O Fortuna
Chapter 10
There's an old saying about assumptions...
-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Trubel stomped out of the bathroom with a disgusted look and a can of hair spray. "Ugh! I swear, I hate short hair. It's impossible."
Adalind quirked her eyebrow and waited.
Trubel's hands flapped at the short-cropped hair spiking like glass shards. "It makes me look like a boy."
"What happened?"
"The guy at the gyro place called me sir! And then it happened again with the girl at the supermarket."
It was true, dressed in her motorcycle gear, she could easily pass for a young man, but Adalind waited.
"I used to keep my hair longer. I had it down to my shoulders six months ago, but a Drangshorn grabbed a big handful and beat the hell out of me, and the kevlar riding gear has to be fairly loose or I can't move."
Adalind nodded. "You're meeting up with one of your friends tonight? Want to see if you can get into a pair of my yoga pants?"
Trubel's eyes glittered, and soon she was strutting around in a pair of black and pink spandex leggings. "Damn!" She bent at the waist and rubbed a hand over her thighs. "Look at my butt! This is awesome!"
It was true. Trubel's muscular thighs and calves were shapely in the skin tight clothes. Adalind set her up with a coordinating top. Its slim cut and pink stripes created the illusion of a tiny waist. The vee-neck and stretch fabric showed off the curve of her breasts. Trubel twisted back and forth, staring at her reflection.
"You like it?"
"How did you do that? It's like magic."
"I was a size zero until I had kids. I had the boobs of a ten year old, barely an A-cup."
Trubel's eyes drifted from the floor to her neck. "Not anymore. So where do I keep my knives?"
Adalind's laugh snorted.
"What?"
"Your bra?"
Trubel rubbed her chest and winced. "I guess I'll have to keep them in my jacket."
Trubel's eyes twinkled as she slid into trim high heel boots. The extra two inches accentuated her long legs and left her towering over Adalind. She looked completely different, like something out of a fashion magazine, with glittery eyeshadow, blush, black eyeliner, dusky red lipstick, and matching red nail polish. Ten minutes later, Nick's landcruiser passed her motorcycle zooming out of the paint factory's asphalt parking lot.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Two hours later, the warehouse lamps showered hot, yellow light across the gray concrete expanse of their living room. Kelly was bouncing and laughing as they finished another round of songs. Old MacDonald Had A Farm had Kelly clapping. Nick let his left hand drift off of the smooth mahogany guitar neck and brush across Adalind's beige fleece sleeping pants. Even though it was a silly kid song, the sound of her voice made it feel like home. He slid two fingers across the back of her hand and let his fingertips settle into the gaps between her fingers.
Her lazy smile brightened the room, and the light herbal vanilla scent of her hair made everything right in the world. His eyes drifted past her clear blue eyes and landed on the bump on the bridge of her nose.
Where you broke it.
Waves of shame seared the depths of his soul. Its burn overflowed through his chest as the moment flashed into his mind. The forest was bright under the full moon when his fist exploded into her face. Under the hard shell of magic, her bones were soft and he was salivating, hard as a stone, aching to beat her straight into a hole. Her white cardigan was splattered with her own blood as he crushed another fist into her ear.
He dropped her hand like it was on fire. She pulled it into her breast, nursing it as worry filled her face. Her eyes were red, and a tear dripped down her nose. He pushed back, apologizing, and scrambled to his feet. Now he was clawing at the elevator door's slats, rushing away from the woman trembling with fear.
What the hell are you thinking. What sort of woman wants to be around the man who beat her half to death and left her for dead. His heart was pounding in his ears as he wound the silver Landcruiser onto the highway. This is who you are. Everyone around you dies because of your bullheaded stupidity. It's only a matter of time. You got Juliette and your own mother murdered, and now you're doing it again with the mother of your son, except this time, you're going to get him killed too.
The liquor stores' neon lamps beckoned as miles peeled by. The highway opened up over the bridge, taking him over barges and tugboats grinding away in the turning basin. Headlights glinted off the Welcome to Washington State sign. The pavement bumped under his tires. The Landcruiser already knew the way, and led him off an exit through dozens of strip malls.
Roosters giant neon sign glared through the fog. A yellow halo formed around a pair of chickens fighting in a flashing boxing ring. The crunch of the crusher-run gravel parking lot and the squeaky steel door brought a smile to his face. He ambled up to the bar, ordered a whiskey on the rocks, and dumped a blue gym bag on the floor. Yellow warehouse lamps flickered and hummed over the empty boxing ring. "Anybody going tonight?"
The bartender wiped a gray rag over the bar and refilled the bowl of peanuts. "You're early. Give it another half an hour."
Young construction workers, landscapers, and factory workers would be arriving with a chip on their shoulder and money burning holes in their pockets, and he needed the pain in his chest beat out of him.
He had finished his second whiskey on the rocks when a group of stocky kids with big square hands rolled in with gym bags slung over their shoulders. They wrote their names on the white board, and he signed up.
Now, it was time. He was stripped down to a white tee shirt, blue gym shorts, black, padded head gear, and his boxing gloves. He climbed through the ropes into the beer scented ring. The biggest one was first, a mid-twenties kid with a square jaw and red, two-day-old stubble.
He was pacing now, salivating past the mouth guard at the anticipation of a fist in his face.
The kid smirked at him, then laughed to his friends. They pointed and hooted, "Hey, old man, need a hand with your walker?" The corn-fed, slope-shouldered farm boy easily outweighed him by fifty pounds and had every bit of eight inches on him, but he didn't care.
