A Million Worlds with You (Firebird #3)
Page 59“It helps some.” But not much.
“Henry was going into physics,” my mother says in her daze, “before we met at Oxford. Then he switched to genetics, mostly so we could be in the same courses.”
“You guys met at college this time around?” Kind of mundane. I prefer my own universe, where my parents had bonded over shared crackpot theories long before they ever met in person. “In my dimension, you went to the Sorbonne instead.”
“Oh, that explains it.” Then she shakes her head and is Mom again. “It explains one point of divergence in the realities. But this conspiracy you’ve described, the threat this Triad represents—how do we defend against it?”
“Knowing is half the battle.” Theo nods his head in Wicked’s direction. “The other half is making your universe sufficiently asymmetric, in terms of your matter-to-antimatter ratios. I can do it with my Firebird and a stabilizer that we can whip up in a jiffy.”
“How are they supposed to do that?” I gesture toward the wall of magazine headlines about clones. “This isn’t their field.”
“Or mine, in this universe. Apparently I decided genetics was my bag this go-round. Still, Paul and I should be able to talk them through it.” Theo picks up his phone and inputs the unlock code; the screen shifts into an image of Paul next to his contact info. Surprised, I say, “How did you know the code?”
“Same one as at home. It’s, um, my mom’s birthday.” Theo looks slightly sheepish at this evidence of his sentimental side, but he moves on. “Always a relief to find ‘Markov’ in a new universe’s contacts list, isn’t it? I’d be even more relieved if I’d actually been able to talk to him. No luck so far either calling or texting, but I assume he’ll show any time now.”
Scuba diving? Maybe that’s what Paul does when he lives somewhere that has no mountains to climb. “Where are we, anyway? What country is this?”
My mom blinks. “Of course—you wouldn’t even know. This is Singapore, sweetheart.”
Singapore? Theo and I exchange glances, and he says, “This is the place where you can get caned for chewing gum, right?”
“That’s slightly more draconian than the truth.” Mom pauses. “Slightly. Be on your best behavior. On the plus side, it’s very safe here—at least, from any known threats.”
Wicked, the previously unknown threat, continues to ignore us all.
According to Mom, she and Dad were awakened this morning by the sound of Victoire—a. k. a. the clone Wicked leaped into—attempting to sneak out of the house. They had no idea why she wanted to do that, but they grounded her until dinner and made her stay in her room the entire day. She had a bathroom, internet access, and food brought to her, so it’s not like my parents put her in some kind of gulag, but Wicked’s mouth twists in a sneer as my mother tells us that part of the story. No doubt she used the time to research quality methods of committing suicide in a way that might take me out with her.
But because she was awake so early, and got caught upstairs, Wicked never saw any of the others or the magazine covers. When she heard the other voices in the house, she would’ve assumed they were simply sisters unique to this universe. She had no idea she was a clone, and so she didn’t suspect the danger until the very moment she saw me.
“I can be grumpy,” I say, but we both know he’s talking about something deeper and darker than that. “You must be doing better, huh? The Nightthief remedy is working.” Then I reconsider my optimism. “Or is it—did you need to be in a healthier body for a while?”
“The Nightthief treatment helps.” Theo takes a deep breath, as if letting that fear go. “Given enough time, yeah, I think I’ll be back to myself again. But I can’t deny, it feels good to be in a version of me who never had to deal with this stuff. I think I work out here, even. All the abs, none of the suffering.” He runs his hand over his taut abdomen with satisfaction. I laugh despite myself, and am rewarded with his warmest smile. Then he turns to Mom. “Sophia, do you think you can keep an eye on—what did you call her again?”
Mom says “Victoire” at the same moment I say “Wicked.” Then we look at each other, and Wicked huffs in exasperation.
Unfazed, Theo says, “Can you keep an eye on her?”
“Indeed I can. I couldn’t manage a houseful of eight teenagers without knowing how to keep them in line.” My mother tosses her hair, focused again.
But I can’t get over—“Eight?”
“We tried four sets of twins, thinking we might get two or three live births.” Mom shrugs. “The experiment exceeded our wildest hopes.”
“Most of the others wanted to go see some movie, the newest Star Wars thing, I think.” Mom waves her hand around airily. Pop culture is not one of her top concerns. “Henry took them. I suppose they’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
“It won’t take that long,” Theo promises. He nods toward the front door, and I get to my feet to follow him.
Stepping outside feels like being slapped in the face with heat and humidity. Our house appears to be even grander than I thought—a bungalow of white stucco about twice the size of our home back in the Berkeley Hills. Yet the bungalow is dwarfed by the skyscrapers beyond, dozens of them, some so futuristic that I could imagine them in the Londonverse or even the Home Office. Palm trees sway along the roadside, where compact cars zip along, and in the distance I can see an elevated train snaking along its track, a silhouette against the setting sun. I tuck my messy, half-dry hair back into the bun Wicked had wrecked so I won’t look like some kind of escapee to any of the hyper-vigilant Singapore cops who might come by.
“What is it?” I ask Theo as he shuts the door. “Is there some problem at home, something Triad’s doing, that you didn’t want to say in front of Mom?”