Erica O'Rourke - Dissonance

He took my hand. “We don’t want to be late.”

I nodded, and he held open the door.

My skin tingled every time I crossed the threshold of this place. There’s power in secrets, in knowledge hidden away. The deeper they’re hidden, the greater the tension shimmering through the air. This building held secrets Originals couldn’t dream of, and no matter how many Monet reproductions they hung on the walls or how tasteful the jazz they piped in, the hum of power couldn’t be entirely muted.

This time when I walked in, dread curled through me, bitterly cold.

“Del!” Callie Moreno called from the corner. The group turned to gape at me. Muttering something under her breath, Callie shot them a dirty look, pushed off the couch, and strode across the lobby. In the too-quiet room, the heels of her boots rang out on the floor. She gave me a half smile, warm but worried. “Is it true? Logan said you—”

“Delancey Sullivan?” one of the security guards asked, stepping out from behind the desk. Callie’s smile fell away, and Eliot shifted, putting himself between us. “You’ll need to come with me.”

I opened and closed my mouth soundlessly, like a fish thrown onto shore.

“Where?” Eliot asked. “Says who?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my classmates edging closer, as if they couldn’t catch every word in the echoing lobby.

“To the sixteenth floor,” the guard said, chest puffed out. “At the request of the Consort.”

“Class starts in five minutes,” I said, my voice rasping.

He smirked. “Not for you.”

Eliot turned his back on the guard to look at me, his dark skin shiny with nerves. “I’ll go with you.”

The guard beckoned, and a woman in an identical uniform—badly cut black pants, white shirt with black trim, Taser and other paraphernalia hanging from a thick leather belt—joined him.

As a precaution against creating strong pivots in the building, Consort guards didn’t carry lethal weapons. Before today I’d assumed the stun gun and pepper spray were to protect the Walkers from discovery by Originals. Now, as the second guard stared down my best friend, I reconsidered.

In a nasal, overloud voice, she said, “The summons is for Delancey alone. We will escort you to the chamber. The rest of you will proceed to training as usual.”

Eliot met my eyes, ready to argue.

“I’ve got this,” I told him, trying to keep the wobble from my voice. “See you in a few.”

Maybe they would let me off with a warning. If they did, I’d be a model student for the rest of training. I’d help out at home. I’d be nicer to Addie. Anything, as long as they didn’t take Walking from me.

Our path to the elevators was blocked by my classmates. Behind us, the younger kids were coming inside for their training, some of them accompanied by their parents. As the lobby filled and the murmurs grew, my face went fiery. I’d wanted to be known for my skill, not my screwups.

I kept my eyes fixed on the elevators, tuned out the whispers and snickers, and moved across the room on autopilot. Shame burned through me, hotter with every step. But it wasn’t until I was inside, steel doors sliding shut, that I nearly lost it. The glimpse of Eliot, stricken and sympathetic, was infinitely worse than the onlookers’ scorn.

Given a choice, it seems like pity would be easier to bear than mockery, but that’s not true. Mockery hardens defenses; pity slips through, finds the softest places you have, and slices to the bone.

Pity will break you, every time.

One guard slid a card through a reader and pressed the button for the sixteenth floor. I thought about asking what would happen, but they looked straight ahead, feet braced wide and hands clasped behind their backs. They didn’t seem like they’d welcome a conversation.

I wondered if they knew the full story, or if they’d simply done the Consort’s bidding without asking for details. Probably the latter. Nobody questioned the Consort. Their rulings were absolute, their directives inviolate. Even my parents didn’t challenge the orders they received.

The display counted steadily upward, and I knotted my fingers together as the elevator slowed. The doors opened and my lungs closed.

My parents stood in the cream-and-ebony foyer, their heads bent together. Monty perched on an upholstered black bench, looking around owlishly. He must have been here plenty of times, but he was acting as if he had never seen this place before.

One of the guards prodded me in the back, and I stumbled into the hall. My mother’s head snapped up, her mouth tightening in annoyance. “Del! Why did you run off? I told you we would come in together.”

“And I told you I’d ride with Eliot,” I said, palms sweating. “I can do this without you.”

“You’re a minor,” she said. “The Consort can’t sentence you unless we’re present.”

“Sentence me?” I repeated. “I’m on trial?”

“No, sweetheart.” My father pulled me to his side, like he could protect me from the impact of his words. “The trial’s over. They’ve called witnesses, reviewed the reports . . .”

I jerked away. “I didn’t get to defend myself!”

“Your actions are your defense, Del. Intentions don’t count. Explanations don’t count. The only thing that matters is the end result,” he said.

“Deaf and dumb,” Monty grumbled. “Every one of them.”

Mom shushed him. “Dad!”

He waved her off. “Rose used to say I should have been given a Consort seat. Thought I could do some good. Don’t let them scare you, Del. You’re worth ten of them.”

My mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “Dad, you’re not helping matters. Can you please keep it to yourself until we get home?”

Monty’s disdain for the Consort was nothing new—their failure to find my grandmother was a grudge he’d nursed my whole life. But his words could be twisted if the wrong person overheard.

“I keep all kinds of things,” he said, tapping his forehead with a gnarled finger. It would have been better for him to stay home, and I realized we were short one person.

“Where’s Addie?” I asked.

My dad tugged at the knot of his tie. Cleavers rarely dressed up, and now I understood why. Hard to run in business casual. “She’s inside.”

Sympathy stirred within me, but it was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one on trial. They must have already sentenced her, since she wasn’t considered a minor.

The female guard touched her earpiece and gestured to the twin doors of the Consort’s chamber. “Go in.”

Monty levered himself up with a grunt. My mom helped me with my backpack and coat, handing them over to my dad. She started to say something, but stopped. Instead she tucked my hair behind my ears and sighed, as if it was the best she could do. My dad reached for the door handle, not meeting my eyes.

I started to shake, and the worst-case scenarios I’d been trying not to imagine crowded into my head. Prison. An oubliette. Another cleaving, one I couldn’t escape.

A blue-veined hand closed over mine, cool and reassuring. Monty angled his head toward the door. “Together?”

At least Monty was looking out for me. “Together.”

I looked up at the marble plaque above the chamber doors. The Key World frequency was carved into the polished white stone, a line of peaks and valleys in perfect symmetry. The motto beneath captured everything I’d ever been taught.

To the true song, all honor;

From the true song, all gifts.

For the first time in my life, the lines rang false. Walking was my birthright, my gift, but the people inside that room had the power to snatch it away. My whole future—the only one I’d ever wanted—had narrowed down to a single moment. A single decision.