“Maggie.”

  “Sure.”

  Jeans slid on over boxers, and I took a handful of steps to the sink counter, retrieving the capless toothpaste and my toothbrush. I left the water running, hoping to drown out whatever the other man might have said.

  He waited till I had scrubbed, spit, and rinsed to speak. “You’ve got a lot of anger, mate.”

  “Pretty sure it’s just my personality.” I cranked the faucet off.

  Why had I let him in? Now he lingered as a dark shadow lurking in the corner of my room, judging me from behind his scene hair swoop and raccoon-ringed eyes.

  I was quickly running out of ways to ignore him but, when I turned around ready to ask what brought him here, he beat me to it.

  “You know, you could run the Bloody Hex.”

  He stared at me, unapologetic. More than that, he was unafraid of me and my ability to out him to Grimm for even suggesting such a thing.

  I met his gaze, stunned until the absurdity of his claim made me chuckle. “How do you figure?”

  “You’re powerful. Capable.” He shifted in the chair to kick one leg over the other. “People would follow you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to run any gang. Much less this one.”

  Ripley gave the room another visual sweep. “Perhaps not.”

  The longer he sat, the deeper the idea wiggled into my brain. With Donovan’s allegiance sworn, stepping up my leadership in the gang would enable me to protect him. I could weigh in on jobs assigned—or not—and, if the current goal was to grow our numbers, I had opinions about that, too.

  Before my imagination ran away with me, I dug my heels in.

  “What do you want?” I snapped at the skinny teen, stirring him from silence. “Why are you here?”

  He didn’t stand, though I wished he would so this would feel less like a lecture or a meeting I’d been called into.

  “I believe I misjudged you,” Ripley said. “I assumed Grimm and the others got their claws in you when you were too young. Too impressionable. Directable. I thought you were a lost cause, and that all the good your family put into you was for naught.”

  My nose wrinkled. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking a lot for someone who’s known me less than a week.”

  He pushed forward then, bracing bony elbows on his thighs. “Fitch…” His head tilted to hold my gaze. “May I call you Fitch?”

  I shrugged.

  “Why did you tell me your brother was dead?”

  “That’s the party line,” I muttered. “Always has been.”

  “I suppose that’ll be changing now.”

  He knew. Which meant everyone else did, too.

  That spurred me to break away, remembering the cigarettes left in the slacks that now lay in a soggy pile on the bathroom floor. Curse words tumbled out before I reached into the pocket and found the pack a disintegrated mess of melted paper and shag. In the midst of it, Holland Lyle’s business card remained mostly intact thanks to its heavily-glossed cardstock. I plucked it from the tobacco carnage and set it on the sink counter on my way past.

  “We are alike, you and I,” Ripley said.

  God, is he still talking?

  “And, I dare say, we want the same things. You for your brother, and me for Maggie.” Ripley stood, more fervent than I’d seen him yet. I stopped in my tracks to give him the attention he clearly wanted.

  “As long as Grimm is in charge, things will continue as they are,” he explained. “Or they may get worse. Your brother is the only leverage Grimm has over you. Be it to keep you close, force you into line, or to bend a knee at his command. He knows your weakness, and he exploits it. Believe me when I say he will continue to do exactly that as long as you allow it.”

  “You’d know, huh?” I scoffed. “That’s why you’re here.”

  His jaw set. “For now.”

  Like puzzle pieces snapping together, his pitch became clear, with many of the benefits I’d already considered. I could dethrone Grimm, run the Bloody Hex, and keep Donovan out of harm’s way. Ripley would benefit because I had little use for him or his undead lover. They could fuck right off, for all I cared.

  But he neglected to mention what we both knew. He’d attempted as much before, even enlisting the Capitol’s aid, and had been rewarded with a lengthy prison sentence. At the end of that, he was back where he began—a feeling with which I could relate.

  “Because striking out on your own went so well last time.” I waved a dismissive hand, turning away from him to search the bedside table drawer for the unlikely event of loose or partial cigarettes.

