Harmonic (11 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
spend a lot of time with the Consort over the next two days. Del is reinstated the following morning. Despite Lattimer's order to rest, I attend the hearing, willing her to behave. The Consort asks if she'll help them go after Free Walkers, and I remember her earlier words.
They're using you.

They're using both of us, and I'm tempted to warn her off. But I don't, and she agrees to help, and all I can do is hope she'll be safer than I was.

I'm not overly optimistic.

Monty's sentenced the same day, later in the afternoon, and I'm present for that debacle as well. He breaks down, screaming for Del and singing their song—but that only gives further weight to his insanity plea. The Consort feels fully justified in giving him a life sentence.

When I go up to Del's room to tell her the news, she's strangely unaffected. “It's not music, Addie. Just noise. And I never have to hear it again.”

She's even less enthusiastic about the prospect of returning to school, but Mom's patience has run out. My mother is the queen of putting the past behind us.

Which is what I try to do when I give my official statement to the Consort the next day. Laurel is waiting for me in the hall outside the chamber when I finish. The swelling around her eye has gone down and the cut on her forehead is covered by a bright red Band-Aid that matches her lipstick. She springs up as soon as the door closes behind me.

“Well?”

“Well what?” I tip my head at the guard stationed by the elevator. This isn't the place to talk.

She hands me my coat, and we head out.

Even in the elevator, I feel paranoid. If my phone can be tapped, why not the building? But Laurel is vibrating with impatience, so I say, “I gave my report, which they appreciated. The consensus is that, until we have more concrete information about the
current
Free Walkers, they would prefer for me to go back to cleaving. We're suspending the program.”

“I'm sorry,” she says. “What about—”

“My promotion? I didn't catch a Free Walker. But I get my old spot on the team back, and I get to keep my ranking.”

“You caught Garnett!”

“Apparently psychopaths are less valuable than Free Walkers.” That's the official ruling of the Consort: Garnett was a psychopath who killed Sal in an attempt to impress me; when it didn't work, he went after Laurel. The story matches Lattimer's original explanation perfectly, but instinct—which I've never relied on but have a newfound appreciation for—tells me it's not the truth.

The Consort insists Garnett's orders were to arrest the Free Walkers, not kill them, despite the cabinet full of weapons in our office. But Eliot did some digging. Garnett's been assigned to Consorts around the world—each assignment following an outbreak of Free Walker activity, each assignment lasting only a few months. He was an assassin, not an Enforcer, and they knew exactly what they were bringing in.

They just couldn't control him.

They thought they could control me, too.

We head out on foot, duck into a coffee shop. Over cocoa, Laurel asks the question we'd both feared.

“What about the gun? Did they buy it?”

We'd planned it carefully, rehearsed it until the story rolled off our tongues as easily as our names. Garnett had brought the gun with him. Laurel had kicked it away, and I'd picked it up, shooting him when I couldn't escape. It wasn't a perfect story—I couldn't produce the gun, and the shot was so clean, nobody with any experience in ballistics would believe I'd had that kind of beginner's luck. But it was the only explanation we could give that didn't expose Prescott.

Free Walker or not, she'd saved my life.

“That's the weird part.” I set my mug on the table. “They didn't ask about the gun, because the world's been cleaved. They told me before I started my report, so I never brought it up.”

She sits back, eyes wide with astonishment. “What did you tell them?”

“He snapped the threads before he died. I got you out and performed an emergency cleaving.”

Laurel says softly. “Prescott must have cleaved the Echo to hide the evidence, cover her tracks. You're not going to tell them?”

I shake my head.

“Or look for her? You know that cell is active. If you could find them, the Consort would have to give y
ou your reward.”

“I have you,” I say. “That's all the reward I need.”

I believe in the calling of the Walkers, and in our mission to protect the Key World. But there are parts of this puzzle I don't have yet, and until I do, I'll hold my secrets as close as everyone around me.

She ducks her head, but not before the dimple appears.

“You lied to them,” she says. “You lied to the Consort. You're letting the Free Walkers get away.”

“They weren't hurting the Key World.” Prescott and I are even now. I don't want to be in her debt, in case she tries to collect. I take Laurel's hand. “You said all I cared about was Walking.”

