by Tim Waggoner
He looked around at his friends. When he’d first learned of the existence of Wesen, he’d thought of them as something other than human. Now he thought of them as human-plus, not so much different than special. His life was so much richer for having been allowed to become even a small part of their community. And while he supposed he could never fully become one of them, he would do his best to serve and protect them as well as their human brethren. Not because he was a Grimm, or even a cop. Because he was Nick Burkhardt.
But that brought up an interesting question. What did the Wechselbalg think he was right now? A man named Nick or a Wesen-killing machine called a Grimm?
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Juliette said, reaching out to take his hand.
“Just thinking. From the way the Wechselbalg’s been behaving, he’s trying to fulfill the role of a Grimm, or at least what in his current mental state he thinks a Grimm should be.”
“He killed those two teenage taggers,” Rosalee said.
“He attacked Nick and me,” Hank said.
“And me,” Renard added.
“He didn’t kill me.” Juliette pointed out. “Or Bud.”
“Knowing Bud, he probably talked his way out of getting killed,” Hank said.
“Maybe the Wechselbalg couldn’t hurt Bud because he’s my friend,” Nick said. “Who knows how much of my personality he copied?”
“Not enough,” Renard said. “He doesn’t have any problem killing other Wesen for no reason. No rational one, anyway. So if he’s going to play out his sick fantasy of what a Grimm is like, he’s going to start hunting down Wesen.”
“But most of the city’s Wesen are heading to the Hafen,” Monroe said. “If they aren’t already there.”
“Which means the Wechselbalg will go to the Hafen, too,” Nick said.
“Damn,” Hank said. “It’ll be like shooting Wesen in a barrel.”
“And we sent them there,” Rosalee said.
“So not only are they in danger from each other,” Monroe said, “because the Ewig Woge is causing them to lose control, but they’re also at risk of getting sliced up by an insane Wesen that’s acting like some kind of Grimm serial killer.”
“We need to go to the Hafen,” Juliette said. “We have to keep the Wesen calm so they don’t start fighting among themselves.”
‘We have to make the cure for the Ewig Woge,” Rosalee said, “and get it to the Wesen in the Hafen as soon as possible.”
“And we have to stop the Wechselbalg,” Hank said.
Renard sighed. “That’s quite a to-do list.”
“Then we’d better get started,” Nick said.
* * *
The Wechselbalg felt pleased with himself. He’d found the storage facility without any problem. And although he didn’t have a key to the trailer, the door proved no real obstacle. Now he drove down the street, a pair of ancient weapons on the seat next to him—a double-headed battle-axe and a curved sword called a talwar, once used in India. He’d had a difficult time selecting what to bring as he wasn’t sure what the various implements of destruction had been designed for. The Other’s memories were little help as he’d only used a handful of the weapons in battle before. In the end, the Wechselbalg had chosen the two weapons he had simply because they looked the deadliest as well as the easiest to use. Sharp edges, solid metal. Sturdy and dependable, with the weight of history and tradition behind them. Proper weapons for a true Grimm. He couldn’t wait to get to the Hafen and try them out. Not only would it be amusing, it would be good practice for the next time he faced the Other.
No, not the next time. The last time.
The Wechselbalg knew the Hafen was located in Forest Park—the Eisbiber had told him this—but he wasn’t sure where the park was. Once again, he searched the fragmentary memories he’d obtained from the Other for the park’s location, but he came up blank. Traditionally Hafens were established outside a village or city in woodland areas, although given how large some of the world’s cities had grown over the last few centuries, some places had multiple Hafens, often within the city itself. Portland wasn’t that large, however, and the Wechselbalg was willing to bet that the Hafen—and thus, Forest Park—lay outside the city. The question was where?
The Other’s police training suggested the Wechselbalg look for vehicles heading out of the city, indicating fleeing Wesen. But while the Wechselbalg did pass the occasional vehicle, the night streets were mostly empty. Either he was in the wrong part of the city or the majority of the Wesen had already departed. He needed to come up with another plan.
A short time later, he saw a black Kia parked on the side of the street in front of a twenty-four-hour burger joint. The vehicle sat at an odd angle, lights on, and the driver’s side door open. The restaurant’s parking lot was empty, except for a trio of bird-like creatures standing around a man with features resembling a rodent’s.
