Ten Thousand Skies Above You
Page 35
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
He means he doesn’t want to watch the moment when this world’s Theo and I once again look at each other with love.
I walk out, knowing Theo will follow, and I don’t allow myself to look at Paul’s face again.
Once Theo and I are alone in the corridor, accompanied by the sound of typewriters clattering within office doors, he says, “Look on the bright side, chica. We’ve got the Firebird. We’ve got a good cover story in place. This is progress.”
I swallow the lump in my throat to reply. “Conley might find out we didn’t really sabotage them.” Even before I suggested the plan, I knew that was a risk. That risk looms larger now, casting its shadow over my hopes.
“Yeah, he might. But we could make it seem like this Paul tricked us, something like that. And if this world’s Conley never learns the truth, we might get away with it completely.”
“He has to learn eventually, doesn’t he?”
“Eventually could be a long time from now.” As Theo opens the door and we walk outside, he glances over his shoulder, in the direction we came from. “This Paul’s kind of a hard-ass, isn’t he?
“No. Just hurt.” I think of the way he looked at me last night—hopeful, dazzled, halfway to being in love—and I feel even more like scum than before.
But Theo’s right about one thing. We have the Firebirds. So far as Conley knows, we completed half the job. One more dimension, one more mission, one more betrayal. Then and only then will we go to the home office and learn the final universe hiding the last splinter of Paul’s soul.
“At least we have something to use against Conley now.” That was the idea I clung to when this trip began—that I’d find a way to undermine Conley, that instead of simply doing his bidding, I’d turn his own plan against him. “Conley wants to monopolize the ability to travel through dimensions. Now we’ve guaranteed that’s not going to happen.”
Slowly, Theo smiles. “There’s that fighting spirit. Now, do we know where we’re headed?”
Quickly I double-check my Firebird around my neck; the second set of coordinates have been unlocked. “Yeah, sending you the data now. Mission one-half accomplished. Let’s go.”
Theo pauses. “A whole other world.” When I give him a look, he shakes his head. “I know that’s the idea. But it’s like I only just started believing this place was real.”
“Soon it’s going to seem like a bad dream,” I reassure him.
“I don’t know,” Theo says as he takes his Firebird in hand. “This place had its benefits.”
Our eyes meet, and I know he’s remembering the way he kissed me last night.
But it’s over in an instant, as the Firebird rips us out of these bodies, this world, forever.
13
WHEN I SLAM INTO MYSELF, I’M WALKING ALONG A CROWDED sidewalk, and I nearly trip over my own feet.
A beefy guy in a Yankees jersey bumps into me from behind. “Hey, it’s a sidewalk. For walking. Got it?”
Another voice nearby mutters, “Tourists.”
I flatten myself against the nearest building, where I won’t be in anyone’s way. Where have I wound up this time? It’s daylight, and there are—wow, hundreds of people and at least three food carts just on this stretch of sidewalk.
I look up and start to smile, because even though I’ve never been here before, I know exactly where I am.
Times Square.
Visitors to the city clutch shopping bags or record the scene on their smartphones, while locals in business clothes walk twice as fast as anyone else as they weave in and out. Although I can hear car horns nearby, the street right next to me seems to have been closed off a long time ago; the space is instead filled with shaded picnic tables, where people eat and hang out. Above me are tall buildings bearing billboards about the size of my house, and so many glittering lights that they shine even in the middle of the day. Nearby a news ticker scrolls headlines like:
PRESIDENT AND FIRST LADY TO MAKE STATE VISIT TO BRAZIL
NISSAN AND TOYOTA ANNOUNCE MERGER
UK PARLIAMENT VOTES FOR GENERAL ELECTION
OSCAR WINNER HUGH JACKMAN RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL.
Those all look familiar enough—except that I don’t think Hugh Jackman has won an Academy Award in my world. Beside the fact that I’m in New York City, this dimension doesn’t appear to be very different from my own. At any rate, it’s better than the desolate world at war we left behind.
For a moment I remember Paul saying goodbye to me there—the distrust, the betrayal in his eyes. Just thinking about it burns. No, I don’t ever want to see that Warverse again.
My clothes seem like exactly the kind of thing I’d have at home—though the dark green dress and the low-heeled lace-up oxfords are a little fancier than I’d generally wear for everyday. A cross-body bag hangs at my hip, and I start fishing around inside for clues. Keys, lip gloss, chewing gum: All that tells me is that Clinique and Trident exist here too. Inside a silver leather wallet I find a New York State ID card—no driver’s license—but my address is printed on the ID, so now I know I live on Eighty-Third Street. Also a yellow and blue Metrocard, which I’m guessing is what you use on the subway. Some cash, a case for the sunglasses I realize I’m wearing atop my head, and—yes. My smartphone.
