Resonance (24 page)

C
HAPTER FORTY

T
HAT'S INSANE! LATTIMER'S NOT GOING
to stop cleaving once you hand yourself over,” Simon said.

“I'm aware of that.” Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, despite her even tone. “But it will buy us time. Allow the rest of the Free Walkers to continue their work, and serve as a show of good faith. Randolph promised publicly to end the Tacet. By honoring our word as he breaks his, we show the Walkers we're committed to our beliefs.”

“You'll show them an execution,” Simon shot back.

“I'm too valuable to execute. I'm rich in secrets, and he won't want to squander them.”

“What a comfort,” I said.

“In the meantime, the Free Walkers will attack, just as the Consort is feeling smug and victorious. That's always been their problem; they assume people are irreplaceable. But the only one who's irreplaceable is you, Simon.”

“And his Original,” I reminded her.

She smiled too easily. “Of course.”

Simon's shoulders tensed. “You want to play the martyr, fine. But you're not taking Del.”

“I've yet to meet a single person who could make Del do something she didn't want to.”

“You've met Simon,” I pointed out. “He sent me back to the Key World.”

“Del's decision is her own,” Rose said. “But knowing her as I do—”

“You don't know her.” Simon folded his arms and stared her down. “You left before she was born and didn't bother showing up again until she had something you needed.”

“What about me?” asked Monty, rapping the plastic spoon against the table. “I raised her. Taught her everything she knows. Everything worth knowing, anyway. I'd say that makes me something of an expert.”

“It makes you a manipulative bastard,” Simon replied. “You don't know her half as well as you think.”

“And you do?” Rose asked. “After less than three months, you think it's your place to decide her fate? You argued exactly the opposite a few hours ago.”

“It's my place,” I said, my voice overloud in the high-­ceilinged kitchen. “Nobody else's.”

“Delancey,” Rose said, and she reached for my hand. “Free Walkers are devoted to saving Echoes. Every branch Lattimer cleaves will end countless lives. We can stop him.”

“You didn't turn yourself in when you heard the announcement,” I said. “How many branches has he cleaved since then? How many could you have saved, if you'd gone straight to CCM?”

Her lips pressed together, exactly the way my mom's did. “I needed to consider the larger picture.”

“You needed Simon,” I said calmly. He jerked, and I gave him a sad smile. “She knew you wouldn't agree to help unless you thought I was safe. Now they've gotten you out. Monty can take you to the new meet-up, and the plan can move forward.”

“I don't go anywhere without you.”

I took his hand, but kept my eyes on Rose. “The bigger picture. That's the same argument Lattimer uses, you know. It's how he justifies everything he does. Does it ever worry you, the way you two sound so alike? Because it sure as hell worries me.”

She flushed. “If I sound like Randolph Lattimer, it's because my convictions are equally strong. More, even, because it's not tradition or fear or greed dictating my beliefs. It's the truth. One I'm willing to sacrifice myself for.”

She rested her hands on Monty's shoulders. “If I can stop the Tacet and help Prescott's team complete our work, then my sacrifice means something. But I can't do it alone.”

“Del,” Simon said, his voice shattering.

“Enough,” Monty said, face red with anger—but at whom, I couldn't tell. “Del knows what's at stake. Let her decide.”

He pushed away from the table and stumped down the hallway to the bedroom. Rose followed him, turning to look at me for a long moment. “We'll discuss it in the morning.”

When we were alone, Simon ran his hand roughly over his face. “Please say you're not considering this.”

“What else can I do?”

“Refuse,” he said. “The Free Walkers thought they could pull this off while you were in the First Echo. Let them prove it.”

“While the Consort keeps cleaving?”

“He won't stop just because you turn yourself in. It's a trap.”

“What if it's not? What if I can save those Echoes?”

“By dying?”

“Lattimer won't kill me,” I said, hearing the quaver in my voice. “The announcement was too public; there'll be too many questions. He wants information, that's all.”