  “I don’t intend to do it on my own.” He pressed closer. “Help me, and we can save your brother.”

  Finding nothing in the drawer but lotion and a stack of porn magazines, I slammed it shut.

  “It’s too late for that,” I said. “I tried. This is what he wants.”

  Ripley huffed a breath. “If a child wanted to eat poison, would you let them?”

  “Donnie’s not a kid anymore.”

  “So, he’s just a fool.”

  I spun around with my hand toward the exit. The knob turned and the door opened, flooding the room with light.

  “Get out,” I growled.

  His lips pursed. “Consider it, at least.”

  “I won’t.”

  With a sigh, he made his way to the exit, stopping only to add, “Everyone’s meeting for brunch in half an hour. They asked me to tell you.”

  “Out,” I repeated.

  He left, and I slammed the door shut in his wake. Mentally locking it, I sank onto the nearest bed and laid back to stare up at the rocky terrain of the popcorn ceiling.

  It was ballsy of the man in black to wander in here trying to stage a coup. Assuming an awful lot about me and making claims that were exaggerated, at best. Why would I work with him? By all accounts, he was only out for his own interests. And, if I did take over the gang, let him and Maggie go, and axed Grimm, Avery, and Vinton, there would be very little Bloody Hex left to helm.

  There was also the very real possibility that Donovan wouldn’t take my side of things. He wasn’t my biggest fan at the moment and imagining how that translated to his loyalties made for a hard pill to swallow.

  I rubbed my hands across my face.

  For all the thoughts swirling inside my head, one question rose above the rest: since when did we eat brunch?

  30

  Out to Brunch

  In a feat of timing, cooperation, and enough illusion magic to render the six of us unrecognizable even to each other, the members of the Bloody Hex walked into the Butter Me Up Buffet for Saturday brunch. Actually, there were seven of us if you counted the black-bedecked zombie girl scribbling with permanent marker on a laminated menu. Maggie, a name I’d reluctantly committed to memory.

  At least she looked like herself. I was having a hard enough time sorting out the rest of the crowd of apparent strangers. We occupied a long table in the secluded back room of the restaurant. An area most often used for sad birthday parties or family reunions.

  Compared to my recent encounters with food in Thorngate’s cafeteria, this place smelled divine. Maple syrup provided the overriding aroma, sickly sweet and warm, with undertones of spicy sausage.

  By the time everyone had filled a plate from the buffet, I thought I had them figured out. At the head of the table sat Grimm, of course. To his right would be Vinton and Avery on the left. Ripley and Maggie might as well have shared a chair, squeezed in as they were in line with Avery. Donovan occupied the space beside Vinton, leaving the foot of the table for Grimm to keep a steady eye on me as he launched into a predictably grandiose speech.

  “What a night we all had,” he began. “Full of surprises.”

  A tart smile accompanied his statement, causing me to snort softly into my orange juice. Grimm’s attention pulled away to begin a slow circle around the table.

  “I’m pleased to announce that, despite a momentary setback, we were able to induct two dozen new infantrymen and women into our ranks,” he said. “While they won’t be joining us this morning, you can look forward to meeting them all in the coming weeks.”

  How had he managed that? Did they go door to door after Donovan and I left? Chase people down on the street and beg them to reconsider Bloody Hex membership? Or did they issue apologies for my purportedly drunken behavior and guarantee big, bad Marionette wouldn’t be allowed to scare the newbies in the future?

  “I would like to reiterate a formal welcome to our returning members.” Grimm gestured to Ripley, who nibbled a strip of bacon. “Mister Vaughn is back after over a decade, and Fitch, who will be embodying innocence for the foreseeable future.”

  “Pussy.” Avery coughed into his hand.

  Vinton chuckled.

  I tapped a finger toward the necromancer’s fork, flipping it off his plate and toward his face. It struck his shoulder, instead, scattering fried potatoes in its flight.

  Avery barked a laugh, and Grimm’s pounded fist rattled dishes all the way down the table. “Fitch Farrow, if you start trouble again today, I will put you back in prison and leave you there!”

