Grimm: A Story in Twenty-One Parts

17 Februarius 157

Egypt

“Claudius!”

The old man turned to see a dark-haired boy running up to him. He looked overjoyed.

“It happened!”

The man’s blood ran cold and he snatched the boy’s sleeve before dragging him into an alcove.

“They don’t know what I’m talking about!” The boy pouted.

“It really happened? Are you sure?”

The boy produced a cylinder of marble from within the folds of his toga. He held it in both hands and snapped it in two.

“Uncle has to be dead, doesn’t he?” The boy asked excitedly.

“He’s still your blood, boy,” the old man chided him. “At least pretend to be sad when they tell you.”

“I will, the boy promised. “But this means you have to teach me!”

“I don’t have to teach anyone,” the old man sniffed, but the boy was already tugging at his sleeve. After a few moments the old man smiled. “Oh, all right.”

“Do I have to call you ‘Master’ now?” the boy asked in a teasing tone.

“I doubt anyone could make you do anything,” the man said dryly.

“If I do it will you show me the maps? I want to leave Alexandria! I want to see the world!”

“Perhaps,” the man said as if he were mulling something over in his mind.

“Master Ptolemy, will you honor me with the knowledge of the wondrous and awesome maps you have created?” The boy bowed deeply.

“After lunch,” Ptolemy smiled. He put his hand on the boy’s head. “I found this wonderful little place that has the most succulent roast lamb…”

7 Aprilis 236

Rome

“It’s beautiful, Eli.”

“Is it, Rachel?” A short man, speckled with paint and with a mass of dark curls turned to smile at his sister. “Or are you feeling diplomatic?”

“It is. I promise.” She grinned at him. “It’s just as I saw it.”

He stepped back and looked at his painting. It just looked like a fancy box to him. “I don’t think I’m doing it justice, the way you talk about it.”

“I thought they meant it harm so I followed the tribe for months,” she said, gazing at the box. “I kept expecting them to do something with it, but they didn’t do anything until they got to Constantinople.”

“That’s when they discovered you.”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms tightly. “But we came to an understanding. They had the same mission that I did. To keep it safe and hide it from anyone insane enough to open it.”

“How do you know they won’t go back to get it?” Eli asked her.

“They were as aware of the consequences as I was.” She shook her head. “It belongs to the dead, now.”

“Is that why I’m painting down here, leagues away, among bones and horrible smells?”

“It is,” she said, nodding slowly. “No one should forget, but they oughtn’t remember, either.”

“You make no sense.”

“I’ve seen so many things, my brother, that nothing makes any sense anymore.”

350 AD

China

“You are useless.”

The boy was crestfallen. “I can’t get the brush to move as well as yours, father.”

The man turned as a messenger approached. “Go sit under the tree near the pond. Watch the geese until I tell you to come back.”

The boy looked at the messenger curiously, but did as his father told him.

“Wang Xizhi?” The messenger asked.

“Yes?”

The young man pulled a scroll out of a case and handed it to Wang. The emperor’s seal was on it and Wang couldn’t help but groan, surprising the messenger.

“Thank you,” Wang said absentmindedly. “Make sure your horses are fed and watered before you go.”

The messenger bowed and scurried off as Wang unrolled the scroll.

“Is it from the emperor?”

“I thought I told you to sit near the pond.”

“I heard you groan and I worried that something had happened to you, beloved father.”

Wang snorted. “It just happens to be from the royal household. It could be a scribe that wants to know how to spell something.”

“No!” The boy grinned widely. “It’s exciting!”

“Is it?” Wang chuckled as he began reading the scroll. He frowned.

“What’s wrong?” The boy craned his neck to read the scroll, but his father rolled it back up.

“They need me to look at a manuscript,” he said reassuringly. “Not very exciting, I’m afraid.”

“Is it in Chinese?” the boy asked.

“I’m afraid not.” He cupped his son’s cheek. “While I’m gone you must make sure your mother is safe.”

“Are you going to look at more spirit-writing, Father?”

“Yes.”

“Should you?”

The man laughed. “You sound just like your mother. Should I still be out hunting dragons?”

“You said they were wise.”

“They are wise. But they were becoming too inbred and many people suffered from their magic and madness.”

“If their magic was so bad, why does the emperor want you to look at it? Does he think you can do the magic?”

“I hope not,” Wang admitted. “But I have read enough to learn how to fight them. It serves your brother well in his battles.”

“Will I ever be able to read the sacred scrolls?” The boy asked, his eyes full of so many questions.

“Only if something happens to your brother, and I wouldn’t wish it on you. You are smart and strong, my son, but you don’t have the coldness that rides in the heart of a hunter. You do not want to see what these eyes have seen.” He held his son to him, although the boy squirmed.

“Yes, I do!”

Wang chuckled and looked down at his son. “We should work on your regular calligraphy before you start talking about translating magic scrolls?”

The boy grumbled, but his father put him back on the cushion with a brush in his hand.

“I hope you were watching those geese.”

8 November 411

Carthage

“I saw it with my own eyes! Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m saying that it wasn’t what you thought it was! What would this mean for the world, Pelagius?”

Outside, the sound of carousing grew louder as the night grew darker. A young woman let out a shrill laugh. A couple passed the chamber door, mixing words of love with price quotes.

Inside, a small aging man sat on the edge of a large, luxurious bed, smothered in colorful silks. A beautiful young woman draped in fine jewelry and little else knelt on the bed beside him, looking worried.

“Bickering at the least, vast wars at worst.” He took one of her hands and kissed the rings she wore on each of her fingers. Before pressing her hand to his cheek.

“Tell me what happened again?” Her kohl-lined eyes blinked at him. She shifted, and her heavy jewelry jingled with tiny hidden bells to make all of her movements magical.

“I never imagined anything like this happening to me,” he shook his head.

“Well, it’s not like you planned it!” She pointed out, as she lay on the bed and stretched her lithe body, knowing he would sit there, drinking her in with his eyes.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said firmly.

“I may not be a lady but I’m not stupid.”

“You aren’t, my dear,” he agreed. Taking one of her delicate feet in his hands and bringing it to his mouth, “It’s one of the things I enjoy about you.”

The corners of her mouth pulled up, in spite of herself. “One thing?” she asked innocently.

He slid onto the bed with her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “I can think of many things,” he said as he touched nose and forehead with her.

“You’re changing the subject,” she teased.

He let her go and rolled over on his back. “I hate doing what I do, sometimes.”

“But it is your destiny,” she pointed out. “You were born to be a hero.”

He chuckled at her. “It’s not like you think it would be.”

“Tell me how it is.” She pouted.

“Reports of spirits. Enchanted beasts that came out of the dark and made people disappear from the edges of the forest.” He shook his head. “Nothing prepared me for what I found.”

She caressed his shoulder comfortingly.

