Chapter 13 : The Mellifer's Network
The Wincroft Estate occupied three acres of Portland's most exclusive neighborhood. Manicured gardens stretched behind wrought-iron gates, and the main house rose like a monument to old money and older secrets. Catering vans lined the service entrance—a garden party for Portland's elite, hosted by the woman who controlled the region's honey trade.
And, according to the Bestiary, the woman who controlled far more than that.
[MELLIFER ENTRY: BEE WESEN]
[SOCIAL STRUCTURE: HIVE-BASED, QUEEN-LED]
[NOTABLE TRAIT: EXTENSIVE INFORMATION NETWORKS]
[REGIONAL QUEEN: MELISSA WINCROFT (PROBABLE)]
I adjusted the catering uniform I'd borrowed from a van that should have had better security. White shirt, black vest, the kind of anonymous servant's attire that made you invisible at parties like this. The enhanced senses I'd extracted from Karl picked up conversation fragments, perfume trails, the distant hum of honeybees in the estate's gardens.
The party was in full swing. Portland's wealthy mingled on the back lawn, champagne glasses catching afternoon sunlight. Politicians, business leaders, society figures—and scattered among them, Wesen hiding in plain sight.
[WESEN DETECTED: MULTIPLE]
[SPECIES: MELLIFER (7), EISBIBER (2), MAUZHERTZ (1)]
[HOSTESS IDENTIFICATION: MELISSA WINCROFT - MELLIFER - A-RANK (POLITICAL)]
I grabbed a tray of hors d'oeuvres from a passing cart and moved through the crowd. The Mellifers were easy to spot once you knew what to look for—their movements slightly too synchronized, their attention slightly too focused on a woman holding court near the rose garden.
Melissa Wincroft was in her fifties, elegant in a way that suggested power rather than vanity. Her silver hair was swept back from a face that showed age without hiding from it. She wore a yellow dress that somehow didn't look ridiculous, and when she laughed at a donor's joke, a dozen people nearby laughed too.
Her eyes found mine across the lawn.
I hadn't made a sound, hadn't done anything to draw attention. But she saw me anyway, the way a queen bee sees every drone in her hive.
She excused herself from her conversation and moved toward the greenhouse at the garden's edge. An invitation, clearly.
I set down the tray and followed.
The greenhouse was warm, humid, thick with the scent of flowers and something else—honey, rich and golden. Honeybees drifted through the air, moving with purpose toward their keeper. Melissa Wincroft stood among the blossoms, her woge rippling beneath the surface like water disturbed by wind.
"You've been interesting," she said without preamble. "My workers have been watching since you killed those Blutbaden at the meatpacking plant. Most Grimms don't negotiate with Hexenbiests. Most Grimms don't spare reformed wolves."
I stopped three feet away. The bees circled me, testing, tasting the air around my skin.
"Most Grimms don't have Reapers hunting them."
"No." Her woge surfaced fully—compound eyes fracturing her gaze into a thousand viewpoints, delicate wings unfolding behind her shoulders. "They don't. What do you want from my hive, Grimm?"
[MELLIFER QUEEN - THREAT ASSESSMENT: A-RANK]
[POLITICAL INFLUENCE: EXTENSIVE]
[COMBAT CAPABILITY: MODERATE (RELIES ON HIVE)]
[RECOMMENDATION: DIPLOMATIC APPROACH]
"Information. Your network knows things I can't access through conventional means. Royal movements. Reaper locations. Threats I can't see coming." I kept my hands visible, non-threatening. "In exchange, I offer protection. From traditional Grimms who'd see your hive as prey. From Reapers who'd eliminate anyone who helps me."
Melissa's compound eyes glittered. "Protection. You're offering to protect the Mellifer network. A Grimm who's been in Portland for—what, two weeks?—thinks he can protect one of the oldest information systems in North America."
"I'm offering to try. Which is more than anyone else has."
She was quiet for a moment. Bees landed on her shoulders, her arms, her silver hair. Messengers, I realized. Carrying reports from across the region, whispering secrets only their queen could hear.
"The Hexenbiest," Melissa said finally. "Adalind Schade. She works with you now."
"Yes."
"Her people attacked my hive three years ago. Royal orders, but Schade potions. Eleven of my workers died." The words came out flat, factual. The anger beneath them was older than the attack itself. "Why should I trust anyone associated with her?"
I'd expected this. Adalind's warning about enemies she'd made hadn't included specifics, but a Mellifer hive would absolutely remember an attack.
"Adalind was a tool then. She's trying to be something else now." I chose my words carefully. "The attack was Royal-ordered. Help me deal with the Royals, and neither of you will have problems with each other."
"You're asking me to trust a Hexenbiest's redemption."
"I'm asking you to trust that I'll make it not worth her while to harm you. The calculus changes when she has allies who'd object."
Melissa studied me with those fractured eyes. The bees whispered around us, their hum carrying data I couldn't decode.
"Three months," she said finally. "Probationary access to our network. My workers will watch you, report on your activities, assess your reliability. If you impress me—if you demonstrate that your promises have value—we'll discuss permanent arrangements."
[ALLIANCE ESTABLISHED: MELLIFER HIVE]
[STATUS: PROBATIONARY (90 DAYS)]
[BENEFITS: INFORMATION NETWORK ACCESS (LIMITED)]
[CONDITIONS: PERFORMANCE-BASED EVALUATION]
"That's acceptable."
"It's not acceptance. It's opportunity." She reached into a pocket of her yellow dress and produced a burner phone. "For emergencies. My workers will contact you through secure channels. Do not attempt to trace the network's structure. Do not share our communications with the Hexenbiest or anyone else. Do not make me regret this."
I took the phone. It was cheap, disposable, and probably loaded with tracking software. Fair enough—I'd have done the same.
"One question," I said. "The Reapers who've entered Portland. What do you know about them?"
Melissa's woge receded, human features smoothing over the compound eyes. "Two scouts. Both experienced. They've been photographing your apartment, tracking your movements, interviewing Wesen you've contacted." She paused. "They're building a file on you, Mr. Cross. Learning your patterns before they strike."
"Locations?"
"I'll have my workers send coordinates. Consider it a sample of what our network can provide."
I pocketed the phone. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Her smile held edges. "Three months, Grimm. Impress me."
I left the greenhouse through a service exit, the Mellifer phone heavy in my pocket. Behind me, the garden party continued, its attendees oblivious to the alliance being forged among the honeybees.
Twenty-six days remained on the Reaper deadline. But now I had eyes everywhere—a network that predated human civilization, watching my enemies while I prepared.
The hunt was shifting.
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