Page 12 of Looking Grimm

“There’s a lesson to be learned here.”

My jaw tightened. “I agree.”

With Charlie quite literally facing backward, the message seemed clear, and I knew exactly who I wanted to receive it.

Watch your back.

I hooked my shoe under Charlie’s arm and rolled him over so I could see his face. Every muscle was limp, and his eyes listed toward a distant nothing. His tattooed hand laid out to one side, and I scowled at it.

For Donovan,I told myself.

Was it, though?

Crouching, I held my hand out to Ripley. “You got a Sharpie on you?”

It was an educated guess based on having seen him coloring his nails with marker on more than one occasion.

Grumbling, Ripley fished out a Sharpie and dropped it on the asphalt beside me. I managed to grab it before it rolled away, then flicked off the cap.

I held the marker above the dead man’s face. A decision needed to be made. I could have signed it Marionette, the killer, the name Ripley claimed suited me. But I wanted credit for this. Me, not an alter ego of Grimm’s design. My lips curved in a grin as the Sharpie dragged across Charlie’s forehead and left bold, black lines in its wake.

After I finished, I capped the marker and pushed back toadmire my handiwork.

F. Farrowstretched from temple to temple in sharp, slanting letters.

Marionette was a fine name, but I’d always liked mine better.

The next day, Isat at the table with Nash and Pippa, working my way through a bowl of pasta salad.

Pippa carried the conversation, discussing recipes for her perfume concoctions while Nash nodded along. I’d mostly tuned it out—alchemy leaned more towards science than magic, which put it beyond my understanding—until Nash slid his hand onto my thigh under the table and leaned over.

“You seem better,” he said.

I expected a smile to accompany the statement, but it wasn’t quite there. Instead, he looked tired, and a wrinkle creased the skin between his brows.

“Ifeelbetter,” I said and shoveled a fork full of pasta into my mouth. It was a kitchen sink kind of dish loaded with deli meat, olives, tomatoes, and feta cheese.

“Good to see you putting something in your stomach besides booze,” Pippa said. “You’re getting as skinny as Ripley.”

I sneered at her, then took another bite.

Nash continued to peer at me, too scrutinizing for comfort. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?” he asked.

He didn’t know about my meeting with Ripley, or our stakeout gone revenge killing, or how I dropped Charlie’s autographed carcass outside Isha’s shop with a message I entrusted her to pass along to Grimm.

Watch your back.

“Concerned? About me?” I rocked my chair back onto its rear legs and gestured grandly to myself. “I’m the picture of health. Physical and otherwise.”

Nash frowned. “You should know the theatrics make it more suspicious.”

Forcing a grin, I grabbed his hand off my leg and brought it to my lips for a quick kiss. “You’re sweet,” I told him. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not your problem to solve.” Setting his hand on the table, I pushed back and stood, not ready to leave half the bowl of noodles but more than ready to escape this conversation.

Pippa swirled the straw around in her glass. “That’s kind of a shitty thing to say.”

“Pippa.” The warning in Nash’s tone went unheeded by his sister.

I’d stepped around my chair and stood there, gripping the curved wooden seat back with tense fingers.

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