Page 4 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

Capitol hierarchy had remained unchanged over the course of my life. Taking a cue from British monarchy across the pond, our leaders were sworn into service for life. Maximus Lyle had been running the show since the United States first sectioned off the two hundred square miles the country’s magical inhabitants called home. A preserve, if you wanted to be gracious about it. A zoo, for those of us who saw things more realistically.

When he wasn’t glad-handing with human politicians, Maximus managed to involve himself in every aspect of our government. He was a benevolent dictator lording over us as though we were sheep in need of constant tending.

I knew him better than some. In my younger years, my family attended dinners at his home. I’d been seated beside him at award banquets where my father was a guest of honor. We’d spoken at length about my future. Recruitment started young for those born into the right bloodlines, and the Farrow family was a proven lineage even before I came into it.

This was not the first time I’d been called into Maximus’s office, but it felt new because my path had strayed far from that of the promising youngster I’d once been. I’d spent the last half of my life as an enemy of the Capitol, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of looming dread as the older man closed the door behind me.

The office itself was the size of a large bedroom. Wood paneling and built-ins created an old world feel absent from the rest of the building. A fireplace flickered on the side wall, and the opposite end of the room boasted windows with heavy curtains drawn. Passing me, Maximus took his seat behind the desk.

I remained on my feet, skimming the books and knickknacks lined on lit shelving. Top hats and wands were meticulously arranged between framed posters and pamphlets from decades-old shows. Household names like Harry Houdini and David Copperfield were spelled out in bold print. They weren’t witches, merely showmen, but the human ambassadors Maximus often hosted found such representations of magic more palatable than the gritty reality of our small corner of the world.

Maximus looked on as I walked the perimeter of the room, my fingers gliding across familiar surfaces. As far as I could tell, every stick of furniture and carefully curated tchotchke remained the same as in my childhood.

“Your father never could sit still, either.” Maximus chuckled. “You look just like him, you know. It’s uncanny.”

So I’d been told a thousand times. Our physical similarities and shared magic made it easy to envision my path in life aligned with my father’s. In fact, it had been a forgone conclusion. Until it wasn’t.

Maximus bridged his fingers. The ghost of a smile lingered on his face. “I always imagined you and Holland would run this place one day. You were both such fine examples of the next generation of our society.”

His use of past tense carried the feeling of another shoe about to drop. I turned toward a row of books pinned in place by an antique vanishing bird cage prop.

“Sadly, you aren’t exactly investigator material anymore,” Maximus said.

I bristled.

“There are too many chinks in your armor, I’m afraid. But that isn’t to say we don’t have uses for someone with your skillset.”

As the conversation took a darker turn, so did my mood. Holland’s band of investigator brats had weakened my resolve, and I didn’t have much patience left to endure Maximus’s backhanded compliments.

I faced him, my expression set on stoic for the duration. “Mister Lyle, as an innocent man, I can’t imagine what skillset you could possibly be referring to.”

He nodded slowly. “I would like to keep our interactions free of pretense and posture. Surely you can appreciate my desire to be direct. I know what you’re capable of. I know who you are, and it is not the talentless victim of fate your lawyer pitched to win your acquittal.”

My lips pursed. I gave no reply as he carried on.

“You were a deadly weapon in the hands of the Bloody Hex, and I believe it’s high time the Capitol had that kind of firepower on our side.”

I wanted to be surprised. Maximus and his investigators wore the white hats, played the good guys in an endless game of cops and robbers. I wished I could feign a gasp and wax poetic about the corruption in government and how the line between good and evil so easily blurred.

Instead, I looked away, watching flames curl around gas logs in the fireplace. How would Grimm feel about this? When he sold me down the river into undercover Capitol work, he must have expected they would make use of me and my “skillset.”

“I assume you’re aware of the motion to open the city gate?” Maximus asked over the sounds of a search through his desk.

“I am.” The fire warmed my legs as I stood with my hands tucked in my slacks pockets.

“It is vitally important our society be allowed to intermingle with humanity,” Maximus said. “To continue to isolate ourselves is self-imposed genocide.”

I sniffed. “Sounds dire.”

I’d heard Grimm’s side of this argument dozens of times over the years. Ours was a dying breed. Since the city was established, walls erected, and gates initially closed, the mission had been to retreat and recover. Modern witch hunters—historical ones, too—had diminished our numbers to alarming lows. Coming together in one place to build a single, sequestered nation gave us the chance to focus on repopulating in a controlled environment.

Grimm thought that meant only witches should be allowed in the city. Maximus felt differently and, as the leader of our government, his word became law.