“A whole den of these… things. Teeth and fire and hypnotic eyes. We had no choice but to destroy all of them.”

“You did what was right,” the girl said firmly. “You protect us all.”

“When we got to the last chamber.” He shuddered. “I’ve always been able to sense spirits. Not everyone can, you know. This place was sacred to them, it hummed with energy. That makes things clearer.”

She kissed him on the neck encouragingly.

“The last chamber had pods in them filled with young creatures. Like some demented nursery.” He paused, as if he were embarrassed. “They were cute, but aren’t all things when they’re babes?”

She snorted. “Not when they’re screaming when you’re trying to sleep.”

“So, I disposed of them as quickly as I could. Most of them never even opened their eyes.”

“How do you know they weren’t baptized?” she interrupted.

“They were wild. Not living with humans, only attacking and foraging. They were animals. I’m sure none of them had been in a proper for years, let alone a church.” He chuckled bitterly. “Their souls lingered, like they always do, their spirits were waiting for each other.” His hands balled up into fists. “Then they swirled together when the last joined the others, in no way I have ever seen. Then they shot straight upwards and left this world.”

“Maybe they were going back to where they came from?” she suggested. “Maybe it isn’t what you think. Maybe it’s the way their afterlife works. You said they couldn’t be Christian.”

“Unfortunately, my dear, if there is only one true God then others don’t exist. The spirits could have gone up or down. Not only is it proof that babes can get to the Kingdom of Heaven without baptizing, but it proves that I slaughtered innocents.”

She made him look into her eyes. “If this is true, then when should people be baptized? When do you need to? Why do you have to? How many children would the church want you to kill in order to test this theory? I think you should tell no one.”

“I must tell them,” he looked away. “Everything we know is wrong, and I have seen proof of it.”

“Pelagius, I know you must do what your heart tells you to do.” She stroked his chest and smiled invitingly. “But you don’t have to do it in a timely manner. It can wait.”

He threw his head back and laughed as he pulled her to him. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure you’ll still have plenty of customers after they brand me a heretic and burn me.”

12 December 541

Byzantium

“Their sickness grows, and more come in each day.” The old woman sighed as she pulled a sheet over a dead woman.

“How did it start?” The young man asked softly.

“Some say it’s from the animals that scurry about the city.” She shrugged.

“But you don’t think so.”

“No.” She turned away from the body.

“I will believe you if you tell me,” he insisted.

She looked at him, then turned away to fold some clean cloths. “Go to the silk factories.”

He thought on this for a moment before backing out of the room and making his way out of the building, dodging the sick and dying as he went.

The dawn was coming soon, but for now, the factory was heavily guarded. Thanos waited, all the while watching closely.

The guards neither talked, nor rested in any way. He had no doubt that they had spotted his movement as he approached, but he cast his shadow over a doorway in a dimly-lit alley and he hoped it was enough for them to discount him.

He climbed the wall of the house silently and settled into a section of the roof where no one could see him. He pulled a metal object out of his pocket and pressed it to one eye. He manipulated it and, with the help of mirrors, had a good view of the building and its guards. Soon after the sun broke the city began to wake up.

He looked around and waited, He noticed people joining up with each other as they walked through the streets. He made his way across rooftops until he had an opportune moment to join one of these little groups and no one questioned him as he walked into the building.

He slipped away fairly quickly. If he was right, the rest of the building would have minimal security. It wouldn’t need it.

He found the rest of the building above ground was unoccupied. As if it were just a mask to make everything look normal. His heart sank as he found a stairwell. His talent was a silent step and clear vision, even in low light, but this stairwell was pitch black. He made his way down, using his ears and what little light that came from the stairwell.

Soon, he nearly stumbled down another set of stairs. He took a moment to center himself before he crept down them.

The next level less dim and was also empty, but something told him that it held hidden dangers. He spotted several crude traps before they had a chance to go off. Traditional Hässlich traps. He should have known they were involved somehow.

He heard movement from below and he found another stairwell, this time light was spilling from it.

He slid his back along the wall until he reached the room he was looking for. A groan came from the room, and then cut off. It sent chills down Thanos’ back.

He took a breath before throwing himself into the room. He killed the first two Hässlich easily, leaving the third.

He was giant, and stinking from sweat and a foul green slime that covered his hands. His bare head was slick with sweat and his ears drooping from exhaustion. They had been at this for hours.

Behind him lay a dead creature, it’s corpse still steaming in the morning’s coldness. It began to change back to a human child.

Trays of silkworms lay around the room. Half of them had been fed and the others were waiting for a fresh meal of Wesen blood.

“You’re spreading disease, Nepos,” Thanos said as he pointed his sword at the corpse. “The blood poisons the silk and the people are getting sick.”

“People get sick all the time,” Nepos growled. “But the silk, the worms thrive on the blood. Twice as strong, three times the production.”

“Too bad you’re stopping production. A fire will start in one of the lower levels. Long enough for the workers to get out, but it will compromise the stability of the building and everything will be destroyed.”

“And you’re going to stop me?” The Hässlich laughed at him.

“This ends now,” Thanos said. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

6 May 645

Magh Slécht, Ireland

The room was sparsely furnished and silent but for the sound of a quill scratching across parchment.

There was a small creak and the scribe paused in his work. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I—I was told to bring you food,” a small voice squeaked.

He turned to see a small girl with a tray someone had set up for him and bit back a grin. This picture perfect memory always frightened the children. They were always afraid of getting into trouble for some transgression they had forgotten and he didn’t even know about.

All-remembering is not all-seeing, but they didn’t know that yet.

“Good.” He turned back to his work as she set it down. She tried to tiptoe out again, but he turned to look at her. “Girl!”

She nearly leaped out of her skin as he barked at her, but recovered quickly. “Y—yes?”

“Come here.”

She did as he was told and was surprised to be lifted on to his lap.

The old warrior was gruff at the best of times, but the furs he was wearing were warm and he smelled like sweat and spice and the kitchens weren’t as warm as you’d think and she was in no hurry to get back.

“What do you see here?” he asked her, pointing to the page he’d been sketching on.

“A scary wee beastie!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled at her. “But what kind of scary wee beastie?”

“One with big teeth,” she answered firmly.

“I see,” the man said dryly.

“The great Cennfaeladh getting criticism from the best sources, these days.”

The man and child turned to see a cocky looking young warrior in the doorway.

The child was lifted to the ground and given an affectionate pat before she scurried off. “Sometimes the best is the most truthful. I have learned much from the mouths of babes.”

“And what have you learned?”

“That I can’t draw.”

The young man laughed. “You’re a poet, not an artist.”

“What’s the point of remembering everything if you can’t at least show it to other people?” the old man grumbled. “I can write descriptions, but pictures are better. What if the next Grimm can’t read?”

“I can help you,” the boy insisted. “Take me with you—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you know nothing about Wesen and protocol.”

