Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Amidst the heart of an ancient forest, Juliette found herself standing on the edge of a world that seemed both familiar and surreal. The moon's pale light filtered through the canopy of trees, casting an eerie glow upon the foliage that surrounded her. A sense of unease settled upon her, as though she had stepped into a place where reality and illusion intertwined.

The crunching of the foliage beneath her feet echoed through the stillness, each step resonating with the weight of uncertainty. It was as though the forest itself held its breath, waiting for the events to unfold. With every movement, a whisper of her past trailed behind her—a reminder of the decisions she had made and the consequences she had faced.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the shadows, a silhouette that seemed to materialize from the very fabric of the night. It was Kelly Burkhardt, her presence exuding an aura of hostility that sent a shiver down Juliette's spine. Her eyes bore an intensity that seemed to pierce through the darkness, fixating upon Juliette with an unsettling focus.

Juliette's heart quickened as she gazed upon the familiar face, a face that carried with it memories of both love and resentment. She wanted to speak, to call out Kelly's name and ask why she was here, but her voice remained trapped within her chest, stifled by the weight of guilt and apprehension.

Kelly's lips curled into a sinister smile, her expression contorting into something unnerving. It was as if the darkness that had always existed within her had been unleashed, consuming her humanity and leaving behind only a facade of hostility. As she advanced, the shadows seemed to cling to her form, twisting and warping her figure into something more menacing.

Juliette's instincts screamed at her to flee, to escape the confrontation that loomed ahead. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned and sprinted deeper into the forest, the trees and undergrowth blurring as she pushed herself to the limit. But no matter how fast she ran, Kelly's presence remained a constant, relentless pursuit that seemed to defy the laws of distance and time.

The forest transformed around her, shifting and morphing with every step. She found herself in a hall of mirrors, each reflection a fragmented glimpse of her past and her own insecurities. Her footsteps echoed in the confined space, the sound a dissonant symphony that reverberated through her mind.

With a sharp turn, she found herself face-to-face with a mirror that seemed different from the rest. It was tarnished and cracked, and as she looked into it, her own reflection twisted into something monstrous and unrecognizable. Her once gentle features contorted, replaced by feral eyes that glowed with an unnatural light and fingers that were mere skeletal hands.

A guttural growl filled the air, emanating from behind her. The ground shook beneath her feet as if responding to the primal rage that had been awakened. She turned to find Kelly, her form now towering above the trees like a giant. Claws extended from her fingers, gleaming in the moonlight, and her eyes burned with an intensity that matched the inferno within.

The towering figure of Kelly brought her claws down with a single swipe, the force of the motion sending trees crashing to the ground like mere twigs. A path of destruction cleared between them, leaving Juliette with no escape route. She watched in horror as a massive tree toppled toward her, its branches reaching out like accusing fingers.

Fear surged through her veins as the tree descended, its impact inevitable and crushing. In that split second, with the shadow of impending doom enveloping her, Juliette's eyes snapped open, and she was jolted awake.

As consciousness returned, an unsettling realization dawned upon her. Something was awry, a discordant note in her surroundings. Her heart raced as her gaze fell upon her hand, ensnared by the grip of an unyielding spindle. A gnarled appendage, like a twisted finger of wood, skewered her palm. The pain, though now muted compared to her dream, coursed through her hand like a haunting echo of the ordeal she had recently endured.

Seated in chairs at the same table lay the other women, their forms sprawled in varying states of unconsciousness, their true natures exposed as they remained fully Woged for any onlooker to see. The aftermath of their seventh consecutive power theft of the day had left them incapacitated, unconscious from the overwhelming agony.

A brief disorientation clouded Juliette's mind before she recalled their current predicament. They had stumbled upon an old, abandoned train depot concealed amidst a labyrinth of forgotten tracks and tangled undergrowth. The dilapidated brick walls and derelict train carriages offered a promise of concealment, a sanctuary from prying eyes.

Within this bleak industrial backdrop, they had discovered an overlooked storage compartment, a hidden alcove that provided a temporary respite from their ongoing ordeal. The metallic door of the compartment protested with a rusty groan each time it was opened or closed.

Inside the compartment's interior, surprising spaciousness awaited. The walls were adorned with tattered remnants of bygone maps and timetables, the faded ink a testament to the passage of time. Through the cracks in the windows, the distant hum of urban traffic whispered, a reminder of the bustling city that lay beyond their sanctuary. A stash of abandoned supplies bore silent witness to the compartment's previous occupation, a refuge for someone who had sought safety within its confines months, if not years, ago.

Outside, the wind danced through gaps in the depot's weathered walls, a chill carried with it.

