I smile at his casualness. On TV is an image of the crowd-filled courtyard outside. The Flawed have all sat down on the cobblestones and are whistling. A sit-down protest. Members of the public are visible at the gates, whistling, too; the crowds have grown since Crevan announced the Reduction of the Flawed plan. Whistleblowers surround the Flawed with their riot gear, but the Flawed aren’t giving them any trouble.
Raphael Angelo turns around, probably seeing our reflections in his glass cage. He smiles when he sees me, offers me a thumbs-up. I go to return the gesture, but the Whistleblowers act like I’m about to throw a grenade. They grab my hands and twist them behind my back. I shout out in pain, bend over as they contort my body into an unnatural position.
“Home, sweet home,” one of the guards says as we stop before my old cell. It hasn’t changed at all since the last time I was here. Apart from one thing. I step inside and see Granddad.
“Granddad!” I say, running into his open arms and hugging him tightly, as though my life depends on it. “Are you okay?” I pull away quickly and examine him, my hands on his face, turning his cheeks this way and that to get a good look at him, to make sure they haven’t harmed him.
“I’m all right, I’m all right,” he says, pulling me into a hug again, and I see tears in his eyes. “I thought I burned you alive,” he says, whispering fearfully. “As long as I live I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.”
“You didn’t burn me, though, did you?” I hold him tight. “I’m here.”
“But I didn’t know until the next day. I couldn’t be sure … I keep seeing myself drop the flame on top of you. At night when I’m sleeping here, I hear your screams.” He hugs me tighter.
“Granddad, I’m here. You didn’t hurt me.” I lower my voice so that the guards don’t hear. “You saved me. Remember that. I wouldn’t have escaped if it weren’t for you.”
He kisses me on the head, and I feel his body trembling.
“Tell me what’s been going on,” I say, trying to get him to focus. “Why have they kept you here? They can’t hold you here without any reasons.”
“Ah,” he says tiredly. “Every day there is a new reason they’re looking into.”
“That’s enough,” the guard says roughly. “Time’s up.”
Granddad is immediately resigned to the order. He’s been here four days, he knows it’s not worth the fight.
“I want more time with my granddad,” I say, but they ignore me.
The guards hold him firmly and take him to the cell beside Raphael’s, diagonal to mine. Despite his defeated air, something I have never seen in him before, Granddad looks good, clean-shaven, healthy. The facilities here are excellent—he has been well cared for, just confined for longer than necessary. He has had too long with his thoughts, and my heart breaks at his broken spirit.
I finally look to the cell adjoining mine, having a sudden ridiculous romantic pining for the man I’ve fallen in love with. I know it’s ridiculous to want Carrick to be here in captivity with me, because he’s out in the real world, in relative freedom, but this is where we met, and I’ve never been in this room without him.
I blink, thinking my eyes are deceiving me. Showing me what I want instead of the reality. But the vision doesn’t change.
Carrick is there. Standing at the glass, looking at me.
There’s bruising around his right eye. I freeze, unable to believe it. Is it my imagination or is he really here?
“Sorry,” he mouths, looking defeated.
“Took your boyfriend in this morning. Just like old times now, isn’t it?” The guards laugh as they leave me and lock the door behind me.
I rush to the glass and put my hand on the pane.
We’re back to where we started, only it’s not good enough now. I know what his touch feels like, I know what his voice sounds like, I know how he smells. And this thing between us that separated us but linked us before is not good enough now.
He was supposed to be safe. This wasn’t part of the plan.
I kick the glass and scream.
SIXTY-THREE
I’M NOT ALONE in my cell for long. Judge Crevan, Judge Sanchez, and Judge Jackson and a man in a crumpled white linen suit, with a gray goatee and a bad sunburn, enter. The judges are in their red cloaks, the Guild crests on their chests. The Purveyors of Perfection have all graced me with their presence.
They march toward me in single file, on a mission, like a little army, their folders under their arms. Judge Sanchez looks like she’s going to be ill and looks at me with wide, alarmed eyes.
This should be interesting.
Immediately Carrick, Granddad, and Raphael all stand to watch. My backup even if they’re separated by glass, but their presence guides me. The guard unlocks the door for the judges, they stream in, and then the guard stands in the corner.
“You can leave,” Crevan instructs the guard, who looks a little put out at being dismissed.
“Sit, Celestine,” Crevan says. He looks tired. Older. I’ve aged him and I’m glad.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Jesus, Celestine.” He slams his hand down, which makes the man with the bad tan jump.
I smile.
“Can you just do one thing you’re told?”
“‘Stubbornness. Resisting change,’” I quote him.
He’s so clearly on the edge, I’m enjoying this. Judge Sanchez looks at him nervously, at me nervously. Am I going to tell on her? She’s probably wondering.
“I heard what you did to my sister, Juniper.” I look him dead in the eye, both of us knowing it was me he captured on the top of the summit. “Do the other judges know, too?”
Jackson is clearly aware of this and looks at Crevan with annoyance. “It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, though I understand you and your sister have been mistaken for each other before.”
“And what about Logan, Colleen, Gavin, and Natasha? Who did you mistake them for?”
Jackson looks at Crevan; maybe it’s an answer he’d like to hear for himself.
Crevan is cool as anything. “They, and the guards, were helping me and a special team of Whistleblowers with my investigation into your whereabouts. We take evaders seriously in the Guild.”
His coolness makes me fear he’ll get away with what he’s done, despite Mom arriving with a police officer, a lawyer, and a newspaper editor, despite them finding missing teenagers, my innocent sister, drugged guards, a journalist, and a lawyer. He could get away with it all over again.
“Perhaps I could speak with Celestine on my own for a moment,” Sanchez says suddenly.
“Why?” Jackson asks.
“Woman-to-woman. I know that Judge Crevan and Celestine have a personal history that makes their communication difficult.”
“All the same, I’d rather stay in the meeting,” Jackson says. “And I’m sure Judge Crevan would, too. Perhaps if we agree to do the talking and, Judge, you can take a backseat on this one.”
This request angers Crevan.
Judge Sanchez looks at me. “There are things that Celestine and I had the opportunity to talk about before, shortly after her branding, that I’m hoping still stand.”