"I will give thee a coat and a cloak, which during this time thou must wear. If thou diest during these seven years, thou art mine; if thou remainest alive, thou art free, and rich to boot, for all the rest of thy life."
- Bearskin

Juliette took a moment to watch Nick sleep before she left the house. She didn't enjoy early morning surgeries, but it meant that her afternoon would be open. And she had a feeling it was going to be one of those days.

She grabbed some coffee and headed out, but as soon as she put on her seat belt, her body tensed. She didn't know why, but something felt wrong, like someone was looking over her shoulder.

She shook it off; after all, she had a sick cat named Tilly waiting for her.

Hank hadn't slept much.

Hell, he hadn't slept at all.

He'd worked serial cases before. With a Grimm as a partner, he'd seen more than his fair share of grisly crime, but the Tally Maker case was something else. For one thing, the unsub had dropped bodies on every continent, all within the last year. Hank couldn't think of any other serial case with that kind of geography.

Then there was the murders themselves: brutal yet precise with a substantial amount of overkill, followed by tallying the victim in their own blood. The most recent victims had all been in the United States.

So by the time he arrived at the station, he was tired and wired.

"Rough night?" Wu asked.

"I've had worse," Hank replied. "You see Nick?"

"Yeah, he's talking with your runaway before the feds take him and his mom into protective custody."

"That's happening already?"

"Apparently being the only witness in an international serial case makes the feds come running. Even had all the paperwork in order."

"That's good news for the kid," Hank said. "We got anything else today? Body? Another riot? Volcanic eruption?"

"Actually, no. Quiet all last night. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need the caffeine train."

Nick and Renard joined Hank.

Renard said, "Luckily, Ripley Meador's mother isn't concerned about your conversation with her son. Do either of you want to tell me why she's worried about protective custody preventing them from having salamanders?"

"Ah, the latest snack food," Hank replied.

"Do I want to know?" Renard asked.

"Ziegevolk snack. Prevents volatile emotions in people around him," Nick said.

"That almost makes sense," Renard replied. He dropped his voice, "Look, the FBI has jurisdiction on this case."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" Hank asked.

"But we need to look into this."

"Any particular reason?" Nick asked.

"The Tally Maker had a victim in Germany named Isaac Hoffman, and another in Russia, Alexander Golov. Both were members of prominent families."

"And?" Nick asked.

"Prominent Wesen families," Renard continued. "Two Wesen victims is one thing. But you add Maxwell Meador, and that makes three."

"Out of sixteen," Hank pointed out.

"Hard to tell if that's coincidence or not," Nick added. "Not like there're Wesen census numbers."

"That's true," Renard said. "But I don't think we should dismiss it as a coincidence yet. I haven't been able to find anything else out about the other victims, but I've put in a few calls."

Renard's phone ran.

"It might be prudent to enlist Rosalee and Monroe for help," Renard suggested. "I'll be coordinating for most of the day, so keep me posted."

"You think he's got something?" Hank asked.

"Could be. But it's not like there's a test to see if someone was Wesen. And even if all the victims are... that doesn't mean it's something we should be dealing with."

"You thinking the Tally Maker is another Grimm?"

"What? No," Nick replied. "No. I mean, I guess it's possible, but even if this guy is... I don't go around beating people to death and marking out tallies in their blood. Being a Grimm doesn't give you a pass on sixteen serial murders."

"Huh," Hank said. "Both of us have... tallied a few off the books."

"To save lives."

"Yeah, we know that. But from the outside looking in, who could tell?"

Nick shook his head. "No, no way. What we do and what this guy does? Not the same. And besides, we haven't even proven this has anything to do with Wesen yet, so let's just take this one step at a time, okay?"

"All right," Hank replied. "Where do we start?"

Nick said, "If Ripley Meador wasn't the fifteenth victim, somebody was. Maybe we can figure out who by starting with the other US victims."

"Let's split them up. I'll take Maddox Thrasher, Alexander Kincaid, and Jessica Kozlowski."

"That leaves me with Ingram Thibodeau and Denise Buckner," Nick said. "I'll put a call in to Monroe, see if he can help us out."