“I can learn.”

“You’re too quick tempered.”

“I’ll go disarmed.”

“That’s just proving why you shouldn’t go.” The old man turned back to his drawing and tried fix it by putting a smudge here and there.

“What is that?”

“Brownie.” He harrumphed.

“Give me that!” the young man insisted. The old man tried to defend it, but ended up relinquishing the parchment and laughing as it was flung into the hearth. “Poetry,” he ordered the older man. “Leave the sketching up to me.”

12 April 793

Brother Donnan,

By the time you read this, my old friend, I will be dead and my gifts passed on to another in my line, but we will be safe.

They came from the north, faster than we had expected. A great storm preceded them with winds that tore the roofs off of houses and carried off livestock. We might have believed it an act of God for our sinful ways, but then someone sighted the first dragon.

They slid their boats onto the shore with ease, as if the storm had given them a pardon, but I know better. I saw the hag they had with them and felt her power from where I hid.

Watching their tactics I learned something you won’t hear from any other survivors. They were no raiding party. They were looking for something.

I never thought I’d be glad to be oblivious to some artifact of power in the area, the residents are both frightened and superstitious. If they knew of such an item they would be quick to hand it over.

Tonight we move forward with our plan. I am loathe to write it down unless someone thinks to stop us, but if you are reading this it means they have not smothered the island in fire and dark magic and we have succeeded in our task.

Remember me well and know my faith has not wavered once. If anything, it has made me stronger.

Yours affectionately,

Brother Marcus of East Anglia

Lindisfarne, England

13 August 854

Garðarshólmi

“I swear! We didn’t know you were here! We didn’t know anyone was here! We’re just looking for a little place we can carve out lives for ourselves! Things are getting so restless, you understand? All the drinking and raiding and carousing, well, it’s not so much the drinking and carousing, I like a horn of mead as much as the—”

“Stop.”

Five hooded figures stood in front of a few dozen people who were terrified and kneeling on the ground. The tallest figure pulled his hood back and sighed as he tucked his club back into his belt. He was brown-haired and bearded. His teeth gleamed gold, but his dark eyes looked weary, his days of battle and glory long behind him. “We believe you.”

“You do? I mean of course you do? Why wouldn’t you? We’ve done nothing but tell you the truth—” the Norse man babbled as morphed into an Eisbiber.

“Do you have supplies?” Another hood came down to reveal a young woman with large, ice-blue eyes and yellow hair. The dagger she was holding had nicks and scratches on it, but no bloodstains.

“Well,” the kneeling man faltered. He was a pudgy, with mismatched pieces of armor and a large drinking horn tied to belt next to his unused sword. “We still have a little water and food. We have a barrel of wine we were saving for when we broke ground—”

“Really?” A third hood went down and a jolly-looking teenager grinned.

The large man held up a finger and the boy schooled his expression. “We will not ask for what little you have. You’ve come a long way. But this is our refuge.” The large man explained. “We come here to train and to study.”

“If you’re going to send us off can we at least resupply?” A woman quaked in the mud where she knelt.

“W—well we’d be perfect to settle here, wouldn’t we? You know you aren’t going to have any trouble with us, and I doubt you want to waste time with farming and—”

“More people will follow these,” the yellow-haired woman pointed out. “The world is changing, Róðulfr. It would be an ideal circumstance to choose our neighbors.

“We’ll see,” the large man said, clearly thinking it over.

24 Gormánuður 992

Markland

Bergljót Ingridsdottir slipped up to the dark farmstead. Although, it looked empty, she knew it was anything but.

Tonight was Álfablót. Tonight the sacrifice to the elves would be made, when the crops for the year had been harvested and the animals were heavy with meat. It was sacred. Ancestor worship entwined with the life force of the family. The most important day of the year for most, a great day for opportunity for others.

A day of absolute privacy.

She could hear a baby cry as she approached the building and she was overcome with anger.

She would do anything for a babe of her own. To throw away this life and live with Olav in his little farmhouse. Raise pigs and wheat and fill the house with children that would drive her mad.

But no. That was her sister’s life.

After Bergljót had turned Olav down Iðunnr had not. They had married under a harvest moon and that night, when Olav made Iðunnr his, Bergljót saddled her horse and left the tiny settlement under cover of darkness. She blamed duty, but the truth was that she couldn’t bear to be nearby while Olav shared his bed with her sister.

She couldn’t predict what she’d do. The idea of hearing them as they lay together sent her into a white-hot rage.

But it was what they were meant to do, and this was what she was meant to do.

Tonight the wind whispered over the land, warning people to be inside.

But Bergljót wasn’t a normal person. She was a Grimm.

And the sisters in the farmhouse weren’t family, but a coven of hags bartering deals with the Otherlands for human children. Tonight they insulted the sacred day to cover up their magic.

As Bergljót slipped the knife from it’s sheath she heard the child cry out again.

Well, she thought, with a rueful half-smile. I suppose when I’m done with them he’ll need someone to raise him…

4 April 1024 / 24 Muharram, 415

Hamadan, Persia

“It is beautiful.”

The nobleman was wrapped in silk and gold. The white in his beard betrayed his age, but his eyes were full of vigor. He ran his hand over the cover of the book lovingly before putting it on a nearby table.

“It still needs to be edited so the translations will be clearer.” The scholar made his excuses.

The nobleman waved his hands. “Details. Just details, my friend.” He poured himself a cup of water from a beaten copper vessel and drank. “Your Book of Healing will change the world, I am sure of it.”

“I know.” The scholar quirked a corner of his mouth.

The nobleman laughed. “This is a great achievement, for you and the world! But I know you. You never work on only one project at a time.”

The scholar’s face fell before he caught himself. “I always have other things. I have something just over here on the star progression during the month of—”

“Avicenna, that is not the first thing you thought of.” The nobleman looked worried. “Are you—”

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” Avicenna snapped.

“But dangerous,” the nobleman remarked.

“Not from the empire, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The scholar rose from the cushion he was resting on. “Not even the nobility.”

“Then what?” The nobleman poured another cup of water. “We can protect you from anything.”

“Not this.” Avicenna said. He paused for a moment. “Come. I will show you, Gira.”

The cup of water was set down as the men made their way through the house until they arrived at a ladder that lead to the roof. Avicenna began to climb it, entering a small corridor that went through the thick roof. Halfway up he stopped.

There was a small niche to the left of the ladder, carved out for a candle or some other small thing. Avicenna felt around it until there was a click and the sound of stone grinding on stone. Then he climbed through a hole that appeared to the right of the ladder. He popped his head back out. “Hurry! No one must see you!”

Gira climbed the ladder quickly and squirmed through the passageway. They crawled for a few more cubits before Avicenna pushed on a panel and the passageway was once again hidden away.

“Where are we going?” Gira asked. He knew there were rumors of secret workshops, but he had never believed them.

