Page 11 of Looking Grimm

I crossed my arms. “There have been plenty of exceptions.”

“But why him?” Ripley demanded. “Hmm?”

“Look.” Stooping, I grabbed Charlie’s wrist and pointed the Hex mark toward Ripley. “He took Donnie’s place.”

It wasn't true, but I wanted it to be. That way his death might give me some small dose of catharsis.

Ripley gave the tattoo a crooked smirk. “Unlucky you,” he told Charlie, then tipped his head toward me. “Did they warn you about this one?”

Charlie’s eyes bulged, and he shook his head frantically. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t know anything about any Donnie.”

A car crawled by on the street behind us. I shifted to block any view the driver may have had of the downed man between Ripley and me.

The gangly teen settled back into his typically sullen expression. “You’ve got the wrong man,” he said.

“It’s a likely story,” I protested. A lie I seemed determined to tell even myself. “I wouldn’t admit it, either.”

Still on the ground, Charlie gaped up. Smarter than he looked to stay where he was put, though I half wished he would give me an excuse to knock him back down.

Ripley stared at the sniveling man while contemplating. “After him, there’ll be another.”

I nodded slowly. “Then I’ll kill him, too.”

Charlie let out a stammered protest while Ripley asked me, “Whatever happened to this being about Grimm? He’s the one who deserves this.”

I’d been accused of not having a plan, but one was slowly forming. It was more of an inevitability, really. Something that, once started, might prove impossible to stop.

“I’ll get to Grimm,” I replied. “After I cut down every lowlife nobody on my way to the top. They all deserve to die.”

Ripley chewed his lip. “That’s a slightly different pitch than the one I agreed to.”

“I’m not keeping you here.” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

Charlie stayed quiet while the two of us lingered overhead. I didn’t need Ripley’s permission, and I didn’t realize that I wanted it until he heaved a breath.

“If you must kill him, make it clean,” he said. “None of that barbaric boot stomping.”

At that, Charlie bolted upright, sitting and flapping his hands. “Wait! No, wait!” he shouted, loudly enough I feared he would draw attention.

I tried to pin his mouth shut, but no action followed the thought. I cursed under my breath.

“You can’t kill me!” Charlie exclaimed, already blubbering. “We’re comrades! Brothers in arms! We’re the same!”

He kept clamoring, and I had to shut him up. Really, I had to, or risk being caught and reported to the Capitol. That would sabotage my tenuous relationship with Briggs—another thing I couldn’t risk.

“Charles.” I dragged out the single syllable of his name. “Charlie, I am so far above you we might as well be separate species. Which makes this the natural order of things. The strong survive.”

Charlie deserved a proper send-off, big fan that he was, but my magic was still liquor-logged. Surely I could ream enough juice out of my brain for one little murder.

I kicked the other man squarely in the sternum, hard enough I heard a crack. Charlie flew back with a whooshing grunt but didn’t make another sound before my mental tethers attached to his temples. He gasped, and I twisted, expecting a swift, sharp snap. But movement followed at a snail’s pace as Charlie’s head began a slow swivel.

His swollen eyes stretched wider, and the skin of his neck bunched and scrunched. I tried again, turning my wrist as though I could hurry things along, but the painstaking process continued.

About the time Charlie began to howl in pain, I thought I saw Ripley yawn. Whatever noise the fallen man had madebefore paled in comparison to the ruckus he was raising now.

I cringed and glanced around while Ripley remained unbothered.

Charlie’s cheek raked across the asphalt as his head completed a full 180-degree turn. When he fell silent at last, Ripley chimed in.

---