A/N: And once more, I cannot praise her high enough for the stunning work she's doing, many, many thanks to MerlynPyndragon for her help as beta!


"Is this the tea my wife always gets? Are you really sure? I mean, you don't know how she's like if she doesn't get her tea." Bud Wurstner rolled his eyes, touching the black bag on the counter between them. "If this isn't the one, I don't know what to do. She's so nervous lately, you know? Trouble sleeping, having vivid dreams. All the stuff. Me and the kids, we are getting that like full time! Oblinger visited lately, and I tell you ..."

Monroe did his best to ignore the slide headache that suddenly kicked in on his right temple.

He liked Bud. The Eisbiber was a good guy, hard worker, fellow Timbers-fan and someone he could trust. Only his tendency to chatter was something that got on Monroe's nerves sometimes. And this time was such a time.

"I tell you, Oblinger wasn't all pleased." Bud shook his head, completely diverging from the topic they had before.

Monroe realized that he lost some time, that he hadn't gotten the complete story about Oblinger's visit at Bud's. But he could imagine what Oblinger had experienced.

"This is the tea Rosalee usually sells to your wife, Bud," Monroe answered, taking the full loop back. "I know that because I was in one room when Rosalee mixed it up as a special order for you wife, dude."

Bud looked up at him, silent for a moment. Then he took the bag and nodded. "Okay, well then ..." He turned, and Monroe felt bad.

"Oblinger, eh?" Monroe asked while he watched Bud walk up to the front door.

And it worked! The Eisbiber turned around again, making a huge gesture. "What I can tell ya? She's getting weirder and weirder every day!"

The door opened from the outside, but Bud was already on his way back to the counter again. "I tell ya! I've no idea what's going on with her. She was never that way before, and I've known her my entire life!"

A woman Monroe had never seen before entered the shop, closing the door before starting a tour.

Monroe looked down to Bud. "Rosalee knows about that?" he asked.

"I told her. And I think she was at my home one time," Bud answered. "Since then, I've been getting the tea."

So Rosalee mixed it especially for Bud? Maybe he should be jealous?

"It IS the tea Rosalee mixed," Monroe said again. "I'm sure of it."

Bud nodded, this time he looked a bit more content. "That's good to hear."

Monroe smiled.

"Hey, did you hear about the Timbers game next Sunday?" Bud changed the topic.

A Timbers game was always ... special, Monroe thought. But this news sounded weird. "They are on summer break," he said.

"They have some test games. The new coach wants it," Bud told him. "What about you? Are you coming?"

That was something, Monroe decided. Something he could look forward to. The question was, would he be able to go there?

"Maybe," he answered.

"You have to! I'll get us the tickets." Bud frowned. "By the way, what's up with Rosalee? Is she still recovering?"

Monroe smiled dryly. "She's good. On a little trip with Juliette, you know. Women's stuff, something about the wedding, I guess."

"So, Juliette will be the bridesmaid?" Bud guessed.

The unknown woman browsed through the shelves without paying too much attention to the chat the two men were having. But somehow Monroe got a bad feeling only by looking at her.

"Yeah, she will," he hesitantly nodded. "We just asked her and she said yes. Hopeful it won't be too stressful for her."

Bud nodded wisely. "Let's hope! That poor woman has been through enough!" He looked at his watch and then up again. "I have to go now. But don't forget: next Sunday, Timbers game! We're counting on you!"

Monroe was wondering if the Eisbibers really cared for him or if it was more about how he could look dangerous enough that no other fangroup would try to take their seats at the stadium.

Bud turned around and went to go, and bumped right into the stranger.

"Oh, excuse me, ma'am," he said, wogeing and blushing at once.

Monroe smirked a little.

The woman looked down at the little Eisbiber. "My fault," she said. And somehow Bud seemed to change without actually changing.

Monroe blinked. Bud was moving like a sleepwalker, his face barren of all expression.

Frowning, the Blutbad asked, "Everything okay?"

The woman looked at him, and smiled again. "Maybe," she said, dragging Bud aside so she could come up to the counter. "I'm looking for some herbs."

Bud stumbled more than walked to the door but left the shop before Monroe could go after him. Not that he could with a stranger inside the shop.

Maybe he should call Wu?

