Dissonance (36 page)

“Can you?” he asked softly. “Desperate times, Winnie.”

“Not that desperate. Not yet.” She swallowed, reached for my dad's hand. “The girls are to stay away from anything having to do with the anomaly. That's our decision, and it is final. Are we clear?”

Monty nodded slowly, looking smaller, and I felt a twin rush of emotion: sympathy for him, irritation with my parents. Without speaking, I cleared my place at the table.

“The same goes for you, Del,” my father said. I stared at the floor. “The last thing you need is to be caught defying the Consort.”

“Got it,” I said.

I had no intention of getting caught.

•  •  •

Upstairs, Addie was lying on the bed, eyes closed, headphones on. I sat down next to her and plucked them off. Rachmaninoff came through the earbuds, tinny and strident.

“They're worried,” I said. “They're so worried they can't hear anything else.”

“Whatever,” said Addie. “You get away with crap constantly. Why not me? Not even once?”

“You got caught because you told on yourself,” I said impatiently. “When we broke into Mom's office, I locked it up again and kept my mouth shut. I didn't sit down at dinner and say, ‘Hey, Mom, you need to invest in a better lock, because I picked yours in under ninety seconds.' You don't want to get caught, learn how to be sneaky.”

She opened her eyes. “Oh, good. I'm taking advice from a delinquent. This is what my life has come to.”

“A very successful delinquent, who's willing to teach you her ways,” I added, and hit her with a pillow. “Tell me your theory.”

“We're supposed to leave it alone.”

“You're supposed to be teaching me,” I said. “Consider this a teachable moment.”

She snorted, but sat up. “Fine. I think they're approaching the whole problem backward. The Consort's looking for the anomaly in the Echoes—moving from newer to older, smaller to bigger. But the biggest, oldest world is this one.”

“You think the source is here? The Consort would have found anything that disrupted the Key World.”

“You know the Queen Anne's lace in the backyard? It's a weed, technically. An invasive species.”

As a kid, I'd picked enormous bouquets of Queen Anne's lace—broad white crowns and spindly stems that left my fingers
smelling like carrots. “It's a flower. Not a very pretty one though.”

“It's a weed. We're used to it, so we don't think about pulling it when Mom tells us to clear the flower beds. But she's got enough other plants back there that it doesn't take over. The Key World is the same way: Even if the anomaly is here, our world is stable enough to keep it in check. But the Echoes aren't as stable. There's room for it to take root, and each Echo generated from one of the infected branches is even
more
infected. It's cumulative.”

“But what about here? Would it affect Originals?”

“You mean Simon?” She rolled her eyes. “It's more likely to affect his Echoes. He's popular at school, right?”

“He's popular
everywhere
. You've seen him.”

“Some people are natural pivot points. The Consort physicists haven't studied it super closely, but they've found that a small segment of the population has a tendency to form significantly more branches than others.”

I thought back to the maps Eliot had shown me, thickets of lines crowding around the Key World. “Why would that happen?”

“We don't know. It's like their decisions have more resonance. Historically, those people end up in positions that underscore those tendencies—they become politicians, or prominent in a given field, or celebrities. If that's the case with Simon, he's popular
because
he's a pivot. He literally can't help it.”

“That's crazy. Does it make them less stable? Do they have SRT?”

“It doesn't affect their stability. They're like any other Original.” She paused. “They do display a higher rate of SRT, but that's simple math—more Echoes means more chance of an overlap.”

More Baroque events, too. Situations with lots of choices meant lots of Simons, operating on similar frequencies. If they overlapped, it would account for his extreme SRT. And more Simons meant he was more likely to be affected by the anomaly.

But unless I wanted him to end up as the Consort's guinea pig, it was smarter not to mention that to my sister.

“So, what's next? If we're going to figure this out, we need a plan.” Nothing distracted Addie like a plan.

