Grimm - The Icy Touch

by Shirley, John

  Hank’s jaw muscles clenched. He looked directly at Renard.

  “That a threat from you, Captain?”

  Renard looked at Hank for a moment longer, then he shook his head.

  “No. It’s a warning—about what’s out there. You’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. There’s a whole hidden world, Griffin.” He picked up a pen and toyed with it, all the time watching Hank’s face. “The world of the Wesen. And in that world, you’ve got to move very, very carefully.” He pointed the pen at Hank like a magician pointing a wand. “Or you’ll stumble into a den of wolves, Detective Griffin—and you won’t come out alive.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Nick? Can we get some lunch?” Juliette asked. “I need to talk something out...”

  “Sure,” he said, walking out of the morgue, cell phone pressed to his ear. It seemed a strange time for his girlfriend to ask for a heart to heart—right after he’d seen a heart lying next to the corpse it had been torn out of. He’d had a look at the bodies, and parts of bodies, found in that field near Canby. Perhaps they’d torn out some hearts because the gang under attack was called Sombra Corazón—Shadow Heart. The Icy Touch mocking the gang it was displacing.

  “Nick? You still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry, Juliette. Just came out of the morgue. Kind of distracted.”

  “The morgue? Sounds like it’s not a good time for lunch.”

  “Hey, in my job—if I let stuff like that put me off my food, I’d never eat. Let’s meet at Jake’s Deli...”

  He felt like he wasn’t entirely there even as he walked through the door. He kept trying to focus on meeting Juliette, but thoughts of The Icy Touch... La Caresse Glacée... kept intruding. His thoughts filled with the inspection of the big container ship that morning. La Conquete, another worrisome French name: The Conquest. Sinister, given the context. It was owned by a French-German shipping consortium. They found nothing on the ship to connect to scopolamine, nothing illegal at all. The shipping containers seemed filled with Toshiba televisions, and ramen noodles. All the manifests seemed in order.

  They had only the late Smitty’s word for it that the ship had been used to smuggle the mind control drug. The Drang-zorn insisted he didn’t have any personal experience of the ship’s use in smuggling...

  “Nick!”

  He looked around, saw Juliette at a small table by the window, just to his right. She did look beautiful. Her long auburn hair shone, her hazel-green eyes were solemn but gleaming with life. Her wide red lips were parted in an uncertain smile. Lovely—but she always was. Even lying in that hospital bed, with those lips parched, hair barely combed, recovering from the memory-damage potion— even there, she’d shone like a jewel. Today she wore an emerald-colored dress, cut low but not too low, a gold necklace he’d given her, with a little cat on the chain, to celebrate the success of her surgery on the cat she kept at the vet’s office. She’d saved its life. She saved a great many small, precious lives. Her tenderness toward animals touched him. He wished he could watch her working as a veterinarian. He wished, today, he weren’t a detective. He wished he weren’t a Grimm.

  It is what it is...

  He sat across from her, feeling, for some reason, almost as nervous as he had on their first date. Maybe it was the look of mingled fondness and uncertainty in her eyes...

  “You ordered yet?” he asked.

  “Nope. Here’s the menu.”

  He glanced at the menu and asked, “How’re your furry charges?”

  “We had a scaly one today. A boa constrictor, in for a checkup. I had to look up its vital signs.”

  “You like snakes?”

  She smiled ruefully. “You know me. I like pretty much all animals.”

  “But you don’t have a pet at home. I was thinking of getting you a puppy...”

  “I have to spend so much time at work I don’t feel like I can be there enough for a pet at home...” She shook her head. “And we’ve got two office pets anyway. You know, that cat someone never came to pick up, for three years now, and my assistant’s little Yorkie. They keep each other company. The Yorkie sits on my lap when I’m reading lab reports. The cat likes to walk on my keyboard.”

  He sensed that she was chatting while she tried to work out how to discuss something else. Something serious.

  The waitress came over. They ordered deli sandwiches, coffee for Nick and chai tea for Juliette.