Geier, he thought. And a Reinigen.
He pulled the Cherokee behind the Kia, turned off the lights and cut the engine. He looked over at his newly acquired weapons, considered for a moment, then chose the battle-axe.
He got out of the Cherokee and started walking toward the three Geier and the Reinigen. At first, none of them noticed him approaching. The vulture-headed Wesen were completely focused on the rat-like Reinigen. The man looked from one Geier to another, his head jerking in sharp, nervous gestures. The Geier kept flexing their taloned hands, as if eager to slice them into the Reinigen’s flesh, but so far he appeared to be unharmed. The Wechselbalg doubted the rat-man would remain that way much longer, however.
The Reinigen wore a dark-blue suit jacket over a white shirt, collar unbuttoned, no tie. Reinigen—because of their low standing in the Wesen community—sometimes tried to compensate by dressing nicely, although this Reinigen’s faded jeans and old sneakers didn’t do much to add to his ensemble. The Geier were dressed more simply—pullover sweaters, light jackets, and jeans. All dark colors, of course. The better to blend into the shadows.
The Wechselbalg’s own memories told him that Geier didn’t have any better of a reputation than Reinigen, which was one of the reasons the vulture creatures picked on them. They wanted to feel superior to someone. Geier did serve a function in the Wesen community, although it was a dark one, and most Wesen—at least those who considered themselves civilized—wanted nothing to do with them. The Geier harvested human organs and bodily fluids and sold them for use in various medicines and “enhancements.” Humans had done the same thing with animal parts throughout history—and in some cultures still did—although in the Wesen’s case, human ingredients actually worked.
The Reinigen raised his hands in what the Wechselbalg assumed was meant to be a placating gesture. All it did was make the Geier laugh. The sound was unpleasant, harsh and grating, and the Wechselbalg spoke to cut it off.
“How are you four this evening?”
They all turned to look at him, the Geier with angry surprise, the Reinigen with desperate hope. Then they took note of the battle-axe he carried at his side.
“Who the hell are you?” one of the Geier demanded. “Paul Bunyan?”
The other two laughed.
“I’m Nick Burkhardt,” the Wechselbalg said. “The one and only.”
The three Geier scowled, but the Reinigen’s face lit up.
“The Grimm!” he said.
The Wechselbalg smiled. “That’s right.”
“You ruined the organ trade in this town,” another Geier said. “The best we can do now is snatch the occasional homeless person off the street and sell the parts out of the back of our van.”
“Keeping them fresh is a real pain in the ass,” the third said.
“Hardly any money in it at all,” said the first. “Not like in the old days.”
So the Other had broken up a Geier organ-selling ring? At least he’d done something right.
“Why bother with the Reinigen?” the Wechselbalg asked. “And why three on one? You boys scared o
f him or something?”
The three Geier lowered their heads and extended their necks in a very bird-like display of aggression.
“Reinigen may not be human,” the first Geier said.
“Hell, they may not even be fully Wesen,” the second added.
“But you can make a few bucks off their organs,” the third said. “If you know who to sell them to.”
“Not much profit in it,” the first said. “But these days, we can’t afford to be too picky.”
“Of course, now that you’re here,” the second said, “we might change our mind about the rat.”
“Grimm organs are rarer than rare,” the second said. “We could name our price.”
“And then double it,” the third said.
“Triple it,” the first added.
Without further warning, the Geier came running toward the Wechselbalg, talons held high. The Wechselbalg grinned, raised the axe, and stepped forward to meet them.
It didn’t take long.
When it was finished, the Wechselbalg leaned down and wiped the axe head clean on one of Geier’s corpses. There wasn’t much he could do about the blood covering him, but he’d worry about that later. Besides, he kind of liked it.
The Reinigen had watched the Wechselbalg kill the Geier in horrified fascination. Now the Wechselbalg walked toward him, kicking a Geier head out the way as he approached. In death, a woged Wesen normally resumed its human appearance, and while that process was occurring, it was taking much longer than usual with the Geier. The head he kicked still retained a good portion of its avian qualities, and the grotesque thing bounced across the asphalt, leaving blood splotches as it went.
