Chapter Three

Nick stepped into his dark, silent house wearily and tossed his keys on the nearby table. The stack of envelopes from his mailbox joined them, sliding haphazardly across the polished surface. Nick ignored them, shuffling towards his kitchen and tugging at his tie, working it loose.

He and his partner had spent hours that afternoon tracking down anyone and everyone that had known Darrien Woods, breaking the news of his passing and trying to suss out any clue as to who might have wanted to brutally murder him.

Each person they had spoken with had responded in the same way; shock and horror, grief, denial and confusion. Woods had been well-liked by those who knew him, and barely noticed by those who hadn't.

Returning to the office, Hank and Nick had been met with boxes of items collected from Woods' house by their forensics team. More boxes had joined them throughout the afternoon and into the evening as more items were processed. Folders with preliminary results from evidence collected at the scene joined the chaos; by the time Renard had ordered them home to sleep, they had been taking over a conference room just to get everything out of the bullpen.

Nick shucked his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair in his dining room, dropping his tie on top of it. He headed back into his kitchen and opened his fridge, considering his options before selecting a bottle of water. He moved to close the refrigerator door, but an echo of Monroe's admonishing tone in his ears prompted Nick to also remove one of the leftover cartons from dinner the night before.

Popping the carton into the microwave for a couple minutes, Nick cracked open his water bottle and downed half of it. Setting it on the counter, Nick walked back to where he had dropped his mail. Scooping the envelopes back up, Nick scanned the top envelope's return address. He wandered back into the kitchen, shuffling one envelope behind the other. He found one with Juliette's name on it, sending a pang of longing and regret rippling through him. He set the envelope aside gently.

The microwave beeped, jolting Nick out of his sudden melancholy. Retrieving the warmed carton, Nick pulled out a fork and began to eat.

The silence of the house pressed in on Nick from all sides, threatening to swallow him whole. Not for the first time Nick's thoughts wandered towards the option of just selling the house and moving somewhere that didn't remind him of Juliette and their life together.

A light thud caught Nick's attention. Setting the half-eaten carton of food down, he looked over in the direction of the sound.

A thick manila envelope had slid away from the rest of the mail, its weight sending it to the floor. Crouching down, Nick scooped the envelope up and turned it to read the return address.

There wasn't one.

Frowning, his brain latching onto the new mystery, Nick flipped it back and forth looking for any clues to who might have sent it. The only thing he could see was his name and address, along with a postmark from Montana.

Nick stood and leaned back against the counter, eyes tracing the words written by a hand he didn't recognize. Finding no answers, he turned the envelope over and ran a finger under the flap to open it.

A second envelope was inside, this one a standard white legal-sized envelope. Nick removed it, setting the outer manila envelope aside. Turning the white envelope over, Nick's breath caught in his throat upon seeing his name written in an achingly familiar script.

Aunt Marie.

With trembling hands, Nick carefully opened the envelope and withdrew the letter from within. He took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever message his aunt had sent him.

Nicky,

If you are reading this, then it means I am gone. I hope I was able to prepare you for what lies ahead for you, but I have a feeling that luck- and time- is not on my side.

Nick slowly slid down the cabinets, coming to a stop once he reached the floor. Tears burned in his eyes as the memory of his aunt's voice resurfaced, narrating the words on the page.

As I write this letter, I am preparing for my trip to Portland. I have a feeling that this will be my final visit, so I have asked a friend of mine to send this letter to you six months after my death. He has no idea what I'm about to do, so please do not seek him out.

Nick let out an involuntary bark of laughter at the request. Marie knew him so well.

Had known.

Fuck.

Nick swiped at the tears trickling freely down his face and kept reading.

By now you know of the curse of our family. You are the latest in our family line, but not the only Grimm. Our family is one of the oldest direct lines from Jacob Grimm himself, and one of the strongest. Our legacy will lead you on a winding and oftentimes dangerous path. I have made choices in my life that I carry with me in regret; it pains me to know that you will as well.

I wish I had more time with you, if only to teach you our history and train you on how to protect yourself, but I will have to hope that our family's books and journals will be enough. Between the cancer and the increase in Reaper sightings wherever I go, it's only a matter of time until I die. Which makes my next confession the hardest.

Nick frowned, his confusion helping to dry his tears.

There is no path ahead of me that doesn't end with my death. I have accepted that I will die, and soon, but that doesn't mean that it can't serve a purpose.

Unease churned in Nick's stomach as he slid the first page to the back, eyes continuing the narrative on the second page.

On my last visit to Portland, I requested an audience with the Prince. I suspect he agreed to meet more out of curiosity than anything else; Grimms do not typically honor Royal protocol.

In our meeting, I confessed the truth of my illness as well as the very real threats facing you, the Reapers only being one of them. And I was the one who offered the Prince a deal.

"Aunt Marie, what did you do?" Nick murmured.

I asked the Prince to protect you; to shield you from dangers you were ill-prepared to face. In return, he could orchestrate my death in his canton in order to strengthen his standing as ruler of Portland.

