Ten Thousand Skies Above You (15 page)

Inspiration strikes, and I open a quick Facebook message to Paul. After chewing on my bottom lip for a moment, I type:
Hey, we've never met, but we have mutual friends.

Alternate versions of him in other dimensions count as “mutual friends,” right?

Basically, everyone says you and I should meet sometime. So how
about this week? We could get together—

Where? I don't know New York City very well yet. But I know where my parents teach without even having to ask. Growing up surrounded by physics grad students means you're constantly looking over postdoc applications to the best schools in the world.

—on the Columbia campus and grab a coffee, if you wanted. Hope this is the right Paul Markov. If it's not, sorry for the mistake!

That works. Even if Paul's not intrigued by the idea of the blindest blind date of all time, he'll probably write back, if only to ask which one of his friends is trying to set him up. Then I'll keep the messages coming, ask a few casual questions that will tell me
something
about this world's Paul, and I can use that information to find him.

And who knows? Maybe he'd like the idea of a blind date.

I hug my knees to my chest, but my smile fades as I remind myself of my other reason for being here. Wyatt Conley didn't send me to this dimension to look Paul up for a latte. Not even to retrieve the next splinter of Paul's soul.

He sent me here to betray my parents, and this time, I can't take the risk of faking it. This time, I hurt them for real.

My dark errand weighs heavily on me as the three of us ride down in the elevator, on our way to eat dinner with Josie and the guy in her life. Apparently we're being treated to someplace fancy, because normally my father would never wear a tie for anything less than a wedding, a funeral, or a
pitch meeting for a big research grant.

“We should've insisted on picking the restaurant,” Dad says during the taxi ride across Central Park. “The Vietnamese place around the corner, maybe. We'd all be more relaxed, and ten-to-one I'd like the food better.”

“If he's treating, then logically he should be the one to determine the restaurant.” Mom looks out the car window at the darkening sky above. Day has begun fading into night. “We learn about people by observing their choices, Henry. The more control we surrender in this situation, the more we'll learn about him.”

I'm wedged between the two of them in the middle of the backseat of the cab, with some obnoxious taxi-only TV channel playing on the same screen my knees are jammed against. “How much farther is it?”

“No idea,” Dad grumbles. “Never bothered going anyplace so ritzy in my life, and my great-uncle was a viscount, you know.”

Mom smiles. “Look at it this way, Henry. Now we know where to take Susannah the next time she visits Manhattan.”

I feel a completely illogical leap of surprise at the news that Aunt Susannah—dead in the Warverse—is alive and well here. And
of course
they need to take her to the fanciest restaurant in New York. The more pretentious and overpriced something is, the greater chance Aunt Susannah will love it. I manage to hold back a giggle, but barely.

But being with my parents while they're acting like themselves—dorky and silly and so crazy about each other
it's almost embarrassing—that only makes it more difficult to think of the task ahead.

I hug myself and shrink down farther in the seat.

The restaurant turns out to border Central Park. It's located in a stately, cream-colored building from the 1910s, one that doesn't proclaim its status so much as it quietly suggests it. As we walk to the front door, I see someone standing nearby, waiting; when he turns, I recognize Theo.

“Hey,” I call. I'm about to lift my hand to wave when it hits me: What if Theo's here because
he's
Josie's fiancé?

That's crazy. They've never seemed like more than friends, not ever, even if he is closer to her age than mine. But this is a new dimension, with new rules. Is that why he's in my phone contacts? Because I've made friends with my future brother-in-law?

Then Mom smiles at him. “Theo. So glad you could make it.”

“Glad to be here,” Theo says. I can tell he's winging it, trying to figure out how well he knows my parents in this dimension.

The answer comes as Dad slaps him on the shoulder. “You needed to take a break from your dissertation—and besides, we'll need an objective point of view. Nobody we'd trust more than you.”

Theo gets that
oh crap I have no idea what they're talking about
look. So I provide an assist, saying, “We can't let Josie marry just anybody, you know.”

He visibly stifles a laugh, as astonished as I am at the
thought of commitment-phobic Josie getting engaged. My parents don't see; they're already walking inside. Once again, Theo crooks his arm for me, and I take it. He whispers, “Seen Paul?”

