Loop (28 page)

“Us?”

“I was going to try to cling to you again.”

“No.” The word jumped out of my mouth like a harsh bark.

“To me going with you or to Charlie transporting us?”

“Both. I can’t risk you getting caught. And I can’t risk him getting in trouble. Quigley will be watching him as it is.”

“I’m going with you.” The way Finn said it told me there was no point in arguing. Likely he wouldn’t be able to Shift anyway like before, so I didn’t bother correcting him.

“There’s no way to set it on autopilot?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not at the Institute.” There was only one option. “I could ask W—”

“No.” Finn didn’t even let me get the
—yck
out.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“No. But I’m telling you, I don’t trust that guy.”

“He’s the best student transporter at the Institute. Give me one good reason not to trust him.”

Finn opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but closed it again. “I can’t.”

“Then let’s go.” I hopped off the bed and grabbed my shoes.

“Wait.” He caught hold of my wrist and pulled me back toward him. The tips of his fingers hovered inches from my cheek as if he was trying to memorize each curve of my face.

“I’ve been thinking about it. It’s not too late to go back to my time, to my parents,” he said. “Maybe they could help. My dad has picked up a lot of knowledge from Future Shifters. Some of them might be from beyond this time. What if one of them could figure out a way to keep you there with me?”

It was tempting. I reached up and squeezed his hand before moving it back down to his side.

“The margin of error on a two-century Shift is so wide. We could end up five hundred miles from Chincoteague. By the time we got to your parents, they’d force fade me back. Besides, my mom is here. I can’t leave her. Or Mimi.” I bent down to put on my shoes.

A puke cart whizzed past the doorway and filled the room with the sickeningly sweet scent of cleanser. The carts had been on a warpath since the students had returned from our Pentagon outing. My Buzz had actually subsided since Finn had gotten there, but the smell, combined with crying all evening, made me reach for my glass vial of tabs out of habit. I shook it, but it was empty. Mimi had a spare container on the vanity. I snatched it up with greedy fingers and downed a few without counting.

“How many of those are you taking?” Finn asked with a frown.

“A few.” I didn’t look at him.

A few too many.

Finn picked up my empty vial. “How long have you needed these?”

“Since I first started Shifting.” No, that wasn’t entirely true. “After my chip was implanted, I mean. But I didn’t have any real Shifts before that, so it’s essentially the same thing.”

“Could that be what makes Shifting hurt now?” Finn asked.

“My chip?” My thumb drifted to the nape of my neck and traced the numb eyelash of a scar. “No. The chip helps control the pain of Shifting. I told you that.”

Finn’s frown grew deeper. “So it hurt
before
they put the chip in?”

“No.” His question flustered me for some reason, and I pressed against the scar. “I mean, yes. I mean … it prevents the pain. The tabs are for the Buzz that breaks through.”

Finn placed his hand over mine and felt along the scar’s path. My skin prickled and hummed under his touch, almost like I was building up for a Shift.

“I’m so sorry you have to live like this,” he said.

“Live like what?” I pulled away. Whatever connection I felt splintered. “Free from pain and misery? Free from insanity? Oh, poor me.”

“Pain and misery? My dad’s been Shifting for decades without any problems. Georgie took to it without a hitch. I just think it’s a little suspicious that I’ve never witnessed this so-called Buzz before I got here. Dad’s never shown any symptoms of mental instability. And there’s this convenient rule that you’re not allowed to talk to any Shifter who could tell you any different.”

“This is ridiculous,” I said a little louder than I meant to. I glanced over at Mimi’s bed out of pure reflex, and my heart did a flip-flop. I lowered my voice back down. “I explained why we can’t talk to Shifters from the past. And even if they’re not in pain, it’s not like your father and sister have it perfect. They don’t even have any control over where they go.”

“Do you?”

I ignored his question. “The Rule is in place for
your
protection. And for mine.”

“Again, says who?”

“Says everyone.”

“Everyone who has a chip in their brain already.”

A puke cart paused outside my door. They usually didn’t snitch, but I couldn’t take any chances of them reporting Finn’s presence. Quigley would ship me off to Resthaven tonight and he’d end up in a lab. I grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him onto my bed, lowering the privacy canopy around us.