He dragged himself back to look at her and recalled her words. "Well, if you would like to give me the list I will get them for you," Monroe answered with another smile.

"Very well," she answered, taking a little sheet of paper where she wanted to leave her list on.

Her scent was strange, something Monroe had never smelled before. Sweet and herb at the same time, but with an underline that gave him some serious chills.

She gave him the sheet of paper back.

"Thank you," she said. "I have to go now. But ..."

"But?" Maybe he was a little weird himself today. But surely not the same way she was.

She smiled, a little like a sphinx.

Monroe did his best to smile back. The Blutbad inside him wanted to run, flee, leave as fast as possible and never come back. This woman was dangerous! Her scent told him, her smile told him, her gestures confirmed it. Serious danger, not a little next-door trouble. This scent said Death. And that was something, neither Monroe nor his second nature wanted have anything to do with.

"Give me a call, Blutbad," she smiled at him, turned and left the Spice Shop.

Monroe swallowed.

This wasn't good!


Nick still didn't know what to do. Christian had given him some details about the planned escape, but not enough to leave him alone. The little guy didn't show up last night, and now it was noon, the last try-on with the tailor for the suit he was supposed to wear tonight.

Said tailor did an amazing job over the past two days, and had nearly finished his work. There were only some last details to fix. But no needles everywhere anymore, and the trousers, vest and jacket looked amazingly good, Nick had to admit. He never had a custom-made suit before, and now he was surprised that he actually felt good wearing it.

"Really, you will steal the show from the premiere, you know that?" Eric, lounging on a divan, said and nodded, pleased.

Nick turned to one side, looking at his profile, then the other side. But he couldn't find anything to argue about besides that he still wore his boots and needed a shave.

After a knock the door opened and Nick froze, relieved but shocked at the same time, when he saw Christian entering. But how he looked!

A black eye and a huge bruise on his jaw, left arm in a Glisson's sling and some scratch marks on his hands and neck.

Eric suddenly stood up, astonished. "And what happened to you?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

Nick remembered to breathe and turned around himself, giving Christian a sympathetic glance.

"I'm sorry, your highness," Christian said and lowered his head, "but I fear I was robbed the other night."

"Robbed?" Eric echoed.

The tailor went off into the back room. Nick saw him closing the door and frowned.

Christian nodded but moaned a little afterwards. Holding his temple with the palm of his hand he tried a smile. "I fear the Mercedes was stolen from me while I was out on some errands the other night."

A stolen car?

Nick looked at Christian, still frowning. If his ability to read other people still worked, then he'd just seen the small man lying.

Eric didn't seem to notice. "The Mercedes? You mean your staff car? Who took it?"

Christian shook his head carefully. "I don't know. Never met the man before. After I came from the post office he came out of a dark alley and beat me down, took my keys and drove off," he explained.

Again the little voice inside him screamed a loud "Liar!" but Nick ignored it. "Have you been to the police?" he asked instead.

Eric turned around. "Very good, my dear, very good." Looking at Christian he asked: "Have you?"

Again a careful nod. "I reported the car stolen, yes. After I came from the hospital."

"So I assume that's the reason why you were missing yesterday?" Eric supposed.

"I'm sorry, your highness. I called from the hospital but ..."

"It's okay. I was only wondering," Eric interrupted the explanation. "Actually, you look like crap, my dear. But it's the right spirit that you came to me as quickly as you could."

Christian pulled a face but the prince didn't seem to see it.

Nick smirked.

So, whatever Christian had done to look the way he did now, it seemed important enough not to tell Eric. Perhaps it had something to do with the plan? Well, if he was supposed to fight his way to wherever he had to go, he would. He was ready and he wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

"Could you describe your attacker?" Eric wanted to know. "Could make the things easier for the police."

"Unshaved, bulky, blond hair." Christian shrugged and grimaced, holding his injured shoulder.

Pretty average, Nick thought. "Did you get a good look at him? Maybe the police could send you a scratch artist."

Christian looked at him as if he was seeing him for the very first time. "They already did, yes. And who are you?"

Nick remembered that they never met before in public and cleared his throat.

Eric seemed also to realize that there were two obviously strangers talking to each other. "Oh, you remember, we talked about him. This is my new security guard. Meet my private secretary, Nick."

