Page 8 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

Nothing good happened in the warehouse district. Not to me, anyway. It was where I was formally inducted into the Bloody Hex’s ranks after being left to sweat and suffer in a hot water closet for days. It was where Grimm had murdered five people I tried in vain to save. Donovan died here. Ripley nearly did. Judging by his hunkered posture in the passenger seat of the Porsche and the way he hid his face in the shadow of his hood, he hadn’t forgotten.

All the negative experiences I had with this place made it a logical location to search for Grimm. I’d avoided it till now, plagued by the sense of unease that rolled over me as I parked the car across the lot from where I’d watched my brother bleed out weeks before. I didn’t dare get closer to that cursed spot, too afraid I’d see the brown-red stains on the pavement.

Luckily, I couldn’t see much. It was dark, and streetlamps were few and far between. I stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette with quaking hands. Smoking in the bathroom of the hotel room with the shower and fan running had cut my pack-a-day habit down by half, so I had some catching up to do.

Ripley exited across from me and turned to gaze at the craggy brick edifice of the building where we’d confronted Jax and his goons. The grid of splintered windows glowed dimly from inside. A good sign, or a bad one, depending on your perspective.

I glanced around, checking the area for other vehicles and finding them scattered up and down the block. If everyone drove separately, we could expect perhaps a dozen ne’er do wells congregating in the old warehouse. Though, there was the possibility they’d packed themselves in like clowns, making the actual number anyone’s guess.

Taking a long drag, I looked over at Ripley. He was tucked in the folds of his sweatshirt with his profile barely visible under the dark hood.

“You can wait out here if you want,” I offered.

He cleared his throat. “May as well give you the tour. I’ve seen parts of the place you haven’t. Temporary resident and all.”

I nodded solemnly and let him lead the way toward the dented metal door at the base of the structure. I kept my eyes fixed on his back, taking note of the thrum of a driving bassline that vibrated the ground as we drew near.

Images populated my brain, assumptions of what we might find inside. It may not have been the Bloody Hex at all. Other gangs frequented these streets, not to mention more casual delinquents. It may have been too lucky to strike gold on both of our attempts to sniff out criminal activity, or maybe insider knowledge and our own proclivities gave us exactly the edge we needed.

When Ripley tugged open the door, sound struck us like a physical force. Music and strobing lights created a raucous club atmosphere in the hollow shell of a building. People crowded the cavernous space, dancing and grinding in time to the beat. The DJ booth positioned against the far wall was manned by a figure wearing an LED mask.

We filed slowly in. A bar counter stretched down the side of the room, and two bartenders flurried behind it, pouring cocktail glasses with glowing liquid or setting fire to a line of shot glasses, every action met with rowdy applause from a drunken crowd. There were way more than twelve people here, three or four times as many, and I started checking hands. A pit formed in my stomach, and it deepened as I searched the horde and found every person sporting the Hex mark on their left hand.

At some point Ripley ducked behind me and, when I turned, I crashed into him. He staggered but kept his footing, then shoved me toward the chaos of the room.

“No running, Farrow!” He had to shout to be heard over the din.

Panic tickled down my spine, and I leaned close to him. “Don’t say my name in here,” I hissed.

Ripley bucked back. “When did you become such a coward? You’ve been wanted before. Hunted. How’s this any different?” Bold words, but I didn’t see him taking his hood down.

I’m alone now , I wanted to protest, but not to him. He was here, doing the work, backing me up. Arguably more of an ally than Grimm or the others had ever been.

Turning again, I searched the crowd of chumps and wannabes I’d made examples of at the recruitment rally. There was no sign of the “top brass” as Charlie had called it. No Grimm, Vinton, or Avery. That was who I really worried about. Not these bottom feeders. Not even the Capitol because Ripley was right, they had hunted me before. And failed.

“Lemme look around,” I told Ripley. “Then we’ll see about that tour.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here. Holding up the wall.”

The waifish teen faded into the corner of the room, and I forged into the tangle of bodies. I wasn’t certain of my objective. It would be difficult to single anyone out without drawing suspicion, harder still to question someone or hear their answers with the stacked speakers blasting synth-pop.

I thought about getting a drink to soothe my nerves, but the awareness of Ripley watching kept me away from the bar counter.

People jumped and waved their arms to the music. I ducked and wove between them. I missed the typically mellow atmosphere of the Bitters’ End and wondered if this was the gang’s answer to being banned from there. If so, it was a sad substitute.

