Grimm - The Icy Touch (28 page)

“Deputy didn’t see any. Got to go, Captain. Sorry to bother you after hours but I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Jacobs. And don’t worry about the hours. Never have figured out what my hours are.”

Jacobs laughed. “I hear you.”

Renard cut the connection. Then he speed-dialed Hank Griffin, and got straight to the point.

“It’s Renard, Detective. You hear anything about Burkhardt abandoning his car?”

“His car? No!”

“They found it in the woods, out a few miles off the Columbia. Nearest place is some roadhouse past The Dalles.”

“Nick would never...”

“Yeah. I know. This is not good. Place was called Joey’s River Snag. You know it?”

“Seen it once. Looked closed down. I take it you haven’t heard from Nick?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not a word. Monroe hasn’t heard from him either. Not even Juliette.”

“Juliette hasn’t heard from him? Can you head over there, Griffin? See if you can find anything? I’ll call the Sheriff out there, ask him to help you out if you need anything.”

“Yes, sir. Update me, Captain, if you hear anything.”

“Sure. Same here.”

Renard cut off the call and then saw heavy raindrops hitting the windshield.

“Dammit,” he murmured, switching on the wipers. “Raining again, too.”

* * *

A couple of minutes into trying to find the key that would unlock the girl’s room, Nick heard voices, the sound of two men approaching from around the corner.

He hurried back to the bathroom, and slipped inside, standing to one side, the shotgun butt turned toward the door.

He heard someone say, “...she’s probably fine but...”

Then his companion replied, “Gonna hit the can. Be right there.”

A few seconds passed.

Then the bathroom door opened, and Grogan stepped in, in his human form, softly singing an old song with an Irish lilt.

“We may have brave men, but we’ll never have better, Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men...”

He walked right by Nick, then seemed to sense something, got halfway turned before Nick pole-axed him with the butt of the shotgun to his forehead, hitting the Mordstier with all his Grimm strength and precision.

“Turnabout’s fair lay, Grogan,” he murmured.

Grogan grunted, and staggered backwards, blood dripping from a split forehead. Then he went down heavily.

Nick knelt to examine him. He was still alive, but it looked like he’d crushed the front of the Mordstier’s skull. Might not stay alive for long.

Nick searched Grogan’s coat, and found a cell phone. He smiled.

“Good man, Grogan,” he muttered. He pocketed the phone, pulled Grogan’s coat off him, and used the sleeves to tie his hands behind his back. He stuffed a half-used toilet-paper roll into the Mordstier’s mouth, to keep him quiet should he come to.

Once again he stepped back into the corridor, shotgun at the ready.

The corridor was empty. Nick moved down to the girl’s room door and found it unlocked, standing just slightly ajar. He looked through, saw a man facing the girl, who was sitting pressed against the headboard of a bed, hugging her knees. They’d dressed her in an ill-fitting red shift, and sandals.

“You had best do everything he wants,” the Wesen was saying, his voice vibrant with threat. “Or he’ll give you to me! Look!”

The man woged—and Nick saw the scaly hood of the Königschlange fanning out from his head as the Wesen transformed.

“I sssshall
bite
into you, and inject you with jusssst enough venom to paralyzzze you. And then—”

Then the girl saw Nick and her eyes widened as she stared past the Königschlange.

The cobra Wesen turned, hissing, and Nick gave him the same pole-ax move with the shotgun butt in the forehead— but with not quite the same effect. Woged and scaly, the creature was more resistant to the blow, and though the Wesen fell backwards, he remained conscious. The creature bared his fangs, reptilian eyes exuding raw hatred.

Nick threw himself onto the Königschlange, using his weight to press the shotgun barrel down hard on the Wesen’s throat.

The Königschlange writhed and struck at him with clawed hands; venom dripped from the fangs in his open mouth. Nick kept the pressure on the creature’s throat. That red haze was there, again, before Nick’s eyes, and his every Grimm instinct told him to kill this Wesen—and it wasn’t an instinct he was inclined to fight.

