Warner 22
Warner
“How did you get here?” I say to Castle, recovering. “I thought you were arriving next week.”
Castle patently ignores this.
He tilts to scan the name of the book I’m holding, then plucks the paperback from my frozen grip, squinting as he reviews the title at arm’s length. He pats his pockets blindly, ostensibly for his reading glasses; upon discovering the glasses in question, he hooks them over his ears.
“Castle,” I prompt him. “What are you doing here?”
He finally looks up from the book, but just long enough to frown at me. “I was down the street when I saw you walk into the shop.”
“That’s not what I—”
“A Proposal at Midnight,” he reads aloud, sounding impressed. He peers at me from above his glasses. “I didn’t realize you liked historical romance. This appears to be the third book in an ongoing series. You’re really committed.”
“It’s for my wife,” I explain.
“Oh,” he says. “Well. Ms. Ferrars might enjoy knowing that there are more books to be acquired. There’s a helpful list of other titles here.
” He flips to the back. “The first book, apparently, is called An Offer at Dawn. Then, An Engagement at Noon. This is the third installment, A Proposal at Midnight, and the fourth is called A Decision at Dusk—” He raps his knuckles against the cover, his eyes brightening.
“Oh, I see what they’re doing here. Very clever. ”
“Castle,” I say again, trying to get him to focus. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming early?”
He removes his glasses, clasping them closed in one hand. His smile is easy; a flash of white teeth against brown skin. “I decided to surprise you.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I thought maybe you’d grown out of that,” he says.
“Are Nouria and Sam coming early, too?”
“No, they’re still arriving next week,” he answers. “I wanted to get here earlier because I had a feeling you asked me to come into town for more than just work. I was afraid I’d miss something important.” This last bit he says with meaning, and my heart stops, briefly, in response.
“Just so you know,” he adds, his voice softening, “you didn’t have to ask, son. I was already planning on overstaying my welcome. How is she?”
I take a breath. “The girls are with her.”
The girls; the twins; Sonya and Sara.
“For the day?” he asks.
“For the rest of the pregnancy.”
“Good. I was planning on staying with Adam, anyway. I hope that’s all right.”
“It’s not all right.”
Castle barks out a laugh.
“Your car is arranged for next week,” I point out, still confused. “How did Adam know you were coming early? And who picked you up from the—”
It hits me all at once, the pieces falling into place.
“Kenji,” we both say at the same time.
I glance reflexively toward the exit, as if the man in question might suddenly appear. “Why isn’t he here being loud and obnoxious about your arrival?”
“Who? Kenji?” Castle tilts his head. “Oh, I believe he’s preoccupied at the moment.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Castle mirrors the action. “He wasn’t alone when he picked me up.”
This gives me pause. “Nazeera?”
“The one and only.” Castle releases a slow breath. “It was a very interesting car ride.”
At this reminder of their recent drama, I feel myself tense. “Interesting how?”
Castle crosses his arms against his chest, the sleeves of his suit jacket straining against muscle.
He still looks like he could kill someone, despite his years of rhetoric about peaceful resistance.
His dreads are tied back at the base of his neck, as always, but the locs are more silver than black these days, his face showing his age a bit more than it did the last time I saw him—which was only a couple of months ago.
“Apparently,” he says, putting his glasses back on, “Nazeera flagged Kenji down just as he was leaving for the airport. Said she wanted to talk. He then told her he couldn’t talk because he had to leave—and she decided to go with him.
” He tucks A Proposal at Midnight under his arm as he speaks, then turns to the table of paperbacks and selects a title at random, giving it a once-over.
“That’s all I know. I couldn’t get either of them to give me any more information, so I have no idea what happened on their drive up. ”
Abruptly, he laughs.
Lifts his head to meet my eyes.
“Imagine my shock seeing those two kids together,” he says. “I thought I was dreaming. It’s been—what? Years?” He drops his chosen book back on the table, then picks up another, turning it over in his hands. “Years since they’ve been alone in the same space for longer than thirty seconds.”
He turns, pointing the book at me. “But I’ll tell you this: when I got in that car the tension was thick. Forget a knife, you’d have to cut it with a chainsaw.”
I experience a spike of apprehension.
I have no idea how things are going to end between Kenji and Nazeera. “Good tension or bad tension?”
Castle breaks into a smile, stacking the two books in his hands. “Look how worried you are.”
“I’m not worried,” I lie.
In response, Castle throws his arm around my shoulder, squeezing me to his side as if I’m some kind of child, and it’s only because I have tremendous respect for this man that I don’t give in to the urge to remind him of my job title. Or my age.
I experience a flash of empathy for James.
Castle was the leader of one of the first and largest underground rebel movements on the continent.
Years before our lives intersected, he’d established Omega Point, a comprehensive facility and safe haven for the Unnaturals among society.
Not only did he save many from being sentenced to asylums, but it was a result of his expansive resistance networks that we were able to launch our later offensives.
His daughter, Nouria, ran her own rebel movement halfway across the continent, and when we had to leave Sector 45, we were able to take shelter at the sanctuary she created with her wife, Sam.
That region became our first home post-revolution.
Ella picked up the pieces after Omega Point was bombed—after Castle lost everything—but his early work became the foundation upon which the revolution was built.
He officially retired several years ago; he was happy to let us take on the next stage so he could recover lost time with his family.
But Castle’s not old enough for real retirement; his mind is too sharp, and he’s still active as a consultant.
After dedicating most of his life to the resistance, all he really needed were a few years off to breathe.
I’m always trying to convince him to come back to work.
