Page 20 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Two hours. That was all the time Vinton was able—or willing—to give me.

The deadline had me speeding across town Sunday afternoon while my latest victim rolled around in the back of Donovan’s Bronco. The short, squatty woman was perhaps more upset to miss out on the lobster roll she’d just ordered than to be puppet-walked away from the beachside food truck where I’d found her. The meal hadn’t gone to waste, though. For all the mental fuss she put up as I moved her stiffly through the crowd, I managed to get her to the Porsche’s driver’s side window with her paper tray balanced for delivery to my eager hands.

Conveniently, Lover Boy’s fuzzy pink handcuffs and ball gag were still in the floorboard. They kept the woman quiet and restrained until Vinton rendered her mostly dead. Now, silent as the grave took on a new meaning. So much so that I could hear myself chewing the last few bites of the lobster roll.

On the weekend, Maximus would be at home. That was what I banked on since driving Sleeping Beauty to the Capitol building and offloading her in her current state was a recipe for disaster.

Assuming the political titan hadn’t relocated in the past decade, I knew the way to his private residence. Not that it was hard to find. He wasn’t exactly hiding out in the most ostentatious property in the city. At the end of a private drive, it was more a manor than a house. Three stories tall and surrounded by immaculate gardens, it also boasted beach access and a dock. Years ago, my family had attended countless dinner parties here. The adults raided the wine cellar while we kids hunted shells by the water or played pirates aboard the Lyles’ sailboat.

Stopping in the guest lot in front of the house, I scanned the exterior and found it largely unchanged. Bright white brick surrounded shuttered windows and a vast front porch supported by columns. Remembering a time when I’d been excited to come here made my sudden sense of dread a surprise. I should have been ready to get this over with. Half of the job was done; all that remained was a bit of show and tell, then figuring out where to ditch Sleeping Beauty. Not at Lock n’ Roll, that was for damn sure.

Instead, I sat in the car with the engine idling, feeling uneasy and decidedly unwelcome.

I’d used fifteen minutes getting from the motel where I’d met Vinton to this edge of the suburbs. Chatting with Maximus would be a nonevent and left me ample time to get a memory potion from Nash before Sleeping Beauty roused from her necromantic slumber.

But it wasn’t that simple. Doctoring a dead body risked their living doppelganger being seen in the world. Releasing Sleeping Beauty after I provided proof of her “death” created the same problem.

So, I had one hour and forty-five minutes to figure that out.

Killing the engine, I stepped out of the Bronco. Donovan’s keys jingled as I walked the path lined with domed shrubs and exotic flowers. Some floramancer worked hard to keep up with this place. Probably a member of the Capitol’s groundskeeping staff.

Remembering a certain floramancer lawyer I knew brought a smile to my face. Just the boost I needed as I ascended the steps to stand before the massive, double-door entry. Light from the foyer’s chandelier sparkled through the faceted glass panels, a good sign for my hopes of finding Maximus at home.

Pressing the doorbell set off an elaborate chime. I tapped one foot and shook Donovan’s keyring again, practicing dialogue in my mind.

Should I be proud? Remorseful? Matter of fact?

“Come with me, Mister Lyle.”

“Mister Lyle, I have the item you requested.”

“Whaddya think, Mister Lyle? Did I do good?”

Had I earned a scratch behind the ears? Or the privilege of continuing to be his murder monkey for the next two weeks?

My nose wrinkled. Why did I think it would end in two weeks? Grimm never ran out of enemies. Why should Maximus be any different ?

The sound of the deadbolt clicking over prompted me to draw a breath. I had yet to decide what I was going to say, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t Maximus who opened the door.

Holland stood before me with her head tilted and platinum hair hanging loose. This made twice that I showed up somewhere expecting a man and got a woman instead. Not that I would complain about this view. The investigator wore a slinky, off-the-shoulder shirt that drew my eyes immediately to the hollows of her collarbones. She stared at me, and I stared back, lost for words.

“Fitch?” She leaned forward, looking past me as though checking for additional guests. Finding none, she straightened and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

I coughed out the breath that had lodged in my throat. “Is your dad home?”

