Grimm: The Killing Time (8 page)

Nick jumped in before Bud could go any further.

“We think we may have a Wechselbalg in town. Do you know anything about them?”

Bud frowned as he thought. “Wechselbalg? That’s some kind of shapeshifter, isn’t it? I mean, technically all Wesen are shapechangers. But this one changes shapes the same way most people change clothes. I’ve never met one—that I know of. Unless one introduces him or herself as a Wechselbalg, how would you know? One of my cousins said she heard there was one in the town where she lived as a kid, but that might’ve just been a rumor.” He paused. “Now that I think of it, isn’t there a legend of some kind involving a Wechselbalg? I think I remember hearing one once, but I can’t remember the details.” He gave Nick an apologetic look. “Wesen have a lot of legends. It’s hard to remember them all.”

“It’s the whole oral history thing,” Monroe said. “With some exceptions—” he tapped the volume open on the counter “—we don’t write a lot of stuff down. Easier to stay hidden that way.”

“How about you two?” Nick said to Monroe and Rosalee. “You ever hear of this legend?’

“I haven’t,” Rosalee said. “But I can keep looking through my brother’s books and see what turns up, if anything.”

“Sorry, man,” Monroe said. “If I ever heard anything about this legend, I forgot it.”

Juliette turned to Nick. “While you guys go see if you can track down the Wechselbalg, I can go to the trailer and research the legend.”

“Hank and I already tried that,” Nick said.

“But you didn’t know the shapeshifter’s name,” Juliette pointed out. “Now we do. That might make a difference.”

He smiled. “It might. But—”

“Some of the books are written in German. I know. If any of those mention Wechselbalgen, I’ll bring them back here for Monroe to translate.”

“And if we get lucky, we may have the shapeshifter captured before then,” Hank said.

“We don’t need luck,” Monroe said. He tapped the side of his nose. “Not when we have this baby on our side.”

“I’ve got a couple more deliveries to make,” Bud said. “I’ll ask if anyone knows anything about Wechselbalgen and if they can remember anything about the legend.” He drew the back of his hand across his forehead. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

Rosalee frowned. “Now that you mention it, it
is
a little warm.”

“I hadn’t noticed, but yeah, you’re right,” Monroe said. “Maybe the heat’s turned up too high.”

Nick exchanged looks with Juliette and Hank. He felt fine, and from their expressions, so did they. He shrugged. Maybe it was a Wesen thing.

“Well, I’ll let you good people get on with your work,” Bud said. “Hope you like the cake, Rosalee. And keep the basket. We’ve got a ton of them. Nick, I’ll call you if I learn anything about the Wechselbalg legend. Good look and take care.”

He headed for the door, wiping his forehead one more time as he went. He turned to give a final wave before stepping back out into the night.

Monroe clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Let’s get to work. That scent trail isn’t getting any fresher while we stand here gabbing. Besides, it’ll be nice to get out into the cool air.”

“Yeah,” Rosalee said. “Maybe I’ll open up a window while I work.”

Monroe gave her a quick kiss and then came out from behind the counter. Nick wasn’t sure, but he thought his friend’s face looked a little flushed. Rosalee’s too, for that matter. And hadn’t Bud looked a bit red as he departed? Maybe.

“You feeling all right?” Nick asked Monroe.

Monroe frowned. “Who me? Never better. Why?”

“It’s nothing.” Nick turned to Juliette and gave her a kiss.

“Be careful,” she cautioned.

He smiled. “Always.”

“Hank?” she said.

“I’ll watch out for him.” He smiled, amused.

“Me too,” Monroe added.

“I’m relieved to know I’m in good hands,” Nick said. “Let’s go.”

Juliette left with them, and as they went through the doorway, Rosalee said, “I’ll call if I find out anything, Nick.”

He turned to wave goodbye and saw Rosalee looking down at the open book and pulling her sweater collar away from her throat as it were stifling her.

The Wechselbalg—who increasingly thought of itself as Nick Burkhardt—was walking down the sidewalk when a sound came to his ears. His senses were much sharper than he was used to, especially his hearing, and over the sounds of vehicles passing by on the street, he detected a hissing noise that sounded like escaping air. His instincts told him it was out of place, so he turned in its direction—an alley he’d just passed—and walked back toward it.

