Page 3 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Yawning, I rolled up the Porsche’s window before stepping out into the Capitol parking garage. Last night’s downward trend continued after we left DiaLogix Labs. Returning to the motel found Maggie missing and put me back in the car for the next several hours, driving around while Ripley alternated between stony silence and occasional reminders of “I told you so” or “you had one job” from the passenger seat.

We found the rogue zombie dumpster diving behind a strip mall. She was unharmed but sporting a blood mustache that didn’t bode well for an unknown someone.

After squeezing in three hours of sleep, I made it to work on time. Even a bit early. I was showered, shaved, and dressed in the suit I’d worn to court a few weeks ago. Holland Lyle hadn’t specified a dress code, but I’d seen enough investigators—my own father, for one—to know it was not a blue-collar gig.

While she’d left wardrobe to my discretion, Holland had been specific about how I should arrive on my first day. Don’t come into the building. Definitely not through the front door. Wait in the parking garage by the elevator. She would meet me there.

Across the musty, cavernous space, I spotted said elevator. Its beat-up beige door was lit by a flickering overhead light. That, plus the pile of dead crickets swept into the dusty corner made the whole scene look shady as hell. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was some back-alley drug deal, not employee onboarding.

Grit crunched underfoot as I walked toward the designated meeting place. I wanted a smoke, but my hands were full of the to-go cups of coffee currently scalding my palms through their paper sleeves. It was a real kiss ass move, but also part of the act.

Capitol Fitch was a curated character. He showed up where he was supposed to, when he was supposed to. He played for the team, had good posture, and better breath. Those were the sacrifices I was willing to make to keep my cover intact and my head on my shoulders. If I got caught double-crossing the Capitol, I doubted they would waste time with another trial. In fact, Maximus Lyle might put me down himself out of spite.

I’d nearly reached the elevator when it dinged its arrival. The door slid open, revealing Holland in a houndstooth corset top and black slacks.

My eyes traveled down then back up her lithe form, ending on the aviator sunglasses obscuring her eyes.

She gave me a similar onceover, which I interrupted by offering one of the coffee cups .

“Morning, Investigator.” I smiled. “Caffeine?”

“What is it?”

“Latte, half-caff, no foam,” I recited, feeling almost as ridiculous as I had when I requested it in the café earlier.

“How’d you know my order?” She took it reluctantly.

I raised a shoulder. “Same thing you got when we met a few weeks ago. You seem like a woman of habit.”

“You remembered that?”

“I take good notes.”

What I had thought would impress her instead caused her to squint at me like I was a stalker she’d caught rifling through her underwear drawer. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t done a bit of snooping in my recent downtime. I had familiarized myself with her work schedule—simple sleuthing since nearly everyone else was staying home in fear of the plague.

Following her one evening took me to her house. Not the one she’d grown up in, where we’d played together as kids. She had her own place near the edge of town and the woods. Dark and secluded, it suited her. It had more windows than I expected, providing views of almost every interior room. If I’d hung around, I could have seen more than her taste in modern furniture, but clear glass worked both ways, so I opted not to linger.

She held the coffee but didn’t drink it, a nervous behavior I was beginning to recognize. My presence was often disarming, but I suspected this had less to do with her proximity to a formerly wanted felon and more with how my first impressions would reflect on her .

She had nothing to worry about. Capitol Fitch had this under control.

“Shall we?” I nodded toward the elevator.

Clearing her throat, she tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside.

Once we were both inside, the elevator car began its rattling ascent. I sipped my coffee while watching her out of the corner of my eye. Silent was my least favorite state of being, but I endured until she spoke at last.

“I apologize in advance. We’re a bit behind with documentation and such, but I didn’t feel comfortable putting you off any longer.” She shifted her weight from one stiletto heel to the other. “I have some things for you to sign, nondisclosures and such, but we’ll tour the department first.”

“Observe the investigators in their natural habitat?” I asked.

She grimaced. “I think not. Most of them are working remotely. They come by to check in, but that’s about it.”

Finally, she took a drink of her latte. “This is good, thank you.”

“Welcome.”

We arrived on the third floor, where the pervasive quiet in the building immediately struck me. The last time I’d been here, protestors littered the front lawn, and members of all manner of media clamored for attention. Even the general din of office work in progress was missing. No one traversed the hall as we stepped into it, and I recalled how easily I’d found a spot to park in the downstairs garage .

“We may get out in a little bit, though,” Holland said, leading the way toward the Investigative Department—though I hardly needed a guide. “There was an accident at a local laboratory late last night, and I need to go by to rule out foul play.”

