Page 17 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Sprinting past Lock n’ Roll’s front office, I drew the notice of a haggard woman loitering outside. Her two-tone hair was growing out a dye job, and her stained Elvis tee shirt spoke of a commitment to the rock music theme. She puffed on a cigarette I was antsy enough to want a drag from, but Donovan had mentioned the owner being suspicious of our comings and goings. I didn’t need to make myself more memorable by asking to bum a smoke.

Fifteen minutes had passed since I fled the Capitol building. I gave no explanation to Holland or anyone else, so my cell was still ringing, but not from my brother. For him, I had fired off a single text with my best effort at encouragement.

On my way. Don’t worry.

I was out of breath by the time I made it to the back side of the property. The place was a labyrinth. Despite having driven through here a handful of times, it looked different on foot. Bigger, too.

Beige metal buildings spread in rows and columns over what had to be a full city block. Besides the woman at the office, I’d seen no one else. Typical for the middle of a workday at a place designed to hold things people were apt to forget. With the sun glaring down, Nash’s corduroy coat was stifling hot. I thought about shucking it and replacing it with something made in the current decade about the time I found what I was looking for.

Jogging around the corner of one of the long, low buildings revealed the Bronco parked and idling. Donovan occupied the driver’s seat, staring ahead with vacant eyes. As I closed in, I saw the sheen of fresh tears on his cheeks and red splotching his face and neck, all signs of the ugly cry I’d heard over the phone.

Panting, I came alongside the boxy SUV and gripped the open window ledge. “Donnie, what’s going on?” I asked. “What happened?”

I leaned in to look him over. No blood or obvious injuries. Relief eased the crushing pressure that had weighed on me during the ride across town.

“He’s been crying for days,” Donovan replied, snuffling his snotty nose. “I should’ve done something.”

I glanced down the row of doors. All were closed, but further inspection found one unlocked. I’d abducted four people so far, but I hadn’t bothered to keep track of which unit belonged to who. That was Donovan’s job, and I’d left him to it. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

“You said someone died?” I asked.

Did you kill them? I wondered but kept the thought to myself .

Donovan’s hands wrenched on the steering wheel. His knuckles went white where they stretched his skin. He didn’t look at me, instead staring down the alley between the buildings, seeing something I couldn’t or hadn’t yet.

“He killed himself, Fitch.”

“Who did?” I prompted, my impatience bleeding through again.

“Snow guy!” Donovan shouted, exasperated as if I should have known.

Maybe I should have since we’d talked about it last night. Well, Donovan talked about it. I’d all but ignored him, more focused on Capitol business and personal pleasure.

“I knew something was wrong because he…” Donovan shook his head. “He didn’t want to be in there.”

I snorted. “Who would?”

Donovan rambled on, words spilling out between hiccups. “I tried to explain, but it didn’t make any difference. I just… found him… And I don’t know why he would do that…”

I sagged against the car with one hand propped on my hip. “Probably all the fucking pizza,” I muttered.

Donovan turned and gawked at me. The shock that first made his face slack was replaced by narrow-eyed fury. Grabbing the interior handle, he shoved the car door open into me, knocking me back.

His Converse tennis shoes hit the pavement as I staggered to remain upright. He stomped toward me, bowed up for a fight. I saw the punch coming and easily dodged it, knocking his arm aside. He stumbled with the follow-through, having counted on hitting more than empty air.

I stepped back as he recovered then whirled around with his fists clenched.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted. “You’re making jokes about this? Are you that broken?”

Faced with his anger, I got angry, too. If he swung on me again, I’d put him on his ass instead of moving out of the way.

“Better than getting all weepy about some Jack Frost wannabe you didn’t even know,” I snapped. “He was a nobody, Donnie.”

Donovan stayed tense, bristling, but he didn’t advance. “He was my responsibility, and I did know him. For weeks. It’s normal to be upset about it. What’s not normal is you being able to just turn off your emotions like a psychopath.”

I was sweating in the stuffy suit jacket and boiling internally through every verbal attack. If I had known I’d been summoned into a warzone, I would have stayed at the Capitol. Let Donovan manage his problems. I had enough of my own.

“You did a fine job turning off your emotions last night,” I said. “Seemed okay to me.”

“You mean after you made me a drink, then sent me home while you stayed behind to fuck your boyfriend?” Donovan’s expression soured. “Yeah, that was great.”

Of all the comebacks I had for his accusation, I voiced the lamest one. “Nash isn’t my boyfriend.”

Donovan threw up his hands. “No, because you’re broken about that, too.” He paced a quick circle before rounding on me again. “Have you ever loved anybody, Fitch? Besides yourself?”

“Love yourself” was the kind of nonsense spouted by overpaid therapists or advertised on motivational posters. It was as idealistic as my brother who, despite knowing me his entire life, apparently believed there was something about me worth loving.

A blast of telekinetic power struck Donovan’s chest, driven by the finger I stabbed at him. It punched the air out of him in a grunt, bending him forward as he scowled at me.

“Listen up,” I said, closing in. “I’m only gonna explain this once. You called me here because you couldn’t handle this. Because you know I can. And you don’t get to shit talk me while I clean up your mess.”

I pointed at the wall several feet away. “Now, sit your ass down while your psychotic brother takes care of you, like I always have.”

Chest to chest with him, I could have moved him wherever I wanted. Or dragged him along behind as I went to investigate the scene that had left him so unnerved. But I didn’t have to do either of those things because my command alone was enough.

