A Thousand Pieces of You

by Claudia Gray

  Okay, I laid on the silly-teen-girl routine a little thick at the end, but right now I need Conley to think that’s all I am. I need him to be one more of those assholes who thinks my brain couldn’t hold anything other than gossip and favorite colors of nail polish. If he believes that, he’ll let me go in the confidence that I’ll be right back.

  Theo exchanges a glance with Conley and says, “Women. What are you gonna do?” I’m going to give him hell for that later, but maybe he’s realized I need to walk away. He takes his car keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. “Hurry back, all right? Oh, hey, there’s a Starbucks in the caf that delivers to the labs. They’re open today, I think. You want a latte?”

  “Sounds great.” I smile at him, but the smile can’t be very convincing. Here’s hoping it only looks like I’m worried about a lost bracelet.

  Even turning my back to them as I wait for the elevator is excruciating. Every second I keep expecting Conley to call me back, or to feel his hand on my shoulder. Yet when the chime sounds and the doors slide open, I’m able to step in without any problems.

  As soon as the elevator begins its drop, I grab my phone to see that Paul has texted again. Good job. Now get out of the building. Go somewhere safe.

  I type back, Tell me where you are. I won’t take no for an answer.

  Answers—that’s what I need, and I’m not waiting for them any longer. But my phone remains silent as I keep sliding down, the screens projecting green light at me with the message “Everyplace, Everytime, Everywhere.”

  So I send one more message. Tell me or I swear I’ll go back up there.

  I mean it, too. Because if Paul isn’t ready to tell me the truth even now, maybe I’ve been wrong to believe in him. Maybe I was right to want him dead.

  My phone buzzes. San Francisco, the Tenderloin. Meet me in Union Square Park.

  The elevator deposits me in the lobby and politely says, “Have a nice day, Miss Caine.” That thing is creepy.

  In case Conley’s watching from above, I pretend to look around in the lobby for my bracelet, then apologize to the security guard as I turn in my badge and head outside. Then I run for Theo’s car so fast my flats nearly fly off my feet.

  As I unlock the door, Paul texts, You know you need to steal the car.

  “Borrow,” I say out loud, knowing he can’t hear me. “I’m borrowing Theo’s car. He’ll understand. Eventually.”

  I punch the key into the ignition and hurriedly send, What do you mean, Conley is after me?

  The answer comes even before I can put the car in reverse: This is all about you, Marguerite.

  You’re the one Conley has wanted all along.

  22

  THEO ALWAYS SAID HE’D TEACH ME TO DRIVE A MANUAL transmission someday, but he never seemed to have the time. So really this is all his fault.

  The clutch grinds, or the motor grinds—I don’t know what it is making that sound in Theo’s car, but I know it’s not right. As soon as I get near a BART station, I stash Theo’s car in a garage and hop onto a train that will take me into the city.

  Now, though, as I sit there on the train—so plain in dull pale blue, so unlike the holographic Tube cars in London—I can feel my heart beating so hard that it seems to be drumming against my locket.

  I’ve run straight to the guy who seems to have betrayed everyone I love, the man no one believes in but me.

  Once upon a time, the Tenderloin was a seedy part of town, or so Mom and Dad tell me. But Union Square Park is now bordered by Saks Fifth Avenue, Macy’s, Nordstrom. Most people are bundled up in coats; to me, after weeks in St. Petersburg, the day doesn’t feel so cold. Everyone seems busy and cheerful, especially the crowds on the ice-skating rink, the one they always set up during the holidays. For a moment, the whirling, giggling figures on the ice take me back to St. Petersburg—and then I see one still, silent person in the background.

  Paul stands near the foot of the Victoria Monument, wearing his one good winter coat, the one Mom gave him. He must have seen me before I saw him, because he doesn’t flinch. Instead he squares his shoulders, like he’s preparing for a fight.

  Paul. My heart is equal parts joy, pain, and fear. Joy to see him alive again. Pain because this isn’t the same Paul who died in Russia—because his very presence is a reminder that a Paul I loved, a Paul who loved me, is gone forever.

