving smile to take the sting out of her words, and he returned it. He didn’t argue, she was right. As usual.

  He stood, Hank handed him his shirt, and he put it on. Juliette put the leftover supplies in the medicine cabinet, washed her hands, and then opened the water bottle Nick had brought her and took a long drink. When she was finished, she said, “Now what?’

  Before either Nick or Hank could answer, loud knocking came from the front door.

  She looked at Nick and Hank.

  “You two answer it. The last time I did, it didn’t go so well.”

  * * *

  Renard sat down on the couch, then reached over and turned off the lamp on the end table so his distorted features were no longer so clearly illuminated. Nick had never seen the man display any obvious signs of vanity before, and he was a bit surprised that Renard would feel a need to hide his Zauberbiest face from them. Then again, he seemed to relax once the light was out. Maybe too much illumination irritated him or hurt his eyes, especially since he remained stuck in his Wesen form. It was a reminder of how little Nick knew about Zauberbiester and Hexenbiester—and especially about Sean Renard.

  Nick, Juliette, and Hank remained standing. Renard gave off a prickly energy, as if he was working hard to project a façade of calm, while inside his nerves were jangling. One of his feet tap-tap-tapped the floor, while a hand gripped the sofa arm, clenching and unclenching.

  “Are you all right?” Nick asked.

  Instead of answering the question, Renard said, “I got your message. Sorry I didn’t pick up when you called. I was… occupied at the time.”

  Nick didn’t like the way Renard hesitated before saying occupied.

  Renard continued. “Until the current situation is resolved, I think it would be best if I stayed with you. That way, you can keep an eye on me. Make sure I—” his already malformed lips twisted into a sneer “—behave myself.”

  “What did you do?” Juliette asked.

  “Nothing. It’s what
I almost did. While I was patrolling I came across a Hundjager taunting a group of Mauzhertzen. I don’t think he actually wanted to hurt them, so much as… play with them. I stopped my car and got out, intending to break it up.”

  “But instead you lost control and broke the Hundjager,” Hank said.

  “Pretty much,” Renard said. “If I hadn’t managed to restrain myself toward the end…” He looked up at Nick. “If I do lose control and it looks like I might harm an innocent, promise you’ll stop me. Whatever it takes.”

  Nick understood what Renard was asking. He’d want the same thing if their positions were reversed.

  “I promise.”

  Renard nodded, seeming almost relieved.

  “So… you encountered the Wechselbalg,” Renard said. “Tell me about it.”

  For the next several minutes, Nick, Juliette, and Hank took turns speaking as they filled in the Captain on what had happened. When they finished, Renard said, “How are Monroe and Rosalee doing on finding a treatment for the Ewig Woge?”

  “Still working on it,” Nick said.

  “I was afraid of that. Well, I have one piece of good news. I contacted some friends of mine in Europe, and they were able to find more information on the Wechselbalg.”

  “Friends?” Nick asked.

  “Friends,” Renard repeated. “And that’s all you need to know about them. They were able to find their way into certain protected databases to retrieve the information we needed.”

  “Those databases wouldn’t happen to belong to the Wesen Council, would they?” Nick asked.

  “Breaking the security of the Wesen Council would be considered an act of major aggression and would be dealt with swiftly and harshly,” Renard said. “Only the most skilled of computer experts could even attempt such a feat, and even then, they’d only do so in the most extreme of emergencies.”

  “That isn’t a no,” Hank said.

  Renard continued without acknowledging the point. “According to what my friends learned, if Wechselbalgen are forced to burn through the lifeforce that they’ve stolen, they weaken. They can then be killed before they have the opportunity to steal another identity. Once dead, their bodies should be burned to prevent them from regenerating into a new creature.”

  “That last part makes sense,” Juliette said. “When the Wechselbalg was here, he drank a lot of water. I think he’s primarily a liquid-based lifeform that needs to stay hydrated.”

  “How do we get it to use up its lifeforce?” Hank asked. “Other than sitting around and waiting for it to grow old like the rest of us?”

  “I don’t know,” Renard admitted. “From what I gather, Wechselbalgen are extremely rare, and there’s been little information gathered about them.”

  “We need to tire it out,” Nick said. “Push it to the point of exhaustion and beyond.”

  The others looked at him, and he tried to find a better way to explain what he meant.

  “Think of lifeforce energy as a kind of fuel. The more active the Wechselbalg is, the more energy he uses. Once he’s out of energy—or close to it—he needs to find a new victim.”

  “And this one is very old,” Juliette said. “Even for his kind. He couldn’t hold onto Mrs. Webber’s identity. He only managed to maintain Nick’s form for so long because he’s a Grimm.”

  “And that’s the unknown factor in all this,” Renard said. “Whatever he managed to copy from Nick has changed him somehow. He might have too much energy for us to deplete.”

  “We have to try,” Nick said.

  “Of course we do,” Renard said. “I just meant that it’s not going to be easy.”

  “When is it ever?” Hank added.

  Just then, Nick’s phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and saw Rosalee was calling. He answered.

  “Please tell me you’ve made some progress,” he said.

  “One word,” Rosalee said, her voice excited. “Endorphins.”

  * * *

  “Endorphins?” Nick asked.