Juliette's focus returned to her hand, now her primary concern. Gritting her teeth, she embarked on the delicate process of freeing her palm from the spindle's grasp. The peculiar aftereffect of the Siphon's magic had once again left her wound devoid of blood, complicating her efforts. The arid condition of the wound caused the spindle to grate against her flesh, sending quivers along the tendons of her hand. Occasionally, the friction elicited a low, dissonant squeak, requiring further determination as she gradually eased her hand toward freedom.

Once freed, she wrapped her hand with a cloth as a makeshift bandage. She opened and closed her fist around it, wincing each time.

She sat in silence. At least the shabby hotel room they'd had before had a television. Now all she had was the light of her cell phone and no way to charge it when the battery ran out.

A short time passed and each of the other members of her Coven woke on their own. Each one seeming to be just as confused about their whereabouts as when they initially came to.

Not much was said between them. The most recent power theft had been excruciating. Juliette wasn't sure if the pain increased simply because they'd done it so many times or if there was some connection to the individual they were stealing power from that couldn't be predicted that made it more painful.

Robin swore in Spanish before she said in English, "We're not doing that anymore, right? I think we have enough power thefts under our belts to take care of whatever we're up against."

Collette looked to Juliette to try to measure her confidence. But all Juliette could do was shrug, "Probably. But we don't know what kind of reinforcements they'll have."

Gail stood from her seat, which was just a cinder block they'd found, and paced the room, "I'm torn between using the Siphon more, which will obviously take more time, and just doing this so we can get it over with. I don't want to wait longer than I have to. My sister understood the risks, and I do too, but I don't want to leave this Grimm out there with her blood on his hands. And if this Staff he has is as powerful as you're making it out to be, I don't think any Grimm should own it."

Collette pointed out, "The closest Hexenbiest we have record of is over an hour away. We could go and get more materials to use the Siphon more. But I think the bigger question is what do we do when we are confident that we have enough power? How do we track down the Grimm?"

Silence fell over the room. Juliette hadn't wanted to do it, but realized now there was no other choice, "We go after the Grimm's allies directly. I wouldn't be surprised if they're expecting that, which is the reason I hadn't suggested it until now, but I don't see any other option."

Robin didn't have the same motivations as the others. She sought no revenge, she wanted power, perhaps not as badly as Collette did, but the desire was there. The idea of voluntarily walking into a trap held as much temptation as using the Siphon again. She looked at her hand, examining the fresh wound. No matter how many times they'd pressed the spindles into their already damaged hands, the blood would flow as freely as though it were the first time.

Robin grappled with conflicting instincts. On one hand, the idea of knowingly walking into a possible trap raised her caution flags high, triggering an inner alarm. Doubts clouded her mind, urging her to tread carefully.

Yet, the memory of the Siphon's searing pain lingered, a vivid reminder etched into her mind. Each use had ignited a fiery discomfort that resonated deep within her, creating a visceral hesitation.

Stuck between these opposing forces, her thoughts swayed back and forth. The allure of power clashed with the dread of pain and uncertainty. It was a mental battle, a tug-of-war inside her head.

She glanced at Gail, believing that her sister had been killed by the Grimm and that the Grimm had somehow convinced Hexenbiests to help him made her wonder how much more powerful of an adversary he could be now that he had more time to plan and had information provided to him by Manon.

After looking at her surroundings and weighing her options she said, "We can do more power thefts, but I'm not staying here longer than we have to. I say we get a new permanent residence one way or another. I know we couldn't have known that the Grimm would have Hexenbiest allies, but I wish we had planned better for this."

Collette didn't react, but inwardly, she was smiling.

Samantha stepped into the cavernous space, her footsteps echoing against the vast expanse of concrete floor. The scent of dust and echoes of past industry lingered in the air. Overwhelmed and tired, Samantha had not anticipated that her role as Chairperson of the new Wesen Council would lead to days like these. Today marked the sixth property she had been shown, a whirlwind of warehouses and office spaces, each blending into the next in a blur of possibilities and potential.

The realtor, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, walked beside her. "Welcome to the Weaver's Loft," the realtor said, her voice bright as she gestured to the open space. "Named that because this is where they used to weave fabrics out of the textiles they'd manufacture. This is one of the most versatile warehouses in town. It could easily be converted into a stunning event venue, and it could be the perfect place for the Portland Council of Citizen Welfare."

Samantha nodded appreciatively, trying to muster the energy to take in the space before her. The expansive room spread out before her, wide enough to hold a multitude of tables for events or be sectioned off into smaller meeting spaces. Large, industrial windows allowed natural light to spill in, casting a warm glow over the polished concrete floor.