He nodded as the referee explained the rules. The bell rang, and they touched gloves. The kid came out swinging for the fences. He feinted a flurry of swooping rights aimed at his head and hooked a fast left and a right into the kid's stomach before getting pushed away. The kid was back to stabbing slow right hands and getting more frustrated as Nick's counter punches slapped the pads on his cheeks. He bounced on his toes, shifting his feet from right to left, and snapped a fast left into the kid's nose, followed an instant later with a right to the chin. Caught completely off guard, the farm boy's gloves went to his face, and Nick launched a hard right hook, driving the punch with his hips, into the crease at the top of the young man's stomach.
The kid's eyes bulged, and his wind blew out as he turned. Nick crushed a straight left an inch lower into his solar plexus. The kid's hands dropped and his face turned green. Nick was bouncing on his toes, right arm cocked to throw one straight into the kid's ear when the referee jumped in.
The kid puked his mouth guard and a stomach full of chicken wings onto the mat, sending Nick back to the bar. Next up was one of his buddies. While this one at least sort of used both hands, he was a head hunter who didn't seem to understand how to block, and ended up bent over, sucking wind.
It was somebody else's turn now, and Nick headed back to the bar for a glass of water with lemon. He had just come back from the bathroom when a loud whop cut through the crowd, followed by an Oof and a thud. His eyes glittered at the sight of a thickly muscled back standing over a pudgy Mexican pushing back to his knees.
A smile creased his face as a white-eyed fellow wiped his name off the board. Up Nick's went.
The twenty-something's broad shoulders turned, revealing a chiseled jaw and a bear tattoo on his hairy chest. Barry Rabe's blue eyes locked on Nick's and a trail of black hair rippled across his face.
The kid got out of the state penitentiary a year ago and was working construction. He had gone in a seventeen-year-old, and three years later, came out prison strong. He spit his mouthpiece into his glove and sneered. "Couldn't get it up, old man?"
"Bring it." Nick grinned while one of the guys laced his gloves back up.
The bartender had a mic in his hand. "Looks like we got the main event early this week. Order up some drinks and we'll get the party started.
Barry shook out his shoulders and gulped down a mouthful of water while Nick climbed into the ring. Barry smirked at him. "Pussy."
"You want to blame somebody for your mom? I'm right here."
Barry's eyes flashed fiery yellow. "I'm going to rip your head off."
"Get in line."
They barely touched gloves when Barry sliced a pair of jabs. Nick feinted, letting them slash across his shoulder and answered with a flurry of inside hooks. They quickly got into a rhythm, bouncing on their toes and testing. Nick feinted under Barry's jab a second time, but was caught by a stinging uppercut.
They were circling now, and neither was giving up ground. Both of them knew exactly why they were here, and hammered a flurry of blows into each other.
Hoots and whistles filled the air as they pounded blow after blow into each other, each one trying to beat his own pain away. Nick saw Adalind's eyes, wet and begging after the spirit left her, and he slammed a left and a right into Barry's stomach, causing the big man to wince an instant before receiving the answer in a swooping overhand left that crashed over his forehead like a sledgehammer.
He was straddling her bony chest, heaving blows at the snarling, leathery face. Her jagged claws dug into his arms. Shame burned like fire as he smashed blow after blow into Barry's ribcage, and was answered with another sledgehammer into his shoulder that knocked him into the ropes.
He bounced off and lunged, Adalind's tear stained eyes flashed in his mind as he slammed a hook into Barry's jaw and another into his ribs, and instantly received one in return.
Neither one of them was blocking when the referee jumped in, yelling and shoving. This round was over. Barry's buddy met Barry in the corner, while one of the guys at the bar brought Nick a glass of water. He swished and spit red into a bucket, and noticed Barry did the same.
The second round started off with them bouncing on their toes, but quickly turned into cracking blows that echoed over the roaring crowd. Every time Nick saw Adalind's crying face, his stomach knotted and he pounded into Barry with everything he had. He saw the same sadness flicker in Barry's eyes before the young man's blows crashed into him, but he couldn't feel a thing past the shame flooding his chest.
The bell dinged, sounding the end of the third round, but Nick and Barry refused to stop pounding. Adalind's crying face vanished, and he was standing over a bearded bouncer splayed on the mat. An instant later, Barry's left-hand uppercut exploded into the second bouncer's chin. The man's eyes rolled back, and he slumped straight down into a pile. Nick stood there, boring a hole straight through Barry, while the big man snarled back through the roar of the crowd. He headed straight for Barry but the bartender shoved between them, yelling and waving for somebody to get ice for everybody in the ring.
Ten minutes later, Nick and Barry were slumped in the wet sand against the front tire of the Landcruiser, icing their swollen hands and faces. Barry grinned. "We got kicked out again."
"You really laid the wood to that bouncer."
Barry snorted. "They need better bouncers. You dropped that guy like a chickenshit."
"Yeah, well, you ever heard of Billy Janikowski?"
"The Raiders' tight end?"
Nick rubbed his jaw. "You knocked him out cold. Your left has gotten a lot better."
Barry fist bumped Nick with a swollen hand and then stuffed it back into the ice bag pressed against his cheek. "I know the therapist says I need to talk it out, but damn, sometimes I just want to beat the hell out of somebody."
Nick grunted and nodded before shifting his ice bag over his bleeding ear.
"How you hanging in there since losing your mom?"
"I still see her head in the box when I try to sleep. You?"
"Those damned spikes sticking through her back, and her face, begging me. I was in Federal when she died. They wouldn't even let me go to her funeral. How's your kid?"
"Good. Healthy. And your girlfriend?"
