Free Grimm - The Icy Touch by John Shirley

someone yelling for help, right?” he asked.
    Nick put his hand to his ear, made a great show of pretending to hear something.
    “Definitely.”
    “Okay then.”
    Hank gave the door his best kick-boxing slam, hitting it right by the chain. The frame shattered with a sharp crack and the door teetered inward.
    “So much for surprising anyone,” Nick said, putting the flashlight away and drawing his Glock.
    But the door opened to reveal another empty tunnel. This one was made of brick, stone, and old timbers. The light came from electric lanterns which hung from the ceiling. Water dripped, hissing as it fell onto the lamps.
    “Smells like river water,” Nick said. “Must be right up close to it.”
    “Shanghai tunnels,” Hank said.
    “Yeah, they connected the culvert to their own tunnel and hooked that one up to one of the old underground tunnels,” Nick murmured, looking around. Given the noise they had made breaking down the door, he was fully expecting any second some woged Wesen to come snarling around the curve up ahead, fangs bared and claws slashing. But he heard nothing apart from a faint hissing, and sizzling.
    “I thought there were people going on tours down in these things...” Hank said.
    Nick nodded. “I heard the tours were shut down because of some structural problem. Which maybe they faked up so they could use them.”
    They started down the tunnel toward Old Town, Nick ahead, Hank close behind him.
    “They really Shanghai sailors in these things? Smuggle heroin, all that?” Hank asked.
    “I think the tunnels were supposed to be for moving freight from the docks to the old-timey shops, without having to get past all the wagons and traffic. But they found other uses for ’em. Knocking sailors out, dragging them through a tunnel to a ship they didn’t want to ship out on...”
    Another fifty paces, they came to a corner... and Nick stopped in his tracks.
    Someone was behind them.
    Nick spun round, signaling to Hank for silence, and listened. There was a squelching sound behind them, like wet, hesitant footsteps.
    Nick eased back, waiting at the corner, his back against the dirt wall by the turn, gun raised. Hank was about three paces past, waiting silently, gun aimed at the bend in the tunnel.
    Monroe stepped around the corner—and froze, seeing Hank.
    “Oh. Hi, Hank. Um...you like to come down here too, huh?” Then he sniffed the air, turned and looked at Nick. “Well, well. Nick. There you are. Uh...”
    “You just ‘like to come down here’?” Nick said, lowering his gun. He pointed at Monroe’s soaking pants legs and shoes. “And you like wading around in your best loafers, I see.”
    Monroe looked at his feet. “Oh, yeah. That’s probably what you heard. Damned shoes were so loud with the water in them.”
    “Why are you following us, Monroe?” Hank asked softly, walking up to him, gun now at his side.
    “Because—I feel responsible. I mean, not directly but... you know, Smitty was my friend and I just feel like I should be in on this. Not in on it like, I’m a cop, I know, but maybe an advisor, civilian advisor, or...”
    “Or pain in the ass?” Hank suggested.
    “Hey, I’m gonna be a help, I promise, I just need to know what’s going on with this thing, you know, as much as you can tell me, which should be, I’d hope, a lot, because—”
    “Monroe? Keep your voice down,” Nick told him. “Since you’re here, let’s see if you can make yourself useful. Come on. Stay behind Hank and keep as quiet as you can.”
    Nick started off down the tunnel again, Hank and Monroe following...
    Squelch, squelch, squelch.
    Nick threw Monroe a look of irritation.
    “Sorry!” he whispered. “They’re wet... Hold on... screw it...” He rolled his pants legs up, and quickly pulled off his shoes and socks. “Always feels better to me anyway.”
    Nick nodded, and they continued on their way.
    Another thirty paces... and voices reached their ears.
    Nick could smell Wesen; could