  Once the waitress had moved away, Juliette leaned toward him, and asked, “Nick... what are we going to do?”

  He reached out, took her hands in his, held them across the table.

  “We could start with holding hands. Then later, at home...” he began.

  She squeezed his hands.

  “I’m serious,” she continued solemnly. “Every time I think we’re going to have some kind of stable love life... maybe even a real life together...”

  “I know,” he said.

  The Grimm thing comes between us.

  A thought came to him, then—and it stabbed him through the heart.

  “Wait—you’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

  She pursed her lips. He could tell breaking up was at least a possibility. But then she smiled and shook her head.

  “I don’t seem to be able to. First you kept me in the dark all that time...”

  “I was trying to protect you. Without losing you. I guess it was selfish...”

  “It was. And then I nearly got killed... and I was hospitalized and lost part of my memory...”

  He wanted to say, Most of your memory came back. But he knew that wasn’t much consolation for what she’d gone through.

  Instead, he said, “And now...?”

  “And now, sometimes, when we’re together—it’s like you’re not there.”

  He nodded. “Might be that way for a while. There’s something going down now. An investigation. Something... kind of hard to deal with.”

  “You can’t talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Something to do with those bodies they found out by Canby?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “The description in the newspaper—the way the bodies were...”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She knew about Wesen—she knew what the reports of “animal clawmarks” might mean.

  Their sandwiches came and they ate, not saying much. Nick looked out the rain-blurred window at people passing by, the colors of their umbrellas blending one into the next...

  Juliette pushed her sandwich aside, half eaten, and sipped her chai.

  “Maybe... just check in with me now and then. Until this one’s over. If you think it’s going to be kind of... all consuming?” she said gently

  “You don’t want to see me?”

  “I do. Not sure I should, Nick.”

  “Hank wants us to double date. He’s got tickets for Princess.”

  “You really think you’ll be free to go to anything like that?”

  He sighed. “Not sure I’ll be free to do much... except my job. And a lot of stuff that’s not my job. But...”

  “Nick? Don’t tell me. Right now... I don’t want to hear about that side of things.” She reached out and took his hand again. “I want to pretend, just for right now, that I never visited your aunt’s trailer...”

  * * *

  The old Airstream trailer was cold that evening. Nick sat at the table, looking through the old books. He’d only found one mention in the ornate, yellowed pages, of Seele Dichtungsmittel. “Soul sealant”—a term that gave him a chill whenever he heard it. The only reference seemed to have been written by an eighteenth-century British Grimm:

  “Of the many potions, nostrums and anti-nostrums, poisons and antidotes, and concoctions of delusions associated with the Hexenbiest, Seele Dichtungsmittel is perhaps the most troubling. What would God have us do but choose good over evil? Free will is the light of the human soul. Yet Seele Dichtungsmittel consumes free will, as a flame consumes a wick until the candle
has melted to a puddle...”

  How far would they go, using the soul sealant, he wondered. Maybe the organized crime agenda was just the beginning; just the framework for something bigger.

  He set the book aside, and looked through two more—but found nothing more on Seele Dichtungsmittel, and no references to The Icy Touch.

  Perhaps if he looked under...

  A hammering came on the door of the Airstream. Nick pushed back from the table, and drew his side arm. But he holstered it a moment later when he heard Monroe’s voice; a hoarse whisper but clearly Monroe.

  “Nick? Hey yo, bro, you going to open up?”

  Nick let Monroe in. His hair was slick from the rain, his eyes distracted, troubled.

  “Thanks. Thought you’d be here. Your cell phone turned off?”

  “No.” Nick shut the door behind Monroe. “Maybe needs to be charged.” He tossed Monroe a towel. “Here, dry off. So—what’s up?”

  “I don’t know... exactly.” He sat down in the only other chair, across from Nick, drying his hair.

  “Yeah, well, you’ve got the look of a guy on a mission,” Nick said. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “Dude—something’s gotta be done.”