"We broke up. Apparently, some girls aren't into felons. And she's crazy. Speaking of crazy... uh, lawyers, how's your, um... Girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend. She's the mother of my son."
"Yet you sleep in the same bed. So what happened tonight? She leave you or something?"
Nick pushed his hands into his face and groaned as the swollen flesh squished. "Nah, we held hands and I had a flashback of our fight a couple years ago, when I beat the hell out of her. She was flopping around like a fish, losing her powers. She looked like a scared kid, tiny and frail, and I wanted to snap her neck. Break every bone in her body. Then I looked up and her face was white. She was terrified. Of me."
"I can tell you that every single Wesen lawyer in Portland would have sent you a Christmas card if they weren't convinced you would break down their doors and chop their heads off. He always talked about how much they hated that...". Barry glanced at Nick, embarrassed. "uh, sorry, her."
Nick scrubbed the ice into his sore eyes. "She's different now. She knows how everybody feels about her. And, well, she's still the mother of my son."
"Didn't your dad ever tell you not to stick your dick into crazy?"
"Seems like that puts me in good company with your dad."
"Fuck off."
Barry held out his fist and Nick bumped it. They both let out a laugh, followed by a groan while rubbing their ribs.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Hours earlier...
The savory scent of chicken thigh chunks sauteed in olive oil with crispy prosciutto bits, parsley, and a healthy dose of red pepper flakes still filled the kitchen. Adalind had seen it in her cookbook and instantly knew it would be a perfect weeknight meal. Its rich, chicken-scented oil mixed with fresh garlic and fresh cracked black pepper made a rich sauce for a bed of noodles. Best of all, you could make the whole thing in two pans, if you counted boiling the noodles.
The dishes were done, and Nick was strumming through tunes on his guitar. Kelly was giggling and clapping as they worked their way through The Alphabet Song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She never counted herself much of a singer, but Nick's eyes got misty as he strummed away to her rendition of Jewel's "Sammy the Spider," "Penguins Do," and "Bucky the Bull." The clock showed half past Kelly's bedtime as they gave him an encore duet of Old MacDonald's farm. She loved the sound of his deep baritone voice against hers.
Kelly's clapping turned into a yawn. His blue eyes were drifting as he babbled. He was sleepy, but didn't want to give it up. She pulled him into her lap as they sat, cross legged, on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with Nick. Like a normal family.
Her right hand drifted towards his knee. His fingers laced into hers. Her mind flashed back to sitting in the cafe with Juliette. She was gloating that Nick's girlfriend didn't remember one single scrap about him. She licked her lips as the next move developed in her mind. He rushed in, frantic. His eyes threatened violence and simultaneously begged her to spare the love of his life. She could smell his fury, but they were in public. The heavy bars enclosing the lion's cage blocked him as she poked and baited. She winked as her fingertips brushed over Juliette's hand, witching her as they spoke. Nick's face filled with despair as Juliette insulted him.
Humiliation and shame roared into her chest. A tear rolled down her nose. She looked up and his face was white, bordering on green. Her mind flashed back to his disgust when he saw her mummified face at Renard's apartment. Sean's head shaking side to side echoed Nick's words, "You find that attractive?" Because she already knew Sean was just as repulsed by her as he was.
You're just going to burn his life down into the dumpster fire you call your own. You know, he still wouldn't let you within fifty yards if you hadn't witched his brain into mush. Why do you keep fooling yourself.
Nick's hand jerked away. He was running now, fleeing her.
She was crying when his SUV rumbled out of the garage. It was only a matter of time until he realized who you really are.
She stuffed a duffel full of Kelly's clothes and a second with a couple changes of her own, diapers, and wipes. There's not a single judge in Oregon or Washington state who doesn't hate you. Guess what they'll do when Nick shows up wanting custody. What you did is called Rape. The statute of limitations is twenty-five years, and oh, by the way, he's a cop. He knows Wesen judges.
She thought about waiting till he got back. No, I'll just chicken out. He deserves to be free of me.
Rosalee? No, I need more of a head start.
Half an hour later, four lanes of traffic opened up. Kelly was asleep while she wound east on I-84. The shadows of spruces flashed green in the headlights as the Columbia River's roaring whitecaps glittered in the moonlight. It was a solid eight hours to Boise, Idaho but she would dump Juliette's car, along with Nick's phone and credit card at the bus station an hour away and disappear.
She had enough cash to make it to her grandmother's farm in Iowa. She would leave Kelly there with instructions to wait a month and then contact Nick. It was time to abandon the rolling tragedy that her mother called "Adalind." Elizabeth Ann Black was the name she was born with. Schade wasn't even her mother's real last name - it had been her grandmother's maiden name. Tonight, she craved the name her father gave her - her real name. It was time to release Nick from the hell she kept grinding him through.
It's better this way.
Her eyes were itchy and burning when she rolled into the bus station. The schedule said she had another three hours. An hour and a half later, Nick's phone buzzed. Rosalee. She silenced the ringer and pitched it back into her purse. It buzzed again. Rosalee. She groaned and ignored it. The phone rang again and again and again. Ten calls turned into twenty. Don't you get it? I'm giving you your life back.
Rosalee's text message popped up. Need your help at the spice shop. It's an emergency.
On the phone, Rosalee told her Nick and a friend had gotten cut up in a bar fight. She needed her help getting them put back together. Adalind begged off against Rosalee's protest and hung up.
Her feet swung out of the car and splashed into a puddle in the potholed asphalt. She groaned a second before something wet clawed her ankle. She screeched and kicked. A gray, furry blob slung past her left shoe. Her beige slip-on slashed into another hole and the rat plopped five feet past, scurrying off.
