Chapter 27 James
James
Rosabelle gasps. Draws back.
Looking into her eyes turns me into an idiot in an instant. It’s amazing. An alchemical process. It should be studied. I’ve
actually forgotten how to speak. I feel like I’ve been fighting for my life, like I need to convalesce. I can still feel the
impression of her lips on my throat. The scent of her is in my head. Under my skin.
I can’t breathe deeply enough.
She’s giving me that look, that half-lidded, dizzying look. Her eyes are slightly glazed, still burning off the haze of dreams,
her face flushed with the heat of sleep. Her cheek is faintly creased with an imprint of my shirt.
I stare at the soft, red mark.
My head goes hot as I take her in, my eyes sweeping across her features, lingering at her mouth. My arms are still wrapped
around her, her silky hair streaming down her back, grazing my hands. My heart is working too hard to be subtle about what’s
happening in my body. I feel her own fears rising; I can practically touch the connection between us. She looks disoriented
and dazed, but she doesn’t try to move out of my arms.
She takes another sharp breath, this time nearly sitting upright in the process, and the stark movement is so obvious everyone reacts at the same time. There’s a rush of motion as Winston, Nazeera, and Adam turn fully to face us, but I can’t look away from Rosabelle.
I’m frozen.
“Hey,” I say softly, searching her eyes.
My hand moves to the back of her head automatically, bracing her as she looks up at me. “You’re not in danger, okay? You’re
safe. Everything is fine.”
She exhales; her eyes close. I watch her wet her lips. I feel like I’m not fully in my body.
Rosabelle’s hand is pressed to my chest.
“Welcome back,” Nazeera calls from the kitchen. “How was your nap?”
The interruption is like ice water.
Cold. Bracing.
I’m so grateful I nearly thank her out loud, but Rosabelle goes rigid at the sound of Nazeera’s voice, her eyes flying open
in horror.
“Yeah, welcome back,” says Winston. “I gave up my day off for this. I’m still waiting for the part where something exciting
happens.”
Rosabelle tries to push up, away from me, but it’s a half-hearted effort. I can feel the tremble in her body; the fatigue
she’s trying to mask.
“Hey,” I say, my hands sliding to her waist. “I’ve got you.”
It’s the smallest thing, the way she looks up at me then. The way she lets herself lean on me a little, lets me lever her
upright.
It leaves a dent in my chest.
Rosabelle sways slightly as she stands. She closes her eyes again, trying to steady herself, but when she opens them she looks
dizzy.
“What’s wrong with her?” says Winston. He pops another orange slice into his mouth.
“What do you think is wrong with her, genius?” I hit back. “She was dead for three days.”
“Yeah, but she seemed fine earlier,” Winston says, talking around the bite of orange. “Actually, she was perfectly fine before
you showed up. The minute you walked in she went weird.”
“Okay, asshole.”
“I’m serious—”
“Whatever.”
Rosabelle, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to be listening. I catch her looking intensely at Adam, who’s just standing there, staring
at us, paralyzed.
“This is the girl?” Adam says, his eyes on me. “This is the girl who slit your throat?”
“You’ve never seen her before?”
“No. I mean, yes, obviously.” He shakes his head. “Just—not like this. Not in, like, a normal environment.”
“Well.” I offer him a flat smile. “This is Rosabelle.”
“Isn’t she supposed to be in prison?”
“That’s old news,” says Winston. “Where have you been, anyway? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I was”—he blinks, absently shaking the keys in his hands—“we took the kids on a road trip—”
“So can I borrow the truck?” Nazeera asks.
“Whoa, wait, slow down,” I say. “We’re not going anywhere or doing anything until I feed Rosabelle.”
Rosabelle stiffens beside me.
I look at her, expecting her to protest, but she only stares at me with unguarded astonishment. When she finally looks away
without a fight, it actually scares me a little.
She must be starving.
“Sounds good to me,” says Winston. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You want to come with us?” Nazeera says to Adam. “We’re getting waffles.” She hesitates, then checks in with Winston. “Right?