"Are you all set, Doctor Silverton?" asked Ralph, one of the technicians. His voice sounded more hoarse than usual.

"Yeah, thanks," she replied. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine, just allergies," he said. "Doctor Wilson asked me to see if you needed anything after your surgery today... he needs me to turn over the room for his surgery before he gets back from lunch."

"I'm done with the room," Juliette replied. "Thanks, Ralph."

She went back to her office and was surprised that it was nearly one o'clock. No wonder Ralph was so anxious to turn over the room.

There it was again, that feeling. Her skin pricked up; someone was watching her.

She glanced around. She checked the window. She even looked down the hall. No one was there. No one was around. So why did she feel like someone was looking over her shoulder?

She checked her schedule to find her entire afternoon open, short of an emergency call.

At the very least, she had the hour for lunch. So she grabbed her cell phone.

"Rosalee? It's Juliette. I know it's a little late, but I was wondering if you had eaten lunch yet."

"I think I got something," Hank said. "Maddox Thrasher was an apothecary. He worked in an herb shop in Kansas City. Sounds kinda like what Rosalee does."

"Yeah, but herbalists aren't limited to the Wesen community," Nick replied.

"Alexander Kincaid was an accountant in Milwaukee with no record. He had no family except for his girlfriend, Joanna Meyer. Jessica Kozlowski was a traveling performer."

"Traveling as in...?"

"Circus," Hank said. "Rap sheet for petty theft. But that's all I got on her."

"Ingram Thibodeau was a nurse, studying to be a doctor," Nick said. "And Denise Buckner worked as a chef. Neither of them had a record. Found a few local news articles on Thibodeau. Apparently she rescued three kids from a car at the bottom of a lake."

"That mean something to you?"

"Most people couldn't've managed the swim down and back, let alone with three kids. But some Wesen can swim fast or have expanded lung capacities for swimming underwater," Nick said. "Again, it's not proof. But it's something."

"The profile for the Tally Maker says it's likely he's using his victims as surrogates. The geography is all messed up, and the victims range between twenty and thirty-eight. Men and women. All different races. The only real consistency is the M.O. and the signature, the tally marks."

"And the weapon," Nick added. "All the victims were beaten then stabbed with the same knife."

"So, what do we do if we want to confirm these victims are Wesen? Is there a blood test or something?"

"No, as far as I know, the only way to be sure is to see them woge, and to do that, they need to be alive."

"You think we could convince their next of kin to tell us?"

"You and me? No. The Captain's right, we need to get Rosalee and Monroe on this."

As Nick gathered his coat, he said, "Before we go, I'll ask the Captain if he could call in a favor, see if Interpol has any aliases for us to look into."

Hank received a text as they approached the Tea and Spice Shop.

"The Captain got us some names," Hank said as he crashed head long into a passerby. "Sorry ma'am." The woman didn't reply.

"Names?" Nick prompted.

"E. Pike Millard and Vincent Stringer are both known aliases associated with the case, but there are no photos or video clips."

"Still, that's something," Nick said as he opened the door of the shop. "A place to start."

Rosalee was mixing something for a customer, but Monroe was waiting for them in the back room with Juliette.

"Hey," Nick said before giving her a kiss hello. "You're here."

"Yeah, I had lunch with Rosalee. And my afternoon was open."

"We could use all the help we can get," Hank said.

"Yeah, Rosalee filled me in a little on the situation. And I gotta say, we might not have much luck. Even if we can track down family members and confirm they're Wesen, that doesn't mean the victim was Wesen, too. And then there's the whole code of silence thing, which won't be much help."

"Code of silence?" Juliette asked.

"A kind of unspoken rule. You never reveal the identity of a fellow Wesen after they're dead, unless the circumstances are really, really, you know, dire."

"Why not?" Hank asked.

"Part of keeping ourselves hidden from people like this guy right here," Monroe indicated Nick. "Historically, at first, Grimms just hunted down Wesen who caused problems. Murder, mayhem, that kind of thing. But over time, the really cold-blooded Grimms started to think that they could prevent it in the future."

"You mean by wiping out whole species," Nick said. "You're talking about the Endezeichen."