  “Always. You want to be more specific?”

  Monroe draped the towel around his neck and smoothed his hair back with his hands.

  “About Smitty,” he said. “I want to do something... Make sure there’s some payback for what happened to him. I failed him, Nick.”

  “Couple of the guys from the outfit that took him out are dead, and you helped with that, Monroe. You have to leave the rest to us. That’s what I’m here working on.”

  Monroe hesitated, then nodded toward the open book.

  “What’d you come up with?”

  “Looked up Seele Dichtungsmittel, didn’t find much. Except the stuff is bad news.”

  “We knew that from Rosalee.”

  “How about Rosalee? She hear from this Icy Touch bunch?”

  Monroe sat up straight and stared.

  “Whoa, hold on, hit the brakes. You think they’ll go after her?”

  “Take it easy, Monroe. I just know these guys are kinda proactive and... I’m worried about every Wesen in town.”

  Monroe swore and jumped up, overturning the chair.

  “Oh man oh man oh man.”

  “Monroe—calm down!”

  But Monroe was already going out the door.

  “I just need to know she’s safe!” he called.

  Nick sighed. “Wait a minute! I’ll come with you!” He got up and hurried after Monroe. “Left the door open and ran off with my towel, too...”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Doug Zelinski lay on his prison bunk, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling and thinking about his coming of age as a Drang-zorn. Thirteen years old. Earlier than most Wesen. Something to do with urges, Mom had said, and adolescence and hormones and... Just being badger. Drang-zorn, after all, meant urge to wrath—or stress leading to wrath. And that’s what it was like for Doug. Stress... and a fury came on him. Most of the time he was peaceful, craved peace even. But The Icy Touch had come, and showed him what happened to Drang-zorn who fought them.

  He’d known Buddy Clement for ten years. They’d gone camping together, digging dens for the family, up on the slopes of Mt. Hood. Doug had scooped a den out for his nephew Sammy. No kids of his own, not yet. Hadn’t met the right badgerina. Drang-zorn women were scarce. Of course, he could marry a human, it was done, but... It was hard on a Drang-zorn, keeping secrets. Just more stress. He’d lose his temper with his wife and he’d woge in front of her and she’d run in horror...

  Even now, he was thumping his right knee against the wall of the cell, once per second, thump... thump... thump... thump... thump... Just trying to burn off the stress. Sometimes it helped him to gnaw on a knuckle, almost break the skin.

  Anything to keep control.

  If he lost it and got pissed off, he’d woge, and start raging around the cell. The guards would see him and he’d be in trouble with a whole new set of people. Not enough to be in danger from The Icy Touch. Not enough to have that Grimm sniff him out. No, if humans found out about him...

  He knew the drill. Pretend it’s a freakish medical condition, he’d been told. Talk about growing up in sideshows.

  But the word would get out. The Verrat would know. And they would punish him...

  Stay. Calm. Stay. In. Control.

  But it was hard, in here. He was trapped in this cell, alone, feeling like he was boiling under a heavy lid, and the pressure was building up, and the lid was going to fly off.

  It must be dark out by now, Doug figured. He wished he could just go to sleep. Fat chance. Lot of noise in the city jail. Prisoners jabbering, clattering around, laughing, the crazy ones babbling. One of them on that “bath salts” drug, hallucinating about monsters. “Creatures coming after me, after me, after me,” he gibbered. Purely imaginary. And it was ironic. Just two cells down from his, was a real creature who could turn into a were badger.

  That’s what comes of being here, Doug thought angrily. Think of yourself as a monster.

  When was that damned Grimm going to move him out of here? He’d done his part, recited the story they’d agreed on to Sergeant Wu. Thugs threatening him with guns, forcing him to work in the tunnel. Wu had seemed surprised that Nick and Hank believed the story about being forced into the gang. The sergeant would be even more surprised if he knew the real story.

  Detective Burkhardt had promised to get him released or turned over to witness protection. But the wheels moved slowly in a place like this...

