Page 18 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

For the second time in as many hours, my phone was blowing up. This time the calls, texts, and even a voicemail came from Holland Lyle. Skimming the messages showed them ranging from concerned and confused to aggravated and accusatory, and her voicemail demanded a call back ASAP while pointing out that my unannounced disappearance was “not a good look.”

I sat on the hood of Donovan’s car, bouncing my heels against the front bumper and ignoring my professional problems while personal ones weighed heavily on my mind. Donovan had decided to ignore his problem, as well. That problem being me. We’d remained separate and silent since I’d given Ripley directions to the storage facility. Seeing as I’d hung up the phone forty-five minutes ago, I was beginning to wonder what was taking so long.

Finally, a black Lincoln Town Car rolled down the alley and parked. Donovan exited the Bronco as I slid off the hood, and we walked in stride to greet the Goth king and queen.

Ripley’s shaggy head popped out first. He shook the hair out of his line of sight to meet my smile with his usual testy glare. Rather than approaching, he rounded the Town Car to open the passenger door. Maggie emerged like a cotton candy cloud, her pastel pink hair and pale skin almost iridescent in full light. Ripley shut the door behind her as she bounded ahead to Donovan. The speed of her approach swayed him back until she grabbed his face to steady him, then planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Someone’s a morning person.” My chuckle summoned her, and she spun toward me next. She threw her fishnet-covered arms around me in another rib-crushing embrace. I grunted, peeling her off about the time Ripley closed in on us.

“Well.” He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and unwrapped a stick. “Where’s the beef?”

I barked an abrupt laugh. “That’s funny, Rip. I didn’t know you did funny.”

Tossing the gum wrapper on the ground, he stared at me while chewing. Sunlight glinted off his solid white eye.

“Over there.”A flick of my hand toward the storage unit raised the door halfway. Frost billowed out and condensed in the air.

Maggie perked up, and a sound like a purr rumbled in her throat.

“ Bon Appetit ,” I told her .

She needed no further instruction to trot toward the opening, leaving the rest of us looking after her.

“He… hung himself,” Donovan said as the zombie girl ducked inside. “Is that gonna bother her?”

Ripley scoffed. “Hardly. She enjoys playing with her food.”

I squinted toward the storage locker, trying to clear the visual of Yankee Doodle’s dangling corpse from my mind. “So, it’s like a pinata party in there?”

Donovan turned toward me. Storm clouds darkened his face. “Wow, Fitch, for someone who was really shook up a while ago, you’re sure back in jackass mode now.”

“That was on. This is off.” I sneered at him. “I like off better.”

Ripley looked back and forth between us, then chuckled. “I used to wonder what it would be like having a sibling. You two make it look like a hell of a time.”

Seeing that we’d been loitering on the Lock n’ Roll lot for over an hour, it wasn’t unlikely someone else would come along. I worried the woman from the front office would get bored or nosey enough to follow up on my mad dash of an arrival. But even another customer seemed more likely than what I saw next.

A new car rounded the corner. That made three vehicles—by definition, a crowd—and I felt immediately pressed. Beside me, Donovan’s eyes stretched wide. Ripley showed no surprise, and his lack of reaction slowed mine long enough to recognize Jacoby Thatcher’s Lexus sedan creeping onto the scene.

Through the windshield, I watched Thatcher’s gel-slick ducktail grow into shoulder-length waves. His sharp, rat-like features hardened off to Grimm’s stern, chiseled ones.

I gritted my teeth. “Why’s he here?”

Ripley stood with his arms crossed, working the bubblegum. I zeroed in on him.

“You?” My voice sounded shrill. “Why would you…? Whose side are you even on?”

Donovan buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I’m so screwed.”

“Donnie, it’s fine. I’ve got this,” I told him, then whirled around, stomping one foot that rocketed a wave of force toward Ripley. “You ass kissing, tattletale snitch!”

The blow struck him so hard that he choked on the gum. His hacking cough drove out puffs of smoke as Grimm shouted.

“Gentlemen! Boys!” His clothes and torso were changing, making his head look oversized on Thatcher’s string bean body. As he walked forward, his loafers clacked against the pavement.

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.

Donovan faded to the background while Ripley wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his black Henley.