“I was mad.”

“You were right. I thought being the perfect Walker would fix everything. But me without you . . . it's not perfect, and it's not real, and it's not what I want.”

“What
do
you want?” Her eyes are glistening now. “I'm not perfect, Addie. You might think I am . . .”

“Oh, I don't,” I assure her. “Believe me.”

Her eyebrows arch, her mouth dropping open in outrage.

“But you're perfect for me.”

She considers this. “Probably.”

“And I'm perfect for you.”

She smiles and leans in, touching her lips to mine. “Definitely.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

W
e're driving to Laurel's when my phone rings. “Del,” Laurel says, checking the display.

That is . . . unusual. When it comes to Del, unusual is never good.

“It's barely noon. She should be at school,” I grumble, and hit speakerphone. “If you're hoping I'll call you in sick for the rest of the day, guess again.”

There's silence on the line. Then, her voice tight, she says, “Why would Simon's Echoes still be around?”

I tense up, then relax. Eliot installed an encryption patch on my phone and Laurel's, no questions asked.

Simon?
Laurel mouths.

“You're supposed to be in class,” I say. “Let's talk tonight.”

“Just answer the question. Why haven't they unraveled?”

I blow out a breath, gathering my thoughts.

“They might be complex enough that they'll stick around for a while. It's not instantaneous, you know. Some terminal Echoes take years.”

When an Original dies, the connection to their Echoes is severed. Across the multiverse, each one begins to unravel like a mini-cleaving, disintegrating at varying rates.

“But they wouldn't have a frequency, right? If his Echo was terminal, it would sound weird.”

Simon's Echo wouldn't sound like anything. Terminal Echoes are completely silent. There's an ache in my chest, a fierce stirring of sympathy. “Yes. Did you go looking for one? I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“I didn't.” Her voice has the ring of truth. “Let's say he wasn't terminal. Why else would his Echo be around?”

Laurel's expression has shifted from bewildered to suspicious. I estimate I'll have about forty-five seconds after I hang up before she starts her own interrogation.

I sigh. “Echoes won't fade while the Original exists, but the Consort checked. The world Simon cleaved is no longer broadcasting a frequency. It's completely unraveled.”

“Addie, this is important. Please, think really carefully. Is there any other reason why Simon's Echoes wouldn't be unraveling?”

The need in her voice—raw and desperate—is painful to hear. Laurel's brows draw together, and she laces her fingers with mine. As gently as I can, I tell my sister, “There's no other reason. He's gone.”

Judging from the silence on the line, so is Del.

Some days, I don't want to fix things. And some days, some times, some people . . . I can't. Del's grief is one of those things. She's going to have to find her way through to the other side, and all I can do is be there when it happens.

Laurel's hand is still twined with mine. This moment, this second chance, feels like a miracle, like a gift. Some things, it turns out, are best when mended. You see not only their beauty, but the love that made them whole again.

Laurel leans her head against my shoulder, the gesture simple and right.

“So,” she says. “Who's Simon?”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Even a short book has a long list of people to thank. . . .

Zareen Jaffery, Mekisha Telfer, Beth Adelman, Justin Chanda, and the rest of the team at Simon & Schuster, for their sharp eyes, clever ideas, and their support of Del's and Addie's stories.

Joanna Volpe, Jaida Temperly, Danielle Barthel, and the entire New Leaf family, for their tireless efforts, their boundless enthusiasm, their fiendishly good ideas—and for always, always having my back.

Lynne Hartzer, Clara Kensie, Melonie Johnson, and Hobbes the Dog, for Portland Midwest and keeping me (mostly) on track.

Ryann Uden, Hanna Martine, Loretta Nyhan, and Eliza Evans, for pep talks and problem-solving and being overall fantastic human beings.

My parents and sister, for cheering me on at every turn.

Danny and the girls, for every single reason under the sun.

ALSO BY ERICA O'ROURKE

Dissonance series

Dissonance

Resonance

Torn trilogy

Torn

Tangled

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Text copyright © 2015 by Erica O'Rourke

Cover photograph copyright © 2015 by Ali Smith

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