Resonance - Erica O'Rourke Page 0,17
their own distinct pitch. Some squeaked; some boomed; some were so low-pitched I felt their vibrations in the soles of my feet. Almost a century of choices, layered on top of one another until the air felt cobwebbed with them.
Once we were outside, the sensation eased slightly. We made our way to the Consort’s headquarters, a discreetly expensive-looking building in the Loop. The glassed-in lobby, the guards behind the desk, and the Impressionist paintings on the walls indicated to passersby that Consort Change Management was a staid, reputable firm catering exclusively to its clients, so move along please.
Its clients were Walkers. The CCM building housed our school, our archives, our laboratories, our government . . . it was essentially a Walker embassy, a foreign land hidden in the middle of Chicago, fluent in secrecy.
“You’re nervous,” he said as we approached the building.
“Tired. Laurel and Addie were on my case last night.”
“About what?”
I shrugged. “What else? My future. Or lack of one.”
We slid our ID cards through the scanner at the front desk, and the guard waved us through. Somewhere in this building my grandfather was locked away. I’d expected to sense some hint of his presence, as if the atmosphere would turn charged simply because we were under the same roof. My skin prickled, ice and nerves, but it wasn’t Monty. It was the effort of stepping back into my old life. Too much loss, too many truths.
Across the lobby, a tall girl with a line of piercings in both ears and her black hair in a pixie cut lounged on one of the leather couches. She spotted us and sprang up, crossing the room in long, lithe strides.
“Hey, sexy!” Callie enveloped me in a hug. A beat too late, I hugged her back, and she frowned. “Where the hell have you been? Shaw said your suspension ended more than a week ago.”
“Frequency poisoning,” Eliot said swiftly. “Her parents wouldn’t let her come back till she was one hundred percent.”
She raised one dark eyebrow. “If you say so. How’d you convince them to let you back in?”
“My stellar personality?” I offered.
“Right,” she said. “All sorts of crazy stories floating around about you.”
“Leave her alone.” Eliot folded his arms across his chest and stared Callie down.
She tipped her head to the side and studied him, not missing the way he’d stepped in front of me, or the warning in his tone. “Whatever you did, I’m glad. Things here could use some shaking up.”
I’d shaken things plenty, but I appreciated the sentiment.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, and meant it. Callie Moreno was one of my favorite classmates—snarky and smart and practical, with a wild streak that kept life interesting. Eliot was always my first pick on Walks, but Callie ran a close second.
“What have I missed?” I asked on the elevator ride up to our classroom.
“The usual. Hookups and breakups and a whole lot of obsessing over class rank and apprenticeships. People are freaking out.”
“But not you?” I asked.
Callie smiled brilliantly. “Why would I? They know I’m good. They’d be stupid to put me—or you—anywhere but the Cleavers. The Consort’s dull, but they’re not stupid.”
“No,” I murmured as the doors slid open and we filed into the hallway. “That’s the problem.”
Eliot gave me a sideways glance. Ahead of us, Callie breezed through the open doorway of our classroom, while I froze in place.
Immediately Eliot halted. “Del?”
My voice scraped. “I didn’t think I’d come back here. Ever.”
It was a second chance—something Walkers rarely got. But it’s better to make fresh mistakes, no matter how painful, than to repeat old ones.
“You belong in there. The longer you wait, the more they’ll stare.”
He pushed me toward the classroom, his hand on the small of my back. I lifted my chin and stepped forward, free from his touch. I wanted to return under my own steam and on my own terms.
The room was smaller than I remembered, as if I was viewing it from a distance. A thick oval conference table dominated the space, the seats half-filled with my classmates.
All chatter stopped as I hung up my coat and hat, the movements jerky and self-conscious. I took a second to wrestle my static-ridden hair into submission and arrange my expression into something closer to happiness than dread before turning around.
Callie hip-bumped me. “Looks like those stories weren’t so crazy after all. What have you been up to?”
My reply was more defensive than I would have liked. “Nothing!”
“Exactly.” She gestured to the front of the