Someone coasted by overhead and I glanced up to identify Ezrah Everett, the aeromancer, lying on his back as he floated lazily above the crowd. A few origami creations joined him, paper cranes and doves flapping their wings in slow synchrony. I rolled my eyes and returned my focus to the ground level, unsure of what I hoped to find.

Scattered applause signaled the end of the DJ’s set, and the track rolled over to autoplay. The mood settled to a slower vibe, and I could move more freely through the crush of gang members. Thus far, I’d traveled undetected and had covered most of the dance floor, finding nothing of note.

This wasn’t Grimm’s scene any more than it was mine. If he was in the area, it would be at a reasonable distance, which made Ripley’s offer of showing me around the building the logical next step. But, if I ran into Grimm in a building full of his enthusiastic acolytes, what stand did I hope to make? Would it be like an animal kingdom showdown in which I killed the leader and inherited the pack? Or would the rest of them turn on me instead?

I’d come to a stop in the middle of the throng when a man slid in behind me. His chest pressed against my back and his hands dragged down my sides to hook onto my belt loops. The stranger jerked my hips against his, then hung his head over my shoulder. Notes of pipe tobacco and Avery’s musky cologne wafted to my nose as his warm, wet tongue snaked up the side of my throat.

“God, you’ve gotten bony.” His hot breath rushed into my ear as he chuckled. “I always liked you that way. Scrawny and easy to pin down.”

My whole body tensed. Everything felt cold and heavy, making me slow to react as Avery tugged on the waistband of my jeans.

“Grimm’s put a price on your head, you know,” he continued while grinding against me. “Big money for whoever brings you in. But I’m rather happy to see you, so I’ll make you a deal. You keep quiet and be a good boy while I have my fun, or I’ll let all these people know there’s a traitor in their midst.”

His teeth sinking into my neck made me hiss. Old feelings and memories anchored me in place, taking me back to a time when I’d been helpless and powerless. Scrawny from subsisting off vending machine food bought with whatever pocket change I could scavenge; easy to pin down because I was too afraid to fight back.

He’d gotten away with it, even established himself as the least despicable of my peers. Why? Because he was funny and shared his smokes? I wasn’t laughing now.

Bracing, I shoulder-checked him in the jaw, then threw an elbow backward and struck the center of his ribs. It didn’t have the gut-punch effect I was going for, but I managed to stagger him. As he fell, the room began to empty. The DJ booth and bar counter were wiped away, and the music was swallowed by abrupt silence. Drinks vanished from outstretched hands. Even the flashing lights disappeared, dousing the room in blue-black darkness.

My eyes adjusted rapidly as the crowd cleared around me, and I found Avery sprawled on the slick cement floor. The DJ mask lay beside him, red lights forming a smiley face with X’s for eyes. He smiled, too, his teeth straight and white in the faint moonglow.

“Bold move coming here,” he said. “Stupid. Possibly fatal. But bold.”

He lifted a hand, wordlessly calling one of the onlookers to step forward and pull him to his feet. Once he was standing, he made a sweeping grab to snatch the beanie off my head.

“Was this supposed to be a disguise?” he snorted. “You couldn’t even bother with the Clark Kent special?” He produced a pair of black-framed spectacles and offered them in exchange.

I swatted at the glasses, sending them sailing through the air to dissipate in a puff of smoke.

The conjurer chuckled and twirled the beanie around one finger before tossing it into the crowd. “We are in the presence of greatness!” He swung an arm in reference to me. “Fitch Farrow, ladies and gents.”

My name spread through the gathering like a disease. It echoed a dozen more times, first as a question and then a condemning shout. I strained to see through the mob to where I’d left Ripley, not that I had any hope of reaching him with Hex members pressing in on every side.

“I don’t stand to gain anything from killing you,” Avery continued, “so I’ll leave it to these fine folks.” He raised his hand again. “Ezrah? Can I get a lift?”

The towheaded aeromancer coasted by, catching hold of Avery’s forearm and hoisting him into the air. Avery lifted off as gracefully as Mary Poppins holding her umbrella, leaving me in the center of an incidental pit of combat.

I searched for Ripley one more time. The fleeting hope of finding him was dashed when the innermost ring of Hex rookies rushed me in unison.

I wasn’t much of a sports guy, and I was never into football, but I’d seen a tackle dogpile. That was what I imagined this looked like: me caught midfield holding the pigskin while every defensive player did their damndest to bury me in the astroturf. Only this field was solid concrete, and I wasn’t wearing a helmet or pads.

Fists and feet attacked from every direction. I threw out blind swipes, cracking shins and breaking knees, but only succeeding in burying myself in toppled people. The howls and yelps of agony grew deafening, and the punches and kicks kept coming until I curled up, covered my face with both arms, and squeezed my eyes shut.

