“She wants to make you an investigator.”

  The words sounded no less ridiculous coming out of his mouth.

  I frowned. “Pfft, no. She doesn’t. But, if she did, why would you want that?”

  Grimm reclined in his chair, lacking any sense of urgency while everything in me begged to take off running.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He smiled. “I’m already in Maximus Lyle’s hip pocket, and I promised you all would be able to join me. What better for you to do than keep tabs on his overachieving daughter?”

  Pain from the headache spiked. Withdrawals were still making me their bitch and piling onto the idiocy of this so-called plan. I’d waited for this? Worried and sweated and told Donovan I was going to work things out only to end up rolling over and showing my belly to the Capitol?

  “So, you want me to plea out?” I shoved the belly chain past my hips then rounded the table toward Grimm while anger mounted. “Make up some shit about the gang so they feel like they made the right choice not taking off my head?”

  Grimm rose as I closed in. “Fitch—”

  “They could change their minds, you know,” I snapped. Papers scattered across the table. A few took to the air, trying to fly away while I continued, “How long am I supposed to wait—”

  “Fitch, listen to me!” His shout stopped me mid-rant with my chest heaving. “You’re not going to plea out.”

  “What, then?”

  His eyes checked the papers beginning to settle before fixing on mine. “You’re going to trial, and you’re going to win.”

  21

  Break Out

  The fluorescent light overhead cut to black, prompting an auxiliary spotlight in the corner to turn on.

  An alarm blared.

  I was still reeling, processing Grimm’s conflicting advice and bursting with questions that never found a voice.

  “That’s our cue.” Grimm walked quickly to the door. As he moved, his clothing changed to a prisoner’s bland, beige coveralls. His hair shortened and so did his beard, now a buzz cut and bristle on a generic face.

  Shouts and pounding footsteps echoed down the hall outside. I turned toward the noise, then looked at Grimm, who waved me ahead.

  “You ready, inmate?” He winked.

  For what? Why all this if I was going to trial tomorrow? A prison break, after all, but for who?

  “You said you talked to Ripley,” Grimm said as though answering my thoughts. “Where is he?”

  I stiffened. “The infirmary, probably.”

  “Do you know the way?”

  “I think so.” But I wanted to say no.

  Were they doing all this for that Benedict Arnold? And wanting me to help? Then what? I would go to trial in the morning and pretend nothing happened? Or shake hands with Holland Lyle and seal my fate for the next untold number of years?

  Winning at court and making nice with Holland seemed mutually exclusive unless I grossly misunderstood her and Grimm’s—or Talbot’s—negotiation tactics. Another thing I hadn’t thought about while languishing in jail: a guilty verdict wasn’t a guarantee. Old-timey mobsters got away with as much as I’d done, many times over. How often had Al Capone dodged justice’s bullets? Maybe I could do the same.

  “Let’s go,” Grimm said at last. “We’ll meet up with the boys en route.”

  The isolation cells were situated in the bowels of the prison, underground. Traveling to the upper levels to reach gen pop and the infirmary meant ascending two levels and crossing from one side of the facility to the other. We looked the part—a pair of prisoners out for a stroll—but the need for disguises vanished the moment we stepped into the hallway.

  A crush of people ran this way and that. Bodies moved in every direction while shouting and causing riotous mayhem. Everything was on backup power with intermittent spotlights glaring across the sea of movement. Red strobes at the ends of passageways beamed ominously into the shadows. I caught sight of passersby in flashes. Guards and inmates scurried.

  Ahead, shouts preceded two prisoners tackling a guard to the ground. The guard dropped with a guttural scream as his attackers tore into him like wild animals into prey. Down the corridor, every cell door stood wide open.

  A female prisoner barreled past, shrieking like a banshee. I watched her go, her hair fluttering like streamers in her wake.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I murmured.

  Grimm grabbed my shoulder and gave me a shake. “Keep us safe, all right?” he said. “I’m counting on you.”

  No pressure.