In any case, we see Castle all the time.
Not only is he a beloved figure to many, he’s an invaluable resource and a powerful telekinetic.
He helped us design our current underground headquarters, having created the blueprint decades earlier.
Castle’s early research, intel, and incisive assessments on The Reestablishment have proven priceless.
We’re never in perfect alignment, but I’ve learned to respect his wisdom and perspective over the years.
He’s advised us on countless political matters.
The man officiated my wedding.
I don’t know that Castle could’ve predicted how the choices he made all those years ago—the chances he gave to so many broken kids—would’ve affected the world now. Without him, I probably wouldn’t be here today. None of us would.
“I always knew you’d turn out all right,” he says, releasing me with an appraisal.
“No,” I remind him. “You didn’t.”
“Fine,” he says, fighting a smile. “Maybe not always. But sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “you were delusional.”
“Sometimes,” he says, pointing a finger, “delusion is the only way to power yourself through darkness.”
“I prefer a weapon,” I say flatly.
“Look,” he says, taking a breath. “I know we have a lot to discuss. I brought all the files I thought would be pertinent, and I already sent my things ahead to HQ. But before we head down there”—he looks around the empty store, as if to ensure we’re still alone—“do you have any idea what’s going on between those two? ”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand.
“No,” I say tightly. “But I found out today that Kenji proposed to her. Five years ago.”
Castle’s smile gutters out. “Yes,” he says, exhaling. “That was tough.”
“You knew?” I’m jolted by surprise, then surprised at myself for being surprised. “Of course you knew.”
Castle nods. “I knew.”
Castle’s relationship with Kenji goes further back than it does with the rest of us.
He essentially adopted Kenji as a child, having discovered him alone and starving in a shopping cart by the side of the road.
Castle was always the rare adult in the room anyone could trust, but he was more of a father figure to Kenji than just a leader.
“I have to tell you,” Castle says, returning to his perusal of the paperbacks, “it never stops warming my heart to see how much you boys care about each other.” He discards the book in his hand, then picks up another, scanning its summary. “I’m so happy Kenji found a home with you all.”
“That,” I say to him, “is a shameless exaggeration. You can have Kenji back anytime you want.”
“You don’t mean that,” says Castle, turning the pages of the worn novel. The spine cracks pleasantly. “You’d fall apart if Kenji left. You’d take a bullet for him, no question.”
I make a noncommittal sound.
“He’s your brother now,” says Castle, closing the book. He stacks it on top of A Proposal at Midnight, tucking both titles under his arm. “Nothing you can do about it. Even if you managed to cut off that limb you’d feel its echo forever.”
I continue to say nothing to this, despite knowing it’s true. Kenji has been a brother to me for at least as long as my own blood brothers; I’d take a bullet for him without stopping to consider the consequences.
It’s irritating.
Castle beams at me.
I shake my head and his smile only brightens. He’s exuding the same level of thumbs-up-good-job enthusiasm he displayed upon learning that Roman, in his own words, used the potty all by himself.
My pager buzzes.
The good thing about someone who’s seen you through many painful stages of your life is that they know you the way no one else would.
The bad thing is that they know too much.
“All right, then,” says Castle. “I think I’ll take these two.” He taps the neat stack of books under his arm. “Should we head down?”
“What? No. That’s my book,” I say to him. “I already told you, it’s for my wife.”
“But you seemed uncertain,” he argues, “and I think Lady Katerina’s life sounds interesting.”
“I’m no longer uncertain,” I say, stealing back the stack from under his arm. “I promised Juliette I’d bring home a new book. And she specifically asked for something historical.”
I quickly tuck the compact copy of A Proposal at Midnight into my coat pocket, then give Castle’s second choice a glance: a science fiction title called They Intend to Infect!
I hesitate a beat, frowning at the misshapen green aliens on the cover. “You can have this back,” I say delicately, handing it over.
He accepts the book, reexamines the cover, then returns it to the table with a sigh. “I’ll come back later when I have more time to search through the stacks,” he says. Then, straightening: “How’s the assassin, by the way? Still giving you trouble?”
I stiffen.
Things have been changing so quickly I haven’t had a chance to brief Castle on everything that’s happened. The last time I gave him a proper update was just after the warehouse calamity, when Rosabelle had been newly admitted to the hospital.
“Always,” I say, my mood darkening. “She’s always giving me trouble.”
Another buzz.
His humor vanishes. “Trouble how?” I reach into my pocket for the pager.
Sir, should I tell Hugo to come back another time?
I type back a quick response: Seven minutes
I’d asked Castle to come and stay on campus for an extended period of time, and I’d made this ask for a number of reasons: because the comms are currently unreliable; because I want his thoughts on several pressing issues; because his perspective and experience have always proven valuable; and because, for reasons I can’t fully explain to myself, I want him around right now.
I take a tight breath.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I tell him, nodding at the exit. In tacit agreement we move through the stacks toward the door, and Castle glances my way as we go.
I sense his nerves.
“Did something else happen in the time it took me to catch a flight?” he asks.
“Yes.” I reach for the handle, the bell ringing softly as I push it open. I stand aside, holding the door so Castle can exit before I do, and as he passes he pauses to face me.
He gives me a loaded look.
“Should I be worried?” he says. “Did you shoot James again? Or wait, did the girl escape again?” He hesitates. “Her name is Rosabelle, right?”
“No, she didn’t escape,” I tell him. “Yes, her name is Rosabelle. I’ll explain everything on the way down.” I follow him out the door, the bell chiming again as we exit onto the sidewalk. “And then I’d like you to speak with her father.”