Chapter 14 : The Ziegevolk's Trap
Adalind's text came at two in the morning: Problem. Ziegevolk. Political protection. Three victims confirmed, fourth imminent. Call me.
I was awake anyway—sleep had become a luxury since the Reapers' deadline started counting down. The training warehouse occupied my evenings, but nights belonged to planning, preparation, the quiet hours when the city's monsters came out to hunt.
I called her back.
"Billy Capra." Adalind's voice was business-crisp despite the hour. "Goat Wesen. Uses pheromone manipulation to assault women. He's been running 'business seminars' at hotels downtown—targeting attendees who come alone."
[ZIEGEVOLK ENTRY ACCESSED]
[SPECIES: GOAT WESEN]
[ABILITY: PHEROMONE MANIPULATION - COMPULSION EFFECT]
[WEAKNESS: PHEROMONES BLOCKED BY SPECIFIC COMPOUNDS]
"How politically connected?"
"Connected enough that three police reports have disappeared. Someone in city hall is protecting him." Adalind paused. "He's hosting another seminar tomorrow night. The convention center on Morrison. If he follows his pattern, he'll isolate a target after the event."
"Why tell me?"
"Because the women he's taken haven't been found. They might still be alive somewhere. And because—" She hesitated, something rare for her. "Because I can't touch him without exposing myself. But you can."
The Ziegevolk's Bestiary entry scrolled through my mind. Pheromones that bypassed conscious resistance. Victims who followed willingly, convinced they wanted everything that happened. And afterward, foggy memories that made testimony unreliable.
"Monsters who hide behind chemistry instead of claws."
"I'll need a pheromone blocker. The Bestiary mentions a compound, but I don't have the ingredients."
"I know someone who might. The Fuchsbau who patched you up—Rosalee Calvert. She'd have the components."
I didn't ask how Adalind knew about Rosalee. Information networks worked both ways.
"Send me the seminar details. I'll handle the rest."
Rosalee's brother's spice shop was dark when I arrived the next afternoon. I knocked the pattern Monroe had shown me—three short, two long, three short—and waited.
The door opened to reveal Rosalee in an apron, surrounded by the smell of dried herbs and carefully maintained order. Her expression shifted when she recognized me.
"Cross." Not welcoming, but not hostile. "Monroe said you might come by eventually. Something about how you attract trouble like honey attracts flies."
"He's not wrong." I stepped inside at her reluctant gesture. "I need a compound. Ziegevolk pheromone blocker."
Her hands stilled on the jar she'd been organizing. "Why would you need that?"
"There's a Ziegevolk taking women. Using them. I can't affect him while his pheromones are working."
Rosalee was quiet for a long moment. Behind her, rows of jars containing substances I couldn't identify lined the walls—a pharmacist's dream and a regulator's nightmare.
"You're going to kill him."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to help."
"I'm asking. Not expecting."
She moved through the shop, pulling jars from shelves with practiced precision. The ingredients she selected looked innocuous—dried flowers, crystallized minerals, what appeared to be ordinary cooking herbs. But her hands mixed them with a chemist's care.
"This will burn your sinuses for about an hour after application," she said, sealing the mixture in a small vial. "You'll smell like burning metal to any Wesen nearby. The protection lasts approximately three hours after that."
I reached for the vial. She held it back.
"I don't want details. I don't want to know where you go or what you do. But Cross?" Her woge flickered—fox features emerging briefly, intelligent and wary. "If you start using these compounds against Wesen who haven't done anything wrong, I will know. And I will not help you again."
"Fair."
She released the vial. I pocketed it, feeling the glass warm against my hip.
"Thank you, Rosalee."
"Don't thank me. Just don't make me regret it."
The convention center's back entrance was locked, but locks had stopped being obstacles somewhere around day five of this new life. The maintenance corridors led through the building's guts—pipes, wiring, the hidden infrastructure that kept public spaces functional.
I'd scouted for three hours that afternoon. Noted exits, security patterns, the rooms Capra had reserved for his seminar. The pheromone blocker burned my sinuses exactly as Rosalee warned—like breathing fire through crushed glass—but the effect faded to a dull ache.