“We discovered the Madness right after Shifters came out of hiding, Finn. And everything was so secretive before then. For all we know, the Madness eventually did overtake all Shifters in the past. It’s possible that your dad and Georgie
will
go bonks eventually. Do you really want to tell them their fate if so?”

“No, but surely there has to be some alternative to having your every move monitored and controlled.”

“I don’t mind it, Finn. The control is a
good
thing.”

“And would the father you’ve never met agree with that?”

I jerked away, forgetting I still held the glass vial of Buzztabs. They flew out of my palm and shattered against the wall. Pills and bits of broken glass rained down across the bed. I shook as I tried to pick them up one by one.

Finn knelt next to me. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” I asked, my voice shaking as hard as my hands. “It’s true.”

He steepled his steady hands over my trembling ones. “I trust you. If you say you need your microchip, you do.”

“I do.”
He trusts me
.

I just wasn’t sure I trusted myself.

Finn deftly plucked the rest of the Buzztabs from the glass and brushed the remaining shards into his hand. He leaned around me to dump them down the recycling bin.

“Guess sometimes the truth is just hard.” He was quiet for a moment, then squinched up his nose. “
The Truth lies behind the enigmatic grin
. What if it has something to do with your chip?”

“Then why would
your
mom know that saying?”

“I don’t know.”

“We need to get going.” I retracted the privacy canopy and grabbed my QuantCom off its docking station. “Wyck’s room is on the way.”

Finn slid the door open. “Why don’t you let
me
wake him up?”

*   *   *

“Yes, I know it’s asking a lot.” I stood in the middle of the Launch Room doling out feeble answers to Wyck’s questions for what seemed like the twenty-seventh time. “It’s just that Finn was out of the country and never got a chance to see Mom before the accident. I realize it’s breaking some rules—”

“More like each and every rule we have, Bree. You’re
Anchored
.” Wyck’s hair stuck out in five different directions and he sounded groggy, for which I was grateful. Maybe once Finn and I left, he would chalk it up to sleepwalking and a bizarre dream after too many chili dogs at the Pentagon. Mom could get us to a Shift Pad to synch me back up and figure out how to send Finn home from there.

“I’m not stupid. I won’t try to change anything.” I handed him my QuantCom.

Wyck shrugged and yawned as he uploaded the destination data into my Com. “Doctrine of Inevitability. Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

I knew that, of course. But hearing it out loud crushed a little something within me.

“Besides,” Wyck said with a mischievous grin as he handed back my QuantCom and took Quigley’s hair, “I never said I mind breaking a few rules. But if you get caught—”

“I won’t. Just promise you won’t tell anyone, okay?”

Wyck crossed his finger over his heart.

“Of course not. Wild ponies couldn’t drag it from me.”

I relaxed with his reassurance and was surprised to feel the tension in Finn’s hand when I took it to lead him to the Shift Pad. His eyes were fixed on Wyck. The control board flickered on.

“If anything happens to her,” said Finn, “I hold you personally responsible.”

Wyck didn’t bother to look up from his task. “And if anything happens to
you,
I will personally pat myself on the back.”

“Watch yourself,” said Finn.

“I prefer watching Bree, thank you very much.”

“I’m standing right here.” I clamped down on Finn’s hand. I could feel him pulling away from me … to what? Fight Wyck for helping us?

“Bree…” Finn turned to face me. “Let’s do this some other way. I’ll explain later.”

“Oh, don’t get your undies in a bunch. I’ll get you there,” said Wyck.

Finn made a chuffing noise, but he followed my tugs to the Pad.

Before Finn had a chance to protest further, Wyck looked up from his console. “You ready, sugar lips?”

I nodded.

Finn wrapped his arms tight around me. Wyck brought his fingers up into a lazy salute in Finn’s direction. As we faded away, three of Wyck’s fingers went down.

chapter 25

MEMORIES DANCED
across my retinas as I jostled through time. It was the first Shift in months I’d kept my eyes open, and the sensation dizzied me. But I couldn’t shut them. Even though I knew full well the trip was foolhardy, excitement welled within me.

