Page 1 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Even before I saw the hazmat suits, I had a bad feeling about tonight.

We gathered poolside near the parking lot of the Lazy Daze Motel—a chilly meeting place for nighttime in New England and a depressing one at that. In the time I’d lived here, the pool had been filled with nothing but sludge and decaying leaves. Tonight’s view was no exception.

Something much more interesting happened a few feet away. Four members of the Bloody Hex had zipped themselves into white, plastic suits, looking like a huddle of human condoms. “Wrap it before you tap it” could have been the unofficial slogan of the night. Maybe later they’d do a team huddle and cheer.

I snickered.

“What’re you laughing at?” Vinton growled. His bald head gleamed in the moonlight.

“Just didn’t think it was possible for you to look even more like a dick,” I replied, earning a scowl before he resumed barking orders at the other men.

Maggie and I sat together on a dilapidated lounge chair, apart from the action, and unsure why we’d been asked to join at all. My marching orders of the past three weeks remained unchanged: keep my nose clean until Holland Lyle welcomed me into the Capitol’s employ.

It would have happened sooner, but then came the plague. As Grimm predicted, the humans reacted quickly. They quarantined the city, banning all travel in or out, indefinitely. The Capitol responded in kind, closing businesses and encouraging citizens to stay home to reduce the spread of the disease.

So far, there was no cure. Unless you counted the walking magic bullet, Ripley Vaughn, who lined up with the rest of the gang members before me now. But, since the current theory was foodborne illness stemming from a now-defunct breakfast buffet, the plague doctor himself remained our little secret.

Vinton rehashed the plan while the others nodded along, bobbleheads all. I already knew Ripley had his earbuds in and hadn’t heard a word, while Avery covered his third yawn in as many minutes.

In contrast, my brother Donovan was rapt. His first near month as an official member of the Bloody Hex had gone better than I’d hoped. Grimm had been right about him, too. He was the ideal follower. Eager to please. Obedient. Happy. So, I should have been happy, too. Right?

Maggie tugged suddenly on my hair, her fingers snagged in the latest attempt at a braid. I swore and caught myself from falling into the gap between broken straps of the long chair seat.

The zombie girl grabbed both sides of my head and straightened it before resuming work. Ignoring pulls and occasional pinches to my scalp, I tuned into the conversation I’d heard a half-dozen times before tonight.

“Avery, you’ll take point,” Vinton said. “Disable cameras. Cut the power if you have to. Donovan, destroy anything you can find. Vials, bottles, petri dishes, whatever. Ripley—”

“Make sure you lot don’t poison yourselves.” The teen goth king rolled his eyes. “I’ve got it.”

The job, raiding a bio lab a few miles away, intrigued me. Honestly though, anything would be an improvement on playing beauty parlor with a zombie for the rest of the night. After braiding would be nail painting, I already knew, and I’d only just scrubbed off the pastel polish from last week.

The pep talk concluded as the men filed into the adjacent lot to board what could only be described as a predator van. The unmarked, white box of a vehicle wasn’t nearly as inconspicuous as Vinton said it would be. The PPE was about the same, but Avery rarely missed a chance to flex his conjuration skills. Though, he had yet to pull up the hood over his grease-slicked side part.

Maggie paused to wave and blow a kiss at Ripley, which he returned before closing the van’s double back doors. Taillights flashed, then the car rolled slowly out of sight.

When I stood, Maggie whined .

I glanced down to find her blood red eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Sorry, doll, gotta run.” I patted the top of her pigtailed head. “And you should get inside. It’s cold out here.”

Forgoing my babysitting duties came with some measure of risk. Zombies, even barely legal ones who wore striped stockings and ribbons in their hair, were considered a public menace. And Maggie was not known for following instructions or staying where she was put.

She frowned and gave a petulant huff before rising and stomping back to her motel room.

When the door slammed shut behind her, I crossed the lot toward the red Porsche 911 parked in the far corner. Dropping into the driver’s seat, I shoved the keys into the ignition and stirred the Porsche to life.

It shouldn’t have been possible for me to beat the rest of the gang to our shared destination, but Vinton was 110 years old, and he drove like it. Plus, I knew a shortcut.

Ten minutes later, I whipped into the deserted parking lot of DiaLogix Labs. No sign of the pedo van. Perfect.

I rescued a snuffed cigarette and battered matchbook from the center console, lighting up and taking a drag as I slid out of the coupe.