“Down.” Avicenna had reached another ladder, this time leading down.

The men descended for much further than Gira would have suspected. He was glad that the passage was narrow and pitch black. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know how far down it went.

Finally they reached the bottom and there was a noise as Avicenna lit a candle.

Wine. There were bottles stacked in crates, big barrels lining the walls of the little room. Gira had no idea how they had gotten down here, the only passage to narrow for them to pass through. He breathed in as he looked around himself suspiciously.

“What is this?”

“A trick.” Avicenna grinned. Then he pulled on one of the crates and there was a click and a door swung open.

They entered the new room and Avicenna reached up with the candle. Suddenly, the room was lit from a groove of lamp oil that ran high up on the walls and illuminated the room.

Maps and star charts lined the walls, some with circles and notes written on them. There was a great table in the center of the room stacked with books and scrolls written in a wide variety of languages.

As Gira gaped, Avicenna went to the table and selected a book. He handed it to Gira.

“This book does not leave this room,” he said seriously.

Gira looked at his old friend with new eyes. He had never seen him like this before. Focused, concentrated, yes, but never this serious.

He flipped the book open and he peered at the pages. “What is this?” He turned a page to see a picture of a man with the head of a great beast.

“I went walking through the city late at night—”

“That is not always safe.” Gira remarked as he flipped through the book.

“I came upon a man fighting a great beast! It was extraordinary! It both terrified and fascinated me. The man moved faster than anything I have ever seen before and showed a bravery I could not even imagine. When the fight was over and the beast fell the man stood there, over it’s corpse as if he expected it to do something. Then it did!”

“Did what?” Gira asked, bewildered.

“It did something! It changed into a man!”

“What?” Gira felt the blood drain from his face.

“It changed to a man! The other man ran off, but I followed him—”

“You what?!”

“Well, how else was I to know his secrets?” Avicenna asked.

Gira wiped his face with his hand. “Then what happened?”

“I found out more about him. He’s a merchant from the west. Trades silk for women’s shoes.”

Gira chuckled. “That hardly sounds like a warrior. I think you’re following the wrong man.”

“That’s just how he appears to the average person, but he is anything but average,” Avicenna cautioned. “I began following him at night and each night he battled a different creature, and each night they turned back into human men when they fell.”

Gira looked back down at the book. “You’ve been taking notes?”

“Yes, and my studies have been enlightening!” Avicenna said excitedly. “I have discovered that in some people, their inner-balance has become so impassioned that they can take on the appearance of animals that their essence resembles the most.”

“This is fascinating,” Gira said as he closed the book. “And I can see how it is dangerous.”

“There has to be a reason they keep themselves secret,” Avicenna said worriedly.

“I doubt they’d like the idea of you making books of their weaknesses,” Gira pointed out.

“It’s not just their weaknesses,” Avicenna protested.

“If I were in your place I would destroy this,” Gira said firmly.

“It is safe here,” Avicenna reasoned.

“I don’t think that means what it once did for you, my friend.”

12 November 1193

Nottingham

“We’ve got him!”

An old man with white hair and a long beard looked up from the scrolls he had been studying. “Who?”

“Robyn Hode!”

“Really,” the old man said dryly. “How do you know?”

“We know.”

The old man got to his feet and called out a window. “I hope you’re not dragging me out there for nothing.”

“Let’s just say our sources have nothing to gain.”

“Who are your sources?” There was a clattering in the doorway and a young girl stood there in a tunic and hose. “Get the brown bag.”

She ran out as quickly as she had arrived.

“Some village children. Showed up this morning with handfuls of silver and demanding treats from the baker.”

The old man chuckled. “I’m sure he was thankful for quick fortune.”

They left the room and down a circular staircase. When they reached the bottom and walked out into the yard the girl was waiting, a long brown bag slung over her shoulder.

They helped the old man onto the back of a donkey and left in the direction of Sherwood Forest.

After some time they stopped and helped the man down. It wouldn’t do to come upon them crashing through the underbrush and braying. No, they would survey the situation first.

The girl scouted ahead and came back with details about the camp and who was in it.

“Did anyone see you?” the old man asked.

“Probably,” the girl said sheepishly.

“She wasn’t bad, though.” A voice came from above them. “I watched her get there and back.” The figure dropped from the tree.

“Will Scatheloke.” The old man sighed. “Leave us, Rath. Thank you for your assistance.”

Their guide left them after throwing a worried look over his shoulder.

“Is he worried about us or is he afraid Will is going to shoot him in the back?” the girl asked.

“Probably a bit of both.” Will grinned widely. “Come on, bring your beast.”

They wound their way through the forest, a longer way that would allow the passage of a donkey, but finally reached the campsite.

“Got a few troublemakers for you, Robyn!”

“What’s this?” A young man atop a wooden throne quirked a corner of his mouth at them. Fine carpets lay on the forest floor and tables laden with food were spread out among the men who fought for the Forest. The young man shook his head and it rippled for a moment before taking on the essence of a fox. “A Grimm and a… baby Grimm?”

“I’m not a baby!” The girl said defensively as she scowled.

Robyn hopped down from his throne and approached them. He put his hand on the girl’s head, as if sizing her up. “Eleven?”

“I’m almost twelve,” she said grumpily.

“Why have you come, Grimm?” Robyn asked, folding his arms.

“She needs a guardian,” the old man said.

“Do we look like a nursery to you?”

The man laughed as a group, several men glancing at the girl curiously.

She shrugged the long bag off her shoulder and brought forth a bow crafted from green wood and silver. The laughing suddenly stopped.

“Where did you get that?” Robyn asked.

“I made it,” the girl said.

Robyn’s eyes went wide and flickered to the Grimm, who was smirking.

“How did you make it?” Robyn asked.

When I was a baby I wove pieces of bark with a piece of wire and wished really hard,” the girl said. Her face bubbled and churned before her nose grew longer, her ears pointier, her teeth sharper.

“How long ago was that?” Robyn asked cautiously.

“I told you. Eleven months ago.”

The men were quiet as Robyn looked her up and down before addressing the Grimm.

“You’d give us a changling?”

“She needs to be in the forest. God only knows what she’d grow into if I raised her in the village. Too many people. Too much smoke.” The Grimm shook his head.

Robyn bowed to the girl before taking her hand. “We’ll take care of her.”

“You must promise,” the Grimm said seriously.

“I promise I’ll take care of them,” the little girl said, to everyone’s surprise.

The Grimm and Robyn met eyes for a moment before the old man spoke. “God help whomever gets in your way, now.”

April 1204

Black Forest, Germany

“You ask much and offer nothing.” The man’s eyes were fierce and full of disgust. He was pacing in front of an enormous fireplace, the light of the flames playing flecks of bronze in his beard and the curls that fell on either side of his face.

“We didn’t need to ask you at all!” another man growled. His lip curled and his blue eyes stared at the man coldly.

