Page 24 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Holland spent the week party planning for the upcoming gala, so I didn’t see much of her. It was better that way since neither of us was ready to regroup after Sunday’s brutally honest confession.

The Capitol building was abuzz right up to the big day. Tonight, though, caterers and rental companies were replaced by guests in all their finery. A large crowd had turned out to throw plague precautions to the wind with Maximus Lyle’s blessing.

Entering the grand ballroom brought waves of nostalgia. The Capitol loved nothing more than a party, and they hosted them what felt like monthly through my younger years. Donovan and I had joined our parents more often than not, expected to posture and perform as model members of the next generation of magical society.

After all the glad-handing and sitting stiff-backed through whatever speech inevitably accompanied the festivities, we always managed to slip out. With Holland in tow, we had our run of the vacant parts of the building. I would rather be roaming now. It would have been preferable to the feeling I might spot my mother in the crowd, tucked in the crook of my father’s arm.

For a moment, they were everywhere. Waltzing across the dance floor, chatting with my father’s coworkers, or waiting at a table for me to join them. But harsh reality reminded me that they hadn’t graced this place in as long as I had, and they never would again.

Shaking myself, I cut a narrow path through the gaggle of partygoers. The wadded invitation in my hand was penned in with the table number Holland had assigned me. Her table with Maximus and Preston, no doubt. The former, I could handle. The latter remained to be seen.

The stage spanned the front of the room, smaller than it had seemed in my youth. It currently hosted a string quartet playing a classical number that had inspired a small group of dancers to take to the floor.

People milled between black-clothed tables, most headed for the buffet line, where I recognized a few of the foods so enthusiastically discussed at Sunday’s lunch. My stomach was too unsettled for eating, but the sight of the bar counter detoured me.

The tall table boasted two tuxedoed mixologists and a limited menu. From the back of the line, I skimmed the options and settled on an Old Fashioned to be safe.

While the rest of the room’s occupants relaxed on their night off, I was very much on the job. Maximus’s vote was in six days, and I had two names left on my list. My initial inclination to catch the bunch of bluebloods in one place at one time had been forgotten in the chaos of the past weeks, but the idea became a very real possibility tonight. If I’d thought of it sooner, I would have procrastinated all of them till the last minute. Easier that way for everyone but me.

The bartenders were lackadaisical, no doubt bored with making the same five drinks on repeat. They managed, however, to hold my attention until a tap on my shoulder spun me around.

One of Holland’s investigators—Vesper, with her black hair spun into curls and her lithe body in a red dress with slits up both thighs—stood before me. My eyes did a quick dip to her exposed legs and the strappy heels that put her on eye level with me.

I didn’t trust her smile or the way she appraised me, but I held my peace until she said, “Damn, Farrow. You might change my mind about blonds.”

Her assessment prompted me to consider my outfit for the evening: a black and gold embroidered coat with black slacks, a black shirt, and a gold tie. It matched the table linens and coordinated with Holland and Preston—so I’d heard.

I tugged on my lapels. “We do have more fun.”

Vesper’s red lips curved into a smile.

Over her shoulder, I spotted someone else approaching. Holland wore an off-the-shoulder dress as white as her hair, with gold beading that echoed the necklace sparkling across her décolletage. The tomboyish girl I’d grown up with was no slouch in her work attire, but here—walking through downlights with her smoky gray eyes fixed on me—she was fully in her element.

Vesper turned to allow Holland entry into our tight circle, but only long enough to nod toward me and comment, “Nice arm candy, Holl.”

Holland barely registered the words in time to protest. “He’s not my…”

But Vesper had already dipped into the crowd and left us alone at the front of the line.

I glanced from Holland to the bartender waiting for our orders.

“Old Fashioned,” I told him, fishing my money clip out of my jacket’s inner pocket as he set to work. “You want anything?” I asked Holland and gestured to the server muddling the bitters and water.

Holland shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I’m speaking tonight.”

“You?” I raised a brow. “Congrats. What about?”