It wants a code to unlock. At home I use Josie’s birthday, so I plug that in and, boom, I’m in. Maybe I should be less predictable, I think, but I can’t stop smiling.
Before anything else, I go into contacts and scroll down to the Ms. Then the Ps. Paul isn’t listed.
Do I not even know him in this universe? This is New York City; in our world, that’s where Paul was born. So he should be here, shouldn’t he? If I can’t get to this dimension’s Paul Markov, how am I supposed to rescue the next part of Paul’s soul?
Maybe you just haven’t met this world’s Paul yet, I remind myself. Or you might already know him, but the two of you aren’t close enough to exchange numbers at this point. Paul had worked with my parents almost a year before I put his number in my phone; I didn’t need to contact him on my own, and even if I had, he was at my house nearly every day. Texting him wasn’t a big priority.
The tight coil of fear within me slowly relaxes. I shouldn’t panic yet.
Resigned, I scan through the rest of my contacts. There’s Mom, Dad, Josie—and yes, Theo, here in NYC so no need to use the locator on the Firebird—but that’s when my phone buzzes and a calendar alert comes up: Movie w/R at AMC 42nd. Looks like that’s in fifteen minutes.
I’m only a couple of blocks from Forty-Second, as it turns out. So I hurry through the packs of people gawking at the signs, the other tourists, and the Hello Kitty store. Obviously I’d rather spend the next couple of hours studying this dimension than sitting in a movie theater, but if I’m going to pass as this world’s Marguerite, I shouldn’t blow off her plans without a good reason.
When I get to the front of the theater, I’m not sure whether to go in or to wait outside for someone to recognize me—which is when I hear a woman’s voice call out, in an English accent, “Marguerite! There you are!”
I turn around to see Romola.
Somehow I manage to conceal my astonishment. It’s definitely her: same dark gold hair, same square jaw and stubborn chin. We’ve run into each other in a couple of worlds now, but never before have we been friends. Here, though, Romola comes up to me with a smile on her face. Instead of the expensive, glamorous clothes she wore in the Londonverse, she’s got on normal jeans and a sweater. As she walks up to me, she smiles and holds up her phone, revealing a bar code. “Since you were running late, I went ahead and bought our tickets.”
I walk out, knowing Theo will follow, and I don’t allow myself to look at Paul’s face again.
Once Theo and I are alone in the corridor, accompanied by the sound of typewriters clattering within office doors, he says, “Look on the bright side, chica. We’ve got the Firebird. We’ve got a good cover story in place. This is progress.”
I swallow the lump in my throat to reply. “Conley might find out we didn’t really sabotage them.” Even before I suggested the plan, I knew that was a risk. That risk looms larger now, casting its shadow over my hopes.
“Yeah, he might. But we could make it seem like this Paul tricked us, something like that. And if this world’s Conley never learns the truth, we might get away with it completely.”
“He has to learn eventually, doesn’t he?”
“Eventually could be a long time from now.” As Theo opens the door and we walk outside, he glances over his shoulder, in the direction we came from. “This Paul’s kind of a hard-ass, isn’t he?
“No. Just hurt.” I think of the way he looked at me last night—hopeful, dazzled, halfway to being in love—and I feel even more like scum than before.
But Theo’s right about one thing. We have the Firebirds. So far as Conley knows, we completed half the job. One more dimension, one more mission, one more betrayal. Then and only then will we go to the home office and learn the final universe hiding the last splinter of Paul’s soul.
“At least we have something to use against Conley now.” That was the idea I clung to when this trip began—that I’d find a way to undermine Conley, that instead of simply doing his bidding, I’d turn his own plan against him. “Conley wants to monopolize the ability to travel through dimensions. Now we’ve guaranteed that’s not going to happen.”
Slowly, Theo smiles. “There’s that fighting spirit. Now, do we know where we’re headed?”
Quickly I double-check my Firebird around my neck; the second set of coordinates have been unlocked. “Yeah, sending you the data now. Mission one-half accomplished. Let’s go.”
Theo pauses. “A whole other world.” When I give him a look, he shakes his head. “I know that’s the idea. But it’s like I only just started believing this place was real.”
“Soon it’s going to seem like a bad dream,” I reassure him.
“I don’t know,” Theo says as he takes his Firebird in hand. “This place had its benefits.”
Our eyes meet, and I know he’s remembering the way he kissed me last night.
But it’s over in an instant, as the Firebird rips us out of these bodies, this world, forever.