“I had this under control,” I said to Grimm’s approach.

The older man surveyed the three of us standing before his gaze settled on the open storage unit door. He drew a chest-swelling breath. “I might believe that, Fitch, if Miss Lyle hadn’t spent the last hour scurrying around the Capitol building cursing your name.”

I grimaced .

“And right after she extended an olive branch to you, too.” Grimm shook his head. “Not the best timing.”

“Not a good look,” I grumbled, quoting Holland’s voicemail.

“ This is not a good look.” Grimm gestured to my hodgepodge of an outfit. “Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?” His reach for the lapel of the crumpled suit coat caused me to backstep. “Whose jacket is that?”

“It’s my fault,” Donovan said from behind me. “I asked Fitch to come.”

As Grimm turned toward my brother, his lips spread in a smile. “And I don’t fault him for coming to your aid. What are brothers for?”

Ripley cleared his throat to mutter, “Bickering and name-calling, from what I’ve observed.”

“I stood up for you the other night,” I seethed. “Maybe I won’t next time.”

Pulling out the gum again, Ripley unwrapped a fresh stick. “You think too highly of yourself, Farrow. I need no champion.” Baring his teeth, he bit through the gum as though he’d forgotten I could wire his jaw shut with a thought.

Grimm edged between us. “That’s enough,” he said sharply.

The moment of severity passed, and our leader sported a sunny mood once more. He swung an arm in an all-encompassing gesture to the storage units on either side of us. “Since I’m here, I’d like to check on the progress of things. Donnie-boy?” Grimm’s exclamation of Donovan’s name caused him to startle. “Why don’t you show me around?”

Without waiting for a response, Grimm broke away to approach the open unit.

Donovan’s head swiveled between the older man’s retreating form and me. His eyes went wide in panic as he mouthed a silent plea.

“Help me!”

What could I do? This was part of the gig my brother had so desperately wanted. The storm clouds in which he saw only silver lining. Death was part of our lives. Watching a zombie dismember a guy you babysat for a couple of weeks made for an unusually bad day, but it came with the territory.

When he realized I wouldn’t intervene, Donovan’s face tinged sickly green. He turned and walked stiff legged toward Maggie’s icebox diner. If he puked, I hoped it got on Grimm’s shoes.

With the other two men out of earshot, Ripley spoke. “He’s running the gang into the ground.”

My lips pursed. “I thought you’d like that.”

“I’d like to not be aboard the ship when it sinks.”

“So, jump off,” I replied. And drown for all I cared.

The toxin-breathing traitor wasn’t even worth the effort it took to break him out of prison. He didn’t contribute to the gang besides creating the plague and giving us immunity to it. And, like Holland told me, you don’t get credit for solving a problem you created.

At the mouth of the frozen storage locker, Grimm draped his arm across Donovan’s shoulders, a pose as effective as tying an anchor to a boat. Donovan couldn’t move or even look away without showing damning weakness.

I imagined what he saw inside. Maggie was an enthusiastic eater. Like a dog with a chew toy, she pounced and pulled with sharp teeth and clawed fingers. Doubtless, she’d wasted no time tearing into Yankee Doodle and leaving bloodstains in the snow.

Donovan trembled, prompting Grimm to rub his arm as though putting warmth into him. But I doubted his chill was from the cold.

“Have you thought any more about what I said?” Ripley’s question stirred me from morbid thoughts.

“I’d leave me alone right now, if I were you,” I told him. But I knew which conversation he referred to. The one where he asked if I wanted to take over the Bloody Hex, and I said no.

After a moment’s pause, I added, “And I already told you what I thought about what you said.”

“But now you’re at the Capitol’s heel,” Ripley mused. “Abducting people. Waiting in cars while less capable individuals lead the charge into battle… You’ve traded one master for two.”

Between Grimm, Maximus, and Holland, I was taking orders every time I turned around.

“Make that three,” I muttered.

Grimm and Donovan rejoined us. Ripley traded places with them, wandering over to the unit to check on Maggie’s progress.

Seeing the return of Donovan’s shellshock stirred guilt in me.

In contrast, Grimm maintained an easy smile. “I’m pleased with what you two have accomplished thus far,” he said, then looked at me. “Fitch, you have a ways to go yet—what is it? Four more victims?”