“The vote. This is my father’s last push to ensure it passes.”

The last push was, in fact, what I would be doing tonight while stuffing bodies in the back of Donovan’s Bronco, but a speech probably wouldn’t hurt.

Holland gestured to the party in full swing. “He told everyone this is about the hundredth anniversary, but it’s not entirely.”

The bartender set my drink on the counter. I nodded thanks and dropped a bill in the crystal tip jar.

Time to address the elephant notably not in the room.

“Where’s your plus one?” I asked.

“Pres got called away at the last minute,” she said. “ It’s his speech I’m giving.”

That was bound to be a doozy. Rambling about how amazing humans were and how privileged we would be to fraternize and bear hopefully human children with them. I, for one, had not missed the gates being open. It turned our city into a tourist trap and its citizens into walking attractions. I drew enough attention from my own kind; I didn’t need guests lining up to see Marionette in action. Though, I had been known to sign my share of autographs.

I thought belatedly to respond. “Too bad for him. Missing the event is one thing, but seeing you in that dress…” Smiling, I gave her an appreciative onceover.

To my surprise, she stepped back and posed. The sheer sleeves of her gown billowed as she drew close again. “What about you? I find it hard to believe you couldn’t dial up someone from your little black book.”

I took a sip of the Old Fashioned. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I arrived alone but didn’t intend to leave that way. Abducting two people at once would keep me busy enough without a date sending me for drink refills and hors d’oeuvres all night.

“Didn’t want the distraction,” I answered honestly. “But now that I am faced with another distraction, I may have changed my mind.” The curve of my lips prompted her cheeks to pink, but she shook her head.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” she asked.

“Someone recently reminded me of another side of myself. I thought I’d let him out to play for a while.”

Holland blanched. “About that. I didn’t mean—”

I lifted a hand to stop her. “Maybe it was what I needed to hear.”

Her mouth hung open, barely withholding protest as I continued.

“Now, you may not want arm candy, but I’m happy to keep you company. We happen to be seated together, and…” I gave her gown another meaningful look, followed by a pose of my own. “We make a nice match.”

Mischief glittered in her gray eyes. “Not by accident, I’m guessing.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” I offered my arm. “Shall we?”

She hesitated. I recalled her concerns when she met me at the French bistro a month ago. “A PR nightmare,” she’d called our rendezvous. My image was far from squeaky clean, innocent verdict or no, and her attempt to keep me away from this gala had not been forgotten.

“All right,” she said at last and looped her arm through mine.

After dropping my drink off at our table—set for ten but currently empty—Holland let me lead her to the front of the room. I needed to survey the crowd for the faces I’d done my best to memorize, and the forward position of the dance floor provided an ideal vantage point.

When Holland realized our destination, she put her foot down. Literally. We pulled apart, and her eyes darted around, finding scornful stares aimed our way. She may not have been used to the hatred of the masses, but I was long since numb to it.

“This is how rumors get started,” she hissed.

I shrugged. “People love to talk. Might as well give them a reason.”

Offering my hand again risked rejection, but I needed to keep her close. She was a distraction, yes, but not to me. Hers was a presence meant to disarm my victims, who would keep their distance from the criminal formerly known as Marionette but would warm readily to a guest of Miss Holland Lyle.

But first, I needed to find them. For that, I needed to dance. And to dance, I needed a partner.

“It’s not professional,” Holland said in the same hushed voice.

My brows arched. “I didn’t realize we were here in a professional capacity.”

She frowned. “Everything I do is in a professional capacity.”

Throwing out a loop of thought, I caught her waist and pulled her in. She stumbled, and her face blanked with surprise as I spun her to land against me in a dip. Her hands latched onto my shoulder and elbow, seeking unnecessary support. Even if my arms hadn’t been around her, I wouldn’t let her fall.

For a moment, she stayed frozen, gaping as I bent over her. With a wink, I drew her upright and held her hand while she steadied herself.

“Don’t do that,” she gasped.

“Is that a ‘no’ to another spin?” I asked.

