Dissonance (21 page)

Damn it.
He
was the break, same as at the reform school. This time I couldn't hide him from Addie. My mind raced, and he frowned. “You know what you want?”

For you to stabilize.
“A Coke, please.”

Bree's gaze shifted to me, and I could feel her annoyance from ten feet away, as clear as Simon's break.

He plucked the can from a cooler and handed it over, melting ice dripping over our hands. “Buck fifty.”

“Thanks.” I threw the money on the counter and fled back to Addie.

“You didn't do anything,” she said.

“He's the break. It's not the counter or the cash box. It's him.”

She barely looked up from her map. “So? Go back there and isolate the threads.”

My heartbeat quieted. If Addie thought it was no big deal, maybe I'd overreacted. “How? I can't go up and start manhandling him.”

“Like that would bother you? You don't have to touch him directly—we do that with beginners, because it's easier. You've got a radius of about three feet to work in. Go on.” She shooed me away.

“Working up a thirst?” Simon asked as I returned.

“Something like that.” I slid the money toward him. When
he reached for the cooler again, he moved out of range. I'd need to keep him talking.

“So, you're going to Cassidy's party?” I asked.

He handed over the can, looking at me with fresh interest. “Not sure yet. You?”

“Possibly.” Below the counter, I caught a fistful of threads and started sorting through them. Hard to explain my twitching fingers without sounding crazy. I pitched my voice low and flirtatious. “It's not my usual scene.”

Bree was pouring oil into the popcorn machine, but she glanced over at us, her nose wrinkling. Simon leaned toward me, elbows on the counter. “What is?”

“I heard there's a band at Grundy's tonight that's pretty good.” I was too intent on checking the strings to be original. The thread leaped under my fingertips, rough as twine, and I exhaled in relief.

“Did you need anything else?” Bree asked, sliding her arm around his waist. “Honey, I need you to help me with the popcorn machine again.”

Honey. I'd found the string but misread Simon completely. My grip tightened without thinking.

Around me the world jerked and stuttered. Alarmed, I let go of the strings and cast a panicked look at Addie, who was already speeding toward us.

“We're set,” she said, and hustled me away. When we reached the opposite corner, she glared at me. “I told you to find it, not play it like a banjo.”

“My hand slipped. The string's okay, right? I didn't . . .”

“You didn't cleave it,” she said, but the break screeched, piercing my eardrum. Addie clapped her hands over her ears and stared at Simon. A moment later Monty and Eliot joined us.

“That was you, wasn't it?” Eliot asked. “I saw the break on the map. It looked like a firecracker went off.”

“Of course it was her,” Addie snapped.

“How do I fix it?” I turned to Monty, battling back fear. “Can we tune it?”

“Walkers cleave,” he reminded me, pious as a saint. “We don't tune.”

The words felt like a punishment. “Addie, please. If the Consort thinks I ruined another world . . .”

“I'll take care of it,” said Addie, voice tight. She shoved her leather bag at me. “The three of you stay put. And for God's sake, Del, stay away from Simon.”

She crossed the room swiftly, standing to the side of the concession stand. Her chest rose as she dragged in a breath, eyes shut. Her hand drifted up until her arm was parallel to the ground, her fingers making tiny, fluid, graceful movements. She was playing the strings, adjusting their pitch to match the rest of this world.

Beads of sweat popped up along her hairline, and stress lines bracketed the corners of her mouth, but she never faltered. Gradually the shrieking ebbed away, the break disappearing. When I looked at Simon, he and Bree were talking as if everything was normal. We'd been the only ones to notice the difference.

Addie kept working, her breathing shallow, her cheeks pale, her fingers patiently curling and smoothing threads the rest of us couldn't see. Finally she exhaled, long and slow. She staggered, and I dashed across the room to catch her.

“You okay, Addie-girl?” Monty asked.

She opened her eyes. “Yeah. Don't let me see you try that, Del. You aren't ready.”

“Got it,” I said, too relieved to take offense.