"Yeah. They started off as a sort of eugenics movement. I mean, not any eugenics movement went off any better. I mean, yeah, those were a nightmare, too. Anyway, the point is that there was a time when certain parties wouldn't just hunt and kill whoever was killing or raiding or causing mayhem. They'd take out the whole family. Anyone in the lineage, even those who married into it. Sometimes whole villages. Nasty stuff."

"Certain parties?" Nick asked.

"Sometimes Grimms, but some Wesen were employed to do the same thing. Depending on the location, the time period. Interesting fact about the Roman Empire – " Monroe said.

"Right, so because of these mass murderers," Nick cut him off, "people stopped identifying fellow Wesen after death. For safety."

"Pretty much. Although now of days it's just considered general courtesy."

"So there's no one to keep track of that stuff?" Juliette asked. "Don't you have a committee or something?"

"Council. The Wesen Council, what about it?" Monroe asked.

"If a serial killer was targeting people who could be Wesen, would the council help us?" Nick asked. "Right now, the FBI and Interpol can't identify a victim pattern. But they don't know about Wesen. If that's the missing link, maybe a specific species, then it'd be just what we need to nail this guy."

"I dunno Nick, that's a long shot," Monroe said. "I mean, sure, they've warmed up to you as a Grimm who happens to be friendly to the Wesen community, but this?"

"We'll take a maybe at this point," Hank said. "We think the killer is after that teenager, Ripley. His father was one of the victims."

"So, what, you think all the victims are Ziegevolk?" Monroe asked. "I mean, that's what he was, right?"

"At this point, we don't know. You think you could talk to Rosalee about this? Maybe she could contact the council for us."

"We can ask, but, honestly, Nick, if there was a serial killer targeting Wesen, the council would already know about it," Monroe replied. "And they might not want your help, with, you know, dealing with it."

A cell phone rang.

"It's mine. It's work," Juliette said. "I've gotta go."

Less than thirty minutes later, Hank and Nick left the Spice Shop to follow up an alert on a lead: the name Pike Millard had come up on a rental car, picked up in California over a week ago.

They didn't even get to the car before a second alert came in.

"Whoa, hold on," Nick said. "Vincent Stringer checked into a hotel."

"When?"

"According to this report, his credit card was run less than an hour ago," Nick said.

"Is it me, or does that sound too good to be true?"

"Maybe we're just lucky."

"We're never lucky."

Juliette ducked back into her office. "Steve, I got called in for another appointment. Do you have the paperwork?"

Steve shook his head. "Sorry. Who called you?"

"Megan," she replied.

"She went for a smoke," Steve replied. "Back parking lot."

"Megan smokes?" Juliette asked.

Steve shrugged.

Juliette headed to the back door, but before she could open it, she stopped. That feeling... someone was watching her. Her hand hesitated over the door handle. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Megan was over by her car. It didn't look like she was smoking.

After two steps, Juliette found a knife at her throat.

"Don't worry, Megan's fine," someone whispered in her ear. "Not her fault. But I need to borrow you for a moment."

Hank and Nick arrived at the Deluxe.

"Portland PD," Hank said. "We're looking for a dangerous criminal using the name Vincent Stringer."

"Room five oh four," the receptionist said. "But, uh, I didn't see him. Just his wife."

"Sorry, his what?" Nick asked.

"His wife checked them in. She said he was out in the car. She had the credit card and everything, but I didn't see Vincent himself." The receptionist passed off a room key card. "If that's important."

"Do you know if they're still in the building?" Nick asked.

"They must be. Just saw her going up about ten minutes ago."

"Thank you," Hank said.

The two detectives sped up, rushing to the fifth floor.

They knocked on room 504. No response.

"Vince Stringer! This is Portland PD. Open up!" Nick said.

Hank swiped the key card, letting Nick lead them into the room. It was empty.

"Damn," Hank said.

The room phone rang.

Nick answered it. "Hello?"

"Am I speaking with one of the detectives looking for a serial killer?" a woman's voice replied.

"This is Burkhart."

"Ah, Nick, isn't it?"

"Who is this?"

