Chapter 4

The next morning,my alarm woke me at the ungodly hour of seven. Ugh. I would have liked to sluice off, given I'd tossed and turned and gotten a bit sweaty, but my tub remained out of order. I did my best with a sink bath, using a facecloth to wipe down and then misting with something called Vanilla Bean Haze. Blame my mom for me even owning body spray.

I headed to the bureau and greeted Luanne on the way in, who waved as she spoke on the phone. I then said hello to Cinder and Belle, who'd arrived before me.

They clustered around my desk to pepper me with questions.

"I heard the hut in the woods was a slaughterhouse," Belle stated. "Glad I didn't go. I'd have hated to puke on my new shoes."

"That's what the paper bootie protectors are for," I replied.

"I'm good."

"Looks like the morgue conducting the autopsy is having a hard time with the slashes." Cinder must have peeked at my report. I didn't mind. She was better with the paper-trail forensic stuff than me. "They look like an animal clawed them, but the depth of the cuts and their randomness are also contradicting it—let alone the absence of bite marks."

"Could be something we've never seen before," Belle opined as I booted up my computer.

"A new story?" Cinder didn't hide her skepticism. "I thought it was pretty established that only the original tales from the 1812 book and some adaptations were the ones being reenacted."

"And who's to say that can't change?" Belle interjected. "No one knows how the Grimm Effect came about in the first place. Why can't it evolve or expand to other books?"

"Don't even think it," Cinder huffed. "Can you imagine if it decided to use one of the bibles? A flood would kill just about everyone."

"I'd be more worried about it latching onto Stephen King's or Clive Barker's stuff," I murmured.

The very suggestion widened their eyes. "That would be horrifying," Cinder breathed.

"Literally," I replied, deadpan, before opening my email to look for the report. "I assume, given your comments on the cuts, that we have something from the police department?"

"Not much. The autopsies will continue today, as will the analysis of fluids and other detritus. No suspects. No motive. No link between the victims," Cinder summarized.

She would be correct. Basically, the report detailed what I'd seen. Pile of dead bodies in a shack in the woods. No physical evidence to tie anybody. Not yet. They were still running lab tests on specimens, IE fingernail scrapings, dust, and dirt from the floor sweepings. I did scroll back a page as something I skimmed over caught my eye.

"What's got you looking so serious?" Belle leaned closer to read my screen.

"The clothing the victims wore." I pointed. "Is it me, or is there a lot of red fabric in there?" At the time, I'd not paid attention to the victims' garments, nor noticed the amount of red given all the dried and dark blood caking them.

"Seven shirts in total, six of them red. And a red skirt," Belle muttered.

Whereas Cinder murmured, "Uh-oh."

I knew what she thought, and immediately issued my disagreement. "This isn't at all related to the Little Red Cap story."

"But it looks like it might be a wolf, and they all wore red," Cinder insisted.

"And? There are other stories with wolves."

"Wolves that eat people?" Belle countered. "You remember what I told you yesterday about curses reactivating for some people who evaded? I wouldn't discount it so quickly."

"Well, if it is the wolf, and he comes after me, he won't live to regret it." I wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

"I guess the bigger question is, did you meet a handsome huntsman?" Cinder grinned as I grimaced.

"No. And even if I did, I would run the other way. I will not become a victim."

"Not everyone hates their fairytale ending," Cinder countered.

"Says the woman who wouldn't put on the shoe when the prince came around."

Her lips twisted. "Prince Henrick was almost seventy. Why do you think I lost it in the first place? I was escaping his groping hands." Cinder had gone to a charity masquerade ball in her early twenties. While she didn't have a wicked stepmother or sisters to contend with, she did have jealous coworkers, who found out she was planning to go because of a free ticket she'd won on a radio contest. Having picked up her dress from the seamstress on her way to work, she'd hung it in the lunchroom, where the jealous cows did a number on it. When they left, Cinder wept over it as a last customer entered. You might have guessed who—a fairy godmother, who made it so Cinder could still go.

And she'd looked amazing. I'd seen the pictures. Dancing the night away. Drawing the eye of the ancient prince in attendance.

