Grimm: The Killing Time (7 page)

It had been Nick’s Aunt Marie who’d first revealed the family legacy to him. She’d been a Grimm herself, and tough as nails, even when she’d been dying from cancer. She’d given Nick her trailer, which was filled with books of lore, weapons, and chemicals that she’d used throughout her years battling evil Wesen, and after her death, it not only became an invaluable treasure trove of resources for Nick, the trailer kept Aunt Marie close in his memory. Whenever he was in it, researching a new type of Wesen or adding his own accounts to the accumulated lore of his ancestors, it was like he could feel her presence, as if she were still watching over him.

Nick and Hank spent the better part of an hour searching through Aunt Marie’s books without any luck. Juliette called to tell them that they’d found something in Rosalee’s books, so Nick and Hank got back in the Charger and drove to the Exotic Spice & Tea Shop. Rosalee Calvert had inherited the shop from her brother, and while all the substances she sold were legal and unregulated, in the right proportions and combinations, they acted like medicine for Wesen. In a sense, Rosalee was like a medical doctor to the Wesen community in Portland, and she’d been a big help to Nick on a number of cases.

Nick parked on the street, and he and Hank walked to the shop. The sign on the door was turned to CLOSED, but the lights were on inside. Nick tried the knob, found the door unlocked, and he and Hank entered. As always, the first thing that hit him was the smell, a thick miasma formed from hundreds of different substances: spices, roots, dried flowers, incense, seeds, desiccated insects, acrid liquids, and aromatic powders. It was almost overwhelming to his Grimm sense of smell, and not for the first time he wondered how Rosalee and Monroe, with their enhanced Wesen senses, could stand it.

The shop walls were covered with shelves from floor to ceiling, filled with canisters, bottles, and vials, all covered with typed or handwritten labels, some yellowed from having been on display for years. Nick always felt as if he were stepping back in time a century or more whenever he came in here, and that sensation, coupled with the intense smell, was a little disorienting.

Rosalee stood behind the counter, Monroe at her side. Juliette stood in front of the counter, and they were all looking at a large leather-bound book lying open between them.

The three looked up as Nick and Hank entered, and Monroe and Rosalee smiled a greeting. Juliette’s hello was a bit more demonstrative. She walked forward to meet Nick, put her hands on his shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss. Nick slipped his arms around her waist and when their kiss was finished, they hugged. Juliette Silverton was a veterinarian, and her work schedule and Nick’s rarely coincided, so each time they saw each other, they made sure to make their moments together, however brief they might be, count.

Juliette possessed an almost ethereal beauty that took Nick’s breath away every time he saw her. She was an elegantly thin woman with long auburn hair, whose intelligence and good humor showed in both her gaze and her smile. She exuded an aura of caring and concern that served her well as a vet, and which made her a sympathetic friend and a supportive partner. She was Nick’s rock, his safe harbor, and he didn’t think he’d be able to keep doing what he did—both as a cop and as a Grimm—without her.

“Break it up, you two,” Monroe said in mock irritation. “We have some serious Grimm-type work to do.”

Nick smiled at him as he and Juliette separated. The two of them went to the counter, Hank close behind.

Monroe had curly brown hair, a thin beard, and thick eyebrows. He was of medium height and build, and tended to wear plaid shirts or sweaters with jeans. Nick thought he looked like a college professor or maybe a professional artist. These impressions were reinforced by Monroe’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of offbeat trivia.

“Thanks for coming down here so late,” Nick said.

“No problem,” Rosalee said. “It’s not even ten thirty yet.”

“And you know Blutbaden,” Monroe said. “We do our best work at night.” He frowned. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

In German,
Blutbad
meant
blood bath
, and the name was more than appropriate. Blutbaden were a wolf-type Wesen infamous for their savagery and bloodlust. Monroe was, in his own words, a “reformed” Blutbad, who maintained a tightly controlled regimen of diet, exercise, meditation, and medication designed to help him suppress the violent tendencies of his kind. He was neat in his habits and dress, a sign of the control he exerted over every aspect of his life to keep the wilder aspects of his Blutbad nature in check. But from time to time, Nick could see the wolf in Monroe peering out through his friend’s eyes: a calculating feral intelligence combined with barely restrained urges. In these moments, Nick felt very glad that Monroe worked as hard as he did to keep the beast inside him contained.

Rosalee was a Fuchsbau, a fox-type Wesen, and while on the surface, a Fuchsbau and a Blutbad might seem an odd combination for a couple, she and Monroe made it work. She was a gentle-natured woman with brownish-red hair, large eyes, and full lips. She was extremely pretty, but Nick thought her most attractive feature was the way her face mirrored her emotions. Whatever Rosalee felt, good or bad, was displayed for the world to see. Given his job, he often had to keep his own feelings hidden, and he admired such openness. He found Rosalee’s apparent lack of guile to be ironic, though, as Fuchsbau had a reputation for being manipulative, scheming, and shady. Rosalee didn’t seem to possess any of these traits, but every once and a while, a sly look came into her gaze, and Nick knew there was more to her than met the eye.

Nick nodded to the book on the counter. “So what have you got?”

Rosalee placed an index finger on one of the entries.

“Read this and tell me if it sounds like the Wesen you encountered tonight,” she said.

Nick turned the book around so he could see it better and read aloud.

“‘Wechselbalg. German for changeling. These Wesen are born without identities of their own and exist by periodically assuming the identity of others. They take on their victim’s appearance, personality, and memories, reducing the victim into basic proteins in the process.’” He paused and looked up at Hank. “Sounds a lot nicer than ‘puddle of goo,’ doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.”

“Wechselbalgen are where the legends of doppelgangers came from,” Monroe said. “You know, evil spirits that duplicate their victims’ bodies and replace them? I’ve never met one before.”

“Me neither,” Rosalee said. “From what I understand, they keep to themselves for the most part.”

Nick continued reading. “‘The Wechselbalg is known to duplicate only humans. It is unclear if this is a biological restriction or a preference. While the Wechselbalg has no true appearance of its own, it does have a transitional form that resembles fluid quicksilver. It uses retractable needle-like spines to absorb a victim’s identity, and while the specifics of how the process functions remain unclear, it is believed that duplication is accomplished in a relatively short time. Wechselbalgen are generally healthy and are immune to disease even while in human form. Their borrowed bodies do tend to show signs of wear and decay after a time, signaling the need for the Wechselbalg to seek out a new victim. The length of time a Wechselbalg can retain a specific form is uncertain, but it’s believed that five years is the average, with ten years being the upper limit. As long as the Wechselbalg can find new forms to duplicate, it can conceivably live far longer than a normal lifespan. Health concerns for Wechselbalgen include infection of digital spines if they are not cleaned regularly, loss of dermal elasticity—especially as the time to seek a new host approaches—and in their later years…
Verfallserscheinung
.’” Nick hesitated as he stumbled over the pronunciation of the word. He looked up from the book. “What does that mean?”

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
un
important, 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?”