“Who is it?” A male voice called from inside as Preston the human ambassador walked into view.

Preston’s carefully coiffed hair gleamed in the golden glow of the chandelier. He was buttoned up in a starched blue Oxford with a white collar, and the obligatory American flag tie pin.

“Fitch Farrow. We were just talking about you.” His smile looked more like a sneer as he finished his approach. “It must be true what they say: Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” He laughed, stopping beside Holland and slipping an arm around her waist.

The comment stunned me enough that I chuckled in response. Even Holland looked shocked, leaning away from her partner to fix him with a wide-eyed stare .

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Preston pulled Holland aside to clear a path into the house. “You should join us for lunch.”

Wood-paneled walls and marble floors comprised a grand entryway. I scanned what I could see of the interior, filling gaps in my memory. The furnishings were new, but the space remained familiar and unexpectedly comforting.

Despite nostalgia pulling on me, I stepped back. “I ate on the way, actually.”

“Nonsense.” Preston shook his head. “You could stand to put a bit more meat on your bones. Look tougher next to Holly so she can take advantage of that scary dog privilege.”

My jaw clenched. Preston stood half a head taller than me and had at least fifty more pounds of bulk. Despite that, I took his comment more as a statement about my tattoos, shaggy undercut, and street clothes. I polished up well enough for work, but today’s vibe was a more honest representation of punk brat.

“Pres!” Holland snapped. “Don’t be rude. And we really should ask my father first…”

“You really should.” I nodded. “And I can’t stay, anyway. Busy.”

“Busy?” Holland turned toward me. “With what?”

She seemed genuinely curious—a departure because in all the hours we’d spent in her patrol car, not once had we delved into talk about our personal lives. I would have had to dodge those, anyway, or spin a hell of a yarn. My criminal activities notwithstanding, I doubted she would approve of me spending my off-hours bouncing between a whorehouse and a bar.

Fortunately, I was spared from responding by Maximus joining us at the door.

“Mister Farrow,” he said slowly. Suspicion hung on his voice. “What brings you by?”

“Following up on our talk from Friday.” I cut my eyes toward where the Bronco was parked, telegraphing a message I hoped the older man received.

“I told him he should stay for lunch,” Preston chimed. “Everybody talks so much about the guy, I feel like I should get to know him, too.”

“Of course,” Maximus replied, missing my point or dismissing it entirely. “Members of the Farrow family have always been welcome here. We can discuss business matters after our meal.”

Slipping my cell out of my pocket, I checked the time. Precious minutes ticked away. Could the old man sense my panic?

I cleared my throat. “I, uh…”

“Come inside, Fitch,” Maximus said. Not an offer; a command. “You wanted my attention. Now, you have it.”

A breath hissed through my teeth as I crossed the threshold. I could have walked myself to the formal dining room but was content to follow the others, studying the lavish details of the home that had been wasted on me as a kid. Ornate crown molding framed tall ceilings and matched the medallions around brass light fixtures. The exterior color scheme of white and cream carried through, crisp and bright.

I thought of Holland’s office at the Capitol. Cool, dark, and comfortable for sensitive eyes. She wore her sunglasses even now, which wouldn’t have been so strange if this hadn’t been her home where concessions should have been made.

Entering the dining room found the lunch spread laid out. More seats than people left empty place settings spanning the length of the ten-foot table. I waited for Maximus, Holland, and Preston to take their places, then continued to linger until Preston patted the seat beside his.

“Right here, champ,” he said.

All three of them stared as I slid into the high-backed wooden chair. Finger sandwiches and fresh fruit filled platters on the table. Too much food for three people, or even four. While the others loaded their plates, I helped myself to a sweaty water pitcher and filled the nearest glass.

I’d barely taken my first sip when Preston leaned toward me. “So, Fitch, Holly tells me you’re half human.” He bit off the corner of his egg salad sandwich and spoke between chews. “How does that work?”

