And My Aunt Is Too?
15: Chapter 15: I’m a Grimm?
And My Aunt Is Too?
Chapter 15: I’m a Grimm?
And My Aunt Is Too?
“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Monroe said as he returned from the kitchen with two bottles of beer.
“I’ve heard stories about Grimms my entire life, but I never imagined I’d see one standing in my living room.” He handed a bottle to Nick while studying him with cautious fascination.
Lingering fear remained beneath his curiosity, making his expression resemble that of someone confronting a childhood nightmare that had suddenly become real.
Nick accepted the beer but placed it unopened on the coffee table.
He chose a chair that gave him a clear view of both Monroe and the nearest exit, maintaining enough distance to react if the clockmaker woged again.
“I don’t understand anything you’re saying,” Nick replied.
“Start by explaining what a Grimm is.” Monroe’s eyebrows rose.
He stared at Nick as though the question itself were unbelievable.
“You’re serious?” “Completely.” “I grew up hearing horror stories about your kind.
Parents use Grimms to frighten Wesen children into behaving.” Monroe leaned forward and searched Nick’s face for any sign of deception.
“How long ago did you awaken?
That might explain why you were running around like a complete amateur earlier.” From Monroe’s tone, Grimms sounded less like heroes and more like the monsters hidden beneath a child’s bed.
“I don’t know what you mean by awakening,” Nick said.
“I have no idea what a Grimm is, and I still don’t know what you are.
Explain everything from the beginning.” Monroe’s eyes widened further.
He examined Nick from head to toe, clearly struggling to believe that someone he considered a natural enemy could know so little about his own identity.
A sudden realization crossed his face.
“Were you raised without your parents?” “More or less.
They died when I was six, and my aunt raised me.” Monroe’s interest sharpened.
“What’s her name?” “Marie Kessler.” The color drained from Monroe’s face.
His gaze darted toward the nearest window before returning to Nick.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
“Oh, this is bad,” he finally murmured.
“That name has a reputation.” Nick frowned.
“Are you trying to scare me?” Monroe’s exaggerated reactions made it difficult to tell whether he was genuinely frightened or enjoying the opportunity to confuse him.
“Aunt Marie worked at a public library,” Nick continued.
“She spent most of her life shelving books and helping people find research material.” Monroe lowered himself onto the couch but immediately shifted as though the cushion had become uncomfortable.
He stared at Nick for another moment, then abruptly stood again.
“Okay, this has been interesting, but I don’t want trouble.” He gestured toward the door.
“You clearly don’t know anything, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.
I’m not like most Blutbaden.
I changed my life years ago.
I don’t hunt people, I don’t kill anyone, and I stay away from the old traditions.” “Sit down.” Nick’s voice turned cold.
Monroe stopped.
Nick removed the SIG P226 from beneath his jacket and placed it firmly on the coffee table.
The muzzle pointed away from both men, but its presence ended Monroe’s attempt to control the conversation.
“No more games,” Nick said.
“From now on, I ask the questions, and you answer them.
What is a Grimm, and what does Blutbad mean?” Monroe looked at the pistol, then slowly returned to the couch.
“You really don’t know.” “That’s what I’ve been telling you.” The clockmaker spread his hands helplessly.
“Didn’t Marie show you the books?” “What books?” Monroe stared at him in disbelief.
“I’m a Blutbad.
I’m the creature behind the stories about the Big Bad Wolf.
Your ancestors hunted people like me and recorded everything they learned.” Nick felt a sudden chill.
The answer forced several disconnected memories into place.
Joshua Coffey’s terror, the blonde woman’s decayed face, and Monroe’s immediate recognition of him were not random supernatural encounters.
They belonged to a world Nick should have recognized much sooner.
In his previous life, he had spent years serving in the U.S.
Army.
Military discipline kept him busy and isolated from most popular entertainment, but after leaving the service, he finally had time and enough money to indulge his old interests.
Games occupied many evenings.
He played major releases, obscure independent titles, and anything else that caught his attention.
When the newest anime became repetitive, he searched for older series he had missed during his years in uniform.
Movies soon followed.
Nick worked his way through decades of Hollywood films before turning toward American television.
Police procedurals such as Bones, CSI, and Chicago P.D.
partly influenced his decision to study criminology and join the PPB after being reborn.
Shortly before his death, his attention shifted from crime dramas toward supernatural series.
He watched several episodes of Supernatural and found the combination of urban legends, monsters, and attractive guest stars entertaining.
After that, he downloaded another fantasy crime series called Grimm.
He never watched the first episode.
Before he could begin, a wildfire broke out near a mountain community.
Nick joined the rescue effort, fell from a cliff, and awakened in the body of six-year-old Nick Burkhardt.
Twenty years had passed since then.
The title of the unwatched series and the scattered promotional clips he had once seen gradually faded into the deepest corners of his memory.
