Dissonance (9 page)

“Overruled,” Crane said calmly. “This is not a courtroom, Montrose. Surely you haven't forgotten that much.”

“She's got more talent in her little finger than any of you. I trained her myself.”

“Did you?” said Lattimer. He studied me with fresh curiosity, like a frog in biology class, right before dissection. “Quite the student she's turned out to be.”

“We gave this matter considerable thought. We took into account her age and her abilities, your family's service, and your . . .” Crane trailed off, searching for the right word. “. . . sacrifice. It is our hope she will use this time to grow into her talents. But we have made our decision, and now she must make hers.”

She shifted her gaze back to me. “Delancey?”

Sometimes, in the instant an Original makes a choice, you can feel the pivot forming. The air snaps and shifts, as if the
world is breaking open to make room for the other reality taking shape. It doesn't happen for Walkers. Our pivots are too weak to last, and once our choice is made, we can only imagine what might have been.

So I said yes, and listened to the silence.

W
ELL, THAT COULD
have gone worse,” My father said after we filed out, trying to sound upbeat and missing by miles. He put his arm around my shoulder, but I yanked away.

“They kicked me out,” I snapped. “I'm going to fail the exam. How could that have gone worse?”

Monty patted my hand.

“They could have sent you to an oubliette,” my mother said sharply. Addie stood next to her, shoulders curling inward. “You should be—” Behind them, the chamber door swung open again.

“Winfield, Foster,” said Councilwoman Crane, leaning on an ivory-handled stick. “We have another matter to discuss.”

My parents exchanged glances. “Wait here,” Mom said. “And behave yourselves. That includes you, Dad.”

“Foolishness,” Monty mumbled when they'd left, crushing his hat in his hands. “Hidebound foolishness.”

“What do you think they're talking about?” Addie asked, ignoring him.

“Probably what a bitch you are,” I said. “You got off scot-free,
didn't you? That's why you were so eager to turn me in. You wanted to cut a deal?”

“There was no deal,” she said, flushing pink. “They asked me what happened. I told the truth.”

“
Your
truth.” Not the same thing.
Truth is as fluid as water, as faceted as diamonds, as flawed as memory
, Monty used to say. People saw what they needed to believe in the moment. Not untrue, he'd remind me. Just not the entirety. And Addie needed to believe I was the villain. “I'm suspended, thanks to you.”

“Thanks is right, you little brat,” she shot back. “Lattimer was convinced you did it on purpose. Unsanctioned cleavings can be tried as treason, Del. Same with lying to the Consort. So, yeah. I told them what an idiot you were, and they went easy on you.”

“Treason?” I said, ice filling my veins.

“You're welcome,” she said grimly as Lattimer stepped into the corridor, immaculate and unsettling.

“I'm surprised to see you here, Montrose. Goodness, it's almost like old times.” He said the words with relish. “All we're missing is Rose.”

Monty jerked, and he leaned in like he was telling me a secret. His voice, however, carried through the empty hallway. “Rose never liked him.”

A vein in Lattimer's temple pulsed, but he took in Monty's threadbare cardigan and disheveled hair, the unsteady hands and stooped shoulders, and smirked. “Her judgment wasn't exactly sound, was it? Otherwise she'd still be with us.”

To my surprise, Monty didn't protest that my grandmother
was coming back. He sagged visibly, murmuring, “Like old times.”

“Is he often like this?” Lattimer asked Addie.

“Some days are better than others,” she hedged. “He's tired.”

“Of course,” he replied. “He was quite talented, you know. It's a shame, what his searching has done to him.”

“What
you've
done,” Monty growled.

There was an awkward pause before Addie stepped in. “I'm so sorry, Councilman. He gets confused.”

“I see,” Lattimer said, sounding sympathetic. He patted Monty's shoulder, ignoring the way he twitched. “I merely wanted to check up on you, old friend. I'd best return to my colleagues. Duty calls, you know.”

He reached for the doorknob and my jaw unclenched.