13
WHEN I SLAM INTO MYSELF, I’M WALKING ALONG A CROWDED sidewalk, and I nearly trip over my own feet.
A beefy guy in a Yankees jersey bumps into me from behind. “Hey, it’s a sidewalk. For walking. Got it?”
Another voice nearby mutters, “Tourists.”
I flatten myself against the nearest building, where I won’t be in anyone’s way. Where have I wound up this time? It’s daylight, and there are—wow, hundreds of people and at least three food carts just on this stretch of sidewalk.
I look up and start to smile, because even though I’ve never been here before, I know exactly where I am.
Times Square.
Visitors to the city clutch shopping bags or record the scene on their smartphones, while locals in business clothes walk twice as fast as anyone else as they weave in and out. Although I can hear car horns nearby, the street right next to me seems to have been closed off a long time ago; the space is instead filled with shaded picnic tables, where people eat and hang out. Above me are tall buildings bearing billboards about the size of my house, and so many glittering lights that they shine even in the middle of the day. Nearby a news ticker scrolls headlines like:
PRESIDENT AND FIRST LADY TO MAKE STATE VISIT TO BRAZIL
NISSAN AND TOYOTA ANNOUNCE MERGER
UK PARLIAMENT VOTES FOR GENERAL ELECTION
OSCAR WINNER HUGH JACKMAN RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL.
Those all look familiar enough—except that I don’t think Hugh Jackman has won an Academy Award in my world. Beside the fact that I’m in New York City, this dimension doesn’t appear to be very different from my own. At any rate, it’s better than the desolate world at war we left behind.
For a moment I remember Paul saying goodbye to me there—the distrust, the betrayal in his eyes. Just thinking about it burns. No, I don’t ever want to see that Warverse again.
My clothes seem like exactly the kind of thing I’d have at home—though the dark green dress and the low-heeled lace-up oxfords are a little fancier than I’d generally wear for everyday. A cross-body bag hangs at my hip, and I start fishing around inside for clues. Keys, lip gloss, chewing gum: All that tells me is that Clinique and Trident exist here too. Inside a silver leather wallet I find a New York State ID card—no driver’s license—but my address is printed on the ID, so now I know I live on Eighty-Third Street. Also a yellow and blue Metrocard, which I’m guessing is what you use on the subway. Some cash, a case for the sunglasses I realize I’m wearing atop my head, and—yes. My smartphone.
It wants a code to unlock. At home I use Josie’s birthday, so I plug that in and, boom, I’m in. Maybe I should be less predictable, I think, but I can’t stop smiling.
Before anything else, I go into contacts and scroll down to the Ms. Then the Ps. Paul isn’t listed.
Do I not even know him in this universe? This is New York City; in our world, that’s where Paul was born. So he should be here, shouldn’t he? If I can’t get to this dimension’s Paul Markov, how am I supposed to rescue the next part of Paul’s soul?
Maybe you just haven’t met this world’s Paul yet, I remind myself. Or you might already know him, but the two of you aren’t close enough to exchange numbers at this point. Paul had worked with my parents almost a year before I put his number in my phone; I didn’t need to contact him on my own, and even if I had, he was at my house nearly every day. Texting him wasn’t a big priority.
The tight coil of fear within me slowly relaxes. I shouldn’t panic yet.
Resigned, I scan through the rest of my contacts. There’s Mom, Dad, Josie—and yes, Theo, here in NYC so no need to use the locator on the Firebird—but that’s when my phone buzzes and a calendar alert comes up: Movie w/R at AMC 42nd. Looks like that’s in fifteen minutes.
I’m only a couple of blocks from Forty-Second, as it turns out. So I hurry through the packs of people gawking at the signs, the other tourists, and the Hello Kitty store. Obviously I’d rather spend the next couple of hours studying this dimension than sitting in a movie theater, but if I’m going to pass as this world’s Marguerite, I shouldn’t blow off her plans without a good reason.
When I get to the front of the theater, I’m not sure whether to go in or to wait outside for someone to recognize me—which is when I hear a woman’s voice call out, in an English accent, “Marguerite! There you are!”
I turn around to see Romola.
Somehow I manage to conceal my astonishment. It’s definitely her: same dark gold hair, same square jaw and stubborn chin. We’ve run into each other in a couple of worlds now, but never before have we been friends. Here, though, Romola comes up to me with a smile on her face. Instead of the expensive, glamorous clothes she wore in the Londonverse, she’s got on normal jeans and a sweater. As she walks up to me, she smiles and holds up her phone, revealing a bar code. “Since you were running late, I went ahead and bought our tickets.”
