A generator: Input the specific resonance of an Echo and it would play the frequency for you. More reliable than memory, they were for licensed Walkers only. I wouldn’t get one of my own until—or unless—I became an apprentice.
“Don’t go without us,” she warned, and pressed a final button. The generator wheezed like an accordion.
I found the matching pivot almost immediately. “Concession stand,” I said, and at Monty’s nod, led the way.
The world looked similar to ours, but I barely had time to note the differences, because Addie played another pitch. “Go.”
“This is kindergarten stuff,” I complained. If this was supposed to be next week’s work, she’d planned for a glacial pace. I’d die of boredom—and be months behind for the exam. That was probably her intention. Monty nonchalantly dropped a button while her back was turned.
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” she said sweetly. “Go.”
I checked my phone, now running Eliot’s map software. The light of the pivot was bright but steady. Safe to go. I found the new frequency and Walked through again, feeling the air flex and settle around me.
“Told you,” I said. “Kindergarten.”
“Again,” said Addie, and picked a new frequency.
By the fifth crossing I’d lost patience. We’d reached the center of town. In each world, the dissonance increased, and so did my frustration. “This is stupid. Can we do something else?”
Monty nudged her. “Wouldn’t hurt to push her a bit. You can tell her if she’s doing it wrong.”
“Oh, fine.” She waved an arm at the surrounding buildings, the pedestrians enjoying a Saturday-morning stroll. “Map it.”
I blinked. “The entire Echo?”
“Too much?” she replied. “You’re such an expert, prove it. We’ve got two hours left. Mark as many pivots and breaks as you can. We’ll compare it to the most recent map when we get home, and you can write up an analysis of the changes.”
If her plan was death by dullness, it was working. I opened my mouth to complain, but Monty interrupted.
“Start there,” he said, and pointed to a coffee shop across the street. “I need a snack.”
A few minutes later Monty was plowing through a blondie the size of a deck of cards while Addie sipped a cup of tea. I slouched in an overstuffed chair on the other side of the room, a notebook in my lap, the café’s floor plan sketched out. I’d tried to use Eliot’s software, but Addie was watching me too closely. I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.
I ignored the indie-folk blaring on the radio and listened. Snatches of conversation floated around me: plans for the rest of the afternoon, gossip, quarrels, friends doling out advice to one another. My pencil flew over the paper, drawing an X for each pivot that formed. I couldn’t get a clear read on their strength. If Addie wanted that kind of detail, she’d have to let me Walk more.
The highest concentration of pivots was near the counter, not only at the register, where people placed their orders, but along the open space where people lined up to study the chalkboard menu. Some of the rifts formed and dissolved again with a drone like a mosquito. Transpositions, probably, and I marked them with a small wavy line.
Eliot had been stumped by yesterday’s transposition. By returning the girl’s note cards, we’d altered the frequency of an entire Echo. But Walkers didn’t change Echoes; we cleaved them. Neither my parents nor my teachers had ever suggested another possibility. I wondered why not.
A group of chattering girls, identical in their suede boots and fleece jackets, shopping bags weighing down their arms, approached the register. I didn’t recognize any of them, but something about them—their airy confidence, maybe, or the way they expected everyone else to make way for them—reminded me of Bree.
One of the girls, a dishwater blonde with heavily glossed lips, asked, “Is Soren working today?”
The woman behind the counter, who sported an impressive number of piercings and perfectly applied kohl liner, rolled her eyes. “Not for another hour.”
“Oh,” the girl said, crestfallen. The air around her stirred faintly, the beginning of a break. “We could wait, right? Surprise him?”
“Go for it,” the barista said in a tone suggesting Soren would not, in fact, be surprised by the sight of four girls giggling into their skinny caramel lattes.
The café was nearly full—all that was left was a low table in front, with a couch on one side and two chairs on the other. It was the perfect place to see and be seen, and the only spot where the four girls would fit.
As they waited for their drinks, Monty ambled over, handing me a cappuccino. “Having fun?”
“Not particularly.”
He gave me a conspirator’s wink. “Would you like to?”
“Most definitely.”
He tipped his head toward the girls hovering at the counter. “Hard to concentrate with their gabbing, isn’t it? Bet you could convince them to leave.”
“They’re too stable,” I said. “The break around Lip Gloss Girl is tiny. Addie would kill me if I interfered.”
Addie and Monty had made direct contact so the cashier would notice them and take their order, but I’d been sitting undetected in my chair for thirty minutes. I wondered if I could sneak a nap.
“Influence, not interference,” he chided. “Oldest trick in the book.”
Before I could stop him, he scooped up my backpack and dumped it on one of the empty chairs.
The ringleader, a tall brunette, had been eyeing the table. She blinked and turned to the others. “Why don’t they have more seats?” she complained. “We’re going to have to squish in.”
Monty’s plan became clear. Swiftly, I tossed my coat on the other chair and stretched out on the couch, feet on the cushions, moments before the girls collected their drinks. They stopped a few feet away, confused. In the Key World, I would have been on the receiving end of haughty looks and barbed comments, maybe even a veiled threat.
The Echo clique wouldn’t remember any details about me. They knew their plans to sit by the window had been thwarted, but if you asked them to explain why, the best they’d be able to come up with was, “Someone took our seats.” I was insubstantial and utterly forgettable, but I could change their path.
“Let’s check out the bookstore instead. Maybe that hot guy is working the customer service desk.” The brunette tossed her hair and headed for the door, a pivot forming in her wake. The others trailed silently after her, and the break around Lip Gloss Girl steadied.
Monty thumped down on the couch next to me with a grunt and perused my map. I dumped a bunch of sugar into my drink and folded a star from the empty packets, just to pass the time.
“I give up,” I said eventually. “What was that? Her break fixed itself?”
“It’s called tuning,” Monty said as Addie joined us. “Addie’s seen it before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” she said, dropping my backpack on the floor and sitting down. “It’s a weird side effect of Walking—when we interfere with a break, their pitch will sometimes stabilize.”
“You can bring them back in tune,” Monty said cheerfully. “Neat trick, isn’t it?”
“Sure, if it doesn’t make things worse,” Addie replied. “You shouldn’t have encouraged her, Grandpa.”
I thought back to the note cards. “Can you fix entire Echoes?”
“Theoretically, yes. But there’s no point. It’s more efficient to cleave Echoes than fix them. Safer, too.” Addie waved her hand. “Have you finished?”