Grimm: The Killing Time (2 page)

The creature stood up, and as it rose, it lifted her into a standing position. Dana’s body hung slack in the creature’s grasp, and there was no longer anything she could do to try to free herself. She couldn’t think, let alone move. She was still conscious, still aware, at least on some primitive level, but that was all.

“Don’t worry, honey,” the creature said in her voice, its tone gentle, almost loving. “It’s almost over. But I need one last thing from you.”

It…
she
reached out with her free hand, slipped Dana’s purse off her shoulder, and slid it over her own.

Dana, or at least the last remnant of what had once been Dana, opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She experienced a sensation of release, or letting go, and then she felt like she was falling, falling forever.

The darkness rushed upward to take her and she felt no more.

* * *

The Wechselbalg retracted its finger spines and examined its hands.
Her
hands. It was female again. It—
she
had to remember that. She was old, v
ery
old, and she became confused far too easily and often these days.

She, she, she, she, she.

She
gazed down at the body on the sidewalk. She didn’t regret what she’d done to the original Dana; soon the dead woman would be nothing but a viscous puddle of dissolved flesh and bone. She was Wechselbalg, and this was how she survived. She felt no more remorse for what she’d done to the woman than a wolf felt for preying on a doe. Still, something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it—then it came to her. She had approached the woman in the open, but her kind were supposed to be careful to take their victims where they couldn’t be seen, deep in forests and valleys, places where the residue could be easily disposed of. If any humans discovered it, they wouldn’t know what to make of it. But if any other Wesen found it…

She shrugged. So what if they did? Her kind was rare enough that they might not recognize the residue for what it was. And even if they did understand, they wouldn’t be able to track her. Her scent was long gone, along with the original Dana. That was her kind’s great strength: to change, to hide, to disappear. And that’s precisely what she intended to do now.

She sidestepped the prone figure, picked up Dana’s groceries, then closed her eyes and began searching the woman’s memories. She found an image of Dana’s house, and a man polishing a Chevy out front.

Rich
, she thought,
my husband’s name is Rich
.

She opened her eyes and started walking.

“Come on, guys. Why don’t we step outside and talk about this?”

Nick Burkhardt flicked his gaze from one man’s face to the other as they squared up to each other, trying to gauge their reactions to his words. But as near as he could tell, neither had heard him. The two men were in their early twenties, both brown-haired, with similar stocky builds. One had a full beard, while the other was clean-shaven. The bearded one wore a brown sweater, while the clean-shaven one wore a blue long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms. They both wore jeans and sneakers. The two looked enough alike to be brothers, although from what Nick could gather, they were cousins. And to make matters worse, they were both
Jagerbaren
: bear-like Wesen capable of great strength and savagery.

“I think you may need to turn up the volume a little.” Hank Griffin flanked Nick, his voice calm. But Nick could detect the tension in his partner’s words, telling him that Hank was ready to go into action any second, if necessary. And it was looking more necessary with each passing second. Hank was a tall African American man with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He had what Nick thought of as a quarterback’s build—broad-shouldered and thick-bodied, all of it muscle. He could present an intimidating figure when he wanted to, which came in handy when questioning a suspect, but most of the time he had a twinkle in his eye and an easy smile. Right now he was in full-on intimidation mode.

In contrast to his partner, Nick was lean, with short black hair and stubble to match. His eyes were his most striking feature, or so he’d been told. Juliette said there was an intensity in his gaze, and that his eyes were always moving, taking in everything around him. Except when he interacted with people. Then all of his attention was centered on them. He now focused that intensity on the two Wesen, but he hadn’t been able to get a response from them. So far neither of the cousins had thrown the first punch, but Nick didn’t know how much longer that would last.

Blind Bill’s was a small bar, not far from Lewis and Clark Law School. It had a deliberately grungy vibe, the kind of place that looks like it tries a little too hard to be a dive, but the microbrews listed on the chalkboard hanging behind the bar told a different story. The clientele were all college students, and while they had a tendency to dress down, their almost conspicuous lack of obvious tattoos and piercings told Nick these were classic Type As—future doctors, lawyers, and MBAs—who didn’t want to risk their future employment opportunities just for the sake of fashion.