"I'm who you're looking for. And I've been looking for you."

"So you want to meet?"

"Yes."

Nick nodded. "Name the place."

"I hope you don't mind, but a person in my position needs some sort of... assurance. An escape hatch, if you will."

"What does that – " Nick began.

"Nick? Nick! Don't listen – " Juliette yelled.

"Juliette?"

"She's fine and will stay that way so long as I can safely leave our meeting."

"If you hurt her – "

"I have no intention of harming her."

"Where is she?" Nick demanded.

"She's safe. Unharmed. And she will remain that way. If you want verification, you could send your partner for her while you and I meet."

"What?"

"She's in the storage place down the street from her veterinary hospital. Unit one-one three four. You and me? We meet at your house. I'm almost there. Don't keep me waiting."

Nick took a black and white unit from the local patrol while Hank took the car to the storage place.

His heart hammered hard in his chest as he parked across the street from his house.

He should've known. They put an alert on two aliases of an internationally known serial killer, and less than an hour later, they get a hit? Of course it was a distraction!

He took a breath outside his own front door before stepping inside.

"Unit one-one three four," Hank said to the desk clerk. "Take me there, now!"

"Do you have a warrant?" the clerk asked.

"I said, take me there right now!"

The door was unlocked, but otherwise everything was in order. Nothing was broken or out of place.

"Detective Burkhardt?" a woman said from his sofa. "Glad you made it."

"If you're looking for the kid, you're out of luck," Nick said.

"I am here about the boy," she replied. "Do sit down."

Nick didn't oblige her. "He's long gone. You'll never get to him."

Unit eleven thirty-four was a medium-sized walk-in unit.

"I can't just open a unit!" the clerk yelled. "You need a warrant!"

"Listen," Hank said. "Can you hear that?"

The sound of desperate movement echoed from within: a muffled whisper, a groan.

"That's a woman in there," Hank said. "Now open the is damn door right now!"

The flabbergasted clerk grabbed some nearby bolt cutters and removed the padlock.

"I'm not here for the kid," the woman said. "I'm here about the kid."

"What's your name?" Nick asked.

"Call me Susan."

"Susan. Bit mundane compared to the Tally Maker."

"The Tally Maker is a work of fiction."

Nick's brain stopped at her response. All the profiles on this killer suggested someone intelligent enough not to get caught, yet she left a discernable signature at every crime scene. That usually translated to an underlying pathology, a compulsion, but nothing about this woman in front of him fit with any of that.

"Your work of fiction," Nick said.

"No, detective, not mine, and there's not a whole lot of time."

"Time for what?"

"To figure out what the hell is going on."

"You're a serial killer. That's what's going on."

"You got that kid to talk," she said. "Three other police officers pulled him – "

"Ripley," Nick said. "His name is Ripley."

"Ripley, then. They arrested him, held him overnight, but none of them figured out who he was. Yet you managed to. You got him to talk and simultaneously quelled an outbreak of riots."

"If you're expecting me to curtsey, you got another thing coming."

"Serial killers are sloppy because they're filling a need. Whatever their reasons, it's deeply personal for them, one way or another."

"So, what, you're a new kind of serial killer? Above it all?"

"No. I'm not filling a need. I'm filling my bank account. I'm not a serial killer, just well-employed."

Nick let out a laugh that had nothing to do with humor. "Right, and the signature you leave behind at crime scenes? That's just – "

"Part of the job," she replied. "An extra, if you will. The Tally Maker is a fictional character designed by my employer."

"Why would you sell out the person paying you?" Nick asked. "This is just some game you're playing."

"I would sell them out if the people paying me didn't pay me enough for what they're asking."

Nick had waited for a sign of a woge: a flutter, a movement, but there was nothing. She hadn't budged and inch.

He drew his gun.

"What are you?" he asked.

"Just a hired gun," she said. "A violent and savage one, certainly, but a hired gun none the less."

"No, I mean, what are you? Siegbarste? Drang-Zorn? Hundjager? Raub-Londor? Schakal?"

