“What you can save . . . ? What’s happening in other worlds?”
“From what we can discern . . . everything. Every manmade cataclysm that humans can imagine, every apocalyptic scenario, every doomsday prediction. Most fractals are dangerous, Lila. They may seem innocuous, but whether they are a simple selfish impulse or cruel wish, they are energy. Measurable, quantifiable energy. And when they disappear from this plane, they are transferring that energy to others. We cannot be certain, but I believe there is a resonance to them, and that like attracts like in some way. There are worlds of famine and pestilence and sterile populations and endless wars over scarce resources . . . ”
“But there must also be worlds of peace and collaboration and—”
“There are not. Only varying degrees of misery.”
“Sal, that just doesn’t feel true. And when I look at you . . . ” she hesitated, and gestured for the notepad, “ . . . it just doesn’t make sense.”
“We have been researching and trying to correct this problem for millennia, I do not think that you—”
She cut him off with a snap of her fingers, and pointed to the notepad again, eyes flashing with a fresh bout of temper. He tried not to smile, but it was endearing. There was something so childlike about the way she insisted on treating him as another human when she was upset. He tore off his pages and passed the pad to her. She snapped again for the pen, and this time he could not help but grin. So young in so many ways.
She snatched the pen and pointed it like a tiny sword. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re my little brother about to rat me out for passing notes in church.”
His brow lifted in surprise, and he forced himself to concentrate. Her mannerisms were affecting him as well. “We do not know that this existence is the original.”
She paused, pen to paper, the notepad balanced against the cat’s back. The pen slowly leached ink onto the blank page as he decided what else he could tell her.
“It is a fact that we are separated, yet we do not know what caused us to deviate from a unified reality. We presume it was our Transitions; that when we utilized our modulators to migrate from one physical location to another, we eventually became desynchronized—but that is only a theory. We have no means to prove or disprove it.”
“Do you really believe that?” Something attracted her attention at his throat, and she shook her head as she started to write. “Nevermind.”
“What do you see? We need you to—”
She slapped the pen to the paper, and the cat leapt out from her lap.
“Need me to what? Tell you every time I see an angel? Describe every little feeling I get? Let you play Freud with my dreams? What do you think I can do?”
“Lila . . . ”
“No, don’t bother. I get it. I’m not stupid. You’ve been trying to tell me I was really there tonight, but it doesn’t make sense. You were there. It wasn’t some alternate reality, and even if it was, it just doesn’t make sense. How could I—whatever you call it—”
“You can Wander. We believe that your consciousness is remaining integrated with the fractals you create—at least for a time.”
“No! Look, there’s something you’re not telling me, and I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or they won’t let you, or your mother hates humans and it’s all a plot to enslave us, or what, but people . . . do not . . . just . . . ” her protest faded into silence.
He nodded. “You know it to be true. The world’s histories are filled with spirit walkers and shamans . . . ” he kept his tone even “ . . . and with the tragedies of those who could not cope with their gifts. We are hoping that you can.”
The cat jumped back onto the couch, and settled between them, her head resting on Lila’s thigh, her tail flipping against his leg.
“It’s all real?” She spoke down to the cat, and her lashes glistened in the candlelight. “N-not all the dreams?”
“We can only extrapolate from other data, but if you share your experiences, we can help you categorize them.” He hated himself for having to lie. “We can teach you to recognize the differences and to control your gift.”
“Control?” Her bitter laugh freed a single tear, and her expression was hardened. “You know what that thing did to me tonight. Is that your idea of control? Is that what your kind do to people who—”
Horrified, he motioned for her to stop talking.
“I know the Servant scared you,” he hoped that feigning earnestness would cover the surge in his heart rate, “but it could never have controlled you.” He should have known that she would make that connection! “Again, I am so very sorry that you were frightened. It must have been extraordinarily unnerving to sense that you were present and yet without a body.”
Eyes narrowed, she opened her mouth and drew a deep breath—a very bad indication, he was sure—but then her eyes swept across his chest and she slowly exhaled. In relief, he continued.
“It told me that you were quite interesting. Your fractal remained unusually motionless while it observed you.” He made his tone sound light, “Of course, it would have been less interested had you not surprised it. I was not aware that the Servant had Visual Enhancers or I would have told it that you might join us.”
She looked so much like Madeline, but Lilith’s expression was always quick to soften. Shame swept over him. How could she forgive him so easily when she must suspect the truth? He gathered her hands in between his, memorizing the feel of the burns against his flesh.
“I regret any distress we caused and wish that I could have suffered it for you.”
“Well. It