The weight became crushing, and breathing became desperate grabs for air. When what had to be a steel-toed boot cracked against the back of my skull, the power that had been building in me lashed out. A shockwave of force rushed across the crush of bodies, flinging everyone backward.

The space around me opened up, but I didn’t dare relax or do more than peek out into the hazy darkness. Smoke rolled across the floor, slithering like a snake between legs and around fallen bodies. It was thick, almost viscous, and undeniably familiar. I’d seen it in the Thorngate prison break when the gang had come equipped with gas masks to negate the effects. This time, I had no such protection, so I tugged my shirt over my nose and scrambled to my feet.

In the pervasive dark, the throng of people was a thrashing mass, and their cries of surprise and alarm created a cacophony. The smoke spread and seeped, and I took careful breaths, nursing sore spots all over my body that stooped me over and made me limp as I tried to make for the edge of the room.

I hadn’t seen Ripley, but I recognized his handiwork. The door opened down the wall, casting a long beam of moonlight that illuminated the people rushing to escape. The poison Ripley had spewed at the prison had been little more than knockout gas, but I couldn’t be sure this concoction was equally innocuous.

Rushing toward the door would force me into close proximity with the Hex members who wouldn’t hesitate to mob me again, so I searched for another exit. A building this large must have had multiple doors, but it was hard to see with the fog wafting steadily upward. It was so thick at ground level that I couldn’t see my feet.

Breathing through the thin fabric of my shirt was scarce protection from the magical toxin being pumped into the air. I stuck to the perimeter of the room, stumbling along as my heart raced, demanding more oxygen than was safe to consume. I remembered succumbing to the fumes while shackled to the bed in Thorngate’s infirmary; remembered Grimm and the others leaving me behind.

It ached like everything did now. My head pounded from that well-placed kick, and my ribs protested every creaking breath. I was trying to discern if unconsciousness was creeping in or if the space around me had always been that dark, when someone grabbed my bicep and yanked me swiftly into the air.

I shot upward, dropping the cover from my nose and mouth and looking up at Ezrah Everett, who shot like a rocket toward the apex of the warehouse’s three-story ceiling.

The air was clear up here, and it was easier to see with the grid of windows now parallel with where we hovered. I reached to pry the other man’s fingers off my arm but immediately thought better of it. Release would mean a long, painful fall onto unforgiving cement.

Still, I swore and squirmed as the aeromancer ferried me toward the upper-level catwalk—a rusting metal bridge spanning the center of the room—then dropped me in the narrow space between the handrails.

I landed on my feet, then fell forward onto all fours as Ezrah lowered himself onto the walkway a few feet ahead of me.

If he wanted to kill me or collect whatever bounty Grimm was offering, he would have been better off letting me succumb to Ripley’s poison and finishing me off from there. Here, we were isolated, and the air was clean. This was a one-on-one combat scenario I could appreciate. And dominate.

I shoved myself to standing and snarled at the other man. “Big mistake, fucker.”

Extending one hand, I meant to catch him in a telekinetic chokehold. Before I could, something slammed into my back so hard it drove every bit of air from my lungs. I landed face down on the perforated metal walkway, grabbing for breaths that wouldn’t come.

Laughter rose before and behind me, and I rolled over to see mirror images of the Everett twins boxing me in on the catwalk. Ethan, the geomancer, pounded one Incredible Hulk-sized fist into his other hand. His skin was brown and craggy as though it were made of hardpacked dirt.

When oxygen slipped in at last, I wheezed a curse.

“Only one of you and two of us,” Ethan chortled, closing in. “But we’re real good at sharing.”

Grimacing, I pushed up on one arm while holding my bruised ribs with the other. “You may wanna rethink your catchphrase, buddy. Giving some serious twincest vibes.”

I didn’t hear Ezrah approach before he snagged a hand in my hair and hauled me up, ready to hold me as a human punching bag for his brother. I was still struggling to fill my chest with precious air when I gave up trying to loosen Ezrah’s grip and decided to tighten it instead. A clench of my fist crumpled his, crunching fine bones audibly overhead. It pulled at the roots of my hair before Ezrah shrieked and reeled back, freeing me to stand on my own power .

In front of me, Ethan looked confused, but that didn’t last either. It took only a swipe of my arm to send him sailing over the corroded steel railing. His body plummeted toward the darkness below, sending up a yelping cry.

My head whipped back to see Ezrah dive off after his brother. I wasn’t sure he hung around long enough to hear me say, “Fetch, boy.”