•  •  •

Later I ducked my head into Addie's room, marveling at the ruthless tidiness. Not a piece of clothing on the floor, not a single book lying facedown on the green wool rug. She looked up from her laptop. “What's wrong now?”

“Nothing. I wanted to say thanks for tonight. You saved my ass.”

She shrugged. “I'm here to help. You've never wanted it before.”

“I thought you didn't believe in tuning.”

“I don't. You saw how hard it was. We can't tune every break, Del. We can't save every world.”

I stepped inside and sat on the edge of her bed. “Why did you do it?”

She set the laptop aside and drew her knees to her chest. “Despite what you think, I'm not completely heartless.”

“I don't—”

“You do. Everyone does.” She pressed her lips together, but not before I saw the slight wobble. “They think I put the Walkers
above everything else because I don't care. That's not true. But caring too much makes you lose sight of the bigger picture. Without the Walkers we'd lose everything, including the people we love. Caring is a luxury, Del, and not everyone can afford it.”

Addie had never spoken about Walking with such bitterness and resignation. She'd always said it was a calling, the thing she loved best. But now, as she rubbed a hand over her eyes, I started to wonder if it was all she'd ever loved.

“You're not heartless,” I said firmly. “A heartless person would not have helped me tonight.”

She waved away the words. “I should have stepped in earlier. I forgot you hadn't isolated a person before. They're harder to manage.”

“Because they're moving?” I'd been so distracted by Simon and Bree, I'd lost my focus.

“People are unpredictable,” she said. “It makes them dangerous.”

“Your grandfather's already in bed,” my mom said from the doorway. “Did everything go okay tonight?”

“Nothing I couldn't handle,” Addie said. “How about you guys? Are you making any progress?”

My mom frowned. “That's classified information, Addison.”

Addie drew back at the sharpness in her tone. “I only asked how it was going.”

“It's going. You don't need to know more than that.” She raised her eyebrows, probably surprised we weren't ripping each other's hair out. “You're sure tonight went well?”

I held my breath. It would be easy enough for Addie to tell her what I'd done. Mom would freak out and insist we shift back to more remedial work.

But Addie closed her laptop with a decisive click. “I think Del learned a lot this evening.”

I thought about the rush of jealousy that had overtaken me, how my instincts had nearly ruined everything, and decided Addie was right.

Upon an Original's death, each of their Echoes begins to unravel. Depending on the strength and complexity of their branch, these terminal Echoes unravel at different rates—in some cases up to twenty years after the Original's death. To onlookers it appears as a natural death. Terminal Echoes are easily identified by their complete absence of pitch.

—Chapter Five, “Physics,”

Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five

M
ORNING, KIDDO,” SAID
my dad. My mattress tilted under his weight, and I opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the remnants of a dream where our house unraveled, shimmering away to a gray void. “Brought you some coffee.”

Fragrant steam rose from the mug he held out to me, and I struggled upright, scooting back against my iron headboard.

“Daddy?” I'd barely seen him over the past few days. “What's up?”

“I'm heading out on a big Walk. Thought I'd check in before I left.”

“You're working? What about the concert?” Another one of my parents' constants—one Saturday a month they took us to the symphony. It was my father's attempt to teach us how to enjoy music for its own sake. I grumbled about being forced to spend
an afternoon with my family, but canceling was unthinkable. Whatever they were dealing with must be really bad.

“Maybe next week,” he said, but he stared at the floor when he said it, and I knew “maybe” actually meant “not a chance.”

“Could I come with today?” When I was little, my dad used to take me on Walks as a special treat. Never to cleavings—my mom had forbidden it—but on the preliminary trips, to monitor breaks. As long as I promised to stick close and hold his hand through every crossing, he'd let me tag along. “I won't get in the way, but maybe I could help?”

“No can do,” he said. “It's a big job. Lots to keep track of, and I can't have the team distracted.”

I took a tiny sip of coffee, syrupy with sugar, and said nothing.