The pages slid out of nerveless fingers and fluttered to the floor. Nick covered his mouth, drawing his knees to his chest. His hands dropped to grip at his sides in a pained self-hug, head tilted back against the cabinet. Grief swept through him anew, just as fresh as when Marie had died in his arms.

Tears spilled down his cheeks, question after question chasing themselves around in his head. Why hadn't Marie told him about Grimms earlier, when there had been time? Why had she stolen what time together they'd had left? Why go to the Prince for help-?"

Nick tensed at that. The Prince. He had arranged for Marie's death. It was on his order that Marie had died. He needed to find the Prince. He needed answers.

And he knew just the person to help him get them.


Frank Rabe opened his door, trepidation on his face at having someone pounding on it late at night. His wariness shifted instantly to concern upon finding Nick on his doorstep, red-rimmed eyes burning in anger and sorrow.

"Nick?" he said. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to the Prince," Nick stated, his voice wrecked. "I need to see him."

Frank reached out, gently taking Nick's arm and tugging him in. "Here, come inside."

Nick went willingly. "She sent me a letter. She asked him to kill her."

Frank led Nick into the sitting room of his house, gently pushing him down into the nearest chair. "Nick, you're not making any sense. Who sent you a letter?"

"Aunt Marie," Nick told him. "It arrived today."

Frank's frown deepened. "Nick," he said, softening his tone. "Your Aunt Marie's dead."

"She wrote it before she died," Nick explained. "Had a friend of hers send it to me. It said that she asked the Prince to kill her."

Shock flickered in Frank's eyes. "I . . . I didn't know," he admitted.

"He did," Nick said. "That's why I need to see him. I need you to take me to him."

The refusal was plain on Frank's face before it ever left his mouth. "It's not that easy, Nick; even if I knew where he lived, I can't just take you there."

"But you know him!" Nick insisted. "You said so earlier! You're on his council! You could help me meet with him!"

"There's protocol to obey, Nick," Frank said firmly. "Not to mention you're in no state to meet with anyone, let alone the Prince."

"I don't care about protocol!" Nick cried. "He killed my aunt! I want answers, and I want them from him!"

"Nick-," Frank started.

"It's all right."

The unexpected voice shook Nick out of his single-minded mania. He and Frank both turned to find Sean Renard framed in the doorway of the sitting room.

"Captain?" Nick said dumbly. "What are you doing here?"

"Conferring on an important matter with one of my advisors." Renard stepped into the room, sharp green eyes sliding over to Frank. "Will you excuse us for a few moments?"

Frank dipped his head, then left without a word.

Nick's head swiveled from Frank's departing back to his approaching captain. "What . . . ?"

Renard stopped several feet away and clasped his hands behind his back. "I admit that I did not foresee Marie Kessler revealing the nature of our agreement to you. I had hoped to inform you myself after you gained a little more experience as a Grimm."

"You . . . it's you?" For some reason, Nick's brain was having a difficult time processing this new information. "You're Portland's Prince?"

"I am," Renard confirmed.

"But . . . you're a police captain," Nick said.

"I'm that as well," Renard agreed.

"I . . . you're . . ." Nick shook his head. "What are you doing here?"

"As I said, conferring with one of my advisors," Renard said patiently. "I could ask the same of you; last I recall, I ordered you home to rest."

The words galvanized Nick. He surged to his feet, closing the distance between them quickly. "You killed my aunt!"

Renard held his ground, meeting Nick's gaze unflinchingly. "I did, at her request."

"You could have said no!" Nick's voice wobbled ever-so-slightly. "Why didn't you say no?"

Renard stared back, something close to pity creeping into his otherwise bland expression. "It was her choice, Nick," he said quietly.

"No!" Nick shook his head, cursing the tears that wanted to escape. "She wouldn't agree to something like this! I knew her!"

"The woman you knew and the woman renowned as one of the most fearsome Grimms were not the same person," Renard said. "She didn't want to give the Reapers the satisfaction of killing her, and she didn't want to waste away into some hollow shell, her abilities transferring to you piecemeal. Marie Kessler wanted to control the outcome of an untenable situation, even one ending with her death."

"A situation you benefited from!" Nick spat.

"One we both benefited from," Renard corrected.

"What, so now you think you own me?" Nick cried. "Do you think you can just order me around and I'll fall all over myself to obey just because you did my aunt a favor?"

"No, I expect that as I am your boss and you are one of my detectives," Renard stated wryly. "In any case, my agreement with your aunt has no bearing on our interactions. My deal was with her, not with you."

"And, what, I'm just supposed to be okay with working for the man who ordered my aunt's death?" Nick exclaimed.

"Go home, Nick," Renard said gently. "It's late, and you've had a bad shock on top of a long day. We can continue this conversation after you've had a chance to process."

"I don't have anything else to say to you!" With that, Nick turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.