Her shock melted away, replaced by amusement. “Do you even remember how to dance? We were just learning, and that doesn’t seem like the thing most gang members practice.”

Gang members, no, but young guests of the Blooming Orchid got lessons from Isha Kapoor’s School of Charm. Learning how to bed a woman was one thing. Getting that woman into the bedroom in the first place required an entirely different skillset.

“Afraid I’ll step on your toes?” I teased.

Pulling her in, I rested one hand on her shoulder blade while keeping the other extended in a classic ballroom pose. Her body was rigid at first but relaxed as we fell into step with the music and joined the other couples mingling on the dance floor.

A few turns in, Holland laughed softly. “You aren’t bad at this.”

“Thanks for saying so.”

With our heads more beside each other than facing, I was able to scope out the room and its occupants. The men wore basic black and white tuxedos, waddling around like penguins with heaping appetizer plates and glasses filled from the champagne fountain next to the bar. The women varied, clothed in slinky cocktail dresses or frilly gowns in every color.

Maximus Lyle milled the crowd, schmoozing with his constituents. Jacoby Thatcher—AKA Grimm in disguise—trailed behind him.

My search continued from them, but I didn’t identify either of the people I sought. Instead, I found a pair of more familiar faces. A gaunt teen wore an all-black suit that hung off his coat hanger of a body. He might have blended into the crowd if not for the fedora hat shadowing his face and bicolored eyes. His date’s updo spilled over with hair the same bubblegum pink as her dress. Her head turned as though on a swivel, and her expression was full of delight as she soaked up the splendor of the gala.

Ripley and Maggie. Not on the guest list, I would guarantee it.

I stopped cold, causing Holland to crash into me.

“Ow, Fitch!” she exclaimed as though I’d stepped on her toes after all when she was currently standing on mine. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I think your dad waved at you.” I gestured to the corner where Maximus and Thatcher chatted—conveniently across the room from the Goth duo lurking near the champagne fountain. “Must want to give you a peptalk before your speech.”

Holland stood, perplexed, as I abandoned the dance floor. I’d catch up with her later, assuming these surprise guests didn’t derail my evening plans entirely. I took a direct route, pushing through the throng until I arrived tableside where the champagne fountain rained bubbly into tiers of fluted glasses.

Fortunately, no one else hovered near enough to hear me whisper-shout, “What the actual fuck?”

Ripley wore a look of practiced apathy as he turned toward my approach. “Ah, Fitch. Fancy seeing you here.”

My face contorted in a scowl. “I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. And it’s a little risky having her along, don’t you think?” I aimed an emphatic glance at the zombie girl.

Normally, I wouldn’t question Ripley’s ability to care for his undead darling but parading her into a room of Capitol snobs was risky by any standard. One whiff of forbidden magic could turn this crowd into a mob, and that was if someone didn’t get a good look at Ripley’s creepy mug first.

The teen flashed a tight smile. “Mags and I get up to all manner of mischief. Tonight, she wanted to show off her new dress.”

As if cued, Maggie stepped back from the small table and twirled to spread the skirt of her gown.

I nodded hastily. “Very pretty.”

Giggling, she threw herself onto Ripley’s shoulder and hung from him while he held my gaze with unflinching calm.

“Don’t bullshit me,” I told him. “What are you doing here?”

His exhale loosed the slightest wisp of smoke into the air. “I’m working, mate,” he said. “For the same boss as you. Try to keep that straight.”

I tensed as the fumes dispersed. Too little to do any damage, I told myself, though I wasn’t certain.

My attention traveled to the corner where Holland had joined Maximus and Thatcher. Sure enough, Thatcher looked back. He hadn’t warned me about any Bloody Hex plans in the works tonight. I could ask why, but assumed I would get the same dismissive answer about it being gang business and not mine.

My heartrate spiked as another thought occurred.

“Are the others here?” I hissed to Ripley. “Vinton? Avery? Donnie?”

The last one worried me most. The secret of my brother’s survival had already been spoiled, but I was more troubled by the thought of him keeping things from me.