  Fear because I still don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know whether Paul’s saving me or leading me even deeper into danger than I already am.

  I can’t make myself keep walking forward. It’s as though I’m pinned to the spot. But Paul is already coming to me, closing the rest of the distance. Every step he takes toward me brings him into sharper focus, and I find myself noticing each detail that reminds me of Paul in Russia, and each one that makes them different.

  He speaks first. “Thank you for coming here. For trusting me.”

  I still can’t get over seeing him alive again. “How—how did you get out of Russia?”

  “Azarenko returned the Firebird to me before the battle. I leaped out not long after the fighting started.”

  Paul looks worried, and I realize he wants to ask about his other self. Whether he lived. I can’t bring myself to talk about Lieutenant Markov. I’d break down, and I can’t afford that, not now. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve taken a room in a nearby hostel. Theo got me a fake ID last year, so I used it to check in, and hostels take cash. Even Conley can’t trace me here. Tomorrow morning, early, I’m taking the train to the airport. I’ve got a flight to Quito.”

  That’s nice, but so not what I was asking.

  He adds, “Quito is in Ecuador.”

  “I know where Quito is!” I snap, which is technically true because he just told me. “I meant, what’s going on? With you and with Conley and all of it. Don’t tell me to go back home like a good girl. If you do that again, I swear—”

  “I won’t do that again.” But Paul says it less like a promise, more like . . . admitting defeat. “You should have gone home when I told you to, but now it’s too late.”

  “So are you going to explain? Finally?”

  “Yes.” Paul looks up at the sky, as though he’s afraid we’re being watched. Then again, Triad owns satellites. Conley could watch us from space if he wanted to.

  I think Paul’s paranoia is infecting me.

  “Come on,” Paul says. “Let’s go back to the hostel.”

  We walk there together, side by side, without saying a word. Lieutenant Markov in Russia might have offered me his arm; if he knew nobody was watching, he would have held my hand. Paul doesn’t.

  Most of what I know about hostels comes from Josie, who backpacked around Europe one summer and around Australia and Southeast Asia the next. According to her, they’re for people who want all the discomfort of camping out but none of the peace and quiet. She likes them anyway, though, because you get to meet people from all over the world. Sure enough, the lobby is filled with a group of Swedish college students trying to figure out the best time to visit Alcatraz. Paul pays the extra $10 to have a second guest, introducing me as his “girlfriend” so awkwardly that I wonder if the lady at the desk thinks I’m a hooker. But she signs me in, under my own fake ID.

  “Hostels have private rooms?” I say, as Paul shuts the door behind us.

  “Sometimes. I took one here because I knew I needed some privacy to work.”

  The room looks like a split-open supercomputer. He’s hooked together five different laptops and a couple of devices I don’t recognize. The screens scroll on and on with lines of glowing code. Although the room is shadowy, almost devoid of natural light, Paul doesn’t turn on the lamp, maybe to avoid glare on the screens, which flicker with every new line of data. “What are you doing?”

  “Tapping into Triad’s servers.”

  “I thought you already did that.” Sure enough, a tablet computer propped against the wall flips through various security camera images from within Tria
d headquarters.

  “Some data is more heavily protected. If I can break into that before I leave the country, great. If not, I’ll have to make some educated guesses.”

  “About what?”

  Paul doesn’t answer me directly, just takes off his coat. The Firebird gleams dully against his black sweater. “You wanted answers. So let’s begin.”

  I sit down on the side of the bed that isn’t heaped with computers. Paul sits cross-legged on the floor, not even a foot away—there’s no room in here for us to give each other personal space. My phone buzzes in the pocket of my skirt—which, I realize, it’s been doing almost this whole time. I didn’t even notice. When I pick it up, there are a couple dozen text messages from Theo in varying states of panic. Where are What did you This isn’t Did Paul My car Why did you Meg Are you okay?

