Page 89 of Pulling Strings

“It already has.”

Grimm’s pointed stare past us to the buffet line prompted everyone to turn and look. Food steamed inchafing 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’tbeen 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, theproblem 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 wasin 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.”

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