He ruffled my hair, which only made me feel more like a kid, and I twisted away. “Love you, Del.”

I didn't answer.

•  •  •

“You hurt your father's feelings,” Mom said when I finally came downstairs.

I dug in the fridge for a piece of last night's pizza—another dinner on our own—and didn't respond.

“This is hard on all of us. We're not thrilled about having to work these kinds of hours, but it's got to be done.”

I turned around, slice in hand. “Why? What's the big emergency?”

Addie and Monty were sitting at the kitchen table, poring over
an old map. He plucked the pen from her hand and circled something. Addie sighed with exaggerated patience and spun around to face us. “Mom, you're working like crazy. I could help.”

“This is beyond your skills,” Mom replied, missing the hurt that flashed across Addie's face. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried again. “I appreciate the offer, but Daddy and I don't want you involved.”

“But—”

“But nothing. If you want to help, be extra careful on your Walks. That's one less thing to be worried about. Del, eat a real breakfast.”

I held up the pizza. “Grains, dairy, vegetables—”

“Rose says tomatoes are a fruit,” Monty said.

“Sorry. Fruit,” I said. “It's a well-balanced meal. And you could at least tell us why it's so hush-hush. We have a right to know why we've been orphaned.”

I'd meant it as a joke, but my mom's lips flattened into a thin, bloodless line.

“Your father and I have a duty,” she said, biting off the words. “Not only to you, but to the Walkers and the Key World. I realize responsibility is a foreign concept for you, but we take it seriously.”

The words felt like a slap, a numbness that quickly turned to a vicious sting. For the last two weeks I'd done everything Addie asked—passed every test, read every textbook, even when they were so boring I would have rather watched paint dry. I'd babysat Monty and given up time with Eliot.

And for what? My dad thought I was a distraction; my mom thought I was selfish. What was the point in trying to change when my own parents thought so little of me? If they couldn't see I was trying, how would the Consort?

Even Monty was silent, and Addie bent over her map so far that her nose nearly brushed the paper.

“I'm late for my train,” Mom said.

I threw the pizza into the trash, appetite gone.

“She's tired,” Addie said softly after Mom had left. “She didn't mean it.”

“Whatever.” Sympathy was harder to bear than bossiness. “Are we going out today?”

She looked at the paper in front of her, her graceful cursive and Monty's scrawls mingled together, then studied me as if I were another map. “You up for more isolations? People, not objects. We'll even make it back in time for you and Eliot to have movie night.”

Eliot and I were supposed to go over data he'd found about Park World, but suddenly I couldn't see the point in trying. Movie night sounded infinitely better: a few hours with my best friend and a chance to forget about Walking and cleaving and Echoes that didn't act the way they should.

“Del?” Addie asked again. “You ready to head out?”

Anything was better than sitting at home, where I would never measure up. “Absolutely. Are you coming, Grandpa?”

“Nowhere I'd rather be,” he said.

•  •  •

“I'm hungry,” said Monty, hours later. We'd traveled to countless Echoes, locating people with breaks and isolating their threads. Happily, none of them had been Simon. “Time to head home, girls.”

Addie checked her watch. “Ugh. No wonder I have a migraine. Last one, Del. What do you hear?”

A frequency that was eerily similar to Park World, only more stable. My ears were ringing from the sheer amount of time we'd spent among Echoes.

“Eliot's map would be faster,” I said for the millionth time, and wished I were with him.

Before Addie could reply, Monty spoke, searching his pockets for a snack. “Too many gadgets these days. The only tools a Walker needs are two good ears and what's between them.”

“Says the man who gave me enough lock picks to break into Fort Knox.” I cocked my head, listening. “Three pivots, and one break by the bus shelter. I'm hungry too.”

Monty pulled out a packet of animal crackers as Addie listened, checking my work.

“Oh,” she said softly, and put her hand on Monty's arm. “Hear it?”

“Hear what?” I asked, as his shoulders slumped.