In the alley, a couple of teenagers—one male, one female—held cans of spray paint and were hard at work defacing a brick wall. They’d evidently been at it a while, for several empty cans lay on the ground around their feet. Light from the street filtered into the alley, providing enough illumination for the Wechselbalg to make out the graffiti artists’ features. They looked to be in their mid-teens, fifteen, maybe sixteen. The male had shoulder-length hair and wore a leather jacket and jeans. The female had shorter hair, most of which was concealed beneath a stocking cap. She wore a gray sweater, the sleeves a bit too long for her arms, and jeans.

The Wechselbalg approached them, moving silently as a cat. While he was within six feet of them—a distance his new memories told him was close enough to get their attention, but not so close he was within their reach—he spoke.

“What’s wrong? Run out of canvas?”

The two whirled toward him, shocked, and in their surprise they let their guard down for an instant and involuntarily woged. Their human features gave way to lizard-like countenances. Mouths stretched into savage grins and revealed pointed teeth, and forked tongues emerged and flicked the air, as if tasting it.

The Wechselbalg recognized them. Or rather, Nick’s memories did. Skalengeck.

Aunt Marie’s voice whispered in his mind.

Hunt down the bad ones.

The female spoke in a rough voice, like two rocks grinding together. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and walk away right now.”

The male hissed and held up clawed hands, his grin widening. “What she said.”

The Wechselbalg ignored them and glanced at what they’d been painting. It was a green lizard, roughly ten feet long, with bright red eyes, a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth, and a coiled tail.

“Not bad,” the Wechselbalg said. “You two have talent. Shame you couldn’t have applied it to something more constructive.”

The Skalengeck female’s eyes narrowed. “You can see us, right?
Really
see us. So why aren’t you afraid?”

The male lowered his head and extended it forward, as if examining the Wechselbalg more closely. He made a choking noise deep in his throat and withdrew his head so fast there was an audible click as his neck vertebrae snapped back into place.

“He’s a
Grimm
!” He practically spat the word.

“The one that’s supposed to be living here in town?” the female said.

“How many Grimms do you think there are in Portland?” the male said.

The Wechselbalg could feel the fear rolling off of them. He could smell it, too. The Skalengecken were exuding an acrid odor of some kind, probably a defense mechanism designed to discourage an attacker. Too bad it had no effect on him.

He was surprised to find that he was rather enjoying this. Throughout his long existence, the Wechselbalg had been forced to hide, to conceal his true nature from all around him, including his fellow Wesen. He’d always done his best to fit in with whatever family or community he’d found himself in, but even when he’d come to believe his stolen memories were actually his, he’d never felt he’d truly belonged anywhere. Plus, there was always this feeling, as if he were a consummate actor who, no matter how spectacular a performance he gave, never got to hear the audience’s applause. But now here he was, standing before these two Skalengeck teens, feeling their fear… no, their absolute
terror
, and it was delicious. They were his audience tonight, and he was determined to give them a hell of a show.

“You know tagging is illegal, right?” He took a step toward them, just to see how they’d react. The male took a step backward, but the female held her ground. Interesting.

She resumed her human aspect once more, perhaps in an attempt to appear less threatening, the Wechselbalg thought. Even so, she tried to maintain a tough façade. She held the can to the wall and defiantly sprayed GRIMM. “You may be a Grimm, but you’re not a cop.”

When a Wechselbalg took on a new identity, it shed its outer layer of skin, which transformed into duplicates of its victim’s clothes. So perfect were these copies that they’d pass all but the most sophisticated of scientific scrutiny. But there was a limit to what the Wechselbalgen could create from their shed skin. They couldn’t replicate the contents of pockets—wallets, keys, phones, and the like—and thus the Wechselbalg that had duplicated Nick Burkhardt hadn’t been able to copy his badge, or his gun, for that matter. Since he had nothing to prove he was a cop, he supposed he’d have to let attitude do the work for him.

“Who says I can’t be both?” the Weschselbalg said, smiling.