Christian nodded. "Yes, I remember. So you are early. I just gave away the order for the renovation," he said. "Is your - was it your wife? - also here? She could make some suggestions about the colors and the furniture, I think."

Nick stepped back a little, mouth open but unable to answer.

He knew Christian wanted to warn him, but this topic in this environment still made him sick.

"She isn't. She has some last things to wrap up in the US," Eric explained. "But she will be here soon. Help for her is on its way. I only wanted Nick as fast as possible. He will guard me tonight for the first time to the opera."

Christian lifted his eyebrows. "Well, I hope you will enjoy the show then," he said with a little smile and came nearer. "I'm glad to meet you, Nick." Reaching his hand Christian glared at Nick. And Nick took the hand.

"Be ready!"

Nick nodded a little, his heart once more pounding so loud it was a miracle that Eric didn't hear it.

"I fear I distracted you, your highness. The meeting starts in a few minutes and I have some papers to sign for you," Christian said then, turning around. He nodded at Nick. "I'm sure we will work together well, Nick. Enjoy the opera tonight."

"He will, oh, he will," Eric said. With a sigh he went to the door. "Don't keep my father and the minister waiting. Nick, I leave you in good hands. My personal coiffeur will take care of you. And there are some shoes in the back room. Try to choose a pair which compliments your outfit. We will meet at the car tonight."

Christian gave him a little smile again before he followed the Royal, limping.

What the hell had happened?


Hank Griffin was lying on the bed in his cell at the second precinct, staring into thin air.

The last two months of his life were replaying over and over again he tried to figure out how he missed that his big love, the one he wanted to propose to, was a Wesen. Not to mention that she was not only Wesen, but also a relative to the burglar who kept Portland unsettled over the last six weeks. Until he and Renard entered the motel room and ...

There was another problem. Hank couldn't recall what exactly happened after he opened the door to the bathroom and the officers from the second precinct entered said bathroom with him sitting on the toilette seat and Constance's brother Remy dead in the bathtub.

Hank was sure his memory loss had something to do with Constance being Wesen. Maybe he really snapped for a second, maybe he really was Remy's killer. He thought he remembered a melee, but then his memory blurred out again until he found himself sitting on that damned toilette seat.

The gun – he was told it was his – was still in his hands. He'd shot it. But he also remembered the gun felt unfamiliar, not like his usual Glock. He asked several times to see the gun but his interrogator turned his request down. And they also forgot about him having the right to an attorney.

Hank still stared into the air when footsteps came up to his cell.

Where had he been wrong? What did he miss?

He didn't know. He only knew there was something going on, something was wrong, and he couldn't help but blame Constance. Meaning, Nick was dead because of a Wesen, now he was in custody because he'd killed another one.

"Griffin, you've a visitor," a voice told him.

Blinking Hank sat up, watching that small sergeant with the snarky humour, who always reminded him of Wu, opening the door for another man in uniform.

Another interrogation? Or did they finally get him an attorney? Was he being charged now?

The hallway to the door was pretty dark so Hank couldn't make out who was coming for him now. He was perplexed to finally see Wu, who was grinning at him.

"Sort of nice to meet you," the sergeant greeted him. "Now you cannot run from me. Maybe I should have tried this earlier, huh?"

Hank stared at the sergeant and thought of ignoring Wu completely. Until he realized that ignoring Wu wouldn't work at all.

"What do you want? Why you are here?" he asked instead.

Wu shrugged and leaned against the bars. "The captain sent me. He wanted to come himself but ... it's sort of complicated right now, you know. And don't give me that look! Renard is worried and he believes there's been some foul play."

"Renard is one of them, Wu! He would tell you anything to make you work for him!" Hank snapped.

Wu lifted his eyebrows. "One of them? One of whom?" he asked, only to shake his head a moment later. "Skip that! I'm not here to discuss your newly developed hate. I'm here because we all want to help you!"

"Who all? Monroe and the others? I'll give you some advice, Wu. Stay away from them, and take Juliette somewhere else before they can kill you two off like they killed Nick!"

Wu didn't blinked. "Nick's very much alive," he said.

"Nick is dead! He died nearly three months ago at the container yard. If he wasn't dead back then, he's now!" Hank stared angrily at the sergeant.

