Resonance (26 page)

He smoothed my hair back, his fingers moving gently along my forehead. There was nowhere for me to go, no way to draw back from the cold, alien sensation. “I'm afraid you may have broken your cheekbone when the guards took you into custody. There's already quite a lot of bruising.”

“Guess it's good I don't have a mirror, then.”

“I suppose so,” he said. “It's particularly bad . . . here.”

He jammed the heel of his hand against my cheek. I screamed as the world went red.

And fell silent as it went away.

•   •   •

When I woke, I was no longer tied down to the table. I was flat on my back in a cinder-block cell, on a metal shelf meant to be a bed. A toilet in the far corner, a sink next to it. No windows. A single light in a cage, the ceiling too high for me to reach. The air was cool and stale, like it had been recirculated a bunch of times. On the floor beside me were a paper cup of water and a sandwich—peanut butter and jelly, it looked like. I sipped at the water, tiny bits, my stomach cramping with each swallow. Somehow I managed to keep it down, but I shoved the sandwich away.

A pivot hummed directly in front of the wall near my feet, and I made my way over to it. They wouldn't have been so stupid as to leave me an exit, I knew, but it didn't stop me from reaching inside. All I felt was smooth, featureless steel. No strings to part; no escape.

I lay down on the metal bed again, careful not to jostle my cheek or my aching shoulder. When he'd been here, Monty had worn gray scrubs, but I was still wearing Simon's T-shirt and my own tattered jeans. I hated how grateful I was to Lattimer for leaving me that little shred of dignity. I tugged at the neckline, trying to catch the scent of Simon, trying to remember what it felt like to be curled up in his arms, trying to tell myself I could make it back home.

Then, because there was nothing else to do, I slept, pretending the metal shelf beneath me was the bed we'd shared last night.

C
HAPTER FORTY-THREE

T
HE NEXT SESSION WAS WORSE.

I hadn't imagined that was possible, and I'd imagined a
lot
. But I'd been raised to believe in the impossible. I'd lived it; I'd fallen in love with it. I should have known infinity had two sides, like a Möbius strip, and with a single twist life could slide from dream to nightmare.

I'd lost track of time. There was nothing to do in my cell except sleep. My useless Walker pivots transposed before I could do anything; the air quavered, like another reality might be taking shape, and fell still immediately. The threads of this world had been peeled away except for the pivot in the wall, leading back to the interrogation room. I felt for the strings, trying to understand how they'd done it, but the weave was too dense for me to find a way out.

So I slept. Sometimes nightmares came, but sometimes I dreamed of Simon, of our time together, and I woke aching and needy. Sometimes I dreamed of Addie, reading a passage from a textbook, urging me to pay attention. Sometimes I dreamed of my mom, baking cookies and brushing my hair, tsking over how messy I'd let it get, or playing scales for my dad. Sometimes I dreamed of
Eliot.
We're a team,
he would say.
Always have been . . .

I would try to answer, but every time I woke, gasping for air.

Sometimes it was the sound of the Key World drifting through the pivot that woke me. The pitch in this world was out of tune enough to leave me nauseous and woozy. Sometimes I would curl up on the floor, one hand reaching through the rift to touch the metal door, to reorient myself. The guards would kick me out of the way as they dropped my food—always a cup of water and a not-quite-enough sandwich—­peanut butter and jelly, or plain cheese, or unidentifiable lunch meat. Never enough to sate my hunger, but I didn't have much of an appetite.

The guards never spoke. The first few times they came in, I asked questions—when did I get my trial, when did I get out, had my parents been contacted—but they never answered. Lattimer never came through the pivot.

I lost all sense of time, but I'd stacked up the empty cups. Nine of them. Judging from the hollow feeling in my stomach, I didn't think I was getting three meals a day, so it followed that I was on day four or five. Long enough, I hoped, that Simon had made it back to the Free Walkers.

Cup stacking had to be the most useless PE unit ever, but it came in handy now. I sat cross-legged on the floor, building and demolishing towers, my movements as crisp and fast as possible. I played imaginary scales and sonatas on my metal bed, working through Bach and Scarlatti, the way Monty used to. Without strings to manipulate or pivots to walk through, it was the only way to keep myself sane.