She reached for a nearby map, then tossed it aside. “First thing is to find the branches that are being affected. Eliot can help us narrow it down, can't he?”

My voice sounded small. “I don't think Eliot's interested in helping me right now.”

“Why not?”

I traced the floral pattern on the duvet.

“I see,” she said. “Give him some time. He'll come around.”

Time wasn't the answer. But all I said was, “I've got a copy of the software we can use.”

Addie looked relieved. “Excellent. Between the anomaly and the cleavings, none of my maps are working. Fork it over.”

I had an instant of panic Simon would text me about Walking while she was using it. Then I shoved my paranoia aside. He wasn't going to be texting, or calling, or acknowledging me anytime soon.

“This software is awesome, Del. I don't know why you won't give Eliot a chance.”

“On the strength of his programming abilities? He's my friend. I don't think about him that way.”

“You might if you tried.”

“Could you make yourself fall for someone you didn't want, just because it would make life easier? Find some nice Walker guy instead of a nice Walker girl?”

“Point taken.” She cocked her head to the side. “There's a pivot in your room.”

My hands went cold. “There are pivots all over the house. No big deal.”

“This one's strong.” She headed for the stairs. “Someone must have used it recently.”

“I bet it's a glitch.” I scrambled after her. “Eliot hasn't finished debugging the code.”

She ignored me, and I had a horrible, slow-motion sense of watching disaster unfold. She threw open the door, wrinkling her nose at the mess of papers and clothing scattered everywhere. Map in hand, she turned in a circle until she found the pivot. It pulsed loudly, a drumbeat announcing my guilt.

“Tell me you didn't.” She stalked toward the rift.

“I didn't!”

She stopped in her tracks and faced me dead-on. “Tell me the truth.”

I looked away.

“Oh, my God. You've been Walking behind my back? Using
this to sneak out and . . . what? Mess around in the Echoes? Were you trying to make me look bad?”

“No! Why would I do that?”

“I don't know, Del. I don't know why you would violate your probation, and risk your entire future, and lie to the Consort, and . . . You're crazy. That's why. You're insane. They don't let crazy people Walk, you know. It won't matter if you score one hundred on the exam. They're never going to give you a license.”

I knotted my fingers together. “They will if you don't tell.”

“Lie for you.” She scoffed. “You've definitely lost it.”

“You don't understand,” I said, desperation flooding me. “Addie, please.”

“I understand you're a lying little weasel. I've been wasting my time babysitting when I could have been helping Mom and Dad. I put my own reputation on the line. I told Lattimer he should consider ending your suspension early, that you were a lock to pass the test. I told him you'd learned your lesson.” She laughed. “We're both idiots, I guess.”

Addie had backed me up with Lattimer?

“You never told me.”

“I didn't want to get your hopes up. Unlike you, I don't lead people on. Make them believe something that was never true. Like me, thinking you'd changed.” She waved the phone at me. “Or Eliot, thinking you cared about him.”

I snatched the phone back. “Leave him out of this.”

“What did you do to him? Eliot would walk through fire for
you, so it must have been something big. Was it because you were Walking without him? Or did he get sick of your weird obsession with Simon Lane?”

I forced myself to look away from the pivot.

“It's both,” she said softly. “Simon and Walking. You were chasing after his Echoes. That is . . . pathetic.”

“You can't prove any of it,” I said, fear turning ugly and vicious inside me. “Nobody's ever interested in your theories, Addie.”

“I'll find proof,” she said, heading toward the stairs. The smile she leveled at me was as brilliant and hard as a diamond. “And once I do, I will bury you.”

I
STOOD IN
my empty room, the pivot throbbing in time with my head. How long before Addie tracked down the proof she needed? My first instinct was to call Eliot, but he wasn't an option anymore. My second was to ask Monty for help, but when I found him, he was sitting in the living room while my parents washed dishes ten feet away.

I was running out of choices—and time.

“I'm going out,” I called.

