“I’m heading out on a big Walk. Thought I’d check in before I left.”
“You’re working? What about the concert?” Another one of my parents’ constants—one Saturday a month they took us to the symphony. It was my father’s attempt to teach us how to enjoy music for its own sake. I grumbled about being forced to spend an afternoon with my family, but canceling was unthinkable. Whatever they were dealing with must be really bad.
“Maybe next week,” he said, but he stared at the floor when he said it, and I knew “maybe” actually meant “not a chance.”
“Could I come with today?” When I was little, my dad used to take me on Walks as a special treat. Never to cleavings—my mom had forbidden it—but on the preliminary trips, to monitor breaks. As long as I promised to stick close and hold his hand through every crossing, he’d let me tag along. “I won’t get in the way, but maybe I could help?”
“No can do,” he said. “It’s a big job. Lots to keep track of, and I can’t have the team distracted.”
I took a tiny sip of coffee, syrupy with sugar, and said nothing.
He ruffled my hair, which only made me feel more like a kid, and I twisted away. “Love you, Del.”
I didn’t answer.
“You hurt your father’s feelings,” Mom said when I finally came downstairs.
I dug in the fridge for a piece of last night’s pizza—another dinner on our own—and didn’t respond.
“This is hard on all of us. We’re not thrilled about having to work these kinds of hours, but it’s got to be done.”
I turned around, slice in hand. “Why? What’s the big emergency?”
Addie and Monty were sitting at the kitchen table, poring over an old map. He plucked the pen from her hand and circled something. Addie sighed with exaggerated patience and spun around to face us. “Mom, you’re working like crazy. I could help.”
“This is beyond your skills,” Mom replied, missing the hurt that flashed across Addie’s face. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried again. “I appreciate the offer, but Daddy and I don’t want you involved.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If you want to help, be extra careful on your Walks. That’s one less thing to be worried about. Del, eat a real breakfast.”
I held up the pizza. “Grains, dairy, vegetables—”
“Rose says tomatoes are a fruit,” Monty said.
“Sorry. Fruit,” I said. “It’s a well-balanced meal. And you could at least tell us why it’s so hush-hush. We have a right to know why we’ve been orphaned.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but my mom’s lips flattened into a thin, bloodless line.
“Your father and I have a duty,” she said, biting off the words. “Not only to you, but to the Walkers and the Key World. I realize responsibility is a foreign concept for you, but we take it seriously.”
The words felt like a slap, a numbness that quickly turned to a vicious sting. For the last two weeks I’d done everything Addie asked—passed every test, read every textbook, even when they were so boring I would have rather watched paint dry. I’d babysat Monty and given up time with Eliot.
And for what? My dad thought I was a distraction; my mom thought I was selfish. What was the point in trying to change when my own parents thought so little of me? If they couldn’t see I was trying, how would the Consort?
Even Monty was silent, and Addie bent over her map so far that her nose nearly brushed the paper.
“I’m late for my train,” Mom said.
I threw the pizza into the trash, appetite gone.
“She’s tired,” Addie said softly after Mom had left. “She didn’t mean it.”
“Whatever.” Sympathy was harder to bear than bossiness. “Are we going out today?”
She looked at the paper in front of her, her graceful cursive and Monty’s scrawls mingled together, then studied me as if I were another map. “You up for more isolations? People, not objects. We’ll even make it back in time for you and Eliot to have movie night.”
Eliot and I were supposed to go over data he’d found about Park World, but suddenly I couldn’t see the point in trying. Movie night sounded infinitely better: a few hours with my best friend and a chance to forget about Walking and cleaving and Echoes that didn’t act the way they should.
“Del?” Addie asked again. “You ready to head out?”
Anything was better than sitting at home, where I would never measure up. “Absolutely. Are you coming, Grandpa?”
“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he said.
“I’m hungry,” said Monty, hours later. We’d traveled to countless Echoes, locating people with breaks and isolating their threads. Happily, none of them had been Simon. “Time to head home, girls.”
Addie checked her watch. “Ugh. No wonder I have a migraine. Last one, Del. What do you hear?”
A frequency that was eerily similar to Park World, only more stable. My ears were ringing from the sheer amount of time we’d spent among Echoes.
“Eliot’s map would be faster,” I said for the millionth time, and wished I were with him.
Before Addie could reply, Monty spoke, searching his pockets for a snack. “Too many gadgets these days. The only tools a Walker needs are two good ears and what’s between them.”
“Says the man who gave me enough lock picks to break into Fort Knox.” I cocked my head, listening. “Three pivots, and one break by the bus shelter. I’m hungry too.”
Monty pulled out a packet of animal crackers as Addie listened, checking my work.
“Oh,” she said softly, and put her hand on Monty’s arm. “Hear it?”
“Hear what?” I asked, as his shoulders slumped.
“She has to learn eventually,” he said. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Listen,” Addie said to me, but her tone was gentler than usual.
The pitch was sharp and regular—not pleasant, but not dangerous. Even the minor breaks I’d noted earlier weren’t a problem. But there was something else. Something new.
Silence.
It was as if a music box was winding down, the individual notes of the frequency losing strength, punctuated by drawn-out, aching silence. I followed the hush to a shoe store and spotted a middle-aged couple holding hands.
Addie waved a hand toward the door. “You can check it out. It’s safe.”
I ducked inside. The clerk was crouched on the ground, helping a pigtailed kid slide on a pair of glittery pink ballet flats. I stopped next to the clearance rack and stared.
“Balloon girl?” It was the kid I’d helped in Park World, the one who’d given us a way out during the cleaving. The frequencies must be so similar that people and places were repeating. She’d been so miserable the last time I saw her, but now, as she peered down at her shoes and up at her dad, she sparkled with delight.
If I felt a surge of envy at the way her father looked at her, as delighted with her as she was with the world, it was tiny compared to the relief I felt at seeing her uncleaved and vibrant. From this distance she sounded fine, but the irregular patches of quiet were spreading through the room.
“Plenty of room to grow,” the salesman said, pressing a thumb against the toe of the shoe. “Can you walk in them, sweetie? Let us see how they fit?”
She skipped toward me, the glitter winking as she moved, a five-year-old’s dream.
“I love them, Daddy!” she trilled, but the sound of her voice warped and wavered. The color began leaching from the room. “They’re princess shoes!”
“And you’re my—” The sound dropped away completely, his words breaking off.
Someone had cleaved this world.
I started to back away, my only thought to escape. But when I signaled Addie through the window, she held up both hands, mouthing, “Stay put.”