cauterizing a major branch before it could be cleaved—but the Consort always managed to get ahead of us. The official would disappear. We’d save one Echo, and three more would be cleaved. Monty was going to be named to the Consort, and then Lattimer got the job. They’d found . . .” She trailed off. “. . . something. A fail-safe, Rose called it. But a few days after Simon was born, Gil vanished.”
The kettle screamed, and I turned it off, willing her to continue.
“He’d always been careful to keep me hidden from the Consort—he wasn’t living here, and he wasn’t always able to get away. Rose kept checking on me, but I knew this was different. Nothing would have kept him from his son. When Monty came looking for Rose, I cut off the whole group. I told him if a Free Walker contacted me or came near Simon—ever—I’d tell the Consort everything I knew.”
I didn’t doubt it. She might have been frail, but there was steel in her spine.
“Why did you stay?” I asked. “Why not pick up and move to the other side of the country?”
“I thought Gil might come back,” she said quietly, and twisted her ring. “Besides, running would have drawn more attention, especially from your kind. Walkers worry about change, not consistency.”
In my mind I overlaid her story with what Ms. Powell had told me, the picture slowly coming into focus, the overlapping parts adding depth and clarity. Only one thing didn’t fit.
“What was the fail-safe?”
“Gil never said, exactly.” She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, her voice turning vague. “There was a lot he didn’t tell me, you know. He wanted to keep us safe, and the best way to do that was to keep us hidden.”
Whatever it was, the fail-safe hadn’t worked. Amelia looked pale—I’d pushed too hard, called up too many memories.
“Sit down,” I urged, guiding her toward the table. When she was seated, Iggy’s head on her knee, I poured out tea and placed the cup in front of her. “I have to stop the Consort.”
She nodded, absently rubbing Iggy’s ears. “They’re dangerous.”
“I know. But I can’t let them keep cleaving. Not when—”
“I didn’t mean the Consort. They need to be stopped. I don’t deny it. But . . . I’ve given the Free Walkers everything, and they’ve failed, time and time and time again. It’s one thing to sacrifice for a cause, but sacrificing for a lost cause is a different thing entirely.”
“I understand.” But I couldn’t allow myself to believe it was lost, because that would mean Simon was lost. That the wrong I had done could never be made right.
“You’re my last tie to him, you and this ridiculous dog. I couldn’t bear it if you were another pointless casualty.”
“What if . . .” What if I could bring him back? To keep myself from asking, I hugged her carefully. “I won’t be.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A MAZDA CONVERTIBLE SAT IN the driveway, gleaming red where the porch lights glinted off it. I sighed and let myself in the house.
“Hey,” Addie called from the couch. She smoothed her hair down, cheeks turning pink. “Laurel’s here.”
“I noticed. Hey, Laurel.”
“Hi, Del. How’s it going?” Laurel didn’t bother fixing her hair, dark curls corkscrewing in every direction, or her smudged lipstick.
“It’s going.” I threw my coat on a hook and headed to the pantry for a sugar fix. My talk with Ms. Powell and the Walk to see Cemetery Simon had left me dizzy in more ways than one. I needed to counteract the frequency poisoning. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
It wasn’t that I disliked Addie having a girlfriend. In the short time she and Laurel had been together, she’d been happier—and easier to be around, since Happy Addie and Nitpicky Addie couldn’t coexist.
And I couldn’t have picked a better girlfriend for her than Laurel, an apprentice Archivist. In some ways she reminded me of Eliot—supersmart, a little spacey—but she was much more easygoing than he was, comfortable in her skin and in speaking her mind. Most importantly, she was crazy about Addie.
But watching the two of them together made the ache of losing Simon sharpen until it felt like a knife between my ribs.
I grabbed a box of graham crackers and a tub of Nutella, careful not to listen too closely to their murmured conversation. People in new relationships want everyone to be as happy as they are, and I was too exhausted to play along.