A chainmail hand went up to silence the both of them and dark eyes flashed with irritation. “We didn’t come here to fight. We have no quarrel with you or your people.”

“Today.” Pointed out the rabbi. “What about tomorrow? Next month? Next year?”

“The reason we came to you is because you aren’t involved in this conflict. We can find other tribes elsewhere,” the dark-eyed man said.

The rabbi made a frustrated noise. “You know we’re obligated to take care of it. There’s a reason it was described in a Jewish tomb.”

“That hardly makes it your obligation, and you aren’t the only Jews on the planet. We can leave if you wish.”

The rabbi snorted. “And let it end up who knows where? I don’t think so.”

“We will owe you great favors-”

“Spare me.”

“But you will help us hide it?”

“There needs to be a map made.”

“Won’t that lead people to it?”

“Not if the map is hidden. Enough to remind people who know about it to remember and protect it.”

“How will we do that?”

The rabbi’s face morphed into something owl-like. “Leave that part to me.”

1384

Hamlin, Lower Saxony

Germany

It is 100 years since our children left…

“What are you doing?”

The hooded man nearly leaped out of his skin and he spun around to face the speaker. There was a ‘thud’ as a book hit the floor. The hooded man swore and bent over to pick it up, an unrolled piece of parchment in his other hand.

“Town records can be looked at by anyone. It’s legal!” The hood slipped to reveal a lanky young man with hair like straw and wide, watery blue eyes.

The other man stepped back a pace and his face reconstructed itself. He twitched his whiskers and his dark badger eyes went wide before they narrowed. “Who are you and what are you doing?”

“I’m just making a copy,” the young man squeaked. “I didn’t mean to drop it, I swear!”

“Do we have a criminal we don’t know about?” the wessen asked as he face reclaimed it’s human shape. “I’m the sherriff. I should know.”

The young Grimm relaxed and tried to brush the book off. “I’m not really the criminal hunting sort.” He looked embarrassed.

“I can see that.”

“There’s a problem in the south. Children are disappearing.” The grim gestured helplessly. “I was sent to find out everything I could about what happened here.”

The sherriff nodded. “I doubt you’ll find much about it in there. Doesen’t even make sense. The old man was half-mad when he wrote it.”

“Is he-” the Grimm asked, wincing.

“Last month.” The sherriff nodded. “Dog bite, filthy things. I wish I could tell you that it was fast, but it wasn’t.”

The Grimm’s face went frightfully pale. “Well that’s… I’m sorry. What about the passage doesn’t make sense?”

“'Our children.’ They weren’t ours. And if all of them left a hundred years ago why are we so populated?’

“Well, all the children that couldn’t walk yet were left behind. And if he only took people under ten, that would still leave a good amount of young people to make more children,” the Grimm pointed out.

“You think this is going on again?” the sherriff asked, leaning in the doorway.

“I truly hope not,” the Grimm admitted.

“Yeah,” the sherriff said as he turned to go. “Me too.”

1401

Italy

A tiled alleyway ran to the back of a large estate owned by a wealthy merchant. He had little use for the back of this large estate, so he rented out apartments and wherehouse space to locals, the same as nearly everyone else in the city.

But the back of this manor held more than families and products. The walls hid a lavish and lovely area, gardens and pools and fountains, all dedicated to the arts of love. Some of the most desirable courtesans of the time had come from this place, and still more were honing their skills this very night.

The door in the alleyway had a single lamp burning over it. Thick iron bands held together heavy wood planks. No one was breaking down this door.

A short man in dark velvets toddled down the alleyway. His gnarled hands knocked three times, paused, then four more times. A slit opened in the door and dark eyes peered out.

“What do you want?”

“I want to see the madam.”

“Why?”

“Let me in.” His patience was wearing thin.

The slit disappeared and there was a moment before the wood and iron creaked and groaned. The smell of roses and citris floated through the air. The courtyard was lit by moonlight; a marble fountain: a man and woman entwined, ran with sweet water, the pool filled with flowers.

Around him were the apartments, the columns holding up the floors above were carved with fruit and flowers and beautiful women. There was music and laughter from open doors, shadows dancing in the light that spilled from them. It was a beautiful place, he had to admit.

A drapery was swept aside and a woman laughed apologetically before slipping out into the courtyard. Once there, her features dropped from energetic to exhausted. She paused to take a few deep breaths before approaching the waiting man.

He knew she was reported to be beautiful, but not in the way he had expected. Dark hair fell to her waist and dark eyes rimmed with khol peered at him from under heavy-lidded eyes. She was older than he had expected, although he had known her reputation for more than a decade, her statude smaller, her hips rounder.

He bowed to her and she arched an eyebrow at him, her face morphing into bird-like features.

“I have something to discuss with you,” he said quietly. “I will pay you for your time, if need be.”

She sized him up with a flick of her eyes an a scowl as her features went back to normal. “Grimm.”

“I bring you no trouble-”

She laughed at him and crossed her arms. “Of course you don’t. Your kind never do.” She turned and motioned for him to follow. “You’re a good excuse to retire for the night. Come.”

He followed her through the courtyard and up a flight of stairs that led to a quieter section of the compound. Her quarters were smaller than he would have expected, and more crowded. Furniture filled the room and all of the surfaces were covered in assorted scrolls and baubles.

“Wine?” she asked. She opened a cupboard and brought out a bottle with a cork in it. She peered at the writing on the side before pouring some in a goblet.

“I’m afraid not,” he said politely. “Best to keep my wits about me.”

“Suit yourself.” She drank deeply and sat heavily into a chair that creaked under her weight. “What business do you speak of?”

“There have been a rash of- I suppose you could call then suicides…”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have heard nothing about this.”

“You would have had no reason. This may be changing.” He pulled up a chair and opened the flap on the bag he carried. He pulled out a small black book and sat down. He opened it to a page and passed it over to the aging cortesan. “Have you ever seen anyone that looks like this?”

The picture was of a beautiful woman with dark hair and long pointed ears.

“Musai.” The woman snorted. “Not recently.”

“How recently?” the Grimm urged.

“Fifteen, twenty years?” she gazed into her goblet. “A lifetime ago.”

He sighed and stood up. “I’m sorry to have wasted yo-”

“Shut up and sit,” she said wearily and he complied. “There have been… rumors.”

“About what?”

“Art dealers. They’ve been going wild about new works that have been cropping up lately. Some of them are making fortunes overnight.”

“Selling what?”

“Art!” she barked at him. “What else?”

“What’s so strange about it?”

“Do you know how they say most art goes up in value after the artist dies?”

“They’ve been going mad and end up killing themselves?”

She nodded. “I knew one of them. Bright boy. Good heart. Horrible painter.”

“What happened to him?”

