James 33
James
I wake up with a start.
I keep fading in and out of something like delirium, my arms flexing around the soft weight of Rosabelle’s sleeping body, her hair glimmering in the moonlight. I’m so heavy with relief and exhaustion I feel like I’ve been dragged under a dark tide.
I tilt my head back against the wall.
A cold breeze feathers around me, cooling my head. I’m still a little dizzy from my efforts to revive Rosabelle, and as I blink against the darkness, stark reality comes back to me in a series of remembered sounds and images, fear tightening my chest.
I keep reminding myself Rosabelle is here.
With me.
I never want to let her go.
Disruptive sounds from beyond the house have faded out. Crickets are chirping loudly again; car alarms have quieted. Damage has been done; but nothing appears to be serious.
Something strange happened tonight.
I still don’t know what.
I still need to clean the blood from Rosabelle’s body. I need to wash this blood off my own hands. I need to get her something clean to wear. I need to let her sleep for the rest of the night.
I need to give myself another minute.
I’m lightheaded.
I look up at the night sky, then release a breath as I scan the room. Nazeera’s house is slightly wrecked; I wonder how everyone else is doing. I wonder what my own house is like. How Warner and Juliette are doing. I wonder how Adam is doing.
Man, Adam must’ve been terrified. I hope he and Alia and the kids are all right.
Things like this never happen inside The Waffle.
The protections Warner built around this place are so classified only a few of us even know all the details.
The public has no idea that this campus is enclosed in an electromagnetic sphere fifty thousand feet in diameter.
Half of it lives underground. It encompasses our headquarters, all our laboratories—the nucleus of the resistance.
When it comes to Juliette’s safety, Warner doesn’t take chances.
Castle’s daughter, Nouria, helped build this shield.
She has the power to control and engineer light waves; she once built a similar protective force around her own rebel headquarters.
Brendan helped build this. Brendan—who we don’t talk about anymore, who broke Winston’s heart—can manipulate electricity like a live wire.
Juliette helped build this. Juliette, who can activate her strength in so powerful a way as to make herself invulnerable.
A bunch of our old friends came together to create this shield for us; their DNA was written into the heart of it. And everything was reinforced by tech we stole from The Reestablishment, creating a barrier so powerful it’s meant to resist just about anything—
The front door opens with an unnecessary slam.
Rosabelle flinches against me.
I hold her closer, drawing my hand over her head as Nazeera barrels into the house. My adrenaline is so depleted I don’t even have the energy to summon alarm. I just want to sleep.
“James?” Nazeera is rushing through rooms like a badger. “James, where are you? Are you still here?”
“I’m here,” I say quietly. My voice is rough.
“We’ve been paging you but there was no answer so we figured you were—”
She comes to a sudden stop in front of me, and even in this hazy light, she looks like she ran here. She glances at me, then at Rosabelle in my arms, then back at me.
Her astonishment is palpable.
“What the hell?” she says. “Am I dreaming right now? Is this what déjà vu feels like?”
Interestingly, she doesn’t seem concerned with the state of her house. The broken windows. The glass everywhere. The empty, gaping cabinets.
I sigh.
“I’m serious,” she says. “Weren’t you sitting in this room—against that exact same wall—with Rosabelle asleep in your arms, like, a week ago?”
“What’s going on, Nazeera?” I say, feeling suddenly worse than exhausted. “What new disaster do we have to clean up? Did they blow up another hospital wing? Did we discover some new double agent? More suspicious activity at the docks?”
“Why are you holding her like that?” she asks. “Why didn’t you come back to the house with Warner?” She takes a step toward me, then rears back. “Oh my God, why are you both covered in blood?”
“Warner didn’t tell you what happened?”
“Warner’s been busy.”
“The windows shattered in the blast,” I say, my head rocking back against the wall. “A pane of glass nearly severed her throat.”
“Holy shit.” Nazeera’s eyes widen. “I didn’t realize Rosabelle was with you today.”
“What?” I frown. “She wasn’t with me. If she’d been with me this never would’ve happened. When I walked in I found her like this.”