It took several long minutes of pressure to strangle the Königschlange. But at last the creature’s struggles subsided, and it went limp. The Wesen’s face slipped back into human form, staring in death—and Nick recognized it. He’d seen a print from a security camera outside the city jail, from the night Douglas Zelinski died in his cell. This was the Königschlange who’d killed the Drang-zorn.

Nick got up shakily, went to the door, closed it, then turned to the girl. She looked as scared of him as she’d been of the cobra man.

He put a finger to his lips to signify quiet, and whispered. “I’m a police detective. We were looking for you and they caught me. But you’re getting out of here, Lily.”

“Really?” She sat up straight, eyes lighting up. “Where’s your badge?”

“They took it. But believe me—I am who I say I am. My name’s Nick Burkhardt. And you’re Lily Perkins. I’ve got your picture in my car—your mom gave it to us.”

“I guess I believe you. I can’t stand not to.” She looked at the dead man on the floor. “What
are
they?”

He approached her, trying to smile reassuringly, keeping the shotgun pointed at the floor.

“Keep your voice down, Lily,” he said gently. He looked at the dead Königschlange. “He’s... they’re called Wesen. They live amongst us. Hiding from us, mostly. There are quite a few kinds. They come in fifty-seven varieties, like Heinz. Well, maybe not that many.” He glanced at the door. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

How much could he tell her? As little as possible— no need to tell her about Grimms. But she knew about Wesen now. He’d just have to swear her to secrecy and hope it stuck.

He offered her a hand.

“Come on. We’re going to find our way out.”

After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and let him help her off the bed.

He let go of her and patted her shoulder.

“You’re pretty damn brave, Lily. But listen—I might have to shoot somebody. If that starts, you flatten down.”

“Okay.”

“How do you feel? You’re not still on the... the drug they’ve been giving you?”

She shook her head. “No, they haven’t dosed me today.”

“Good.”

She followed him to the door, and he opened it, looked outside. It was clear for the moment. That couldn’t last.

He gestured to Lily and they started padding down the corridor. They came to a wooden stairway, with runners and a carved banner shaped roughly like a dragon. The building had the proportions and feel of a mansion.

He led the way up the stairs, shotgun ready.

“Why are we...” she began.

He turned to her, put a finger to his lips, then leaned close and whispered in her ear.

“Need to figure out where we are. The address.”

Eyes wide, she nodded, and they climbed to the second floor. Another long corridor. He heard voices from somewhere further down, and then he caught sight of a door ajar, closer, to the right.

Moving swiftly, Nick checked inside the room, then he led Lily through the door. They were in a luxurious office, the walls lined with books. Lily had the good sense to close the door softly behind her.

“I was here before,” she whispered.

The office contained a large old-fashioned dark-wood desk—with a computer on it. On a small table beside the desk was a printer.

Nick turned to the girl.

“Lily—do me a favor. Go to the door, press your ear to it. Listen, let me know if anyone’s coming.”

She nodded, and hurried to the door.

Meanwhile, Nick approached the desk and flipped through the stack of mail he found scattered among the papers on its surface. One letter was a property tax notification. He looked it over, and decided it almost certainly referred to the mansion he was in. Next he turned his attention to the computer, tapping the space bar to wake it up. There was a word processing document open on the screen. Looking it over, Nick decided it was the opening of a speech.

Brothers and Sisters of The Icy Touch,
it began.

We are gathered here today for a beautiful consummation. For centuries we have been tormented, persecuted, murdered by Grimms. And since the time of Napoleon my family has sworn an oath to destroy a certain line of Grimms. We made it our personal vendetta—and today we have the youngest surviving Grimm of this line in our cold grip.

I shall kill this Grimm myself. And this night we shall have a night of celebration, a feast, a rite of triumph! Soon we will find his mate, and his mother, and they too will be exterminated—and there will be no more Grimms in his line.

That is only the beginning.

I swear to you that all Grimms will be exterminated before ten years have passed. I have invited you here today to fulfill the

It ended there, in mid-sentence.