“He fell in love. Some girl across the city, no one here ever saw her.” She shook her head. “Started improving overnight. He made some truly beautiful things before his mind started to unravel. Lucky for his mother, she made enough off them to live out the rest of her life in relative comfort.”

“Best and worst thing to happen to her,” the Grimm said grimly. “There needs to be an end to this.”

“It’s not so easy,” the old madam warned him. “It isn’t just one. He talked about her sisters.”

“Sisters!” the Grimm exclaimed. “They never hunt in packs!”

“Something is different this time. I could not tell you what.” She hesitated. “It scares me.”

The Grimm nodded seriously. “It is something to be afraid of. Do you know any more details about this girl and her… family?”

“She sells flowers near the Vatican. Dark red hair, and I hear she sings.”

He nodded before he stood up. “Should be easy to find.”

He turned to go, but she crabbed his cuff. “Don’t go alone. Don’t go unarmed.”

His eyes lay on her, for the first time, fully understanding that one of the most desirable women in Rome was holding him back and he blushed. “I hope to see you again.”

“I hope it won’t be at your funeral procession,” she said honestly.

November 14, 1520

Chapel of St. Georg,

Walenstadt, Switzerland

A man in plain robes stood in front of a small window. He had white hair and pale skin. Sunlight warmed his face as he gazed out, but his eyes weren’t taking in the magnificant view. It had been many years since they had seen anything. “This cannot happen again.”

“I think we can all agree on that.” A short, stout woman sat in a chair nearby, her clothing fashionably cumbersome and extravagant. Her gold hair piled high on her head in coils held in place with jeweled pins. “The man was a menace.”

“The world knows the word ‘Grimm.'”

“No one knows it’s true meaning,” she said flippantly. “His name will die out and be forgotten.”

“Not this time.” He rounded on her and glared at her with his milky-white eyes. “Thousands of people died in Anatolia!”

“There were a lot more on that list of his!” she bit back. “We saved many!”

“He’d taken to walking around in his natural form, do you recall hearing about that?”

She grumbled as she squirmed in her seat. “He was only a quarter-breed. Just a few leisons. People blamed it on the sun-”

“But we know better, don’t we?” He shuffled over to a small table and opened the top like a lid. “I want to send these out.” He lifted out a scroll and held it out with his hand.

She rose and took it. She looked at him skeptically as she unrolled it. Her eyes flittered over the page, then went round.

“Do you even think anyone would show up?” she blustered.

“They would if the Royals order them to attend.” He smiled like a cat that had caught the canary. “And they will.”

“You know this already?”

“I do.” He sounded almost gleeful. “There will be no more warlords calling themselves Grimm.”

“How can you do that?” she asked suspiciously.

“We have made a new discovery! A whole new breed of human!”

“And they already exist, don’t they?” She lowered the scroll. She didn’t need to read anymore.

“Just a few,” he admitted. “We had to know more before we proposed it.”

“Of course you did,” she said acidly.

“Once you see it all laid out, you’ll approve,” he said sincerely. “It’s not out of the question. Nothing drastic for the population, just more concise rules for the Grimms.”

“And that’s where these new humans fit in.” She sighed and slumped back into her chair while he took one near the window.

“Elite training funded by the Royals. It is already done.”

She rubbed her forehead as if she had gotten a sudden headache. “You’re giving me how many months to prepare for this meeting?”

“Seven.” He nodded firmly. “We’ll do it near the solstice. Warmer hearts and minds.”

“And more fiery tempers,” she said bitterly. She looked down at the scroll in her hand and closed her eyes. “I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all I ask.” The old man smiled warmly.

1608: Jamestown, Virginia

The sound of wood being chopped filled the still air. It was barely morning, with pinks and oranges dappling the sky as the dark retreated and a dim, hazy gray dawn was born.

A girl watched the men work, holding her arms as if she had a chill. The heavy oak door opened behind her and she turned to see her mother.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” the old woman admitted guiltily.

Patience was a pretty girl of some thirteen years. Her birth had been nothing short of a miracle and it seemed as if she were reminded of it every day. Locals in her hometown thought her birth had been less than the result of a holy union. That her mother had made pacts with otherworldly creatures to supply her with a child, Patience’s flaming red hair was more than enough proof.

Some of the flock had stayed away from the unholy pair, even though the father was one of the most well-respected Reverends in recent history.

That alone was enough to buy them time.

The townspeople had expected something more from her birth. An accident would happen to her, most of them bet. Then the woman would have what she needed for a flying spell. They would catch her at her foul work and be done with the both of them.

It never happened. The child had grown, sweet and vivacious with a talent for memorizing the holy texts.

This had calmed the rumors some, but not all.

This was the best choice for them. To leave their homes. To sell everything and to move across the sea where no one thought her strange and her birth ungodly. Her father had said so over and over. It had to be done before she became a woman, before men started gaining interest and their wives began accusing her of being a demon.

So they had sold everything and had braved the sea to the new world. It had been a rough and unpleasant journey, full of the smells of livestock and sickness. One babe had gotten so ill he refused to nurse at all. His lifeless body was thrown overboard with the rest of the waste, and his mother following close after.

Patience had hidden her face in her father’s long-coat as the sailors tried to pull the wailing woman back, but in the end, she had let them tear her dress off in the scuffle, leaping into the sea in her small-clothes and crying out for her dead son.

Perhaps, the faithful said, perhaps her prayers could bring him back to life. It could be the first miracle of a new world and a new life.

Perhaps they did. Perhaps her child had been called back to the world by his mother’s faith. But faith wasn’t strong enough to bring them back to the deck of the ship and her drowning screams were easily forgotten.

They had spotted land. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be, but they were thankful just the same.

Now they had made shelters and were working on a wall to surround their settlement. The men liked to start early, but this morning they had started earlier than usual. The weather was unpredictable. Yesterday had started with a frost, and had ended with people fanning themselves and loosening their clothing.

Some men had spotted bushes full of berries, and today the women would gather them for cooking and making preserves. The men had eaten the berries when they found the bushes and none of them had fallen ill or had been taken by the Angel of Death.

“Shall we set out early?” the old woman asked with a twinkle in her eye. “We can make sure we get the juiciest berries.”

Patience grinned and nodded. “Then we can give them to Goody Williams, because my preserves aren’t fit for the pigs.”

“You get too distracted,” the woman chided. “You scald the bottom of the pot every time.” The girl made a whiny sound, but the woman just rolled her eyes. “Get your basket. I’m sure Goody Williams will appreciate the help.”

Thomas Potts mopped his forehead with his sleeve, as he watched the women leave their house, baskets in hand, and smiles on their faces. No doubt they were going to start picking berried early. A wise decision, given the unpredictable weather.

His father nudged him with an elbow and the teenager chuckled. “We could ask them for tea.”

The boy squawked incoherently, his face turning a bright shade of pink.