“Well, as long as he's only going to torture you, I suppose it's no big deal. You want a ride over there tomorrow, or are you going to take the train?”

“Don't,” I said. “You are the last person in the world who gets to give me grief.”

“The hell I am!” he said. “I love you! Am I supposed to be okay with you handing yourself over to the Consort? What if I never see you again?”

“Was I supposed to be okay with you cleaving yourself?” I snapped. “Because I don't remember us taking a vote before you broke those strings. Why is it okay for you to risk your life, but not me? I can save so many lives.
Your
lives. Why would you take that from me?”

“Because I can't handle losing you again.” He framed my face with his hands. “When I cleaved that world, it was to protect the entire multiverse. You'll be saving a few Echoes, if that, and only if Lattimer keeps his word. But if we wait him out and let the Free Walkers do their thing, you'll be alive to see it.”

His fingertips were warm against my skin, each one an anchor against the panic threatening to wash me away.

“It's never a few Echoes,” I said. “Even a single world contains an infinity.”

“What about
our
infinity? We could have an amazing life together, Del. All you have to do is choose it. Choose
us
.”

“I can't build a future on that many deaths,” I said softly. “Your Echoes, Amelia's. Would you really want me to?”

Suddenly I was weary. I'd lost track of how many days I'd been running, how many worlds I'd crossed. They caught up to me in a rush that made me sway on my feet and grab the counter for support. It was too much to stand here in the artificial light of the kitchen and discuss my almost-certain demise with the boy I'd lost and found again.

I needed to rest. I needed the dark, where I could tell him all the things I'd been carrying, the fears and the hard truths and the soft ones as well. I needed the dark to tell him all the things he needed to hear without telling him too much.

“Let's go upstairs,” I said. His eyebrows lifted, but we climbed the stairs together, wordlessly. Stupid to fight when so little time was left.

“Two bedrooms,” he said when we reached the landing. “You have a preference?”

“Whichever one has a bed.”

“I approve,” he said, but his laughter was strained.

“Not like that,” I said, smacking his arm. “I mean, not
not
like that either. I didn't mean . . . we don't have to . . . I'm not . . .”

The words tangled together, and I felt the flush creeping up my neck, along my cheeks. He touched his lips to mine.

“You're not . . . what? Ready? A virgin? That kind of girl? In the mood? Opposed?”

I blinked, overwhelmed, and he took me by the shoulder. “First step. Choose a bedroom.”

I pointed to the one opposite the stairs, and he led me to the open door, then nudged me through.

Inside, the light from the streetlamp fell in thin bars across the floor. A four-poster bed, made up with a velvet patchwork coverlet and a ridiculous number of pillows, dominated the room.

“We should leave the lights off,” I said. “It'll attract less attention.”

“Good idea.” He spoke from the doorway, both hands resting on the top of the frame, swaying back and forth.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to invite me in.”

I rolled my eyes. “You're not a vampire. You can come in without an invitation.”

“I could. But I won't.”

“Fine. Come in.”

“What's the magic word?” he teased.

I gritted my teeth. “Please come in.”

“Glad to.” He drew closer, his footsteps softened by the rug I'd nearly tripped over. “Long day, you.”

“Better now.” And it was, to my surprise. A few minutes alone with Simon were enough to restore me to the person I'd been before
the world went sideways. An illusion, maybe, but a necessary one.

I'd forgotten how soft his hair was. Longer than it was when he'd left, flopping into his eyes, and I went up on tiptoe to brush it away, stepping in close enough that the heat radiating from his body warmed me.

The shadows hid the blue of his eyes, but not the gleam. They locked on mine, and my breath caught in my throat. My fingertips slid to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, until his lips hovered a fraction of an inch from mine. He whispered against my skin. “Can I kiss you?”

I drew back. “You've kissed me a million times.” Not technically, of course. My head swam at the idea of a future where Simon could kiss me a million times.

“This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn't the millionth time. It's the first time.” His eyes met mine. “If you want it to be.”

