Page 31 of Capitol Matters

On the floor, Avery made a pitiful effort to sit before reaching toward me. “Can a guy get a hand up?”

I rolled my eyes. “Go to hell.”

Behind me, Donovan sank onto the stairs. I’d almost forgotten he was there, gone silent and sullen as he gazed across the room. “Things have changed,” he said in a dull voice. “I don’t like it.”

I looked past him at the steps, thinking of Grimm getting his rocks off instead of facing the chaos he’d created. It was his fault the gang was bloated with nobodies that followed us everywhere like rock band groupies. He’d dragged the professed mutineer out of prison and forced him into our midst. He’d put Avery in charge, knowing full well that if I was a loose cannon, Avery was a lit fuse.

My fists clenched. “Yeah,” I told Donovan. “I don’t like it, either.”

Sidestepping my brother, Iascended the stairs. The upper-level bedrooms lined a hall with wood paneled walls and a damask papered ceiling. Glittering sconces lit the way as I moved quickly toward the ornate door at the end of the corridor. It was painted black and outfitted with a gleaming brass knob and knocker.

Arriving before it, I paused to listen. Male and female voices mingled with rippling laughter. My stomach clenched as tightly as my hands, and I reached up to give the knocker a rap.

The sounds from inside paused, shushed as though the quiet would convince me to go away. No chance. Testing the knob found it locked, but that was hardly a problem.

A focused thought slipped through the keyhole, winding around the internal mechanism and twisting side-to-side. Most telekinetics were limited to line of sight, which would have made even thissimple task impossible. My ability to take hold of unseen things like muscles and bones in living bodies was unusual and, as far as I knew, unprecedented.

Another giggle from Isha’s room almost wrecked my concentration. I raised the lock’s last tumbler, then twisted the knob. With a shove, the door opened inward, swinging so wide it hit the wall inside with a thud.

Before me, Isha’s private suite sprawled. The smell of incense flooded my nose as my eyes roamed the space. I was familiar with the Bombay furniture and gilded paintings hung on the walls, so I passed over those quickly. The king bed commanded my notice, lit by candles and curtained with sheers that draped from the overhead canopy. Sheets and pillows unsettled as the bed’s occupants scrambled, tugging up blankets for cover.

Isha emerged with her ebony locks mussed. Her eyes went from wide to narrow the moment she recognized me.

“Fitch!” she hissed. “This is entirely inappropriate. Leave this room right now or I will remove you from the premises myself.”

Grimm rose beside her, equally disheveled but lacking any sense of alarm. He met my gaze, and the fact that he wasn’t angry made me even more so.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I walked the rest of the way into the room, coming up to the foot of the bed where I could almost feel the heat of Isha’s glare.

In contrast, Grimm blinked coolly and raked a hand through his shoulder length hair.

“Is it intentional?” I asked. “Or is your head so farup your ass that you can’t even see that the gang is falling apart?”

Isha stood from the bed, swathed in a satin sheet. The wad of fabric she clutched against her breasts appeared to be all that held the look together. Her cheeks puffed as she drew a deep breath, ready to rage at me, but Grimm spoke first.

“I take it you have grievances to air?”

So many. Starting with being assigned the Capitol job that surrounded me with people who hated me, destroyed my car, and had no use for me except political sabotage via mass murder. No, it began before that, when Grimm decided attending my trial as Jacoby Thatcher and discrediting me was the best way to secure my innocence. He unmade my entire identity overnight. Before that, he dangled gang membership like a carrot for Donovan to chase. Donovan, who sat downstairs this very minute, regretting his life. I wanted to gloat about it because I’d definitely warned him but, instead, I was pissed.

The finger I stabbed at Grimm was loaded with force that struck him center mass.

“You might be having a blast playing make-believe at the Capitol, but it’s hell down there,” I said. “Ripley and Avery just tried to kill each other for fun. I had to stall a fucking earthquake downtown last week, then got loaned out for community service cleanup. Donnie decided to go all in on pizza for the kidnappees, which sounds like torture for him and them. I’m out my damn car—” I stopped myself, clenching my jaw to halt the flow of words.

“It’s not working,” I concluded, only slightly more composed. “None of this is working.”

Isha stood by with her arms crossed to secure the bed sheet to her chest. She watched me while I stayed locked onto Grimm, who nodded along to my speech until it became his turn to respond.

Swinging his legs off the edge of the mattress, he stood, bare-assed, and retrieved his clothes from a pile on the floor.

As he dressed, he spoke in an obnoxiously even tone. “Growing pains, Mister Farrow, are natural and to be expected. Some of these complications you should have seen coming and prepared for.”

“Nobody saw you putting Avery in charge coming,” I retorted. “I guaran-fucking-tee it. Nobody respects him, and they shouldn’t. He’s nuts.”

Intoxicated as the conjurer had been, he could still whip up a dagger and knew where to put it to win a fight he should have lost. Not to mention his kill count doubled mine. The difference was he’d spread his victims out over a hundred years compared to my ten.

“But screw us, right?” I threw up my hands. “We should just follow along with your master plan because you’ve got everything figured out. Always a step ahead, huh?”

Fully clothed, Grimm squared himself with me. His emotions were masked by the stony front I could only assume was for Isha’s benefit. He certainly wouldn’t have been so controlled if this had been a private conversation.

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