Grimm: The Killing Time (20 page)

But before he could act on this knowledge, the Wechselbalg leaped to his feet, shoved past him, and ran toward the front door. Nick caught a glimpse of blood on the creature’s left shoulder, and then both Juliette and Hank fired. If either of them hit the fleeing Wechselbalg, it didn’t slow him down. Within seconds, he was through the door, out of the house, and back into the night.

Nick hurried over to Juliette and she handed the Glock to him.

“Go get him,” she said.

He gave her a quick kiss, and then headed for the door. Hank followed, right hand still tucked into his pocket to keep his wounded arm steady. Nick wanted to tell him to stay behind and take care of his wound, but he knew Hank wouldn’t pay him any more attention than he would’ve paid to Hank if their situations were reversed, so he said nothing.

Nick’s own arm was still somewhat numb from when he collided with the wall, but its condition was improving with every passing moment. He had no trouble maintaining his grip on the Glock as he ran outside. He half-expected the Wechselbalg to be lying in wait to attack him the instant he emerged from the house, but there was no immediate sign of the shapershifter. Nick ran out onto the sidewalk, sweeping his gaze back and forth as he searched for the Wechselbalg. Hank joined him a moment later, breathing harder than usual, and Nick wondered if his partner had lost more blood than he’d thought.

“Taking one in the shoulder doesn’t seem to have slowed him down any,” Hank said.

“Yeah.” If the Wechselbalg had left a blood trail, Nick wondered if Monroe would be able to track it. Probably not, he decided. If the Wechselbalg didn’t have a scent normally, there was a good chance his blood—or whatever substance oozed from his wounds in place of blood—wouldn’t have a scent either. With Wechselbalgen, it was all about staying hidden. Unless of course they were suffering from their version of Alzheimer’s and had demented to the point where it was almost impossible for them to act rationally and remain unseen.

Nick almost wished this Wechselbalg was still mentally healthy. If he had been, he would only kill when he needed to assume a new identity. And while that was bad enough, at least he wouldn’t be on a killing spree right now.

The two men were standing less than a dozen feet from the Charger, and as they cast their gazes around the area searching for the Wechselbalg, at one point they both turned their backs to the car. And that’s when the Wechselbalg struck.

At the sound of rapid footsteps on asphalt, Nick turned and saw a handful of needle-spines slashing toward his face. He leaned back in time to avoid getting hurt, but Hank wasn’t so lucky. The spines struck the bicep of his good arm and sank deep. The Wechselbalg yanked them free, an expression of savage triumph on his face. Hank took in a hissing breath, and his fingers sprang open. His Glock fell to the sidewalk, and Hank went down on one knee, moaning in pain.

Nick stepped forward and swung his gun butt toward the Wechselbalg’s head. The creature tried to avoid the blow, but he didn’t move fast enough. The butt of the Glock slammed into the side of his head, and the impact staggered him. Nick knew better than to give the shapeshifter so much as a second to recover. He moved forward, intending to strike the Wechselbalg a second blow. But the shapeshifter jabbed his finger spines forward and stabbed Nick’s gun hand. There was an instant of pain before an almost pleasant sensation of numbness began to spread through his hand. The Glock slipped from his fingers, but right then the loss of his weapon was the last of his worries. When the Wechselbalg had initially duplicated him, he’d plunged the finger-spines into Nick’s neck. Nick had no idea if the Wechselbalg could copy his memories through another part of his body, but he didn’t want to find out.

He curled his left hand into a fist and hit the Wechselbalg as hard as he could, driving his knuckles into the shapeshifter’s nose. Cartilage ground and a clear liquid gushed in place of blood. The Wechselbalg’s head snapped back, and his finger spines pulled free of Nick’s right hand. Despite the numbness in that hand, Nick made a fist, stepped forward, and struck the Wechselbalg with a hard right cross to the jaw. Because of the numbness, Nick couldn’t judge the strength of the blow, but from the way the Wechselbalg staggered to the side, he figured he’d hit him hard enough.

Nick moved forward, intending to press his advantage, but the Wechselbalg—perhaps knowing Nick well enough now to guess what he’d do in this situation—met Nick head-on. He charged forward, wrapped his arms around Nick, and lifted him off his feet. Nick head-butted the shapeshifter before he could do anything, and the creature’s head snapped back once more. His grip on Nick slackened, allowing Nick to break free.