We landed with a metallic thud on the Metro platform closest to my house. I whipped out the QuantCom to confirm the date and nodded in an appraising manner. It was the morning of my mom’s accident. A Saturday. Puffy clouds drifted across an otherwise blue sky. A train zipped by, and Finn toppled over from his crouch.

Finn.

“Well, I’ll be laserspanked. It worked. You Shifted again.” Must have been my sad transporting skills earlier after all.

When he didn’t answer, I said, “Say what you want about Wyck, the boy can transport.” I brushed some dirt off my hands and reached over to give Finn a hand up.

He didn’t take it.

“Did you hear what he said?” Finn asked in a soft voice.

“What who said?”

“Wyck. Right before we left.”

“What? The ‘sugar lips’ thing? That’s just how he talks.”

I grabbed Finn’s hand and pulled him forward, whether he wanted to move or not. It was the middle of the night my time. I had to get back before anyone woke up, so we only had a couple hours. We’d only get one shot at this.

Finn shuffled forward like he was sleepwalking.

“Wild ponies,” he murmured.

“What?”

“He said ‘wild ponies.’”

“So?” I asked. “It’s only a saying.”

Except it wasn’t. The real saying would be “wild
horses
couldn’t drag it from me.” But he was half-asleep when he’d said it. I couldn’t see why Finn was getting all worked up over it.

“You’ll think I’m a lunatic,” he said. A train flew into the station behind him and mussed his hair. “That’s why I let it drop before.”

“I already know you’re a lunatic. But what are you talking about? Tell me what?”

“I saw him.”

“Saw who?” I took the first few steps down the platform stairs.

“Wyck.”

“Wyck? Where?” I looked around.

“In town. In Chincoteague. Near the school parking lot a few months after Future You first came back. I don’t know if he saw me, but I saw him.”

“You didn’t see him.” I shook my head.

“I did.”

“You didn’t. I already told you. He
can’t Shift
. It is physically impossible for a nonShifter to Shift.” I scuffled forward and looked down at the QuantCom. We really needed to get on the move. There weren’t any Publi-pods out that I could see.

“Maybe he hasn’t discovered his ability yet,” said Finn. “He could be a late bloomer.”

“Blooming from what? It’s genetic. Neither of his parents are Shifters.” My arms formed a big X across my chest. “No genes equals no time travel.”

“I know what I saw.”

“You saw one of his ancestors or somebody who looked kind of like him, that’s all.” I started walking again to close the conversation.

Finn jogged after me. “But how do you explain the wild-ponies comment?”

I stopped and whirled around to face him. “I don’t. Because there’s nothing to explain. It was a simple, middle-of-the-night, barely awake mistake.” But the more I thought about it, it really was odd. It was an old-fashioned saying—out of character for Wyck. Shifters picked up stuff like that all the time, but not transporters. Still, the thought was preposterdiculous. For him to have inherited the gene, it would have to have been directly. Like me from my mom. Like Georgie from her dad. Neither of Wyck’s parents could Shift.

I expected Finn to argue more, but he didn’t. If anything, he’d gone quieter than usual.

“Let’s get going,” I said.

He quickened his pace to meet mine, and we settled into a steady run. The closer we got to my house, though, the heavier my feet felt. The reality of seeing my mother—not just dreaming it, imagining it, conjuring little mental dioramas—clenched my muscles in an already-tense situation. Turning the corner onto our block, my legs gave one final leaden protest and locked up.

Finn was fifteen feet ahead before he realized he’d left me behind.

“What’s the matter? Is your Buzz back?”

“No, my head’s fine. But I don’t know if I can do this.”

Finn turned to look at the house, then back to me. “Do you want me to go talk to her by myself?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I need to do this.”

I had to clear her name. And maybe she could give me some hint as to why Quigley would attack her. It could bring insight into her condition. There might still be hope for her to improve.

When we reached the door, I lifted my hand to open it, then wavered again. Barging in felt like an intrusion, but if I rang the doorbell to my own house it would wig my mother out. The light was on in Mom’s top-floor studio. My hand trembled as I brushed my hair over the scanner and pushed the front door open. Finn reached out and steadied it. He was getting pretty good at that.