“They’ve been like that for the last fifteen minutes.”

Beverly Burello—the server who’d called Nick out to deal with this problem—stood next to him. She was a thin, almost sleek woman in her late twenties, with long, full, reddish-brown hair that hung to her waist. She wore a black T-shirt with the Blind Bill’s logo on the front, and skinny jeans so tight they looked as if they’d been painted on.

She went on. “They just stand there, trash-talking each other. I was hoping they’d either cool off or take it outside. As you can see, my hopes were
not
fulfilled. I tried talking to them, but I’m not exactly the most intimidating person, you know?”

Her features shifted, and for a moment her face was covered with glossy reddish-brown fur, her nose had receded and turned black, and long delicate whiskers protruded from her cheeks. But the moment passed and her features became those of a woman once more.

Hank caught Nick’s eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. Hank couldn’t see Wesen when they involuntarily woged, not unless they were so overcome with emotion that they lost control of their ability to shield their true nature from the eyes of humans. But over the last few months, Hank had gotten good at noticing when Nick got what he called “That Look,” which meant he’d seen a Wesen.

Nick gave Hank a quick nod to indicate Beverly was indeed Wesen, followed by an equally quick shake of the head to indicate she wasn’t one of the more dangerous varieties. She was a Luisant-Pêcheur, an otter-like being more at home in the water than on land, and gentle for the most part.

Blind Bill’s had a good-sized crowd for a Thursday night. Three-quarters of the seats were taken, and while a few people had open textbooks or laptops in front of them, most had come here to hang out, have a good time, and decompress from the pressures of academic life. Right now, though, everyone was paying attention to the drama playing out in their midst. Some were talking and laughing about it, others were taking pictures or filming videos with their phones, while a few looked as if they would’ve preferred to get out of there before the situation took a violent turn, only they were too afraid to do anything other than sit still and stay quiet.

Nick absorbed all of these details in an instant, almost on an unconscious level, and he processed them just as swiftly. His attention was then drawn to a young woman sitting alone at a table—a table with two empty chairs. Like everyone else in the bar, her gaze was fixed on the two angry cousins, but her eyes shone with amusement mixed with a healthy dose of shrewd calculation, and her mouth formed a small smile. Thick auburn hair spilled over her shoulders, and she was pretty in a cold, severe way. She wore a white sweater and jeans, and expensive-looking cowboy boots that were highly polished and didn’t have a mark on them. The woman’s smile and the two empty chairs at her table told Nick everything he needed to know. She was playing the two men against each other, and odds were she was also a Jagerbar. While he wasn’t sure, based on his first encounter with this type of Wesen it seemed the females of her kind were stronger-willed than the males. If that was true, a show of strength and aggression to impress a female might be normal for Jagerbaren. But normal or not, he couldn’t allow them to conduct their mating rituals in public.

Nick raised his hands, palms forward, fingers spread apart to appear the least threatening he could, and took a step toward the two Jagerbaren.

“Take it easy, guys. This isn’t the kind of thing you want to do in front of an audience, is it?”

Neither of the men looked at him, but the one with the beard said, “We don’t have to do it at all. He just needs to walk out of this place and never come back.”

The unshaven cousin made a noise deep in his throat that sounded too much like a growl. He woged, and his features took on an ursine aspect. His eyes blazed with anger, and he opened his mouth to display his fangs. His cousin woged in response, and now two bear-like creatures stood facing each other. Nick could feel the angry energy radiating off them in waves, and he knew he had only a few seconds to act before they started fighting in earnest. So far none of the humans in the bar could see the two Jagerbaren’s true appearance. If they could, they’d be shouting, screaming, and trying to get the hell out of there as fast as they could. But once the Jagerbaren started fighting, they could lose control of their illusion of humanity and innocents could get seriously hurt in the brawl, or in their panic to escape it.

