Dissonance (30 page)

“But is it who Del wants to be?” He looked at me, eyes sharp despite the rheumy film. “Is it?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

But there was a piece of me that wondered if Monty was right. Was it possible to Walk, even without the Consort's approval? After all their threats and punishments, was there another way?

A better way?

E
LIOT SHOWED UP
Saturday night with a movie and a jumbo box of Lemonheads. “I figured you might not be up for going out to the movies.”

“Definitely.” I filled him in on the fight between Dad and Monty while I made popcorn.

He blinked. “Do you believe him?”

“About the Free Walkers? No. Who would want to destroy the Key World? It's suicidal. I do wonder about Walkers who don't work for the Consort. Would they really never Walk, just because the Consort said not to? I do it all the time.”

“Don't remind me,” he said, and sampled the popcorn. “Needs more butter. I suppose there are things the Consort could do. Anklets, like the courts put on people who are under house arrest. If you set it to go off when the surrounding frequency changed, that might work. Or a device to alter your frequency, so you couldn't get through a rift. Or—”

“You're having too much fun with this,” I said, shoving the bowl at him. “Movie time.”

When we were settled on the couch, I picked up the DVD case. “Again? We've seen this one a million times.”

“You know I love a good space western.” He hit play. “I like it when the good guys win.”

“That's because you're such a good guy,” I said as the previews rolled. “Hey, how's the project with Bree going?”

“Great,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“Seriously?” I twisted to face him. “Bree Carlson. It's going great?”

“Sure, as long as I let her do whatever she wants. Not unlike working with you.”

I punched him in the arm and he laughed. “Kidding!”

“You'd better be.” I hesitated. “Have you had a chance to run Simon's frequency?”

His laughter evaporated. “No. Strangely enough, I can be around the guy for five minutes without touching him, so I haven't recorded a sample yet.”

“Somebody's in a mood,” I said, and slumped down. “Forget I asked.”

“I'd love to.”

Halfway through the movie, someone knocked at the front door.

“Let Addie get it,” I said, curled up under a chenille throw. “I'm too comfy.”

“Too lazy,” Eliot said affectionately, but he didn't move either.

I heard Addie at the door, the conversation obscured by the explosions on screen. A minute later the lights came on.

“Hey!”

“We have a visitor,” she said, and Councilman Lattimer strolled in.

“You're late,” I blurted. Eliot and I both scrambled up.

“I don't recall setting a specific time for our visits. Apologies if this is inconvenient.” His tone made it clear he didn't care.

“It's perfect,” Addie assured him.

“Excellent. I came to check on your father's progress, as well. We're quite eager to have him back.”

“He's better, thank you,” Addie said, her voice tight. “Are you seeing an uptick in frequency poisoning lately?”

My breath caught. She was telling him she knew about the anomaly. Addie had never been any good at cards. She couldn't bluff, she bet too low, and she always showed her hand too early.

“We are. It's quite troubling.” Lattimer assessed her coolly. Then his face broke into a smile. “You've put it together, then. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir. I'd be happy to help, if the Consort needed me.”

That was her game. Impress Lattimer, get in on the anomaly, move up in the Consort. Not a bad plan, but one lucky hand didn't make you a good gambler.

“I don't doubt you'd be a great asset to us,” he said, and Addie glowed, then dimmed.

“My parents don't think so.”

“Your parents are not in a position to dictate how we deal with the current crisis. I, however, am.” His eyes flickered to me. “It's important to ally yourself with those people who have the greatest value.”

My father had nearly died trying to fix “the current crisis.” Hearing Lattimer dismiss him so easily reminded me of Monty's tirade. “What about the Free Walkers? Are they valuable?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it struck true.

He swung around, the motion as smooth and dangerous as his tone. “Free Walkers don't exist. But if they did, they—and anyone who associated with them—would be tried for treason. I cannot imagine who would tell you such dangerous tales.”