  Leaving the doorway felt like playing a game of Frogger. Move forward, wait, run quick, only to wait again. People raced by, and brawls broke out spontaneously. Prisoners assailed guards or each other. No one was off-limits.

  Tiptoeing through the pandemonium proved pointless, so I started running.

  Grimm kept up, both of us ducking and weaving through the throng of bodies that looked like horror movie villains in splashes of red.

  Upstairs, the situation was no better.

  Shouts and screeches mingled with the wailing siren, creating an unbearable cacophony. Somewhere in this madness, the other members of our group were waiting for us. But I had no idea how we would find them. We were just as likely to rush past as recognize a familiar face.

  “This is insane!” I shouted to Grimm between panted breaths. “Was this the best plan you could come up with to get one guy out of prison?”

  “Not just one guy,” Grimm replied. “As many as we can.”

  I glanced over to see his white teeth framed by a smile. First, infiltrating the Capitol. Second, inducting an untrustworthy rat into our ranks. Third, sending me to make nice with investigators who’d sooner skin me alive than work with me. And now releasing a mass of society’s undesirables from their cages? The plan Grimm first outlined at the Bitters’ End had changed while I’d been away.

  We arrived in the atrium. Ceilings stretched higher and rooms opened to halls that branched off in several directions. The cafeteria was to the right, the cell block left. Or was it the other way around? Maybe the library was down the far hall?

  I turned a circle while my heart thrashed in my chest.

  “Time is short, Fitch!” Grimm shouted. “Move!”

  Inmates stampeded down one hall, funneling away from us. Others flurried from the corners of the room to join the herd. Someone crashed into my back, and I staggered forward as Grimm called my name again.

  “Gimme a minute!” I snapped in response, rounding to where he’d been mere seconds before.

  Not there.

  In his place, two inmates scrabbled on the floor. Something metallic flashed in one’s hand as he struggled to pin his opponent to the ground. Grimm’s disguised face registered in my mind as the inmate attacking him moved to plunge the shiv into his chest.

  I caught the assailant with one hand, flinging him away from Grimm’s prone form. The improvised weapon remained tightly clutched in the inmate’s grip as he landed on his back a few feet away. He lay stunned for only a second before letting out a roar. When he rose onto his knees, I mentally gripped his shiv-bearing arm and twisted it, burying the sharp end deeply in his throat. The prisoner fell silent as he sagged onto the ground, gushing blood.

  “Get on the floor!” a guard’s voice called out. “Everybody down!”

  Adrenaline spiked, driving me to move. Pick a direction and run.

  Making a blind grab for Grimm, I caught hold of the front of his coveralls and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled after me as I took off without looking back, hoping the guards hadn’t brought rifles ready to gun us down.

  We made it into a darker hallway where I stopped as Grimm doubled over beside me, cursing under his breath.

  “A whole lot of fuss,” he muttered. “Better be worth it.”

  I snorted. “No shit.”

  Behind us, the guards continued barking orders. Taking control by force. The sound of gunfire made me jump, and I glanced at the walls of the corridor surrounding us. Several feet ahead, the word INFIRMARY was stencil-painted in block letters, accompanied by an arrow pointing ahead.

  I sighed in relief and beckoned to Grimm, then did a double take at the sight of his visage. Hair sprouted in patches, his nose looked like it was melting, and one eye bugged out of its socket. The inmate’s attack must have done a number on his concentration.

  “Come on,” I said, “but fix your face first.”

  He reached up as though he could feel the illusionary errors, then scowled. After giving him a moment to reapply his disguise, we were on the move again.

  We’d barely turned and taken a few steps before a trio of men in plainclothes rushed toward us.

  Burly Vinton, overdressed Avery, and my brother closed the gap to us. Donovan broke out in front, racing forward to tackle me in a bear hug. After only seeing him through a plastic screen, and physical contact having been reduced to being pushed around by guards and other prisoners for days, I clung on. At least, I did until he pulled back and waved a hand in front of his nose.

  “Dude, you reek. And your hair…” He grabbed a ratted lock and tugged. “Do they not let you shower in here?”