  He couldn’t take much more. Couldn’t bear it if...

  A clang made him twitch. He looked at the old-fashioned jail cell door, saw it shutting behind a new prisoner.

  What the hell? Burkhardt promised I’d be alone...

  The new guy in fresh orange jail-cell togs had an exotic look to his face, like he was maybe Egyptian or something. Dark eyes, high cheekbones. Looked like a bust Doug had seen of a pharaoh once. He looked like he might be about forty years old, with short black hair. There was something about the guy...

  The new prisoner had a big bright smile as he noticed Doug on the top bunk.

  “Hi! I’m Colney. What you in for?”

  “Oh, got mixed up in a gang. Wasn’t my idea.” Doug sat up, dangled his legs over the side of the mattress. At least this guy was someone to talk to. Might help keep him calm. A distraction. “You?”

  “Shoplifting jewelry.” The man laughed softly at his own foolishness. “Trying to impress a girl when I didn’t have any money. Picked expensive jewelry—felony stuff.” He sighed. “Might have to do some time in the state pen.”

  Doug nodded sympathetically. “Tough luck. You missed dinner, too.”

  “Oh, they fed me when I was being processed. Hey— that a deck of cards? You wanta play some hearts?”

  “Where? I didn’t see any cards. I’d be playing solitaire...”

  “On the lower bunk there...”

  Doug jumped down off the top bunk, turned to look, saw there was nothing on the lower bunk...

  And then he smelled it. Reptile musk.

  Snake.

  He’d detected something earlier—but all the anxiety had blurred his senses. This guy was Wesen. This guy was...

  Doug felt the damp, teasing probe of a forked tongue on the back of his neck.

  He snarled, hands balling into fists, he started to woge—but rough scaly fingers jerked his prison shirt up from behind and, before he could turn, fangs sank into the meat of his back, between his shoulder blades.

  He shrieked and thrashed, feeling the burning venom pump into him. His back arched, going rigid of its own accord, as if his flesh was itself revolted at the depraved contact.

  As the fangs let go and as the room went all murky red, Doug managed to half turn before he fell, so that he tipped onto his back. So rigid his body was like a statue that ha
d lost its base. He struck the floor, but hardly felt it, he was so suffused with pain—and then the pain melted into something even more petrifying: the numbness that was spreading out from the bite.

  Venom was invading his nervous system, its icy touch closing over his heart, tightening, squeezing.

  Stopping it in mid beat.

  He just had time to see the Königschlange in full woge as it stood triumphantly over him. Its cobra’s hood spread out, the diamond patterning of its scales seeming to pulse with malevolence; its scaly hide, the color of old Greek coins, rippling as it shifted; its fangs still dripping venom; its slitted yellow eyes gleaming with sick delight. Where before he’d resembled a pharaoh, now the creature looked like some ancient snake god.

  And the god’s forked tongue darted out from its grinning mouth.

  “Ssssuffer and despair,” the creature hissed. “Ssssshake and sssssuffer and die, traitoroussss Drang-Zorrrrrnnn...”

  Then it began to transform back into the form of a normal man.

  Doug didn’t see the transformation finish—darkness fell like a blizzard of jet black snow, drawing a funereal curtain over the scene. But he was still able to hear for a few moments more.

  “Guard!” shouted the Wesen who called himself Colney. “I think this man’s had a heart attack! We need help in here! Hey! This man’s having a heart attack, for real! Hey!”

  It didn’t matter what lies the cobra Wesen told. Not now. They both knew that Doug would be dead long before medical help came.

  The pain receded into an endless night. It was a relief to let the darkness enfold him...

  * * *

  Nick pushed through the door of Rosalee’s shop in time to hear her say, “Monroe, calm down! You can see I’m okay.”

  She and Monroe were standing by the front counter, Rosalee smiling and patting his cheek. She did a little pirouette, whimsically showing herself off.

  “See? I’m fine. New dress even,” she said smiling.