"You'll find that the layout offers exceptional flexibility," the realtor continued. "We've kept the original pillars and beams, adding a rustic touch that's all the rage nowadays."

Samantha imagined Wesen families celebrating here, mingling beneath the open rafters. She pictured the council members holding urgent meetings in one corner while laughter and music filled another.

"We've also updated the amenities," the realtor said, leading Samantha to a sleek kitchenette tucked in the corner. "Catering for events will be a breeze with the modern appliances and spacious prep area."

Samantha nodded, her mind already whirring with possibilities. As they walked further, she noticed several discreet doors leading to smaller rooms.

"These side rooms could be converted into private offices for the council," the realtor explained. "You'd have your own designated space for discussions and planning."

Samantha smiled appreciatively. Having dedicated offices within the same venue would make coordination much more efficient. They rounded a corner and stepped into a dimly lit area that resembled a lounge.

"And this could be your lounge area," the realtor said. "Perfect for council members to unwind after meetings or for guests to enjoy during events."

Samantha nodded, mentally mapping out the layout. The realtor paused, giving her a moment to take it all in.

"I know it's been a long week of viewings," the realtor said kindly. "But I truly believe the Weaver's Loft has the potential to be everything you're looking for."

Samantha glanced around, feeling the weight of the decision. After seeing so many places both in person and online, each with its own charm and possibilities, she was becoming weary. There was something about the Weaver's Loft—the way its industrial soul blended seamlessly with the vision of what Samantha thought PCCW could be in the long term.

As she turned to the realtor, Samantha found herself nodding with a newfound confidence. "This place has real potential," she said, her smile genuine. "Though, I'll admit, it's not without its challenges."

The realtor's face remained enthusiastic, though a touch curious. "Challenges?"

Samantha gestured toward the lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. "Just as a couple of examples, the lighting could use some adjustments to create a warmer atmosphere in what will be the event area, and I noticed a couple of leaky pipes in the restroom."

The realtor nodded understandingly. "Of course, those are things we can address during renovations. We want to make sure the space is perfect for your needs."

With a firm handshake, they began the preliminary agreement, marking the beginning of a new chapter for the Portland Council of Citizen Welfare and their journey to transform the Weaver's Loft into a vibrant and functional hub for the Wesen community.

After walking back to her parked car, Samantha settled into it, the engine untouched. Instead of turning the key, she sat in contemplative silence. There was a paradox within her emotions. On one hand, the opportunity to become a community leader held the promise of positivity. She could envision the joyous wedding receptions, the lively bar mitzvahs, and the vibrant Quinceañeras that would soon grace the halls of their renovated community center. Yet, a looming darkness cast its shadow over her thoughts. The mantle of community leadership also meant enforcing Wesen law, a responsibility that would involve making tough decisions and engaging with the less celebratory aspects of Wesen life. Like hiring more mercenaries.

She had grappled for days with the conflicting emotions that came with her new role. Each time she tried to reconcile the positive and negative aspects, the reality of her responsibilities edged closer, pushing her back to her initial state of emotional turmoil. It was a blessing to have Trubel to confide in during these moments of uncertainty.

Sitting in her car, the weight of her thoughts grew heavier. Another layer of pain emerged—her longing to consult her brother, Zachary, about her predicament. The desire to hear his voice and seek his advice was now a void she couldn't fill. His life had been taken by a Grimm, leaving her with only memories.

She attempted to conjure in her mind what Zachary might say to comfort her, to offer guidance. Yet, this exercise only stirred up a storm of grief and anger within her. A welling of tears threatened, and she brushed them away with the sleeve of her jacket, determined not to succumb to their pull. Softly, almost as if speaking to herself, she murmured, "I just miss him so much." In that moment of sorrow, her Wesen nature surfaced involuntarily as she Woged.

The waves of emotion grew stronger, and it seemed she might lose the battle against her tears. Just then, her cell phone began buzzing, interrupting her internal struggle. Without looking, she reached into her bag, searching until her fingers found the device. She drew a steadying breath, wiping away the remnants of her tears and shaking off her unintended Woge. With a conscious effort, she answered the call, shifting into a professional demeanor despite the emotions rolling around within her.

"Hey, Samantha. I mean, Chairperson! It's Bud. I know I probably shouldn't be calling you directly, but it's like... you won't believe what's happening. You know, the whole power theft thing? Yeah, it's like... I've got this pile of reports here, and by pile, I mean my our email box has dozens of back and forth reports of break-ins and thefts. Obviously, they must be Hexenbiest power thefts, right? Like, way more than we thought there'd be. And I'm thinking, this can't just be a coincidence, right? It's like... it's like a power theft spree or something. Should we, you know, be worried? Should we be like... doing something about this? Sorry if I'm overreacting, but it's... well, it's a lot. And I thought maybe you should know. So, yeah. What do you think?"