  With a wince, I set my phone to Do Not Disturb. “Theo’s going to kill me,” I say, then I think more about what Theo might be doing at this moment. “Conley wouldn’t hurt him, would he?” When I dashed out of Triad, I never even wondered whether I might be putting Theo at risk.

  “Probably not,” he says.

  “Probably?”

  “The odds are better than fifty-fifty.” Paul seems to think this is much more reassuring than it is. “Today, he’s safe. I didn’t see anything unexpected on the security cameras after you left. Theo’s confused, and Conley’s angry.”

  I remember how Conley acted as though he’d run into us at random, but then fell into step with us as if the CEO of a massive global corporation had nothing else to do on New Year’s Day. He was trying to be casual while following us into Lab Eleven, where he would have done . . . what?

  “Theo idolizes Wyatt Conley,” Paul says. “He’s begun to realize the situation with Triad is mixed-up, but he refuses to see the extent of it.”

  “What do you mean, refuses?”

  Paul shakes his head, but fondly. “Theo is—ambitious, in the best sense. He believes in the real-world applications of our work, and he wants everyone to benefit and profit from what we’ve discovered. Working with big companies, convincing people like Conley to give us more funding—I can’t do that kind of thing. I try and it’s ridiculous. Like a dog walking on its hind legs.”

  “You pitched Mom and Dad’s research to Triad?”

  “Basically, I stood there while Theo did,” Paul says. “He talks to them, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in R&D fall down on us like rain. But Theo’s not just making use of Conley and Triad; he’s dazzled by them. He believes in Conley because he wants to believe.”

  Although I want to defend Theo, I know him well enough to see the truth of what Paul’s saying.

  Paul continues, “Theo would never have brought you anywhere near Triad if he’d realized Conley’s real agenda. It goes beyond spying, into coercion—perhaps kidnapping between dimensions—and Conley’s only getting started.”

  “Are we to the part where this is somehow all about me? Because that makes no sense whatsoever. Or is it only something you said to get me out of Triad?”

  There’s laughter on the staircase, loud voices speaking Italian or Portuguese, some language I can almost recognize, but not quite. We both wait for their footsteps to thump downstairs and away from us, as though any overheard word could be dangerous.

  Finally, silence. Paul meets my gaze and holds it. “It’s not just something I said. It’s the truth.”

  “Still not making sense. What do I have to do with any of this? Mom and Dad are the geniuses behind the technology. You and Theo come next. I’m the one sitting around the rainbow table asking stupid questions.”

  “Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not.” Paul takes a deep breath. “You have your own intelligence. Your own value. But that’s not what Conley wanted from you.”

  “Conley doesn’t even know me.”

  “No. But he knows us—your parents, Theo and me. He needs to manipulate us; he needs to control us. And there’s only one way. Don’t you see, Marguerite? You’re the only person all four of us love.”

  I feel my cheeks flush with heat. “That’s—it’s—why would Conley care about that?”

  The angles of Paul’s face are carved more deeply by the flickering lights of code around us—his strong jawline, the searching quality of his gaze. “By now you’ve traveled to three parallel dimensions. What have you noticed about traveling? About your reaction to it—yours, specifically?”

  “I remember things better than you guys,” I say. “I haven’t needed a single reminder.”

  “Exactly. Theo and I need the reminders to know who we are. You don’t. In every dimension you can enter, you remain in total control throughout. Do you realize how valuable that is?”

  I remember what Mom and Dad were talking about last night, and all their amorphous fears suddenly take shape, forming a wall around me.

  Paul tilts his head, as if he’s studying me. “In this dimension, I learned—or this Paul learned—that Conley’s already sending spies into other dimensions. They’ve found ways to stabilize their spies for longer periods of time than the reminder shocks, for a day or two at a time, but their methods are still imperfect. Anyone who travels to another dimension remains vulnerable. Anyone except you.”

  “There must be others,” I protest. “If I can do this, other people can too.”

  “No. In our dimension, it’s only you.”

