Ten Thousand Skies Above You (28 page)

“He never had a gang, or let anyone hold a gun on me.”

This world's Theo has begun to scowl. “What are you doing with all the chitchat? We need answers from her, little brother.”

Again, they're that close. I might not like this armed-and-dangerous Theo, but at least there's something within him I would recognize.

Paul says, “Be patient, Theo.”

“What answers do you want?” I offer. “If you guys are anti-Triad, and I'm guessing you are, then we're on the same side.”

Theo, Paul, and the others all exchange glances. It's Paul who says, “They're your parents. Conley was your sister's fiancé.”

“My parents are grieving, and misguided. Wyatt Conley can't be trusted, no matter what his motives are. And Triad—they're trying to yoke together three dimensions so they can dominate all the rest. That's
not
going to happen.
Not if we help each other.”

Theo shifts on his feet, restless. “She's just saying what you want to hear.”

“Doesn't mean she's not telling the truth.” Paul gestures toward a battered metal chair.

I don't sit until he does, too. His chair is farther away than I'd like for a conversation—it makes this too much like an interrogation. But I can work with it. This room obviously has no designated purpose; the furnishings in here run from office desks to these metal folding chairs to an honest-to-God wooden four-poster bed in the far corner. These guys are winging it too, which gives me more confidence when I ask, “What do you want to know?”

“Your story, as you'd tell it.”

So I hit the basics: My parents being opposed to Conley, in this world and the other tied to Triad. The kidnappings. The hijacking of Theo's body, and the subsequent Nightthief poisoning. Paul's deliberate splintering. Conley's demands that I work for him, and his ultimate plan. Deciding to finish with a flourish, I say, “In my universe, you and I are in love.”

“In love.” Paul shakes his head. I can't tell whether he doesn't believe me, or he simply can't picture it.

“Madly. Deeply. But somehow, this is the second time in a few days that guys working for you have held me at gunpoint,” I add. “Which I'm sick of.”

“You came looking for your Theo,” Paul says. “You'll have to excuse ours for being so cautious.”

Apparently Theo doesn't like being spoken about in the third person any more than I do. “We still don't understand what she wants.”

Paul nods as he gives me an appraising look. “If you're so in love with this other version of me, why haven't you run to rescue him yet? Obviously your Theo doesn't need saving. We wouldn't keep him here even if we wanted to.”

“Which we
don't
,” Theo adds. He gestures at the Firebird around his neck with disgust. “Knowing that guy's all zoned out inside me? Creepy as hell.”

“I didn't come here to save Theo. Just to talk with him, and—” How do I put this to make them comprehend? “This is the Home Office. The universe where Triad started. That means the whole conspiracy started here. My parents and Conley have told me what they want—and I believe they told me the truth—but not the whole truth. There's more to this, isn't there? And this dimension is the only place I'll ever get the answers. You guys are the best source I'll ever have.”

To my satisfaction, that catches Theo short. But then he switches tactics. “We could use more Firebirds, and she's wearing an extra.”

I put one hand over my chest; the Firebirds press against my palm. “The second one isn't
extra.
It's for putting my Paul back together, and bringing him home.”

“On behalf of my other self, I appreciate your commitment.” Paul leans forward, studying my face by lamplight.

Hope flickers inside me. “Wait. Do you think—could you
be the one with the last splinter of Paul inside?”

“I doubt it,” he says evenly. “Your Conley gave you a final set of coordinates. He's trying to win your trust, so I doubt he'd falsify that information.”

Probably so. I slump back in my chair, disappointed.

Paul remains focused. “You sabotaged the Firebird technology in one world, but made sure it survived in another.”

I nod. “It's not much. Still, we have to start somewhere. You guys are closer to the source. Maybe you know how we could get at Triad? Really take them down?”

Paul and Theo exchange another glance. Theo says, “She could be spying on us for Conley.”

“Or she could be telling the truth.” Paul's eyes meet mine, searching.

He wants to believe in me. I wonder if that's strategy or desperation.

When Paul speaks again, he asks me the last question I would've expected: “Which version of me did you trust the most? And the least?”

I don't even have to think it over. “The Paul from my own universe.”

He cocks his head. “For which?”

“For both.” My first leap into a new dimension comes back to me, as vividly as if I were still standing in London, rain spattering my face and hair, scrawling my mission on a poster: KILL PAUL MARKOV. “I trusted him the least, because it took me too long to understand him. When Triad framed him for my father's death, I believed it.”

Paul forgave me for that—no. To forgive me, he would have had to hold it against me in the first place. He never did. I would have walked away from a love like that.

