Chapter 20 James
James
“All right,” Kenji says, “let’s take a vote.”
“A vote?” Warner frowns. “When have I ever given you the impression that this was a democracy?”
“About ten years ago?” Kenji says, without missing a beat. “Remember? We did a whole revolution? You were there. You were
all, Ew, fascists—”
“I never agreed to allow an uninformed majority to overrule my judgment on matters within my purview.”
“Technically”—Kenji cringes—“you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.
“No,” Warner says firmly. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you—”
“This is a dumb idea,” I say for the third time, banging my head lightly against the window casing. This meeting has only
intensified my nerves. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my own skin. “You can’t just release her into her father’s custody.”
“I didn’t ask you for your opinion,” Warner says to me. “You’re lucky even to be here.”
“You mean you’re lucky I saved you from making a huge mistake?” I push away from the window to look at him. “You’re welcome.”
“James—”
“Look, I’ve acknowledged a thousand times now that I was stupid to bring her here. I messed up—I really messed up—and I’m
sorry. But you messed up by shutting me out, too. I nearly killed myself trying to get you to listen to me, and now we’ve
got under seven weeks before something terrible happens and we still don’t know what it is—and you still won’t listen to me.”
“I will not discharge her from observation,” Warner says coldly. “Not until we finalize a plan for her transfer and containment.”
“Observation?” I’m nearly blind with fury. “You put her in a fucking coma!”
“She needs to be restrained,” he counters with terrifying calm. “One way or another, she needs to be forcibly controlled.
This girl is one of the greatest flight risks we’ve ever had to deal with, and I refuse to jeopardize the lives of our soldiers
and the safety of our citizens by hunting her across the city every time she decides to run. The damage she did to the airbase
alone will take weeks to repair, and the costs—”
“So this is your big plan, then?” I say, tensing. “Keep her half-dead until you can arrange for a twenty-year-old assassin
to move into her dad’s house? A dad she doesn’t know? A dad she doesn’t trust?”
“Okay, I hate to admit it,” says Kenji, “but James is right.”
“Why do you hate to admit it?” I ask him. “Why is it so hard to acknowledge that I might have a good idea?”
“If you really want him to answer that, we’ll need to schedule another meeting,” Warner says coldly. “It might take a few hours.”
“Now you’re just being a jackass.”
“Wow.” Kenji stares at me. “You know what, I honestly don’t know whether to be impressed with you or concerned for you. Either
way”—he taps his head, then points at me—“something’s not fully cooked upstairs.”
“What?” I turn to him. “What are you talking about?”
“You have zero sense of self-preservation,” Kenji says in amazement. “What more does this man have to do to scare the shit
out of you? Keep talking to him like that and he’s going to shoot you in the other leg—”
Juliette shifts in bed and we all freeze, heads turning in tandem to look at her. She goes still mid-motion, her hands hovering
above her bump, dark hair grazing her waist.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing,” says Kenji too quickly. But the truth is, every time she so much as moves a muscle everyone freaks out a little.
She flashes us a tired smile, then rests her head against Warner’s shoulder, blinking softly.
He doesn’t normally sit on the bed during these unconventional meetings. Usually he hovers nearby, or perches on the edge.
I get it; it’s a little weird arguing hard facts while sinking into a soft mattress with your pregnant wife curled up beside
you. But today, he’s sitting right next to her.
In his socks.
Every week we try to have at least one or two meetings at the house, a practice we started a few months ago when the doctors really began restricting Juliette’s movement.
We used to sit in the living room, but that was before she started avoiding the stairs.
I’m sure Warner never thought so many people would spend this much time in their bedroom. He probably hates it.
I really like it.
It’s cozy in here. Good light, lush fabrics, comfortable seating. Big windows overlooking the backyard. Warner’s constantly
bringing her flowers and changing out the vases, so it always feels nice and smells good. It’s also maybe not a surprise to
learn that he cleans his own house meticulously. Maybe everyone else is ready to piss their pants when Warner speaks, but
when I see him I’m picturing the guy who spent a free Saturday afternoon cleaning out his kitchen cabinets. He does his wife’s
laundry. He likes to iron. For years he’s dragged me out of bed at an ungodly hour because he’s decided I need to learn how
to clean the gutters or pressure-wash the driveway or run ten miles uphill. I once watched him intently read an oven manual
from cover to cover.
And I’ve never been able to get him to admit this out loud, but considering the fact that I personally assisted Warner with
the landscaping out back, I can say with conviction that he planted dozens of rosebushes strategically, so they’d be visible
from this room when in bloom. Even now, in this coastal winter, the artfully designed scenes outside the window are green
and idyllic.
The man is an incurable romantic.
“Really, I’m fine,” Juliette says to the room, answering the unspoken question. “I swear.” She stifles a yawn, then makes a motion with her hand, like shooing a cat. “Keep arguing.”
Kenji clears his throat lightly, looking uncomfortable. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” she says, pinching a worn paperback out from under her leg. She leans forward to slide it onto her nightstand,
and Warner automatically braces her.
We all seem to take the same, sudden breath.
I exchange a glance with Kenji, whose jaw tightens. Maybe Warner’s just being overprotective, but Juliette’s never needed
support for simple movements. The doctors say she’s not supposed to do anything strenuous, but her bed rest isn’t otherwise
hugely restrictive. She’s allowed to be up and moving for brief periods to use the bathroom and shower and attend to small
tasks. Warner tries to get back to the house as much as possible—and the rest of us are all on a sort of tacit rotation—but
she’s often alone for stretches of time. It’s never been an issue.
I wonder if things are getting worse.