  He grinned, teary-eyed, and I huffed a laugh. Quickly looking him over, my attention caught on the pistol tucked in the waistband of his jeans. Only equipped for this situation, I hoped, and not because he was embodying punk gangbanger energy on the regular.

  Avery came up beside us, weaving a dagger between his fingers. “What’s the holdup? Is this a prison break or a family reunion?”

  I puckered my lips at him. “You want a kiss now, jackass?”

  “Don’t touch me.” He recoiled. “You are fifty shades of disgusting. I’ll have to spray you with a hose before you get anywhere near the car.”

  But I wasn’t getting in the car or getting out of this place. Didn’t he know?

  I looked over to find Grimm talking shop with Vinton. He seemed content to use me as a tour guide through Thorngate’s depths, then free every prisoner in the world but me. Why was I going along with it?

  “Infirmary’s this way,” I told them, shoulder-checking Grimm as I passed.

  “But we just came from there,” Avery whined.

  I moved ahead of the pack, walking fast with my fists clenched. Donovan rushed to catch up but, to my relief, kept quiet. The headache was needling at my temples now, and the pain fueled my rage.

  We encountered no opposition and no other prisoners as we finished the journey to the infirmary. When the five of us gathered outside the closed door, Vinton tried the knob first.

  “Locked,” he grunted.

  “He probably ran.” Donovan jerked his thumb back in the direction we’d come. “Everyone else did.”

  Grimm shook his head. “He’s not the type.”

  Vinton twisted the handle again, then rattled the door against its frame. “You want me to break it down, boss?”

  I could have picked that lock, too, but I’d given enough to this mission considering I was getting nothing out of it.

  The rest of us scattered while Vinton stepped back, turning and bending to make himself into a battering ram. Before he could charge, the stale air around us stirred. A breeze whipped by as though someone unseen had rushed past. Looking down the hallway, the confusing, inconsistent lighting showed no evidence of an intruder.

  Muffled grunts and the scuffling of shoes put my head on a swivel. Our group had been reduced. Donovan, Avery, and I stood in a semicircle, but it wasn’t until the strobes flashed again that I spotted the other two.

  Grimm and Vinton hung suspended from the wall, held in place by ropes of shadow. While I stared, the darkness spread, blanketing their bodies and creeping across their faces.

  A sweep of my hand failed to gain purchase on their bonds. Nothing tangible, but something distantly familiar.

  Pistol fire echoed in the cramped corridor.

  I ducked then turned to where Donovan stood with a gun in hand, frantically tugging on the slide to clear an apparent jam.

  Avery whirled around, as well. “Donovan Farrow, if you put a bullet in me, I’ll skin you alive,” he snapped.

  Another gust of wind unsettled my hair. I tracked it snaking past me, speeding toward Avery. My shout of warning got his attention but didn’t stop the darkness from closing in.

  Black spikes shot up from the floor and bound the conjurer’s legs, ready to drag him away. He swung his knife-wielding hand backward, and a scream rang out.

  Grimm and Vinton slid down the wall with simultaneous grunts, and I spotted a shock of white hair suddenly aglow in the intermittent light. Holland Lyle, sans sunglasses, doubled over at Avery’s back, grabbing her thigh.

  Why was she still in the prison? Had she been following us? If so, she’d chosen a terrible time to intervene. Perhaps she thought we were cornered here, with walls and a closed door on three sides, but five to one was lousy odds, despite the power outage working heavily in her favor.

  The shadows restraining Avery retreated, and he whirled around with the blood-slicked knife raised. Before he could swing down, Holland’s corporeal form wisped into a cloud of smoke rolling across the floor.

  “Where’d she go?” Donovan asked with a tremor in his voice. He turned a circle as the low-lying haze dissipated. The pistol rattled off another round that struck the cement floor with a puff of powder.

  “Give me that.” Avery snatched the weapon from my brother’s grasp, then waggled it in front of his face. “Who gave you this, anyway? Was it me?” The gun vanished from existence, and the conjurer frowned. “Must have been me.”