“We came alone,” Ripley replied. “And we’ll be leaving shortly. I hear there’s to be a speech, and those things are so very tiresome.”

Stepping forward, he took an overflowing glass from the champagne fountain. He brought it in for a sniff before tipping it back for a mouthful that swelled his cheeks. He swished the drink like it was Listerine, stopping short of a gargle. When Maggie leaned in to snag a glass of her own, Ripley barred his arm to stop her, then spat the drink back into his cup. It had changed from the clear, yellowish color to a sickly sort of green.

“Come on, man,” I groaned. I was only vaguely put off until he dumped the regurgitated champagne back into the fountain.

With a cry of disgust, I staggered away.

Maggie blinked her red eyes absently.

I glowered at Ripley. “Why would you…?”

His magic was unlike anything I’d encountered before, but I knew enough about it to be suspicious of what I’d witnessed.

“What did you do?” I asked him.

Pulling the kerchief from his jacket pocket, Ripley dabbed the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously, what the hell was that?” I pressed but earned only silence in response.

Partygoers passed by, ferrying away glasses of tainted champagne.

“Don’t drink that!” I cautioned them, causing a commotion as Ripley deftly guided Maggie away.

I tried to halt the couple’s escape, but my mental lasso missed its target as a man jostled into me, reaching for drinks. I flung a hand toward him, knocking his glasses loose to spill, then shatter on the floor.

When I looked again, Ripley and Maggie had vanished into the crowd, leaving behind a spewing pot of poison. Was it plague? Was it worse?

The people near enough to notice the disturbance fell silent. Across the fountain table from me, baseball-bat-wielding car destroyer Tobin Moreno snickered into his cup of bubbly.

“You can have all you want, dickbag,” I snapped at him. But my pulse pounded.

Another rapid glance found Jacoby Thatcher observing from across the room. I should have known Maximus wasn’t the only one taking precautions to secure the outcome of the vote. Grimm was scheming, too, and had made a deadly move at the latest and most strategic moment.

What could I do? Convince the waitstaff to dump the fountain’s contents and refill anew? Make more of a spectacle of myself by shouting to the crowd that the drinks were contaminated? Either of those things would earn Grimm’s wrath because—as Ripley pointed out—we both worked for him, and my sabotage of his last-minute murder plot would be seen as exactly that.

So, I stood by as more people helped themselves to the free-flowing champagne. I wasn’t even sure it was deadly. If it was, since when did I care whether a bunch of Capitol snobs lived or died? I told Nash he’d forgotten who I was. Maybe I’d forgotten, too.

A presence at my back gave me a start and I spun to find Holland closing in. “You all right?” She frowned. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

More like the living dead and her pain-in-my-ass boyfriend.

The investigator reached toward the fountain.

“You said you were going to wait till after the speech,” I reminded her.

“I need a glass for the toast,” she said. “Mister Thatcher suggested it.”

My fists clenched. I didn’t bother looking Grimm’s way this time because I knew he was watching.

If this was a test, I was about to fail.

“I really think you shouldn’t.” I stepped in front of the investigator. “Get something from the bar instead. They’re practically dozing off over there.”

A tip of my head indicated the mixologists wearily rattling steel shakers.

Holland huffed a laugh. “You toast with champagne, Fitch. Not gin and tonic.”

“Is that your order? It’s on the menu.” I leaned away and hoped she would, too, but we weren’t dancing anymore, and she didn’t have to follow my lead.

Holland’s fingers hovered inches from grabbing a glass. I’d let a dozen other people drink the swill, but she was different. She remembered a better version of me, and I couldn’t help but hope that memory might revive something I’d believed long dead.

I needed to stop her.

Thoughts tangled until the internal chaos burst out. I thrust an open palm toward the tiered fountain, generating a blast of energy that shoved it over backward in a cascade of glass, foamy liquid, and clattering metal bowls.