The Wechselbalg was looking pretty wobbly by this point, and Nick figured he could knock out the creature with one more solid blow. But before he could advance on the shapeshifter, the Wechselbalg drew his Glock and pointed it at Nick. The creature might’ve been unsteady on his feet, but there was nothing wrong with his aim.

Nick froze, fully expecting to hear the sound of a gunshot blast and feel the punch of a bullet striking him. But before the Wechselbalg could fire, Hank slammed his shoulder into the shapeshifter, knocking him sideways. The blow caused the creature to drop his Glock, but either he wasn’t as weak as Nick had surmised or he’d recovered quickly, because he grabbed hold of Hank, spun around, and shoved him toward Nick. Then he took off sprinting.

Nick caught Hank, but the Wechselbalg had pushed him so hard that both men went down in a heap. A Jeep Cherokee was parked at the curb several dozen feet away from where Nick had parked the Charger. When the Wechselbalg reached it, he quickly climbed in, started it, and roared away from the curb.

Nick stood and helped Hank to his feet. They watched the taillights of the Cherokee as it sped away.

“I didn’t get the plate,” Hank asked. “You?”

Nick shook his head. “Too dark.”

“And here I thought you had special Grimm vision or something.”

Nick smiled. “Guess it’s offline tonight.”

He turned to his friend. Hank still had his right hand tucked into his jacket pocket. The blood splotches on his sleeve were wider and darker now. He carried the Glock in his left hand, but it hung limp at his side. He looked tired as hell, and Nick didn’t blame him. It had been a long night, and it was far from over.

Juliette came running across the lawn to join them. She wrapped her arms around Nick, and he put his arm around her shoulders and held her close.

“At least we know what vehicle he’s driving,” Nick said.

“You’re going to go after him,” Juliette said. It wasn’t a question.

“Just as soon as we get Hank patched up.” He glanced at his wounded hand. Most of the numbness had worn off, but it was still bleeding from several pinprick-sized holes. Nothing serious, though.

The three of them turned and started back toward the house. In the distance, they heard the sounds of approaching police sirens.

“One of the neighbors reported the gunshots,” Hank said.

“More than one, probably,” Nick said. He sighed and pulled away from Juliette. “You take Hank inside while I try to think of a cover story to tell whoever shows up.”

Juliette nodded, then turned to Hank. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of medical supplies in the house. I stocked up so I could take care of Nick.”

“He
does
tend to play a little rough sometimes,” Hank said.

Nick headed to the end of the driveway as Juliette and Hank returned to the house. The sirens grew louder. Wouldn’t the neighbors just
love
that noise on top of the gunshots? If this sort of thing kept up, he and Juliette would have to start looking for a new house.

As he waited for the responding officers to arrive, he tried not to think about how the Wechselbalg had escaped, where he might be going next, and worse, what he might do when he got there.

“Damn, damn, damn!”

The Wechselbalg hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand as he swore, as if to punctuate the words.

He was driving far too fast for a suburban neighborhood, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t worried about Nick… No, he
was
Nick! He wasn’t worried about the
Other
giving pursuit. He would remain behind, at least long enough to make sure his partner was okay, which would give the Wechselbalg more than enough time to flee. He’d broken off the battle not because he’d been disarmed, but to give his injuries a chance to heal. His kind healed far faster than humans and even most Wesen, but it still took time. It was the fact that he
was
fleeing which upset him so. That, along with the Other still being alive. The Wechselbalg had tried to kill him twice now, and both times he’d failed. It was beyond maddening! He hurt from the injuries he’d sustained while fighting the Other, and while the wound to his shoulder was the worst, he was more upset by his nose. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he wondered if it was broken. The thought made him even angrier. He’d only had the nose for a few hours. The damned thing was practically brand new!