It seemed likely that Denswoz had written it. From what Renard had told him, there was a good chance Denswoz had the Coins of Zakynthos, and the text typed here emanated the kind of megalomania they induced.

Nick opened a desk drawer, and after a quick rummage found a flash drive among the various pens and scraps of notepaper.

He smiled, and fitted the flash drive to the computer, then copied the document to it, and every other document he could access easily and quickly.

He checked—the computer was online. Denswoz must have been interrupted by something important, to leave an open line of external communication unguarded, given his strict control of cell-phone use. But then this was his stronghold—where he was overconfident.

Nick uploaded the contents of the flash drive as an attachment to Renard’s email. Then he used the cell phone to send Renard a text:

Burkhardt here. Check your email. Attachment may be helpful. DO NOT CALL THIS NUMBER.

That was done.

Nick pocketed the flash drive and called Hank’s number on the cell phone.

“Detective Griffin,” came Hank’s familiar voice.

“It’s Nick.” He kept his voice just loud enough to be heard on the phone.

“Where the hell have you—?”

“Hank, I don’t have time. Listen. I went to check something out, walked into a trap. I’m at a place on the Columbia River.” He gave Hank the address from the tax statement.

“I’m about two miles from there right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Your car turned up out in these particular boonies. Looking over a roadhouse... seems like it’s closed down. Listen, Nick, I can get a small army of Sheriff’s deputies out there to raid the place and get you out.”

“Hank? No. I’ve got something else in mind. If it doesn’t work out... Anyway, I’ve got Lily Perkins here. She could end up being a hostage. Or caught in the... you know.”

“Yeah. I’ll drive out there, take a position where they’re not going to see me from the place, you call me, tell me what to do.”

“I like the way you think.”

“Uh—I should tell you. I was with Monroe and Juliette and Rosalee and... Monroe insisted on coming with me. And Juliette wanted him to and I couldn’t turn down both of them...”

“Tell him the girl’s okay. And Hank—be ready to shoot if you have to but be careful with your fire. Lily and I are going to be coming out to you...”

“You got it.”

Nick ended the call and thought,
Now. Just one problem. There must be dozens of Icy Touch downstairs. And more coming.

So how do we get out of here alive?

“Seriously, Hank, I’ll actually feel better if I woge and scout the mansion out. I don’t mean, you know, I’d go overboard and do anything crazy, just a little closer than this. Not
too
close but—”

“Monroe...?”

“What, Hank?”

“Stop talking. I need to think.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. Just saying. I can be really
Blutbad quiet
out there, if I...”

“Monroe!”

“Okay, alright already. It’s just—he’s got Lily and—”

“I told you, she’s with Nick and she’s okay.”

“But... I need to make sure she
stays
okay.”

“Just let me think, dammit.”

Hank tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the unmarked car. Outside, the rain had thinned to little more than a mist, sweeping across the dark hood of the car in waves too soft to hear. The moon was tucked behind brooding gray clouds and the only light, now that he’d turned off the headlamps, was from the security lights on the black metal fence of the mansion house. He’d parked a hundred yards away, on the shoulder of the access road, where a thick growth of wild roses and big ferns blocked any view of the car from the large building. The access road ended at a closed gate. A gatehouse stood just inside the fence.

Monroe cleared his throat.

“So. If you have no strong objection, I’m gonna—”

“Monroe? I
do
have an objection,” Hank said. “I do in fact object
strongly.
You’re
not
going over there! Last time you went off half cocked, one of those damned vulture things stabbed you in the stomach.”

“They’re called Geier. Rather than vultures per se, they’re—”

“Okay, fine, Geier. You want to hear what the plan is or not?”

Monroe sighed. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to wait for Nick to call and tell us what the plan is.”

Then he saw a light in his side-view mirror. And another.

“Oh crap. Get down!”

The two men ducked down as low as they could, Monroe half crammed under the dashboard.

Three cars drove by in quick succession. Hank waited, one hand in his coat, ready to jump up and yank out the Glock if he had to. He could hear the cars driving to the gate. He lifted up his head enough to see that they had passed.

“Can I get up now?” Monroe asked. “This is painful.”