  Shamed as Donovan looked, I hoped Grimm was paying attention. My brother was untrained, unskilled, and unequipped for situations like this. A liability to himself and others. Marksmanship and self-defense could be taught, but it would take years to hone skills that could hold up to the speed and efficacy of most brands of magic.

  From his fallen position by the wall, Grimm rumbled a laugh. “Fitch, you’re gonna have fun with that one. Unless you think she’s too much for you to handle.”

  He’d missed the conversation with Donovan entirely. Had he not heard the reckless gunfire, either?

  My brow dipped in frustration. “Not as long as I carry a flashlight.”

  “Too much talking,” Vinton growled. “We’re wasting time.” He rose, looking almost average-sized after my time with Clyde. Without another word, he charged toward the closed infirmary door.

  Vinton barreled full speed ahead, ready to meet the resistance of the heavy steel door when it swung inward. He had no time to slow or stop, instead careening into a suspiciously-placed gurney.

  Thorngate’s Goth doctor poked his head around the doorframe. He wore no mask this time and looked singularly unimpressed as he asked, “Did no one think to knock?”

  22

  Left Behind

  “Ripley, you rat bastard.” Grimm offered a hand for the scrawny teen to shake. “How long has it been?”

  The doctor surveyed the rest of us hanging back. A short distance away, Vinton lumbered to his feet, red-faced and frowning.

  After a pause, Grimm grabbed Ripley’s hand from where it hung at his side and pulled him into an embrace, then thumped his palm against the other man’s back.

  “Twelve years,” Ripley replied, yanking free of Grimm’s grasp. “Long enough for that one to grow up.” He nodded to me. “You were right about him.”

  “I’m right about most things, old chap.” Grimm smiled while the doctor’s expression soured. “And I was right when I told the boys you could be reasoned with. Didn’t I tell you so, Avery?”

  The conjurer stood with his arms crossed, skeptical. “I wouldn’t go counting your wins just yet.” He tipped his chin toward the doctor. “Nice to see you, Rip.”

  “Likewise,” Ripley replied.

  Grimm’s gaze flicked up to the caged clock on the wall. “Well, that’s about it for pleasantries. Fitch tells me you’re on board with the plan?”

  I glanced at Donovan, wondering what had been left out of our limited conversations. My brother had been clueless as to Grimm’s purpose for the defunct healer, which meant I was, too.

  Ripley didn’t bat an eye. “‘Twas no mention of a plan, mate,” he told Grimm. “Just the same dirty tricks as always. But yes, I’m on board.”

  Grimm smiled. “No questions, then?”

  “No point,” Ripley said.

  Grimm turned toward where Avery, Donovan, and I clustered just inside the entry. “Gentlemen?”

  The word was directed at all of us, but only Avery moved. A stack of gas masks appeared in his arms, ominous on their own, more so in this already eerie setting. When he began doling them out, Donovan voiced the question that sprung to my mind.

  “What are these for?”

  Grimm took his mask and secured the straps across the back of his head. The mouthpiece rested above his brow so he could speak. “Ripley here is going to clear our path for escape.” He gestured to the doctor, who made no move to take a mask for himself.

  “Fitch.” Grimm’s summons drew my attention. “Give Ripley the visitor pass.”

  My hand moved to cover the badge tucked safely in my breast pocket. It took all the composure I could muster not to tell the doctor to pry it from my cold, dead hands. Losing access to my magic again was a crueler fate than spending another night in prison. I couldn’t bring myself to give it away.

  As the gas masks were passed around, Donovan offered one to me.

  Grimm stopped him with a shake of his head. “Fitch has a date with the Capitol tomorrow. Wouldn’t want him to miss it.”

  “But the trial’s tomorrow.” Donovan turned toward me, but I dodged his gaze. The lump in my throat worked as effectively as a gag, not that I had anything to say.

  “My point exactly,” Grimm said.

  Donovan’s face washed pale. “He can’t go to court. They’ll kill him!” Again, he looked at me and, again, I stared at the floor.

  “I happen to believe otherwise.” I heard the smile in Grimm’s voice.