Free Grimm: The Killing Time by Tim Waggoner Page A

jeans. The female had shorter hair, most of which was concealed beneath a stocking cap. She wore a gray sweater, the sleeves a bit too long for her arms, and jeans.
    The Wechselbalg approached them, moving silently as a cat. While he was within six feet of them—a distance his new memories told him was close enough to get their attention, but not so close he was within their reach—he spoke.
    “What’s wrong? Run out of canvas?”
    The two whirled toward him, shocked, and in their surprise they let their guard down for an instant and involuntarily woged. Their human features gave way to lizard-like countenances. Mouths stretched into savage grins and revealed pointed teeth, and forked tongues emerged and flicked the air, as if tasting it.
    The Wechselbalg recognized them. Or rather, Nick’s memories did. Skalengeck.
    Aunt Marie’s voice whispered in his mind.
    Hunt down the bad ones.
    The female spoke in a rough voice, like two rocks grinding together. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and walk away right now.”
    The male hissed and held up clawed hands, his grin widening. “What she said.”
    The Wechselbalg ignored them and glanced at what they’d been painting. It was a green lizard, roughly ten feet long, with bright red eyes, a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth, and a coiled tail.
    “Not bad,” the Wechselbalg said. “You two have talent. Shame you couldn’t have applied it to something more constructive.”
    The Skalengeck female’s eyes narrowed. “You can see us, right?
Really
see us. So why aren’t you afraid?”
    The male lowered his head and extended it forward, as if examining the Wechselbalg more closely. He made a choking noise deep in his throat and withdrew his head so fast there was an audible click as his neck vertebrae snapped back into place.
    “He’s a
Grimm
!” He practically spat the word.
    “The one that’s supposed to be living here in town?” the female said.
    “How many Grimms do you think there are in Portland?” the male said.
    The Wechselbalg could feel the fear rolling off of them. He could smell it, too. The Skalengecken were exuding an acrid odor of some kind, probably a defense mechanism designed to discourage an attacker. Too bad it had no effect on him.
    He was surprised to find that he was rather enjoying this. Throughout his long existence, the Wechselbalg had been forced to hide, to conceal his true nature from all around him, including his fellow Wesen. He’d always done his best to fit in with whatever family or community he’d found himself in, but even when he’d come to believe his stolen memories were actually his, he’d never felt he’d truly belonged anywhere. Plus, there was always this feeling, as if he were a consummate actor who, no matter how spectacular a performance he gave, never got to hear the audience’s applause. But now here he was, standing before these two Skalengeck teens, feeling their fear… no, their absolute
terror
, and it was delicious. They were his audience tonight, and he was determined to give them a hell of a show.
    “You know tagging is illegal, right?” He took a step toward them, just to see how they’d react. The male took a step backward, but the female held her ground. Interesting.
    She resumed her human aspect once more, perhaps in an attempt to appear less threatening, the Wechselbalg thought. Even so, she tried to maintain a tough façade. She held the can to the wall and defiantly sprayed GRIMM. “You may be a Grimm, but you’re not a cop.”
    When a Wechselbalg took on a new identity, it shed its outer layer of skin, which transformed into duplicates of its victim’s clothes. So perfect were these copies that they’d pass all but the most sophisticated of scientific scrutiny. But there was a limit to what the Wechselbalgen could create from their shed skin. They couldn’t replicate the contents of pockets—wallets, keys, phones, and the like—and thus the Wechselbalg that had