She jumped back in and slammed the door. She scrubbed the sting in her ankle while her skin crawled. Three months in the dungeon flashed into her mind. A sharp jab in her fingertip shocked her out of the stupor. She scrabbled backwards in the blackness. Her left hand mushed something soft. A pinch sliced into her palm as it squeaked and wiggled. She was screaming, reeling backwards until her back slammed in the darkness. She flattened herself against cold stone and craned, but not a single shred of light permeated her prison. She twisted her head and transformed into the mummified corpse of her Hexenbiest form. Half a dozen rats were scurrying around the room, searching for food. Snarling, Adalind focused her powers and screamed, but the room erupted into a screeching cacophony that focused like a jet engine straight into her brain.
Waves of cold chills rippled over her. She scrubbed over her arms and legs, smearing mud and wet fur across her calf. A long, gray shadow waddled over and sniffed the shoe stewing in a murky parking lot cocktail. Nope. You can have it.
Her eyes tilted up through the windshield as she grimaced. "I thought we were done with rats?"
Adalind sat there, waiting for some reply, but none came. Another furry shadow scurried towards the trash can, past the edge of the giant halo shrouding the ticket counter. The bus's wide set lights were turning into the parking lot as Juliette's Subaru bumped back onto the highway.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Rosalee gave Adalind a quick look and sighed with relief from her perch atop the ladder, then returned to rummaging the dusty books on the very highest shelf behind the counter of the spice shop. She scooted the ladder over to the next rack and continued her search. "We got a call from the Washington highway patrol. Nick got cut up pretty bad. Monroe went to pick him up."
"Why not just let the ambulance take them to the hospital?"
Rosalee's eyebrows quirked like it was a stupid question. Like there was something she was supposed to know. "Ah, here it is."
The old book flopped open on the wooden workbench, and Rosalee tapped the page. "This is the best healing potion I've found so far."
Adalind's eyes barely focused on the words before she backed away. "Ok, what do you need me for?"
"I'm going to have my hands full with antiseptics and stitching. I need you to prepare this. Two batches."
Mmm. Nope. Her right hand was an inch from the door knob with Kelly's car seat swinging in the other when the back door nearly knocked her over. Monroe hauled a muscular twenty-something past her. He dumped the blonde man, clad in cuts and purple bruises, into a chair and went back out for Nick. Rosalee winced eyes her way. "I really need your help. It takes a long time to prepare."
"You don't understand what happens when I touch potions."
"You've got a degree in Chemistry."
"I'm a lawyer."
"It's just chemistry. There's no magic, I promise." Rosalee gripped her hand. "Please?"
Adalind's hands shook as she surveyed ten thousand jars covered in varying levels of dust. She eyed Rosalee, and then resigned herself to collecting the ingredients and getting set up. She inhaled and held her breath, then let it trickle out. OK, it's just chemistry lab. Those were always your favorites, and you got an A every time. Collect the ingredients. Test the potency. Adjust as necessary. Follow the instructions carefully to complete the reactions and maximize the yield.
Memories of bio-chemistry classes returned while perusing the ingredients. The goal was pretty straight forward, really. Iron, magnesium, potassium, calcium, and sodium supplements to replenish the blood. The first series of chemical reactions would convert the rock ores and minerals to oxide, citrate, and acetate forms to maximize absorption. Next was wismutocker and willow bark. The formula would make an extract to control nausea and diarrhea. Treating and extracting the flowers and herbs would produce a cocktail of chemicals that would speed the absorption into the blood stream. Next was a process to derive a few animal steroids from dried organs: testicles, lymph nodes, and such. Last was a bunch of steps to concentrate amino acids. It was sort of like a chelation, but in reverse, where the goal was to pound as much stuff into the body as possible, supercharge the immune system, liver, and bone marrow, then induce tissue growth without leaving someone vomiting for six hours.
She snapped her fingers and ran out to the car. A bottle of steroid nasal spray, the pepto bismol, and Kelly's powdered baby formula would cut the prep time by half a dozen hours. A couple bottles of Pedialyte and prenatal vitamins would take even more off.
There were three things she didn't recognize, so she would follow the directions on those, but they were grind and mix, not four-hours of boiling chemical reactions, filtration, and distillation. The only thing left was the absorption agent, which she would synthesize.
Rosalee froze, peering at the odd assortment piled on her workbench. "Um, what's all this?"
"It's just chemistry, right? If we use Pepto, I don't have to spend four hours making my own bismuth subsalicylate. Baby formula has all the aminos, and it's super digestible, and we've got all the steroids between the nasal spray and the jar you have in the fridge."
Rosalee stepped back. Her face flattened, her eyes twitched, and her fingers pulled back against her chest as she stared.
Adlaind whispered, "No, I don't have my powers back. I was a chem lab nerd."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Look at the ingredients yourself." She slid the baby power canister across the bench, but Rosalee nodded and turned away.
She started on the chemical preparations with a dozen flowers and herbs. The first step was to test potency, standard lab stuff, so she was sniffing and tasting. Half of the ingredients were old, so she bumped the quantities and adjusted the preparation to produce the correct blend of extracts. She pitched a double handful of dried citrus peel into the retort and caught Rosalee's stare. "The dried grapefruit is stale. I need twenty milliliters of d-limonene."
Rosalee's eyebrow quirked. "De-whaty-what?"
"It's part of the carrier to make the stuff absorb into the blood."
Rosalee watched for a bit more and went back to stitching up the young man.
She's worried about my powers coming back, but this is the sort of stuff we did in organic lab all the time.