But she'd avoided what came after, never trying on the shoe when he came looking for her. One of her coworkers put it on instead and married the prince. She later died when the prince found out she'd lied, something about treason to his throne. A smart Cinder—not her real name but the one given to her by coworkers which she happily adopted as a badge of honor—had escaped the curse.

"I don't need a man, huntsman or otherwise, to make me happy," I vehemently stated.

"I wish I had that dilemma," Belle groused. "I'd prefer something that isn't battery-powered."

I snorted. "Or hairy."

She grimaced. Her initial beast had been furry head to toe. "Don't even remind me. You know, in the stories, they made it seem like love cured him, but they never mentioned that love involved sex with a virgin." Even worse, not all the women survived that coupling. Sometimes the beast got a little too enthusiastic.

"Back to the case… I don't think it has anything to do with me or a different Red Cap in the area."

"Why not?" Belle glanced at me with a curious yet doubtful look.

"Because in the story of Little Red Cap the wolf didn't collect bodies," I explained. "It ate the grandma, and wanted to eat the girl. In this case, our perpetrator isn't ingesting victims."

"So which story do we think it is? Quite a few of them have psycho killers," Cinder mused aloud.

"I don't recall any of them storing corpses, though," Belle countered.

My memory was hazy on that score too.

Cinder glanced at me. "What's your next move?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"What about that witness? The one who found it?" Cinder leaned over to drag my cursor to a different page and then highlighted his address. "Says he thought he saw a wolf or a dog leaving the hut."

"I already spoke to him."

"While he was in shock. You should visit him again now that he's had a chance to process. I know when I'm building a case, oftentimes, what the initial report details and what they later remember can differ." Cinder made a good point.

Still… "Meaning he'll have had time to convince himself it was, indeed, a wolf."

"If it was, there will be something to confirm once the rest of the lab tests come in. A wolf sheds dander and hair, and it leaves behind saliva in the wounds." Cinder ticked off the many ways it could have left a clue.

"I guess since I have no other leads…"

Guess I'd be paying Walden a visit.

His house did prove to be close to Regent Park. A nice place, not quite mansion-sized but at least three or four bedrooms. Red brick exterior with black shutters, window trim, and a glossy door. The two-car garage had no windows, so I couldn't see if he'd parked inside it. The spotless driveway held nothing, not even a grease spot.

The front lawn appeared tidy, as did the garden beds. I couldn't imagine Mr. Walden tending either. He most likely hired out.

A knock at the door didn't bring anyone to answer. No Mrs. Walden. No housekeeper. Also, no dog barking.

I frowned at the frosted glass. I thought little mongrels yapped at everything. Maybe he'd trained it to not do that, or he'd taken it to work.

A few steps back and I craned, looking upward, though not sure what I sought. Whatever it was, I didn't find it. The house looked normal. The neighborhood as well. No rapidly spreading rose bushes, indicating a Beauty tale. No gnarly encroaching forest of candied house stories.

With my status as agent for the bureau, I didn't need a warrant to peek in his backyard. I just couldn't enter his house without just cause.

The yard proved plain. Perfectly mowed lawn. A stone patio, lacking furniture, that had a sliding glass door leading into the house. I walked the length of the yard, and it took me a second to realize that not only did the lawn lack little poop bombs but I also didn't see any yellow spots where the dog pee had killed the grass. Mom was always cursing about the neighbor's pooch who kept pissing in the same spot. Could be Mr. Walden walked his dog to preserve his yard.

Since the home visit proved a bust, I checked my phone to see he didn't work too far, the address not one I'd visited before. Might as well go and say hello.

With my motorcycle clamped between the thighs, giving me a nice thrill, I made my way to a busy location where the sun had a hard time getting past all the tall office buildings. The one I sought proved to be one of the largest. At least thirty stories of reflective glass, which explained the bird that smacked into it and fell. Not the first that morning by the looks of the corpses on the ground below.

I headed inside, passing through the glass doors, only to be stopped by security at the screening station when I failed to produce a building pass.

The corpulent fellow hiked his pants and kept his thumbs tucked in the loops as he confronted me. "Hello, ma'am. Who do you have an appointment with?"

"I don't."