“There will be a final vote in four weeks’ time,” Maximus explained. “Plague or not, I will accept no further delays. Measures as momentous as this garner a fair amount of opposition, and I need that opposition minimized.”

“By minimized, you mean…?”

“Eliminated.”

My turn to nod. I hadn’t needed the clarification but wanted to hear him say it.

“I didn’t realize the Capitol needed a wet work man.” My voice came out gruff. “I would have applied years ago.”

Maximus tilted his head. “Are you surprised? The wheels of progress turn both directions, young man.”

I’d been pigeonholed. Typecast in the role of a villain. My post-arrest conversation with Holland should have prepared me for this. Her first offer had not been redemption or even a fresh start. She had called me an attack dog and asked if I was willing to change my allegiance, but not my tactics.

Even so, I wondered aloud, “Does Holland know about this?”

“She does not, and she will not. Your work with her is separate from this assignment. You are not to discuss this conversation or any pursuant activities, under any circumstances.” Maximus’s eyes sharpened as he asked, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

A letter-sized envelope lay on the desk beside the older man. He lifted then held it out for me to take.

“I’ve compiled a list,” he explained as I grabbed it and unfolded the tucked flap. “The order is unimportant,” he continued, “but the timing is critical. It must be completed in the next four weeks. Before the date of the vote.”

Pulling the paper from inside, I opened it and skimmed the column of names scrawled in calligraphic script. First, I checked for anyone familiar. I half-expected every one of the Bloody Hex members to be enumerated. Surely they were obstacles to the success of Maximus’s grand plan. But I didn’t know any of these people. It was a relief, but only barely, because the quantity was a shock in and of itself. In my twelve-year career as a killer, I’d taken the lives of thirty-two people. Maximus’s list would have me grow that number by a fourth.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

“Is there a problem?” Skeptical lines merged with the wrinkles on Maximus’s face.

Hastily folding the paper, I stuffed it into the inner pocket of my suit coat. “No, sir.”

Quiet ate up the next several moments while I waited to be dismissed. Maximus’s gaze settled on me, lingering past the point of comfort.

I stepped back. “Anything else? ”

The old man remained contemplative as he splayed his hands on the desktop. “Fitch, I am sorry about how things turned out,” he said slowly. “This is not the role I’d hoped you would fill, but I think you’ll agree that being on the right side of progress is something you can be proud of.”

A breath slipped through my teeth. I wasn’t proud of much in my life, and I didn’t deceive myself that killing for the Capitol was any more noble than mercenary work for the Bloody Hex.

Maximus stared at me, watching to see how Capitol Fitch would respond. I wasn’t sure myself. How would my alter ego—my better half—receive this assignment?

The answer became suddenly clear. When given marching orders, Capitol Fitch had only one response:

“Yes, sir.”

Holland was gone by the time I finished my confab with her father. So, I spent the rest of the afternoon filling out paperwork while her investigator buddies flitted in and out. Fortunately, they gave me a wide berth.

Hours later, I sat cross-legged in Nash’s bed, trying to memorize the names on the crumpled paper I needed to dispose of sooner rather than later.

Nash padded out of the bathroom, scrubbing a towel against his coppery hair.

I paused to admire the view as the last drops of shower water cut channels across his muscular torso. The memory of his arms crushing against me—his thighs, too—raised hairs on the nape of my neck. But the list of people slated for death were a strong enough tether to the present to overpower any lustful thoughts.

Tension must have shown on my face because Nash stopped with the towel half-wrapped around his waist and frowned at me.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Warm fuzzies gone already?”

“Eight fucking people.” I let the paper flutter to land at the foot of the bed.

Nash retrieved the letter, then perched on the edge of the mattress to scrutinize it.

“No Hex members,” I continued. “So, that’s something.”

He turned it over, then back, and skimmed the names again. “A bunch of politicians, looks like. Why do you have it?”

I pinched a corner of the buttery cotton sheet to worry between my fingers. “I’ve been given marching orders,” I said. “By the head of the Capitol himself.”

I didn’t know a lot about the American government other than that we borrowed heavily from their policies and procedures. The Capitol touted the benefits of democracy and the value of votes cast by influential members of our society who were assigned to represent the common man—or witch. Since our city was relatively small, so was the pool of designated voters. Thirty—last I’d heard—men and women of status weighed in on every critical decision the Capitol made. Maximus’s orders to eliminate eight of them put a sizeable dent in the voter pool.

Confusion crossed Nash’s features. “You’re gonna need to spell it out for me.”

“It’s a hit list,” I replied flatly.

Nash’s expression shifted first to shock, then a wry smile at my expense. “I didn’t know the Capitol employed mercenaries.” He handed the page to me.