The moonlight was shining straight down the wide skylight when she finished. Rosalee heaved a giant sigh of relief over the potion, but the young man was agitated, and he was big. Nick was sort of balled up, holding pressure on the bloody towels in the gash in his stomach and arm as Monroe stitched.
Adalind eyed the broad-shouldered young man. "Is he Wesen?"
"Jagerbar."
Adalind nodded and ran down the dosage table based on body weight and Wesen species. A penciled circle wrapped around the dosage for Siegbarste. Rosalee's handwritten note said, "Double for Grimm." She measured out six ounces of the milky, pink concentrate for the guy, leaving a hair over twenty for Nick. A twinge of curiosity itched the back of her mind. That's a ton of steroids for a guy Nick's size, but she's obviously done this before.
Rosalee carried the first dose out and went back to stitching up the big guy while Monroe worked on Nick. His hands were shaking as he jabbed the needle in. Nick was wincing while Monroe pulled another through when Adalind returned with the second dose.
He downed the potion with a hard grimace.
"It's really horrible, isn't it?"
"No, it's actually better than usual. Sort of sweet and bubble gummy with a splash of gasoline. Normally, it tastes like roadkill flavored turpentine. Ow! Hey!"
She groaned and butted in. "Why don't you let me sew Nick up?"
Monroe eyed her.
"I used to help my grandfather fix up animals on the farm. Between the cows and the hogs, we did hundreds of stitches a week."
He shrugged and passed her the needle. She tested the point on her thumbnail. It wouldn't even leave a mark, much less bite. She frowned at Monroe, who simply shrugged and wandered off as she whetted the point on an old oilstone.
Monroe popped back in, glanced over her shoulder, and disappeared a second after she tied the first stitch off. Nick's expression changed as she jabbed the needle, over and over through his flesh, as though the pain was washing something away.
"That chicken you made tonight was really good. You should make it again."
Her cheeks warmed as she brushed a blonde lock of hair aside. "It's really easy. They have a recipe for pan frying steaks I've been wanting to try."
"I tried to cook a steak once, nearly burned down the kitchen. You know how they say to get the pan really hot?"
She nodded, waiting. No one would accuse Nick of being a cook.
"Apparently, they didn't mean that hot. I turned around to grab a beer and Poof."
She was doing everything she could to hold back the laughter.
"Flames everywhere."
She had to stop stitching from the giggles.
"So, you know how they say to throw flour or salt on it?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, well, I didn't know that."
"No! You didn't?"
"Yep, water."
Her mouth fell open.
"The steam explosion shattered the kitchen window, and the fireball burned the ceiling. Knocked me halfway into the living room. Next thing I knew, fire fighters were busting the door down."
"You know, you can put the lid on and turn off the heat."
Nick's eyes glittered as he chuckled. "It sounds so obvious when you say that. Steak sounds really good. I haven't had one in forever."
She turned her attention back to the needle. "They're just so expensive. And I always want a baked potato too, you know, with sour cream, butter, and chives."
He winced as the curved needle made another pass, and then laughed. "You trying to fatten me up? Because that sounds awesome."
"There's also another one where you brown the chicken, dump potatoes and carrots in the pan, lay the chicken on top, then finish it with the lid on. The juices flavor the veggies while they cook in the steam."
"Ok, you're making me hungry."
"How long have you been playing guitar? You picked up those songs pretty quick."
Nick blushed and looked away. "My aunt Marie got me one when I was thirteen. I think she was trying to get my mind off my folks dying in a car wreck. One of the librarians she worked with taught me."
"Your aunt was a librarian?"
Nick winced from another stitch then chuckled. "Go figure, right. Don't tell Monroe I said this, but you're way better at stitching than he is."
Monroe's voice boomed out, "Hey! I heard that."
He poked at the gash on his stomach, neatly closed by her even stitches. "Look, this is how it's supposed to be done."
Monroe glanced over at her progress. "Ok, noted. Got any more complaints, Mr. Choosy Beggar?"
"I'm not a fan of textured soy protein."
"Now you're just being hateful."
Nick poked at an old scar. The lumpy mass wormed a haphazard trail down his belly. "Monroe did this one."
Adalind winked at Rosalee. "I don't think I've ever had the sort of friends who would stitch me up in the middle of the night."
Rosalee's face lit up, but she didn't say anything.
-/-/-/-/-/-
The stitches on Nick's stomach made an orderly row over a razor-thin, red line. His shivers were gone, and color was blooming back into his sallow skin. She pressed another bottle of Pedialyte into his hands.
Nick shook his head and wrinkled his nose. "Oof. How do kids drink this stuff?"
She headed out front to check on Kelly and sterilize several more feet of fishing line. She was rummaging a bottle of water for Nick. You had to have something to wash down Pedialyte's syrupy-sweet flavor, but the stuff was magic.
A steady stream of slurred cursing erupted in the back room. Nick's friend was griping about the police and how they always mistreated him. He rambled on that being a felon didn't make him guilty of whatever they imagined, and that the cops should respect the fact that he took a knife for one of them tonight.
She grabbed a second bottle of water and headed back out.
The fellow was blonde-haired and broad-shouldered, with a mat of red-stained chest hair smeared across a bear tattoo. He grunted, taking the water bottle without looking at her or even pausing his tirade.
She laid the other bottle in Nick's hand. He downed half of it in one swig. "You just don't know how good this tastes. Thanks."
She brushed a blonde lock of hair out of her eyes. "You lost a lot of blood."