"Well, then I just got a call from heaven ... or hell? Who knows? Maybe cellphones are able to receive calls from the beyond these days ..."

"What?" Hank was confused. Finally he stood up and came over to the bars. "What are you talking about, man?"
Wu looked up at him, grinning. "Nick called last week. Well, not directly Nick, it was someone else who did the actual call, but he gave the phone to Nick. We all talked to him, Hank. He is pretty much alive, as hostage in Europe. And he needs all the help we can give him."

Nick, alive?

Hank stared down into Wu's eyes, trying to read a lie on the face of his coworker. But there was only excitement, and sorrows for him.

"You must be kidding!"

Nick had to be dead! They never found even a hair of him. Never! And the Wesen, all the stuff he heard after he came to the precinct the next day. Wu's on the edge, most likely losing his mind forever. And poor Juliette, all calm and tears and worried. They had never found anything from Nick after they found his cellphone, badge and gun.

"That's impossible!" Hank hissed, suddenly having trouble breathing.

"Nope, I talked to him. It was our Nick," Wu said. "And that's why I came here today. We need you back, Hank. So much happened since you got accused. And Nick will hopefully be free soon, then we all need you with us. We want to help you, but you have to help us too."

Nick alive ...

Hank stared again into thin air.

That changed a lot for him. Nick alive would mean he wasn't responsible, he hadn't failed his duty to be there for his partner. It would mean ... maybe Constance hadn't tricked him into this relationship.

"They refuse to send an attorney to me," Hank said. "I haven't spoken to anyone."

"I know." Wu smirked. "It's a little complicated. The captain's cousin is running the second precinct now, and he's also probably the one interrogating you. He never had a badge or even experience in police work. He came here, changing the rules and doing what he thinks is right. We need to change that."

Hank frowned. "Renard's cousin is the captain here?" he echoed.

Wu nodded. "Believe me, I've talked to a few fellas here, no one is really thrilled to have him. But the commissioner still thinks it's a good idea. We have to make him face the reality."

"How did this cousin end up as head of a precinct?" Hank asked.

"Keeping Portland weird. This is one of the mysteries we will find out later. The captain thinks it's probably a spell," Wu explained. "Are you in?"

Nick alive, and he having issues with his memory. Maybe he was Remy's killer, maybe not. But he wouldn't find out as long as he was in custody.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

Wu grinned. "That's my Hank!"


Eric barely looked up when the door to his office opened and Christian entered the room. Luckily the half-Maushertz was still at his desk when Eric had called him to come in.

Usually, he wanted to do everything according to his new property himself, but all this paperworks the human government wanted to get filled out was boring and unnerving in his eyes. In old times all of this wouldn't have been necessary, he knew. Only hundred years ago he could have claimed Nick as his own without getting any requests or orders to fill out.

Christian remained by the door, still a painful picture with all the bruises and his arm in a sling, but so far he had acted surprisingly tough for a Maushertz, even with his other half being a Royal.

"You called, your highness?" Christian asked after Eric kept silent, still rummaging through all the paperworks.

Frustrated, the Royal finally gave up. Leaning forward on his hands, he looked up and nodded. "I'm glad you're still around. I suppose you wanted to leave early and go to bed," he said, surprisingly sympathetic for his own taste.

Christian shrugged and winced immediately. Rubbing his injured shoulder he came a little closer. "I was about to call it a night, yes. But if you need me ..."

Eric sighed and started tapping all the official applications he required signing. "Indeed I need your help. Did you know what nonsense these people at the human government want to know for a simple legal alien assignment?"

One look in Christian's face told him he did, and Eric remembered the countless other times he had to deal with foreign affairs and Christian had to manage the paperwork.

He should probably give him a raise, Eric thought. A raise and a warning. He was well aware of Christian having contact with Sean in Portland. Not that often, to be true. One of his cousin Viktor's agents had reported the last time both men met and that was months ago. But one time the suspect, always the suspect.

"I will do that for you, your highness. Whatever you need." Christian bowed a little.

Eric looked at him again.