The guard came in just as I was starting to build a new tower. He snorted at the sight of me, but I didn't bother to look over. This time he didn't drop off the food. He stood near the pivot, on the edge of my peripheral vision, feet planted and disdain palpable. When I finished, he barked, “Up.”

I nested the cups into a single cone and set them below the bed, then clambered to my feet. “What's going on?”

“Councilman wants to see you. Put your hands behind you. Face the wall.”

I did as he asked, felt the snap of metal around my wrists and the clink of the chain. Then he took me by the elbow and dragged me through the pivot, where the metal door stood open and a second guard waited on the other side.

There was a chair this time, which seemed like an improvement. They shoved me into the seat and attached my handcuffs to the table, just like Monty. He'd lasted for weeks in here. Of course, he'd already been insane. But he'd lasted, and so could I. I slouched as the guards stepped out.

“How are you feeling?” Lattimer asked when he entered, lavender silk pocket square peeking out from his immaculate suit, coordinating with his tie.

“I want a lawyer.”

“We don't have lawyers.”

“My mom and dad, then.” They might have called the Consort, but I was still their kid.

“Your parents have dedicated their lives to protecting the Key World. You've betrayed them, and our purpose. Your
family has washed their hands of you.”

I tried not to let my hurt show. Emotion was another tool for him to use against me. He might be lying, I reminded myself. I had no idea what was happening outside this cell, and Lattimer was as impassive as ever. There was nothing I could glean from his appearance.

“Still cleaving?” I taunted. “How many Walkers have you lost since you started the Tacet?”

Annoyance flickered over his features, and a spark of triumph caught in me.

“Feeling spirited today? We'll have to do something about that.”

“They're not going to give up, you know. They've been waiting almost twenty years for this. They won't stop because you have Rose.”

He crossed over to the cart, perusing the instruments atop it, and then turned to me.

“I'd imagine not. But I hope you're not expecting another dramatic rescue. Now that we're housing such dangerous prisoners, this building is on lockdown. Essential personnel only, increased Enforcement Walkers. No one comes into this building unless they've been approved by a Consort member.”

I didn't reply. Rose had been right about the protocols. She'd known it would happen this way.

“It truly is just the two of us,” he said, and sat down. “Let's not waste time with the notion that the Free Walkers wield a sword of truth, Delancey. It will only end badly for you. Your
grandparents hid something seventeen years ago. Something they believed could defeat the Walkers.”

“Not the Walkers,” I said. “The Consort.”

“They're one and the same.”

“If that were true, you wouldn't be worried.”

He chuckled, but there was a tightness around his eyes. “I'm not the one who should be worried.”

“Because you're going to kill me? Wasn't that always part of the plan? Kill me to spite Monty? Maybe as a way to make Rose talk? You're counting on them to be sentimental, and believe me, they aren't.”

He sighed. “I suppose not. But you are. You're a romantic. You fought for a cause you're barely a part of; you turned yourself in to protect worlds you've never even visited. For someone who has been characterized as selfish, I think your recklessness has taken on a martyrlike cast.”

“Some causes are worth fighting for,” I said, picturing Simon in the half-light.

“And dying for?”

“If I have to.”

He tented his fingers, tapped them to his lips. “Would your family feel the same? Do they believe in your cause?”

In the cold room, on an icy metal chair, I began to sweat. Even my insides felt slippery and feverish, and beads of moisture trickled down my spine.

“You said they'd disowned me.”

“You care for them. It's a weakness, that kind of devotion. A
soft spot, so easy to open up and scoop out.” He caught my hand and turned it over, tracing a finger over the veins.

I jerked away. “They don't know anything.”

“They don't need to. They matter to you. Your sister,” he said. “Poor besotted Eliot Mitchell. Even Shaw seems to think you're worth saving. And the irony is, trying to save you is what will get them killed. I know you'll sacrifice yourself. What about the ones you love?”

“You're asking questions.” My voice wavered more than I liked. “Members of the Consort never ask questions.”

“We're past formalities,” he replied, a gleam in his eyes. “Tell me about the Free Walkers' weapon, Delancey, or tell me who I should send the guards to pick up first. Addison? She's currently at Laurel Pruitt's apartment. They seem very happy together, you know. Tragic, really, to separate them.”

“Leave them alone.”

“Who, then? Eliot? He's struggled in your absence. I would be putting him out of his misery. Your parents might know more than they've admitted. Or perhaps it should be Shaw. Considering his failure to manage you over the last few years, it would be fitting to select him.”