The young man's half-drunk yammering stopped mid sentence, and he turned, glaring straight at Adalind. His eyes narrowed and his words hissed out. "You're the whore!"
She froze as his posture changed and a line of black fur rippled across his face.
His face turned red as he pointed his finger straight at her nose. "You! You went on and on at that party, calling my mother a whore in front of the mayor. Do you know how much everybody hates you, crazy bitch?"
The punch exploded like a gunshot into the young man's face. Nick was on his feet, face flushed and teeth gritted as he pushed Adalind behind him and swung a kick across the young man's knee.
The young man stumbled into a post, twisted his head, and his body sheeted with black fur. Fanged jaws snapped with a loud pop as he swung a hand the size of a dinner plate at Nick's head.
Nick's eyes sank deep into his skull as his entire body turned slate gray. He was driving his punches with his hips and thighs now. Each blow lifted the beast onto his toes. He crushed a left and a right into the Jagerbar's ribs before grabbing its furry ear and slamming its head through the workbench, sending chemicals and herbs careening across the shop.
The Jagerbar winced and shook his head, grabbed Nick and swung him against the wall, smashing a shelf, but Nick hammered fists against the beast's forearms and straight-kicked into its stomach until it cringed and dropped him.
Monroe transformed, sheeting his body in scruffy fur, and coiled to strike. His white fangs glistened and his red eyes burned in the dim room, but his arm was out, ushering white-faced Rosalee behind him.
The Jagerbar threw Nick off again and lunged at Adalind, but Nick kicked across the back of its knee, sending it stumbling forward.
She jumped out of the way as the snarling were-bear's head smashed into the wood paneling, with Nick hard behind it, hemming it in, pounding its kidneys and liver, leaving blood seeping off the thick mat of fur. Claws splintered the wall, and it swung, backhanding Nick with a crashing blow, sending him careening over the broken table.
The Jagerbar lunged at Adalind. She jumped and ran towards the back door, but he cut her off again.
She froze as the image of Kelly's face blasted through her consciousness. She grabbed a jar and flung it at him. He batted it away, shattering it into a cloud of orange powder. She grabbed a bowl and threw it, but he sent it clattering across the room.
Nick lunged in again, feinting the big man's jab and countering with a lightning fast inside right and left, gashing eyebrows through the fur, turning its attention back to him while he pushed in front of her and shoved her towards the door.
She had never seen Nick like this, robed in fury and bloodlust. The punches he caught her with on that night, years ago in the forest, didn't crack like a pistol shot, and while he had messed up her nose, tonight his blows lifted the big man onto his toes, broke bones, and ripped gashes through thick hide and fur. The Jagerbar's jaw was hanging, cocked open, and its eyes winced every time it sucked a breath through a drool of blood. The beast wiped across its face and swung another huge paw at Nick, who always seemed to lean or duck at the exact moment for the blows to slide off or miss, and when they did, Nick's own flashed lightning fast, tearing off clumps of fur.
The beast grabbed Nick and swung him, smashing him through the table, but Nick barely seemed to notice. He popped back to his feet, swinging kick after crashing kick into the giant's knees and hips before grabbing the big guy's arm.
He threw Nick off again and lunged at her. She grabbed the granite mortar and pestal and smashed it into his head as hard as she could. His claws snagged her sweater and flung her through the door into the front of the shop. Adalind skidded to a stop under a shelf and pushed up onto her elbows. She was shaking off the cobwebs, dearly wishing she had her powers back. The beige flash of Kelly's car seat caught her eye. She lunged, scrambling towards it.
The Jagerbar flashed his fangs and snarled. Nick jumped on its back and wrapped his elbow under its furry chin, locking it with his other arm. The black-haired monster smashed Nick's head backwards into the door frame and then ground his body into a column, but Nick gritted his teeth while wrenching the hold tighter and tighter into the huge bear's neck. Thick arms flailed and smashed and dug claws in, but the beast's knees were sagging. Its eyes fluttered, and it stumbled backwards, tearing loose the door's remaining shards while clawing at Nick's arms and head.
A giant crash echoed from the back, but she was on her feet now, regretting that she had anything to do with potions, and swearing she never would again. Nick's voice growled behind her. "You will never insult the mother of my children like this again, so help me I will end you."
He was straddling the young man. The fur and fangs had already retracted, but Nick was heaving blow after blow into his bloody head. It wobbled, loose, like a bobblehead, while the man's arms and legs twitched.
He turned and his stare pierced straight into her. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with purple and sunken deep into his gray flesh. He paused for a second and pushed to his feet.
A ton of steroids.
Her chest knotted.
You did this! If it wasn't for Nick bailing you out, every single person who ever tried to help you would have gotten killed because you won't keep your dirty hands out of potions!
You should have known better!
She hit the spice shop's front door at a flat run.
They deserve to be rid of you. Kelly needs to be raised by someone who isn't constantly trying to kill him.
Adalind's vision was blurry as she raced through the fog past the corner and the street light's bright red halo, a second block, then a third. Her side burned and tears poured down her face. She pushed her hand into it and slowed to a march.
Don't you ever look back.
The wet street was empty as she passed the dark storefronts. She squinted at the road ahead, begging for a taxi. She scrubbed her fingers into her itchy eyes. Stupid! You didn't even bring cash for a taxi. Now what?
Stupid, stupid, stupid. That's all you are, stupid. This is why you can never have a family.
And she kept marching, staring up into the sky as she passed another traffic light, wishing for something that she knew would never happen. Her hands ground into her pockets as she threw one foot in front of the other, pushing as hard as she could without pain burning into her sides.
