Chapter 36 : The Message to Europe
The Portland post office on Morrison Street handled international packages with bored efficiency. The clerk who processed my shipment didn't ask about the contents of the long, blade-shaped case. She weighed it, calculated postage, and handed me a tracking number without making eye contact.
"Delivery to Vienna usually takes five to seven business days." Her voice was mechanical, practiced. "You want insurance?"
"No." I paid in cash. "It's going to people who'll definitely receive it."
The case contained both scythes—cleaned, polished, arranged side by side like museum pieces. The ancient weapons had killed more Grimms than any other Reaper tools in history. Now they were returning home, accompanied by a note I'd written in three languages.
The old Grimm ways are dead. Portland belongs to those who live here. Send more hunters if you wish—I need the practice.
"That's either brilliant or suicidal." Adalind waited on the post office steps, watching me emerge into the morning light. "The Reaper Council doesn't respond well to mockery."
"They don't respond well to anything. But now they have to decide: send more resources to Portland, or write off two Senior Reapers as a loss." I settled beside her, feeling the accumulated injuries protest the movement. "That decision takes time. Time is what we need."
"To do what?"
"Build something they can't destroy."
The past thirty-six hours had been chaos—Scalpel treating wounds that should have required hospitalization, the Pack scattered to safe houses while we assessed damage, Adalind running interference with her Royal contacts to ensure Viktor didn't take immediate advantage.
But we'd survived. And word was already spreading.
The Mellifer network—damaged but not destroyed—reported conversations rippling through Wesen communities across the Pacific Northwest. A Grimm in Portland had killed two Senior Reapers. A Grimm who worked with Wesen instead of hunting them. A Grimm who protected the people under his territory.
Some were afraid. Some were curious. Some were making plans.
"Melissa called this morning." Adalind's voice was carefully neutral. "The Mellifer Queen."
"And?"
"She's... reconsidering her position. The workers you avenged—their deaths weren't in vain, apparently. You killed the ones responsible."
"The Reapers tortured those Mellifers for information. Then killed them for sport." The memory still burned. "They died because of me."
"They died because the Reapers are monsters." Adalind took my hand—a gesture so unexpected I nearly flinched. "You ended those monsters. That matters."
Her fingers were warm against mine. The contact felt foreign after weeks of calculated distance, professional partnerships, carefully maintained boundaries.
"Thank you." The words came out rougher than intended. "For saving my life. At the factory."
"You would have done the same."
"Would I? Three weeks ago, I wasn't sure. Hexenbiests were enemies in everything I'd learned. Tools at best, threats at worst." I looked at her—really looked, without the System's analysis overlays or tactical assessments. "You changed that."
"You changed it." She didn't look away. "You saw something in me that nobody else bothered to look for. A person, not a weapon."
"You're still a weapon. Just one I'd rather have on my side."
She laughed—genuine, surprised, the sound breaking through whatever tension had been building. "That's almost romantic."
"I'm better at killing Reapers than compliments."
"Obviously." But she was smiling, and her grip on my hand tightened briefly before releasing. "What happens now?"
I watched Portland's morning traffic flow past the post office—delivery trucks, commuters, people living ordinary lives unaware of the war that had been fought in their city's shadows.
"Recovery. Rebuilding. The Pack needs time to heal. The Mellifer alliance needs repair. And I need to figure out what I'm becoming before I become it."
"The abilities. The extractions." Adalind's voice held professional interest beneath the concern. "You're not just a Grimm anymore."
"No." The System hummed quietly at the back of my consciousness, cataloguing changes I couldn't fully comprehend. Six extracted abilities now—Blutbad senses, Ziegevolk pheromones, Hundjäger tracking, Siegbarste durability, Reaper combat instinct, Reaper tactical analysis. Each one had changed my biology, my capabilities, my fundamental nature. "I don't know what I am."
"Neither did I, when I first learned what being a Hexenbiest meant." She stood, offering her hand to help me up. "But you figure it out. Day by day, choice by choice. That's all anyone can do."
I took her hand. Rose. Stood in the morning light with someone who'd started as a potential enemy and become something else entirely.
"Viktor will respond to this. The Reapers will respond. Nick Burkhardt is still out there, awakening into his own Grimm heritage." I listed threats like a shopping list—manageable when broken into components. "And somewhere in this city, there's a Key that everyone wants and nobody should have."
"The Grimm Key." Adalind's expression shifted. "I'd almost forgotten about that."
"The Reapers didn't. The Royals certainly haven't." I started walking, and she fell into step beside me. "Eventually, I'll have to deal with it. With all of it."
"But not today."
"Not today." I smiled—an expression that came easier now than it had a month ago. "Today, I'm going to sleep for about sixteen hours. Then eat everything in my refrigerator. Then sleep some more."
"That's the most sensible plan you've had since I met you."
"I'm capable of occasional wisdom."
We walked through Portland's streets together, the morning sun warm on our faces. I noticed the way certain people looked at me—Wesen who caught my eyes and nodded instead of flinching. Recognition. Respect. Something that might become loyalty, given time.
The Sarah Martinez case that had started everything felt like ancient history now. A murdered widow, a frame-up, a Blutbad named Monroe who'd agreed to help despite every instinct screaming to run. That single choice had cascaded into alliances, battles, deaths, and victories I'd never imagined.
[STATUS UPDATE: PORTLAND GRIMM]
[REPUTATION: REGIONAL LEGEND (EMERGING)]
[PACK STATUS: RECOVERING]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: MULTIPLE (MANAGEABLE)]
[RELATIONSHIP: ADALIND SCHADE (+50, SIGNIFICANT)]
The System's assessment was cold, clinical—data points describing a life I was still learning to live. But underneath the calculations, something warmer pulsed.
I had people who mattered. People worth protecting. People who'd stood with me against impossible odds and survived.
That was worth more than any extracted ability or strategic advantage.
"Cross." Adalind's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You're thinking too hard. I can tell."
"Bad habit."
"Try this instead." She stopped, turned to face me, and kissed me.
The contact was brief, unexpected, over before I could properly respond. Her expression when she pulled back was almost shy—a look I'd never seen from the calculating Hexenbiest who'd proposed our first alliance.
"Consider us even." Her voice was soft. "For now."
She walked away before I could formulate a response, disappearing into Portland's morning crowd.
I stood on the sidewalk, touching my lips like an idiot, feeling something I hadn't experienced since before the transmigration.
Hope.
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