Samantha blinked, absorbing Bud's words. His rambling was in full swing, but she also heard the genuine concern in his voice. "Bud, take a breath. You did the right thing by letting me know. Power thefts on any scale are definitely concerning. Let's get a meeting together with the council members. We need to discuss this and figure out a plan of action. Thanks for reaching out, Bud."

Bud exhaled audibly, "Right, yeah, a meeting. That's... that's a good idea. Sorry for sounding all... you know, panicked. I just thought, 'Bud, you gotta tell Samantha.' So, I did. Meeting it is, then. I'll, uh, round up the council members. Thanks, Samantha."

"No problem, Bud. Your instincts are valuable. We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll see you at the meeting."

"Okay, great. Thanks. See you soon, Chairperson Samantha!"

Samantha ended the call, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Bud's sincerity and unique way of expressing himself were always a bright spot, even in the midst of extreme challenges.

Bud stopped pacing around his refrigerator repair shop and set his phone on the counter. He was wearing his usual uniform, though he wondered to himself how much longer he was going to be able to maintain his business if Wesen Council demands continued at this pace. He mentally admonished himself, remembering that people's lives were at stake, and being a little busy was a small price to pay if it meant putting a stop to what was going on.

He glanced over at his guests, two Hexenbiests that had been guarding his shop for several days. They were young and spent most of their days chatting between themselves in German. Bud only knew a few German words; occasionally, he'd catch the word Grimm. One of them had once asked him to confirm that the Grimm had really fought another Grimm in defense of Wesen. Bud admitted he wasn't there to see it, but he was certain it happened. Insisting that he was good friends with 'The Grimm' and that Nick had protected an Eisbiber from a Hässlich. The reactions of the Hexenbiests were difficult to read, however. Perhaps protecting an Eisbiber from a Hässlich wasn't as honorable a claim to the Hexenbiests as he thought it would be.

Distracted, he turned and walked back to his storage area. He had a freezer chest he needed to repair. He reached for his toolbox, which rested on a nearby shelf, and began his meticulous inspection.

As he leaned in, he expected to hear the familiar hum of the motor, but all that met his ears was silence. It was a sobering reminder that the freezer was completely disconnected from power, and that he had far too much on his mind today, as he should have known this.

He plugged the cord into a nearby outlet and strained his ears for any unusual sounds, like clicking or buzzing, which could indicate a problem with the compressor motor. If everything sounded normal, he would move on to the thermostat.

From behind him, he instead heard the door of the shop opening, the distinctive chimes that hung above it alerting him. At first, he thought nothing of it. It could have been one of the Hexenbiests heading out for a snack or just some air. But within a few seconds, there was a loud crashing sound that caused him to bolt upright and quick march towards the cacophony. He felt it before he could see them. The hairs on his arms were standing, a chill ran through his body that he couldn't explain, and as he passed through the doorway, he immediately understood.

Two fully Woged Hexenbiests Bud didn't immediately recognize were standing inside his shop. Their hands were pointed at the ceiling of the far wall, just above Bud's head. He looked up and found the two girls who had been tasked with guarding him pinned against the ceiling. Held there by the magical willpower of the Hexenbiests that Bud knew had to be in Juliette's Coven.

He had just enough time to take a single step backward when one of the Hexenbiests waved her free hand, and Bud found his feet sliding on the floor towards his newfound enemies. He attempted to flee, but it felt as though he were walking against a strong current or undertow. His feet couldn't gain traction on the ground. His sneakers made several squeaks against the floor as he attempted to get away.

He turned his head enough to see his protectors wiggling their bodies, trying to break free of the hold on them, but all they could manage were a few muted shouts in anger.

"You must be Bud."

Bud recognized the accent to be Spanish and began cycling names through his mind: Rachel? Rebecca? Regina? Robin!

He tilted his head and bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from how terrified he was. He cleared his throat and looked her in the eye as he said, "Robin, you don't have to do this. We can resolve all of this peacefully. But if you hurt anyone," his body was still held by Robin's magic, but he did his best to gesture behind him with a jerk of his head towards the girls that were supposed to be guarding him still pinned to the ceiling, "if you hurt these girls, all bets will be off. Nick and the others will take you down. The Wesen Council will be chasing you the rest of your life."

Robin snorted out a derisive laugh, "The Wesen Council? You mean the inmundicia you gathered up and called a Council? Don't make me laugh."

She glanced at her compatriot and said, "Knock them out, but don't kill them." She continued to speak to her ally but turned to look at Bud as she added, "We'll be needing them alive, anyway."