Nick slid down the small embankment and brushed damp soil and decaying leaves from his clothes.
As he reached the bottom, the front door of a house diagonally across the street opened, and a man stepped outside to collect the mail from a metal box near the sidewalk.
The stranger was unusually tall, probably a little over six-foot-three, with a broad frame that looked powerful without being overweight.
A neatly trimmed beard covered much of his face, emphasizing his large nose and high forehead while making his age difficult to judge.
Despite the temperature climbing into the upper eighties, he wore a blue-and-white checkered shirt over a T-shirt, along with jeans and a pair of brown eight-eye Dr.
Martens boots.
Nick’s attention locked onto the footwear.
The prints leading out of Berkeley Park had come from the same general style of boot.
The tread would need to be examined before he could make a definite comparison, but finding a man dressed like that directly across from the point where the tracks disappeared was far too suspicious to ignore.
Two children approached along the sidewalk on small bicycles.
They laughed as they passed the bearded man without giving him a second glance.
The stranger lowered his head.
His shoulders jerked as though a violent spasm had traveled through his body.
The beard surrounding his mouth stiffened and spread upward, tangling with his hair until coarse fur covered most of his face.
The bones beneath his skin shifted.
His jaw pushed forward into a powerful muzzle, his ears lengthened into sharp points, and pale fangs appeared beneath curling lips.
Unlike Joshua Coffey’s hyena-like appearance, this creature resembled the classic image of a werewolf.
Its face belonged to an enormous predatory animal forced into a human shape.
Nick’s hand moved toward his pistol.
Before he drew, the creature raised its head and sniffed the air.
Its nose twitched several times before it abruptly turned toward the opposite side of the street.
Their eyes met.
Blood-red irises stared directly into Nick’s.
A murderous pressure swept over him, producing the instinctive terror of a man who had suddenly found himself alone before a starving wolf.
The creature’s gaze seemed cold, ruthless, and filled with a hunger that ordinary human eyes could never imitate.
Nick froze for less than half a second.
Then his training overcame the fear.
Whether the suspect was a man, a wolf, or something trapped between the two no longer mattered.
Nick had a badge, a gun, and a missing six-year-old girl to find.
He charged across the street.
The creature’s head jerked in surprise.
Fur withdrew beneath its skin, the muzzle collapsed, and its red eyes returned to an ordinary dark brown.
“Police!” Nick shouted.
“Don’t move!” The man panicked.
Instead of obeying, he turned and ran toward his front door.
Nick crossed the yard at full speed.
The stranger made it inside and tried to slam the door, but Nick drove his shoulder into it before the latch caught.
The impact forced the door inward and knocked the taller man backward.
Nick used his momentum to drive him onto the entryway floor before drawing his pistol and pressing the muzzle close to his head.
“Stay down!
Where is she?” The man did not resist.
He lay beneath Nick with an expression that shifted between confusion, suspicion, and something disturbingly close to amusement.
Rather than looking like a kidnapper who had just been caught, he seemed unable to understand why the detective was pointing a weapon at him.
Nick tightened his grip.
“The little girl in the red hoodie.
Where is she?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” An hour later, Nick stood outside while officers completed their search of the property.
Every room had been examined.
Closets were opened, storage spaces checked, and the basement inspected from wall to wall.
Police searched the garage, backyard, and workshop without finding Robin Howell or any evidence that a child had recently been inside.
The bearded homeowner sat quietly in the back of a patrol car.
He had not complained, threatened anyone, or demanded an attorney.
He merely watched the activity around his house with an expression of weary patience.
Hank approached Nick with a file.
“His record is clean.” Nick accepted the folder without answering.
“The homeowner goes by Monroe,” Hank continued.
“Thirty-six years old and self-employed as a clockmaker.
No arrests, no outstanding warrants, and no history of violence.” Nick looked toward the patrol car.
Hank flipped to the next page.
“He has a good reputation in the neighborhood and volunteers at a local church.
Other than being an unmarried man who lives alone, there’s nothing here that makes him suspicious.” “He ran when I identified myself.” “He went back into his own house.
That isn’t a crime.” “He saw me coming toward him.” “You sprinted across the street with your hand on your gun.
Most people would find that alarming.” Nick could not explain the real reason.
He had watched Monroe transform into a wolf-like creature.
If he told Hank that, the conversation would immediately shift from locating Robin to questioning Nick’s mental health.
Hank lowered his voice.
“You’re fortunate he isn’t interested in filing a complaint.” “He isn’t?” “No.
He said he understands that we’re looking for a missing child.” “That’s unusually forgiving.” “I agree, but don’t give him a reason to reconsider.” Nick had personally examined Monroe’s boots after the officers escorted him outside.
The soles did not match the tread recovered near Sylvie Oster’s remains or the fresh prints beside Robin’s backpack.
That should have eliminated him.
Instead, the transformation created another set of questions.
The shooting involving Joshua Coffey had been recorded clearly by the local news crew.
Nick watched that footage repeatedly, searching for the instant when Coffey’s face changed.
Although Nick remembered every strand of fur and each sharp tooth, the video showed an ordinary human being throughout the encounter.
No one else saw anything unusual.
The blonde woman outside Northwest Armory had produced the same result.
Hank stood close enough to see her clearly but noticed nothing except an attractive woman losing interest in Nick.
For a while, Nick wondered whether the transformations were part of a strange ability granted by his rebirth.
Perhaps he could somehow perceive a person’s hidden criminal nature in the form of a monster.
