Page 5 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

The next day, I sat at the table with Nash and Pippa, working my way through a bowl of pasta salad.

Pippa carried the conversation, discussing recipes for her perfume concoctions while Nash nodded along. I’d mostly tuned it out—alchemy leaned more towards science than magic, which put it beyond my understanding—until Nash slid his hand onto my thigh under the table and leaned over.

“You seem better,” he said.

I expected a smile to accompany the statement, but it wasn’t quite there. Instead, he looked tired, and a wrinkle creased the skin between his brows.

“I feel better,” I said and shoveled a fork full of pasta into my mouth. It was a kitchen sink kind of dish loaded with deli meat, olives, tomatoes, and feta cheese.

“Good to see you putting something in your stomach besides booze,” Pippa said. “You’re getting as skinny as Ripley.”

I sneered at her, then took another bite .

Nash continued to peer at me, too scrutinizing for comfort. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?” he asked.

He didn’t know about my meeting with Ripley, or our stakeout gone revenge killing, or how I dropped Charlie’s autographed carcass outside Isha’s shop with a message I entrusted her to pass along to Grimm.

Watch your back.

“Concerned? About me?” I rocked my chair back onto its rear legs and gestured grandly to myself. “I’m the picture of health. Physical and otherwise.”

Nash frowned. “You should know the theatrics make it more suspicious.”

Forcing a grin, I grabbed his hand off my leg and brought it to my lips for a quick kiss. “You’re sweet,” I told him. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not your problem to solve.” Setting his hand on the table, I pushed back and stood, not ready to leave half the bowl of noodles but more than ready to escape this conversation.

Pippa swirled the straw around in her glass. “That’s kind of a shitty thing to say.”

“Pippa.” The warning in Nash’s tone went unheeded by his sister.

I’d stepped around my chair and stood there, gripping the curved wooden seat back with tense fingers.

“You made yourself his problem, didn’t you?” Pippa stabbed the straw at me. “Dragging your ass in here on the heels of every crisis because he’s too nice to turn you away.”

Nash sighed loudly. “He didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did I mean it?” I glared at Nash, but the question was for either of the siblings .

Nash dropped his fork in his bowl. “Not. Like. That.” He bit off each word.

Pippa’s freckled nose scrunched. She looked at her brother. “Nick, I know you care about him,” she said, “but can’t you care about somebody else? Somebody stable?”

“He’s not always like this, Pip,” Nash argued. “You know him.”

“Not like you do, apparently,” she retorted.

“ He’s standing right here,” I growled.

It reminded me of the argument I’d overheard from the hall outside Pippa’s bedroom a few weeks ago. She must have remembered it, too, because she continued.

“I should’ve seen this coming.” Pippa propped both elbows on the table. “In fact, I did see this coming, but I allowed it because you’re a rational man with a good head on your shoulders, and he’s a…”

Nash’s agitated expression made her pause.

“Fitch, can you give us a minute?” he asked without looking away from his sister.

I swung around and sat back down in my chair, then clasped my hands in my lap. “I think I’ll stay,” I replied. “Pip’s clearly put a lot of thought into this. I don’t want to miss it.” I may have looked like an eager listener, but internally I was bracing for the incoming verbal assault.

Pippa eyed me, not pleased by my refusal but not deterred by it, either.

“He’s a mess, Nick,” she declared, speaking directly to her brother once more. “He’s a criminal—a murderer—and he’s so damaged…” Her gaze flitted briefly over me. “Grimm did a number on him. We watched it happen.”

I started to tell her off for Nash’s sake as much as mine, but he beat me to speaking.

“We should’ve done more than watch,” he muttered, staring hard at his pasta salad.

Pippa heaved a breath. “I get it,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. But he’s broken , Nick.” She flapped her hand at me. “And you can’t love a person back together. Trying will just tear you apart, too.”

That familiar feeling clogged my throat and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It was anger and sadness all the damn time, taking shots at my heart.

Nash focused on his lunch as if the dish held the answers he needed. “That was a bit much, don’t you think?” he asked his sister.

Pippa crossed her arms. “It needed to be said.”

“It’s been said, Pip.” He sounded defeated.

I couldn’t stand it, but Pippa didn’t relent.

“To you, but you won’t listen. Maybe he will.” She jerked a thumb toward me.

The truth in Pippa’s words resonated with me, frightened me. But her honesty wasn’t as scary as the thought of Nash being swayed by her sentiments and changing his mind about me. He might leave me, kick me out… I couldn’t stand to lose anyone else.

I sat at the table as though tethered there until Nash fired back at his sister, “Maybe you should try keeping your opinions to yourself when you know damn well where I stand on things.” His voice was low at first but gained volume and force as he continued. “This is my house. My relationship. My business. Literally.”

One of those words stood out to me. “Relationship?” I repeated .

Nash slammed his fist on the table, and all the dishes rattled. He swiveled toward me and snapped, “Can you try for just a minute not to be such an emotionally stunted asshole?”

I swayed backward, still chafed from Pippa’s rant and reeling.