Beside me, Eliot tensed, silently willing me to shut up.

Lattimer waited for an extra beat, as if daring me to answer. When I said nothing, he shifted back to Addie. “Your grandfather must be improving.”

“He's better,” Addie said cautiously.

Lattimer nodded. “I look forward to this week's report. I'm always curious to find out exactly what the three of you have been up to.”

What Monty had been up to, he meant. Addie fell all over herself agreeing and saw him out. When she came back, she snapped, “Do you want to get expelled? Free Walkers? Have you lost your mind?”

“He's a jerk.”

“Who cares? He is your way back into the Walkers, Del. You should be trying to impress him, not acting like a lunatic conspiracy theorist.” She turned to Eliot. “Can't you talk sense into her?”

He backed away, looking slightly panicked. “I'm just here for the movie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Del's the only one stupid enough to believe that.”

“I'm not stupid!”

“What you did tonight was the textbook definition of stupid. All risk, no reward. You want to be crazy and reckless, fine. But at least do it for a good reason.” She turned on her heel and stomped upstairs. Wordlessly Eliot turned the movie back on.

Addie's words stung, but she wasn't completely right. I knew a bluff when I saw one. Lattimer was lying about the Free Walkers, and that was all the reward I needed.

Y
OU COMING TO
class today?” Simon asked me on the way to history Monday afternoon.

“I'm walking with you, aren't I?” Walking with Simon—even a short, ordinary walk down the corridor—was an exercise in syncopation. He slowed his pace, long legs eating up the ground, and I lengthened my stride to keep up.

“Doesn't mean you're going to stay,” he said. “Are you even passing the class?”

I was. Barely.

I tipped my head back, the charge of those dark blue eyes zinging down my spine. “This from the guy who keeps falling asleep?”

According to Eliot's research, the pattern we'd seen in the Echoes—a spike in branches, then a series of Baroque events—was another symptom of the anomaly. We didn't need to keep checking on it, and he insisted I start showing up to class.

I didn't complain too much. It gave me time to study Simon.

His frequency was fine. The tremor I'd felt when he kissed my hand had nothing to do with dissonance. Simon sounded clear and true as the Key World itself. He sounded like home.

But there was no denying he was a victim of the anomaly. He'd spotted me in Echoes, he'd been at the center of at least two Baroque events, he remembered me when he shouldn't. If the Consort found out, Simon
and
his Echoes would be in danger.

I needed to figure it out first.

He ushered me through the open door. “So, if you're not off hooking up with Eliot, who's the lucky guy?”

“You always assume there's a guy,” I said.

“Isn't there? If not, I know one. Tall. Athletic. Astonishingly good-looking. Loves dogs and zucchini bread.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Sounds perfect. Does he have any flaws?”

“Tone-deaf,” he said sorrowfully. “And charming. I know how you hate that.”

“It's a deal breaker,” I said, sliding into my seat. I looked at him under my lashes. “And we could have had so much fun.”

He leaned across the aisle, and I did the same, close enough to see the hint of stubble along his jaw. “Still could.”

An inch more—maybe two—and my lips would graze his skin. I could meet him halfway, fit my mouth to his. Every muscle in my body tightened, fear and anticipation so closely intertwined I couldn't separate them. An inch, and everything would change.

Mrs. Jordan cleared her throat. “If we can get started, Ms. Sullivan? Mr. Lane?”

“Another time,” I murmured, leaning back.

“Mr. Lane?” she repeated.

“Bet on it,” he said, voice low. Then he flashed Mrs. Jordan
a trademark grin and made a joke about last night's reading. She laughed despite herself, and I marveled at how well Simon read people.

Including me.

I slid down in my seat as she outlined our newest assignment, declaring today was a research day. Everyone gathered up their books and trudged, en masse, to the library. I found an empty table by the periodicals and set my bag down, as everyone around me chose seats and research topics. Pivots filled the air with a fizzing sound.