“Stop,” I said, my voice low and hoarse.

“Picture your hands on the strings of their lives,” he said. “Cut them or save them. The choice is yours.”

I couldn't speak. The metal cuffs bit into my wrists, Lattimer smirked, and I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“Addison it is,” he said. “We might as well keep it in the family.”

He stood, and the words burst out, desperate and raw. “It's the First Echo!”

I counted ten heartbeats—ten times my heart squeezed and my chill blood rushed and my lungs clamped shut. He lowered himself into the seat.

“The First Echo.”

“It's proof. Rose and Monty found the First Echo, years ago.” I forced myself not to mention Gil, to bury anything that might lead to Simon.

“The First Echo is lost. It's too old, too far back in the thickets of time to be found again.”

“They found it,” I let the words flow from me as freely as my tears. “They were going to tell the Walkers about cauterization, and if it didn't work, they'd move to the First Echo and cauterize it.”

“Which would prove nothing.”

“It would prove the Consorts have been lying. It would prove the Echoes aren't the enemy. It would prove we don't need to cleave to be okay. And we'd be able to start over.”

“We are Walkers!” he thundered, ugly color mottling his jowls and neck. “‘Okay' is a poor foundation on which to build reality. Okay is a celebration of mediocrity, and we are not mediocre. We are
chosen
.”

“We're anomalies,” I said. “We're a chromosome that went sideways, and we're no better than Originals. We're just different.”

So quickly I barely registered the movement, he yanked on
the chain linking me to the table. I slammed into the metal face-first, pain tearing through me like a lightning strike.

Lattimer lifted me by the hair and spoke, so close I could see the flecks of spittle gathering at the corner of his mouth. “I will not argue philosophy with a child,” he snapped. “The frequency of the First Echo, now, or I will use every single one of the tools in that cart. Slowly. On your sister.”

“They split it,” I gasped. “Rose and Monty. That's why she needed him out of prison. It wasn't love, or sentiment. She needed his frequency before you killed him.”

“And now you have it too. Because there's nothing Montrose wouldn't give his best, brightest girl, would he?”

I swallowed down bile and nodded.

I had all three frequencies, thanks to Amelia. But I wasn't ready to give up the third one. Not yet. If Lattimer was desperate, the Free Walkers must be making progress. I closed my eyes, begged Addie to forgive me, and took the second-biggest gamble of my life.

The biggest one came later.

C
HAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I
'D BOUGHT TIME. TIME FOR
Addie and Eliot, time for the Free Walkers, time for Simon and Amelia.

I'd bought it with my future, and payment was coming due. The guard delivered food and a set of faded gray scrubs. Wearing them seemed like giving up, so I put the top on for as long as it took to rinse Simon's shirt in the sink. When I put the T-shirt back on, the material was still damp, no longer smelling of him—but it felt like a connection.

Another sandwich. If I ever got out—unlikely, but I let myself pretend—I would never eat another cheese sandwich again, or drink out of a paper cup. I'd have so many mattresses and blankets and pillows, my room would look like the inside of a genie's bottle.

When the guard came, and there was no paper plate in his hand, I never wanted a cheese sandwich so badly in my life.

Lattimer was already in the interrogation room, seething and toxic. The guard threw me into the chair and locked me down. I thought I saw the barest flash of pity in his eyes, but then he left without looking back. It was me and Lattimer, and the air was thick with hatred.

When he spoke, it was with great and obvious restraint, as if even one word let fly without consideration would be a killing blow.

“We put the frequencies together. Every possible combination of the two, and none of the Echoes they led to were complex enough to be the First Echo.”

“Maybe your people aren't that good.”

“You lied.”

“I gave you the frequencies,” I said. “Rose will confirm it.”

It struck me Rose might already be dead, but Lattimer said, “She did. She's been unwilling to say more.”

“I'm not as dumb as everyone thinks,” I said. “Rose encoded it in a song, same as Monty. I found the frequencies in her journals. You must have read them when she disappeared. They were in front of you all along.”

“There's a third frequency, isn't there?” Lattimer asked. I willed my expression to stay neutral. “Based on our analysis, a third component would generate a frequency as complex as the First Echo.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I've directed my people to pick up your sister. I think we'll bring her back here. Let you have one last visit before she realizes what you've done to her.”

