Page 62 of Capitol Matters

“Those charges were dismissed,” Maximus said sternly enough to imply he would hear nothing more about it.

Swirling the water in my glass, I spotted the Lyle family portrait on the wall in the adjoining room. The painting depicted Holland and her father about a decade ago, judging by Holland’s apparent age. There was no Mrs. Lyle, and somehow, I’d never asked what happened to her. Since magic was hereditary, she must have been a shadowmancer. Holland certainly didn’t get her abilities from Maximus.

I checked my phone’s clock again. Ninety minutes remained.

The others resumed eating, filling the room with silence I was eager to break.

“You know, Pres,” I began, “my brother didn’t have magic at all. So, I wouldn’t worry about it. You and Holland could pop out some downright ordinary kids. Wouldn’t that be nice?” The smile I’d adopted took a dark turn, enough to draw Holland’s attention at last.

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” I eyed her. She held my gaze for a long moment before her nostrils flared. Looking away, she nibbled at her sandwich.

“Holland,” Maximus’s voice cut the sudden tension. “Have you decided what you’ll be wearing to the gala Saturday?”

“A gala?” I perked up. “What about the plague?”

With disease still spreading, large gatherings were all but forbidden, and I’d never known the Capitol to throw a small party.

Maximus daubed a napkin across his stubbled chin. “People need occasion to celebrate, especially in dark times,” he said. “This event will honor the one-hundredth anniversary of our city’s founding. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”

“Me, too.” Again, I looked at Holland, who turned aside. The slightest pink tinged her cheeks.

“She picked out a real nice dress, sir,” Preston told Maximus. “White and gold. We’re going to match.” He extended his arm across the table and Holland did the same, meeting in the middle for a brief hand squeeze.

“How cute,” I muttered.

They moved on from discussing outfits to the finer details of party planning. Table linens, florals, seating charts, like a goddamn wedding with the investigator and her human beau in white and planning their future offspring. Maybe they’d get hitched while they were at it.

Checking my phone’s clock found that thirty minutes had elapsed. I scrubbed the side of my head, waiting for a break in the conversation so I could pull Maximus outside.

“What about you, Fitch?” Preston asked, startling me from thought.

I’d lost track of the discussion about the time they began the rundown of the dessert buffet, so all I could do was ask, “What about me?”

“Do you have something you can wear to the gala?”

I wouldn’t have cared about the party and might have been willing to miss it altogether until it became clear that Holland had intentionally kept word of the event from me.

I nodded. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Maybe you can show us all a few magic tricks.” Preston waggled his hands with mocking mysticism. “If you’re as ‘skilled’ as Max claims, you must be able to do more than throw people out of buildings.”

He leg-slapped his way through a laugh that no one else joined in on.

My smile returned, though, flashing teeth. “What’d you have in mind?”

Holland rose from her seat. “Fitch, no.”

Preston cackled louder. “Atta girl,” he wheezed. “Keep him in check.”

“Shut up, Pres,” she snapped.

“Lighten up, it was a joke.” Preston nudged me with his elbow. “He got it. Didn’t you, champ?”

I bounced my eyebrows. “So funny I forgot to laugh.”

He didn’t notice it now—probably wouldn’t until later tonight when he got ready for bed—but his stupid flag pin was clasped firmly in my hand.

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