“But he's also
the one you trust the most?” Theo sits in a chair of his own, arms slung slightly backward, legs stretched before him.

I nod. “Once I understood my Paul, I knew he would never knowingly hurt me, or anyone, except in defense. He's always going to do what he thinks is the right thing—and yeah, sometimes we don't agree on what that thing is, but his intentions are always good. He'd been lonely so long, before he found us. Every time I think about how lonely he was, it kills me a little inside.” Why couldn't I have said all this to my Paul? I will, the first chance I get. The next universe over. My vision blurs as I blink back tears, refusing to cry as every other Paul I've known flickers through my mind, from a mobster's son to my cherished Lieutenant Markov. He'll have a place in my heart forever, and there are others I could have cared for, but . . . “I could go to a million universes and never find someone else who could make me feel this way. Only my Paul. Only him.”

Theo makes a sound, totally familiar from my own Theo, like
Spare me the sap
. But Paul gives him a look that silences him instantly.

To me Paul says, “One thing's certain—you're not this world's Marguerite Caine. Even if you're not telling me everything, I can tell you hate Triad as much as we do.”

“Great, here we go,” Theo groans. There's no fire in his
voice, though; he might gripe as he follows Paul's lead, but he'll follow.

Paul rises to his feet. “Yes, we're working with her, and with the other you. So brace yourself for a reminder.” Theo swears under his breath.

I stand up too, happy to no longer be a captive. Paul's understanding makes me suspect: “Did you travel between dimensions, when you were still with Triad?”

“Once or twice.”

“So which one of
me
did you trust the most, or the least?”

It's supposed to be a lighthearted question, to break the tension. But Paul's expression hardens, like the mobster's did right before he fired. “I'd have to say you're the version I trust the most.”

Me? He hardly knows me.

“Tell her the least,” Theo demands as he sits down, preparing himself for the painful jolt of a reminder. Paul says nothing. Theo laughs. “Fine, I'll tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

Theo smirks up at me and says, “The version of you we trust the least is
this one.
Our own Marguerite Caine, the most loyal follower Wyatt Conley ever had—and the coldest bitch in the entire multiverse.”

I KEEP WAITING FOR PAUL TO TELL ME THEO IS JOKING, OR
for Theo's expression to finally shift into his usual cocky grin as he tells me the look on my face is priceless. They don't.

Already I knew I was working for Wyatt Conley. But willingly? Why would I do that? As soon as I ask myself the question, though, I realize the answer. “It's because of Josie,” I say. “My sister. I don't know if you knew her—”

“We did.” Paul speaks quietly, but whatever's lurking behind his words, it isn't sympathy.

“My parents aren't like this. Not in most dimensions. You must have seen that for yourself, right?” When Paul nods, and Theo's smirk vanishes, I know I'm on the right track. “Here, they've lost one of their children, and they've fallen apart.”

Theo folds his arms across his chest. “That's no excuse.”

“No, it's not. Still, we just have to bring them around. All
they want to do is see Josie again.”

Theo snorts. “I'll say.”

This version of Theo is kind of a snot. “What's that supposed to mean?”

It's Paul who replies, not with an answer but with another question. “You really don't know, do you?”

“Mom and Dad explained.”

“Not everything. Not if you're still defending them.” Paul looks at me as if—as if he feels sorry for me.

In the first moment I realized my parents were cofounders of Triad, shock and horror almost overwhelmed me. Those emotions well inside me again, deeper than before. “Tell me,” I whisper.

Paul shakes his head. “If it comes from me, you won't believe it. You'll have to hear it from them yourself.”

“It's not all about Josie,” Theo shoots back. “For you, I mean. The Marguerite Caine in this universe
loves
screwing with all your minds. The power she has over her other selves—she gets off on it.
Lives
for it.”

“How would you know?” I shoot back.

Paul steps between us, maybe fearing what would happen if we really got into it. “I'm sorry, Marguerite, but it's true. You say so yourself. You manipulate the lives of your other selves, just because you can. I've seen you quit schools, ruin paintings, wreck cars, pick fights.” After a long moment, he adds, more quietly, “Sleep with other guys. Other girls, once in a while. Whoever. It doesn't matter to you, as long as it hurts someone.”

He won't meet my eyes. He's felt the emotions of another Paul who went through that.

I keep my head high. “That doesn't sound like me.”

Again with the snort from Theo. Paul at least has the decency to look sorry about what he has to say. “It sounds like the Marguerite Caine we know.
She
always says playing with other selves—seeing just how much she can change or destroy—she calls it an art form. Says it's sculpting, but instead of clay, she uses lives.”