“Dead?” Nazeera gasps, almost lifting a hand to her mouth. “You found her dead? Oh my God, is that why you’re here all alone in the dark?” She looks stricken. “James, please don’t tell me you’re sitting in the dark holding her like that because she’s dead—”
“She’s not dead,” I say thickly. “She’s sleeping.”
Nazeera hesitates. “Oh.”
“I healed her,” I explain.
“Oh,” she says again, but now she looks confused. “Wow. So, kind of a weird day for you.”
I make a sound of disbelief.
Kind of a weird day for you.
This is where I get my warped sense of reality: from my own family.
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “It’s been kind of a weird day. You want to tell me what the hell happened tonight?”
At that, Nazeera’s shoulders release. She turns away, but it’s clear she’s trying to hide an enormous smile.
I don’t know what’s wrong with her.
“So much happened tonight,” she says. “This whole day has been sort of surreal.” She returns her eyes to me. “Kenji and I talked, by the way. I did what you said; I told him the things I told you. And some other things, too. We’ve been talking on and off all day, actually. A lot.”
I raise my eyebrows. A few pieces of glass come loose from Rosabelle’s hair and fall to the floor with a soft clatter. The sounds echo between us.
“Really,” I deadpan.
She blinks at me, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s been kind of amazing.”
Rosabelle makes a soft sound, a murmur against my chest, and I seize up for a second, my hand stilling against her head. My heart kicks into high gear again. I want to get Rosabelle out of this dark, depressing pit of a house. I want to take her somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.
I want to be alone with her.
“Well,” I say, fighting to take a full breath. “I’m happy to hear things are going well for you.” My voice is shredded, but I mean it.
I also think Nazeera has lost her mind.
I nod at the house, the general state of things. “So, uh, aside from the developments in your love life, what the hell is going on?”
“Yes—sorry—right.” She gives herself a little shake. “It’s just been the craziest night. At first it was terrifying, you know? But then, I don’t know, somehow it all worked out. Everything has been so unexpected and beautiful.” Her eyes soften. “My head is still spinning.”
I frown.
I glance around the room again, at the rain of detritus, the jagged, blown-out windows, the cabinet doors hanging from their hinges. Rosabelle, bloody in my arms.
“Nazeera,” I say quietly. “Are you on drugs?”
“Yes! What?” She startles. “No, of course not!”
“All right, you know what, I’m too tired for this,” I say, closing my eyes. “Tell me what the hell is happening or finish out your head trip somewhere else.”
Her enthusiasm fades. “I am not on drugs.”
“Prove it.” My eyes open. “Form a coherent sentence.”
“Fine,” she says, straightening. “I came to tell you—Well.” She deflates again. “Look, Warner didn’t mention that you weren’t alone. He asked me to come here and get you, but I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with her.” She nods in my direction.
“Who?” I stiffen. “Rosabelle?” My arms tighten around her instinctively.
“We could leave her in my room?” Nazeera says. “I’ve got a mattress in there.” Then, hesitating: “Actually, I don’t know. She’s all bloody, and I only have one set of sheets. Maybe I could lay down a tarp? I think I have one somewhere—”
“A tarp?” Anger flashes through me. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not leaving her on a fucking tarp. I’m not leaving her anywhere.”
“Well, I don’t think you can bring her with us.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” She makes a face. “Don’t you think it would be weird? I think it would be weird.”
“What would be weird?” I argue. “Why would it be weird? Where are we going?”
Nazeera crosses her arms. “Why are you so mad?”
“Are you joking?” I ask, fighting to lower my voice. “She nearly died tonight, Nazeera, and I’m still fucked up over it. So if you want me to put her down, you’re going to have to kill me first, and then you can try prying her out of my cold dead arms.”
Nazeera falls silent. Processing.
“Fine,” she says on an exhale. “Whatever. You can explain it to him yourself.”
“Explain what to who?”
“Warner.”
“Warner already knows what happened.”
“No, no—I—James—” Her face breaks into that weird smile again. Almost weepy. “This is bigger than that. So much better. I still kind of can’t believe it.”
“What? Jesus. What is it?”
“It’s a girl,” she says softly.