Chapter 6: Triumph of the Hexenbiest

"Karaoke 4 Kops?" Nick read the flyer in a tone trapped in that fine line between amused and disgusted.

Hank chuckled and shook his head. "Man, the fundraisers around here get stupider every year."

Nick dropped the flyer down on the desk and pulled out his chair, sitting down. "So stupid that now we can't even spell the word cops."

"Or the word for," Hank added.

"Maybe only four of us have to do it," Nick suggested.

"Oh, wouldn't that be nice." Hank sighed.

"We're still working on this Bianca Snowlight attempted murder case, and we're no closer to a breakthrough." Nick turned on the computer and clicked open a useless file he'd already read through five or six times. "You'd think they'd cut us some slack."

"It's because they don't want to do this either," Hank told him. "And if they have to sing in front of their coworkers, then so do we."

"Wait, didn't you say you enjoyed Karaoke on your last vacation?"

Hank cocked his head slightly. "Come on, Nick. Everything's fun on vacation. Especially if there's an open bar. No one wants to sing in front of their coworkers."

"And dead sober, at that," Nick had to agree. "At least we can all commiserate together."

Sergeant Wu came up to them grinning, holding out the flyer. "Hey, you guys hear about the new fundraiser?" His grin widened. "Karaoke!"

Hank blinked.

Nick coughed.

Captain Renard came up behind Wu and yanked the flyer out of his hand as he walked past him. "Maybe after we blow all our tax dollars on a fundraiser that's barely going to cover the audio equipment, we can have a spelling bee."

"But Captain," Hank joked, "we gotta get down with the times. Everyone's spelling cop with a K now."

"It's very popular with meth addicts," Nick added.

"Oh, that reminds me." Wu whipped out his iphone. "I've got to have my neighbor record Breaking Bad for me tonight."

Captain Renard rolled his eyes. "Any progress on the Snowlight case?"

Nick shook his head, serious again now. "None." He leaned back in his chair and spun around. "We've hit a complete dead end. There's a lot of bad blood in that family, but we can't prove any of them even wanted Bianca dead. Asher insists it's August; Bianca thinks Asher's just overprotective... It just goes in circles."

"We ever bring the boyfriend in for questioning?" Captain Renard wanted to know.

"He's still M.I.A." Nick grimaced.

"It's not your fault he got away, Nick."

"Actually, Captain, it is."

"We'll figure it out." He pulled out a manila folder and flipped through some papers pensively. "I just wanted to check with you, since you and Hank are the ones on this case, and see if you think Bianca needs to be placed in protective custody, in case the culprit tries again."

Nick glanced at Hank. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "She's got all her uncles watching her like a hawk now. She's got her own personal swat team of seven. There's no need to waste police resources."

Renard nodded and closed the folder.

The doors swung open and two officers led in a familiar young woman dressed in leather and lace, handcuffed.

"We found her driving a car registered in your name, Burkhardt."

Gretel cocked her head in annoyance. "Nick, could you tell these idiots I had your permission to take the car to get take-out?"

"You know this woman, Burkhardt?" An eyebrow or two was raised.

Nick smirked impishly. "Never seen her before."

"Nick!" Gretel glared, almost murderously.

He laughed. "Just kidding. You can let her go; she's a friend of mine."

The officers let go of her hands and she held them up, rattling the cuffs pointedly as they fumbled for the keys to unlock them. Somehow, Gretel could make any man -even a cop- just a little nervous. She just had that gift-like ability.

As soon as her hands were free, Gretel started rubbing her wrists.

"Nice to see you again," Hank called over to her.

Gretel looked up and nodded in his direction. "Oh, yeah. Hi again."

Renard was staring at her very intently; Nick wondered if the captain guessed -or sensed, more likely- that Gretel was a Grimm.

Bianca Snowlight read the email for a fifth time.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her uncles would never agree. They wouldn't believe one word of August's plea to reconcile their differences. Most of them still thought her stepmother was the one tried to kill her.

Uncle Asher would have a fit if she told him she was even thinking about going to see August.

But her stepmother had never reached out like this before. They were family, technically, even if Bianca was a little afraid of her. She had no intentions of moving back in with her father and his wife, leaving her uncles, or of changing her name back to Applesmith, but what was so wrong with talking? What was so wrong with trying to settle all this bad blood?

Maybe this was all that was needed. When she and August were able to prove that they could be on civil terms, well then of course her uncles would have to understand that she couldn't possibly be the one who sent that pie.

And who knew? Maybe -just maybe- if they had to admit they were wrong about August, they'd admit they were wrong about Carl, too. They'd have to let her see him sometime. Even if she had to wait for him, she would. She loved him. And he still loved her. He'd have come to her window by now, just like he used to, if he wasn't so scared of that detective and of her uncles...