A hollow feeling opens up in my belly, but I don't let myself believe it. “Whatever. I'm not her, so deal with me. What do you want?”

“To keep Triad from expanding their power and taking over every world we could possibly reach.” Paul walks slowly around me, assessing me. Judging. “We know they brought you here deliberately.”

“They're trying to recruit me. They're going to fail.” I step forward, breaking his orbit; he's not the only one who decides whether we go forward here.

“But you did their dirty work,” Theo says. “Apparently the other version of me told everyone that, before he went under.”

“Then he also told you why. I did what I had to do to save you both. And at least once I was able to figure out how to turn Conley's plan against him.”

Paul gives Theo a look, like,
You should've remembered that.
“You're right. If we're going to defeat Triad, we'll have to work together. As a perfect traveler, you should be able to
fight off our Marguerite, if she ever came to your world—”

“Which she won't, because it wouldn't be any fun for her, entering a body she couldn't steal,” Theo says. For once I don't mind the smug tone of his voice; I'm too relieved to hear that the wicked Marguerite won't be knocking around in my head.

“We work together,” Paul says, a little louder, an obvious hint to Theo that he shouldn't interrupt again. “That may mean you come here to interfere with our Marguerite's plans—even though they'll be on the lookout for you.”

“Fine. But how am I going to know when we should meet? Or where?” Our secret rendezvous could take place anywhere in the entire multiverse.

After a moment, Paul says, “How do you think your Paul Markov would react to my entering your dimension for brief periods of time, only to communicate our plans?”

Let my Paul be taken over by this one? I have no right to make that kind of deal. But if this is truly the only way . . . “I'm giving you permission to come once. When you do, I'll let you know whether Paul has consented.”

Paul's expression shifts slightly, into something that might even be respect. “Agreed.”

We can do this. Finally, we're one step ahead of the Home Office—

Realization sweeps through me, wrenching and terrible. The other Marguerites I leap into remember everything that happened while I'm within them. Right now, I'm inside a Marguerite who's on Triad's side.

When I tell Paul this, however, he's unfazed. “It doesn't matter. You had no other way of reaching out to us, and Conley would've suspected we'd try something like this anyway. We'll change locations immediately after you leave.”

“That's enough to protect you?” I ask.

“We're as safe as we were before. Which is to say—not much, but enough.” Paul shakes his head, perhaps in wonder. “You actually care.”

“I always care about you.” Lieutenant Markov's words flicker in my memory—and despite everything I've seen on this journey, I can say them back to Paul now and mean them. “I would love you in any shape, in any world, with any past.”

He doesn't reply right away. Anyone who didn't know him as well as I do would think he's unmoved. Instead, he's both touched and doubtful. “You don't love me in this one.”

Not yet? Not ever? I say the only thing I absolutely believe to be true. “I could love you, then.”

Paul breathes out heavily, as though he were weary. He doesn't contradict me, though, and I know he recognizes the same thing I do—the potential. The eternal possibility. The kindling only awaiting a spark to burst into flame.

Hope brightens inside me. Three dimensions, three versions of Wyatt Conley are conspiring against me and my family. Now, finally, we have a conspiracy of our own. We have sources in the Home Office, and maybe beyond. The Conleys won't always be one step ahead of us anymore.

Whatever else he's planning—we'll get a chance to stop him.

“You can ask my version for permission to visit his dimension right now, I guess.” Theo steadies himself as he holds up the Firebird. “Go on. Do it.”

He's speaking to Paul, but I'm closer. So I duck down, take the Firebird from Theo's hands, and hit the reminder sequence before he can protest. Although I manage to drop the Firebird just in time, some of the jolt burns my fingers. Theo winces and pushes back, his chair scraping on the floor—but when he looks up at me, he's my Theo once more.

“Whoa.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, to let the rush pass through him. “If I remember the last few minutes correctly—first, I was being a jackass. Sorry about that.”

I attempt a smile. “Apparently neither of us is much fun to hang out with in this dimension.”

Paul's tone changes when he's speaking to my Theo; it's more polite, yet more distant. “Do you recall our proposed plan?”

“I think so. Work together. Two dimensions united against Triad. Which means letting this world's Theo periodically take over my body.” Theo looks sheepish. “Seeing as how I'm in his body at the moment, I have to admit it's a fair trade.”

Why only two dimensions? The Warverse might help, if we asked . . .

But I abandon this idea. How could we possibly get every world to cooperate? We'd have to visit back and forth so much that we'd hardly ever know who we were speaking to,
and it would be easy for our ranks to be infiltrated by still other versions of ourselves.

Conspiracies make my head hurt.