Posted business hours said the lab closed at 6 PM, making this ten o’clock jaunt well beyond normal operation. They’d planned it that way, of course. Crime looked better in the dark.

Crisp night air wound ribbons around me as I hurried along the side of the building. It was a moderately-sized place, single-story, unassuming, and poorly lit. Only the green glowing letters spelling out DiaLogix and a lone lot light warded off the black of night.

The back corner of the place had a loading dock where the gang planned to enter. Just because I wasn’t invited to the party didn’t mean I hadn’t listened to the plans. The loading area was used for sending and receiving supplies and boasted the weakest security in the building.

A ramp led down to an overhead door that was slightly below street level to accommodate the height of a truck bed. Metal rails coated in grimy, chipping yellow paint lined either side, and it was there I perched. I had barely enough time to get comfortable with my cigarette nipped between my lips and a smoke ring dissipating into the sky when headlights cut through the shadows.

The van turned to reverse down the ramp. I swung my legs, waiting until Vinton’s face appeared in the driver’s window. Before it rolled all the way down, he started swearing.

“Fitch fucking Farrow, what do you think you’re doing here?”

I blew a stream of smoke toward him as I slid off the rail. Risky business getting too close. Judging by the sweat glistening on his temples, he was steamed, and would roll the van over my toes given the chance.

“It’s my last night of freedom,” I explained. “Capitol gig starts tomorrow, and I’m gonna miss you guys.”

In the passenger seat, Donovan pitched forward. His forehead creased over dark eyes. Definitely not because I let slip last night that I didn’t plan to sit this job out. Or that he thought he’d talked me out of it, because I’d let him believe as much.

Vinton’s scowl deepened. “When Grimm finds out about this—”

“It’ll all be over, and it won’t matter anymore,” I supplied. “So, stop bitching and enjoy the extra set of hands. If you think about it, I’m like two people when it comes to moving shit.”

The window rolling up muted Vinton’s grumbled response, and the van continued its slow descent toward the loading dock.

I polished off the cigarette as the vehicle parked and the side door slid open. I expected Avery, ready to tackle the matter of security, but got Ripley instead. He barreled out of the van, walking toward me with a haste that might have been intimidating if his hazmat suit hadn’t swished comically with every step.

“Where’s Maggie?” he demanded as soon as he came into range.

“Back at the motel,” I said. “I saw her to your room and everything.”

“And you trusted she’d stay there?” The British accent did nothing to mask his rage.

I raised my hands in surrender. “I gotta tell you, man. I don’t think you give her enough credit. Maggie’s a smart girl.”

“Smarter than you, but that’s not saying much, is it?” He shoved back the hood of the hazmat suit then moved quickly to the zipper .

Avery and Donovan had unloaded and watched as Ripley hurriedly removed his outer garment. He wadded it into a ball then flung it at me.

“Enjoy the job, you relentless ass. Now give me your keys.” He extended an open palm to me. “I have to go.”

Vinton rounded the van toward us.

“You’re not going anywhere, Vaughn,” he told Ripley. “We need you most of all. And you least of all,” he added to me. “Let’s just get this done fast, and we’ll all be happier.”

Ripley stared at me, his bicolored eyes narrow. When I made no move toward my pocket and keys, he sniffed and turned away.

Following his lead, everyone except my brother approached the building. Donovan hung back, shifting to stand beside me and watch while Avery went to work on a wall-mounted breaker box.

I propped my hands on my hips, then bumped my shoulder into Donovan’s. “Call it now,” I said. “How long before they need my help?”

Rather than answer, Donovan shot me a sideways look. “Tell me you’re not here checking up on me.”

Swaying back, I feigned shock. “Would I do something like that?”

“I’ve been doing this stuff for weeks,” he retorted. “Without you.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring as hell.” I blew a breath upward, ruffling the blond locks that had fallen across my forehead. “Besides, it’s kinda nice, isn’t it? Working together? One last hurrah?”

My smile failed to lift his mood .

“You’ll still be around,” he said. “It’s not like you’re moving to the Capitol or anything.” He folded his arms and faced forward with his features drawn.

“Hurry up, boys!” Vinton called from the door beside the loading dock.

Ripley’s hazmat suit lay on the ground at my feet. Such a precaution was wasted on the walking disease but may not have been a bad idea for me. I squinted at it, considering, until I decided I would rather die than be caught wearing the human-sized rubber.

