Twist (33 page)

Finn was never going to fake-bicker with Georgie again. Or taste another marshmallow. Or …

No. I gave myself a mental slap. That wasn't going to happen. I wouldn't let it. I was going to save Finn.

Wait. I took out the clue I'd been carrying with me this whole time. I was going to save Finn. Future Bree had already told me so.

To save his, destroy yours
.

And then, those numbers and letters and symbols with all the blanks.

Even Jafney had made reference to it, that I'd save Finn. I smoothed the compufilm out on the counter and squinted at it. With the holes placed so sporadically, maybe they made a picture. But nope.

There was shuffling behind me, and Nava walked up next to me, teacup in hand.

“I'm so sorry to hear about your boyfriend, dear.” She laid a bony hand on my elbow.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I had hoped that by this day and age, cross-temporal love would be accepted, or at least not quite so taboo.”

“No such luck,” I said. “Look at my parents' Podwreck of a marriage.”

“Don't be so hard on them,” she said. “Making that kind of relationship work would be hard for anyone. And with your mother chipped like she was for so long, it would be nearly impossible.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” I asked.

“His name's Art.” She blushed.

“What time period was he from?”

“We're both Shifters,” she said. “Time is just another direction.”

“But it didn't work out?”

“What can I say? It got complicated.”

Complicated. That, I could understand.

“My point is, you shouldn't be ashamed of those sticky tendrils of yours. Promise me you'll be proud of them and proud of your parents for choosing love.”

“I promise.”

I tried to smile, but it was hard with my taboo love upstairs unconscious and losing memories by the moment.

Nava placed her teacup on the counter right next to the piece of compufilm I'd been studying and peered at it.

“Planning some trips?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She tapped the compufilm. “Are you going somewhere?”

“What do you mean?”

“This list of transport codes. Although”—she picked up the compufilm and held it close for a better look—“you seem to be missing some parts.”

“These are transport codes?”

“Well, that's what they're called in the chipped world. We'd probably use different terminology.” Nava refilled her tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

I joined her. “You mean, they're temporal coordinates?”

“No, it's more complex than that. Temporal coordinates are nothing more than chronogeological markers. These are more like temporal DNA.”

“I don't follow.”

“Temporal coordinates only tell Shifters where and when they are, a dot on a map, a date on the calendar. Transport codes tell you much more.”

“You mean, what you did?”

“More like what your brain did. How it was responding to things around you. Physical and emotional stimuli.”

“Why isn't this taught at the Institute?” I asked.

“Oh, it is. Not to Shifters, but it's standard knowledge for transporters.”

I thought back to the mid-term when I'd first met the Mastersons and then encountered them again when I switched assignments with Mimi. Wyck had noticed the strange tendril surges in my readouts. He'd been able to tell I had been around unchipped Shifters. These transport codes must have been what he was referring to.

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I wouldn't say I know much. I picked up tidbits when I was still in the field. Did Devvy not tell you what I did before I ended up at Resthaven?”

“Why do you call Nurse Granderson Devvy?”

“Give an old lady a break. I've known him his whole life.” She smiled.

“I know you collected DNA samples to identify victims from mass graves at a concentration camp.”

“That was one project. I was a chronogeneticist.”

“I thought you were an anthropologist. Could that be why ICE took you?” I still couldn't piece together how it was that Finn was upstairs, practically in a coma, and Nava was here and completely coherent. They'd returned her so quickly, but it didn't seem like they had any intentions of returning him.

“I doubt it. I didn't have a particularly exceptional career. And I've been out of the field for decades. Even their lowliest technician would be more current on research than I am.”

“But, in theory, you could look at these codes and tell me things about these particular Shifts.”

“Oh, dear. I … no. You would need a transporter to help you with any real details.” She picked the compufilm back up and smoothed it out. “And I'm afraid that these codes won't tell you anything without the missing parts.”

There was no real pattern to the absent symbols. “Where would I even begin to figure that out?”

“I'm sorry. I do hope you find what you're looking for.” She enveloped my hand in hers. “Do you know a transporter?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

 

chapter 25

“HEY, BREE.” WYCK OPENED
the door to his family's tiny flat. “To what do I owe this pleasu—?”

I had him down to his knees in a fierce nerve pinch before he could finish the question.

“Whah?” he choked out.

With my free hand, I dug my thumb into his windpipe until he gasped in pain and for breath. Maybe you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but I was pretty sure you could catch the most with a hair-trigger bear trap.

“That's for my mom,” I said. “And Finn. And Mimi. And the Haven Society. I know it was you.”

“You know what was me?”

I had to actually think about that for a second. That was the only thing he'd remember, the change he'd made on this particular timeline.
That
was how screwed up everything had gotten.

“You accused Cassa of threatening you.”

“Cassa?”

“From Resthaven.”

His cheeks burned bright, then went pale.

“Was that her name?”

“You don't even know her name?” I tightened my pinch. “You took away her home, and you don't even know her name.”

“Ow. He didn't say you were going to be this mad about it.”

“He? Who's
he
?”

“Me,” Wyck said. “Future Me. My future NeoShifting self. He came to me and said that I was supposed to go to the police and claim that woman threatened me.”

“Oh, and your future self told you I wasn't going to be angry at you for making all of my friends homeless? What else did your future self tell you about me?”

“He said you would come here, and when you did, I was supposed to help you, no matter what you asked of me.”

“Well, isn't that just … wait. What?”

Wyck's brother Den walked into the entryway from what I presumed to be the kitchen, munching on a bowl of cereal. When he saw Wyck and me, he lifted his eyebrows and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Wyck didn't seem to notice. He rubbed his throat and stared at me like I was about to attack him again. I lifted my hands to assure him I wouldn't. For now.