Only on a computer screen. I shake my head. Explaining my plan will have to wait for later.

We enter a hushed space, so carefully lit and perfectly decorated in cream and gold that I'd know it was crazy expensive even if Dad hadn't told me already. The carpet beneath my shoes feels as plush as if I were walking on clouds. Theo uses his free hand to straighten his mega-ironic '80s tie with the piano keys on it; this place is fancy enough to make even him self-conscious.

In the corner Josie rises from her seat to greet us. She's wearing flowing silk pants and a cowl-necked sweater—which, despite their elegance, still look like something my sister would choose to wear.
So Josie's herself here
, I think—and then I stop short. Theo sucks in a sharp breath as we see who's by her side—

—my sister's fiancé, Wyatt Conley.

JOSIE TAKES CONLEY'S ARM, HER FACE GLOWING. “EVERYONE
, this is Wyatt. And Wyatt, may I present my parents, Dr. Sophia Kovalenka and Dr. Henry Caine; plus my sister, Marguerite; and my parents' graduate assistant, Theo Beck.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kovalenka, Dr. Caine. And Marguerite and Theo. I'm so glad you could make it tonight.” Conley's manners are better than usual. If I didn't know what a manipulative, power-hungry snake he actually is, I could believe my sister had gotten engaged to a nice guy.

As my parents get through some small talk with the “happy couple,” Theo and I take our seats. I lean toward him and whisper, “What's Conley doing?”

“From this angle, I can see what your parents can't see, namely that he's letting your sister grope his ass.”

Somehow I manage not to gag. “I mean, why is he going after Josie? What's his game? And if Conley's got such a
good in with my family in this dimension, why did he send us here?”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “Now
that's
a good question.”

I look carefully at Conley, studying his neck and chest in particular. He's wearing a suit, one that's not closely tailored, so it still fits his “Bad Boy Wonder of Silicon Valley” image—but the subtle sheen of the fabric makes it clear his jacket alone probably cost as much as some cars. What interests me most is the lack of any rumples or wrinkles along his shirt, no telltale bulge beneath his silk necktie.

He's not wearing a Firebird.

Conley wouldn't necessarily have to wear it at all times; once you've stabilized in a dimension, you can take the Firebird off and put it aside almost indefinitely. But I've never removed my Firebird for more than a couple of seconds when I didn't absolutely have to, and neither would anyone else traveling through the multiverse.

Besides, he showed no flicker of recognition when he saw us. Conley loves to lord his power over people, to show off when he's got the advantage. So my guess is that we're sitting down to dinner with this world's Wyatt Conley—no passengers from other dimensions involved.

That would mean his romance with Josie is for real.

Everyone settles in. I hesitate before unfolding my napkin, which has been done up into some kind of origami swan. This tablecloth is made out of better fabric than most of my clothes. And when the waiter gives us the menus—gliding in and out almost unnoticeably, like a spirit—no prices are listed.

Theo murmurs, “If you have to ask, you can't afford it.”

I'd laugh, but I'm too busy watching Conley and Josie.

“Well, I told you, Wyatt and I met when I agreed to help with his latest gaming system.” Josie beams. Since when did she get into programming? Her next sentence answers that question. “The company needed someone to surf in a wave pool, so they could study the body kinesthetic, the kinds of motion, all of that. They'd already had a guy come in, but when they advertised for a female surfer too, I figured, what the hell. I'd been wanting to visit the Bay Area again, and I thought I might as well get paid for doing what I'd do for fun on the weekend anyway.”

Conley cuts in. “And I was there just to see how the project was getting on.”

“You had time for that?” Dad says, amiably enough. He's the only one of us totally at ease in these sophisticated surroundings—well, aside from Conley himself. My father's English-nobility background is showing. “I'd think running ConTech would keep you far too busy for that sort of thing.”

I make a mental note. His company isn't Triad here; it's ConTech.

“I'm a busy man,” Conley admits. “But I try to look in on various projects and teams throughout my company from time to time.”

“Keeping them on their toes, huh?” Theo says.

That earns him a look from Conley, who clearly isn't sure why the grad assistant feels free to snark at him. But Conley
keeps going. “Whatever made me show up that afternoon, I'm grateful. Because the minute I saw Josie surfing—she looked so happy, so confident, like she was having the time of her life—well, I guess that's why they call it love at first sight.”