With that cheery, hopeful thought in mind, Bianca flounced over to her bed, ripped off the sheets, and began tying them into a ladder.

While she walked down the hall of the precinct, Gretel was sliding a leather strap through one of the buckles on her coat; it had come loose and she hadn't exactly been able to fix it while she was handcuffed earlier.

A muscular arm promptly pushed her against the wall. It wasn't rougher than it needed to be. All the force in the push was to keep her in place, not to hurt her. There was no added pain.

If Gretel had been more of a damsel in distress, she might have screamed. This was a police station, after all. Nick himself was only a few feet away, behind the doors she'd left behind her. But, of course, Gretel wasn't like that. She liked to try and save herself first; even on the odd occasion when she didn't succeed and Hansel had had to come charging in.

So she stared at her attacker first. She needed to know who he was, what his motivation was. That was the best way to fight something like this off, not only well but also -if she didn't want to make a ruckus- quietly. Biting off his nose (like she'd threatened to do to the Bauerschwein) would be affective enough, but everyone in the building would hear the resulting scream. Maybe this was one of those times where a knee to the groin would be the better option. Or a simple shove. It wouldn't be easy to shove him, though, she realized. He was a good-sized guy; he had more muscle than she did.

He was the Captain, of all people. Nick's boss.

Lifting her arm and pressing it against his broad chest to keep him at least an inch away from her, Gretel whispered, "You have five seconds to tell me your name, and what the hell you want, before I tear out your throat."

"My name is Sean Renard."

She stared at him more intently. "You're hiding something."

"I'm sorry," he said calmly. "Where are my manners?" He clenched his jaw, set his teeth hard against each other, going into his fullest woge.

Gretel's eyes widened. Zauberbiest.

Changing back, Sean Renard nodded. "So you are also a Grimm. Good. I thought so."

"Yes, I'm a Grimm, just like Nick." Gretel couldn't shrug in her current position, but she did her best to make her body language seem nonchalant. She wanted to play it cool until she understood what this Renard guy really wanted from her.

"I didn't mean in addition to Nick," Sean told her. "Yes, don't worry, I know about him; I knew about him before he knew about me."

He knew? Nick effing knew? Gretel half wanted to get away from Sean Renard just so she could march back into that other room and punch Nick. Real nice that he'd warned her he worked with (no, worse, for) a Zauberbiest! He knew her bad history with Hexenbiests; he could have at least warned her.

"Then what did you mean?" Gretel asked, a little short of breath.

"I meant," said Renard coolly, "what you are in addition to a Grimm."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But her pulse was quickening, her face going this cross shade between red and purple with humiliated anxiety.

"Yes, you do." Renard grabbed her arm and pulled her wrist back so that he could lean closer. "I woged. I showed you my dark side. Let's see yours."

"I'll scream," Gretel hissed.

"You won't. You have more pride than that."

"I'm a Grimm," she practically spat. "That's all I am."

"You're a Grimm," Renard agreed. "A Grimm who hunts Hexenbiests. I know about you and your brother, Gretel. Don't act so surprised. All Hexenbiests and their bastard children from here to Timbuktu know about the great Hansel and Gretel: Hexenbiest hunters. Selective Grimms with an incredible amount of self-hatred." His eyebrows lifted. "Considering who their mother was."

She didn't mean to. Really, she didn't. She controlled it so well, even other Grimms never spotted it. Nick never guessed, never suspected. Why should he? She was a Grimm, just like him. He'd called her kin. They were the same. They were! But Renard was right; that side -the side that was like Nicholas Burkhardt- was only one side of her. It was the side of her that she embraced fully, training and pushing herself to excel in. The other side... It was so, so small. Gretel hoped it might vanish altogether one day. She didn't nurse it or embrace it; she was not a witch! She didn't know about powers or herbs or potions.

And her woge, which Sean could see now and nod at with such smug satisfaction, was so minimal. The only rotting, disfigured flesh was a small patch around the left side of her chin and lower cheek. Other than that, even in a full woge, she was clean.

She was a Grimm; not a Hexenbiest.

"I've seen worse," Renard said dryly.

Gretel wrenched her wrist free and replaced her arm protectively, keeping his face away from hers. "What do you know about my mother?"

"Adrianna." Sean swallowed. "She was a friend of my mother's."

Gretel swallowed too -gulping back, blinking back- but not quick enough. Three tears betrayed her, rolling down her face speedily, as if the teardrops themselves were separate entities that could feel ashamed for existing.

"I'm going to let you go now." Sean started to take a step back. "But you have to come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Gretel nodded. She wasn't going to run; she needed to hear what Sean Renard had to say about her mother. Gretel was so desperate to hear it, she knew Hansel would be disgusted. He'd want her to cut this monster's head off and get to safety. Renard knew her secret, and he was the offspring of Hexenbiest. That made him untrustworthy. Hexenbiests were liars, killers, cunning vessels of evil... The only good Hexenbiest was a dead one.