“So is that why you're here?” he asked. “You need my help?”

I nodded, unsure where to start.

“Fine way to ask for it,” he said.

“Did your future self tell you
why
you were going to help me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he mention that you owe me?”

“I owe you?”

“You're the one who's screwed up my life.” I didn't care if he was following orders.

“Screwed up your—? Bree, I tell you I'm willing to help you, sight unseen, and you accuse me of screwing up your life? What the blark?”

“My mother. You know what happened to her, right?”

“There was some kind of drug bust.”

“Yes. That's your fault.”

“
My
fault?”

I nodded. “And you took my best friend away from me.”

“Has something happened to Jafney?” That one struck a note of true panic in him.

“No. I'm talking about Mimi.”

“Mimi Ellison? You guys barely even say hello in the halls.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else you want to pin on me? Any floods … earthquakes?” He walked forward, not threatening, per se, but enough to make me back up. “Tell you what, next time a restaurant burns your toast, you can blame that on me, too. Forget whatever my future self told me. You can go help yourself.”

By his sheer bulk, he had jostled me halfway onto the porch. He reached for the front door handle. Dang it. I'd botched this. My one chance of figuring out those transport codes was about to slam the door in my face.

I didn't think. I didn't deliberate.

I sang.

In my best frog voice.

“‘It's not easy … being green…'”

Wyck edged away from me.

And I kept singing.

“Where did you hear that?” He rubbed his forehead like he was trying to scrub the tune out of his brain.

I didn't answer. Just kept singing.

“Why do I know that song?” He thumped on his ear. That's right. Shake out those stolen memories. Good luck with that.

Kept singing.

“Stop it,” he said, his voice a snarl. The tone of his voice took him aback. Probably a flash of Evil Wyck. He staggered away from me. “What's happening?”

I stopped.

I'd tried lies, threats, bodily harm.

Maybe it was time to try the truth.

“Can we go sit down?” I asked. “I need to start from the beginning.”

The only problem is, how do you start from the beginning when it's all a big circle? So I decided to start with my feet hitting cobblestone. I decided to start with meeting Finn.

He was why I was here.

I left out a few key parts—namely Jafney's involvement (I still didn't know if I could trust her) and Finn's current residence at Nurse Granderson's house.

“Why should I believe any of this?” Wyck asked when I finished.

“I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.”

“Then why should I trust you? You just admitted you turned off your chip. And apparently made me the rickety line of some lopsided love triangle.”

“No,” I said. “It's always been Finn. Only Finn. It was never a triangle. Always a loop. A vicious, vicious loop.”

“Why did my future self tell me to help you?” asked Wyck. “Why would he want me to get all tangled up in this?”

I thought about what Jafney had told me, that Finn wasn't the only one who needed saving. Wyck's muscle clenched on the sofa armrest, but he didn't make a move for me. I was thankful to be dealing with Real Wyck, not Evil Wyck. For now, at least.

“Because I think maybe I'm supposed to help you in return. I've seen what you're capable of,” I said, “and somehow I still don't believe that's the real you.”

“That's your pitch? Help you so I don't become a monster?”

“Not a monster. A pawn. Even my Future Self said you weren't to blame, that you're just obeying orders.”

“Have I ever struck you as a Yes-man, Bree?”

I couldn't help but laugh. That was the very last word I would ever use to describe Wyck O'Banion.

“ICE must have something really smarmy on you,” I said. Now that was definitely possible.

He stared at me for a full minute. I could see the scales tipping one way and the other in his mind. Finally, he stuck out his open hand.

“Fine. Show me the codes.”

As I passed the compufilm over, I realized this was my official rock bottom. I was handing my only hope of saving Finn over to a person who had attempted to kill me then dismantle my very existence not once, not twice, but every chance he got. Which had been often.

“Meaningless.” He handed it straight back.

“What?”

“The missing pieces. Without those, it's useless.”

“Look again.” I shoved it back at Wyck.

He scanned it, his expression blank. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but then snapped it back shut.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This short section is intact.” He tapped the film and expanded part.

“What can you tell from it?”

“Not much. It was a recent Shift back around six months … local. Looks fairly routine. Wait.” He zeroed in on a portion of it. “Interesting. There were two unchipped Shifters in the vicinity. Hold it. No. There was one unchipped Shifter … who Shifted twice? That can't be right.”

“How can you tell?” I peered over his shoulder.

“Do you really want a lesson in transport code right now?”

“Fair enough. What else can you decipher?”

“Not much. The tendrils are really unstable. Poor guy probably had a helluva Buzz the whole time. Like I said, the rest is useless without the missing parts.”

“And the gaps could be anything?” I asked.

“Any letter A to Z or number one to ten. Actually”—he shrugged—“zero to nine.”

“What did you say?”

“Zero to nine?”

My exact words to Finn just hours before.

“Seven,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Try seven.”

“Seven?”

“Just try it.”

“For all the gaps?”

“Yes. The number seven.”

“Oh-kay.” He filled in the holes with sevens with the swipe of a finger. It still looked like utter gibberish to me, but I could see something change in the way he sifted through the code.

“Did it work?”

“I need some space to work.”

“But does it make sense now?”

“Space, Bree.” And indeed, as he separated out a section of the code and shuffled it into a different area, he seemed to take up half the room. His wrists flicked digits this way and that so quickly, he looked like a maestro drawing out a hidden melody from his orchestra. I'd never seen him working like this. It occurred to me that, chips or not, there was a place for nonShifters in the Shifting world. We didn't need anyone to transport us, but we needed minds like Wyck's to help us make heads or tails of the ocean of information we gleaned from the past.