Dissonance (23 page)

“I don't understand.” Except I did. Echoes needed their Originals to survive, but not the reverse. I stared at the marble slab. Sixth grade. The cancer diagnosis. She'd beaten it then in the Key World, and lost to it here.

“She was sick,” he said, grief etched across his features as sharply as her name in the stone. “For a long time. And then she was gone.”

“I'm sorry.” Such small words for such a huge loss.

“She mattered,” he said. “I couldn't change it, but I was there. I still am.”

I nodded, feeling frantic. Feeling like an idiot for mourning a stranger when Simon was grieving for his mom.

Some things were constants. His mother's illness must be one of Simon's. Cancer wasn't a choice. From the minute the first cell turned malignant, every Echo that had sprung up carried the
disease within her. The only difference between worlds would be how she treated it.

He stared at the headstone. “That family you saw today . . . Do you really think they would have rather never had him? They made him happy, and he did the same for them. That time mattered more than anything.” He met my eyes. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Whatever I'd learned from the Consort crumbled away under the force of his certainty.

I couldn't help wondering about the real Simon, the one I was supposed to see tomorrow. The one with shadows under his eyes for no reason, and sadness in his voice at odd moments. What if this was his truth, too?

If his mom was sick again, people would know. The whole community had pulled together to help them before; they would do it again. Simon might not confide in me—he'd barely known I existed three weeks ago—but surely he would have told
someone.
Word would have gotten out.

It struck me that I'd never heard anyone talk about Simon's father, even during the year his mom had been so sick. “Who do you live with now?” I asked. “Your dad?”

His eyebrows snapped together, face darkening. “I wouldn't even know where to find him.”

“He doesn't know?”

“He doesn't deserve to know. I can take care of myself.”

“I believe you,” I said, noting the hardness in his eyes, the lines of sadness around his mouth. He'd tried to take care of me, too. “Thanks for not trying to cheer me up with a bunch
of stupid sayings. Most people would have.”

There. A hint of the same cocky grin I'd seen so many times. “I am not most people.”

“No,” I agreed solemnly. “You're better.”

It never ceased to amaze me that his Echoes could be so different, and yet the same in essentials: self-assured, perceptive, challenging. And if I was being honest with myself, hot.

My cheeks heated. He'd told me something tragic and private, trying to make me feel less alone, and I responded by wondering what it would be like to kiss him. If there was a hell, I thought, looking out at the tilted, time-worn graves, I was definitely going there.

Addie's voice rang out again, even closer. She must have been tracking my signature. “I really should go.”

He frowned. “You keep saying that.”

I paused. “Do I?”

“Don't you?” He shook his head like he was trying to clear it, and tore a page out of the sketchbook. “Here. For perspective.”

It was a rough sketch of me, my back pressed against the bark of the tree, leaves drifting around me. The lines were too strong and sparse for prettiness, but the girl he'd drawn was striking, the kind of girl people noticed.

“I don't look like that. It's great—it's beyond great—but it isn't me.”

“Perspective,” he said again, with another grin.

I searched for the words to thank him, not only for the sketch, but for seeing me this way. Words seemed inadequate.
“I don't have anything to—” I broke off, pulled out the origami paper, and swiftly folded a pale yellow star. If I was going to leave a trail, I wanted it to lead here.

I held it out to him, and he took it between thumb and forefinger, inspecting it carefully. “People used to navigate by the stars,” he said.

“That's because they're true.” There were worlds where you couldn't see the stars, where light pollution or smog obscured them from view—but they were constant, no matter where we Walked.

Maybe Simon was the same.

M
ONTY PATTED MY
arm as I rejoined them. “Feeling better?”

I lifted a shoulder. Whatever Addie saw in my face must have convinced her to hold off on the lecture, because she was silent the rest of the trip home.

Monty lagged behind us, and I dropped back, keeping him company.

“Do you think Echoes are real?” I asked after a block and a half.

His shoes scuffed through leaves. “Do you?”

“They can't survive on their own. They aren't born—they're generated when the Echo forms. They don't even notice a cleaving.”

“Sounds like you've got it figured out,” he said.

“They feel real,” I said, thinking of Doughnut Simon. “Their choices make pivots. They have feelings, and memories.”

“What's bothering you, Delancey?”

A million things, but I picked the most baffling. “I keep seeing Simon. Not every time we Walk, but often. I saw him today, after the terminal Echo.”

“You've said it yourself. We Walk in the same areas. It's natural to run into similarities between Echoes.”

I lowered my voice. “Is it natural for his Echo to see me without direct contact? Or to know my name?” I'd been too caught up in our graveyard conversation to give it more thought, but he'd seen me before we touched; known my name before I'd given it.

Monty slowed his pace, putting even more distance between Addie and us. “The multiverse is infinite,” he said. “But it's not all chaos. There are patterns and connections running through the very heart of it, crossing the Key World and spreading out into the Echoes, and those connections are like music. They give meaning to what we do.”

“You think Simon and I are connected?”

“Could be. A person's life is made up of many strands. Who's to say yours and his aren't interwoven?”

The idea thrilled me more than I wanted to admit. It wasn't sensible, but neither was the way we kept meeting. Monty's words explained so much.

Monty continued, wheezing as we turned up the front walk. “I'm not a physicist, Del. I'm an old man with too much time to think. But maybe the universe has an affinity for you and Simon. Maybe it's written in the stars, same as Rose and me.” He hummed a song, so faintly I couldn't make out the tune. “That's how I know I'll find her again.”

•  •  •

Once inside, Addie gave Monty a muffin, and he wandered to the front room. I could hear him noodling around on the piano,
a loose improvisation, but it somehow managed to capture the frequency of the world we'd been to.

