Page 11 of Capitol Matters

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. Comingtogether 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 anycircumstances.” 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.

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