Hansel would hate her for this if he was here now.

But he wasn't.

And she needed this.

August smiled at her inbox. Two messages. Exactly what she'd hoped for. She clicked open Bianca's email first.

She was coming. Stupid girl.

Bianca thought she was so pretty and perfect, didn't she? That no one could ever not love her. She'd never understood August's resentment towards her. A grown up not over the moon for her charms? Oh, how shocking!

But not as shocking as what August planned to show the little twit when she arrived. Bianca had to learn, sooner or later, that she couldn't have everything she wanted.

As her stepmother, August was determined to be the one to teach her that.

Ding-Dong.

The doorbell. Here he was. Right on time. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror above her computer, going into full woge and running her perfectly manicured fingers through her hair.

Strutting to the door, August opened it with an exaggerated flourish.

Carl Fieri stood on the front step, pale and trembling. He held his arms awkwardly. Clearly he'd been playing with fire again. Always trying to fight the urge.

August smiled at him. He always came crawling back to her. Always. He'd tried to stay away, thinking -silly boy- that he was in love with Bianca, but here he was. He was back. Her Daemonfeuer lover.

He looked over his shoulder. Always so scared someone would follow him. Somehow it never got old; August had always found his paranoia charming.

"Hello," she purred seductively. "Come in."

Carl entered, careful where he stepped on the newly polished marble floor.

"I'm glad you're here, baby." She reached out and stroked his clammy cheeks. "You couldn't have picked a better day. My husband won't be back for hours."

He shook his head and stepped back, brushing off her touch. "I don't want that. I told you I just wanted to buy some Jay; I'm trying to go clean, but I can't take it anymore... I'm in pain every minute of the day..." Carl bit onto his lower lip. "I just need some relief. And I don't know who else has a supply right now..."

"Baby," cooed August, closing the gab between them. "You know I won't take your money."

"Then there's no reason for me to be here."

"You don't want me?" She flipped some hair over her shoulder. "I can make your pain go away just as well as a dose of Jay can."

"No, I'm not doing this anymore. I don't love you."

"You love her?" August scowled. What did he want Bianca for? She was just a child, not an experienced woman like herself.

"You know I do."

"Well, you don't need to love me to give me what I want."

"You're disgusting."

"Then go."

He nodded. "I will."

"But you leave without this." August bent over, reached into her shoe, and pulled out a small see-through bag of Jay. "And you know my stepdaughter is never going to be allowed to see you. You'll suffer miserably and alone." She grinned at him, batting her eyes. "Have fun."

"Please just let me buy some," he begged her in a choked voice. "I don't have all the money now, but I'm good for it. Half up front. The rest by and by."

"I don't want your money," August said again. "And I don't want anything from you by and by. I want something right now."

"August, please..."

She reached out and started to unbutton his shirt. "Don't worry, sweetie, it'll be over before you know it." In more ways than one... "Burned flesh looks good on you, baby."

"August, please don't."

She pulled him to her and started to kiss his neck as she unfastened the remaining two buttons.

"I never wanted you," he choked.

"Oh, but I've always wanted you," she whispered. "And I'll always have you."

"I hate you."

"But your hate doesn't take away anything I want. Your beautiful mouth, your young body..."

Carl's eyes shone with tears. "I should have let the Grimm catch me and cut off my head."

"Hush, baby. Don't be so dramatic." She pressed her mouth against his in a rough kiss.

Gretel willed herself to stay calm as Sean Renard shut the door behind them. She was alone in an office now. His mother was a Hexenbiest; he could want revenge. If this was some trick, an attempt to attack her for what she'd done to his kind (Hansel would call suck tricks typical), this would be the time to go for it. The door was glass, and there were a lot of windows, but there were also plenty of blinds.

She wasn't usually this fragile, but this was about her parents -her mother- and for once in her life there was no one to hold her back. No one to try and convince her she didn't give a shit. Hansel didn't; she only pretended not to. Though sometimes she wondered how much of her brother's attitude was only pretend, too. To some extent, she knew he just wanted to keep himself from hurting.

How much pretending did they do for each other? Or themselves?

"First things first," Renard said, pressing his palm down on the side of the desk. "I need to know who you're working for. Before I divulge any information to you."

"I don't work for anybody," Gretel snapped, offended. "If you know so much about me and my brother, you know we only work for ourselves."

"No offers from the royal families? The Verrat loves its Grimms." He smiled bitterly. "Especially the ones that can deliver."

"What I have or have not been offered is none of your business."

"But you're not working for the Verrat or any royal house now?" He leaned forward, staring dead into her face.

Gretel half wanted to spit into his face, for being that close to hers so many times today without permission. "No."

"You realize I will find out if you're lying," he warned her. "It's just a matter of time." He pulled back. "And not a lot of it, either."