Juliette seems weaker than I’ve seen her all these months, which is really saying something. The girls have been working with
the doctors to monitor her progress, administering various methods of healing at increasing intervals—but I don’t really know
what’s happening.
And I’m worried.
Not only am I a little clueless about pregnancy in general, but Juliette has a unique set of complications causing her problems I don’t totally understand.
She was purpose-built by her parents for use as an experimental weapon; she’d been nearly forcibly sterilized in the pursuit of generating one of the most powerful supernatural gifts I’ve ever seen.
Everything about her is designed to kill.
Not only is Juliette’s touch lethal, but she has the ability to project that lethal power across distances. She also has an
insane superstrength that, when properly wielded, can render her physically invulnerable.
I have a feeling her body can’t decide whether to protect the baby or kill it.
And her, by extension.
“Please don’t make it weird,” she says with a laugh. “I mean it. This is the most entertainment I’ve had all day.” She makes
another shooing motion. “Seriously. Go back to yelling at each other.”
“Well,” says Kenji, looking suddenly stressed. “In that case, I was just saying I think James has a point here.”
“Right.” I cross my arms, trying to act like anything about this situation is normal. “Thank you.”
“But Warner has a point, too,” he says, raising an eyebrow at me. “We need Rosabelle, but we can’t trust Rosabelle.” He tilts
his head one way, then the other. “We need to wake her up, but we have to make sure she wakes up in a secure location—”
“I have a question,” Juliette says, stifling another yawn. She lifts her hand like she’s in class. “Why can’t Rosabelle just
go back to prison? I feel like maybe I’m missing a key piece of information here.”
Before anyone can answer her, Warner adjusts his body, angling his shoulder so that her head settles more comfortably against his chest. He then strokes her hair in a movement so natural it feels intrusive to watch—except he doesn’t even seem to be aware he’s doing it.
He’s too busy trying to mask a look of abject terror, his throat working as he draws his hand down the side of her head, his thumb grazing the curve of her cheek.
Upon closer inspection, Warner looks like he might be on the verge of a breakdown.
Juliette’s eyes flutter, then fall closed.
Warner lowers his head to her ear. “Are you tired, love?” he whispers. “Do you want us to leave?”
She forces her eyes back open, her hand rising to his chest, resting there a moment. “No, no, I want to know what’s happening.”
She offers us a smile. “All I ever do is sleep these days.”
“Can I get you anything?” Nazeera asks, her voice tight with concern. It’s the first time she’s spoken in several minutes.
She’s leaning against the wall in a far corner, about as far from Kenji as the room will allow. They’re both doing a passable
job of pretending to be normal.
Juliette smiles at her. “You’ve been an angel,” she says. “And you’ve already done so much. Thank you. I’m okay. Really.”
She turns to the group, beaming. “Actually, I have some good news. I’m officially thirty-seven weeks tomorrow, which is the
milestone everyone’s been hoping I’d reach. That means no more bed rest for me.”
No one manages to match her enthusiasm.
“Really?” says Kenji cautiously. “Is it safe for you to be running around?”
“Well, I won’t be running anywhere,” she says, her smile fading a little. “I’m still supposed to take it easy, but the doctors
think it’ll be good for me to walk around again. Get some fresh air.” She looks up at Warner, her eyes teasing. “Maybe we
can go on a date.”
“Of course,” he says automatically.
But the room has fallen quiet.
Warner’s gone very, very still; he’s got that glassy, faraway look in his eyes, his hand frozen on her head.
Shit.
“Honestly, I’m offended you’re still willing to have his baby,” I say to her. “You don’t even seem upset with him. He should
be sleeping on the couch.”
Warner snaps out of his stupor to look up at me.
That’s a little better.
“What?” I say, crossing my arms. I nod at Juliette. “Your shitty husband shot me in the leg and you didn’t even divorce him.
Where’s your loyalty?”
Warner’s eyes harden, taking on a shocked anger that says he might kill me for real. Like, actually for real.
Maybe that was a little too much. Shouldn’t have used the word divorce, probably.
Juliette settles back against him, then takes his hand in hers and squeezes, like she knows he’s freaking out, and then she
grins at me, like she knows what I’m doing.
“I was upset at first,” she says, overlooking the fact that I used the word divorce in front of Warner. “But then I heard you insulted him multiple times in front of an entire unit. I love you, James, but I would’ve shot you, too.”
“Wow.” I lean against the window. “Nice. You two were made for each other.”
Warner visibly unclenches.
A little.
“So, why can’t Rosabelle go back to supermax?” Juliette asks. She tries to sit up. “Why is it so hard to find somewhere to
put her?”
“Because she knows how to break out of our prisons,” I explain. “Her escape from supermax wasn’t luck. It was premeditated
strategy.”
Juliette’s eyes light with understanding, then dim with concern. “Because it was built by The Reestablishment,” she says.
I nod. “She told me she spent hundreds of hours of sim training breaking out of every single one of our prisons. Which means
traditional incarceration is no longer an option.”
“I still can’t believe she told you that,” says Nazeera, shaking her head as she pushes off the wall. “That’s critical information
about The Reestablishment’s access and reach here on the mainland. Information we’re using now to better detain her—to derail
her from her own objectives. Why expose a weakness? What was her angle?”
I shrug. “I think she was just really confident she’d escape and never see me again.”
Nazeera frowns. “That doesn’t explain why she’d confide in you. I know you guys have a kind of tenuous alliance, but you’re still on opposing sides, still fighting for your own causes. Why would she share things with you that might put her own interests in danger?”
The question is loaded.
Everyone turns to look at me.