Page 19 of Capitol Matters

“Mmhmm.”

“What about him?”

“Just making conversation,” I said nonchalantly.

She nudged the corner of her sunglasses, resituating them on the bridge of her nose. “I’d appreciate it if wekept ourconversationsto professional topics rather than personal ones.”

I kicked back and crossed one leg over the other. “Sure thing, Investigator.”

Adult Holland was different from the girl I’d grown up with. She’d always been assertive and coolly confident—a balance for my impulsive and often reactive self. Time had changed us both, but her newfound frigid bitch persona continued to perplex me.

Another mile or so passed with street signs indicating the turn off for Main Street directly ahead. As the car veered right, I cleared my throat.

“Seems a bit shortsighted, is all.”

Holland sighed. “What does?”

“A relationship with a human is like winning a carnival goldfish,” I replied. “Exciting for a minute but best not to get invested. They don’t live long.”

She looked over at me, exasperated. “This is your idea of a professional discussion?”

“He’s gonna get so old.” I snickered. “Imagine how wrinkly his dick’ll be.”

“Seriously?” she exclaimed.

“You’ll get a few good decades, but it’s all downhill from there,” I continued. “Little blue pills, adult diapers, then death. I guess you can upgrade then. Trade up for a newer model.” My lips curved into a smile, teasing, but only barely.

We arrived at a stop sign, and Holland stomped hard on the brakes, causing the sedan to lurch. She spun to face me. “Fitch Farrow, your mother was human,” she snapped. “Your brother is, too. You have no room totalk.”

She hit the gas just as abruptly, slinging us back in our seats as we headed down Main.

If she had been of a mind to hear it, I could have talked a lot more about the downsides of human involvement in magical society. My mother hadn’t even been safe in her own home, under my father’s protection. Donovan was another tragedy waiting to happen. He was a liability to himself and others. A burden to me.

The downtown speed limit was a sluggish 25 MPH. We trolled along, reduced again to uncomfortable quiet. What had once been a thriving part of our city was now a long alley of boarded-over doors, broken glass, and closed signs. Infrequent pedestrians milled the sidewalks.

At the end of a block of brownstones, I spotted the Blooming Orchid. Last I knew, it remained open but, this early in the day, the lights were off.

“I don’t know why I brought you,” Holland muttered more to herself than me.

The statement came from nowhere, and I felt my hackles rise.

I swiveled toward her. “Actually, let’s unpack that. Whydidyou bring me, Investigator? Is this busy work? Stalling?”

She flipped the turn signal and swerved into a curbside spot. Once we stopped, she let her head hang down toward her lap. Locks of platinum hair fell loose, curtaining her profile.

“I’ve been… preoccupied,” she said slowly. “There have been looters, riots… We went from one disaster immediately to another. First your trial, then a plague?” Sherested her hands on the steering wheel. “People are sick. Businesses closed. So, no, I haven’t given much thought about what to do with you. I didn’t even warn my team, and they deserved that much.”

Less guarded than I’d seen her yet. More honest. It was refreshing.

“Speaking of the plague,” she continued. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you know anything about it.”

“What do you mean?” I tugged on my necktie, which felt suddenly strangling.

“Source? Cause? Cure?” She rattled them off. “Anything.”

“I heard it came from some dumpy breakfast place,” I replied. “Bad batch of eggs, maybe?” More like a singular bad egg named Ripley Vaughn, coughing without covering his mouth and infecting the city with a highly contagious disease. I’d felt shitty about it then, and seeing downtown reduced to vacancy and vandalism did not alleviate my guilt.

She shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to know, but leave no stone unturned, right?”

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