[ZIEGEVOLK PHEROMONE: BLOCKED]
[DURATION: 2 HOURS, 47 MINUTES REMAINING]
The seminar had ended twenty minutes ago. Most attendees had filtered out to the parking structure. But according to the Mellifer network's latest update, Capra had escorted one woman toward the service elevator. Conference rooms on the third floor. Private. Soundproofed.
I moved.
The third floor was quiet, dimly lit by emergency lighting. My enhanced hearing picked up sounds from behind a conference room door—a woman's voice, confused, agreeable. And underneath it, the musky scent of goat, sharp and wrong.
I kicked the door open.
Billy Capra spun from his position near a disoriented woman. His woge surfaced immediately—elongated face, horizontal pupils, coarse hair sprouting across human features. He looked like a nightmare from children's stories, the big bad wolf's cousin who'd chosen different prey.
[THREAT IDENTIFIED: ZIEGEVOLK]
[COMBAT CAPABILITY: D-RANK (PHYSICAL)]
[PRIMARY WEAPON: PHEROMONE MANIPULATION - CURRENTLY BLOCKED]
"What—" Capra stumbled backward. "You can't be here. Security—"
"Called away." I advanced into the room, sword drawn. "Your protection at city hall isn't as reliable as you thought."
He tried the pheromones. I could tell by the way he moved, the deliberate gesture that usually triggered compliance in his victims. Nothing happened. The blocker did its work.
"That's not possible." Panic crept into his voice. "That's not—what are you?"
"Grimm."
The word hit him like a physical blow. He scrambled backward, knocking over chairs, trying to put furniture between us.
"Wait. Wait, we can talk about this. I have money. I have connections. Whatever you want—"
"Where are the women you've taken?"
His mouth opened. Closed. The calculation in his eyes was visible—lies forming and discarding faster than he could speak them.
"I don't know what you're—"
I closed the distance before he finished the sentence. The sword caught him across the forearm—not deep, not fatal. A warning.
"The women. Where."
Blood dripped onto the conference table. Capra's composure shattered.
"Warehouse. Burnside. Near the bridge. They're alive, I swear they're alive, I didn't—please—"
[ABILITY EXTRACTION: AVAILABLE]
[ZIEGEVOLK PHEROMONES: CONFIRM ACQUISITION? Y/N]
"Yes."
The second extraction was different from the first. Smoother, like my body remembered the process. Energy flowed from Capra's dying form into mine, carrying something new—the ability to influence, to suggest, to make others want what I wanted them to want.
[ABILITY ACQUIRED: ZIEGEVOLK PHEROMONES (ACTIVE)]
[USAGE: CONCENTRATION-BASED - EFFECTIVENESS VARIES BY TARGET]
[COOLDOWN: 15 MINUTES BETWEEN USES]
[WARNING: ETHICAL IMPLICATIONS - USER DISCRETION ADVISED]
Capra slumped to the floor. The woman he'd been targeting blinked, confusion clearing as his influence faded.
"What... where am I?"
"You're safe. The man who brought you here won't hurt anyone else." I helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the door. "There's an exit down the hall. Go home. Don't come back to these seminars."
She left without asking questions. Whatever fragments of memory she retained would be unclear, dreamlike. Better that way.
I called Adalind. "Warehouse on Burnside, near the bridge. Send someone to check for survivors."
"It's done?"
"It's done."
I cleaned the scene as best I could—wiped prints, removed obvious evidence. Capra's body would be found eventually, but the connection to me would be tenuous at best.
Twenty-four days remained. One more monster eliminated. One more ability acquired.
The night air was cold when I emerged onto Portland's streets. The new pheromone power hummed at the edge of my consciousness—untested, dangerous, ethically complicated. A passing dog whined and backed away, responding to something it couldn't articulate. A homeless man near the intersection suddenly found me very trustworthy, nodding and smiling as I passed.
"Crude. Barely controlled. But mine."
The Bestiary grew. The abilities multiplied. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered that this was exactly how it should be.
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