Page 71 of Capitol Matters

It would be the nearest thing to an act of treason, and I rather liked the sound of that.

“You wanna be like me?” I cracked a weary smile. “Pissing off Grimm is a great place to start.”

He shook his head, his hair swinging in stringy clumps. “I just said Idon’twant to be like you. No offense.”

“None taken. But if I did find us somewhere nice, or at least nicer than this—” which was a low bar—“would you come with me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” He squirmed at the thought, but my smile remained steady, wearing him down until he agreed, “Probably, yeah.”

I bobbed my head. “Good.”

Puffing on the cigarette, I used my last reserves of energy to exit the car. Donovan did the same, and both of us were immediately caught in the downpour.

As the rain dampened everything, I took the chance to slick back the long top of my undercut. Water coursed down my face, washing away residual salt from too many tears. It soaked rapidly through my shirt, sticking it to my skin.

Donovan stood across the hood of the Bronco, getting drenched along with me. “You know, you’re a good brother,” he said.

I looked over at him. “Fuck, are we about to die or something?” A nervous laugh eased out. “What brought that on?”

He raised his shoulders. “I always think it. Figured I should say it.”

Blowing out a breath knocked water droplets off my lip. “I took your car and left you stranded half the day. You had to wait in the rain.” I held out a hand in reference, letting water pool in my palm. “This is when you choose to tell me that?”

“I had lots of time to think.”

Funny because time to think was my worst enemy. I never came away from it giving compliments, that was for damn sure.

“You’re a weird kid, Donnie.”

We stood a moment more, my brain too taxed to think beyond wishing I could have stayed at Nash’s. But Donovan needed me here; needed me around so things wouldn’t be so different. I couldn’t promise fun, but I could keep him safe. No more leaving that job to Grimm. I knew better than anyone that he was shit at it.

“Can we go in?” Donovan finally asked. “I didn’t really want a shower.”

Huffing another laugh, I rounded the car to him and threw my arm around his shoulders. “You’re a good brother, too.” I gave him a squeeze. “Better than I deserve.”

Holland spent the weekparty planning for the upcoming gala, so I didn’t see much of her. It was better that way since neither of us was ready to regroup after Sunday’s brutally honest confession.

The Capitol building was abuzz right up to the big day. Tonight, though, caterers and rental companies were replaced by guests in all their finery. A large crowd had turned out to throw plague precautions to the wind with Maximus Lyle’s blessing.

Entering the grand ballroom brought waves of nostalgia. The Capitol loved nothing more than a party, and they hosted them what felt like monthly through my younger years. Donovan and I had joined our parents more often than not, expected to posture and perform as model members of the next generation of magical society.

After all the glad-handing and sitting stiff-backed through whatever speech inevitablyaccompanied the festivities, we always managed to slip out. With Holland in tow, we had our run of the vacant parts of the building. I would rather be roaming now. It would have been preferable to the feeling I might spot my mother in the crowd, tucked in the crook of my father’s arm.

For a moment, they were everywhere. Waltzing across the dance floor, chatting with my father’s coworkers, or waiting at a table for me to join them. But harsh reality reminded me that they hadn’t graced this place in as long as I had, and they never would again.

Shaking myself, I cut a narrow path through the gaggle of partygoers. The wadded invitation in my hand was penned in with the table number Holland had assigned me. Her table with Maximus and Preston, no doubt. The former, I could handle. The latter remained to be seen.

The stage spanned the front of the room, smaller than it had seemed in my youth. It currently hosted a string quartet playing a classical number that had inspired a small group of dancers to take to the floor.

People milled between black-clothed tables, most headed for the buffet line, where I recognized a few of the foods so enthusiastically discussed at Sunday’s lunch. My stomach was too unsettled for eating, but the sight of the bar counter detoured me.

The tall table boasted two tuxedoed mixologists and a limited menu. From the back of the line, I skimmed the options and settled on an Old Fashioned to be safe.

While the rest of the room’s occupants relaxed on their night off, I was very much on the job. Maximus’s vote was in six days, and I had two names left on my list.My initial inclination to catch the bunch of bluebloods in one place at one time had been forgotten in the chaos of the past weeks, but the idea became a very real possibility tonight. If I’d thought of it sooner, I would have procrastinated all of them till the last minute. Easier that way for everyone but me.

The bartenders were lackadaisical, no doubt bored with making the same five drinks on repeat. They managed, however, to hold my attention until a tap on my shoulder spun me around.

One of Holland’s investigators—Vesper, with her black hair spun into curls and her lithe body in a red dress with slits up both thighs—stood before me. My eyes did a quick dip to her exposed legs and the strappy heels that put her on eye level with me.

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