Resonance (19 page)

“She tuned me,” he said. “Put her hand a few inches away from my chest, wiggled her fingers, and the inversions stopped. Then she brought me to a camp.”

“Not here?”

“Not at first. They moved me every night; reset the tuner each time. We landed here a few days ago.”

“That fits,” I said, mind reeling. “Ms. Powell didn't know
where you were. She could only tell me you were safe.”

“I am. So are you.”

“If they could fix you, why did they wait for so long?”

“No idea. I think they didn't expect the damage to be so bad. And it's not a permanent solution.”

“It's better than nothing. They should have reached out sooner. You're valuable to them—they should act like it.” I let my hands wander over his chest, as if by touching him, I could remind myself he wasn't a dream.

“Del . . . ,” he said, interrupting my fascination with the way his collarbone met his shoulder. “They keep saying they need me to defeat the Consort, but . . . I can't. I don't know anything about being a Walker.”

“You'll learn,” I said. “If the other Simon can do it, so can you. I'll be your personal tutor.”

“Oh?” He grinned. “What if I'm a slow learner? You know what they say about jocks.”

“One-on-one private sessions,” I said. “Lots of them. It's the only answer.”

“I like the sound of that.” He kissed me, then rolled off the bed. “Come on. Time to go for a walk. A regular one, to see the sights.”

“Now? Why?”

“This could be my last chance to know more about the Walkers than you. I'm not wasting it.”

Gingerly I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “Shouldn't I be meeting with someone? Debriefing, or giving a statement?” A thought struck me. “Where's the other Simon?”

His mouth twisted. “You mean the real one?”

“You're real,” I said firmly.

“Am I?” Doubt diminished his voice.

“Yes. It isn't about strings. Being
you
makes you real. And mine.”

“Definitely yours.” He pointed to the door connecting my room to the next. “There's a medic in there. We should keep it down.”

I nodded as he opened the door to the hall and checked both directions, beckoning when it was clear. My legs felt a little wobbly, but that was common, considering the frequency poisoning.

My room was at the far end of the hallway. We crept past the medic's closed door and toward the lobby. Away from my room, the true frequency of this world asserted itself, a low droning that vibrated against my skull.

“Pool's empty; the fitness center has, like, one elliptical and a few weights. Laundry's there; kitchenette's on the other side—but it's really just a microwave and a sink.” He pointed to each one in turn. “Conference room is there, but it's usually locked.”

“Do you always stay in hotels?”

“Not as far as I can tell. One place was a school; another was an apartment building. Nursing homes, storage units . . . I keep hoping for an IKEA, but they've never found one that's not packed all the time. I think the base camp moves around a lot—they've only been here for a month or two—and they keep the location a secret, even from most of the local Free Walkers.”

“Where is everyone?” The lobby was empty. A fake Christmas tree, dusty and forgotten, stood next to a cold fireplace.
No one was at the front desk, but behind the office door I could hear voices.

“People are always holed up in meetings or going out on jobs,” he said. “Usually I'm training, but not since you came in.”

“How many people are staying here?”

“Thirty, maybe? Forty?”

“That seems like a lot. I thought Free Walkers operated in small groups.”

“We usually do,” said a voice behind us. “But now is a time for amassing forces.”

I twisted around. An old woman stood in the doorway of the conference room. She was dressed like she'd raided an army surplus store—olive drab pants, stout boots, a flannel shirt. A long, silver braid fell over one shoulder, reaching past the hem of her cargo vest. Her skin had the appearance of crepe paper, thin and soft, spotted with age. But her eyes were clear and curious, the sort of green-brown that some people would call hazel and some would call mud.

Eyes like mine.

She must have been watching for a sign that I knew, because she smiled, her face crinkling all over. I'd seen that smile—minus the wrinkles—every day on my way to breakfast, in her wedding portrait.

“Grandma?” The word trembled in the air, hanging like the opening note of a performance.