“You watch her wherever she goes,” his father pointed out. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Thomas took a deep breath and nodded. His eyes flickered to his father’s face before he went back to his work.

The bushes weren’t far from the settlement, her mother wouldn’t be able to have made the journey if it had been. The old woman liked to pretend that she was as spry as she had been in her youth, but her stooped gait betrayed her.

Still, Patience trotted ahead, her basket swinging in her hand, and humming a hymn. A figure stepped out of the bushes ahead of her and she came up short.

She would have let out a cry of surprise, but she smelled his scent and just gasped.

Thomas Potts stood before her, a look of surprise on his own face. He sputtered for a moment before he spit out: “Tea?”

“What?” she asked, bewildered at his announcement.

“Would you and your mother like to come to tea?”

“Of course,” she blurted out, a bit too enthusiastically. She blushed, but he grinned widely at her. She heard her mother approaching through the underbrush and before she knew it, his lips pressed to hers. Briefly and chastely, but firm and with an urgency that made her heart flutter.

He looked as if he had been struck by lightening.

There was a rustle from the path and he ran off just as Patience’s mother rounded a bend in the trail.

“Who was that?” the older woman demanded to know.

“Thomas Potts. I think he’s gathering wood for reinforcing the thatching on roofs.”

“You’re a poor liar, girl. What did he really want?”

“To invite us for tea.” The girl blushed deeply.

Her mother scowled at her. “Tea, is it? Are you sure it’s just tea?” She spat the last word out and Patience cringed. “Have you been leading him on?”

“I have not!” Patience insisted, but her face only turned a darker shade of red.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“He kissed me,” Patience whispered. Out of wedlock and out of sight. The shame could do all of us in.

Her mother closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “Did you give it, or was it stolen?”

“It was stolen,” the girl insisted. “He just did it! Then he gave me the oddest look and ran off.”

“I bet he did,” her mother muttered under her breath.

“What do we do?” her voice was panicked. “There’s nowhere to run to!”

“You try and stave him off,” her mother said sternly. “He’s young and impulsive. The obsession may not take hold.”

“But what if it does? Do I have to marry him?” Patience furrowed her brows. “What happens then?”

“Disaster,” her mother said firmly.

Thomas sat near the fire, his knife working quickly over the block of wood.

“What are you doing, boy?” Goodman Potts put a hand on his sons shoulder.

The boy looked up, his eyes full of obsessive fervor. “I need to make her something. Something worthy of her. Something beautiful and wonderful!”

“I see,” his father said carefully. “I’m going to see the reverend. Soup should be ready by the time I get back.”

The boy nodded, his eyes squinting at the wood as the tip of his knife flicked at the grain.

The wind whistled as the snow piled higher outside. Looking out the small windows was impossible, and leaving the home was treacherous.

Still, someone had left the comfort of their hearth and had come to their home, the sound of the knock filling the hollow entry way.

Patience’s eyes snapped to her mother, over the top of her teacup. Her mother put the pot she had been pouring down, the hot iron making a hissing sound as she set it on a small wooden table set up with toast and preserves.

She picked up the fireplace poker and cautiously went to the door. She opened it without asking who it was, the wind howling outside would have made hearing anything impossible.

“Reverend Norry! Come in!” She ushered the reverend into the house and took his hat and cloak. “Go warm yourself by the fire, a teacup is already waiting for you!”

“Thank you, Rachel.” The reverend smiled at her. He looked tired. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

She froze, his cloak just inches from the hook she was going to hang it on. He hadn’t called her by her Christian name since they were children, and young children at that. She was gripped with fear. “Eli, what’s wrong?”

He twitched and shook his head, his receding hairline replaced with the mane of a horse, and a face to match.

She shuddered and her blue luminescent skin revealed itself.

“The boy has been infected,” he said firmly, as if it was something they were going to meet head on. “We have two choices.”

“Kill the boy,” Rachel said, her voice disturbed.

“Or we let them marry,” Eli said with a puff of breath. “As soon as possible. Sunday.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Rachel whispered.

“They’ll get married and her reputation will be intact when he dies,” Eli pointed out. “Why would a man lose his senses for a woman he hasn’t lain with? His father thinks he’s possessed.”

“And what will you tell him?” Rachel recoiled at the idea.

“The boy is lovesick and he has a touch of fever. Not unusual these days.” He turned to go, but turned back. “When his fever gets worse and he eventually dies he’ll be nothing more than another body in a grave.”

“You make it seem simple,” she said cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Everything will be fine.”

5 December 1709

“It is just a little farther, Wenzel.”

A dark-haired boy carried a smaller boy on his back through deep snow. It had been falling for days and the air was so cold they felt as if the wind were going to rip the skin from their faces.

A moan let the boy know his brother was still alive.

In the distance he could see a wisp of smoke curling out of a field of white. If only they could reach it before nightfall. Then they may have a chance against the elements that battered their young bodies.

He trudged on, even as he felt his legs starting to freeze. Just a little further. They should already be dead by now. If their family hadn’t been so hearty they would have been.

As he grew nearer to the smoke, he realized he was going to have to dig. He nestled his brother in a hollow that the wind had carved into a drift. Thankfully, the wind had changed direction and now offered some shelter.

He climbed to the top of the snowy hill and called down the small stone chimney. To his surprise, there was a hearty call back. After he located a depression where the door stood, he had to dig his way in.

The door was stout and dark, much like the woman who stood in the doorway, her face completely shocked.

She ushered them in wordlessly, taking Wenzel and gently putting a blanket over him.

“It burns!” He cried out.

“It is just warm,” the woman assured him, her mouth grim. “We will raise your temperature gently.”

After several hours the boys began to thaw, although they kept shivering uncontrollably and sipping at cups of dark brown tea.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“We had a rabbit two days ago.”

“And before that?”

“We found a dead man with an apple in his pocket. I don’t know why he hadn’t eaten it.”

“Because he died getting his throat cut, not from starvation,” Wenzel piped up.

“What is your name?”

“Anno.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

She peered at him suspiciously. “Why aren’t you in the army?”

“I worked for a gunsmith that was supplying the empire.”

“What happened?”

“War. The forges were destroyed.”

She was silent for a moment. “Where will you go from here?”

“To England.”

“How will you get there?”

“I don’t know.”

She set them up in a loft above the fireplace. The snow was so thick that no wind could penetrate the roof, and the stone chimney provided them with warmth. She had given them cups of a thin broth and a few bites of food, insisting that they’d become seriously ill if they ate much more, and they allowed this because the small bits they had devoured had filled them up faster than was expected.

In the morning they had more tea and broth, and a slice of bread each, slathered with creamy butter. The boys wept silently over their meal, but the woman ignored this and insisted they rest as much as possible, and they did.

On the fourth day they had their first light meal: bread with more butter, sausages, mashed roots, dried plums and ice wine.