“It's an awful lesson,” Addie said, taking a seat. “Shaw usually waits until right before graduation to cover it.”

“Good to know I'm ahead of the game.” The words came out thin and bitter as boiled coffee.

“That wasn't the reason I took you there. I'm really sorry, Del.”

“It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.”

“I could have prepared you better.”

I remembered the pain in Simon's voice when he'd told me about his mom. Knowing he would lose her hadn't made her death easier, just difficult in a different way.

There was a knock at the front door, and she jumped up. “Lattimer.”

“You get the door,” I said. “I'll handle Monty.”

She nodded and dashed down the hallway. I followed behind.

Monty was sitting at the piano, the empty muffin wrapper lying on the bench.

“Do we have a visitor?” he asked.

“Promise you'll be good,” I said. Behind me, Addie opened the door.

“Statements like that raise my blood pressure. Who—” He broke off as Lattimer entered. “What's he doing here?”

“Checking up on your granddaughter. I'm a man of my word, Montrose. You remember.”

Monty shrank back, as if the words were a threat. I said,
“Why don't we get a snack while Addie and the councilman talk?”

“Something to keep up your strength,” agreed Lattimer. “It's Addison I want to speak with.”

I herded Monty into the kitchen, set him up with a bottle of root beer and a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels. “I know you hate him, but please don't make things worse. I need the Consort to let me back in.”

“Nonsense. Best thing in the world would be for you to get away from him.”

“Not if I want to Walk,” I said. “Stay put, okay? I want to hear what they're saying.”

He craned his neck, trying to look down the hallway, and then slumped down in his version of a sulk. “Watch yourself. He's a slippery one.”

“But that's not covered until apprenticeship,” Addie was saying in the living room. “It won't be on the final exam. Besides, Del only started isolating break threads this week.”

Talking back to a member of the Consort? It was as if an Echo Addie had overtaken her.

Lattimer's voice was steely. “You said she mastered isolations quickly. If that's true, it makes sense to accelerate her training.”

“I thought Del's was a punishment,” Addie said.

“She appears to have a native talent that could prove useful, in light of the current situation. We'd be foolish not to take advantage of it.”

“The current situation?” I asked, abandoning my attempt at eavesdropping.

Councilman Lattimer's lips stretched over his teeth, his version of a smile. “The anomaly your parents are working on? It's classified, but I presumed Addison, at least, would have pieced it together by now.”

Addie flushed and stammered, and I cut in. “She's been kind of busy. Maybe you should unsuspend me, and she can help you out instead.”

“The Consort could also revisit your sentencing,” he said. “I'm sure you're aware of the usual punishment for unsanctioned cleavings.”

I was: a life term in an oubliette. I ducked my head and stayed silent.

Lattimer focused on Addie again. “Your work so far has been exemplary. I hope you'll continue in that vein, now that I've made my expectations clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Someone with your talent and drive could go quite far with the proper backing.” His pale eyes lingered on the arch above the kitchen door. “Your grandfather seems to be improving.”

“The Walks are good for him,” Addie said. “They give him something to look forward to.”

“That's wonderful to hear,” Lattimer said. “He's taken a hand in planning the lessons? Any particular favorites he's shown you?”

“Not really,” I said. “Addie runs the show. Monty goes wherever she says.”

Addie tensed at the obvious lie, but Lattimer didn't seem to notice.

“Perhaps you should let him do more, not less. I'd be curious to know how he gets on. Be sure to tell him I said good-bye.”

When Addie had shut—and locked—the door, I said, “I don't like him.”

“Shhhhh!”

“He's halfway down the block by now,” I pointed out. “What does he want you to do?”

“You were listening in,” she said. “I'm more interested in the anomaly Mom and Dad are working on. How am I supposed to know what it is when they won't talk?”

“They've told us plenty,” I said. “They're tracking something, because Mom wanted Eliot's map software, and it's local, because Dad's teams are meeting here. They're using the Consort computers, which means they're either dealing with one really big problem, or a bunch of small ones.”

“Or both,” she said, motioning me into the living room and lowering her voice. “I'll tell you what else: They're not having any luck. They've got teams from all over the world running around headquarters. It's been weeks now, and nobody's acting like they're heading home soon. Security is crazy strict. Closed-door meetings, reassignments. Every door's got a key reader now, even the areas that used to be open access. I don't know why it's classified. Everyone knows something's up.”

“But they don't know how bad,” I said. “The Consort's keeping it classified so people don't freak out.”

“Well, that's comforting.”

“Ironic, isn't it?” In the kitchen, Monty's chair scraped and the freezer door whooshed. He was hunting for ice cream again. “You know what the weirdest thing is?”

Addie straightened the sheet music scattered across the piano. “You and I are getting along?”

“Aside from that. If the Consort's dealing with a huge, complicated, potentially disastrous problem, why the hell is Lattimer personally monitoring my suspension? Why is he accelerating my training?”

“And why does he care what Monty's doing?” she asked. “Lattimer shouldn't be interested in either one of you.”

“Maybe he thinks Monty can help them?”

“I don't see how. Besides, Monty would never agree to help the Consort.” She paused. “Lattimer must think he'll confide in you.”

“And you'll report back.” She looked pensive, and I added, “Which you won't, because it would be totally crappy to spy on our grandfather.”

She didn't say anything.

“Addie?”

She wrapped a lock of reddish-gold hair around her finger, unwound it again. “Whatever they're working on, it's serious. If Monty knows something, we have an obligation to help find it.”

“You'd sell him out to Lattimer?”

“I would do what I'm sworn to do: protect the Key World. And if you really want to be a Walker, you will too.” She shook
her head, pale and determined. “I'm going to get ready for tomorrow's Walk.” The one Lattimer had assigned.