“That’s what I said,” I muttered.

Standing from the bed, Nash opened the drawer of a nearby dresser. He pulled out boxers and jeans and stepped into them as he spoke. “Must be a new trend because that’s a hell of a backlog. Oughta have your dance card booked for the next—”

“Four weeks.” I set the list on the bedside table.

“Come again?” Nash looked over his shoulder at me, his bushy brows arched.

“He wants it done in the next four weeks.”

“Which one?” Nash asked.

“All of them.”

He moved to the standing armoire and produced a shirt from inside. Typical flannel fare that he left unbuttoned while rolling up the sleeves. My attention lingered on the exposed sliver of his chest, studying the thin trail of red hair leading from his navel to his belt line while wishing the stress relief I’d come in search of had lasted a little longer. I’d been trying to pin the burly bartender down for years, but he’d only recently shown any interest in me. It started as sharing threesomes with barflies who hung around after last call but, since the plague, we’d been falling into bed together more frequently and exclusively .

“Can you do takebacks on this Capitol gig, or what?” Nash asked. “Old Maximus is making Grimm look like a pussycat.”

Wincing, I propped my elbows on my knees and cradled my face in upturned hands. “Yeah, well don’t tell him that.” My palms muffled my voice.

Nash rounded the bed to crawl in beside me, scooting over till his shoulder bumped into mine. “What does Grimm think about all this?” he asked.

My fingers parted to clear a line of sight to the alchemist’s skeptical stare. “He doesn’t know yet.”

Nash sniffed. He reached over and ran his hand through the long top of my hair, curling it around my ear. “I doubt this is what he had in mind when he decided to loan you out. You’re about to get rode hard and put away wet.” He chuckled. “And not in the fun way.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

Swinging my legs off the mattress, I stood and moved to where my clothes were piled on the tasseled edge of the rug.

As I dressed, Nash laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the carved wooden headboard. “So, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Kill eight people.” I shimmied into my now-wrinkled slacks. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

“Not that many,” Nash argued. “Not that fast. A few dozen kills over a decade isn’t the same as bumping off two people a week for the next month.”

Maybe I’d get lucky and find all eight people at once, equally vulnerable. I could drop a chandelier on them at a dinner party or run a bus off the road with them trapped inside. Extra points for efficiency.

I thought to share the joke with Nash but, when I caught his gaze, the genuine concern on his face threw me.

“How unlike you to care.” My nose wrinkled.

He shrugged. “I don’t think you should have to do it, that’s all.”

I slid into the shirt then looped the tie around my neck. A step back allowed me to retrieve the name list from the bedside table and stuff it into my pocket.

Nash’s gaze chased me. Judging, perhaps, or doubting. Regardless, I didn’t need his misgivings heaped on my own.

I crossed my arms and faced him. “Look, Nash, I know I can get pretty confessional around here, but I’m not looking for advice. I can handle my own shit.”

Nash was not an easy person to offend, but I’d managed. Guilt twinged as he nodded, then pushed himself off the opposite side of the bed.

“Sure thing, tough guy,” he said.

A knock on the bedroom door silenced any apology I might have offered. I stood by while Nash passed on his way to answer it.

“You expecting someone?” I asked.

He paused with a hand on the knob, his shirt fluttering open. “Yeah, my next hookup, so you better clear out,” he said. “A guy has to fill his time somehow with the whole city shut down.”

I rolled my eyes.

His easy smile returned as he added, “Kidding. Kind of. ”

The door swung inward, revealing Pippa in an oversized sweater and leggings. Glasses rested on the tip of her freckled nose, and she peered through them as she leaned around her brother to spot me.

“Oh hey, Fitch. I thought I heard you.” Her tight-lipped smirk implied she didn’t mean the talking.

My arms squeezed around my middle, driving out a short breath.

“How was your first day of work?” she asked.

“Eventful,” I replied.

She leaned against the doorframe, letting her head fall to a tilt. “Really?”

Nash turned away so I couldn’t see his face, but something he said—or silently mouthed—stopped his sister’s interrogation before it began.

“Ah.” Pippa nodded. “Well, Nick, you have customers.”

“Did you tell them we’re closed?” Nash asked.

“Tell them yourself. But you might want to finish getting dressed first.” She shrugged her shoulders, telling us little about the unexpected arrivals, but all we needed to know.

Pippa was as capable a bouncer as they came, but less willing when it came to certain clientele. The same clientele who wouldn’t let a city-wide plague or closed sign keep them away from their preferred watering hole.

The Bloody Hex had arrived, and I had a lot of explaining to do.