That theory no longer made sense.
Killing Coffey had not produced a reward, system notification, or any other supernatural benefit.
More importantly, Monroe had no criminal record and appeared to be a respected member of the neighborhood.
The creatures also reacted to Nick.
Coffey screamed the word Grimm before fleeing.
The blonde businesswoman looked frightened the moment their eyes met, and Monroe had displayed the same brief panic before retreating inside his home.
Their expressions were not those of predators recognizing easy prey.
They looked like animals confronted by a natural enemy.
Nick could not help wondering whether he possessed some dormant monster-hunting bloodline.
The idea sounded absurd, yet it explained more than hallucinations did.
He looked again at Monroe.
A murdered college student had been torn apart in the woods.
A little girl had vanished while wearing the same bright color, and now a man who could transform into a wolf lived directly across from the point where the abductor’s trail ended.
Even with the mismatched boot print, Nick could not convince himself that everything was coincidental.
At nine that evening, Nick lay hidden in the grass along the edge of Berkeley Park.
He had been watching Monroe’s house for more than an hour.
The mosquito-repellent ointment on his neck and arms had already lost most of its effectiveness, leaving several swollen bites that burned whenever he moved.
A lamp glowed through a first-floor window across the street.
Monroe sat at a workbench beneath it, using delicate tools to repair the inner mechanism of an antique clock.
Nothing about the scene looked threatening.
Nick remained in place.
Eventually, Monroe pushed back his chair and stood.
He switched off the lamp, walked through the house, and emerged into the front yard.
Nick lowered himself farther into the grass.
Monroe tilted his head and sniffed the night air.
He moved toward the fence, paused beside a post, and raised his left leg.
The motion looked exactly like a dog preparing to mark its territory.
He seemed to realize how ridiculous the position was and quickly lowered his foot.
After checking the street, he unzipped his pants instead.
A faint pattering sound followed.
Nick stared in disbelief.
Monroe finished near the fence, crossed to another corner of the yard, and repeated the process.
Rather than emptying his bladder in one place like a normal person, he appeared determined to spread his scent across the property line.
“Just like a dog,” Nick muttered.
Monroe completed the front yard and waddled toward the side of the house.
Nick waited until he disappeared before crossing the street and following at a distance.
The clockmaker marked another section near the backyard fence.
He then moved beside the garage and continued the same strange routine before approaching the rear entrance.
A branch scraped against the hedge surrounding the yard.
Monroe stopped instantly.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Under the pale moonlight, his eyes changed from brown to a glowing blood-red.
Fur erupted across his face as his jaw extended into a muzzle.
Pointed ears rose through his hair, and long fangs appeared beneath his lips.
A threatening growl rolled through the backyard.
“You shouldn’t have come back.” Monroe crouched as though preparing to leap.
Nick stepped from the shadows with his pistol already aimed at the creature’s chest.
“I’m hoping this helps you stay calm.” Monroe froze.
“The last thing that showed me teeth like that pulled a gun,” Nick continued.
“It didn’t end well for him.” The threatening display vanished with surprising speed.
Monroe’s muzzle retracted, the fur disappeared, and his red eyes returned to normal.
Within seconds, the terrifying wolf was once again an embarrassed clockmaker standing in his backyard with his hands raised.
“Okay,” Monroe said.
“Nobody needs to get excited.” “You were the one growling.” “I was making a point.” “You looked ready to tear my throat out.” “That was more of a territorial warning.” Nick glanced toward the damp sections of lawn.
“I noticed.” Monroe followed his gaze and cleared his throat.
“It’s an old habit.” Nick kept the gun trained on him.
“What are you?” Monroe studied his face carefully.
A trace of fear remained in his eyes, but curiosity had begun replacing it.
“You really don’t know?” “Know what?” “That you’re a Grimm.” Nick’s expression hardened.
This was the second time he had heard the word.
Coffey had screamed it after looking into Nick’s eyes, but Nick assumed the drug dealer was either intoxicated or speaking nonsense.
Monroe was completely sober.
“What does that mean?” The clockmaker looked toward the pistol.
“Could you put that away first?” “No.” “Fair enough.” Monroe raised his hands a little higher and forced a placating smile.
“I could invite you inside.
We can have a drink, sit down, and discuss this like civilized people.” “You turn into a wolf and urinate around your property.” “I’m working on both of those things.” Nick did not lower the weapon.
Monroe’s smile became strained.
“Look, I understand that this is probably a lot for you.
You’ve started seeing things no one else can see, creatures are panicking whenever they look into your eyes, and you have no idea why.” Every word struck painfully close to the truth.
Monroe nodded toward the house.
“I can explain what you are and what you saw.
All I’m asking is that you stop pointing a gun at me while I do it.” Nick remained silent for several seconds.
He still did not trust Monroe.
The man was clearly dangerous, and the animal hidden beneath his human appearance might be capable of killing someone with its bare hands.
However, he was also the first person who appeared willing to answer Nick’s questions.
Nick slowly lowered the muzzle without holstering the pistol.
“Walk ahead of me.” Monroe released a relieved breath.
“Great.
This is already going better than our first conversation.” He moved toward the back door with his hands still visible.
Nick followed several steps behind, ready to fire if the clockmaker transformed again.
For the first time since Joshua Coffey woged beside the Kia, Nick was finally close to learning the truth about Portland’s hidden monsters.
More importantly, he might discover why they were all terrified of a Grimm.