Nick glanced around the shop in bemusement. He'd been expecting something a bit more... archaic? Old fashioned? Rustic? The Wesen world had always seemed so steeped in tradition, but the shop Monroe had directed him to appeared more like a modern-day drugstore or pharmacy, complete with whitewashed walls and harsh fluorescent lighting.

"Hey, can I help you?" inquired the fellow behind the counter, a shortish, dark-haired guy with a thick Brooklyn accent and a strangely smarmy attitude about him.

"Yeah, a friend recommended this place, said I could find what I was looking for," Nick replied.

"Really?" The guy grinned toothily. "What is it I can get for a new customer?"

"Wolfsbane."

The man's grin grew simperingly apologetic. "I'm afraid we're fresh out of wolfsbane, my friend. Perhaps I can interest you some valerian, it works great for insomnia."

Nick's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You sure you don't have any wolfsbane? You wouldn't happen to have a stash laying around so you can, I don't know, gouge Wesen terrified of the Blutbad attacks?"

The shopkeeper's eyes widened, and his smile vanished as his face morphed to form rat-like features. Nick smirked. "Yeah, I thought as much," he remarked.

"You're a Grimm!" the Reinigen said faintly, backing up until his back collided with a shelf.

"Tell me something I don't know," Nick muttered. "Now, do you have any wolfsbane or not?"

"Yes, yes, of course, just please don't hurt me!" babbled the shopkeeper, stumbling towards a back room. Nick felt slightly guilty about taking advantage of the guy's fear of Grimms, but his guilt was balanced by the fact that the guy was also a creep who was taking advantage of the Blutbad scare to make a killing (the pun was terrible, but apt).

Glancing out the front window of the shop, Nick noticed a dark SUV (with tinted windows) parked across the street, occupied by at least two men who seemed to be looking everywhere but at the store. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt a surge of genuine anger. It looked like the same SUV he'd noticed cut off a sedan trying to make a red light - all the way back near the precinct.

"Here you are. This should be enough for whatever you have in mind," the Reinigen said anxiously, handing over a small white paper bag. "That'll be fifty-four dollars and ninety-five cents."

Nick shot him another glare.

The Reinigen laughed nervously; his eyes darted here and there. "Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying. I have to make a living, you know. For you, since you're a Grimm, and recommended by a friend and all, it's a round thirty."

Nick sighed, but pulled the cash from his wallet and handed it over. "Oh, by the way, if I find out you've cheated me, or that you're up to anything you shouldn't be, the NYPD will be all over this place. You never know what illegal substances a place like this might be hiding, after all."

"No, no, no, I'd never cheat a Grimm! And my shop is clean, I swear! I don't sell anything but the good stuff! And no Jay, either! I swear on my grandmother's grave! I don't need any more trouble with the cops," the man pleaded.

"Is there a back way out of here?" Nick asked pleasantly, with one last glance towards the front window and his mysterious followers.

"Yeah, yeah, just back there!" The Reinigen gestured vaguely towards the rear of the store.

The Grimm flashed a brilliant smile as he picked up his bag of wolfsbane. "Thanks."

As he stepped outside into the back alley, Nick had half a mind to pay a visit to the guys in the SUV, just to see who they were and why they were following him. The more prudent part of him urged him to remember that discretion was the better part of valor and just give them the slip. His decision was made for him, however, when he heard a loud crack and felt a sharp pain. Darkness swirling before his eyes, he stumbled into a wall as he plucked at the dart that had pierced his skin.

The last thing he knew before he collapsed to the pavement was the sound of nearby footsteps and a distant voice speaking in a foreign language, but he couldn't make out the words. Nick felt hands grabbing him. Dimly, he tried to struggle, to fight back, but the sedative in the dart relentlessly dragged him into unconsciousness.

~o0o~

Nick slowly clawed his way back to wakefulness. His head throbbed like a blacksmith was pounding away at an anvil inside it, and it quickly became obvious that Nick was tied to a chair. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in the middle of a pitch black room lit only by a single brilliant light which was shining painfully in his face. Water dripped nearby, lending to the decidedly creepy atmosphere.

"Il est réveillé," someone said. Nick grimaced, testing his bonds. They seemed secure and not likely to fail without significant struggle on his part.

"Ah, good, our guest is awake!" a second voice, heavily accented, exclaimed with faux cheer. He sounded French, maybe Swiss. Nick wasn't exactly a language expert, though with everything that had happened to him lately, he was beginning to think that he'd better brush up. If he survived this, at any rate.

"I hope you realize that you just kidnapped a police officer." Nick squinted against the bright light, grimacing against both it and the headache.

That elicited a laugh from several different sources surrounding him. "You are far from home, Detective Burkhardt. You have no friends here who will come looking for you, nor indeed have any idea how to find you. Do any of them even know what you are?" The English-speaker laughed sharply. "Now, if you want to live, you will do as I say."

Anger shot through Nick, clearing his head of the lingering effects of the sedative. "Oh, I can hardly wait to hear what you want," he bit out sarcastically. "Hey, out of curiosity, were you guys the ones who killed the guy at the church, made it out to be a Blutbad attack? Maybe lure me away from the cops so you could take me out?"

His captors exchanged a few words in French, followed by some mocking laughter. "My associates say that you are smarter than you look," their leader said in amusement. "But do not try to change the subject, Detective Burkhardt. You were given an item, a key, containing a map. Please, do not try to deny it, it will only waste both our time. We know you are the keeper of this. You will tell us where it is, and then we will let you go," his captor said in a tone that sounded almost reasonable.

"No, you won't," Nick contradicted him, his lips stretching into a smile devoid of amusement. The key. It had been entrusted to him by his aunt before she died, along with a warning to tell no one of its existence. A key, and a map, his mother later told him, to a trove containing some powerful artifact that would allow those who possessed it to rule the world. This stank of the Verrat. He didn't know a lot about the Seven Royal Families, but what he did know wasn't very pleasant. "Even if I knew where this 'key' thing was, you wouldn't let me go. As it is," he shrugged as well as his bonds would allow, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

His captor sighed in resignation. "Very well, Detective Burkhardt, as you wish. We shall simply have to do this the hard way." He chuckled as he came closer. "I am sure you are familiar with serum exomologesis, which forces certain types of Wesen to confess their sins. While we do not have such a potion for your kind, we can make do with less esoteric science. I am afraid, mon ami, this will likely be quite painful for you."

At that moment, a phone rang in the darkness.