“Rose,” she corrected me, in a rusty voice. “It's a little late for me to start playing granny.”

C
HAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A
S A CHILD, I'D DREAMED
of finding my grandmother. Of restoring my family to the way it was supposed to be. My daydreams always included a grandmother with a soft lap who wrapped me in her arms and smelled like fresh-baked oatmeal cookies, whose voice was a lullaby to keep shadows at bay.

Rose was none of those things. No lap to speak of—she was thin to the point of bony, even in her baggy pants and layers of shirts, and her manner was equally sharp. She held herself with an unnatural stillness, watching everything and revealing nothing, studying me as closely as I studied her. Despite the lingering smile, the tension between us turned the air thin, as if we were on two, equally high mountaintops—with a hell of a lot of valley between us.

I lifted my chin. She and her Free Walkers had saved me, but I hadn't done so badly: brought her Simon, brought her Monty, brought her the coordinates she needed. I could play our reunion as cool as she did. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“You're welcome. You're supposed to be in the infirmary.”

I lifted a shoulder. “I got bored.”

“That happens frequently, by all accounts.”

“Not mine,” Simon said, his voice hard as granite.

She smiled—not the wide, welcoming smile of her portrait, but something indulgent. “Not yours. Del's antics are well-known, even to us.”

“They're not antics,” Simon put in. “She nearly died bringing you the information you wanted.”

“Free Walkers ‘nearly' die every day,” she said. “Some of them sail right past nearly, in fact, like Powell.”

Questions whirled in my head, almost painful in their jumbled rush. I fastened on the most obvious. “I thought you were dead,” I blurted.

She smiled again. “Monty told you I wasn't.”

“Monty is not a reliable source. And nobody told me otherwise. Not Ms. Powell, or Other Simon—he always talked about you in the past tense.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. Because
I assumed you were dead.
”

“Stop making assumptions,” she said, “and ask better questions.”

I turned to Simon. “You knew?”

He held up his hands. “I was going to tell you. There was a lot to catch you up on.”

I'd fallen into the same trap as Originals—assuming what I'd seen and heard was real, without ever questioning it. What else had I missed?

“Why did you wait so long to help him?” I asked.

“We hadn't realized the signal flaw would manifest so dramatically. Once we figured it out, you two were already close, and
we thought it best to monitor you instead. Powell was preparing to extract Simon when you and your merry band tried to repair the anomaly—it's why she was on hand to save him.”

“Why wait to tell me he was okay? You let me think he was dead.”

She said coolly, “Everything we do is about balance. Between the Key World and the Echoes, between secrecy and truth, between risk and reward. We judged the risk of bringing you in was finally worth it.”

Not me. The information I had.

“You needed Monty's and Amelia's frequencies.”

“Partly. We also needed Simon's cooperation.”

I turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“I told them we were a package deal.” He scowled at Rose. “Some grandmother you are.”

“I haven't been a grandmother for a very long time,” she said stiffly, and then her expression softened. “But I am grateful to you for bringing Monty here.”

“Where is he?” I asked. If Simon was with me, shouldn't Rose be taking care of Monty? “He wasn't in the infirmary.”

“He's resting. As you should be.” Her mouth lifted wryly. “I trained as a medic, Delancey. I'm capable of caring for my husband without help. As it happens, his hearing loss protects him from frequency poisoning—his symptoms were nowhere near as severe as yours.”

“Why didn't you come back for him? He's lost his mind looking for you. He nearly ended the world!”

“Monty's always been a romantic. I haven't had that luxury. Our mission was of greater consequence than my feelings.” She glanced at Simon. “It might sound cruel, but you would have done the same. You already have.”

The pride in her voice made it sound as if I'd passed some sort of test—one I'd had no idea I was taking. Unease rippled through me, a pebble dropped in deep waters.

“I'm glad you're here,” she said, as if she sensed my wariness. “You've had a difficult time, but we're nearly through the worst of it. Thanks to you, we're ready to defeat the Consort.”