Are we still doing breakfast for dinner? Or do you want pizza?”
“You’re just—” Adam falters. “Are you joking? You’re just going to take her out to dinner?”
“Warner didn’t say we had to keep her locked up in the house,” Nazeera points out. “She’s pretty contained in The Waffle,
and we have to feed her eventually.”
“Yeah, you heard James,” Winston says. “We have to feed her. Get her energy levels back up so she can finish murdering everyone.”
“She’s not going to murder anyone,” I say sharply. Then, hesitating, I look at Rosabelle. “Right?”
She nods.
“See?” Winston points at her. “She says no murdering. Let’s go. I’m starving. Tomorrow, we’re getting groceries.”
“And a couch,” Nazeera says. She looks at Adam. “Hey, can I keep your truck for a few days?”
“What the fuck kind of parallel universe have I just walked into?” he says, reeling. “Isn’t she a psychopath?”
“No,” I say. “She’s an assassin. Big difference.”
“Minor difference,” says Winston.
Adam blanches. “Oh my God,” he says, pushing his hands through his hair. “It’s happening again. I can’t believe I have to
live through this again—”
“Yeah.” Winston claps him on the shoulder. “Sorry. Try again next lifetime.”
“How can you just take her out in public?” Adam says, his hands falling to his sides. “What if people recognize her? What
if people realize who she is?”
“No one’s going to recognize her,” says Nazeera. “And anyone who does recognize her already knows to keep their mouth shut.
The subject is classified.”
“Yeah, but we should get her a change of clothes before we go,” says Winston, shrugging into his jacket. “Just to be safe.
The hospital gear is a little obvious and really bumming me out.”
Adam stares. “You’re not going to cuff her?”
“No way,” I say. “She’s not going to hurt anyone.”
“Ooh, we can always tell people she’s an old friend of mine,” Nazeera says, wrapping her shawl around her head. “Visiting.”
Winston scoffs. “No one will believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Where’s she supposed to be visiting from?” he asks, arching a brow. “Serial killer academy? She has the personality of a
wall.”
“All right, that’s enough,” I say angrily. “You don’t even know her.”
“How am I supposed to know her?” he counters. “She’s like a mini Warner. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t
eat. Her only personality trait is being a good murderer.”
“How can you admit that,” says Adam, “and still be willing to take her out to dinner?”
“I’m starved for entertainment,” says Winston.
“You’re all out of your minds.”
I sigh, turning to Rosabelle. “Look, no pressure or anything, but do you think you could say something? Just so they know
you’re capable of speech? You’re scaring people.”
There’s a shudder of sound, then absolute silence, as everyone turns to look at her.
Rosabelle goes inhumanly still.
Clearly, she doesn’t like the attention. I’m beginning to understand that she doesn’t like to be watched, period.
She takes a step back. I steady her.
She shakes her head at me. I tilt my head at her.
“Please?” I say quietly. “I just want everyone to know you’re not trying to kill them.”
Rosabelle holds my gaze a beat before looking away, and I can practically see her mind processing: sorting and analyzing reams
of data. It’s a second before she looks up, her eyes tight as she scans the group assembled before her. The tension is suddenly
weird and intense. No one is smiling, not even ironically. Everyone is waiting, hypnotized, to hear her speak.
She parts her lips.
Looks at me one last time.
“You can say whatever you want,” I tell her. “Really. It doesn’t have to be, like, a fun fact about yourself. No pressure.”
Slowly, she turns to the others.
Takes a breath.
She says, “There are undercover agents all over the continent planning to commit synchronized acts of terror against your
civilians over the course of the next several weeks. I don’t know how many there are, and I don’t know when these incidents
will occur. But you won’t be able to stop them. Your society has already been infiltrated. Your world is in danger. Your only
chance at success lies with me.” She lifts her chin. “You have to let me go home. Tonight. Or you will suffer the consequences.”