Grimm - The Icy Touch (31 page)

“Lily, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“I saw what you did—what you are!” she whimpered.

“That was a bad guy...”

One I killed the same way I killed your father,
he thought, feeling ill.
But that was different...

“You have blood on your mouth!” she cried in horror.

“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth again, using rainwater. “Some of us... we’re called Wesen. We’re mostly good people. There are bad ones—just as there are bad, uh, ordinary humans. Right? I mean, Nick wouldn’t trust you with me and Howie if we weren’t good people... Right? You trust Nick, don’t you?”

“Howie?” She turned to look at the Eisbiber.

The Eisbiber sighed and said, “My people, we’ve got kind of a beaver thing going. We’re not dangerous except to trees.”

He woged—and she gasped.

Howie morphed back into his human aspect again.

“Monroe’s right—most of us aren’t bad sorts. These scumbags that took you... they’re different.
They’re
bad. Well, some are just... misled. You know?”

“That one I killed, that kind are always pretty rough characters,” Monroe put in. “Source of the dragon legends, those guys. Daemonfeuer, we call them. Me, I’m kind of a wolfish sorta guy. There are trolls, ogres—like, from the fairy tales, you know? But we’re another variety of people, really, is all we are. Most of us. Only, if you talk about this stuff, people will either think you’re crazy and try to give you medication—or they’ll believe you and come after us.”

A Portland police cruiser was driving up, lights flashing. The people in the car that had driven past on the off ramp must have called them. They’d seen some kind of fight, the stranded semi-truck...

“The police are here,” Monroe said. “You can tell them about me if you want, Lily. It’s up to you. But... I hope you won’t.”

“What was the guy you killed going to do?”

“He was trying to kill us. Maybe take you back to that place Nick just risked his life to get you out of.”

She wiped her eyes, and sniffled. Then she said, “Nick saved my life. You saved my life again. I won’t say anything you don’t want me to say.”

“What about that guy’s
throat?”
Howie whispered, as the cop got out of the cruiser to walk over to them. “How we explain that?”

“His head went through the windshield,” Monroe muttered. “It’s broken out. He cut his throat on it. Then I pulled him loose. Tried to give him CPR... Too late. Rain’s washed the blood from the windshield.”

“Works for me.”

The cop walked up to them.

“Somebody want to tell me what happened out here?” he asked.

No,
Monroe thought.
We don’t.

But he said, “Glad to, Officer! Well, it was like this... This trucker lost control of his semi, right behind us... and uh...”

Dawn. They’d be coming for him at dawn.

Nick sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and looked around him. He had been thrown into an empty back room on the first floor, with bars across the windows. There was a Persian carpet on the floor, and nothing else. The only light came in through the windows from the security lamps behind the mansion.

He rubbed his wrists where the ropes had nearly cut into them, looked over the cuts on his arms, touched the bullet-scratch on his shoulder. He was bashed up, but his injuries weren’t critical. He wondered if he had made the right decision in coming back to challenge Denswoz. It had felt right... and he’d learned to go with his gut, when it came to being a Grimm.

But this wasn’t looking good.

Still, he had to get the coins away from the Icy Touch chieftain. He could feel their corrupting glow around Denswoz.

And he had to be
here
, to make sure it got done.

He’d managed to doze for a few hours after they’d taken off the ropes, his dreams fitful and dark. He’d awakened in this dark room, alone, thinking of Juliette. Was she really safe? Was she scared?

Soon it would be time to get up and stretch, and prepare for what was coming...

A few more minutes passed. Then he heard footsteps outside the door. Boots, several pairs. Low growling laughter.

He heard the turn of a key in the lock, and the door opening... Light from the hallway silhouetted several men.

They were early.

But then the familiar shape of Hank Griffin stumbled into the room, hands tied behind him, face tense with pain.

He fell to his knees, and then Denswoz, non-woged, came in behind him with two Wesen, a Blutbad and a Hundjager, both of them carrying AR15s.

Denswoz’s eyes seemed to glow, just faintly. He had one hand in his coat pocket, moving restlessly in there. Nick assumed he was toying with the Coins of Zakynthos.

“Okay if I stand up?” Nick asked. “So I can help my friend here?”