Mom turned. “It's nine o'clock at night. Where are you going?”

“Eliot's.” The lie rolled easily off my tongue.

From the living room, Monty broke into a coughing fit. “Aren't you going to say good-bye?”

I gave him a quick hug. Before I pulled away, he pressed something into my hand, curling my fingers around it. “Just in case.”

It was a small silver pendant, a tuning fork like Addie and my mom had. I wasn't supposed to have one until I got my license. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Use it well.” He settled back into the recliner, eyes shut.

“It's a school night,” my dad reminded me. “Be back by curfew.”

Making curfew was the least of my worries.

I'd left origami stars behind in every Echo I visited, and they were still resonating at the Key World frequency. But instead of guiding me home, my breadcrumbs would lead Addie straight to the proof she needed. I couldn't even collect them without my signal laying a fresh trail.

Even without proof, an accusation would be enough for the Consort to look more closely at what I'd been up to. When they did, they'd find Simon, with his SRT and his Baroque events.

Simon, who needed me to save his mom's life.

What's the point if you can't save people? Make the world better?

My future with the Walkers was unraveling faster than any cleaving. If the Consort was going to cast me out, I might as well use my last few Walks for good.

When I looked up and found myself standing across the street from Simon's house, the choice was easy.

•  •  •

Iggy heard me coming before I could knock on the door, his big bass woofs rattling the windows. Simon's shadow appeared, and then he was standing in front of me, one hand gripping Iggy's collar, one hand braced on the doorframe. The clever things I'd imagined saying—the defenses I'd counted on for so long—flew out of my head.

He was backlit, the lamp glow keeping his face in darkness. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or angry to see me shivering on the steps.

“I can't promise,” I said, huddled in my coat. “And if it puts you in danger, I won't do it. But I'll try.”

There was a long, awful pause, a pivot swelling as he studied me.

He held out his hand.

I took it, and he pulled me into the warmth and the light, into him. The awful tightness in my chest loosened, finally, and I could breathe him in, soap and sunshine even at night.

“Come and meet my mom,” he said.

The front room was clearly for show, with furniture that looked too small for Simon's height and sprawl. He led me through the narrow kitchen, with white cabinets and cheery, apple-green walls and a round table with three chairs. It opened up into a bright, cozy family room. The woman sitting on the couch, feet tucked under her, a red chenille throw on her lap, looked up expectantly. A book lay facedown on the table in front of her, a teacup at her elbow.

“You brought a friend home! Why didn't you tell me?” Mrs. Lane said, and started to get up. Simon went to her side immediately, but she waved him off.

She was taller than me, but not by much. He must have gotten his height from his dad. A scarf covered her head, a few wisps of honey-blond hair poking out at the edges, but her eyes were the same dark, sparkling blue as her son's—intelligent, lively, and right now, full of speculation.

“Mom, this is Del Sullivan.”

“It's lovely to meet you, Del. I'm Amelia.”

“You too. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“You're not. I was reading, and Simon is entertaining that monstrous dog.” Iggy nosed his way over to her, and she gave him an affectionate scratch around the ears. “Take her coat, Simon. Please, sit down.”

Iggy plopped down in front of her. “I was talking to our guest, you beast. Del, would you like tea?”

“No, thank you.” Simon slipped my coat off my shoulders, his fingertips grazing the nape of my neck. I wrinkled my nose at him—getting grabby in front of his mom was not the impression I wanted to make—but his face was a picture of innocence. He nudged me toward an overstuffed armchair in a red-and-white stripe, and I perched on the edge, ready to bolt.

“Simon says you're working on a music project together?” she asked. “I hope he's not making it too hard on you.”

“Hey,” he said, sprawling on the floor at my feet. “I'm not that bad.”

I saw Simon in her grin. “You absolutely are, and you know it.”

He hung his head in mock defeat. “I'm going to make it up to her. I'm going to teach her the finer points of a pick and roll.”