It rained down on Tobin, who’d hung around long enough to get drenched in the onslaught. Holland leaped back and clapped both hands to her mouth, abashed as if she had somehow caused the collapse.

Bystanders scurried with yelps and shrieks. Anyone who wasn’t already gawking turned to stare as I remained in place while champagne rushed over my shoes like a low tide.

While most people ran from the scene, Maximus and Thatcher closed in. Thatcher took the lead, huffing and puffing. He grabbed my arm and yanked me around, targeting me with rage like I’d never seen in the weaselly man. Grimm’s temper bled through the facade.

“What in God’s name has gotten into you?” he exclaimed.

I looked down at my wet feet, picking one up and watching the liquid drip from it.

Grimm—he may not have looked like himself, but I knew him best this way—shook me hard. “Tell me that was an accident,” he said in a lower voice. Before I could respond, he carried on. “No, don’t. Because I saw the whole thing. A thorn in my side is what you are. A stupid, arrogant—”

“Mister Thatcher.” Maximus entered our proximity. “I wasn’t aware you and Mister Farrow were so well-acquainted.”

Grimm’s grip on me relaxed. His features ran the gamut from realization to shame and made a quick correction to composed before he pulled away, smoothing out the crease he’d pressed into my suit coat sleeve.

“Are you hurt, Mister Moreno?” Maximus asked the investigator currently picking glass shards out of his glossy black hair.

Tobin stood. Champagne soaked large splotches of his gray suit, concentrated mostly on his pants and sticking them to his legs. He glared at me before responding to the older man. “Only my pride, sir.”

“Apologies, Maximus,” Grimm said after a pause. “I know how important this event was to you. I hate to see it ruined.”

“It’s hardly ruined.” Maximus turned to the white-aproned servers who had begun to gather. “Get this cleaned up, and we can all carry on with the evening.”

The waitstaff set to work, some wielding mops and rags while others swept up wet shards of glass. As the mess minimized, so did the number of onlookers. Even Grimm, who I knew had more to say, took his leave and sat at the table Maximus, Holland, and I would soon occupy. There he would have his chance to finish whatever insult he’d been working on when Maximus interrupted.

I didn’t budge until one of the workers bumped a mophead into my foot. When I backstepped out of the way, I found Holland lingering, as well.

“Why did you do that?” Her gaze swept over the puddled champagne before meeting mine.

“Who said I did?” I fired back so abruptly that she recoiled.

“Mister Thatcher seemed certain. ”

I hummed acknowledgment but didn’t speak. My shoes squished as I turned toward the crowd. The Old Fashioned waited where I’d left it on the table. I needed it now more than ever but was unwilling to brave the company of Maximus and Thatcher again so soon.

Holland broke into motion and joined me, going so far as to forcibly loop her arm through mine. “What is going on with you?” she leaned in to ask. “Not just tonight. In general. You’re either the strangest person I’ve ever met, or you’re keeping things from me.”

“Mind magic is a hell of a thing, Holly .” The nickname still felt wrong rolling off my tongue. “Sometimes you think a thing, and it happens. I thought it would be funny if Tobin looked as much like a wet blanket as he actually is.” Pulling her through a gap in the crowd, I grumbled bitterly, “Did you know he trashed my car?”

She stopped midstride. “What? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“Because I didn’t say anything.” I bounced my shoulders. “But there you go. That’s what I get for stuffing my feelings.”

I needed to salvage this night. Take advantage of whatever precious minutes I had with Holland as a buffer between me and the last two victims on my list. Neither of whom I’d spotted yet.

My gaze coasted past the table I’d been assigned. New arrivals had joined Maximus and Thatcher. One was an absurdly tall man with a port-wine stain on his left cheek. As usual, I didn’t know his name, only the moniker I’d assigned him: Daddy Longlegs, for his height. Even I wasn’t tasteless enough to poke fun at someone’s birthmark.

Why would Maximus choose to sit with someone who disagreed with his political platform? Did he hope to sway them to his side in the final inning? Or was he lobbing the man to me like a fastball right down the middle?