Nash shook his head. “For God’s sake, I’ve known you half your life. You live here. We sleep together. It must be some kind of relationship.”

Pushing back from the table, Pippa stood. “You two have fun sorting that out. I’m going.”

“Going where?” Nash rose as well, I thought to chase after her.

Pippa angled toward the hallway that led to the upstairs bedrooms. “You were right, Nick. This is your house, and I will gladly leave you with it. I’m moving out. At least until you’re willing to listen to reason.”

She took off with both Nash and I looking after her. The sound of her bedroom door slamming prompted Nash to swear and shove his bowl across the table. It skittered and spun but didn’t spill. My gaze settled on it as Nash slumped in his seat and rested his head in his hands.

I should have gone to him and offered some kind of comfort, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So, I sat, adding to the quiet of the room until Nash spoke at last.

“Fitch, are you happy here?”

I didn’t think I had it in me to tell him the truth. For years, the Bitters’ End had been a safe haven away from Grimm and the gang. More recently it seemed, or maybe I’d just realized, that the security I felt here wasn’t as much about the place as the person who owned it .

But since I’d left the gang, since my trust in Holland Lyle had proven profoundly misplaced, since Donovan died…

“I’m not happy anywhere,” I admitted.

Nash processed that before replying. “Well, if you’re going to stay, you need to tell me what you’re doing, where you’re going, and when you’ll be back.”

My face puckered like his words tasted bitter. Even Grimm didn’t keep me on that short of a leash. Not in recent years. “Are you my friend or my warden?” I asked. “Because I’ve tried prison, and it wasn’t for me.”

Irritation pulled at Nash’s face. “It’s courtesy, Fitch,” he said. “Good manners. You remember those.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” I stood and turned toward the hall.

He stepped after me. “Where are you going now?”

My conversation with Charlie had yielded valuable information and a few secrets I didn’t feel right keeping to myself. Forty Hex members made a formidable force to pit against the investigators. It seemed Grimm’s strategy had changed from a peaceful takeover to an aggressive one. I didn’t presume the underpowered witches being recruited off the streets could hold a candle to the Capitol’s brightest and best but, in a numbers game, there was something to be said for the ability to outlast.

I could have told Briggs, but my instincts told me to rope in a slightly more connected entity. Holland had reached out to me multiple times after what happened to Donovan. I let her calls roll to voicemail then never listened to them. She even sent texts sporadically over the first week or so. I didn’t reply; I had nothing to say to her. Until now.

“Got a hot lunch date,” I said.

I started walking, and Nash followed, nearly stepping on my heels with his long-legged strides. “We just ate,” he protested.

As we passed the closed door of Pippa’s room, I pointed at it. “You should check on your sister.”

“She’s fine.” Nash huffed. “Believe it or not, I’m used to people who overreact when they’re angry.”

Drawing up short nearly caused the alchemist to crash into my back. I turned around, looking up at him and hating what I saw in his face. Overwhelm, exhaustion, and a pinch of something I couldn’t identify.

“She wants you to choose between her and me,” I told him.

He shifted back, putting space between us as he replied, “Which is not a choice I should have to make. She’s my sister, and you’re my…”

“Favorite customer?” My cheeky grin alleviated a bit of the strain on his features.

“You’d have to occasionally pay for something to keep that title,” he said.

I started to turn away, but he caught my arm. It wasn’t a firm grip. I could have easily pulled away if I wanted to, but I didn’t.

“Don’t go.” The urgency in Nash’s voice drew my eyes to meet his. “Please.”

“It’s just lunch.”

“Is it?”

I searched his expression a moment longer, then stepped in, slipping one arm around his waist. Nash’s breath hitched as he leaned into me.

Longing. That was the emotion I couldn’t suss out before. It went deep into his eyes, a hole I would fall into if I wasn’t careful.

“You know the thing I said about me not being your problem?” I asked.

He nodded.

“You were right. I didn’t mean it like that.” Pushing onto tiptoes, I placed a kiss on his cheek. It came as a relief to see him smile in response.

“Now, I’m going out for lunch,” I said. “I’ll be back in two hours, give or take. Good enough?” I arched a brow meant to imply it better be.

Nash’s hand slid down to catch mine, and he gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

Holland’s acceptance of my invitation convinced me she might have been as much of a masochist as I was. She was there when I arrived at the French patisserie we’d visited after my trial, even occupying the same windowside table. I’d told her once that I took good notes. Maybe she did, too.

She stood as I approached, first offering her hand, then seeming to think better of it and pocketing it instead.

“You look nice.” I nodded to her outfit, gray tweed slacks and a starched white button down. With her platinum hair pulled back and her sunglasses firmly in place, she was in full business mode today. I’d forfeited the right to casual chats.

She raised a thin brow. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

Frowning, I glanced down at my new clothes, but I had a feeling she meant my shaggy blond hair and the gaunt features I’d seen in my car’s rearview before I came inside.

I gestured to the open chairs. “Can we sit?”

Holland’s expression was impossible to read as she lowered herself into the bentwood chair. I followed suit, dropping heavily enough to drive out a sigh.

