Chapter 26: The Scent
The Forest Park crime scene was still active when Cole arrived.
Yellow tape cordoned off a section of trail maybe fifty feet from the parking area where his client's brother's car had been found abandoned. Police vehicles clustered near the trailhead. Forensic techs moved through the trees in their white suits.
And standing at the edge of the tape, talking with a detective Cole didn't recognize, were Nick Burkhardt and Monroe.
Of course they're here.
Cole had taken the missing brother case three days ago—a routine investigation that should have been straightforward. Michael Chen, 28, software developer, last seen leaving his apartment on November 15th. His car had been found here two days later, empty, with signs of a struggle in the passenger seat.
The overlap with Nick's investigation was probably coincidental. Forest Park was a large area, and bad things happened there with uncomfortable regularity. But coincidence in Portland's supernatural landscape had a way of becoming something more complicated.
Cole parked two hundred feet from the police vehicles and approached on foot, using the hiking trails to circle wide around the active scene. His new tracking sense painted the forest in layers of scent—deer had passed through hours ago, hikers had walked this trail that morning, and underneath it all was the particular chemical signature of violence.
Blood. Fear. Something died here recently.
He found a position on a ridge overlooking the crime scene, sheltered by underbrush, and pulled out the binoculars he'd purchased to replace the pair lost in Volk's warehouse. The view was excellent.
Nick stood near the tape, his Grimm senses probably telling him things the forensic team couldn't imagine. He looked more confident than the last time Cole had observed him—still tired, still carrying the weight of his heritage, but more settled into the role. His first month as a Grimm had hardened him in necessary ways.
Monroe paced near the treeline, sniffing the air with the focused attention of a Blutbad tracking prey.
Then he stopped.
Cole watched through the binoculars as Monroe's posture changed—confusion replacing purpose, his head turning toward the ridge where Cole was hidden. The Blutbad's nostrils flared. His expression shifted from curious to troubled.
He smells something.
Cole's new essences had changed his scent profile. He was no longer simply human, or even simply one type of Wesen. He carried the signatures of four different species, layered and intermingled in ways that probably shouldn't exist.
To a Blutbad's nose, I must smell like a nightmare.
Monroe said something to Nick—Cole couldn't hear the words from this distance—and took several steps toward the treeline. His eyes scanned the ridge, searching for the source of the anomaly.
Cole backed away slowly, using the Skalengeck's patience to control his movements. No sudden motions. No sounds that might carry. He retreated through the forest with the careful precision of something that had been hunted before.
When he reached his car, Monroe was still standing at the treeline, staring up at the ridge with an expression Cole couldn't read from this distance.
He knows something was there. He just doesn't know what.
The coffee shop on Quimby was quiet at 4 PM—the afternoon lull between lunch crowds and evening commuters.
Cole sat at his usual table, nursing an espresso and processing what had happened at Forest Park. His laptop was open to Michael Chen's social media profiles, searching for connections that might explain his disappearance without requiring direct investigation of the crime scene.
"Double shot, extra foam," Heather said, sliding a fresh cup across the counter. "On the house. You look like you need it."
Cole managed a smile. "Rough week."
"Tell me about it. My car got towed, my roommate moved out, and my cat threw up on my laptop." She shrugged with the practiced resilience of someone who'd learned to find humor in disaster. "But you know what? The sun's still shining. Relatively speaking."
"That's one way to look at it."
"The only way, if you want to stay sane." She smiled and moved to help another customer.
Small anchors. Normal interactions. Don't lose them.
Cole turned back to his laptop.
Michael Chen's social media painted a picture of a quiet life—software work, occasional hiking trips, a small circle of friends. Nothing that suggested involvement with the supernatural.
Except for one thing.
A series of photos from three months ago showed Michael at a nightclub called Moonrise, dancing with a woman whose features—even in the low-light photography—suggested something other than human. Dark hair, feline grace, eyes that reflected the strobe lights in ways human eyes didn't.
A Lowen. He was dating a Lowen.
Cole cross-referenced the woman's tagged name—Jessica Reeves—with his Wesen knowledge base. Lowens were lion-based, proud and territorial. They tended to run in family groups and didn't usually date outside their species.
A software developer dating a Lowen. That's unusual enough to be relevant.
The Moonrise nightclub appeared in several more photos. The establishment catered to Wesen clientele, based on the glimpses of woged patrons in the background. Members-only, by reputation. The kind of place where supernatural Portland went to socialize away from human eyes.
If Michael Chen disappeared because of something Wesen-related, Jessica Reeves probably knows why.
Cole closed his laptop and started planning his approach to the nightclub.
The scent problem needed addressing first.
Cole spent two hours researching Wesen biology, focusing on species with natural scent-masking capabilities. The information was scattered across folklore sources and the occasional academic paper written by researchers who had no idea what they were actually studying.
Several options emerged.
Ziegevolk—goat Wesen—could mask their scent using pheromone manipulation. Lausenschlange—snake Wesen—had similar capabilities. Both were theoretically accessible, but finding one willing to share techniques would be complicated.
Or I could approach it chemically.
Some hunters—Grimms and otherwise—used alchemical preparations to mask their scent when tracking Wesen. The recipes were rare, but not impossible to find if you knew where to look.
Cole added "scent masking" to his growing list of problems to solve.
Monroe noticed me at Forest Park. He'll be wondering what he detected. If I show up near Nick's cases again, he might investigate.
The Blutbad was dangerous—not in direct combat, necessarily, but in terms of what he knew. Monroe understood Portland's supernatural politics better than almost anyone. If he decided that the anomalous scent represented a threat, he had the resources to track it.
Stay away from Nick's investigations. Find alternative approaches to cases that might overlap.
The strategy was limiting but necessary. Cole couldn't afford to draw Monroe's focused attention—not yet, not until he was stronger.
Four absorptions. How many more before I can stand against the real players in this city?
The question didn't have an answer. Cole finished his coffee and headed home to prepare for the nightclub.
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