“How did you get all this food?” Anno asked disbelievingly as she came up from the larder with a small sack of sweetened dried fruit, sticky to the touch and full of juice.

“I had seven sons.” She had a faraway look on her face. “We had just brought the harvest in when the soldiers came and took all of them. Now it is just me.”

“How far off the road are we?” Anno asked, afraid of the answer.

“The King’s road?” The woman laughed. “Oh, miles and miles.”

Anno’s face fell, but the woman just smiled at him. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

There was something unsettling about her look, but the more Anno looked at her the softer her expression grew.

She really was pretty in a matronly sort of way, and she wasn’t nearly as old as he had thought previously. What had he been thinking?

He felt his heart flutter and he wanted nothing more than to taste her lips, to lay her down in the loft and discover all of her soft places.

She passed near to him and looked down demurely. Her face rippled to reveal goat-like features. Anno looked away quickly, his breath hitching in his throat. A hand caressed his knee and he felt his body respond to her touch.

It had been a very long time since his belly had been full and a woman beneath him. The room could be made dark so she wouldn’t see his eyes.

She was good. She was very good, but he was better.

He wondered what she had done to the other men that had found her cabin, seven did she say?

In other times he would have been afraid of what he would find in her larder, but his brother had been so hungry he hadn’t cared.

He snuffed out the candle and let her lead him to the pallet where she slept and he followed.

He could always kill her in the morning.

December 1811: Wapping, London

The first house had turned up nothing. The Grimm hasn’t seen it coming, thankfully, and hadn’t risen any type of alarm. The deaths had been easier than expected, even if they had been messy. He hadn’t planned on killing the baby, but it had started to cry out and then all the noise began downstairs.

He hoped he didn’t have to go back. People would be watching the house now. Of course, he could get papers made up. Say he was some sort of distant relative and go through the house at his leisure, but he would rather not meet anyone. The less people that saw his face the better.

This second one though, it was promising. Older couple. Quiet tavern. Suspiciously quiet for the area, as a matter of fact.

At first he wasn’t sure he had the right people. The first house, yes. The man had travelled far and his name and face were both known, but this one wasn’t so easy.

Their names had changed, for starters, and the description and sketch were nearly thirty years old, but in the end it was the scar on the back of his right hand that gave it away. You can hide many things, but the bite of a fuchbau was distinct and not easily duplicated.

He had gone upstairs first, to see if the rumors had been true, and to his surprise, he found a young fuchbau asleep upstairs, curled up in her bedclothes, her nose twitching and face rippling in the dark.

He would let her live. She had nothing to do with this. She had been raised by the Grimm, as her mother before her. She didn’t know about how cruel life was yet.

Tomorrow, yes. But not today.

He reached a hand into a leather pouch at his side and sprinkled some light sand over her. She sighed and her face calmed, her nightmares driven away. He stroked her hair and considered taking her, but she wouldn’t understand and might fight him. Liabilities were expensive.

He went downstairs and dispatched the Grimm, his wife, and the serving girl, for good measure. He was lucky he did because he found the key on her, along with the rest of the keys to the house. He snorted softly. Well, it was a safe enough place until he had shown up to take it, he supposed.

There was a shuffling in the house, somewhere close, and he decided to take his leave before he had to kill anyone else.

It’s not that he minded the killing, but this time the requirements were specific so they would make the papers and his employers would know he was doing what they paid him for.

And they did pay well, and not just with florins. The Princess Isobel was more to him than just an employer. She would live and die for him, just as he would for her.

Just a few more quests and he would be titled enough to ask for her hand. The king liked him enough and seemed to be pushing him in the right directions to get his goal completed.

His own Grimm gift wouldn’t pass on of course, nature would not allow that much power, but at least the child would be a Renard. His father would have been so proud.

June 1964: Dallas, Texas

“It’s my turn!”

“No, it’s not! I have three minutes left!”

“Has he changed yet? I want to see him change?”

“No one’s come to the door yet! It’s not like he’s going to sneeze it out!”

“If you two don’t quiet down, we’re going home!”

There was silence, but it was short lived.

“Your three minutes are up!”

“Fine!”

There was rustling and a bit of huffing from the backseat of the car, but all was quiet again.

“Look, look! There’s a car!”

“Be quiet, Kelly! We all see the car!”

A sharp noise from the girls’ father silenced them. “Keep your eyes on the door. That’s where everything will happen.”

A dark figure got out of the car and walked over to the metal door of the bar, greeting the bouncer with a nod. There was a large spotlight over the door so they could see clearly.

Kelly gasped as the man from the car turned into a monster. A great leathery lizard with eyes like a snake and too many teeth. The bouncer nodded and let the man in. In the light, the man from the car turned back to his human form, a mild-mannered looking man with silver hair and wire rimmed glasses.

“See, girls.” The man turned around to face them. “You can never tell by appearences. When people want to keep things from you, they will.”

“But… Mr. Hildebrandt can’t be wessen!”

“You just saw him change!”

“But he’s so… delicate!”

“As you can see, her certainly is not!”

Walter Kessler started the car he was sitting in with his girls and they pulled their car out of the rest stop and onto the highway.

“What do we do? We can’t go back to school!” Kelly worried aloud.

“Why not?” he asked her. It was a test, she knew.

“Because we know what he is!”

“We don’t know anything. We know who he is during the day. We know what species he is. We know he goes to the Hog Pit Bar in a station wagon.”

The girls giggled.

“Marie. Tell your sister what to do.”

“We watch him. Get close to him. One of us should join the chess club. They tend to slip up after hours. By being here he’s up to something, we just don’t know what.”

“But we should be cause it might lead to more intel.” Kelly finished. “I understand.” She thought for a moment. “But neither of us know how to play chess.”

“I bet you should get Bobby Miller to teach you.” Marie teased. “He’s in the chess club.”

“But he’s wesen, too!” Kelly protested.

“What is he?” Walter frowned as he drove away. “Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“He’s a foster kid, so his family is normal. He’s a Seelengut. His ears are awfully cute.” Marie elbowed her sister.

“Does he know what you are?”

“No! He got scared at the beach last year and it happened, but only for a moment. No one else noticed, but he looked around to see if anyone had. At least he knew what it was.”

“Why didn’t he see you?”

“By the time he turned around he looked normal again, and we were wearing sunglasses.”

“Good,” Walter said proudly. “Have you been cataloguing wessen as you discover them?”

“We started our own book!” Kelly said proudly as she pulled a notebook out of her bag. It was pink, with sparkle butterflies on it.

Walter bit his lips to keep from laughing. Journaling was serious business.

“Excellent! You keep that one for yourselves, but when we get home I want to take a look at it so we can transpose it into the Big Book.”

The girls made excited noises in the back of the car and Walter grinned to himself.

A few more months of combat training and they might be good for more than surveillance. The girls were shaping up nicely. He could leave the world knowing it was in good hands.