Page 63 of Capitol Matters

I had less thanan hour left with Vinton’s spell by the time Preston and Holland said their goodbyes. Holland took her time leaving while Preston hurried to the car, leaving me to walk the investigator out.

She might have thought my actions were chivalrous but, in reality, I wanted to check on the Bronco and its contents.

We stood on the porch, awash in the afternoon sun and a sweet-smelling breeze. Hearing nothing from Donovan’s car, I breathed a little easier. I just had to see the investigator off, show Maximus Sleeping Beauty, then get out of here.

Preston steered a powder blue Volvo around the corner of the house and sat in it, idling. Through the driver’s side window, I watched him flip down the visor and check his reflection in the mirror.

“Do you really like that guy?” I nodded toward him. “Enough tohelp him procreate?”

Holland’s attempt to wave me off didn’t stop me from saying, “He’s a douchebag. You think the world needs more of that?”

“Ithinkit’s none of your business.” The investigator spoke over her shoulder as she began a swift descent of the steps. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go. I prefer to only deal with you when it’s necessary.”

I recoiled, more surprised than I should have been by the remark. She’d barely made it to ground level before I called after her.

“It’s political, isn’t it? You’re being married off to create peace between the kingdoms like a medieval princess.”

Her shoulders rose and fell in an exaggerated sigh.

“Blink twice if you need rescue,” I continued to her back. “I’m sure there’s a willing knight around here somewhere.”

Holland spun in time to see me put a hand to my brow and swing side to side in a mocking survey of the area.

“Why did you come here, anyway?” she asked. “I didn’t think you and my dad were that chummy.”

I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not. I was just…” Words ran out, leaving me with only a cliché for response. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“Don’t lie,” Holland snapped. “You aren’t good at it.” Judging by the scornful slant of her lips, that observation wasn’t limited to today.

Walking down the steps, I closed the gap to her. Preston remained in the car, having moved on from admiring himself to finessing his hair with a comb he’dpulled out of God knew where.

“What do you want from me, Investigator?” I asked her. “Spell it out, please, because I don’t understand. People keep telling me you’re in my corner, but all I get from you is disappointment. You hide me away from everyone like you’re ashamed. Didn’t even tell me about the gala. Why? You afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

Magic crackled down my arms, a temper flare in need of snuffing out. I’d endured her boyfriend’s heckling through lunch, and now the fire in my belly was too well-fed to fizzle out.

“If you don’t want me around,” I continued, “say the word, and I’m gone.”

It was a truth we’d danced around for weeks. She’d confessed to not having enough time or work, but maybe it was not enough interest. We had yet to make a move against the Bloody Hex despite Avery throwing everything he had at us.

“What about Donovan?” Holland countered. “You need my help to get him out of the city.”

I huffed a laugh. “You aren’t the only game in town for securing my brother’s safety, Holly.” I sneered at the nickname. “I don’t need you. Maybe you don’t need me, either.”

Her lips stayed apart, waiting for words that took a long time to come. In the silence, anger came and went in a flash, replaced by an almost sorrowful disdain.

“Did you know you used to be my favorite person?” she asked. “Things with my dad were always so structured. Strained.”

A faint smile shaped the investigator’s mouth as shegazed into the distance. “You were vibrant. You made me laugh. When you went away, all of that went with you. It was just me and Dad for a long time.”

The memory seemed to pain her enough that it spilled over onto me. It siphoned out my rage like poison being drawn from a snake bite.

“I never met anyone else like you,” Holland said, her voice suddenly thick. “I missed you so damn much. I miss you still.” She swiped a finger under her sunglasses, drying tears I never saw. “And it’s hard because you look like that guy I used to know. Sometimes you even sound like him. But you’re not him.”

The past she so fondly recalled felt distant to me. Untouchable, because I buried it. Fourteen-year-old Fitch Farrow never grew up. He suffocated under Grimm’s expectations, was overshadowed by the infamy of Marionette, and lost the fight for his life by agreeing to take life from others.

I must have looked confused while I watched her choke up. She missed me? Most days I missed me, too.

When it was clear she had nothing more to add, I spoke softly. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

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