I straightened. “Leave Addie out of this.”

“I'm not the one who involved her. What is the third frequency?”

If the Consort found the First Echo, they'd cleave it, killing everyone inside, Free Walkers included. I couldn't hand it over, couldn't let him think I knew. A half truth then. “It's not in Rose's or Monty's journals,” I said. “They don't have it.”

“Who does?”

“You're supposed to be smart,” I said. “You really don't know?”

He grabbed my wrist and squeezed viciously hard. “Tell me.”

My bones ground against each other, my fingertips going numb, and I said the name on a gasp. “Gil Bradley.”

The pressure eased. “Gil Bradley's been dead for seventeen years.”

“Exactly. They split the frequency before you caught him. Didn't Rose tell you this?”

He let go. “Your grandmother is less than forthcoming. As was Gil. I interrogated him for months and he never said anything about the First Echo. It was always talk of a weapon.”

I massaged my wrist. “They believe truth is all the weapon they need.”

Maybe it was. But I didn't need a weapon. I needed a shield, and a lie would work better than the truth. Just a little longer, I told myself. Hold off Lattimer; let the Free Walkers make their move. That was the best I could hope for.

He glowered. “Why wait until now?”

Because they'd needed to rebuild. Because Simon's anomaly had made it now or never. “Because you threatened to start another Tacet.”

“I've done more than threaten,” he said, so confident that he leaned back in his chair to study me. “We cleaved thousands of Echoes. Not minor ones. Major branches, with countless offshoots.”

I'd known it, but his casual confirmation made my stomach constrict, bile flooding my mouth. “Why?”

“Because it's the easiest way to keep the Key World stable.”

“But it's wrong! Those Echoes are people. You're killing them every time you cleave a world. The Free Walkers know how to give them a life of their own.”

“Hardly. Those Echoes are abominations. Soulless creatures, divorced from everything that makes them human. Allowing them to live is condoning blasphemy, and we will not stand for it.”

“It's murder.”

“It's a cleansing,” he snarled.

“It's a lie! You've been training generations of people to commit genocide, telling them it's the only way, that it's a calling. You tell them it's
noble.
”

“And it is. We cleave in accordance with our most sacred beliefs.”

“I've read the scripture. That's only one interpretation.” My mouth tasted sour. “We have the chance to create worlds, not destroy them. Why would you take that from us? What gives you the right?”

He leaned back, secure in his arrogance. “My predecessor. And her predecessor before her. And so on, since the beginning of our people. This is our tradition.”

“Traditions can change.”

“This one won't.”

“The Free Walkers are going to tell everyone,” I said.

“Who will listen?” He laughed at my expression. “It's not as if I'm going to repeat this conversation. And you're certainly in no position to do so. The truth will die with you, Delancey.”

His suit pocket buzzed. He held up a finger, as if asking me to excuse him, and withdrew his phone. His face altered as he scanned the screen—a slight narrowing of the eyes, a thinning of the mouth. The vein in his temple pulsed.

I didn't know what was on that phone, but I liked it.

“Problem?” I asked sweetly.

“Your sister seems to have disappeared. Hardly a problem.”

“Kind of sounds like it,” I said. “She's not very good leverage if you can't actually bring her in to . . . lever.”

“Where would she have gone?”

“No idea,” I said. “She has zero interest in the Free Walkers, and they wouldn't go near her, especially now. If Addie ran, it's because she knows you're coming for her. And if she's smart enough to know you're coming, she's smart enough to know where you'll look.”

She'd go where they wouldn't know where to look. Where she might find the one Free Walker in existence who might stick around.

She'd go to Amelia's.

Something must have shifted in my expression, because Lattimer's hand shot out and trapped mine. “Where did she go?”

“I don't know.”

“Are you certain? I would feel quite comfortable wagering the opposite.”

Slowly, methodically, he bent my index finger back, holding my hand in place. I cried out, but he ignored me and pressed harder.

“Where did she go?”

My shriek rose in step with the pressure, but I didn't answer. Not even when the bone snapped and my throat burned and my tears flowed. I couldn't trust myself to speak, so I screamed until Lattimer released me.

He stood, straightened his tie, and smoothed the lapels of his suit.

“We will find her.” He paused, hand on the doorknob of the cell. “I'll have the guard bring you a comb. You should look presentable for the family reunion.”