“My parents are out,” I said as Councilman Lattimer crossed the threshold. “Working.”
“I’m aware. I’m here for an update on your progress, per your sentence.”
“Shouldn’t that be Shaw’s job?”
He peered into the living room, with its jumble of instruments. “I assure you I’m qualified.”
Addie sloshed cocoa everywhere at the sight of a Consort member strolling into our kitchen.
“Not Eliot,” I said.
“Councilman!” She shot out of her seat. “We’re—I’m—how can we help you?”
“I’m here for Delancey’s progress report. Since your parents have placed you in charge, I thought it simpler to get the information directly.”
He gave her an expectant look, as if his patience was already wearing thin.
“I haven’t written a formal report yet,” Addie hedged, “but she did well. We spent today reviewing navigation and cartography, and discussed strategies for directly analyzing breaks.”
Impressive. It was a much better spin than, “We hung out at a coffee shop and burglarized a school.”
“I trust you’ve limited her Walks only to supervised training?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve monitored her very closely.”
“We. You and your grandfather, I presume.” He looked up at the ceiling, where Monty’s shuffling gait was audible. “Are you certain neither of them slipped away unnoticed?”
A direct question from a Consort member was virtually unheard of. He must have been genuinely curious, and his curiosity fueled my own. Was he here to check up on me, or Monty?
Addie was too caught up in the implication she’d been lax in watching me to notice his slip. “The Consort’s expectations were very clear. I had eyes on Del the whole time.”
I did my best to look obedient and remorseful.
“It’s important that you supervise your grandfather as closely as you do your sister, lest he wander off. Also, you should be aware his methodology often conflicts with standard practice.”
“He’s got years of experience,” I blurted. “Why not learn from that?”
He turned on me, predatory as a hawk. “The lessons you can take from him are cautionary at best. You’d do better to learn from your sister. We need more Walkers like her.”
Addie straightened, her posture more impeccable than usual as he turned to her.
“We appreciate your willingness to help, Addison. Once your apprenticeship is concluded—and assuming your work with Delancey is successful—the Consort will make sure you’re given a position worthy of your abilities.”
On the surface the words sounded complimentary. But the underlying message had an ominous note: If I failed, I wouldn’t be the only one punished.
“Yes, sir,” she said, eyes wide. She’d heard it too. “Thank you.”
“Excellent. Send me your written reports, as well as your plans for the upcoming week. I’ll continue to check in personally.”
“That’s not necessary, sir. Del’s caused you enough trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” His smile fell several degrees short of warm. “It’s the least I can do for the granddaughters of my old friend. Especially considering that he’s in no condition to do it himself.”
Before Addie could manage another timid “Yes, sir,” he was gone.
“Well, that wasn’t creepy.” I threw the dead bolt and headed to the kitchen. “Why does the Consort care so much about me? I figured they’d hand me off to Shaw again, especially since they’re busy with Mom and Dad’s special project.”
Addie stared into her mug, lost in thought. “Grandpa was a big deal when he was a Cleaver. A lot of people thought he would be selected for the Consort, before Grandma disappeared. Maybe they think they’re doing him a favor.”
“Some favor,” I said. “Monty and Lattimer can’t stand each other.”
“No, they can’t. But he was important. Mom and Dad are important. They can’t publicly show favoritism, but behind the scenes . . .” She shrugged. “Regardless, Lattimer’s right about Monty being a bad influence. He keeps losing time, Del. He’s slipping.”
The cocoa coated my tongue, making it thick and clumsy. “Only a little. When it’s important, he focuses.”
“It’s what he deems important that worries me,” she replied.
My whole life, Monty had encouraged me to stretch myself. To find out what I was capable of, instead of blindly following instructions. “Teaching us. Making sure we can find our way home.”
“Those are secondary,” Addie said. “He wants to find Grandma, and if he can’t do it himself, he’ll use us. He’ll use anyone. He’s training us to keep going once he can’t.”
“You think he knows they’re talking about sending him to a home?”
“I think he’s not as lost as he seems.” She shook her head, rinsed out her cup. “I’m going to write that report.”
After she left, I texted Eliot: U back? Movie night?
The reply was immediate: B there asap.
The textbooks Addie and I had fought over this morning lay scattered across the table. I stacked them neatly, but my mom’s office, a narrow windowless room off the main hall, was locked as usual. The only books I could reshelve were the journals, leather-bound diaries kept by my grandparents and other long-dead relatives, stretching back generations. These days most Walkers kept their journals on a computer, but there was something reassuring about seeing row after row, each stamped with the author’s initials.
The Monty I glimpsed in the journals was nimble and canny, even if he didn’t follow protocol. He relied more on instinct and the deft manipulation of strings rather than the bloodless, data-driven style we were taught in school. His later entries degenerated into ramblings about the Consort and his attempts to find Rose. I didn’t read those volumes as much.
My grandmother’s journals were more like scrapbooks: a few maps, lots of notes about medical cases she’d treated, home remedies and recipes for the desserts Monty loved, brief melodies she’d composed.
When I was a kid, I’d read my grandparents’ journals again and again, looking for clues about where Rose had gone and how Monty had searched for her. I’d thought if I could find her, he’d be restored—not just my beloved, dotty grandfather, but the brilliant Walker contained in those books. He’d be happy, and I’d finally meet my grandmother instead of only hearing stories.
I knew better now. Too much time and too many worlds had passed to find my grandmother. The best we could hope for was to keep Monty from losing himself, too.
I headed into the living room, picking up my mom’s viola and running through a few arpeggios, fingers dancing over the strings. The lively, complicated scales usually did the trick when I wanted to fend off melancholy.
Eliot let himself in the back door, calling, “Miss me?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” I met him in the kitchen and gave him a quick hug. “Have you been out this whole time?”
“Yeah. Tricky stuff today.” He grabbed a can of pop from the fridge and swallowed noisily. “Boring without you.”
“Naturally. Did anyone ask about me?”
“Callie said you should call her. Everyone’s bummed you’re gone.”
I wanted to believe him, but my phone had been awfully quiet since the sentencing. “What about Shaw? Did he say anything?”
Eliot settled into the blue brocade armchair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “ ‘Be nice to Addie.’ ”
“Pfft. He knows what she’s like.” I played another arpeggio, pleased. Shaw was on my side. If we could prove the cleaving wasn’t my fault, he would back me up with the Consort.