"What would lying get me?"

"Do you know who I am?"

She shrugged. "Zauberbiest."

"I asked who, not what."

Gretel's face betrayed her. In a good way this time. Renard was actually taken back. "You don't know. And I take it you don't know about Nick having the key?"

"What key?"

"If you're not after the key, then why are you here, with Nick, instead of killing Hexenbiests with your brother?"

Gretel didn't trust him enough to tell him her brother was missing -or worse. She didn't answer.

"Famous witch hunting team finally broke up?"

"What if we did?" She wasn't saying yes or no, she wasn't telling him anything he could use against her (or Hansel, wherever he was).

"Your mother sided with the Resistance," Renard said slowly, letting that sink in. "Your father, the Grimm, eventually joined her, leaving the Verrat."

Gretel felt weak at the knees.

"What I don't understand is why you hate Adrianna, but not your father. Grimms can be bad people, too."

"It wasn't a Grimm that left my brother -the only person I had left- with a disease that could kill him if he forgets, even one time, to take his injections," Gretel said darkly, folding her arms across her chest. "It wasn't a Grimm that forced him to eat by putting a knife to my throat."

Sean Renard's expression softened a little. "There are good Hexenbiests in the world, Gretel. And good Zauberbiests. Not as many as I wish I could say there were, being what I am. Not so many that I'd expect you to be proud to share even a fraction of our DNA, but enough that I'd think you and your brother could at least avoid crossing the line into genocide."

Gretel looked down at her boots.

"Gretel, look at me..." Renard waved his hand under her face, making it clear he expected her to obey.

She did so, but slowly.

"It just shows how powerful your mother really was, that you can woge at all," he told her. "The blood of a Grimm can take away that ability and all Hexenbiest powers. The fact that your father's DNA didn't overwhelm hers so significantly for that reason tells me something. It tells me the royal families will want you.

"If they don't have you yet, they'll want you desperately. More than they want Nick, and only slightly less than they want that damned key. And if they can't have you, they'll kill you. You'll have Reapers chasing you wherever you go."

Hansel had said that once: I don't think we're the hunters, Gretel. I think we're being hunted. She'd thought he was being paranoid because of a sugar spike at the time. Now she wasn't so sure. They had been hunted down as children, and young adults, relentlessly. Nick hadn't even seen a Reaper's sorry ass before he was a grown man.

"Do you know why they left us?" Gretel asked quietly.

"Who?"

"Our parents." Mine and Hansel's.

"The Verrat never forgave your father for leaving them. It was the ultimate betrayal. It was only a matter of time. Maybe your mother got wind of it before it happened."

"Before what happened?" Gretel swallowed hard.

"Gretel..."

"They're dead, aren't they?"

Sean Renard nodded.

"How?"

"Burning." Renard slid into a leather chair, shaking his head. "And hanging."

"Both?"

"They burned your mother, and hung your father."

We were wrong, she realized brokenly. Hansel and I were wrong about them all this time...

"In a few days time, expect a package," Sean Renard told her after a long pause. "From me. Its contents belonged to your mother. I'll send it to Nick's house. It's better if you have it. Adrianna gave it to my mother, but I have no use for it. If you're lucky, it might protect you."

"Why are you helping me?" asked Gretel, her brow furrowing.

"Because you look like Adrianna, a good friend in my mother's time of need. And you care about Nick." He folded his hands, intertwining his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "And for that reason, it's not currently in my best interests to see you dead. So accept my help and watch your back."

Carl had never hated himself more than that moment when August, finished with him for now, dressed in nothing but gray silk sheets, took a cigarette and pulled out a lighter from her nightstand drawer.

He couldn't believe he'd been so weak. So desperate for Jay that he would give into this. He hated August, stupid cheating whore that she was, but his self hatred ran even deeper. She'd used him, the way she always did when he begged her for Jay... However, he was the one who let himself be used.

Worse, he'd betrayed Bianca with a woman who was nothing next to her. His own beautiful Bianca who he wanted to tell everything and clean up his life for. Bianca, who could understand about everything, but would never be able to forgive him for this, if she knew. Even the best girl in the world had her limitations. And the best girl in the world was, of course, smart enough to know she deserved better.

"August?" called a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

Bianca! Carl jumped out of the bed, barely even noticing how happy August looked, puffing away on her cigarette. What the hell was Bianca doing here?

"Come innnnn," chimed August, in a sing-song tone, exhaling.

"Holy Jesus! Shit!" Carl dropped to the ground, fumbling to find his pants and throw them back on.

But it wasn't any use. A half-dressed Carl couldn't explain to a horrified Bianca, staring at him in heartbroken disbelief, what he was doing in August Applesmith's bedroom in the first place.

"Carl..." Her pretty white face crumpled. "How could you?"