Good thing she had her back to me because my poker face definitely slipped. I should have said nothing but didn’t realize until I’d voiced a stilted reply. “That’s interesting.”

We kept walking, rounding a corner as she asked, “How have you been getting on away from the Bloody Hex? I imagine that’s a difficult transition.”

So much went unsaid in that simple statement. Holland was a smart woman, always had been. She must have wondered about my supposed fall from the gang’s grace, and how anyone exited such a group alive. In my experience, they didn’t and, of course, I hadn’t. But our code of conduct wasn’t public knowledge, so she would have to take my word for it.

“I’m good,” I said. “Civilian life has been…”

Boring. And it had spurred a bit of an identity crisis. The crisis part being what drove me to barge in on last night’s lab job and immediately regret it.

“An adventure,” I concluded, offering a smile when she glanced over her shoulder at me.

“Really?” Holland slowed her pace to fall in stride with me. “I would think with everything shut down and you being separated from your peer group, life would be rather dull.”

A laugh sprung out of me, unchecked, earning a skeptical look from the investigator .

“I make my own fun,” I said.

Low pile carpet butted up to gray walls, making this the least aesthetically appealing part of the building. The finery of the public-facing areas was not wasted on the staff. We were behind the scenes, part of a secret club I used to feel privileged to be a member of. I left that behind years ago, or rather had it forcibly yanked from my grasp. It felt surreal to find it all within reach, long after I’d given up ever returning.

We arrived at the door leading into the Investigative Department and the bullpen area where I’d nearly choked Holland out trying to escape a month ago. I wasn’t entirely prepared to face the memorial wall that might as well have been my criminal résumé, or the scorn of my new coworkers, who had every reason to hate me.

I tipped back my coffee, wishing I’d followed through on my temptation to spike it. But that was not Capitol Fitch behavior, and he was running this show.

Holland stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “What about Donovan?” she asked. “Have you been in touch with him?”

If she hadn’t been blocking the door, I would have gone ahead to avoid this line of discussion. The less lying I had to do, the better. And I preferred not to involve my brother at all until it was time to send him on his way out of the city and out of my life. I nibbled my lip ring. That last part stung a little, but I’d been selfish keeping Donovan around as long as I had. He deserved to be free.

“It’s a bit premature for that,” I told Holland. “I don’t want to get his hopes up in case things don’t pan out.”

“So, he wants to leave the gang?” A dark brow arched over the frame of her sunglasses.

“Definitely,” I lied. “Always has.”

The investigator gave a scarce nod. “It must have been hard for you to leave him behind.”

She didn’t buy it. Not even a little bit.

So, this last-minute delay was a checkpoint. To gain admittance to the inner sanctum, I needed to prove myself. Three weeks since our casual agreement had given her time to think or rethink making deals with a mass murderer.

“It’s only a temporary situation,” I replied at length. “Donnie’s waited twelve years to escape the Bloody Hex. What’s another month or so?”

Holland hummed acknowledgement. “With the city gate closed, it may take longer than that.”

Before I could respond, she swung the door open and ushered me through.

The bullpen housed rows of metal tanker desks, surrounded by windowed offices obscured by mini blinds. Lights were off most everywhere I looked, and chairs were empty. Last I’d seen this place, it had been in the late hours of night, and it was barely more alive now at the start of a workday.

I glanced at the vacant offices as we passed. Those were reserved for Chief Investigator Willem Briggs and his lead investigators. Each lead oversaw a small group of three or four, like teams with captains.

I would bet money Holland was an office dweller. Despite being young by human and magical standards, she had the benefit of being Maximus Lyle’s nepo baby. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t worked for her position. From what I’d observed, she did nothing but work. In a society where the average lifespan was measured in centuries, it usually took more than Holland’s twenty-six years to move up the food chain.

Reading office nameplates caused me to lag. When I looked ahead again, I found Holland joined by three suited investigators. The group of now four stared at me, speaking in hushed tones.

Approaching slowly, I made a mental assessment of the people whose names I would likely be expected to remember.

Besides Holland, there were two men and a woman. My eyes went to the men first. One wore a khaki suit a few shades lighter than his umber skin and sported a mop of dark, curly hair. He passed a black plastic ball back and forth between his hands while regarding me with far less malice than his taller, more serious counterpart. That one was buttoned up in gray, with a black tie that matched his swoop of gel-stiff hair. He stood with his arms crossed, ignoring whatever Holland was currently saying to focus wholly on me.

My attention left him the moment a long-legged vixen in black, white, and red all over walked forward to meet me.