He trusted Christian, and he protected him back then after Viktor stated he had been in Portland instead of Venice for the weekend. Eric remembered Sean and Christian were classmates in elementary school. And he thought, after the fact that both men shared sort of the same path as being half Royals, they might be closer as it would be good for Christian. However, Eric had just gotten a call from the police. The Mercedes was found near an abandoned camp of the Schwarzwald-Roma. And they found a body, belonging to a Martin Meisner, whose appearance, as far as his passport could tell, looked astonishingly like the description of the attacker Christian had mentioned as the thief of the Mercedes.

Meisner was a well known member of the resistance, who had only shortly joined their forces and stumbled during his short career as a rebel and outlaw from one wrong turn to the next. That Meisner was the thief was clear to Eric. And, as dumb as Meisner might have been during his short life, no one would attack their own agents. So he had the proof that Christian wasn't a traitor.

"Very well," Eric stepped back from the desk and headed to the safe to get some money for the evening. "Too bad you are not interested in the opera," he said, opening the heavy door after typing the code to unbolt it. "I would have bought you a card for tonight's premiere. La Traviata is a good one for starters."

He didn't see Christian turning his head to him after he opened the safe, he didn't notice how Christian's eyes widened after he saw the little wooden box inside. He also didn't see how the face of the Half-Maushertz went ashen.

Eric was about to take a money bundle when the door opened again and the butler came in. "There's a call at the living quarters of your highness," he said.

Eric frowned. "Excuse me?" He turned around, forgetting about the money.

"What I said. A call on the private line, your highness." The servant bowed.

Eric frowned. "Who?" he asked.

It should be known that tonight was the premiere. No one in their right mind would distract him with a call.

"Your cousin, sir," the servant told him.

Christian looked quite amused but didn't move a muscle.

"Which one? I have more than a dozen." And the most of them weren't a big loss if something were to happen to them ...

"Prince Nicolaus is calling from St. Petersburg, your highness. What would you have me do?"

Eric startled.

Wait a minute. Didn't he just send Nicolaus' brother Vlad to St. Petersburg to observe the rumour of an imprisoned Grimm there?

"Can't is wait?" Eric asked.

For his father, he would likely leave or miss the opera. For Nicolaus? Most unlikely!

"The prince said no. He wanted to talk to you, and he is very determined," the servant told him.

Eric exchanged a look with Christian before he started rolling eyes. "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" He winked with two fingers and marched to the door. "You'll be alright in here? Won't take too long," he told Christian.

"I'm fine. Thanks, your highness," Christian answered.

Well then ...

"Move on!" Eric ordered the servant and followed.

His private and his business lines were different, so he had to go upstairs for private calls. It was only because of the size of this castle that it was impossible to draw both lines together. Not that he hadn't tried before.

Following the servant, heading upstairs a little later and finally entering his personal rooms in one of the towers, he realized once more how big this castle was. And that he had to work on this little problem with the telephone. It was nonsense what he did here. It would have been so much easier if Nicolaus had called him on his business line or his cellphone.

Eric felt anger swelling inside him. Nicolaus better have something important to tell, otherwise it may be his last call entirely.

In his private rooms he took the first phone he could lay his hands on and said, a little breathless: "I hope this worth it. I am about to leave."

"Oh, it is, my dear cousin," told him the rusty voice of his cousin with a heavy Russian accent. "I'm calling to warn you. You may be crown prince, but you are not immortal. Next time you send an assassin to kill me, find a better one!"

Eric frowned, recalling what he knew about the situation in St. Petersburg.

Nicolaus had claimed against his brother Vlad that he was the owner of a Grimm. Vlad had nothing better to do than to tell Eric. Eric sent Vlad to Nicolaus' castle to find proof and, if there really was a Grimm, also find out where this Grimm was coming from and who it belonged to. He never sent an assassin to St. Petersburg! That was ridiculous!

"Excuse me?" he asked. "What assassin?"

"Didn't you sent Vlad here?" Nicolaus asked, voice raised.

Yes, he did. He did more, he gave Vlad permission to use his private jet.

"Vlad came to me, telling me you could have something that definitely did not belong to you. I sent him your way to prove what you claimed. I never sent an assassin! If I wanted you dead, there would be much easier, and cheaper ways, to get rid of you," Eric finally said.

"I don't believe you!" Nicolaus screamed.