  Quiet ensued except for a low growl from Vinton as he picked potatoes from his lap.

  Despite being seated beside me, Donovan made every effort to avoid looking my way. I wanted to believe he looked haggard and that he’d been as restless overnight as I had. But the more I studied his face in profile, he seemed alert and even cheerful.

  Clearing his throat, Grimm sat up straighter, then took a sip from his steaming mug of coffee.

  “Of course, I can’t forget our Donnie boy,” he said. “Official at last. And with good cause. I’m sure your brother is grateful for your timely intervention.”

  Donovan nodded but said nothing as Grimm gave solo applause.

  Heaving a breath, I glanced to my right, where Maggie had covered nearly one entire side of the menu in bold, black scribbles. She reminded me of a less coherent version of Clyde. Though, so far, no more talkative.

  Another marker lay on the table beside her. I picked it up and found an empty corner of the laminated page to draw a Tic-Tac-Toe board.

  The zombie girl stopped in mid-doodle. Her head turned toward me with abrupt jerks like a bird hunting for worms.

  “You first.” I pointed to the open field.

  Tilting her chin to one side then the other, she settled on a square to place an X.

  “Looking ahead,” Grimm continued, “our mission remains the same. Thanks to my recent proximity to Maximus Lyle, I have learned the city gate issue will be back up for a vote in the coming weeks. We need to stall that. Which is where Mister Vaughn comes in.”

  I’d been wondering about Ripley’s role in all of this and what else I’d missed during my prison stint.

  Grimm droned on. “Determined as Maximus is to push the measure through, we must take the matter out of his hands. The choice to close our city will come from the other side of the wall.”

  “The humans?” Donovan asked. “I thought we didn’t want them involved.”

  Grimm nodded. In his illusioned disguise, I’d finally realized what he looked like. One of those door-to-door evangelists with pamphlets and pressed white shirts. Even his hair was combed and stuck with shiny gel.

  “That’s true,” he said. “We want them to distance themselves. Which they will, or risk contracting a deadly virus.”

  Crickets.

  Heads swiveled around the table until Ripley muttered through a mouthful of biscuit, “There’s going to be a plague.”

  “Hell, yeah!” Avery whooped. “Like old times, eh, Rip?”

  Ripley grunted assent as he slathered jelly on his next bite of biscuit.

  “He can do that?” I asked, recalling the knockout gas he spread at the prison. Spewing poison and disease, he wasn’t a healer at all. Exactly the opposite.

  “It’s his specialty.” Grimm smiled.

  Which was why they sprung him from Thorngate. To contaminate the city with some antiquated disease that would force the humans to quarantine us within our own walls. Left to die or sort things out and survive, I imagined it would make little difference to those on the outside.

  “When is that happening?” Donovan asked.

  “It already has.”

  Grimm’s pointed stare past us to the buffet line prompted everyone to turn and look. Food steamed in chafing bowls, exposed beneath the sneeze guard to airborne contaminants. Regular illness spread that way; germs clung to ladles touched by too many hands or were consumed in undercooked fish and poultry. I could think of no reason why magical sickness wouldn’t follow the same rules.

  As for the recipients of Ripley’s manufactured plague, the restaurant was brimming with people. Weekend mornings were a popular time for dining out, and every table in the place was seated with patrons greedily stuffing their faces. Most were families with children. My stomach churned.

  I looked at my plate, mourning the loss of the best meal I’d had in days before scooting my chair back to put distance between myself and the poisoned food. Others reacted similarly, enough that Grimm chuckled.

  “Don’t fret, gentlemen,” he said. “We have the cure. Mister Vaughn will ensure everyone here remains in peak health.”

  The same Mister Vaughn who had put in earbuds and was currently thumbing through his phone’s music library? I used the tip of my finger to push my plate farther away. Not taking any chances.

  Maggie tapped her marker impatiently on the menu and gave a little whine. My turn. I leaned in and scribbled a lopsided O on the menu before withdrawing once more.

