Page 17 of Pulling Strings

“Donovan, will you join me?” When Grimm beckoned to my brother, I perked up.

Donovan scrambled into action, climbing over Vinton’s lap to take his place at Grimm’s side. The olderman got down off the chair to stand only an inch or so taller than Donovan, who looked so suddenly grown it startled me.

Stubble dotted his jaw and cheeks long devoid of baby fat. His dark eyes were sharp, his nose slightly upturned like our mother’s, and his hair brown like hers, too. She’d given him every bit of herself: appearance, personality, and purely human blood.

While I stared, Grimm carried on.

“I’ve often said I intend to run the Capitol one day, and I believe I’ve found a way to do exactly that. It begins with you, Donnie-boy.” He patted Donovan’s back. “For your first act as a member of the Bloody Hex, I want you to eliminate Jacoby Thatcher.”

“Who’s that?” Donovan asked, his voice soft.

Jacoby Thatcher was the bookish brown-noser who had attended Maximus Lyle’s right hand for as long as I’d been alive. He was a nondescript kind of witch. Technomancer, maybe? All computers and bookwork. Nothing dangerous, which gave me a sense of relief on Donovan’s behalf.

“You want him to ice Maximus Lyle’s PA?” I frowned. “What good will that do?”

Grimm faced me, unblinking. “I intend to take Thatcher’s place.”

Avery must have finished his game because he had swept up the cards and was bridging them noisily between his hands. “So, you’re gonna fetch Lyle’s dry cleaning and daily coffee order?” He chuckled. “That’s rich.”

A vein bulged in Grimm’s forehead. “I am going to study Maximus Lyle in close quarters. And, when the time is right, I will becomehiminstead.”

A ripple swept up Grimm’s form. His clothes changed—blue jeans and bomber jacket swapped for abusiness suit. Waves of brown hair shortened into a salt and pepper buzz cut, and his face lost its hard, grizzled edge in exchange for the soft, smooth countenance of Maximus Lyle.

Silence fell.

Grimm’s magic was less obvious than some. Rather than flashy conjuration, like Avery, or forbidden necromancy, like Vinton, Grimm created illusions. He could project images, or fully-formed objects like speeding cars that seemed they could run you off the road. He could cast disguises on himself or others, a treacherous talent when properly applied. Masquerading as the leader of our government was ambitious, but—and I hated to admit this—it was borderline inspired.

Vinton stirred in his seat. “Sir, this sounds risky to me—”

“Agreed,” I cut in. “Thatcher’s house is a fucking bunker. It’s deep water. Not a good place to teach someone how to swim.” I motioned to Donovan, whose expression soured.

“What the hell, Fitch?” he hissed. “I can handle it.”

Too late for that. I was the designated failsafe. This job was mine as much as it was Donovan’s. More so since I intended to keep him clear of it.

Grimm shifted back to himself and paused to dust off his shoulders before speaking. “He isn’t going alone. This will be a group effort. And, yes, surveillance is a given, but Avery can handle that. Not all of us have such difficulty avoiding security cameras.”

He pinned me with a narrow look, a wordless warning to sit down and shut up. I rolled my eyes and flicked cigarette ash onto the table.

“I meant the risk of disguising yourself as Maximus Lyle, sir,” Vinton tried again. “At the Capitol, youwould be surrounded by enemies and without protection. If anyone realized…”

Grimm walked over to the big, bald man and laid a hand on his arm. “Your concern is appreciated. Don’t worry, though. I won’t leave you all behind. You are my soldiers in this war, and I will take you into battle.”

His confidence was almost palpable, sickly sweet. I glanced at Donovan, who caught my eyes long enough to give a fleeting scowl.

If this was any indicator, it might have been a good thing I didn’t get to talk to him. It would have been a waste of breath. But I had alternate plans.

Footsteps on the stairs brought the conversation to a stop. I wished it was Nash or Pippa bringing drinks, but they knew when to stay out of Grimm’s airspace. He didn’t take kindly to interruptions, or worse, eavesdroppers. Judging by his smile as the footsteps drew nearer, this was neither.

“Enough talk of the future,” Grimm said. “Let us return our focus to the now.” He swept a hand toward the landing, where a woman emerged toting a shiny steel case. When she gave her ebony hair a toss, my breath caught.

Isha?

She smiled as she approached, dressed impeccably in a scarlet saree with gold embroidery. I wasn’t used to seeing her outside the Blooming Orchid. In fact, I wasn’t sure I ever had. There was hope for this night after all if we could pick up where we left off earlier. Red Room of Romance, indeed.

I slid out of the booth, standing as Grimm took Isha’s free hand and kissed it.

“Good evening, madam,” he said warmly. “I trust this space will suffice?”

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