Oh, vomit.

“You know how I am,” Josie says. She's speaking to all of us, supposedly, but she's looking at Mom. “I never wanted to be held back, and I never wanted to hold anyone back. Wyatt—he's already accomplished so much. I
couldn't
keep him from his goals. I'm not sure that's even possible.”

Conley smiles as he puts one hand around her shoulders, not quite an embrace. His eyes flicker away only briefly, as he gestures to the waiter.

Josie continues, “I'm not leaving Scripps. I'm still going to get my doctorate in oceanography. And after that, Wyatt's talked about funding an expedition to Antarctica, where I could work on the iron content research we talked about, Dad.”

“Really? What sort of methodology have you chosen?” Dad perks up. He's never regretted leaving oceanography for pure mathematics, putting aside his own promising career to support Mom in hers—but he's still a huge nerd about it.

The waiter arrives with champagne. With a nod of her head, Mom lets the waiter know he can pour me a glass as well. Special occasion, et cetera. She and Dad won't touch a drop, though. They don't drink much, and besides—despite the smile on Mom's face, and all my father's excited
questions, I can tell they're analyzing Wyatt Conley every single second.

I take a sip, mostly to cover my own discomfort with the situation. Under his breath, Theo says, “I think Conley means it.”

About loving Josie, he's saying. “This one does,” I mutter. “That doesn't mean another one wouldn't use this to his advantage.” Theo nods.

The rest of the night has a hallucinatory quality—half dream, half nightmare. For the dream, we have the hush of the room, the cloudlike elegance of the space, and food that tastes like the stuff you get served in heaven, in most world religions. For the nightmare: Conley's hand in Josie's, or around her shoulder, all evening long, holding tight. Like he
owns
her.

Yet I can't deny the energy they have together. Josie laughs when she tells her story about teaching him to water-ski; he lights up when he talks about how she gets him to stop thinking about business all the time and actually enjoy his life. And I notice the compliments he pays her. Conley never calls her
beautiful
, or
sweet
, or any of those generic terms that actually don't have jack to do with my rough-and-tumble sister. He says Josie's
dynamic.
That she's
filled with purpose.
Above all, she is
strong.

I have to admit: He knows the real Josie. Maybe he even really loves her.

Silently I decide to stop thinking of this one as “Conley” and instead think of him as “Wyatt.” That doesn't mean I
trust Wyatt—not even close—but it reminds me that he's not the same guy as the one who's kidnapped and traumatized my family. I have to evaluate this one on his own.

Dessert arrives in the form of sorbets in flavors I've never heard of before: green tea, crème brûlée, even beet-and-lime. Tentatively I sample the beet-and-lime one—which is actually pretty good—then nearly choke on it when Wyatt says, “So where are you with the Firebird project?”

Next to me, Theo coughs into his napkin, trying to pretend he didn't just aspirate his dessert. Mom seems to think it's a natural question. “Not yet at the point of building a prototype, but I think we're ready to start construction soon.”

“Depending on funding,” Wyatt says, and Josie squeezes his fingers. I can tell what's coming next—the offer, the blank check he's ready to sign. The power he's about to seize over my parents' research.

Then Dad surprises me. “Josie's been hinting about this for a couple of weeks now, but I'm pleased to say that help is unnecessary. We just found out yesterday that we've been approved for a grant that ought to cover our next three years of research.”

This is Wyatt's cue to start trying to talk my parents into letting
him
provide the funding. Instead, he grins and shakes his head. “I can see I'm going to have to invest at the IPO, like everyone else.”

“IPO,” Mom scoffs gently. “We're not doing this to make a profit, Wyatt. We only want to prove what's possible. To
see some fraction of the infinite dimensions layered within the multiverse.”

Josie murmurs, “Like climbing a mountain just because it's there.”

“Do people climb mountains for any other reason?” Dad says. He gives Theo a look. “However, our assistant here thinks more like you do. His rationale is that if we can bring back advanced technology from alternate dimensions, we should—and in that case, money's going to be made and we might as well be the ones to make it. Right, Theo?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, that's what I've always said. But lately I've wondered whether you and Sophia aren't right after all.” Theo looks past us, at memories instead of the here and now. “Maybe the answer matters more than the reward.”