But all of his pain paled in comparison to the turbulent emotions that roiled inside him. A major part of a Wechselbalg’s survival strategy was to adapt as quickly as it could after assuming a new form. That meant shedding an identity that he’d lived with for a long time—years, perhaps decades—and adopting an entirely new one almost instantly. But his incomplete memories were impeding the process, and now that he knew the Other still lived, all of his instincts screamed at him to kill the man. How could he fully assume the identity of Nick Burkhardt if he… if the
Other
still existed? He considered turning around and going back to the house—the house that was supposed to be
his
—and trying again to kill the Other so he could be rid of him once and for all, even if he wasn’t currently at his full strength. The Wechselbalg almost did it, but he heard the sound of approaching police sirens, and instead of pulling the Cherokee into a U-turn, he continued going straight. He did not, however, decrease his speed.

Two cruisers appeared, coming toward him from the opposite direction, lights flashing, sirens blaring. He stiffened in his seat and gripped the steering wheel tighter, afraid that the officers were coming for him. But the fear passed quickly. The Other would never report that he had an exact double running around town. He would want to protect his identity as a Grimm, as well as keep the secret of the Wesen’s existence.

The Wechselbalg watched the cruisers go past, realizing they were probably on their way to the house, responding to a report of gunfire. Good. Let the Other deal with them. It would give him time to come up with a plan to—

The Wechselbalg ended that line of thought when caught sight of one of the cruisers turning around.

That’s when he realized how fast he was going, and he smacked the steering wheel again in frustration. Of
course
he looked suspicious, speeding away from an area where shots had been reported. If he hadn’t been so upset by his encounter with the Other, he would’ve anticipated this and driven more slowly. Why was it always so damned hard for him to think?

He briefly considered stomping on the gas and trying to flee, but he wasn’t about to run from an ordinary
human
police officer. He took his foot off the gas pedal and let the Cherokee slow down. It didn’t take long for the cruiser to catch up, and the Wechselbalg pulled over to the curb. He sat quietly behind the wheel while the officer called in the stop and the Cherokee’s license plate number. Then the officer stepped out of the cruiser and approached, hand on his weapon, but the gun still holstered.

Big mistake
, the Wechselbalg thought.

The shapeshifter watched the officer’s reflection in the side-view mirror as he approached. He was a Hispanic male in mid to late thirties, fit, and he moved with a confidence born of both training and experience. He was alert, but not nervous, and the Wechselbalg knew this made him dangerous.

As the officer leaned down to the driver’s side window, he said, “License and reg—” He broke off as he noticed the Wechselbalg’s broken nose and shoulder wound. The Wechselbalg knew the man would draw his weapon and demand he exit the vehicle. But the shapeshifter wasn’t going to give him that chance. His fist blurred through the open window and slammed into the officer’s face. He put all the strength he could into the blow, and the officer flew backwards, hit the asphalt, and didn’t get up.

The Wechselbalg glanced out the window to make sure the man wouldn’t be rising anytime soon. The officer lay motionless on the ground, his nose broken and bloodied. The shapeshifter smiled. At least he wasn’t the only one with a bloody nose now. He didn’t know if the man was alive or dead, and right then he really didn’t care, just as long as the man was no longer an annoyance.

The Wechselbalg got out of the Cherokee, removed the officer’s Glock to replace the one he lost back at the house, then got back in his vehicle. He pulled away from the curb and left the officer and his cruiser with the lights still flashing. He was careful to drive more slowly this time.

Striking the officer had taken the edge off his frustration, but it quickly rebuilt to its previous level and kept mounting. He wanted more than anything to return to the Other and kill him once and for all. But even in the midst of his fury, he knew couldn’t do that. The Other would be on his guard now, and he would alert his allies as well. The Wechselbalg would need to find a way to catch him off guard—and that would take thought and planning. Both traits which, admittedly, weren’t the easiest for him at that moment. He supposed he should find someplace to hole up for a while, somewhere he’d have peace and quiet, where he would be able to concentrate more effectively while he finished healing.

But Nick Burkhardt wasn’t the sort of man to go off by himself when he had a problem. He thought better when he kept moving, kept working. So that’s exactly what the Wechselbalg would do. The Other had grown soft over the last few years, treating Wesen not only as if they were human, but even calling some of them friends. The Other had become a poor excuse for a Grimm, and the Wechselbalg had a lot of work ahead of him in order to put fear back into the heart of Portland’s Wesen. And he knew of a good place to begin rectifying the Other’s mistakes.