Headlights glinted off the empty storefront ahead, slowing as they rounded the bend. She turned and stuck her thumb out, but the gray sedan zoomed past.
One by one, a half dozen more cars zipped past before one stopped. The man leered at her and squinted. His eyes bugged out, his tires spun, and the car rocketed away. Sparks splattered the sidewalk as his rims screeched and bounced off the curb. Adalind smeared tears and her runny nose across her face and cried.
See! Nobody wants you.
The yellow halos of street lights were getting further and further apart, but she kept her face pointed down the road.
Smaller stores and older buildings came into view as she passed into the old Chinatown. Half a dozen closed shops and markets promised wares in daylight hours. Her feet were now protesting the abuses suffered at the hands of her soft house shoes. She pulled her sweater tighter as a pair of neon martini glasses came into view. Maybe somebody there will give me a ride out of town.
The door was twenty feet away when a young man came bouncing out the door, stumbling and shoving a finger straight at the doorman. "He grabbed my ass and you're kicking me out?"
She quirked an eyebrow and froze. Pink-striped yoga pants? No! She ducked into an alley, but a slurred "Hey Adalind!" echoed into the darkness, followed by the clatter of footsteps.
A spiky-haired outline slowly swayed in and out of the shadows. It leaned a hand against the dumpster and closed the gap. Blue eyes twinkled in the glow of the street light. "What the hell are you doing here? Are you crying?"
"I need a drink. You want to give me some company?"
"Hell yeah. My night's not worth a shit anyway. All my Portland friends have babies and day jobs."
Trubel led her back to the Ducatti, but stumbled and swayed as she went.
"You want me to drive?"
The Grimm's eyes drifted up her pants and stopped at her hair. "Damn, you been holding out on me, girl?"
"Huh?"
"You look like you beat the hell out of a half dozen Wesen. You got blood, guts, and fur all up in your hair, smeared all over your face, and everything."
"How about I tell you about it at the bar?"
Trubel fist bumped her, then pitched the keys over. Adalind threw her leg over the bike. The Italian race engine purred between her legs, begging to be let loose. Soon, Trubel wrapped up behind her and they zoomed off.
Green lights and neon signs flashed past as they flew towards her favorite all-night wing joint. The bike was a bit tail-heavy from the extra rider, and the road was damp, but Adalind couldn't help herself. She downshifted two gears, leaned back, and goosed the throttle. The front tire lifted off the ground, and Trubel's grip clawed into her like steel. The wind-whipped fog cooled her itchy eyes to the sweet melody of the Ducati's twelve thousand rpm whine. Half a mile evaporated in seconds, and a curve was coming up fast, so she let off the gas and the front end settled.
"Hell yeah! That's my girl!" Trubel's exuberance forced her sour mood into a grin.
Trubel's hand slowly caressed her side as she climbed off the bike and locked her helmet. They wandered into the bar. She slid into a booth while Trubel got them an ice-cold bottle of white zin and two red Solo cups heaped with ice.
She smiled. "It's like you read my mind."
"You look like your night is almost as shitty as mine."
"Try me."
Trubel chuckled and launched into the story of her night. First, she had plans with her friend Gina, except her baby sitter didn't show up. They had a couple drinks at her house, but they kept waking up the kid, so she left. Jennifer and Julie both begged off because of work. Amanda had her boyfriend over and was going to get some. Melissa, Allie, and Kat were all pregnant, and Jun's husband hated her. The first bar was dead. The second was full of college students who kept calling her sir, and the last one.. "Yeah, well, that's where we just left... How about yours?"
"I messed up another potion. Almost got Rosalee and Monroe killed. Nick had to jump in and deal with a Jagerbar that went crazy. I just can't keep dragging him through this... He's such a great guy."
Trubel was swaying as she nodded. "Yeah, that'll happen."
The second glass of wine left the Grimm with a goofy smile on her face.
"So, how's your work thing?"
"Ah, it's cool. They pay me to go all over the world. Saigon was fun. London was awesome, so is killing shit."
Adalind laughed as Trubel ran down dozens of Wesen and told jokes and stories of how she had offed them. They talked into the night, past last call, before heading back to the bike. Her plans of having Trubel drop her at the bus station screeched to a halt when the Grimm vomited in the bushes. She groaned as they saddled up and rode back to the house. Trubel's hands drifted over her thighs and stomach as the traffic lights blasted red and green halos through the fog, but the Grimm was nearly asleep when they got home.
It was a quarter to five, but still dark when the garage door started grinding up. Trubel's motorcycle was running. Adalind was ready to make the final run to the bus station. She had already left a note about the keys, but a pair of headlights met her. A chrome Fiat symbol appeared out of the dark. She revved the bike once.
Are you done with your drama?
Kelly's car seat was tucked safely in the back, along with her purse. Weariness robed Rosalee's entire body as her eyes surveyed Adalind. She scrubbed bloodshot eyes and said, "Can you help me get Nick upstairs?"
She cringed at the all-too obvious reminder of her incompetence laying before her, robed in dried blood, purple and yellow blotches, and rows of stitches. Her fingers were trembling as shame burned through her exhaustion. All she wanted to do was run away, hide, and cry.
Suck it up. He's the best guy you've ever had, and on top of that, he just saved your life. You owe him this, and Rosalee.
She hooked his shoulder over his while Rosalee took the other side. Nick's feet dragged across the floor as they hauled his limp body out of the car and up the elevator. They tucked the unconscious Grimm under a blanket on the couch.
Rosalee walked her back downstairs. Adalind stared at the baby seat in the car. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't dare touch the door handle.