“Oh.” I was grateful for the darkness now, hiding the flush of my cheeks.

“I'm not asking you to decide now,” he said, taking my hands and bringing them to his lips. “But if you do—if you think you might—then I need you to choose it, every single step. I don't want you to have regrets, or questions or doubts.”

“
You
want to,” I said, a strange thrumming building in my blood. “You want to have sex. With me.”

“I do,” he said with a grin. Then, more seriously, he said, “I know I've got . . . a reputation.”

“So I've heard.”

He shifted, faintly defensive. “It's not as many as you think,” he said. “People assume, but they're wrong. I don't brag. And even when I say I didn't, they want to believe otherwise. Guys talk.”

“Girls too,” I said, and his eyebrows shot up. I shrugged. “What? We have locker rooms. I hear things.”

“Complimentary things?”

I smirked and didn't answer.

“How about you?” he asked.

I paused. “Walkers hook up a fair amount—at least the ones in training do. Same with apprenticeship, too, from what I hear. Most people don't get serious until they're a lot older, when they're settled into their careers.”

I couldn't imagine settling down at this point. Or having a career. Or, if I was honest with myself, surviving long enough to get older.

“That's not an answer,” he said. “We don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather.”

“I haven't slept with anyone,” I said, cramming the words together like it would speed the conversation along. “I could have, probably, if I'd wanted to. But . . . even if I can't make pivots, choices change things. It seemed like too much of a change for someone I wasn't sure of.”

“Are you sure of me?”

I traced his features—the sharp line of his cheekbone, the square angle of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the soft skin of his neck, where his pulse beat a steady tattoo.

“I'm sure I would like you to kiss me now,” I replied, and pulled him closer.

His mouth came down on mine, slow and tentative and searching, one hand cupping my face and the other wrapping around my waist, hauling me against the broad planes of his chest. My head dropped back and the world dropped away, and it was only the two of us in a strange and shadowed room, with the sound of the wind and our breathing woven together.

We stumbled toward the bed as I shoved his coat off his shoulders. It landed with a whoosh, and he pulled away, a question forming in his eyes.

I sighed. “Yes, I want you to keep going.”

“You're wearing a lot of layers,” he pointed out.

“Hand to God, Simon, if you ask me yes or no on every single piece of clothing I'm wearing—”

I shoved him backward, counting on the element of surprise to help me.

It worked. He fell onto the bed, arms windmilling, and then propped himself up on his elbows.

“Yes,” I said, and took a step back to survey him—long limbs and messy hair and easy strength, his mouth tilting up as he watched me, his gaze so intense it felt like a spotlight, turning me visible in the darkness, heating my skin.

“Yes,” I said again, and let my own coat fall to the floor next to his.

“Del . . .”

“Yes.” I took a step toward him, toeing off my shoes.

His smile faltered as the air between us grew charged. I pulled off my sweater and dropped it where I stood.

Another step, and my flannel shirt joined it. “Yes.”

He sat up fully, but I put out a hand to stop him from standing. “You asked,” I said. “I'm answering.”

His breath hitched. The cold air was a shock on my overheated skin, and I looked down at the line of clothing on the floor, a path running directly to Simon. “Breadcrumbs,” I murmured.

“I knew you'd find me,” he said softly.

“Of course I did. You're my home.”

I took a final step, and he wrapped his arms around me, drawing me between his knees. We stayed like that, my fingers running through his hair, his head resting against my heart, a perfect, silent moment.

His arms loosened, and his fingers slid up my sides, under my tank top. I was certain the touch left a trail behind, gilt-edged and fine, and he tipped his head back to look at me.

I nodded, too breathless to speak.

He reached back and did the guy thing—the one-handed tugging off of his shirt, a twist and a shrug, the movement fluid and mesmerizing. Wordlessly I placed my hand flat over his chest, his skin so hot it nearly blistered mine. His eyes glinted, like a spark in the darkness, and when he pulled me down next to him, my blood turned to flames.