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

While I usually didn't flex, I also didn't like people obstructing me when I worked. I yanked out my badge and flashed it. "Agent Hood with the Fairytale Bureau, here to speak to Mr. Walden about a current investigation."

"Is he in trouble?" the guard asked, looking a tad eager.

"No, just doing a follow-up."

"Oh." Now he seemed disappointed. "Is he expecting you?"

"Nope." I popped the p. "I thought I'd surprise him. But before I do, what can you tell me about Mr. Walden?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about the buildings' occupants." A stiff, well-practiced reply.

"Obviously you can't with normal people. But we're both in the security and law enforcement field." I fed his ego. "One pro to another, what can you tell me?"

He leaned in close to whisper, "He's a stiff one. Never says hello. He comes in every day, same time, eight a.m. Leaves at five o'clock exactly."

"What's the name of his company?" I probably could have looked it up, but asking would be quicker.

"Walden Inc."

Well, that didn't tell me much. "And what does his company do?"

The security guard shrugged. "No idea. He's only been here a few months. You're the first person who's shown up to see him."

My brows arched. "That seems odd."

"Not really. Since the plague of 2020, lots of folks are doing things virtually." A plague caused by rats that were, you guessed it, cursed.

"If he has no clients, then why the expensive office?"

He shrugged. "No idea. Maybe to escape the wife at home?" He then seemed to realize how that sounded and blustered, "Just saying some people like a quiet office atmosphere and no distractions."

I didn't bust his balls over it since he fed me information. "What about Mr. Walden's dog?"

His confusion matched his, "What dog?"

So he didn't bring it to work. "I should go speak with him. What floor is he on?"

"Top one. He rented the entire thing."

Extravagant for a guy who didn't have any clients that visited. "Thanks." I headed for the elevator despite my general dislike of them. Even my fit butt wasn't about to climb thirty flights of stairs.

The elevator music had me tapping my foot in boredom and impatience. When the doors slid open, I stepped out to see nothing.

Not entirely true. The vast open space had a few columns going to the ceiling. Windows all around let in sunlight, bright enough I squinted. What I didn't spot? Any desks. Or boxes. Or anything you'd expect to find in an office, just concrete floors and drywall needing paint.

"Can I help you?"

The familiar voice had me turning to see Walden coming around the side of the elevator, which projected through the middle of the building.

"Hello, Mr. Walden."

"Agent Hood. What a pleasure to see you again." I didn't sense any fakeness in his greeting or nervousness. On the contrary, his wide grin almost made me smile in reply.

I didn't cave to his charm. "I wanted to talk to you again about yesterday's incident. Is it a good time?"

"Even if it weren't, I'd make time for you." He definitely flirted.

Don't get me wrong. Totally flattered, but still, I'd come on official business. "Were you working?"

"Not exactly. I was just studying the blueprints for the remodel. Wanted to make sure everything I asked for was included before handing it over to the construction crew."

"What are you turning this area into?" I asked.

"A new showroom and headquarters. The company outgrew the last office and gallery. Since I had to move, I decided to relocate to a city that would provide easier access."

"What does Walden Inc. do?" It had nothing to do with the investigation, but inquiring minds wanted to know.

"The company deals in lumber and fur."

The mention of those two resources immediately triggered my defenses. I blinked but didn't panic. Despite his company's products, the man didn't wear plaid or carry an axe or rifle like most huntsman did. In fact, in his tailored suit, Walden looked very much unlike someone who made a living out in the wild. More like a businessman who presided at the top of a company, making money off the hard work of others. "That seems an odd combination."

"Not to my family. We've been selling our products for more than fifty years," Walden boasted.

"It must be lucrative to be able to afford a place like this." It slipped out, but he didn't take offense.

"Very. It should be noted, when I say lumber, I don't mean the regular kind you can buy in a big box store but the harder-to-get stuff. It's amazing what people will pay for exotic wood."

"And the fur?"

"Again, nothing mass-produced."

"What kind of animals?"

"Depends on the menace." He spread his hands. "While the bigger cities are lucky to have a bureau to handle certain threats, more remote places aren't as fortunate and will hire the services of those who can provide aid."

