Erica O'Rourke - Dissonance

“Get over here,” Addie said, not bothering to sound polite. Simon brushed past me, and I went a little weak-kneed at the sensation, despite the seed of doubt unfurling within me. Something was off.

Simon stretched out a hand, inches above Addie’s, and the frequency ratcheted up. Monty and I both winced, clapping our hands over our ears.

“Go,” Eliot said, his voice wavering. “It’s moving fast. Ninety seconds, Addie.”

She bit down on her lower lip, brow creasing as her fingers made minute adjustments.

“Sixty seconds,” Eliot warned. Around us, the entire gym started to flicker, the Key World version alternating with this one, creating a strobe effect with the lights. Beads of sweat popped on Addie’s forehead.

“Thirty seconds.”

“Almost there . . . ,” Addie breathed. “Got it!”

The room trembled as if the molecules were rearranging themselves. The frequency crescendoed, rippling through us like a sonic boom, and Monty staggered into Simon. An instant later the pitch dropped back to almost normal, and our ears filled with the sounds of basketball practice—squeaking sneakers, basketballs on hardwood, the shouts of the coach. The banner was nowhere in sight, safely locked in the Key World.

“Knew you had it in you, Addie-girl,” Monty said.

“Time to go,” Eliot said. “Even if it’s tuned, we don’t want Simon boosting an Echo any more than necessary. The longer we stay, the stronger this place gets.”

One by one we edged through the pivot, easier the second time. I clung to Simon’s hand, pulling him through. Eliot dropped onto the bleachers, which were fully extended once again.

“We have to do that how many times?” he asked, looking haggard.

“As many as it takes,” I said, hauling him to his feet.

Simon touched my cheek. “Are you sure you can keep this up?”

“No problem,” I said.

An hour and a half later it was clear we had a very big problem indeed. We’d tuned the Baroque events according to our plan, but we’d also run across several inversions, each one bigger than the previous one.

“I don’t understand,” I said. We sat on the floor of the commons, Simon’s arm draped around my shoulder. I huddled against him, shaking. “Why isn’t it stabilizing?”

“We’re losing ground,” Addie said, massaging her temples. “The Baroque events are holding steady, but the inversions are increasing.”

“We’ve got to get ahead of it,” I said.

“We can’t,” Eliot said wearily. He took a bite of his chocolate bar. “The inversions are coming through faster than we tune the Baroque events. Look.”

He tossed me his phone and I scrolled through the map—the inversions showed up as pixilated blurs where there should be steady lights. Another burst of static took out the lower right corner of the screen as I watched. “How do we stop them?” I asked. “What’s causing it?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I can’t think like this, with all these frequencies . . .”

“We need to tell the Consort,” Addie said. “They’re going to pick up on it anyway.”

“Not yet,” I pleaded.

“We need to start cleaving,” Eliot said. “It’s the only way.”

“Absolutely not,” said Monty, as a high-pitched whine filled the air. The room flickered around us.

“Time to go,” said Simon, hauling me up by the arm. “We can argue when we’re clear.”

We ran for the main office, and Monty dropped onto one of the wooden benches. When his breath evened out, he said, “We could cover more ground if we split up.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Eliot said. “In the entire history of movies, there’s never been a case where splitting up turned out well.”

“It’s a better idea than cleaving,” I said. “This isn’t a movie; it’s Simon’s life. We’re running out of time.”

“Del, we need to discuss this,” Addie said. “Review our options.”

“Discuss all you want. In the meantime, I’m going to stop the inversion.” I sprinted back down the hallway.

The noise streaming out of the commons hit me like a tidal wave. It was cycling rapidly, electric-blue carpet and white chairs changing to the familiar beige and maroon.

I plunged into the inversion before Simon or anyone else could stop me.

The dissonance was doubly strong on this side, furniture blurring, ground swaying. The damage was so widespread, I didn’t need to find a specific object—I closed my eyes and reached into the air, the frequency abrading my skin. Fighting the instinct to pull away, I dug in, and the fabric of the world peeled back. I began sifting through a million different strings, trying to find the ones out of tune.

The threads were as weightlessly strong as spider silk. Resilient, too. When I pushed, they pushed back, weaving together more densely as the world grew stronger. I imagined Simon on the other side of the pivot, trying to find a way through. He’d be furious when I got home.

If I got home.

Reckless, I thought, as the signal increased and threw me off-kilter, interrupting my search. That’s what they were always saying: Addie and Simon and Eliot, my parents, my teachers, the Consort. My recklessness had brought me this far, but now I needed to be more. I needed to be as good as I’d claimed, and that meant gathering up all my skills and all my wild jaunts through the multiverse to find the one strand that would calm this world down.

I breathed out, pictured Simon, breathed in, and reached through the threads one more time.

And found a piece of silk that twisted and kinked and sang in a key far different from the rest of them.

I grabbed it, traced the damage back to the snarl I’d been hunting, a cluster so large I needed both hands to span it. Bit by bit, I smoothed the strings, rocking them back and forth, coaxing and nudging until they chimed in harmony with the rest of the threads.

Done.

The instant I let go, the frequency roared around me, and I dropped to my knees, fumbling for the tuning fork at my neck. I tapped it once, twice, and followed the signal home.

Four pairs of hands grabbed at me. The room spun like a top winding down. “I did it?”

“Yeah, you did it. And you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Simon gathered me up in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” I said, teeth clenched.

Wordlessly Eliot passed me a chocolate bar.

Addie’s face was bloodless, save for two splotches of red high on her cheeks. “What were you trying to prove?”

“We can split up, like Monty said. Cover more ground.”

“It’s too dangerous. Besides, without Simon, Eliot and I can’t trigger Baroque events.”

“We’ll still fix double the number of inversions. Hold off the Consort.” I stood, Simon’s arm tight around my waist. “Please, Addie. We can’t quit yet.”

Monty piped up. “If she’s willing to try, I’m willing to keep an eye on her.”

“It’s getting late,” said Addie, consulting her watch. “One hour, Del. If we haven’t turned this around by then, there’s no point in trying more.”

“Got it,” I said, and next to me, Simon and Monty made noises of agreement.

“Good luck,” Addie said, but Eliot scowled at Simon, and then he and Addie took off.

“What next?” Simon asked, looking from me to Monty.

“Next we start looking for another inversion. That way,” I said, and gestured toward the music wing.

Simon took my hand and we started moving, only to realize that Monty wasn’t following. He’d sat down on one of the couches in the now-stable commons, face slack and hands trembling.

“Grandpa? Are you sick?”