The male Skalengeck remained in Wesen form the entire time, and although he’d retreated when the Wechselbalg had first advanced, he found his courage now. He hissed loudly and hurled the can of spray paint he’d been holding at the Wechselbalg. Skalengecken were stronger than humans, and the can was a blur as it hurtled toward the Wechselbalg. Without being consciously aware of it, the Wechselbalg’s hand reached out and plucked the can out of the air as easily as taking low-hanging fruit from a tree. He held the can for a moment, enjoying the expressions of disbelief on the teens’ faces. Then he drew his arm back and with a single swift motion, hurled the can back at the male Skalengeck. It flew through the air and struck the boy directly between the eyes. Nick’s memories informed the Wechselbalg that Skalengecken were highly resistant to pain, but that didn’t make them invulnerable. They could still be hurt, regardless of whether or not they felt it.

The can made a satisfyingly solid
thunk
as it connected with the Skalengeck’s lizardish hide. The impact knocked the boy off his feet, and he hit the ground hard. The spray can bounced off his head, ricocheted off the wall, and clattered to the ground, spinning several times before coming to a stop. The male Skalengeck resumed his human form and groaned, but he made no move to get up.

The female looked horrified at seeing her companion brought down so easily, and the Wechselbalg sensed that she was fighting an inner battle as she tried to decide between fight or flight. In the end, it wouldn’t matter which she chose because the Wechselbalg had no intention of allowing her to escape. But he was curious to see which way she would jump.

Fight won out. She spun to face the Wechselbalg, returning to her Skalengeck aspect as she did so. She still held onto her can of paint, and she raised it, stepped forward, aimed at his face, and pressed the nozzle. The Wechselbalg was impressed by the way the girl was using the only weapon available to her. But he was a Grimm—more or less—and he wasn’t about to let himself fall for such a simple trick. Just as paint began to shoot from the nozzle, he slapped the girl’s hand aside, and the blow caused her to lose her grip on the can. It hit the wall and bounced to the ground.

The girl didn’t wait for the Wechselbalg to make the next move. Snarling, she slashed at him with one of her clawed hands. The Wechselbalg pulled in his stomach just in time to avoid getting gutted. When the Skalengeck was off balance, he stepped forward, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and slammed her against the wall as hard as he could. Her back struck the brick where she and the male had been painting, and her head hit the spot where they’d rendered the lizard’s head. Breath gusted out of her lungs and she went limp. If the Wechselbalg hadn’t still been holding her against the wall, she would’ve slumped to the ground. She returned to her human appearance, the change occurring more slowly than normal, as if her body wasn’t functioning properly. He noticed a dark smear in the middle of the painted lizard’s green head. At first he thought the girl’s hair had smeared the paint, but then he realized that what he was looking at was blood.

It gave him a wonderful idea.

He placed his hand over her face, gripped her with his fingers, and then began pounding the back of her head against the brick. When he finally let go of the girl, her Grimm graffiti was almost completely obscured by blood and brain matter. The female Skalengeck’s body fell to the ground, and the Wechselbalg immediately forgot about her. She was no longer a threat, and therefore no longer important.

He turned his attention to the male. While the Wechselbalg had been dealing with his companion, he’d gotten to his feet, but he just stood there, staring in horror at the female’s corpse. The Wechselbalg decided to take advantage of the male’s distraction. He stepped forward and struck the male with an open-handed blow to the chest. The Wechselbalg felt bone crunch beneath his hand, but although the male Skalengeck staggered backward, this time he didn’t go down. The Skalengeck resistance to pain no doubt helped him remain on his feet. As much fun as the Wechselbalg was having, he needed to wrap this up. He could hardly stay here in the alley all night. He had an entire city to protect.

He rushed forward, grabbed hold of the male, and spun him around until he had him in a headlock from behind. He applied pressure to the boy’s neck, gritted his teeth, and gave a single hard twist. There was a harsh
crack
, and then the teen’s body went slack. The Wechselbalg held onto him for several more moments before releasing his grip and letting the corpse fall to the ground. The boy lay near the girl, their hands almost touching. The Wecheselbalg found it a rather poetic sight, in its own way.

The Wechselbalg turned away from the two dead teens and began walking toward the mouth of the alley. He’d made a good start at his work, but he had more to do. A lot more. And while he’d been capable of dealing with these two with only his bare hands, they were just kids with no combat experience. If he planned to continue with this work, he was going to need to equip himself.