Striding down the pathway, Nick wrenched open his car door and climbed inside. He slammed the door closed, breathing heavily for a moment before smacking his hand against the steering wheel. The sting in his palm barely registered, and he hit the steering wheel three more times in quick succession.

Emotions churned thickly inside Nick. The last thing he wanted to do was return to his large, empty house that seemed to be filling up with ghosts more and more each day.

Letting out a long, slow breath, Nick turned the key in the ignition. The rumble of his engine rolled through him, narrowing his wildly spinning thoughts into one single direction.

Nick pointed his car in that direction and drove.


"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Nick stared at Monroe's exasperated expression, unable to help the sudden wave of weariness that overtook him. "Sorry, I just . . . I didn't know where else to go."

Monroe heaved a great put-upon sigh and opened his door wider. "Come on," he said, jerking his thumb towards his living room.

Nick smiled weakly and stepped inside. "Thanks."

"Go take a seat," Monroe ordered. "I'll go put on some coffee."

Nick obediently claimed a spot on Monroe's couch, resting his elbows on his knees. He leaned forward, scrubbing his hands over his face before letting them drop, dangling between his knees. His eyes fell unseeing on a spot on the carpet before him as his mind replayed the events of the past hour.

The sudden appearance of a mug in front of his face startled him, sending him jerking back against the couch. Wide gray eyes flew up to Monroe's considering expression.

"Maybe I should have brewed decaf," he commented.

Nick accepted the mug, relishing the heat of it against icy cold fingers. "Thanks."

Monroe moved to sit in his armchair, barely taking his eyes off of his friend. "You want to tell me why you showed up on my doorstep looking like you came out on the wrong side of a Höllentier sighting?"

Nick smiled, but it was without humor. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted, lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip.

"And yet my question still stands," Monroe said.

Nick took another sip of coffee as if to brace himself, then set his mug on the coffee table. He looked at the Blutbad, then stared down at his mug.

"I . . . just got a letter from my aunt that said that she purposely went to the Prince and told him to arrange for her own death," Nick said in one breath. "And the punchline? Turns out that the Prince is actually my boss at work. I've been working for the man who ordered my aunt's murder."

There was a sharp silence for a beat, then two. Nick stared hard at his mug, almost afraid to look away.

Sudden movement forced his attention up. Nick watched as Monroe stood and walked to his kitchen. He could hear a cabinet open and close before Monroe returned carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels. Twisting off the top, he added a healthy amount to Nick's coffee, then his own before sitting back down. Monroe set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table, toasted Nick with his coffee mug, and took a healthy swig.

Nick laughed, feeling the remains of his discomfort finally fall away. He toasted back, taking his own sip and welcoming the burn sliding down his throat.

"Man, Days of Our Lives has got nothing on you," Monroe finally said. He narrowed his eyes at Nick. "I better not find out you got into some fight and wound up in a coma, only to wake up with amnesia."

Nick grinned. "Watch a lot of soap operas, do you?"

Monroe sniffed. "Who needs to with a front row seat to your life?" He sipped at his coffee. "What are you going to do? About your boss?"

Nick shrugged, his head lowered again. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know if I can work for Renard, seeing him every day and knowing he's the reason Aunt Marie is dead."

Monroe swirled the coffee in his mug, carefully considering his next words. "Nick . . . maybe . . . maybe you shouldn't rush into your next decision without considering all sides."

Nick frowned. "What do you mean?"

Monroe tossed back the rest of his coffee and Jack, then set his mug aside. He sat forward, his expression more serious than Nick had ever seen it.

"You have to understand, Nick, that your aunt . . . she was known among wesen as one of the most dangerous, scariest Grimms out there," Monroe stated, not unkindly. "I knew people who would leave town if they heard she was on her way. When you told me that she had cancer, and asked me to keep an eye on her in the hospital, I couldn't believe she was the same person." He shook his head ruefully. "Well, until she opened her eyes and told me to try it. Scared me half to death."

Nick's eyes were suspiciously shiny. "I never knew that woman."

"Of course not," Monroe replied. "I wouldn't expect her to treat her own nephew the same way she treats wesen. But she was dangerous. And . . . you're not going to like hearing this, but her dying at the Prince's command sent ripples through the wesen community. The wesen here learned that the Prince was prepared to go through whatever it took to keep the city safe, and it really strengthened his position here."

Nick shook his head. "I just . . . "I can't help but feel so angry at this whole thing."

"So be angry," Monroe said. "No one's saying you can't be. Just don't do anything stupid while you're angry."

"Like?" Nick couldn't help but prompt.

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I'm really going to give you ideas."

Nick laughed.

Monroe stood, collecting their mugs. "You staying?"

"If you don't mind?" Nick asked.

"Of course not." Monroe headed back to the kitchen. "Spare room's ready; you know where it is. I'm going to clean up, then I'm heading up to bed."

Nick stood and moved to the stairs. Not for the first time, he felt overwhelming gratitude at having befriended the Blutbad.


end chapter 3