She’d already ordered a drink, not her usual judging by the foam top decorated with a latte leaf. She dragged a stir stick through the design, watching it swirl and marble as she spoke.

“By rights, I should be arresting you.”

“I don’t see any handcuffs,” I replied.

She shook her head. “No.”

I wondered if the news had broken yet about last night’s revenge killing. Signing off on my work was a new idea, but not my best one. Wanting Grimm to know who to blame opened the door for everyone else to know it, too. Like I told Ripley, I had one of those names you couldn’t shout out in a hotel lobby and probably shouldn’t write on a dead man’s face.

Holland kept staring into her coffee, talking more to herself than me. “Putting you in jail would be a waste. Executing you even more so.”

At another time, the vague threats would have slid under my skin and stuck there like barbs. Now, I found myself unfazed.

“Any other options?” I folded my arms across my chest.

She tipped her head toward her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Live and let live. And hope you don’t give me cause to regret it.”

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. When Holland looked up, her reflective shades showed a haggard visage I was reluctant to believe was my own.

“Briggs told me what you’re planning,” she said.

Of course, he did.

I suppressed a scowl long enough to ask, “What am I planning?”

“Going after the Hex. Alone. It’s not a good idea.”

I snorted. “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“We were supposed to work together on that,” she said, as if everything hadn’t changed.

My jaw clenched, but a shake of my head cleared the tension. “What’s your angle, Investigator?” I snapped. “Do you want the credit? You can have it. The last thing I need is more tally marks on my kill count. You can add them to yours.”

This wasn’t what I’d come to discuss, and I’d already grown tired of it. Holland wasn’t enjoying it, either, judging by the grit in her voice when she replied, “I want this to be successful. Preferably legal.”

I rolled my eyes. “We all have our preferences, don’t we?”

Holland pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and rubbed her hands over her face. She squinted at me. “Fitch, I know you and I haven’t always gotten along—”

“You got my brother killed, Holland.” The statement rolled out of me like a wave. “This isn’t just a personality clash. I’ve killed people for less than what you’ve done.”

She reeled back as though she’d been struck. “Donovan’s death wasn’t anyone’s fault. Things happen—”

“He was there because you required it.” I stabbed a finger at her, and she flinched. “You put a helpless kid in the room with a bunch of killers. What did you think would happen?”

The bloodlust I’d felt seeing Charlie’s tattoo resurfaced. Everything in me was pushing to stand, to lunge at her, to give a reason for her fear. While rage boiled in my gut, Holland seemed to slump in her seat.

“Not that,” she murmured.

The bell above the café door jingled, and a few customers filed in. I ducked my head, not wanting a repeat performance of the last time I was here and cleared the place. Even the employees had cowered in the kitchen then. Now, they barely glanced my way. I really wasn’t myself these days.

“Briggs also wanted me to give you this.” She reached under the table to retrieve a small black duffel bag. It dropped on the table with a muffled clunk. “I don’t know what’s inside and I don’t want to.”

I eyed the duffel, recalling the list I’d sent to Briggs. He worked fast.

“You really didn’t look?” I asked Holland.

She shook her head.

“Weird flex, but sure. Keep your secrets and give me mine.” I dragged the bag across the table into my lap. Tugging the zipper aside, I tipped it toward the sunlight pouring in through the window and peered inside. Two antimagic collars with corresponding remotes, two pairs of handcuffs, and a pistol.

Across from me, Holland tilted her head as though trying to get a glimpse of what had me grinning, but I closed the bag before she was too tempted to snoop.

I tucked the duffel under my chair and folded my arms .

“Why did you call me and not him?” Holland asked. “Briggs, I mean. And why did you call at all?” she continued without giving me time to reply. “You were doing a fine job of avoiding me till now.”

“Doing my civic duty.” I puffed my chest out with mock pride. “See something, say something, am I right?”

The investigator’s fatigued expression persisted. “Better get on with it, then.”

Leaning forward, I closed the gap between us and lowered my tone to a whisper. “The Bloody Hex is growing its numbers. Exponentially. They have more members than you have investigators. They’re planning something big.”

She glanced aside, considering. “What kind of numbers are we talking about?”

“Forty and counting.” I flashed my tattoo. “They’re handing out Hex marks, too. A death curse so simple even a human could use it.” The thought of Donovan’s final act—a failed effort to save his own life—made my face pinch with fleeting pain.

“How did you hear about this?” Holland asked. “Is it a credible source?”

My eyes narrowed as they angled toward her. “Is it, or am I ?”

The investigator blew a breath through her nose. “Don’t put on some self-righteous act. You’ve established yourself as nothing if not a skillful liar.”

“It’s credible,” I replied.

She stared wordlessly into her coffee mug. The silence made me itch, or maybe it was her not-so-subtle scrutiny. Either way, I wasn’t inclined to sit through it for long.

I dragged the duffel bag from under my chair and tucked it under my arm as I stood. “Take it or leave it,” I told Holland, who frowned in response. “But if investigators start dropping like flies, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”