Rosalee opened her purse and pulled out a thick envelope. "Nick wanted you to have this. So you could make a fresh start with Kelly."
Two rubber-banded stacks of hundred dollar bills met her. Twenty thousand dollars. Tears broke out and rolled down Adalind's face as she pushed it back into Rosalee's hands. "Why? I'm the one who ruined everything. If I hadn't messed up the potion, you wouldn't have almost gotten killed. Just take me to the bus station and I promise, I won't destroy your life anymore. Nick and Kelly deserve better. So do you. It's not fair to keep asking you to bail me out."
Rosalee's eyes drifted closed as her body swayed in and out of the garage light's yellow glow. Her face was the picture of weariness. A minute later, her eyebrow quirked and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "The potion? You thought...?" A slow chuckle chuffed out as Rosalee's hand touched her elbow. "Do you mind if we go upstairs, I need to show you something. If you still want to leave, you can come spend the night at my house, and I'll get you and Kelly to the bus station or the airport tomorrow."
Kelly's car seat weighed ten thousand pounds as she hauled it upstairs. She kept staring back at the elevator, but Rosalee had her hand.
Bright yellow lights glared off of the stainless steel kitchen counters, burning her itching eyes. She covered them and squinted. Nick's hand and leg draped off the couch onto the floor.
Rosalee pressed her fingers into his neck, waiting. Her eyes flared fiery yellow as she pulled back. She was white-faced and shot her hand straight into her pocket. Her hands patted faster and faster, groping her clothes as her expression became more and more pained.
"Is there something wrong?"
"He's ice cold and has no pulse."
Adalind touched his cheek. His face leaned into her palm. "This is normal. That's just how he sleeps."
Rosalee launched towards the elevator. "But he isn't breathing. We have to get him to the hospital! Now!"
Nick's fingers wrapped around hers as a smile creased his lips. She wiped a tear off her cheek and caught Rosalee. "It's OK. He's fine."
Rosalee stood, staring at Nick's fingers as they drifted back and forth across the back of Adalind's hand, pulling her toward him. Rosalee slowly reached out and laid the back of her fingers on Nick's cheek. "You're sure he's not dead?"
She pressed her fingers into her eyes. Now, more than ever, she just wanted to wrap herself into his chest and let sleep wash over her. She didn't want to go, but she knew what she had to do. Her hand untwined from his as she nodded. "What did you want to show me?"
A minute passed as Rosalee stared at her, waiting. "Oh, right. Look." She slid the blanket off his chest and pointed at the gash Adalind had stitched.
Adalind squinted and shrugged. "What am I looking at?"
"Where is the cut?"
"It's right..." She squinted and looked closer, then ran her finger over the stitches. There wasn't even a line in the brown Betadine stain.
"I need your recipe from tonight."
"What? No. They went crazy. I must have messed it up with way too much steroids."
"That's the best it's ever worked, and nobody got sick."
"But you said it was the best healing potion..."
"Because it actually works. Most don't do much at best. Some poison people."
"But the Jagerbar..."
"He's got issues. A trap he set ended up killing his mother in his Rohat, then he spent three years in federal prison for manslaughter."
"It's my fault your spice shop got destroyed."
"No, it's not. Barry is a handful. It usually goes worse. The kid's father is a lawyer, Frank Rabe. Maybe you know him? He paid for the damages."
Frank Rabe... Oh, that party. Adalind's memory flashed. She was dressed in a sleek, silver ball gown, hand on the mayor's forearm when Rabe and his wife walked up. The woman curled her lip and sniped, "Oh, so look who's sleeping with the mayor now."
She smiled sweetly, wrapping her arm into the crook of the mayor's elbow, and whapered, "Oh, so you're telling your husband you're not?... I thought the three of us had a good time last Wednesday night."
Franks face fell flat, expressionless, and he slowly turned towards his wife. Black fur rippled across his face, and his wife's eyes flashed fiery yellow.
The woman's lip curled, baring her teeth, but Adalind smiled and wrapped into the mayor a bit tighter and winked at Mr. Rabe. She patted his forearm. "Does she still call out my name when she's sleeping?"
With that, she focused her powers and turned the mayor towards the bar, leaving Frank Rabe red faced and his wife stewing while she strutted off, swaying her hips as she went.
"I was not a nice person."
"His son has bigger problems than that. This isn't the first time Nick had to knock him out."
She scrubbed her itching eyes and ran a few fingers through her clumpy hair. She squinted, trying to get her brain to process correctly.
Rosalee continued, "Luckily, you were there to sort out the recipe. I've never seen it go together that fast or heal so quickly. Barry's broken jaw was already knitting up before he left."
Adalind shook her head. "No, you don't understand..."
"Can you write down what you did?"
Rosalee is making no sense. I saw it myself. It was such a hot mess. She's probably just trying to be polite, but her eyes were pleading now, begging.
"I'm too tired to think right now, and the book is at your shop. You want to grab a shower and a couple hours sleep? We'll circle back up and go through the whole thing tomorrow."
Rosalee nearly missed the chair as she sat. "Yeah, I shouldn't be driving. Mind if I crash here?"
Adalind nodded and found some extra sweats. What she really wanted to do was snuggle into the chest of the man who saved her life, and act like nothing ever happened, but he was going to wake up sooner or later, and then...
The shower was a window into heaven itself. Hot water rushed over her, sending a steady stream of brown swirling below her feet. Three rounds of shampoo and combing in the shower got most of the blood out. She threw extra towels over the pillows and crawled into bed. Rosalee collapsed beside her and they disappeared into an envelope of softness as the the first hints of orange cracked over the Cascades Mountains.