Eric didn't react.

"You sent my brother here to spy on me!" Nicolaus said.

"That is close enough to the truth, yes," Eric answered.

"And now you are telling me you never gave the order to assassinate me?" Nicolaus continued.

Eric rolled his eyes.

Why oh why was he, besides Sean, the only member of this family with a working brain and enough functioning cells in this brain? How does one misunderstand the order: "Find me evidence!"?

"I didn't," Eric said. "Ask Vlad, he will tell you the truth, especially with me on the line. I suppose he's somewhere near you."

Okay, Vlad was as dumb as bread and had the intelligence of an amoeba but he never received any killing order, and so he should recall it himself. Whatever he was up to had nothing to do with Eric.

"I fear that's not possible," spitted Nicolaus' voice, full of triumph and hate. "I am standing right above my brother, Cousin Eric. Right above him ..."

"Well, then I suggest you ask him," Eric said, still in the dark about what was wrong in the picture. "What the hell you are talking about here?"

"So it was Vlad's idea to kill me? To whom you will sell that as the truth?"

"It IS the truth!" Eric took some deep breaths. And suddenly the truth clicked in. "You didn't kill your own brother, did you? What the hell you were thinking?"

"Of course I killed him! He was about to kill me!" growled Nicolaus.

Eric closed his eyes when a sharp pain slid through his temple.

Yes, Vlad and Nicolaus wasn't exactly close. He thought this was the main reason why Vlad came to him after Nicolaus taunted him. But he had never expected they would go so far. In fact, he had never spent a second thought about their feelings for each other.

"Now what?" Again there was triumph in Nicolaus' voice. "Will you still lie to me? You sent my brother here to kill me!"

Eric massaged the still pounding temple with two fingers, eyes closed. "Idiots!" he finally said. "Both of you!"

And for a second there was refreshing silence on the line.

"What?" Nicolaus yelled then. "I'm an idiot? Because I got rid of the killer you sent for me? Very classy, Eric!"

"I NEVER sent your brother to kill you. I sent him because you lied to him in the first place. You told him you held the Portland Grimm, and that's a lie." Eric's voice sounded very controlled now.

Some days he envied his father for being no longer in the mental state to control the family. As much as Eric wanted the power, he really was tired of some parts of his own blood. To play with Sean was amusing, especially because Sean wasn't in the position to harm him. But Sean was intelligent. True, he killed their cousin two years ago – a shame – but Eric was also a little thankful for this as said cousin tried his very best to claim some power. But Vlad and Nicolaus? That was another story.

"I taunted Vlad, that's all." Suddenly the voice sounded soft. "I didn't expect him to run straight to you, telling you."

"Well, he did. And I didn't want to risk any police on any of our properties. So I gave Vlad permission to use my private jet and check out your castle for a Grimm. I knew you don't have the Portland Grimm, but you could have taken another one. And I didn't want trouble. You hear me?"

Still Nicolaus was very calm. Probably he started to realize what he had done.

"How do you know?" Nicolaus finally asked.

That took him a long time!

"Because I have the Portland Grimm. He just started to work for me." Eric inhaled deeply. "And you get better rid of the body before police show up at your place. And, just in case you really have abducted another Grimm, make sure he's not owned by anybody causing trouble to the family. If you don't, what I suggest is that you'd better think about what you just did. I won't forget this, cousin Nicolaus, I won't! And now excuse me, the opara will be starting soon."

Eric ended the call. His hands were shaking and for a moment he wanted to smash the phone into the next wall.

Idiots! Altogether idiots! Nicolaus for killing his brother, and Vlad that he wasn't prepared for this.

Eric needed a moment before he finally put the phone back on its station and left his private rooms again to march back to his office.

Why on earth he was cursed with this family? Why did he have to think for all of them?

When he returned to his office he found Christian sitting at his desk, head bowed above the paperwork for legalizing the Grimm. And, Eric realized just now, his safe was still open, but nothing seemed changed. The money, the documents, the little wooden box, all was still in there, in the same spots he left them.

Eric smiled at his secretary. "I know why I can trust you, you know? You may only be a bastard but you are loyal."

He didn't see the drop of sweat running down Christian's face, and he ignored the little shaking of the hands of his secretary ...