  “You can’t know that! Think about it, will you?” Maybe Paul is paranoid after all. I brace my hands against the bed, trying to control my frustration as I ask, “What are the odds that the one and only person in our dimension who can travel like that would just happen to be the daughter of the people who invented the technology?”

  Paul shakes his head. “It’s not random. It’s deliberate. Conley did this to you.”

  “Did this?”

  “The Accident. That day with the ‘overload test.’ You remember, don’t you?”

  It comes back to me, more vivid than it was even when it was happening. That weird device Triad gave us, the way both Paul and Theo freaked out about it, the sense that I’d been in serious danger . . . the way Paul held me in his arms as though he’d nearly lost me . . .

  He must see the realization in my face, because he nods. “You can only create a disruption like that once in a dimension. You can only use it to alter one person. Conley set it up so that the device would alter you.”

  “Josie was there too.”

  “She would have been the backup. Conley’s alternate target, someone else he could use to manipulate your parents. But I think he wanted you all along.”

  “Why me?” But I haven’t forgotten what Paul said earlier, about being the only person all of them love. “He wants to use me against you. Doesn’t he?”

  Paul nods.

  Fate and mathematics. I can reach so many different versions of my parents—the people who discover inter-dimensional travel, the ones Conley will have to control in universe after universe if he wants to keep the technology for himself. Even though I want to think Conley could never force me to do his bidding, I know he could. All he’d have to do is threaten someone I love.

  I ask, “Which Conley is doing this? The one from this dimension, or ours?”

  “I think this Conley has been visiting our dimension for a while now. Months, probably. I’d say he was using our version, except I wonder if they aren’t actually working together.” Paul’s smile is thin and mirthless. “A conspiracy of one.”

  Mom and Dad told me the spying might have already begun in this dimension, but I never realized Triad was spying on us. I shudder, and Paul looks pained, as though he hates himself for scaring me. He tried so hard to keep this secret, so I wouldn’t be scared.

  And finally, finally, I understand.

  “That’s why you ruined the data,” I whisper. “Why you stole the Firebird. You knew the faster we had the technology, the faster Conley would come after me.”

  Paul nods. “When I realized what had
been done to you, I knew they would test you soon. I thought—if I took our only good Firebird, and I made it difficult to build another—then that would put the test off for months. That was time I could use to try to reach this dimension and find out more about their plans, maybe learn something we could use.”

  “Then why did we go to the other dimensions at all?”

  He looks almost defeated, his broad shoulders slumping as he leans forward. His head is near my knee. “They were . . . wrong turns. Dimensions mathematically similar to this one. The universes next door. At first I thought London might be the right place, and I went to confront Conley there, but then you showed up and he didn’t recognize you. As for Russia, I would’ve left immediately if Azarenko hadn’t taken my Firebird.”

  “Then you got here, and this is the world you’ve been looking for.”

  Paul looks so tired. “I thought I’d have a chance to sabotage them from within. But this Paul had realized what was going on, and had already gone after Triad on his own. I guess he—he wanted to protect every version of you. Everywhere.”

  Which is what Paul was trying to do when all this began: he was trying to keep them from finding out that they’d turned me into their perfect spy. Instead, I went chasing after him, because I was angry and ignorant and overwhelmed, and wound up proving the very thing he was trying to hide. “I messed it all up when I came after you, didn’t I?”

  “Theo kept the other Firebirds.” Paul’s hands clench into fists, then relax, as though he still has to force himself to accept that his plan went wrong. “I should have guessed he wouldn’t let them go. When I first saw you two in London, I suspected Theo—but then I realized he was trying to take care of you too, without knowing what the consequences would be. I had no idea about Henry.”

  I understand it all now, except what happened to Dad, and there I can guess. Probably he’d begun to realize what Conley was up to. He knew too much, and Conley had him murdered. Dad has been dead less than a month, and a couple of hours ago, Conley walked onto the elevator and gave me a smile. It sickens me.