She stared Nick down with her light brown eyes. "If that's some kind of code, I'm not, how shall we say, in the know," she replied. "But I've heard something like those words before. I see I'm not wrong to leave this with you. Maybe you can figure it out."

Nick shook his head and trained his gun on her. "There's no way you could take out a Ziegevolk without being some kind of Wesen yourself. Or a Grimm."

The words passed her by like a foreign language. Whoever this woman was, she was not part of the Wesen community. She stood up.

"You think you can just leave?"

"You can shoot me, of course," she replied. "But what evidence is there that I'm anything more than an anonymous tipster?"

"You kidnapped my girlfriend!"

The unit was filled with dozens of file boxes. In the back, an old-school recording was tapped down, playing and replaying the same five-minute audio loop.

"It sounded like a person," the clerk said. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Because they wanted us to come here first," Hank replied. "I'm looking for a woman, early thirties. Dark hair and eyes. Her name is Juliette. Did you see anyone matching that description?"

The clerk shrugged. "Dozens of people come in and out of here – "

Hank interrupted, "Get me all of your security footage. I want the number on every box that was rented out in the past three days, starting with the most recent. NOW!"

As the clerk scrambled, Hank texted Nick.

Nick checked his phone. The message read: black hole.

In one smooth motion, he crossed the room and grabbed the lapel of Susan's shirt, yanking her up to her toes.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"You mean your girlfriend?" she asked.

"Where is she?"

"Safe."

"Where?"

"I'll take you to her."

"Where?!"

"She's safe. And I can take you to her. You can even bring your gun."

"And what's the catch?"

"The catch is that once you're there, you'll need to give her a hand, affording me a chance to escape."

"Captain," Hank said into his phone. "We need a team down at the Oakland Storage Extras on Third Street. Wu and a few unis could take over."

"What's going on?"

"We crossed paths with someone who led us to a bunch of paperwork. Looks like a white-collar paper trail. But Nick needs me right now."

"Text me the address, I'll meet you there."

"Captain, I'm not sure if – "

"Hank, you wanna keep this quiet? I get that. But that means you need all the help you can get without raising any flags. That means me. Text me the damn address."

Captain Renard arrived at Fifty-one fifty-three Oak Leaf Ridge. It was a small house for sale, about ten minutes from Nick's house. The property was supposed to be vacant, but the power was on.

Hank's vehicle pulled up behind his.

"What's the situation?" Renard asked.

"The Tally Maker kidnapped Juliette. She set up a decoy and dragged Nick here. I can't get him on the phone, but his GPS tracked here."

"What?"

Hank shook his head. "I don't know."

"I called for an ambulance," Renard replied. "Let's hope we don't need it."

"What happened to keeping things quiet?"

Renard didn't respond, so Hank led him in, kicking the door down.

"Holy – " Renard breathed out.

Juliette and Nick were both manually ventilating people strapped to hospital beds.

"Thank God!" Juliette yelled. "We need a hand, and please tell me one of you can get a signal!"

"Yeah, I just made a call outside," Renard replied. "What do you need?"

"Ambulances. Six people. All were given high doses of opioids or sedatives. Those who were sedated are breathing on their own, but they might not be for long," Juliette said. "So we need counter agents. NOW! Call them NOW!"

"I got nothing," Hank said.

"Gotta be a cell phone blocker," Renard said. "Look, I'll get help, but you three need to get your story straight before the cavalry arrives."

He ran out the door.

"Where's the Tally Maker?" Hank asked.

"Don't worry about that, take this over," Juliette said, handing off a ventilator bag.

Hank grabbed it and followed what Nick was doing. One, two, squeeze. One, two, squeeze. "What the hell is this?"

"A distraction," Nick replied. "I could've taken her down, but if I did – "

"One of these people would be dead," Hank completed. "Yeah, I get it. You know who these people are?"

Nick replied, "According to the Tally Maker? Victims she refused to kill."

"What?"

"We can't worry about that now," Juliette said. "What's her pulse?"

"Mine?" Hank asked. "It feels slow."

"I need a number, Hank. Count!"

Renard came back in. "We got a half dozen ambulances on the way. What can I do?"

And so they worked and waited for the sound of approaching sirens.