Page 32 of Looking Grimm

Shaking off an involuntary wince, I focused on the twins again. “Do you know how many bones there are in the human body?” I gave a wide grin. “Don’t tell me. We’ll find out together.”

Of course, my captives weren’t telling me anything. They sat through my monologue with only minor squirming and, while I imagined they had questions—the usual “What do you want?” and “Why are we here?”—I was too busy fighting a yawn to indulge them.

“But not now. It’s the middle of the night.” I flopped back on the mattress. Tugging the covers around my chin, I concluded, “So, unless you’re eager to get started, shut your yaps and let me get some sleep.”

Surprisingly, Ezrah and Ethan took my advice to pass the rest of the night in quiet. I was secretly relieved because, while I had ample skills for effective torture and a wealth of experience from my time in the gang, I didn’t enjoy it. Our previously tight-knit group believed in the division of labor. Grimm was the idea man, Vinton handled body disposal, Avery specialized in advanced interrogation techniques, and I killed people.

I wasn’t sure how they handled things before I came along, but assigning the job of a hitman to a reluctant and unskilled teenager seemed to be a risky play. It made mewonder if Grimm’s courtroom testimony as Jacoby Thatcher had more truth to it than I wanted to admit. Maybe they sent me to do their most dangerous work because I was the player they didn’t mind losing. Maybe they always hated me. No, I knew they did.

Despite the relatively peaceful conditions and the thermostat turned down from the balmy 75 degrees in Ripley’s room, I slept fitfully. I woke after dawn to my grumbling stomach, a reminder that I had skipped dinner last night. Sitting up and swinging my legs off the side of the mattress found the twins unmoved and dozing. Their heads were leaned against each other to create an almost endearing image. Happy to put off dealing with them for a while longer, I stepped through the door into the adjoining room where Ripley and Maggie were cozied up in the same bed for a change.

It felt like an intrusion as I paused to watch them. The zombie girl curled up with her head tucked under Ripley’s chin and one pale arm thrown across his chest. Ripley’s hand rested on her back, and what little I could see of his face beneath the curtain of black hair looked serene. This wasn’t the first time their relationship, strange as it was, had sparked envy in me.

I hugged my arms around my waist, regretting not having taken Nash up on his offer to return to the Bitters’ End. Even under the dark cloud of the weeks since Donovan’s death, I was happier with Nash than I’d ever been anywhere else. Not to mention I might not have survived the greatest loss of my life without him.

Passing the beds, I went to the sitting area and sunk into the chair in front of my Chinese leftovers from the nightbefore. The food was barely room temp, but I’d learned early on in my stay here that the teen dream team didn’t keep much around to eat or drink besides tea, of which there was an endless supply. Ripley proved to be firmly in touch with his roots, keeping British stereotypes alive one cup of Earl Grey at a time.

So, unless I wanted saltine crackers topped with one of the many options in the designated sauce drawer for breakfast, tepid sweet and sour chicken was the only thing on the menu.

Grabbing the paper-wrapped chopsticks, I opened the flap top of the carton and then scooped the TV remote off the low table. Watery blood left from Maggie’s fingers made the buttons sticky, and I grimaced before carrying it to the kitchenette sink for a quick rinse. After washing my hands and drying everything with a towel, I returned to my seat and meal.

I clicked on the television at a low volume, more wanting background noise than something to watch. Predictably, it opened to the guide channel, showing a blue grid with listings of shows scheduled for the next few hours. In the top corner, a smaller box showed an infomercial for the HydroRug, which was some kind of carpet for the shower. The bucktoothed salesman was busily dumping dirt and red wine on the white mat to illustrate its stain-resistant qualities when the broadcast changed to a special report from the local news.

I’d been avoiding media footage since the investigator frame job, and I reached for the remote to turn it off.

Before I could click one of the channel options from the scrolling menu, the image of the anchor behind her desk cutto black-and-white footage from a security feed. It showed the blur of a man racing through the halls of the Capitol building, lugging a canister about the size and shape of a fire extinguisher.

“Tragedy struck today as the Capitol was attacked by an unknown assailant,” the anchor announced.

The feed cut from one camera angle to another, chasing the suspect through the halls until he reached the Investigative Department and the bullpen. The place was packed since the plague had been eradicated, and every desk was occupied. When he came to a stop, I could get a better look at the intruder’s face, though with the picture in picture size of the image, I had to stand and creep closer to the television to be sure.

He looked like me.

Exactly like me.

He had the same blond undercut, though more styled than I’d been wearing it lately, the same clothes as some I used to own, and the same tattoos on his hands, hands that cranked open a valve on the canister he’d brought, then flung it into the midst of the grid of metal tanker desks. It hit the ground and rolled, spewing a thick plume of smoke.

Investigators scattered in a clamor, crashing into furniture and each other as the imposter made his escape.

“Numerous investigators were poisoned, some fatally, by a deadly gas,” the anchor continued. “It is believed this crime may be linked to the murder on the Capitol steps earlier this week.”

EIGHT DEAD, the banner across the bottom of the screen declared. That was all I saw before my legs went out from under me. I dropped to the floor and sat, dazed as ifI’d been hit with a haymaker punch.

Either I had an evil twin I was just finding out about, or Grimm’s illusion magic had entered the game. It was a hell of a play to start with forging my autograph and escalate to this. I wanted to argue with the news anchor that I hadn’t even killed the people at the warehouse, so I shouldn’t be saddled with the blame for this but, somehow, it all came back to me. I recruited Ripley. I decided to go looking for trouble last night. I found it. And this was the result.

Without my cell phone, I wouldn’t have to endure another call from Holland Lyle, yet I felt her scorn. Briggs’s, too. What must he think of me now? It was too much to hope anyone at the Capitol believed in my innocence with proof to the contrary. I stayed on the ground, lightheaded and reeling while the anchor carried on.

“Two additional investigators were reported missing from the scene: Vesper Ashcroft and Felix Wilde. They are presumed endangered, and officials are intensifying efforts to ensure their safe return.”

Holland’s teammates. I’d moved higher up the pecking order by abducting Ethan and Ezrah, and Grimm had responded accordingly. Tit for tat.

I sputtered a curse and dropped my head into my hands, pressing in at my temples as though I could corral my thoughts.

The anchor continued, “We have Miss Holland Lyle in the newsroom to address the Capitol’s planned response to this attack.”

“Fuck. No.” I pushed up onto my knees, fumbling for the television’s power button until the camera flashed to Holland seated behind the desk. She wore a white suit jacket,and her hair was twisted in a tight bun. It made her severe expression seem even more so, and I shrunk back from the screen.

“Good morning,” Holland began. Without her sunglasses obscuring her eyes, I could see the strain in them along with a bit of redness the makeup crew hadn’t been able to mask. “As you’ve just heard, earlier today, eight dedicated investigators lost their lives due to a poison gas attack. Our thoughts are with their families during this difficult time, and our top priority is identifying and apprehending the person responsible for this heinous act.”

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