"You kill monsters." I didn't actually care if he did. Someone had to do it. Heck, I'd done it. But to build a business around it?

"I hunt down those threatening, yes, and I don't take a fee, just the remains, which are then repurposed. Restaurants dealing in rarities buy the meat. The bones are usually snatched up by apothecaries, while the fur and skin become clothing or, if large enough, a blanket or rug."

He made it sound altruistic. Me, I felt stupid for not knowing there even existed a market for those types of things. "When you say you hunt down, do you mean you have a team that you send out to do it?"

"I am the one taking the creature's life. It would be remiss of me to ask someone else to put themselves in danger."

My witness claimed to be more than just a businessman in a suit but did that make him a true huntsman? Could be he exaggerated about his involvement in the hunt. "Do you have these types of missions often?"

His shoulders rolled. "Depends. Some months, I might have two or three but then go stretches with nothing."

A one-man hunting party that goes months without a job? "Doesn't seem like steady income you can rely on."

"Actually, the scarcity raises the price." He swept a hand. "Here I am being rude, keeping you standing. Come. I've got chairs and coffee this way."

He led me around the elevator, and finally I saw signs of an actual business. Or at least use of the space. A few tables were set up with tile samples and paint chips. Another held the aforementioned blueprint. A series of club chairs surrounded a glass coffee table and, near that, a coffee machine and a bar fridge.

"How long before this is all done?" I spoke to Walden's back as he poured us each a mug of coffee.

"Bert, my contractor, says it won't be more than a few weeks. We don't need to run much wiring, and we're leaving most of the space open." Walden handed me my mug, the coffee dark and aromatic.

Hoping to catch him off guard, I said, "Where's your dog?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "Daycare. While he is well-behaved if left alone, given I put in full days, I don't want him neglected. Why?"

No point in hiding. "I swung by your house and didn't hear any barking."

"Even when home, Rambo isn't usually noisy." He seemed unbothered by the news that I'd been there, though he did ask, "Were you wanting to follow up on yesterday's events?"

I nodded. "I don't suppose you happened to remember any new details. Even the slightest thing could make a difference."

Walden frowned. "I've racked my brain, but I honestly don't think I forgot anything."

More reason to doubt his professional claims. Huntsmen couldn't be successful without being observant. A true hunter would notice every single detail around him, from the bend of a branch to the faintest impression on the ground. This guy had given us no more information than any other civvy who might have happened upon the site.

"You say you were walking when Rambo ran into the woods. Did you see any vehicles parked nearby?" If he didn't have any new details to offer, it was up to me to try to come up with something we hadn't already asked him.

"There's always cars parked," he remarked.

"What about one that seemed out of place? I mean, if you do that route often, you most likely know what to expect."

He snapped his fingers. "Now that you mention it, there was a rather battered truck parked opposite the park. It only struck me because the vehicles in the neighborhood tend to be less decrepit."

"Do you know the make and model? The color?"

"It was black with rust on the panels above the tires. As to what type?" He shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention."

A shame because that vague of a description didn't help much. "Anything else? Someone else walking? Maybe a sound."

"As I told the cops yesterday, no. I tend to mind my business." He looked chagrinned.

"It's okay. It's just always worth asking again, just in case a witness remembers more once the shock wears off."

"Sorry. I wish I had more to tell you."

I nodded and pivoted the questioning, directly addressing what I'd been wondering since I'd found out his profession. "If you regularly hunt down monsters, you must be used to seeing this kind of carnage."

Walden grimaced. "No, actually. I'm usually called in after a threat has been identified. I just go in to take them out and there's never any reason for me to examine their victims. Not to mention, I've never heard of this level of slaughter."

"Right." He could be telling the truth, but something wasn't adding up. This large, expensive office space, his admitting he only had occasional hunting jobs, plus the fact that he'd been so shaken up at the scene… No way was he a huntsman, just a pretentious rich guy who liked to pretend he was tough.

"I'm a little shook, to be honest. To think this was happening in my neighborhood..." He ducked his head.

"I'm sure we'll capture whoever or whatever it is soon."

"I hope so. I'd hate for someone else to die so horribly. Torn apart like that. What kind of savage beast would do such a thing?"