I focus instead on the best part of this. Between our two worlds, we might have the information and access needed to take Triad down, once and for all. It would be a relief, if it weren't for Paul's dark hint about my parents' true agenda.

Turning to Theo, I say, “Do you remember what this world's Theo knows about my parents? What they're up to?”

He shakes his head. “What they say and do is a lot more memorable than what they think. You get—emotional impressions, more than a recording of what's going on in the cranium.”

So much for that plan. “Then we have to go to them and make them tell us.”

“No,” Paul says sharply. “Not Theo. If your version leaps out and strands our version there—where he can be tracked—Triad will have him in jail within the half hour.”

“I'll go on my own, then. Though I actually don't know where I live in this dimension.”

“I can give you the address,” Paul says. “We have that information.”

Theo gets up from the chair; even the way he stands is different. He's steadier, more confident, but not as wary. “I don't like this. You're sending her alone, so her parents can tell her something you know but oh-so-conveniently won't share.”

“I'll tell you now,” Paul says. “But as I said before, neither
of you will believe me. Marguerite won't rest until she hears it from them.”

I step closer to him. “Try me.”

He pauses, and I wonder if we've caught this Paul Markov in a lie. Then I realize he's hesitating before the words because he thinks they'll hurt me. “Your parents—” Paul takes a deep breath, then finishes. “They don't just want to visit Josie in other dimensions. They want her back in our world, for good.”

I would've known that even if Mom and Dad hadn't already told me. “Wouldn't you want your child back? But it's impossible. Josie splintered into too many pieces. My parents know there's no way they can ever re-create her again.”

“There's one way,” Paul says. “One thing they can do to every dimension Josie ever visited, to make sure each splinter of her consciousness returns home.”

Theo and I glance at each other; he's as bewildered as I am. This outstrips any of our research at home. I ask Paul, “What do they have to do to all those dimensions?”

Paul speaks gently, as if he could soften what he says next. “Destroy them.”

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing face-to-face with versions of my parents gone pale as ash.

Paul gave me the directions to find them. This apartment must be what counts as luxury in this dimension, but to me it looks bare and soulless: no houseplants, no chalkboard wall scribbled with equations, no piles of books. I could almost
believe my parents had chosen to live in a hotel room instead of a family home—it's that impersonal and cold.

“You tried to find your version of Theodore Beck, didn't you?” Mom is doing that thing where she's really mad but is trying to hold it back for a Reasonable Discussion. “Below is dangerous, sweetheart. You shouldn't have—”

I don't need to hear it. “I found Theo. And Paul.”

My parents exchange a glance. Dad says, “I suppose you're not going to tell us where they are.”

“No, I'm not.
You're
going to tell
me
what . . . what you're going to do about Josie.”

I don't repeat what Paul told me out loud because I still don't believe it. I can't.

My father looks like he doesn't know what to say, or that he's too ashamed to say it. Mom, however, has regained her poise. The only sign of her discomfort is the way she hugs herself, as if she were trying to keep back the nonexistent cold. “Journeys through the dimensions are dangerous, even for a perfect traveler. Of course we don't have to tell you that; you've faced considerable dangers yourself. Surely, at some point, you've asked yourself whether these journeys shouldn't be abandoned completely.”

I have, but the doubts have never been more than a whisper in the back of my mind. The amazing things I've been able to see—the different selves I've been, and gotten to know in other worlds—for me, that outweighs the scary parts. So far.

“After Josie's death, we first thought we should abandon the project altogether,” Mom continues. “The risks were
too high to justify mere curiosity, or even technological advancement. But then your father and I spoke with Wyatt Conley, and we realized we had a new goal. One worth any cost. Worth every sacrifice.”

“You want Josie back,” I say. “But what are you going to do to make that happen?”

I want them to contradict me, to repeat that re-creating Josie after her splintering is an impossibility. Or if it isn't, to tell me the solution is something justifiable.

But from the way my parents go still, I know Paul told me the truth. Triad may be motivated by sincere love for my sister—but their plans are more horrible than anything my Wyatt Conley ever dreamed of.

My mother walks closer, standing directly in front of me. “Marguerite, the splinters of Josie's soul are scattered too widely for us to collect. But if that dimension could no longer contain her—”

“Because it ceased to exist?” I ask.

After a moment, my dad nods. “Nothing less would work.”

I'm unnerved in a way that feels like physical disorientation, like the entire planet began spinning on a completely new axis. My whole life, I've joked about “Mom's crazy theories,” though I always knew they weren't crazy, just
way out there
. But what I see in my mother's face now—and in my father's, too—it's insanity.