Her slick black hair and smoky eyeshadow contrasted against pale skin. Her necktie, shoes, and lips all glistened in crimson. Even if she hadn’t placed herself directly in front of me, I would have had a hard time looking away .

She crowded in as bold as a barfly. “My, my, you’re easy on the eyes, aren’t you?” she asked in a voice that was just the right kind of husky.

I dipped back, considering how Capitol Fitch would respond before replying, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

A sour smile puckered her mouth. “Pity I’m not into blonds,” she said, then sneered. “Or cop killers.”

“Oh.” I coughed.

Witty comebacks stalled in my brain until she tagged on, “Burn in hell, you murderous bastard.”

She returned to the group, leaving me as an open target. They all had more to say, and I was willing to let them have at it. Better they got it off their chests now so we could all move on to more pressing and relevant matters.

Holland broke away from the others to close the gap to me. “Fitch,” she began, waving a hand toward them, “this is my team.”

I expected some measure of pride but, instead, she looked pained, which was explained when she added in a softer voice, “Who told me they wouldn’t be in today.”

Taking a deep breath, she introduced the other investigators.

The snide sex kitten was Vesper Ashcroft, made possibly more appealing by her mean girl act. The curly-haired man, Felix Wilde, had stopped moving long enough for me to identify the object he held as one of those cheesy Magic 8 Balls. Last was tawny-skinned Tobin Moreno. Despite Holland’s position of leadership, he had the stance and swagger of a man ready to fill that role at a moment’s notice. I knew the type .

“We wanted to meet the new guy.” Tobin nodded toward me. “See if the rumors were true since you’ve been keeping so tight-lipped.”

Holland started to reply, but a murmur from the back of the group cut her off.

“Will we be working with him?” Felix asked.

“You’re not expected to, no.” Holland shifted to stand directly in the line of fire. “Fitch is merely a consultant. He’ll be working with me on the Bloody Hex case.”

Merely? My mouth twisted into a frown.

“If we’re tackling the Bloody Hex, I want a piece of it,” Vesper said. “I’m not letting some washed up criminal steal my thunder.”

“Washed up?” I repeated. “Hold on a minute—”“You think you can trust him?” Tobin snorted. “He still has the tattoo on his hand, for God’s sake. Doesn’t look like a changed man to me.”

I glanced down at the Bloody Hex mark—a skull overgrown by thorny vines—inked on the back of my left hand. Did they expect me to cover it? Have it removed? Grimm would take issue with that.

“People like him don’t change,” Vesper said.

I found myself speechless for a second time. Good intentions warred with my lesser nature, battling for control of my brain. I’d planned to let them air their grievances, but what I’d expected to be a tough pill to swallow felt like it might choke me.

“Also, Holl, I notice you forgot something.” Stepping away from the group, Tobin tugged open the drawer of a nearby desk. He pulled out a large ring of metal and corresponding remote.

I recoiled at the sight and sound as the items clunked onto the desktop. Heat bubbled up from my gut, scorching my cheeks.

“You better collar that animal before he hurts somebody.” Tobin nodded at me.

I couldn’t see Holland’s face, but her voice came out strained. “Tobin, I’m certain there’s something else you could be doing.”

He shrugged then closed the drawer with a rattling clang. “Watch your back, is all I’m saying. Or else he might make you put a knife in it.”

The other two took Holland’s suggestion to leave, but Tobin was the last to retreat. I waited for his first departing step to send out a loop of thought, snagging the collar from where he’d left it and opening it midair. It flew forward, encircling the investigator’s neck and snapping shut.

Tobin grabbed the collar immediately, sputtering a curse as he spun to see the remote shoot back, called to my open hand. I set the control to stun, then pressed the button.

Electricity crackled, and Tobin crumpled into convulsions on the floor.

Vesper and Felix returned in a rush, flocking to their fallen comrade.

Holland had whirled around with her jaw hanging slack.

I tossed the remote for her to catch, then bared my teeth in a wolfish smile. “Nice friends you have, Investigator. I think I’ll fit right in. ”

Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled with the remote and Tobin squalled.

Across the room, a newcomer entered the bullpen. He was an older man, refined, with his gray hair closely cropped and his face shaved smooth. Today he wore a suit, but I’d last seen him in ceremonial robes, presiding over my court hearing. The honorable Maximus Lyle graced us with his presence.

He approached, ignoring the commotion.

“Ah, Mister Farrow, you’re here.” He stopped within arm’s reach. A puzzled glance at Tobin and company prompted a question, but not the one I expected. “May I borrow you for a moment?” he asked. “We have things to discuss.”