Donovan weakened. His shoulders slumped and his tense expression went soft. A shake of his head proved a final, pitiful resistance before he walked to the spot I’d designated and sat.

Sucking a steeling breath, I approached the unlocked unit. As I drew near, I saw fog wisping from under the cracked door. When I grasped the handle to raise it, the metal felt cold as ice.

With a rattling shove, the door rolled up, and chilled air rushed over me. Sunlight streamed into the unit, glinting off a blanket of snow. Glancing upward, I found the ceiling dotted with scores of dangling icicles. They hung to almost head height where they ended in sharp, glistening tips. Frosty white covered everything, and snow flurries swirled up as I trudged through. It would have been beautiful if not for the cloying stench of death in the air.

Shadows retreated from the invading light, relegated to the back corner of the unit. Through the curtain of icicles—more menacing than pretty as I ducked beneath them—I spotted Yankee Doodle. His body dangled limp, suspended by some kind of noose attached to a metal bar in the center of the roof. A folding chair, like the one I’d pinned Lover Boy to last night, lay toppled on the floor beneath him.

He used his belt. That was one of the first items they took from prisoners to prevent this exact thing. That, and so they didn’t strangle each other. Or the guards. Desperate people behaved accordingly, and this whole scene reeked of desperation. And shit.

I shivered. From the cold or the grisly sight, it made no difference. The rank smell invaded my nostrils again, and I swallowed a surge of bile. Nausea fought back, driving out a wet cough and gag that doubled me over. Hands on my knees, sunk in snow past my ankles, every breath clouded in the air as I tried not to lose my eggs and toast.

He didn’t want to be in here, Donovan said. Didn’t want to go to storage, he’d told me. Bawled about it while Donnie dragged him into the corrugated metal box that was the last thing he ever saw.

Stooping, I dipped my fingers into the powdery snow. The same stuff he’d nearly buried us both in on the ride here, claiming he couldn’t help it. Like the ice and frost was fueled by his fear.

Seeing the extent of it made my stomach wrench again. Had he been frightened the whole time? Helpless, and trapped, and filling this space with winter wonder because it was all he could do?

My gaze slid aside to the wall between this unit and the neighboring one. Four people so far—three if you only counted the living ones—and four to go. Two weeks left until the vote. The vote that was so goddamn important it made all this worthwhile.

No, it didn’t.

Kicking a path through the shin-high drifts, I exited the storage unit. Barely past the threshold, I threw a mental tether that caught the door and yanked it down with a rattling crash. Warmth and fresh air came as a welcome relief, but the image of Yankee Doodle’s corpse hanging like meat on a hook haunted my thoughts.

Donovan rose as I approached, his brow furrowed.

Before he could speak, I blurted, “Let them out.”

He swayed back, and the wrinkles in his forehead deepened. “What?”

“All of them.” My heart thundered as I swung an arm toward the row of closed doors. “Let them all go. I’m done with this.”

I didn’t need his keys, permission, or even cooperation. I could free the people myself and would if he protested too much.

“Fitch, we can’t do that,” Donovan argued. “They’ve seen us.”

“And they’ll have seen us in two weeks, too. That’s not going to change.”

Donovan blew a breath that ruffled his dark brown hair. “We have to get memory potions, remember? Grimm said—”

“Fine.” I waved him off. “We’ll get the fucking potions. Right now.” Turning on my heel, I walked quickly toward the Bronco. “Get in the car. I’m driving.”

Despite the blood pulsing in my ears, I heard Donovan’s feet skidding across the asphalt before he darted in front of me. He held up his open palms and stood, cringing with his eyes squeezed nearly shut. Thinking I might throw him back or worse.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed. “We can’t leave him like that.” He bobbed his head toward Yankee Doodle’s unit door.

Magic swelled inside me, ready to lash out. “Why not?”

Peeking through a squint, Donovan slowly relaxed, but he kept his hands raised.

“He… he didn’t want to be in there, Fitch,” he stammered. “Can we let him out first? Please?”

My mouth twisted into a frown. “Well, he sure as hell isn’t walking out if that’s what you had in mind.”

Donovan sighed. “I don’t feel right leaving him.”

Body disposal was not my area of expertise, but I knew a guy. Not Vinton. He would take the corpse straight to Grimm, and the first thing Donovan had asked me this morning was not to tell Grimm.

So, more accurately, I knew a guy who knew a girl with a healthy appetite for flesh. Bonus that keeping our pet zombie well-fed kept her from prowling the streets for her next meal.

Pulling out my cell phone did not put Donovan at ease. He crept closer as I scrolled through my contacts.

“Who are you calling?” he whispered, straining to see the cell’s screen as I raised it to my ear.

Three rings in, a groggy voice came across the line.

“Bloody hell, Farrow, it’s nine in the fucking morning.”

“The world is awake, and you should be, too.” I smirked. “Question for you: how does Maggie feel about frozen entrees?”

Donovan’s expression went deadpan. “You’re unbelievable.” Shaking his head, he circled the Bronco and climbed into the passenger seat.

The sound of swishing bed sheets carried over the phone line. “What’re you going on about?” Ripley mumbled.

“I’ve got a cadaver on ice over here,” I explained. “Wondered if your girl was ready for breakfast.”

More scuffling and grumbling preceded a long breath that sounded like it blew straight into my ear.

“Where are you?” Ripley asked.

I cut a glance at Donovan, who reposed in the car, watching with bewilderment. I gave him a thumbs-up.