So far, he’d tried to handle this like a cop. Time to try handling it like a Grimm.

He stepped between the two Jagerbaren, placed his hands on their chests and shoved them back a few inches. They were strong in their Wesen forms, but Nick was stronger than a normal human, and although the Jagerbaren struggled to move toward each other again, Nick held them where they were.

Nick glanced back and forth between the two men. This close, their animal scent was almost overpowering to his enhanced sense of smell, and he felt their combined fury as a physical force. As if in answer, anger welled up within him, and he felt an urge to grab the Jagerbaren by the backs of their heads and smash their faces together. It was his Grimm nature—which wasn’t so different from that of the Wesen—urging him to act. These two beasts were a threat, and they had to be put down—
now
.

Nick gritted his teeth and fought the anger down. He was still a cop and couldn’t let his emotions get out of control in a tense situation.

Hank caught his eye and gave him a questioning look. They’d been partners for so long that Nick had no trouble interpreting it. Hank was asking if Nick needed him to step in and help. Nick shook his head slightly, the gesture a reply which meant,
Not yet, but stay ready.
Hank acknowledged it with a brief nod.

“You guys know who I am?” Nick asked the cousins. “Or, more importantly,
what
I am?” He kept his voice low, so only the two Jagerbaren could hear him.

Neither replied, but both took a second to glance at him, and while he didn’t see fear in their gazes, he did see acknowledgment.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Tell me your names.”

The cousins returned to glaring at each other, but the clean-shaven one growled, “Josef,” and his bearded cousin growled, “Thorsten.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Nick jerked his head toward the girl at the table. She didn’t seem distressed at seeing her two suitors confronted by a Grimm. If anything, she looked even more amused by the development. “And what’s her name?’

“Sylvia,” Josef said.

“Okay. So you two are trying to put on a good show for her, right? You each want her to see you as the strongest and meanest.”

Thorsten’s gaze flicked to Nick for an instant.

“That’s the general idea.”

“So how impressive is it that you’re standing in the middle of a bar with a Grimm between you, holding you back like you’re a couple of little boys caught fighting on the playground?”

Nick watched both of their faces to gauge their reaction to his words. Thorsten looked uncertain, and Nick could tell he’d scored some points with him. Josef, however, narrowed his eyes at Nick and bared his fangs.

“Nice try,” Josef said. “My cousin might fall for that crap, but I won’t. There’s only one way this ends, and that’s with one of us on the ground. Preferably
him
.” He turned back to glare at Thorsten.

Despite their bestial nature, Jagerbaren—modern ones, at least—tended to be peaceful enough. They reserved their aggressive tendencies for their work, choosing professions in law and politics. But under the influence of alcohol, Jagerbaren could be incredibly dangerous, and Nick could smell that these two had been drinking. And even if he couldn’t, the empty mugs on their table would’ve tipped him off. Nick wasn’t sure exactly how alcohol affected them, but he knew one thing: these two were determined to fight, and it didn’t look like there was any way to talk them out of it.

Time for Plan B.

“You know, it seems to me that there isn’t anything particularly special about one Jagerbar fighting another. If I were you two, I’d be thinking about how much more impressed Sylvia would be if I knocked a Grimm onto his ass. How many Jagerbaren can say they did that?”

Josef and Thorsten exchanged looks, and then their features shifted as they assumed human guises. For the first time since Nick had entered Blind Bill’s, he could see the cousins’ anger ebbing, replaced by thoughtful calculation.

“I don’t like where this is headed,” Hank said.

“Me neither,” Beverly added.

Up to this point, Sylvia hadn’t said a word, but now she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and said, “Well
I
love it.”

And just like that, the Jagerbaren’s minds were made up for them.

Josef looked at Thorsten, and the two nodded in silent agreement. Josef turned to Nick and said, “You’re on.”

“Let’s step into my office.”