Resonance - Erica O'Rourke Page 0,25
was Rose doing for the Free Walkers?”
“What needed to be done.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He grunted and ducked his head. I knew this stage. This was the ornery phase, soon to be followed by the muddled phase. I was losing him.
“The weapon,” Lattimer ordered. “I want to know what it does.”
“Was she working on something specific?” I watched Monty’s face for any twitch or droop that might give away the answer. “A weapon, maybe?”
He chuckled. “Anything can be a weapon, depending on who controls it. Look in the mirror.”
I gripped the edge of the table to keep from throttling him.
“Where is it?” Lattimer pressed, and I repeated the question.
“No one person would be entrusted with information like that,” Monty scolded. “Besides, a weapon’s no use if it’s hidden away. You only hide what you need to protect.”
His fingers began twitching—not reaching into the strings of the world, but something far more innocuous. A melody played on an imaginary keyboard. “Let me tell you a story. I think you’ll like it.”
“I’ve heard enough of your stories,” I said. “They haven’t done me any good.”
“That’s because you don’t listen. A story has more to offer than words on a page, if you pay attention. That’s why things slip by you, Delancey. You’re slapdash,” he said dismissively. “You’ll never get what you want if you’re sloppy, you know. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
My cheeks burned at the accusation. I hadn’t paid enough attention to the signs—Simon’s flaw, Ms. Powell’s name, Monty’s deception—and it had cost me.
“This is pointless,” I said, and pushed back from the table. Monty jerked upright, the chain rattling.
“Where are you going?”
“You promised to give me information.”
He grinned. “And indeed I have.”
“You’ve made excuses and insulted me. Not the same thing. I’m done.” I knocked on the door.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” His tone was plaintive, like a child’s. “There’s more I want to tell you.”
“I don’t want to listen.”
As the guard ushered me out, Monty began whistling our old song.
Nothing’s done that can’t be un-,
Nothing’s lost that can’t be found,
Make a choice and make a world,
Find another way around.
Lattimer strode toward me, not bothering to mask his irritation. “You were supposed to draw him out, not get into a shouting match.”
“He’s not going to give us anything. This was a waste of time.”
“I disagree. He said you knew all the names you needed to—what did he mean?”
“Exactly what he said,” I replied. “Rose is the only name he mentioned. Nobody else matters.”
“Not to us,” Lattimer said. “You’ll have to go back in.”
He reached for the door again, and I crossed my arms.
“He’s done for today,” I said. “Early evening is his worst time. Once he starts with the singing, he’s useless.”
Useless was an exaggeration. Monty was slipping, but he would have rambled on for as long as I’d stayed. The more incoherent his story, though, the greater the chance he’d let slip something valuable—and dangerous.
“Finding that weapon and locating the Free Walkers are crucial to our plans,” Lattimer said, and his eyes met mine, steely and cold. “If you can’t get the information from him, I will.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MY PARENTS SPRANG TO THEIR feet as soon as I returned.
“How was he?” Mom asked.
“More importantly, how are you?” said my dad, wrapping his arms around me.
“I’m fine,” I said, unsure if I should tell them how diminished he seemed. “Monty . . . is Monty. A cell won’t change him.”
It was true. Even in an oubliette, he was still scheming, still searching for Rose. I was the one who’d changed. I didn’t need him anymore.
“Delancey’s too easily led by her emotions,” Lattimer said. “He’ll make use of that, to everyone’s detriment.”
“Considering the situation—” my father began.
“I’m sure next time will go more smoothly,” my mom said swiftly, cutting him off.
“Next time? I’m not going back in there.” I didn’t want to witness his decline, or risk him giving away the truth.
“The visits continue,” Lattimer replied. “I will make sure your grandfather understands better how to conduct himself. You will practice holding your temper.”
He left without further good-byes, and my mom frowned. “Don’t let your grandfather get under your skin.”
“You want to deal with him? Be my guest. I’d rather be at school.”
“That’s saying something,” my dad said, forcing a laugh.
“He doesn’t want to deal with me,” Mom said, her words edged with hurt. “He won’t even let us visit.”
I hadn’t thought about how it would make my mom feel, to have her own father shut her out and