Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(93)

I turn and glance back. A set of silver doors with holographic crests of the nine Fates of the Republic closes over the threshold. I take a step back from the portico, onto a city sidewalk behind me, and I look upward. The anchor resembles a skyscraper here in Spectrum’s world.

I turn again and face the city, smelling the salt air coming off the water. Gorgeous structures perch near the shore and reach into the stratosphere. Across the street from me is a particularly breathtaking building. Beautiful carved sculptures of blackbirds flank the opaque glass of its front entrance. However lovely its facade, the vibe coming off it feels threatening. If I had hackles, they’d be rising, but it’s all I can do to keep from shivering. The building is another anchor, but the cold air coming off it leads me to speculate that it isn’t an anchor to the world I just left. It feels shrill and ominous—its aura, grave. With my pulse quickening, I turn from it and scurry away up the sidewalk.

How many other worlds are you destroying, Crow?

Beads of sweat form on my upper lip. Glancing to my left and right, I find I’m amid uniformed men and women resembling people from my world. They wear black from head to toe. Tiny soaring holographic blackbirds project from their lapels. My armored wet suit stands out, but I’m not catching their eyes at all.

No one around me speaks through their mouths, but they’re communicating intricate details for the next phase of Spectrum development. I slink past.

After a few blocks, I begin to lose my fear of the people. They don’t seem to notice that I’m here, let alone that I’m different. Masses stream around me. I attempt to bump into one woman, but she deftly avoids me.

Emboldened, I reach out and touch another’s shoulder as she walks by. She doesn’t turn to look at me, but simply keeps walking. I shove a man and get the same result—he keeps moving as if he didn’t notice. I stop and stand in the middle of the sidewalk. I’m not exactly invisible—they clearly see me enough not to bump into me, but none appears to realize who I am or that I’m not supposed to be here. They have the glazed-over looks of extremely busy robots.

My shoulders sag as I relax a little. I have no idea how to find a needle in this haystack, or rather a thorn—a Hawthorne. He’s been trying to find me. So maybe he’ll be somewhere he thinks I’ll look for him? The first place I think of is Lenity, Hawthorne’s home in the Fate of Virtues. Does it exist here? How do I get to it if it does?

I rub my temples. “I wish I could bring Hawthorne’s house to me.”

Suddenly everything around me grows hazy, shimmering like a sun-soaked mirage. Off balance, I lean against the blue slate of the nearest building. Lawns begin to flicker up ahead, so green they almost glow. The intricate architecture of the Trugrave estate fans out before me, overlaying the cityscape.

The air shifts, turning heavier. I trudge ahead, my footfalls becoming laborious, as if I’m trekking through swamp water slushy with ice. I gasp and shiver. As I reach the edge of the ghostly estate, I find I’m also smack in the middle of a hovercraft lane in the city. Wind from a speeding silver vehicle passes through me just as I duck into the idyllic countryside.

Gravel crunches beneath my boots. My hand goes to my heart, which is racing from fright. Panting, I study the new terrain’s lush panorama. This is how I remember Lenity. Wasting no time, I hurry to the flyway in front of the impressive home. As I do, the heaviness of traveling between the veils dissipates.

The once picturesque building is destroyed. Broken glass mars the rosette window. The front archway no longer has a security field. Something moves just inside. I enter the dim foyer. It’s a cow, standing on the floor’s embedded pyrite swords. Its black eyes gaze at me as it chews, and I wonder if it’s a program—a sentinel keeping watch—or if it has a mind appropriated from some person. I’m not curious enough to find out.

I just want to locate Hawthorne. My heart sinks. I don’t feel his presence here at all. That doesn’t stop me from checking inside.

I enter the great room and gaze up at the vaulted ceiling, now a home for nesting birds. I tread lightly. It smells like death in here, and the reek of decay grows more pungent the closer I get to the study. I’m not shocked to find the remains of people inside. The corpses of Census agents lie mangled on the rug in front of the gargantuan fireplace. I examine the faces of the cadavers and sigh with relief. No Hawthorne. I wander around to make sure, but judging by the too-small clothing in the closets, I’d say he’s never been here. I drift back out, past the munching heifer and onto the gravel flyway.

Relief and frustration war inside me. I try to think of the next place he’d be. Maybe our old air-barracks on the Stone Forest Base in Swords? A shiver creeps down my spine. In my world, it’s now a Sword-soldier graveyard. Here it might still be a bustling Base. Either way, my instincts tell me Hawthorne wouldn’t hide there. I scrap the idea and consider where he’d think I’d go to look for him. But then I pause. I’m looking at this the wrong way. The question isn’t, “Where would Hawthorne go?” The question is, “Where would I go to hide in this world?” Wherever Hawthorne is, he’s with me—if I’m still alive here.

I know where I used to hide as a child. Maybe there? Closing my eyes, I envision Westerbane Heath in Forge—the park next to the Sword Palace. As I open my eyes, the gardens and common appear as a shivering overlay of Hawthorne’s estate’s grounds. I slog toward the phantasm ahead of me. Thickening air hampers my steps. Cold envelops me as I plod through the gap in the weave.