I rolled my eyes.

“You need to pick up the pace,” he concluded.

Placing his arm on Donovan’s shoulders again, Grimm physically pulled my brother into the conversation. “However, this unfortunate situation has prompted me to consider how we can improve our process.”

Shaking my head, I stepped back. “No need. They aren’t staying here.”

Donovan was still pale and slouched, but hope lit his dark eyes. Did he think I’d changed my mind?

Grimm’s brows drew down. “Excuse me?”

I faced him squarely. “We tried your idea, and it went to shit,” I said. “Everything is in the fucking dumpster, but you’re not doing anything to fix it. I don’t believe you’ll fix this, either.”

The vein in Grimm’s forehead bulged.

“So, Donnie and I are dosing these poor schmucks with forget-me-juice and sending them home.” Tilting my hand toward Grimm’s arm freed Donovan from its weight, and he straightened.

“That would be extremely ill-advised,” Grimm replied. “The consequences for you and your brother could be dire.”

“This was my assignment.” I stabbed a finger into my chest. “My risk. My loss if it fails. It should’ve been my plan, too, because I would’ve come up with something a hell of a lot better than this.”

Grimm glowered, his face splotching purple red through the thick bristles of his beard. “Petulant child. You would throw your life away over one man’s poor choices? You have a seat at the table, Fitch. I’ve secured you a place in the future, and the future is the Capitol. They must believe you are reliable, responsible, and worthy of trust. But since you are none of those things—”

“ None of them?” I echoed.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Unreliable, irresponsible, untrustworthy… He’d called me those things and worse over the years.

A laugh bubbled up my throat. “Well, shit, I guess you’d know. You made me this way.”

I thought that would shut him up or at least sting him a bit, but he didn’t flinch.

“If I can learn from my mistakes,” he met me with a glare, “I expect you to do the same.”

The second half of his one-two punch struck me dumb. He won this round, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Starting with apologizing to Miss Lyle for making her possibly regret the door she opened for you,” he continued. “You may not realize, but she has been your biggest advocate throughout this process. More so than even myself.”

My forehead creased. That didn’t sound like the Holland I knew, but why would he lie?

“And again,” Grimm said, “I understand why you came here, but now it’s time for you to do your job and let your brother do his. Unless, for some reason, you think he’s incapable?”

At his side, Donovan squirmed. I managed to catch his sheepish gaze. He hadn’t caused this—shoelaces and belts notwithstanding—but he hadn’t done things wholly right, either. If he wanted me to bail him out of the role of storage unit warden, all I needed was a nod. Instead, he turned aside, which served as answer enough.

I sighed. “If I’m going back to the Capitol, I’m gonna need a ride.”

Grimm tweaked a brow. “Where’s your car?”

“Long story,” I replied. “You mind, Donnie?”

It would give him one more chance. We could go to the Bitters’ End, get the potions, come back, and salvage the plan.

Ripley and Maggie emerged from the storage locker. Maggie had a sort of stumble to her gait, and her red eyes drooped with sleepy satisfaction. She daubed the corner of her mouth with a cloth kerchief that Ripley then tucked in the pocket of his gray-wash denims. The zombie girl’s black plaid jumper showed no bloodstains, but the inside of the unit would need a thorough cleaning. No amount of melting snow and ice would wash away the evidence of our sins here today.

“Ah, good.” Grimm extended an arm toward the returning duo. “Maggie’s finished, so Ripley can take you.”

Ripley shrugged at being volunteered for chauffeur duty, then pulled out his cell phone and earbuds and plugged them in. A relief because, if I was going to be stuck in the car with him, I would rather be ignored than forced into small talk.

While Ripley and Maggie walked past, Donovan remained fixed in place. Whatever he saw inside the icy garage had sucked the conviction out of him. That, or he believed Grimm really would come through with quality-of-life improvements for our prisoners. I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Behind me, the Town Car’s doors closed with soft thuds, and the engine purred.

Grimm cleared his throat. “On the way, make sure you stop and change into something professional. You’ve caused enough of a stir today without giving additional cause for scrutiny.”

Biting back a response, I turned away from Grimm and Donovan. Let them sort this out. Let my brother prove he could manage it. And, if he couldn’t, I’d take care of it. Like I always did.