  At the other end of the table, Vinton engaged Grimm in muffled conversation. Avery resumed eating while Donovan joined me in abstaining. In the relative quiet, I stretched to nudge his shoe with mine.

  He looked over, visibly unsettled about having cleared half his plate. I wouldn’t have blamed him if his next thought was to run for the bathroom to stick his finger down his throat. The details of the disease hadn’t been discussed, but it hardly mattered. The word “plague” came with enough negative connotations to instill fear.

  My brother’s gaze met mine, and I floundered for words. “Listen, Donnie, about last night,” I began. “I’m not ungrateful—”

  “Not now, Fitch.”

  “Then when?” My voice escaped more loudly than I intended. Frustration and fear mingled, calling the attention of everyone else at the table.

  “Fitch?” Grimm’s voice drew my eyes away from my brother, and I found myself at the end of an alley of odd looks.

  “You have a busy day ahead,” Grimm continued. “Shall we take a moment to recap? Privately?”

  I took up the marker to fill in my final O on the Tic-Tac-Toe board. It was a planned loss to the zombie girl, who giggled with delight.

  “I think I’ve got it,” I said.

  My plans included getting my car out of the impound and joyriding backroads to eventually end up at the Bitters’ End. There, Nash would ply me with libations until I told him everything that had happened in the past ten days. He would make me feel better about it all, maybe good enough that I could stomach my brother’s successful initiation and the fact that the Bloody Hex just poisoned the city with breakfast.

  Grimm rose from his chair. He smiled, showing all the practiced charisma of a conman. “I’ll only borrow a moment of your time,” he said.

  The others continued staring, including Ripley, despite Maggie tugging on his sleeve to show off her victory.

  I pushed my chair back and stood. Did Grimm call the other men out like this? I never saw it. Just me, the problem child, singled out for reprimand every time I turned around.

  This one I had seen coming, at least. It was written in stone the moment I climbed onto the table at the Bitters’ End and made a target of myself for everyone in the room.

  Grimm and I walked outside, where customers continued to arrive. Families spilled from minivans and SUVs like marbles scattering. Mothers scolded while fathers led the charge across the parking lot and through the doors of Butter Me Up.

  As Grimm and I made our way down the long side of the building, I wondered aloud, “You said it’s a deadly plague. How deadly?”

  Grimm stopped walking and turned to face me, wearing his illusioned disguise and a practiced, pleasant look. “Any disease is deadly, given the proper conditions,” he said. “But that’s not really your concern, is it? We all have our roles to fill. A machine functions best when everyone does their own part.”

  Sighing, I patted my pockets in search of cigarettes, only to be reminded of the soupy paper mess left on the motel bathroom floor.

  “You said I had a busy day?” It was more a statement than a question.

  Grimm nodded. “Holland Lyle. You should waste no time in speaking with her. Strike while the iron is hot, as they say, or before she changes her mind.”

  I thought back to the brief conversation I’d had with Holland while waiting out the post-sentencing chaos in the Capitol courtroom. She’d given me her contact information, and I’d immediately given her cause to regret it. It might have been better to let that situation simmer rather than risk it boiling over.

  “The trial was yesterday.” I crossed my arms. “I was in prison until yesterday. I’ve barely slept or eaten… I need a minute. Holland can wait. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Hmm, yes.” Grimm stroked his chin, musing. “I can see how you might be taxed after such strenuous activities last night.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. It wasn’t funny, just predictable and unfortunately familiar.

  “There it is,” I said. “That’s what you really wanted to talk about, right? I’ll get to Holland Lyle when I’m damn good and ready, but this can’t wait another minute. I bet you slept shitty, too. Up all night writing me a fucking speech. So, let’s hear it.”

  His illusioned disguise wavered, allowing a brief flash of reality to cross his visage. A beard sprouted from his rosy, church boy cheeks, and the slicked back style of his hair tumbled into long, loose waves. It corrected just as quickly and, when his brows drew down, they were slim as though tweezed, and the expression of scorn created the only wrinkles on his much younger face.