“Go ahead,” Denswoz said. “There’s no help for either of you. Even if the police come looking for you. I have plans for your friend, here, as well as for you. We can kill you both and dispose of the bodies. We have a well-concealed place for that they’ll never look in.

“Our bellies.”

Nick ignored the revolting threat.

“Can I untie him?” he asked.

“Just as you like. I don’t think he’s going to be much good to you.”

Nick could see that Hank looked dazed, was staring into the middle distance. There was blood on his shirt.

Seeing that, he had a strong impulse to lunge at Denswoz, and simply break his neck. But there were two AR15s pointed at him and Hank.

Nick took a deep breath and concentrated on untying his partner.

Hank moaned when the ropes came off, and tipped over—Nick caught him, easing him to the carpet.

“You cut into our
very
expensive supply of
Seele Dichtungsmittel,
with your
intrepid action
in the tunnels,” Denswoz said, his voice heavy with mockery. “We’re rather short on Seele, this month. We should’ve dosed the girl, when she got here, and we held off. But we haven’t neglected Detective Griffin here. And we’re fairly certain he didn’t lie to us... was
unable
to lie to us. He told us that there is no police action on this facility that he knows of, no raid, nothing of the sort.”

“Some of your people probably wanted to head for the hills, when I got away,” Nick said calmly, as he massaged Hank’s wrists.

“Yes. There was some dispute, as you may imagine. But... we have connections. Even if there was a police raid, our contacts would ease our way—and most of us would go free, fairly soon. And federal agents, or those clowns in the Sheriff’s department—they wouldn’t find much here. We’ve cleaned up the place quite well, since you got out. We’ll be a convention of nature lovers, as far as they’re concerned. Nor is there any talk on police frequencies about a raid on this property. But still—I wonder why you came back here. And why your partner is here.”

Nick smiled. “You’re not the only one who took an oath. And it wasn’t only my kind who killed yours. You killed
mine.
I will kill you—and I just might get away with the coins. The ones you’re toying with, right now...”

Denswoz quickly withdrew his hand from his coat pocket, scowling.

“Your kind never gives up till they’re dead. So be it. You will be dead in a couple of hours. And I will demonstrate that we cannot be stopped. That we are invincible.”

Nick smiled and shook his head.

“All you’re demonstrating is that you are megalomaniacal. And sick from the coins.”

Hearing that, Denswoz seemed to be the one who had to hold onto his temper, now. He turned, gestured to someone in the hall. They handed him a sweetened electrolyte drink in a sealed bottle.

“Here.” He tossed the plastic bottle, and Nick caught it. “You can’t say I didn’t let you have a drink before you died, Detective Burkhardt. It’s not poisoned or dosed, I promise you. I’ll see you shortly.”

The Icy Touch chieftain turned and left the room; the gunmen backed up into the hall, and the door was hastily locked.

Nick looked at the raspberry-colored drink.

“Just like you’d buy in a convenience store.” He held it up to the light to check it was sealed, and to look for puncture marks. “Don’t see anything. I’ll test it for you, Hank.”

He knew he was taking a chance but he was tremendously thirsty. He twisted the top off and drank deeply.

It was too sweet for his taste, but it strengthened him a little, and he felt no ill effect.

Nick waited, closing the bottle.

A few minutes later, Hank groaned again, turned on his back and, grimacing with pain, sat up.

“Something... drink...” he managed.

Nick decided he’d have felt the poison by now, if there were any. He unscrewed the top, and gave it to Hank.

“Knock yourself out, Hank. Just an expression.”

Hank drank down half the remaining bottle, then put it aside, gasping.

“Oh God. Nick. I don’t know what I might’ve told them. I’m not sure.”

Nick shrugged. “You don’t know anything that could hurt. Not today. I only told you part of it.”

“My head is pounding...”

“They gave you
Seele Dichtungsmittel.
You told them the truth—that there’s no police raid planned. Good that you told them that. It’s true and they needed to hear it. But you shouldn’t have come out here, Hank. Is the girl okay? And Monroe?”

“Yeah. On their way to town. I just... couldn’t leave you here.”

“They catch you trying to break in?”