Before I could ask her more about it, a wave of exhaustion swamped me. Simon's arm came around me and I leaned into him, the solid warmth I'd been longing for, the only refuge I had anymore.

“How did you survive the frequency poisoning?” I asked. “Nobody can last in the Echoes for as long as you did.”

She came closer, close enough for me to catch the faintest whiff of lilacs. “They don't hurt if you can't hear.”

I stared as she pushed back the hair above her ear. A small plastic device was embedded in her skull, tiny wires leading beneath the skin.

“A hearing aid?”

“Not exactly. It's similar to a cochlear implant. It filters out bad pitches and substitutes the Key World frequency. Much more advanced than when I first started out.”

“What did you use then?” I asked.

“A needle,” she said, running a finger along one of the wires.
“Piercing the eardrum is crude, but effective. Unfortunately, it's also temporary—you have to repeat the procedure every few weeks, and there's always a risk of permanent deafness. I was happy to upgrade.”

My stomach did a slow, unpleasant tumble.

“Do all of you . . .”

“The ones who live in Echoes, yes.”

I thought back to Ms. Powell's wiry mass of hair. It must have concealed the implant. She wasn't kidding when she said the Free Walkers had ways to counteract frequency poisoning. I wondered if I'd get one too.

A girl, dark blond hair piled in a messy bun, clipboard in hand, stepped out of the front office. “Rose? We need to do a final— Oh. You're awake.”

Whoever she was, she didn't sound thrilled about it. She looked at me over the top of her bright red glasses, unsmiling.

“I'll be there in a moment. Delancey, this is Prescott, my assistant. We'd be lost without her.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, not meaning it.

“You too,” she replied, equally insincere. I expected her to go back into the office, but she stayed at the counter, clipboard clutched to her chest. “You knew my mom.”

I looked at her blankly. “I don't think . . .”

Simon squeezed my hand, and I saw it. The curly hair. The thick glasses. The offbeat shoes.

“Ms. Powell,” I said softly. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said, expression hardening. “Me too.”

She turned to Rose. “I've got those schematics, when you're ready.”

“I'll be there shortly,” Rose replied. Then, to me: “We should get you back to the infirmary.”

“I'm a fast healer,” I said, watching Prescott disappear into the office, shoulders stiff.

“You get that from your grandfather,” she said.

“And my dad,” I said with a pang of guilt. By now the Consort would have told them what I'd done. They'd probably been questioned, along with Addie and Laurel, and Eliot, and all of my classmates.

“Foster's a good man,” she said. “Too trusting, I think, just as your mother is too dedicated to principles she won't examine.”

“Are they in danger?”

Her mouth thinned. “They'll be questioned, but it's no secret your relationship has been strained. I'm sure most of what the Consort tells them will come as a complete surprise, and once Lattimer realizes that, they'll be released. It's likely they won't rise much higher in the ranks, but it's for the best. When revolutions turn bloody, it's the figureheads who have the furthest to fall.”

If she was trying to make me feel better, it wasn't working.

“What about Addie and Eliot?”

“Addison's work for Lattimer helps her case. The technology Eliot used was ours, and it's already been retrieved. There's nothing to tie him to the escape, especially since he was at school when it happened.”

I swallowed. Safe, then. As safe as I could hope for.

“That's the last we'll speak of them,” she said. “From now on, they need to be as dead to you as you are to them.”

“But—”

“They'll be watched,” she said. “The Consort will use them for information and then as leverage. The only way to protect them is to forget they exist.”

“Is that what you did? Pretended we were dead?”

“Pretending isn't enough. You have to believe it.”

Simon's hand tightened on mine. “What about my mom? What if they trace me—the other me—and figure out she's connected?”

“We've scrubbed all the security tapes from your escape, so they won't ID him.”

“What about the school? Won't they ask questions after I take off again?”