Lattimer paused and turned back. “We appreciated your forthrightness this afternoon, Addison. One year left in your apprenticeship, I believe?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. If you continue to impress us as you have, you'll have quite a bright career ahead of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled.

“As for you, Delancey,” he said, keeping his eyes on Monty. “You'd do well to pick your role models more carefully, if you hope to have a career of any sort.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

“I really get the sense he's rooting for me,” I said.

“He's bearing a grudge,” Monty said, back to his old self. “And you've been caught up in it.”

“What kind of grudge?” Addie asked.

“An old one,” Monty said. “Ancient history.”

I didn't believe that any more than the helpless, muddled routine he'd put on for Lattimer's benefit. Both ignited my curiosity.

He jammed the battered hat on his head. “Let's go. The sooner we're away, the better.”

“Mom said to wait,” Addie protested.

“Stay if you like,” he told her, then directed his words to me. “There's nothing here for either of us now. Are you coming, Del?”

Monty had never steered me wrong before, so I went.

When visiting an Echo world, interaction with its inhabitants should be limited to frequency analysis. Do not engage with Echoes in a frivolous manner or for personal gain.

—Chapter Three, “Echo Properties and Protocols,”

Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five

D
INNER,” MOM SAID
when we arrived home. “Del, set the table.”

I threw my coat on the couch. “I'm not hungry.”

“Dinner,” she repeated.

My mother had a thing about the whole family eating dinner together. Even when we were little and my dad was out cleaving, he made a point to be home for the evening meal. Sometimes we ate at four in the afternoon, sometimes nine at night, but it was always the five of us, clustered around the big pine table. A constant.

No one except Monty ate much. Finally I asked, “Which one of you is going to tutor me?”

I was hoping for my dad. A First Chair, he led teams of Cleavers into the most dissonant worlds, managing their unraveling. There was nothing he liked better than a lost cause, everyone joked.

Suddenly it didn't seem so funny.

Still, it was better than working with my mom. A navigator, she analyzed pivots branching off our part of the Key World, determining which Echoes needed cleaving. If she was in charge, I'd be stuck in her office for the next six months, charting frequencies and crunching numbers.

She rearranged her silverware, took a sip of water. Stalling. I knew the move, because I was an expert at it. “Your father and I are working on a project that will require a lot of our attention.”

Addie straightened, like a hunting dog who'd scented a rabbit. “Is that why the Consort wanted to talk to you?”

My dad nodded. “The Major Consort is sending in teams from around the country, and they've asked us to coordinate.”

“The Major Consort? That's huge,” Addie said. “What kind of project?”

“A classified one,” Mom said. “We're hoping it's a short-term assignment, but for now, it's our top priority.”

Which meant I was not.

“There's no reason your training has to suffer,” my dad put in, seeing my expression. “While we're handling this, Addie can work with you.”

I slammed my water down. “Are you kidding? She's as much to blame as I am!”

“I am not!” Addie shouted. “You were supposed to listen to me, and you ignored every word I said.”

“If I'd done what you told me to, we never would have gotten out. You're mad because you choked, and I had to save your ass.”

“I'm not the one who's suspended, am I? I don't want to train
her! What about my apprenticeship? I'm supposed to be focusing on my work, not holding her hand!”

“Girls!”
My mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “Enough. We know it's not an ideal situation, but it's not up for debate.”

“The Consort said you were supposed to teach me,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “Not Addie.”

“Technically, they said ‘your family.' Addie qualifies.”

“Unfortunately,” I sniped.

Addie made a face. “The feeling's mutual.”

“The Consort agrees this is the best solution for now. In fact, it was Councilman Lattimer who suggested you two work together. It should only be for a few weeks,” my father said.

Monty blew a raspberry, and Mom rolled her eyes. “Dad, it's a good thing. The councilman must think highly of Addie to give her this kind of responsibility. It's an honor, really.”

Addie didn't look honored. “Why am I being punished for Del's mistake?”

“You were responsible for her during that Walk,” my dad said mildly. “It seems fair you should shoulder a portion of the consequences.”