Since I’d reacted similarly to meeting Preston for the first time, I couldn’t be mad. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

I gave the ambassador my most saccharine smile. “Well, when a boy witch and a girl human love each other very much…”

Preston barked a laugh. “All right, I deserved that. I just wonder because when Holly and I have kids, I want to know what to expect.”

Across the table, Holland dipped a strawberry in yogurt, intentionally disengaged.

Maximus spoke up in her stead. “Mister Farrow is arguably the most talented young witch in this city. He is remarkably skilled.”

Preston snorted into his iced tea. “Yeah, at killing.”

Heat rushed my face, but my smile stayed firmly in place. For an ambassador, Preston could stand to work on his diplomacy, but I knew he was baiting me, trying to see if Holland’s “scary dog” would bite. If I did, he wouldn’t like it.

“Those charges were dismissed,” Maximus said sternly enough to imply he would hear nothing more about it.

Swirling the water in my glass, I spotted the Lyle family portrait on the wall in the adjoining room. The painting depicted Holland and her father about a decade ago, judging by Holland’s apparent age. There was no Mrs. Lyle, and somehow, I’d never asked what happened to her. Since magic was hereditary, she must have been a shadowmancer. Holland certainly didn’t get her abilities from Maximus.

I checked my phone’s clock again. Ninety minutes remained.

The others resumed eating, filling the room with silence I was eager to break.

“You know, Pres,” I began, “my brother didn’t have magic at all. So, I wouldn’t worry about it. You and Holland could pop out some downright ordinary kids. Wouldn’t that be nice?” The smile I’d adopted took a dark turn, enough to draw Holland’s attention at last.

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” she said .

“Isn’t it?” I eyed her. She held my gaze for a long moment before her nostrils flared. Looking away, she nibbled at her sandwich.

“Holland,” Maximus’s voice cut the sudden tension. “Have you decided what you’ll be wearing to the gala Saturday?”

“A gala?” I perked up. “What about the plague?”

With disease still spreading, large gatherings were all but forbidden, and I’d never known the Capitol to throw a small party.

Maximus daubed a napkin across his stubbled chin. “People need occasion to celebrate, especially in dark times,” he said. “This event will honor the one-hundredth anniversary of our city’s founding. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

“Me, too.” Again, I looked at Holland, who turned aside. The slightest pink tinged her cheeks.

“She picked out a real nice dress, sir,” Preston told Maximus. “White and gold. We’re going to match.” He extended his arm across the table and Holland did the same, meeting in the middle for a brief hand squeeze.

“How cute,” I muttered.

They moved on from discussing outfits to the finer details of party planning. Table linens, florals, seating charts, like a goddamn wedding with the investigator and her human beau in white and planning their future offspring. Maybe they’d get hitched while they were at it.

Checking my phone’s clock found that thirty minutes had elapsed. I scrubbed the side of my head, waiting for a break in the conversation so I could pull Maximus outside .

“What about you, Fitch?” Preston asked, startling me from thought.

I’d lost track of the discussion about the time they began the rundown of the dessert buffet, so all I could do was ask, “What about me?”

“Do you have something you can wear to the gala?”

I wouldn’t have cared about the party and might have been willing to miss it altogether until it became clear that Holland had intentionally kept word of the event from me.

I nodded. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Maybe you can show us all a few magic tricks.” Preston waggled his hands with mocking mysticism. “If you’re as ‘skilled’ as Max claims, you must be able to do more than throw people out of buildings.”

He leg-slapped his way through a laugh that no one else joined in on.

My smile returned, though, flashing teeth. “What’d you have in mind?”

Holland rose from her seat. “Fitch, no.”

Preston cackled louder. “Atta girl,” he wheezed. “Keep him in check.”

“Shut up, Pres,” she snapped.

“Lighten up, it was a joke.” Preston nudged me with his elbow. “He got it. Didn’t you, champ?”

I bounced my eyebrows. “So funny I forgot to laugh.”

He didn’t notice it now—probably wouldn’t until later tonight when he got ready for bed—but his stupid flag pin was clasped firmly in my hand.