An odd thing for a self-proclaimed monster hunter to remark, especially given he'd claimed to see a wolf.

"Don't confront," I ordered sternly, not wanting pretty boy to find out the hard way how vicious a beast could really be. "You said yourself, the Grimm monsters don't usually behave like this. We don't know what we're dealing with, so if you see if you see anything out of the ordinary, call the bureau for assistance."

"Of course." Said with an ease and a blank face that I couldn't read. Was Walden planning to put on his fancy hunting duds and head out into the woods himself, or was he smart enough to be scared into remaining inside, safely away from our predator?

Hopefully, for his sake, it was the second.

I rose from my seat. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walden. I'll let you get back to work."

"Please, call me Alistair."

I didn't offer him the courtesy of my first name, mostly to keep the professional line. "Enjoy your day, Alistair, and if you do remember anything, even the tiniest of details, be sure to give me a shout."

"Will do, Agent Hood. And if you need anything, at all, be sure to pop by. I'm usually here in the daytime and home by six, at the latest."

After I left his office building, I went to the bureau and did some digging. Walden Inc. did indeed deal in rare items. When he said lumber, it actually meant deadfall harvesting from Grimm-Effect-induced forests. No wonder he called it lucrative. The cutting of the trees in these magical forests had been forbidden around the world because of the consequences. The most striking example being in the town of Redwood. People, frightened by the changes in their neighborhood, had tried bulldozing a copse that appeared overnight. The next day, the town had been swallowed by a massive forest. Entire homes, the inhabitants, cars, everything gone, and in its place a forest to rival the Black one in Germany.

So no cutting live trees, but deadfall appeared to be okay to salvage, while also rare enough to raise the demand by the elite who wanted a piece of an enchanted forest in their home.

The company didn't just source the wood; they also built with it. The site featured images of homes with wood accent walls. Furniture. Even sculptures using knobby knolls.

Cinder leaned over me and muttered, "That is creepy."

"What is?" Because the current piece of art on my screen, a carefully carved wood nymph, appeared quite spectacular.

"Who would want any wood from those spooky forests in their house? It's like inviting the curse inside."

"I don't think the Grimm Effect cares if it has an invite."

"Still, it's like poking the ogre. No way. Not happening," she stated.

"You think that's bad, check out what else they do." I flipped to images of the fur and skin stretched into a lampshade, a coat of Yeti fur—which weren't the nice cartoon kind we knew from Christmas. The Yeti weren't a product of the Grimm Effect. By all accounts, they'd always existed, but with the advent of magic, they suddenly started making documented appearances, which usually involved rampaging through small villages and killing everyone.

"I can't believe people will pay ten thousand dollars for a wolf rug," Cinder murmured.

"Not just any wolf rug. Those transformed by the curse." Which technically made Walden a murderer. After all, the wolves used to be people in some cases. But at the same time, the bureau did tend to kill rabid wolves on sight. Turned out reasoning with them didn't work, and it took only a few agents being mauled to death before the capture policy changed.

"Even creepier," Cinder insisted, before grabbing my shoulder. "Wait, does this make him a huntsman?"

"Absolutely not," I assured her. "He's way too wigged out about what he witnessed and about the possibility of there being a rampaging animal around. He's definitely not the huntsman type, despite what he might claim."

"And what did he claim?" Despite my insistence, Cinder looked worried.

"He says he goes out and kills the animals himself, but there's no way. Guaranteed that if he doesshoot anything, it's some kind of managed trophy hunt." I shrugged it off.

"I don't know—"

"Any word yet on forensics?" I cut her off, knowing Cinder tended to stay on top of those kinds of things.

"No. And yet we should have gotten something by now."

I turned in my chair. "Should I give them a shout?"

Before Cinder could reply, Sally from across the room exclaimed, "Holy schizzle on a stick, the lab is on fire."

"What lab?" I dumbly said.

"The lab. The one that processes all the crime scenes in the city," Sally explained.

"How bad is it? Did they manage to protect the samples?" Because I really hoped for a clue from them to help me with my case.

"Sorry, Hood. Reports are saying it's a complete and utter loss."

Well fuck. There went all my evidence.