“Dad, why can't I tag along with you?” I turned to him in appeal. “I'd learn a ton. Way more than I will with Addie.”

“No can do, kiddo.”

“But . . .”

“I can watch over the pair of them,” Monty said abruptly. “Be good to keep my hand in. And I'll bet I know some tricks that aren't in your books, Addie-girl.”

“That's not really the point of the exercise.” My mom set down her fork and frowned at him, but he was already drifting.

“I should exercise more often. Good for the heart. My heart,” he said, his face softening. He stood up, his napkin dropping to the floor. “I'll be off, then.”

“Dad, no.” Mom scrambled after him. “Sit down.”

“Rose needs me,” he said. “She's out there, Winnie. Your mother. I promised I'd find her.”

My mother was many things in our family—the glue, the backbone, the compass—but mostly she was the rock. She made the hard choices and the tough calls. We went to my dad when we scraped a knee, to be fixed with a Band-Aid and a kiss and an oatmeal cookie. We went to Mom when we broke a bone, to make sure we got to the emergency room safely. She moved through the world with such determination, such forcefulness, it was easy to forget that when my grandfather had lost his wife, she'd lost her mother. Her hand went slack on Monty's arm.

He took advantage of the moment and pulled away, hitching up his khaki pants, hand outstretched to find a nearby pivot. My dad tensed, ready to grab him, but I knew better. Confront Monty, and he'd bolt. Distraction was key.

“Brownies,” I said cheerfully. “There are brownies for dessert. I saw them earlier. And ice cream. You don't want to miss brownies à la mode, do you?”

He paused. “À la mode.”

“It means with ice cream,” Addie said.

“I know what it means.” He smoothed the wisps of white
hair sticking out at odd angles and considered the offer.

“You can have the corner piece,” I wheedled.

Stiffly, like he was doing us a favor, he came back to the table. My mom blew out a breath, and my dad took her hand in his.

Without a word Addie rose and started dishing out dessert. Midway through his brownie, Monty spoke again. “It's settled, then. I'll supervise the girls.”

“I don't need supervision,” said Addie. “I'm the supervisor.”

My parents had one of their wordless conversations—raised eyebrows, pursed lips, the tiniest of head tilts—a duet in a key only they understood. Reluctantly my dad said, “You'd need to keep a close eye on them, Montrose. Especially Del.”

I scowled, but my mom gave a warning shake of her head—and this time the message was perfectly clear.
Don't argue.

The idea of Monty in charge was ludicrous. Most days he couldn't remember what year it was or where we kept the milk. But he'd definitely be more fun than Addie, whose expression teetered between wounded pride and outrage at the thought of being replaced.

“Fine by me,” I said. “I like spending time with Grandpa.”

Mom looked at Addie. “Well?”

She smiled through clenched teeth. “Sure.”

“Excellent. I'll let the Consort know.” Mom dusted off her hands, like everything was in perfect order once again.

Monty wandered away from the table, my father close on his heels. Addie flounced upstairs to sulk, and I headed to the attic.

Addie and I had shared a room until I was ten, when my
parents had offered up the third-floor attic. I'd moved the same afternoon. It was boiling in summer and freezing in winter, but it was also private. The stairway, narrow and steep, tended to discourage visitors.

The room was an unfinished mishmash, with oddly shaped windows and slanted ceilings. I'd filled it with castoffs and pieces “liberated” from the rest of the house—a bottle-green chaise, a tattered leather chair, an enormous trunk with brass fittings. I'd propped an old door on sawhorses to make a desk, but you could barely see it under the piles of sheet music and maps.

Along the rafters and over the windows, I'd strung origami stars, my own twisting, multicolored galaxy. They jumped as I slammed the door and snatched up my violin.

Nothing took me away from myself like Bach. The music, a dense, exacting flurry of notes, demanded my full attention. The violin had been my grandmother's, and her grandmother's before that. The sound poured out, rich and sweet and heartbreaking. It was easy to lose myself in the finger work, to sweep the bow over the strings with the anger I hadn't been able to show the Consort.