More importantly, some part of him resisted accepting that he had been reborn inside a fictional television world.
Now that denial was impossible.
Nick vaguely remembered the basic premise.
Supernatural creatures lived among ordinary people while disguising themselves as humans.
Only certain individuals could see their hidden forms.
Those hunters were known as Grimms.
The creatures in fairy tales—wolves, witches, giants, foxes, ogres, and countless other monsters—had been inspired by real beings.
The stories people treated as children’s entertainment were distorted remnants of encounters between humanity and the Wesen world.
Grimms belonged to ancient bloodlines capable of seeing through those disguises.
They hunted dangerous Wesen and recorded their knowledge in journals passed down through generations.
Nick slowly looked at Monroe.
“The Grimm stories,” he said.
“Little Red Riding Hood, the Big Bad Wolf, witches, and all the other creatures…” Monroe gave him an incredulous look.
“You think those stories came from someone’s imagination?” “They were warnings.” “Some of them.
Others were probably exaggerated accounts written by Grimms who enjoyed making themselves look heroic.” Nick ignored the criticism.
His mind remained focused on the family journals Monroe had mentioned.
“So the books you asked about aren’t ordinary fairy tales.” “No.
I’m talking about the Grimm journals.
Your ancestors documented different Wesen species, their behavior, their weaknesses, and usually the most efficient way to kill them.” Monroe’s mouth twisted with distaste.
“Some entries are practically victory celebrations.
Others read like instructions for exterminating an entire bloodline.” “And Aunt Marie owned these journals?” “She should have.
Grimm families preserve that knowledge.” Nick thought about the woman who raised him.
Marie had seemed secretive at times, but he always attributed it to her illness, her difficult past, or the burden of raising her dead sister’s child.
She had taught him to remain observant, defend himself, and never become helpless.
Nick once believed those lessons came from ordinary concern.
Now he wondered how much of his childhood had been preparation for a truth she never revealed.
“You recognized her name immediately,” he said.
“Why?” Monroe’s posture stiffened.
“Marie Kessler wasn’t known as a librarian among Wesen.” “What was she known as?” “I’d rather not describe it while her nephew is sitting across from me with a gun.” Nick placed one hand near the P226.
“Try.” Monroe released an uneasy breath.
“She had a bloody reputation.
The stories may have grown over the years, but Wesen remember the Grimms who hunt successfully.
Marie was one of those names parents warned their children about.” Nick stared at him.
“My aunt is a Grimm too?” “Of course she is.
This runs through family bloodlines.” Monroe paused before adding, “At least that explains why you know nothing.
If your parents died and Marie chose not to train you, then no one was left to teach you what happens when your abilities awaken.” Nick leaned back as he processed the revelation.
Marie had left Portland three years earlier under the claim that she wanted to travel while her health still allowed it.
Every month, she sent postcards and photographs from another state.
Had she truly been sightseeing?
Or had the entire journey been connected to her life as a Grimm?
Nick could not answer that yet.
Monroe was the only available source of information, and he had already attempted to end the conversation once.
“You said you aren’t like other Blutbaden,” Nick continued.
“What does that mean?” Monroe glanced at the unopened beer before answering.
“Blutbad is the name of my species.
Blutbaden is the plural.
We’re one type of Wesen.” “Wesen is the general term for all of you?” “More or less.
It covers the different supernatural bloodlines living among humans, though most of us identify by our own species first.” “And Blutbaden are what people call werewolves?” Monroe grimaced.
“Humans call us werewolves, wolf-men, monsters, or the Big Bad Wolf.
Other Wesen have their own names for us, and most of them aren’t flattering.” “The word Blutbad means bloodbath.” “Yes, I’m aware that our ancestors had a talent for terrible public relations.” “You said you stopped killing.” Monroe shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m a reformed Blutbad.
I don’t hunt humans, and I avoid raw meat because it encourages certain instincts.
I exercise, repair clocks, volunteer, and maintain a controlled lifestyle.” Nick remembered seeing him mark every corner of his yard.
“Controlled might be an exaggeration.” “That was territorial maintenance.
It has nothing to do with violence.” “You urinated around your house.” “I said I was reformed, not completely human.” Despite the absurdity of the exchange, Nick finally felt that the world was beginning to make sense.
The creatures were real, his sight was inherited, and Aunt Marie had hidden an entire life from him.
The greatest surprise was not that monsters existed.
It was that Nick belonged to the bloodline they feared most.
He looked down at the P226 resting between them.
“So I’m a Grimm.” Monroe’s expression became unusually serious.
“Yes.” “And Aunt Marie is one too.” “Not just any Grimm.” A troubled look crossed Monroe’s face.
“She’s the kind Wesen still tell stories about.” [Milestone: [Milestone: 10 Reviews = +1 Chapter] Enjoyed this chapter?