The Reinigen trembled and tried to draw in upon himself, as if hoping to appear less threatening. “P-please don’t hurt me. Sir,” he added quickly.
The Wechselbalg liked that. Sir. Very nice indeed.
He held the axe down at his side so as not to intimidate the Reinigen any more than necessary.
“Where is Forest Park?” he asked.
The Reinigen stared at him. “Um… what?”
The Wechselbalg took a step closer, and the Reinigen flinched.
“Forest Park—where the Hafen is. How do I get there?”
The Reinigen blinked several times, as if he was still having trouble understanding. The Wechselbalg considered brandishing the axe to loosen the man’s tongue, but then the Reinigen finally began speaking. He gave the Wechselbalg clear, concise directions, and the shapeshifter committed them to memory.
“Thanks,” he said. He turned to go, but then he stopped himself, and turned to face the Reinigen once more. “You’re still woged.”
He glanced at the Geier’s bodies. Although they were dead and returning to their human aspects, the process was taking far longer than normal for all of them. He remembered his conversation with the Eisbiber. He hadn’t taken note of it at the time, but the little man had stayed woged the entire time they’d talked. The Wechselbalg looked at the Reinigen once more.
“How is this possible?”
“I don’t know,’ the rat man said. “Whatever it is, it’s happened to a lot of us. It’s some kind of sickness, I guess. No one seems to know. It’s why everyone’s headed to the Hafen. I was on my way there myself when these three—” he nodded to the dead Geier “—stepped into the street and forced me to pull over.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I should’ve just run them over and kept going.”
The Wechselbalg narrowed his eyes. “Do you truly mean that?”
“Hell, yeah! Lousy carrion-eating bastards.”
“Then you’re one of the bad ones.”
Before the Reinigen could react, the Wechselbalg raised the battle-axe, swung it in a swift horizontal strike, and lopped off the rat-man’s head. Blood fountained, the body collapsed, and the head—still wearing an expression of surprise—hit the ground, bounced, and rolled to a stop.
The Wechselbalg watched as the Reinigen’s head slowly began to assume human features. He experienced a mild wave of dizziness, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He drew the back of his forearm across his head, and the dizziness passed.
Must be getting tired, he thought.
He wiped the blade clean on the Reinigen’s clothes, then turned and walked back to the Cherokee. This had been a good warm-up. Now he was looking forward to the main event.
He climbed in the vehicle, started the engine, and headed toward the Hafen.
* * *
Nick’s night vision had always been good, and it had sharpened considerably since he’d come into his heritage as a Grimm. But he still felt almost blind compared to Monroe. The man moved through the forest with a swift, silent confidence that Nick struggled to emulate. Monroe wore his jacket once more, but he’d removed his shoes. Need to stay connected to the Earth, you know? He’d said before they’d started.
Nick didn’t know, not exactly, but as the two men made their way toward the Hafen, Nick began to fall into a rhythm with Monroe, his initial awkwardness melted away, and he began weaving between trees and moving through underbrush with newfound ease.
Monroe continually scented the air as they traveled, his inhalations and exhalations indistinguishable from the gentle night breeze. It was important they move as silently as possible, in order to avoid alerting any of the Hafen’s outer guards. As Monroe and Rosalee had explained it, Portland’s Hafen was located in a clearing created and maintained by Wildermanner, the nature-loving Wesen responsible for the stories of Bigfoot and other legends of bestial wild men. Once people began arriving at the Hafen, volunteers would guard the clearing’s inner perimeter, while other Wesen would patrol the woods surrounding the Hafen. This set-up was standard procedure, and although in this case the Wesen sought refuge because of the Ewig Woge rather than as protection from human hunters—or Grimms, Nick thought—they still maintained guard. Nick was glad they were cautious. As difficult as their wariness was making it for him and Monroe to approach the Hafen, it would hopefully do the same for the Wechselbalg.
