Page 9 of Brother's Keeper

“Not useful?” I repeated. “I agree with you. It’s a bullshit theory with nothing to support it except boogeyman fear of the Bloody Hex like they’re the only villains in our fucked up little world.”

“God, you love to talk,” Vesper grumbled. She rose from her seated position and moved to the stacked folders Holland had left for us. Opening the top one, she leafed through its contents.

I curled my fingers toward the papers she held, calling them through the air to my waiting hand. Vesper gave a cry of protest as the other six folders followed suit, stacking neatly in my grasp.

She continued to scowl as I skimmed the text and photos tucked inside.

I was unclear about what was meant by the Bloody Hex’s “calling cards.” We had our methods, of course. Avery was fond of knives and bloodletting, Vinton had a slew of necrotic curses he could dole out on a whim, and I snapped bodies like the Thanksgiving wishbone. But those hallmarks would be found in corpses that were long gone. If we had other tells, I didn’t know them.

“If not the Hex, then who?” Felix asked. “If we’re going to counter Holland’s theory, we need a compelling alternative.”

Stepping forward, Tobin positioned himself between the other two and me. “I’m not dismissing the Hex as suspects because their triggerman thinks we should.”

“Are you defective?” I snorted a hot breath and snapped the files closed. “You were the one who said it didn’t seem like something they would do. I backed you up. Remind me not to make that mistake again. Jesus.”

Tobin crossed his arms. “I wanted you to give us reasons why theywoulddo it,” he said. “I don’t need you to vouch for their innocence. Ever.”

With the evidence in hand, I was ready to get out of here, but they would definitely notice if I left and they had nothing to show when Holland returned in a few hours. I couldn’t even pull off a convincing switcheroo while they were staring me down, and I didn’t know where to get seven more missing persons files, besides.

Sighing, I held the files to my chest. “Reasons why?” I feigned contemplation. “Can’t think of one. But here’s a theory: maybe old Maximus targeted them since they were cockblocking his vote. The squeaky wheel gets steamrolled, or whatever.”

Tobin pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“We’re the good guys,” Vesper cut in. Her heavily shadowed eyes narrowed. “We don’t put out hits on random citizens. But I can see how that might be difficult for you to understand.” When she tipped her chin back, literally turning up her nose at me, it was all I could do not to lick my lips.

If she would take that negative energy to the bedroom, we could really have something. I hardly minded her disdain even in this setting, but if she planted one of those stiletto heels on my chest and told me what a piece of shit I was, I would be done for.

I was distracted enough that Tobin made easy work of snatching the files from my grasp. He doled out two apiece to Vesper and Felix and kept the last three for himself, leaving me empty-handed. They moved in unison to open them and spread their contents out on the shared desk, turned away from me in a huddle.

I could leave and wouldn’t be missed, but I couldn’t give them all the information while I had none.

Creeping up, I circled to the fourth side of the desk, planting both palms on the desk top and letting my eyes sweep across the typed documents and photos. Press-ready pictures of the seven people showed names I’d changed and much of the same information I’d gleaned from internet searches.

They were politicians and people of influence, with families and lives a few of them had tried to tell me about. That was a common tactic of those faced with death, as though the number of people they left behind made them worthier of life. But I never meant for thesepeople to die. I’d gone to some lengths to avoid it. I’d been a fool.

There were no witness statements, no photos of the construction site where I’d nabbed Yankee Doodle or the food truck that served the lobster roll that would have been Sleeping Beauty’s last meal. But there was a candid shot of a brownstone building I recognized.

The painted windows featured flowers framing the business name, The Blooming Orchid. Definitely a place of interest, for more illicit activities than the abduction I’d committed there. Our city had no laws against solicitation of prostitution, but making those offers to human clientele—which Isha certainly did—was forbidden. Who could blame her? Humans were far more impressed with magical whores than those of us who expected it, and they paid handsomely for the privilege of indulging in a one-of-a-kind experience.

While I stared at the photo—the only image on the table that was not of a person—Felix pointed and said, “I’ve seen that place before. It’s downtown.”

Tobin lifted the picture to scrutinize it. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it mentioned in connection to criminal activity. Might be worth checking out.”

A lump clogged my throat as he turned to me.

“Looks like you and Holland have a jumping-off point,” he said.

Jumping off, indeed, because bringing an investigator to Isha’s door was the nearest thing to throwing myself from a bridge. Suicide.

After scouring the evidence,of which there was thankfully little, we broke for lunch. Tobin, Vesper, and Felix mentioned a salad and wrap place nearby and decided to carpool, an outing from which I excused myself. A few hours of poring over case files hadn’t made us friends or helped me feel any more at ease about what was to come now that presumably more competent investigators were on the job.

When they left the bullpen and headed toward the parking garage, I went the other way. With the files in hand, I approached the administrative wing and a place I’d been trying to avoid: Maximus Lyle’s office.

Stopping before the door, I glanced at the nameplate on the wall and marveled over the great deception taking place under the noses of hundreds of Capitol employees. Holland herself seemed none the wiser about the body snatcher standing in for her dear old dad. At least, if she suspected anything, she hadn’t shared itwith me. But we weren’t exactly in close confidence these days.

Dragging a hand through my hair and rolling my shoulders, I left behind the bright, bland colors of the hall and entered the woody warmth of Maximus’s private chambers.

Grimm had changed nothing. No decoration was out of place and not a book had been disturbed. The room even smelled the same, likely due to the candle flickering on a table in the corner next to the wingback chair where Grimm sat in full illusion, perusing a magazine.

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