My mother takes Theo's hand. “You're getting philosophical on us.”

“Hardly.” He manages to grin. “You know the old joke—a philosophy major winds up on the street with a sign that says WILL THINK FOR FOOD.”

Everybody laughs, and the dinner tapers off into ordinary chitchat, like what everyone thinks of the sorbet, and Dad's token attempt to wrest the check from Wyatt. When we walk out into the night, I'm struck by the halved sky above me—to my right, Central Park's tall leafy trees are blacker than the sky above, and to the left, tall buildings reach upward, every window a sort of lantern. I think I'd like New York, if I ever got to visit for normal reasons.

My parents take it for granted that Josie's going to the
hotel suite she shares with Wyatt, which I didn't. It's not like I didn't guess that if they were engaged, they'd probably had sex, but that doesn't make me any happier to think about it. They stroll off alongside the park, enjoying a romantic evening in the big city.

Conley could get to my family here any time he wanted to
, I think.
All he'd have to do is travel here, take over “Wyatt” for a few hours and he'd be done. So why hasn't he?

I begin putting together a plan.

As the four of us stand there near the front of the restaurant, my mother's hand outstretched for a cab, Dad says, “I have to admit—she's happy.”

“She is, and yet”—Mom shakes her head—“am I questioning it only because it seems too good to be true?”

“That's not like you,” I say. “You should trust your instincts.”

She gives me a look—questioning, but not disapproving. “What do your instincts tell you, Marguerite?”

How do I answer this? I can't let on how much I know; certainly I can't tell them the truth, not when I have to sabotage their work tomorrow. “I think he really loves her, but—something about it—I guess it all seems too easy.”

“Yes, that's it.” Mom combs her fingers through my curls, like she used to do when I was little and she helped me to go back to sleep after a bad dream. “We'll have to see. Of course, in the end, it's Josie's choice to make.”

“Still, worth checking out,” Theo says. “So. I ought to get going.”

“You mean,
we
should get going.” I improvise as smoothly as I can. “There's this really cool performance-art piece happening downtown tonight, in about an hour. Theo said he'd take me if I wanted to go. It's okay with you guys, right?”

My parents exchange a look. They've always been pretty chill, but my heading out into the wee hours is a little over their boundary lines. Of course, I'll have Theo with me—and apparently they're not sure what to make of that. Does that mean we've never flirted in this universe?

Or does it mean that we have?

Regardless, after a moment, Mom nods. “I realize not all art hangs in galleries. But text us when you get there and when you're leaving, and wake us up when you get in.”

“And you'll see her all the way back to our building, Theo,” Dad chimes in.

“Absolutely.” Theo grins, hands in his pockets, like these had been his plans for the evening all along.

A bright yellow taxi finally sidles up to the curb for my mom and dad. As soon as it pulls off, Theo says, “This had better not be about
real
performance art. Because no.”

I give him a look. “No. We're going to Josie and Wyatt's hotel.”

“Thrilled as I am to hear you inviting me to a hotel, I bet you're going in a different direction with this.”

My cheeks flush with heat as I remember Theo and me in the hotel in San Francisco, and the way he rolled me over, kissed me passionately. Thank goodness it's too dark for Theo to see my blush. “Conley hasn't come to this dimension. He
can't have, or else he would have taken care of the sabotage himself.”

“Sure. But this world's Wyatt Conley isn't going to know anything about that.”

“No, but—he's a genius, right? In every dimension. And he might not be involved in the research about dimensional travel, but he's smart enough to understand it. If this version really loves Josie . . .” Still so weird to think about that, but I've begun to believe in his feelings for her. “. . . then maybe he could help us figure out why Conley didn't come to this world.”

Theo frowns as we begin to stroll in the same direction Josie and Wyatt went. “Wait,” he says. “You want to tell this version of Wyatt Conley the truth? Because that is risky as hell.”

“The worst that could happen is Wyatt deciding we're nuts.”

“No, the worst thing that could happen is Conley actually showing up in this universe, finding out we're trying to work against him, and retaliating by splintering Paul's soul into a thousand pieces instead of only four.”