Page 47 of Capitol Matters

Shuffling steps echoed from the entry hall. Donovanspun toward the sound while I studied the shapes and lines that I’d seen the big man creating during my time in prison. His autograph occupied the bottom right corner, a single letter C.

Nash wandered into the bar wearing a white undershirt, sweats, and slippers that made it clear he was not expecting customers. If the outfit hadn’t been a clue, the potion bottle almost hidden in the grip of his left hand would have been. Combustible, if I were to guess.

“Gentlemen,” he called out. “Making yourselves at home, I see.”

Donovan wilted, looking abashed as the ruddy bartender approached.

I still held the drawing and flapped it at Nash. “Where’d you get this?”

An ornery smile split his face. “You like it? I have more.”

“I said where did you get it?” I repeated, then shook myself as the rest of his statement processed. “More?”

He hummed acknowledgement. “I keep them upstairs. Part of my private collection.”

My nose wrinkled. “Pervert. That’s great, though. You’ve met Clyde?”

“Who’s Clyde?” Donovan chimed.

“My cellmate from Thorngate,” I explained. “Big fella. Claimed to be my biggest fan.”

Nash slid in beside Donovan and propped his elbow on the bar. “I informed him he had competition for that title.”

I crossed my arms and smirked. “Oh yeah? You gonna start sketching my dick for the internet?”

“I’m not much of an artist.” Nash shrugged. “But I do have a few photographs. And one very spicy sex tape.” His bushy brows waggled.

Donovan grimaced. He planted his palms on the counter and shoved back. “Gross, you guys.”

Chuckling, Nash moved away from Donovan and nodded at the whiskey bottle within my reach. “You find that on the top shelf?”

I lifted it to my lips for a savoring sip, and Nash shook his head. Making his way down the bar, he stepped through the swinging double doors to the back side of the counter. When he got a head to toe look at me, his smile turned wily.

“What’re you all dressed up for?”

Hooking a thumb in the waistband of my pants, I thrust one hip forward. “I’m soliciting,” I replied. “Is it working?”

“It’s cute.” He closed the gap to me.

In my peripheral, Donovan rolled his eyes. “He catfished some guy at the Blooming Orchid so we could put him in storage.”

Nash’s brows arched, more curious than surprised, as I ticked a finger at my brother.

“That was not catfishing,” I said. “Everything here is as advertised.”

Reaching over, Nash took my glass and raised it to his nose for a sniff. “That’s the good stuff, all right.” He tipped the drink back and swished its contents around in his mouth before swallowing. “How’s that going, by the way? Maximus’s endless list?”

“It’s a nightmare,” Donovan answered before Icould. “There’s one guy who cries all day.”

I cocked my head. “Which one?”

“He does snow magic,” Donovan said. “Cryomancy, I think?”

My first victim. The councilman who had tried to turn me into a human popsicle. “Ah, yeah. Yankee Doodle.”

“What?” Donovan frowned.

“Nothing.”

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