“You guessed it.” Hank moaned softly. “Hellfire, but that hurts.” He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, they... it turns out to be harder to climb over a fence when your ribs are cracked than I figured. And I didn’t see the security cameras till too late. I fell off a fence on the inside, and one of the Monroe’s evil cousins leaped out, couple more piled on and... I didn’t even get off a shot. Feel like a jackass now.”

“I know the feeling. They pretty rough when they interrogate you?” Nick could see that Hank’s eye sockets were swollen from a beating.

“Gave me a good thumping. Then they dosed me with something. Like, blew it in my mouth with a tube. I don’t remember much after that. Hope they didn’t rape me.”

Nick laughed softly. At least Hank still had his sense of humor.

“Naw. You’re not that good looking.”

“What happens now?”

“I challenged Denswoz to a fight. He’s got an obsession about me—and my family. I knew he couldn’t resist. And looking through my books in the trailer, I came across a couple of references to La Caresse Glacée. They have a penchant for rituals at sunset and dawn. I knew he’d probably set it up for dawn. I was counting on it.”

“Ow, my head, my side, my face—lots of different kinds of pain. Like a smorgasbord. So, Nick? What’s the plan? ’Cause I sure hope you have one.”

Nick looked at the window. He couldn’t see clearly, in the glare from the security lights. He got up, and peered outside, squinting up at the sky.

“Looks like... maybe an hour before dawn. So the plan is to...” He yawned. “To get some rest. Going to need it.”

* * *

The sun was rising behind the line of fir trees, when Nick and Hank were brought under close guard out a back door of the mansion. The sky was almost blue, the overhanging clouds gray in the muted morning light.

They found themselves in a Mediterranean-style garden, with a circle of red crushed stone in the middle, surrounded by low green shrubs cut into topiary shapes— wolves, wild dogs, dragons. Enclosing the garden was a high black-painted iron fence topped with very sharp-looking spikes.

Nick noticed a dried brown puddle in the center of the circle: Blood. He’d probably never find out whose blood it was.

Around the circle stood a crowd of woged Wesen: the troll on his right, the ogre on his left, Blutbaden and Hundjager and Geier and Lowen and others. Most of them had guns in their clawed hands. The Lowen and the sabertoothed Mauvais Dentes and the pale-furred Wendigo, who looked at him with such fixed hunger—they were all there, and more, surrounding him on the edge of the red-gravel circle.

Hank was held back, the Lowen clasping the back of Hank’s collar like an irritable father holding a small child. Hank swayed, blinking as he looked around as if suddenly confused. Nick knew Hank was pretending to be more fazed by injury and the Hexenbiest drug than he was in reality.

The Wesen growled and chuckled and muttered to one another. They bared their teeth and their clawed hands clenched and unclenched.

Wearing an old-fashioned costume of silk, breaches, a white shirt with French cuffs—like something from the early nineteenth century—Albert Denswoz pushed through the encircling rows of his followers. In each of his hands was a saber.

Denswoz was the only one not woged. Not yet. His eyes glowed faintly. The coins would be on his person, somewhere—Nick felt sure of that.

Denswoz approached Nick and thrust one of the antique sabers into the ground between them. It quivered there. A ribbon hung from a golden pommel shaped like the head of a falcon. The weapon was old, but it reflected the morning light with a kind of steely confidence.

“Napoleonic era sabers,” Denswoz remarked, giving his blade a practice swing that cut singingly through the air. “Just a little curved, as you see. Springsteel blades! They’re both nicely balanced dragoon sabers. Yours is a bit more... ornate. Do you recognize it, Burkhardt?”

“No.”

“I suppose there’s no reason you should. Your blade belonged to the murderer, your ancestor—Johann Kessler. One of my own ancestors took it from one of Kessler’s descendants. Took it from the fellow’s dead body, in fact. And the saber I hold belonged to Alberle Denswoz. It is only right that I should kill you with it. And I will use the same saber to kill your friend there. And I’ll use it to slice open your woman, when I find her. And your mother—she is proving elusive, but have no doubt, I will find her. And then the long march to a reckoning will be completed! We will have triumphed over you, and soon—over all Grimms! I promised you a chance, and you shall have it—though I doubt they taught you to use a sword in the police academy. Pick up your ancestor’s weapon and die with a blade in your hand!”