“Secluded,” Simon said, taking the other chair. “I approve. What's your topic?”

“No idea,” I said. “You?”

He pursed his lips and considered. His hair was disheveled, like he'd run his hand through it. I fought the urge to repeat the movement. The air shifted and I held my breath, wondering what decision he was about to make.

“Chancellorsville,” he said, and reached for a notebook. The pivot formed with a crack like a gunshot.

“That's it?” Twenty-odd kids had picked a research topic and not a single one had sounded so loud.

“You have a problem with Chancellorsville? If Jackson hadn't been shot there—by his own men—he would have been at Gettysburg. The South would have won.”

I was familiar with the battle. We spent the first few years of Walker training studying the way history had shaped the multiverse. But it didn't explain the size of the pivot he'd created. I
took a moment to memorize its pitch and stood up. “I'll be back in a few.”

Simon glanced over at Mrs. Jordan, who was catching up on her grading and giving kids dubious looks when they grew too loud. “She's going to catch you one of these days.”

“Probably,” I said. “Enjoy your nap in the stacks.”

“I will. Maybe I'll dream of you.”

•  •  •

I checked Eliot's map before I crossed over. Lights covered the library in tiny pinpricks, except for the place Simon and I had been sitting, which shone like a beacon. I slipped through a pivot in the girls' bathroom and navigated to the newly formed branch. Through the library window, I could see Simon's Echo heading into the stacks. This world was so young he looked exactly like the Simon I'd left minutes ago. Even the frequency was similar to the Key World's—but louder than I expected for such a small decision.

He would have gone into the stacks for research either way, so his behavior hadn't altered. This Echo should be quiet. Instead, it was as blazingly insistent as a trumpet and growing louder every second. And then it hit me.

A Baroque event.

The class had made a lot of decisions in a short period of time. Simon's decision, stronger for reasons I couldn't explain, would draw the smaller Echoes in.

I wasn't sure I should stick around for the entire Baroque event, but it would be stupid not to do some research of my own. I found Echo Simon in the nonfiction section, head tilted to read
the call numbers. Ducking into the next row, I peered at him through the space between shelves.

“Find what you're looking for?” I whispered.

To his credit, he barely jumped. “Can't quite put my hands on it. What about you?”

I'd been careful not to touch him, but he'd noticed me. Was it the amplification, or the similarity between frequencies, or the newness of the Echo? Any of them seemed plausible, and for once I wished I'd paid more attention to Addie's and Shaw's physics lectures. “I'm figuring it out.”

He craned his neck. “Are we really going to have this conversation through a bookshelf? I can barely see you.”

“I thought some distance might be good,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

“Cautious.” I wasn't scared of Simon. Intrigued. Concerned. Attracted. But nothing about Simon—in any universe—scared me.

“And yet you're hiding behind . . . What's over there, anyway?”

I checked the titles. “The Roman Empire.”

“Thousands of years of history between us. Looks like scared to me.”

I tossed my braid over my shoulder and strolled around the corner, stopping a foot away.

“See?” he said. “Not so hard.”

“Never said it was.”

The silence between us quivered with unspoken words. I poked my finger through a hole in my sweater.

“So . . . ,” he said, and trailed off.

“So.”

“Funny meeting you here.”

“Funny, that.”

He edged closer, and I backed up until my knees hit the Great Depression. “You meet a lot of girls in the stacks?” My voice sounded unsteady, even to my ears.

“Not really. I'll have to keep it in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Turns out we're going to spend the rest of the week on research. So we've got four more days here, minimum.”

“That's a lot of research.” Casually I tucked a bright orange star between two books, curious to know how a Baroque event would affect it.

“Lot of time back here, anyway.” He rested one hand on the shelf above my head. “Not the worst way to spend an hour.”

There was a discreet cough, and Simon drew back as someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Another project for Mrs. Jordan?” Ms. Powell asked.