Monroe held up a hand. Nick froze and listened. He heard Monroe breathing, along with the muffled sound of the Blutbad’s heart. It pounded faster than when Monroe was in human form, but Nick had been around a woged Monroe enough to know that was normal. He heard the wind gently rustling leaves, but that was the extent of the night sounds. He heard no animals moving, no birds chirping. It was possible their presence had frightened the forest creatures into silence, but it was equally possible that someone else had scared them, too. Someone Nick would rather avoid meeting.
The two men listened for several moments, and just when Nick had decided it was a false alarm, a shadowy figure moved between a pair of trees less than a dozen yards ahead of them. It happened so fast that at first Nick wasn’t sure he’d seen anything. But then Monroe leaned his mouth close to Nick’s ear and breathed a single word.
“Lowen.”
Nick tensed, and his senses sharpened even further as he strained to detect the lion-like Wesen. Lowen had an especially keen sense of smell, almost equal to that of Blutbaden, and if the wind had been blowing in a different direction, the Lowen would’ve scented them by now. Nick wasn’t worried about a single Lowen. Well, not much. He and Monroe could handle the lion-man. The problem was the amount of noise they’d make in the process. They’d alert any nearby patrolling Wesen to their presence, and they’d swiftly converge on them. Nick wanted to avoid hurting anyone if at all possible. These Wesen were simply trying to keep themselves safe while they suffered from the Ewig Woge. But the condition had likely heightened the Lowen’s bestial nature and made him or her highly aggressive. If the Lowen detected them, it would attack first and pause to ask questions only after they were dead. Nick was here to stop the Wechselbalg from killing. He didn’t want to add to the night’s already high body count.
Several moments passed without any sight of the Lowen, and Monroe turned to Nick and gave him a thumbs up to indicate they were in the
clear.
That’s when Nick heard the twig snap behind them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Let me do the talking,” Rosalee said.
“No problem,’ Juliette replied.
The two women walked side by side down the path, Hank and Renard following behind. Neither man said anything, and although Juliette couldn’t see them, she attributed their silence to wariness. Both were no doubt scanning the woods on either side of the path, alert for the least sign of trouble.
Renard had driven them to Forest Park, and he’d parked his vehicle at the end of a long line of cars, pickups, SUV’s, and motorcycles. The other vehicles were covered by foliage and tree branches, placed so expertly that Juliette wouldn’t have been able to detect them if she’d hadn’t been so close. As they’d disembarked, a fully woged Wildermann emerged from between a pair of trees as if materializing out of thin air. He emitted a not altogether unpleasant odor of fresh green leaves and rich soil. Juliette wondered if he smelled like this because of how much time he spent in the woods, or if his scent was natural protective camouflage. He carried an armful of branches and leaves and immediately began concealing Renard’s vehicle. The Wildermann said nothing, but he gave Juliette and Hank a scowl before setting to work.
All of them carried various supplies. Rosalee and Juliette carried cloth bags filled with jars containing a special endorphin-enhancing paste that Rosalee had made. Juliette wasn’t sure what was in it, but she understood much of it was comprised of ingredients that were especially effective for elevating endorphin levels in Wesen. Hank wore a backpack and Renard carried a large plastic cooler, both containing supplies Rosalee needed to make a cure for the Ewig Woge. Concealed within a hidden pocket inside Hank’s backpack were Hank and Renard’s guns. Rosalee had said that weapons were forbidden in the Hafen, and there was no way any of them would be permitted to enter if even one of their party was armed.
Both Rosalee and Renard had a small amount of endorphin-enhancing paste smeared beneath their noses, and while the treatment helped keep the worst emotional effects of the Ewig Woge at bay, it could only do so much. Renard carried the heavily laden cooler with ease in his Wesen form, but his brow was wrinkled in a constant frown, and he ground his teeth as they walked, both signs that he was struggling to keep a rein on his aggressive feelings. Rosalee seemed to fare better, but her nose kept twitching, and her breathing was even more rapid than usual for her while she was in full Fuchsbau mode. Juliette feared that both Rosalee and Renard—and presumably Monroe as well—were getting close to reaching their breaking points, when their control would snap and their Wesen halves would assume full control. If everyone in the Hafen was in similar condition, they had little time remaining to act. As bad as it would be if the Wechselbalg started killing Wesen in the Hafen, it would be nothing compared to the wholesale slaughter if the Wesen turned on one another.