Page 8 of Capitol Matters

Good thing she had her back to me because my poker face definitely slipped. I should have said nothing but didn’t realize until I’d voiced a stilted reply. “That’s interesting.”

We kept walking, rounding a corner as she asked, “How have you been getting on away from the Bloody Hex? I imagine that’s a difficult transition.”

So much went unsaid in that simple statement. Holland was a smart woman, always had been. She must have wondered about my supposed fall from the gang’s grace, and how anyone exited such a group alive. In my experience, they didn’t and, of course, I hadn’t. But our code of conduct wasn’t public knowledge, so she would have to take my word for it.

“I’m good,” I said. “Civilian life has been…”

Boring. And it had spurred a bit of an identity crisis. The crisis part being what drove me to barge in on last night’s lab job and immediately regret it.

“An adventure,” I concluded, offering a smile when she glanced over her shoulder at me.

“Really?” Holland slowed her pace to fall in stride with me. “I would think with everything shut down and you being separated from your peer group, life would be rather dull.”

A laugh sprung out of me, unchecked, earning a skeptical look from the investigator.

“I make my own fun,” I said.

Low pile carpet butted up to gray walls, making this the least aesthetically appealing part of the building. The finery of the public-facing areas was not wasted on the staff. We were behind the scenes, part of a secret club I used to feel privileged to be a member of. I left that behind years ago, or rather had it forcibly yanked from my grasp. It felt surreal to find it all within reach, long after I’d given up ever returning.

We arrived at the door leading into the Investigative Department and the bullpen area where I’d nearly choked Holland out trying to escape a month ago. I wasn’t entirely prepared to face the memorial wall that might as well have been my criminal résumé, or the scorn of my new coworkers, who had every reason to hate me.

I tipped back my coffee, wishing I’d followed through on my temptation to spike it. But that was not Capitol Fitch behavior, and he was running this show.

Holland stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “What about Donovan?” she asked. “Have you been in touch with him?”

If she hadn’t been blocking the door, I would have gone ahead to avoid this line of discussion. The less lying I had to do, the better. And I preferred not to involve my brother at all until it was time to send him on his way out of the city and out of my life. I nibbled my lip ring. That last part stung a little, but I’d been selfish keeping Donovan around as long as I had. He deserved to be free.

“It’s a bit premature for that,” I told Holland. “I don’t want to get his hopes up in case things don’t panout.”

“So, hewantsto leave the gang?” A dark brow arched over the frame of her sunglasses.

“Definitely,” I lied. “Always has.”

The investigator gave a scarce nod. “It must have been hard for you to leave him behind.”

She didn’t buy it. Not even a little bit.

So, this last-minute delay was a checkpoint. To gain admittance to the inner sanctum, I needed to prove myself. Three weeks since our casual agreement had given her time to think or rethink making deals with a mass murderer.

“It’s only a temporary situation,” I replied at length. “Donnie’s waited twelve years to escape the Bloody Hex. What’s another month or so?”

Holland hummed acknowledgement. “With the city gate closed, it may take longer than that.”

Before I could respond, she swung the door open and ushered me through.

The bullpen housed rows of metal tanker desks, surrounded by windowed offices obscured by mini blinds. Lights were off most everywhere I looked, and chairs were empty. Last I’d seen this place, it had been in the late hours of night, and it was barely more alive now at the start of a workday.

I glanced at the vacant offices as we passed. Those were reserved for Chief Investigator Willem Briggs and his lead investigators. Each lead oversaw a small group of three or four, like teams with captains.

I would bet money Holland was an office dweller. Despite being young by human and magical standards,she had the benefit of being Maximus Lyle’s nepo baby. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t worked for her position. From what I’d observed, she did nothingbutwork. In a society where the average lifespan was measured in centuries, it usually took more than Holland’s twenty-six years to move up the food chain.

Reading office nameplates caused me to lag. When I looked ahead again, I found Holland joined by three suited investigators. The group of now four stared at me, speaking in hushed tones.

Approaching slowly, I made a mental assessment of the people whose names I would likely be expected to remember.

Besides Holland, there were two men and a woman. My eyes went to the men first. One wore a khaki suit a few shades lighter than his umber skin and sported a mop of dark, curly hair. He passed a black plastic ball back and forth between his hands while regarding me with far less malice than his taller, more serious counterpart. That one was buttoned up in gray, with a black tie that matched his swoop of gel-stiff hair. He stood with his arms crossed, ignoring whatever Holland was currently saying to focus wholly on me.

My attention left him the moment a long-legged vixen in black, white, and red all over walked forward to meet me.

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