Erica O'Rourke - Dissonance

I tucked my hands in my pockets, trying not to reach for him. “You don’t have to Walk. We’ll figure out a way to keep you out of it.”

“But it’s my frequency causing the problem. It’s my fault.” He hunched his shoulders. “The Consort. The people who steal kids and threw my dad in prison. They’re the ones in charge? And the Free Walkers fight them?”

“I guess. I thought they were a story, not real. Not organized, or powerful.”

“Maybe they wanted it that way,” he said. “If we don’t fix this, the Consort will find me. They’ll take me away from my mom, like they did to my dad. The best chance I have to stay here and have a normal life is to help you.”

“Last time you Walked, we almost died. It ripped the fabric of the multiverse. I don’t want to risk it.”

“More tears?” he asked.

“You. I don’t want to risk losing you.” Any more than I have already, I added silently.

“Because you care about me.” I nodded, and the tightness around his mouth eased. “But you don’t believe I care about you.”

“What you felt for me was rooted in your Echoes,” I said. Pictures of Simon hung from the fridge, and I studied them to keep from looking at him. They went back to grade school, a little boy clutching a basketball with undisguised glee and the same clear, direct gaze weighing on me now. “I’m not the choice you would have made on your own.”

“So, the Echoes’ feelings are real, but they aren’t. And I’m real, but my feelings aren’t. Works out pretty well for you.”

“Excuse me?” I wheeled around.

“If we crash and burn, regardless of which world you’re visiting, we weren’t real. And if it’s not real, it doesn’t hurt.”

It hurt plenty, so much that my throat tightened and my breath came shorter at the reminder. But I held my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Can we back-burner the psychoanalysis for today? We’ve got bigger problems.”

“You’re scared.”

“The multiverse is about to start coming down around our ears. I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t scared.”

“You told the other me you’d been hiding. This is what you’ve been hiding from. Reality. There’s a million worlds for you to visit, but only one that counts, and you can’t control it and it terrifies you.”

He stalked toward me, and I edged away until my back hit the counter.

“You gave up on us pretty damn quick, didn’t you? Because it was real and you could have gotten hurt.”

“I am hurt,” I said, but it came out softer than I’d hoped.

“Me too,” he said. “It hurt to think of you with anyone else, even if it was me. You and I are real, Delancey Sullivan. I’m not letting you hide from that in this world or any other. So I’m coming with. You said my choices make worlds?”

I nodded, my breath coming too fast.

“Then I choose the world where you and I are together, and we solve this. Got it?”

He slid his hand around the nape of my neck, tipped my head back. “Got it,” I whispered, and he swallowed my words as we fell into the kiss.

“I would tell you to get a room,” Addie said from the direction of the doorway, “but you’re too young, and we don’t have the time.”

“Go away, Addie,” I said, eyes closed.

She clipped across the floor. “We need to get ready. And I’m sure Mrs. Lane would like to talk with her son. Which she cannot do while you’re mauling him.”

Simon pulled back, hands framing my face. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Addie said, “we save the world.”

He kissed me again, lightly, and we went back to the living room, where Eliot was carefully inspecting the wallpaper. Monty waggled his eyebrows at me and turned to Simon’s mom.

“We’ll be off, then, Amelia. I’m sure we’ll see you again soon.”

She stood, fragile but determined. “I wouldn’t recommend waiting another seventeen years, Montrose.”

“No indeed,” he said, sadness in his smile.

“I’m sorry we brought this down on you,” I said to her, when everyone else had filed out. Simon stood behind me, hands on my waist.

“It was always a possibility,” she said. “Especially once Simon brought you home.”

“You knew who I was?”

“Not at first. But when you told me your name, and Simon mentioned Montrose, I knew it was coming.” She sounded miserable and resigned, and I wanted desperately to make her feel better. To make them both feel better.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “Monty’s really good. He must seem like he’s slipped a lot since you knew him, but—”

“I don’t think he’s slipped at all,” she said. “He’s exactly as he used to be.”

I relaxed slightly, and she pressed my hand between hers. “Please be careful. I know Walkers believe the Key World matters most, but Simon is my world. Take care of him.”

“I will. I promise.”

In rare instances, the destabilization of one branch can spread to others, creating a cascade effect and requiring swift action.

—Chapter Five, “Physics,”

Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five

SATURDAY MORNING I woke early and found my mom in her office, door thrown wide. “Del,” she said, barely looking up as she shoved file folders and rolled-up maps into her bag. “You three are on your own today. I’d prefer it if you stayed out of the Echoes as much as possible.”

“Is there a problem?” I said, trying to sound curious instead of alarmed. Inside, my heart was pounding triple-time. “Some development with the anomaly?”

“We’re very close,” she said. “I’m hoping that the analysis we run today will pinpoint the source, but I need the Consort’s computers. And since your father’s not fully recovered, he’s going to coordinate the teams.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the kitchen. “We’re hoping this is the end, honey. Once we can get rid of the source, life will go back to the way it was.”

The source was Simon. Getting rid of him was not an option. Besides, after Monty’s bombshell last night, going back to the way things used to be had lost its appeal. The future was equally murky; how could I work for the Consort if Monty’s stories were true?

“Mom?” I asked. “What was Grandma like?”

“That’s an odd question,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Monty’s been talking about her a lot lately,” I said. “But you know how he gets. What was she really like?”

She poured coffee into a travel mug, dosed it with cream and sugar. Finally she said, “She was strong, I suppose. Practical, but not rigid. Not quite as . . . exuberant . . . as Monty. She loved your grandfather, and she loved what she did. She was absolutely devoted to her patients, to the teams under her care. They were like family to her. Sometimes I thought she cared more about them than she did our work. Or us.”

She snapped the lid on her mug. “I have to run. Be careful today.”

Before the car pulled away, I was texting Eliot and shaking Addie awake. We convened around the kitchen island, reviewing one last time.

“Simon spends the most time at school,” Addie said. “He’s already created a bunch of branches there, so they’re our best shot at triggering Baroque events. Grandpa, you’re going to help Simon. Del and I will handle the tunings. Eliot, you’re going to navigate. Everybody clear?”

“What about Lattimer?” I asked. “He always checks in on Saturday.”

Addie chewed on a fingernail. “He’ll be busy with Mom and Dad’s big meeting. As long as we’re home in the evening, he won’t find out.”

“You’re assuming we’ll finish this in one day,” Eliot said. “And that the Consort won’t be monitoring the area.”