  Everyone was back at the spice shop. They were in the side room now, Juliette and Monroe sitting on the couch. Monroe had his arm around Rosalee, and they were also holding hands. It seemed to be more than mere affection, though. There was an intensity bordering on desperation in the way they held onto each other.

  Juliette and Hank sat in chairs, but Renard was too jittery to sit. Nick remained standing near Renard, just in case he needed to be calmed down, Grimm-style.

  “Yeah,” Monroe said. “Remember when you guys were in earlier and you caught Rosalee and I, uh…”

  He trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. Rosalee and Juliette grinned at him.

  “Anyway, we were both more in control of our Wesen sides for a while after that,” he said. “It wore off after a while—”

  “And we tried to kill each other,” Rosalee said. “Well. Technically Monroe was the one who wanted to do the killing. At least at first.”

  “I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “Blutbaden. What can you do?”

  Rosalee laughed.

  Nick glanced at the others to see if they were finding this conversation as weird as he was. From their expressions, it looked like they were.

  There were a dozen or so burning candles placed throughout the room, filling the air with the mingled scents of vanilla and lavender. Monroe’s phone sat on the coffee table, plugged in to an external speaker from which issued soft instrumental music. Next to the phone sat a bowl filled with individually wrapped pieces of chocolate. From time to time, Monroe and Rosalee would take one of the chocolates, unwrap it, and then eat it, chewing slowly, savoring each bite. There was also a bowl filled with pale roots with long bodies and tailing tendrils that reminded Nick a little of squid.

  “When we were fighting,” Rosalee said, “I threw some chile powder at him.”

  “Really hot stuff,” Monroe added. “I got it in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Man, for a couple moments there, I couldn’t even breathe. But then I started to feel calmer, more like myself again…”

  “So I tried to kill him then,” Rosalee said. “Purely out of self-preservation, of course.”

  “Naturally,” Monroe said.

  “And he got some chile powder on his hands and gave me a good strong dose of it. And, wow, was it powerful! But it did the trick and calmed me down, too.”

  “Eating spicy foods releases endorphins,” Juliette said. “And with your enhanced senses, they probably work even better on you in Wesen form than they would when you’re human.”

  “That’s the reason for the rest of this stuff,” Renard said. “The candles, the music, the chocolate, the ginseng root…”

  So that’s what that is, Nick thought.

  “The scents of vanilla and lavender are calming,” Rosalee said. “And eating chocolate and ginseng produces endorphins, too.”

  “As does exercise,” Monroe said, “And, uh, other types of activity.”

  “And laughing,” Rosalee said, grinning at him.

  Nick understood now why Monroe and Rosalee were being so cuddly. They were trying to keep their endorphin production as high as they could.

  “At this point, I’ll try anything.” Renard reached forward, grabbed several chocolates, unwrapped them, and popped them into his mouth.

  “So this is the cure?” Hank said. “We just get affected Wesen to sit around smelling candles, listening to tunes, eating chocolate, chewing ginseng, watching comedy DVDs, and getting busy?”

  Rosalee shook her head. “These are merely treatments for the extreme behavior the Ewig Woge causes. But now that I know endorphins are key, I think I can make something that will counter the condition. But I’m going to need two things to do it.”

  “The Wechselbalg,” Nick said.

  Rosalee nodded. “That’s right. And you.”

  Before Nick could ask what she meant, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered it.

  “Bud? What… Hold on a minute. You’re talking too fast!”
She listened for several moments, confusion and disbelief on her face. “That’s not possible, Bud. Nick’s right—” She broke off. “Bud? Bud?” She lowered her phone. “He disconnected.” She tried calling back, but when he didn’t answer, she left a quick voicemail telling him that the person he’d told her about was the Wechselbalg and not Nick. When she finished, she disconnected and put the phone on the coffee table.

  “Bud said ‘Nick’ came to his house and held a gun to his head,” Rosalee said. “From what I gathered, nothing happened, but Bud was calling to warn us that Nick had, as he said, ‘lost it big-time.’”

  “Poor Bud,” Juliette said. “I hope he and his family are okay.”

  Nick was angry with the Wechselbalg for terrorizing his friend, but he was also worried about Bud’s reaction. “Want to bet that you’re not the only person Bud called to warn?”

  “I won’t take that bet,” Renard said. He took another chocolate, unwrapped it, and tossed it into his mouth.

  “I’ve worked hard to gain the trust of the Wesen community in this town,” Nick said. “And in one night, the Wechselbalg’s destroyed it. How am I supposed to help people if they’re scared of me?”

  “It’s a setback, no question,” Monroe said. “But you’ve got to remember how deep the fear of Grimms runs in Wesen. It wouldn’t take a lot to bring those fears to the surface.”

  “Especially now, with the Ewig Woge affecting them,” Rosalee added.

  “I guess.” Nick knew his friends were right, but he couldn’t help feeling that if he’d only worked harder at reaching out to the Wesen community over the last few years, things would be different now. It was funny, in a way. Earlier tonight he’d been uncomfortable when the server at Blind Bill’s had treated him as if he were her friendly neighborhood Grimm. Now he wished he’d accepted that role and even cultivated it, if for no other reason than it would allow him help the Wesen more effectively.