“Hold on,” I cut in. “Isn't Other Simon here already? That was the plan.”

“He changed the plan,” Rose said, her displeasure clear. “He returned to the Key World, where he's watching over Amelia and making a show about pining for Del. When the time comes for him to join us, nobody will question it.” She smiled. “It helps that you broke his nose, of course. Adds such credence to the notion of a volatile, impetuous romance.”

Simon looked at me askance. “You broke my nose?”

“Bruised,” I said. Original Simon must have blocked their connection that time. “Believe me, you deserved it.”

His expression turned thunderous, and Rose cut in. “The
important thing is that we're now in a position to move against the Consort.”

“The Tacet's scheduled to start in a week,” I said. “How are you going to stop them?”

“We're going to do more then stop the Tacet. We're going to crush the Consort and rebuild the Walkers.” Her words took on a smooth, rhythmic cadence—urgent and stirring, like an old-time preacher. “In the beginning, Walkers were called to protect the multiverse—all of creation, not only the Key World. The gift we were granted was a healing one. To cleave isn't only to cut, but to bind and bring together, to join and to make whole. We were meant to explore the multiverse, to learn and protect and make better every world we pass through. We were born to fight entropy, to weave it back into order and beauty. That is our calling, not destruction and death. And so we shall.”

Silence followed her words, the kind of hush usually found in a church.

“That's not what we're taught.” I said, thinking of the leather-­bound Bible in our living room. “I'm not saying the Consort is right—but they've been teaching the exact opposite for generations. They have books and writings and scripture to back up what they say. How are you going to convince anyone to listen?”

“Because we have proof. Think about it, Delancey—the Free Walkers have never attacked the Consort, or the Walkers in general. We've never done anything to damage the Key World. And yet we're branded as threats and traitors. Why is that?”

“They're afraid of you,” Simon answered.

Rose smiled, brilliant but weary. “They're afraid of
you
. Hybrids are the future of the Walkers. The Consort has chosen to deal with the population crisis using brute force. They see Half Walkers as a weakening of the line, but the truth is, you're more powerful. You make cauterization possible, and your Echoes mean the population crisis is a moot point.” She shook her head. “You and your kind could save us all, if we'd let you.”

“Telling them Simon could preserve Echoes won't change their minds.”

“Showing them will,” she said grimly. “We just need to get their attention.”

“You've
got
their attention. They're planning the Tacet because they're afraid of you. How are you planning to stop it?”

Rose's eyebrows snapped together, the same as my mom's whenever I talked back. “Let us worry about the details. It's time for you to rest.”

She took my arm and angled me toward the infirmary. I jerked away.

“I'm not tired!” I sounded like a little kid up past bedtime, but that's how she was treating me. “We have a right to know what you're planning.”

“No, you don't. You're not a Free Walker yet.”

“I brought you the frequency. I brought you
Monty
. I turned my back on the Walkers. My friends. My family. What else do I have to do to prove myself?”

“You're inexperienced. We can't send you out without the proper training.” More gently she added, “This is a marathon,
not a sprint. Once we've dealt with the Consort and you've caught up, you'll have plenty of opportunities to help.”

“You mean once you trust me.”

Simon squeezed my fingers, but I was done being careful. Careful worked for Addie, maybe, and Eliot. But careful made you hesitate, and if I'd learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that hesitation could be as deadly as haste.

“I trust you, Del,” Rose said, but there was a precision to her words that underscored everything she wasn't saying. She didn't believe I could be helpful; the Free Walkers didn't trust me
or
believe in me.

“Then tell me what the plan is.”

“I've told you all you need to know. You are both guests here—valued guests—but we expect that you'll abide by the rules we've set.” She stopped herself from adding “or else,” but it hung in the air between us.

Simon shifted closer to me. If you didn't know better, his movements would have seemed lazy, but it was the opposite—fluid and easy, an archer drawing a bow and taking aim without spooking the rabbit.