I tailed Donovan into the darkened building. So dark I wondered if Avery really had cut the power. The area we entered was a cavernous void until my eyes adjusted enough to make out the shapes of stacked boxes lining the walls. No sooner had I discerned the path forward than did a yellow light beam across my face.

“Jesus,” I grunted and swatted at it.

The metal-bodied Maglite flew loose from the hand that had offered it but vanished before clattering to the floor.

“You want to try that again?” Avery asked, holding an identical light below his chin so it lit his features ghoulishly.

I took the flashlight this time and aimed it ahead, where its beam intersected four others. We passed through the garage area to another closed door, this one outfitted with a keypad lock.

Vinton body-checked the door. With a resounding thunk, it sprung open, and the big man strode through.

The next area came with cool air and a plethora of shiny steel tables and cabinets. We’d arrived in the working part of the lab, or some portion of it. Even with the lights off, it managed to be blinding. Flashlights reflected from one surface to the next like a carnival hall of mirrors.

“I’m gonna grab supplies,” Vinton said, heading toward a hallway to the right. “You all get busy.”

“Busy doing what, exactly?” Ripley asked. “We’re supposed to destroy the research, but that could be any of this.”

“Or all of it,” Donovan added.

I walked the perimeter of the room, sweeping my Maglite over microscopes, racks of empty test tubes, and stopping on a large refrigerator.

I remembered how this got started. Grimm’s Capitol work, and proximity to Maximus Lyle, put him in earshot of all the latest gossip. With the plague running rampant, news revolved around it, and resources were being dumped into the search for a cure.

Last week, DiaLogix leaked word that they had made “significant strides” in combating the effects of the plague. It sounded more like treatment than a cure, but Grimm wanted none of it. He claimed he needed more time, and the best way to buy that was to halt forward progress.

Tugging the fridge open, I aimed my flashlight inside. More test tubes, fully loaded, and resting alongside tray upon tray of tiny glass vials. The printed stickers on the fronts of the racks made as much sense as any prescription medication label. Each vial was coded, probably with batch numbers, or variants, or serums, or whatever the hell this stuff was .

I was still snooping when Donovan came up and peered around me.

“Is that it?” he asked.

Pulling out a couple of vials, I called over to Ripley, “What do you think, Rip?” I waved the vials in the air. “Looks like free samples to me. I’ll try one if you will.”

“Idiot,” Ripley muttered. He walked forward to snatch the samples from my hand. Uncapping one, he gave it a sniff.

Vinton closed in. “Well?”

A crashing clatter made us all jump and turn to find Avery beside an upset table, dusting his hands. His shirt collar and ascot tie poked out the top of his zippered white suit like a moth trying to shimmy out of its cocoon. While we watched, he moved to a nearby countertop lined with computers. He grabbed the first one, stringing wires, then hurled it to the floor.

“What the hell?” Vinton shouted.

“Some tasks require finesse. Others need broad strokes.” Avery gestured vaguely to the vials Ripley held. “Whatever they’ve concocted over there is documented here.” The next computer shattered on the ground. “You think they don’t record their research? And you think not one of them will remember how they came up with this cure?”

He swept his arm across the next available surface, knocking a centrifuge machine and accompanying rack of test tubes into the growing pile on the floor.

“If Grimm really wanted to delay things,” the conjurer continued, “he should have had us burn this place down with the scientists inside. ”

“No kill like overkill,” I muttered.

“Wait and see,” Avery replied. “They’ll be back at it in a week.”

Donovan shot me a worried look while Ripley wrinkled his nose at the open bottle.

“Fuck all, I don’t know,” he said and set it on the table behind us. He tipped his head toward Avery. “I hate to say so, but he’s probably right.”

“I usually am,” the conjurer sang.

“Doesn’t matter.” Vinton massaged his forehead. Doubtless his pea brain had been taxed by all the chatter. “All we’ve gotta do is what we were told then get out.”

Reaching into the fridge, I pulled out a tray of bottles to hold aloft. “Just trashing the place, then?”

I’d barely gotten the words out when an electronic alert sounded from the corner of the room. It must have been on battery since the rest of the power was out. But the working bell was far less troubling than what might have tripped it.

Startled looks were shared amongst us before Vinton put a silencing finger to his lips. He stepped toward the hallway leading to the building’s front entrance. After several tense seconds, the bald man glanced over his shoulder at us. His expression confirmed what we already knew.

We had company.