Page 88 of Pulling Strings

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.

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