I bit back a snarl. I’d been as blind as Logan, once. But recognizing the truth didn’t do much good if I couldn’t act on it.
“You’ve both raised good points.” Shaw broke in. “Fact is, it comes down to numbers. The Originals’ population is increasing exponentially; so are pivots and branches. But the Walkers aren’t. Every day, we fall a little further behind the multiverse, and the only way to keep up is to cleave.”
My outrage sparked and crackled like a lit fuse. Shaw believed what he was saying, the same way people believed in the sunrise: It had always been there, so it always would be. We had faith in the Consort, in our traditions and our “innate superiority.” But our faith was nothing but a trick used to manipulate us. The fuse inched closer to an explosion.
Intent on controlling my temper, I didn’t notice the door swinging open, or the chill in the room, or way Shaw stiffened until I heard a familiar voice say, “Sorry to interrupt. We need Delancey Sullivan, please.”
Randolph Lattimer. Head of the Cleavers, enemy of the Free Walkers, all-around horrible human being. And he wanted me, which could only mean disaster.
He stepped inside and beckoned to me with a sharp wave. Behind him, a small, white-haired woman waited, hands folded over an ivory-topped walking stick, her mouth pinched with annoyance. Councilwoman Crane, the Walkers’ so-called ethicist. As if the Consort had any ethics.
Shaw inclined his head, the fluorescent lights glinting off his scalp. “Go ahead, Del.”
I tried to stand, but my legs were too watery to hold me. To cover, I asked, “Should I bring my stuff?”
“That will be easiest,” Crane said, glancing over the top of her glasses. It was hard to imagine she knowingly sentenced Echoes to death on a daily basis. She looked like a sweet little old lady, with her snowy hair and the silver brooch at the neck of her silk blouse. If you weren’t a Walker, you’d think she belonged at a garden club meeting, or worked for the historical society.
Callie nudged my foot with hers. I forced a smile, as if acting normal could make this normal, when normal had been shot to hell.
I grabbed my coat and bag and made my way around the room. Eliot reached his hand out, a quick brush of fingertips along my sleeve.
I met his eyes. Unlike Callie, he wouldn’t be fooled with a smile. Once you’ve glimpsed something’s true nature, it’s hard to see the veneer as anything but false, no matter how bright the shine.
CHAPTER NINE
AM I IN TROUBLE?” I asked Councilwoman Crane as they escorted me to the elevator. She seemed like the type who might rap my knuckles with her walking stick if I sounded impertinent, but Lattimer was the type to slit my throat while he made small talk. I’d take my chances with the cane.
“Only if you’ve done something wrong,” Lattimer replied before Crane could answer.
“My name’s missing from the leaderboard.”
“That’s not a punishment, Delancey. It’s an expression of gratitude.” He withdrew a key card from his suit jacket and slid it through the reader. A tiny red light switched to green, and he pressed the button for the sixteenth floor, where the Consort met. I’d been there twice before: once for my suspension and once for my reinstatement.
“I don’t understand.” My coat felt too heavy in the close quarters of the elevator, my scarf like a noose.
Crane spoke in the raspy alto of a former smoker. “You agreed to help us with the aftermath of the anomaly. The opportunity has arisen for you to do so.”
I’d agreed to help, thinking I could find out the truth about the Free Walkers. But now I had the truth—and zero desire to help the Consort do anything except self-destruct. “Isn’t that what the Cleavers are doing? Why do you need me?”
The doors slid open, depositing us in a familiar black-and-white-tiled hallway. Lattimer ushered me past the Chamber of the Minor Consort, the formal meeting room where they handed down their decisions, and directed me to a nondescript door at the far end of the corridor. “The Cleavers are dealing with the effects; we would like your assistance in rooting out the cause.”
“In return, you’ll have our thanks,” Crane said. “Which outweighs any ranking you might hold in class.”
A bribe, same as they’d done with Addie. Offer us a treat to do their dirty work.