“It might,” Paul says as he starts fitting them together.
“Might?”
“I give it a thirty-four percent chance of success.”
Oh, God. “Do it.”
“It’s going to hurt.” Paul doesn’t say this to give me a chance to back out. Already he’s readjusting my Firebird and his, working fast because we both know there’s no other choice.
Our ceiling morphs and shimmers, then seems to melt, revealing a storm-cloud sky overhead. Josie begins to scream. And Paul brings our Firebirds together.
It’s like a lightning strike. Pure pain boils through me, so anguishing I can’t even breathe. I’ve never felt pain like this—a reminder comes close, but a reminder’s over in a second and this goes on and on.
Paul shudders in the same agony. But he pulls me into his arms, hanging on as if I could save him. Tears blur my vision. The whole house is falling apart, or maybe the dimension, and surely this is the end.
“I love you.” I hold him even closer, grateful for the chance to say this just one more time.
“I love you, too.” He folds me against his heart.
If this is how we end, then let it come.
At that moment, light surrounds us, blazing bright as a sun, and a tremendous shudder of energy passes through my body. It’s like the eye of a cyclone at the heart of me, winding tight and pulling me inward. The whirl of it hurts more than all the rest. I cling to Paul even more desperately, willing myself to stay in one piece. To stay with him. To stay alive.
Then everything . . . stops.
The pain vanishes. The shaking subsides. The ceiling’s just a ceiling again. For a few long seconds we all lie there, not trusting our own senses.
Hope and despair and confusion collide, blurring my thoughts as I hang on to Paul. He looks as astonished as I do. But the silence endures, and the stillness, until I begin to think they might last forever.
“We made it,” I whisper. “. . . Didn’t we?”
Theo’s expression slowly shifts from bewilderment to a smile. “Either that or the afterlife is way more mundane than advertised.”
Paul breathes out in relief. “We made it.”
Josie and Dad both start to laugh with joy—they have the same crazy cackle. I should be laughing too, or cheering, or jumping up and down in crazed glee. But I’m still too stunned to feel anything but astonishment.
Theo slides over to us, a grin on his face. “Little brother, what did you just do? Show me this mad sexy science.”
Paul sits up, towing me with him. Now I can see that Mom has already pulled herself back to her feet and is busily working with her own Firebird. I try to sit up on my own, but I’m clumsy and slow; the Nightthief lingers in my system, and my muscles twitch in the aftermath of extreme pain. “Mom? What is it?”
“The Home Office. We have to be sure they won’t try again.” Mom squints at the readouts.
They wouldn’t. Wicked might. “They weren’t destroyed, were they? Because our history is the same.”
“Exactly,” Dad says. “I think they’ve sealed themselves off. And it looks like your counterpart is sealed in there with them.”
She went back. She heard what I said and went back, even knowing she might die. Wicked gets another chance she doesn’t deserve. But her ultimate fate is in her own hands. If her life is any good from now on, that’s because they found a way to get through to her. If her life’s a hell, it’s because she’s still venomous, bitter, and small. I’ll never know which, and honestly, I don’t much care. For me, it’s enough to know we’ll never see her again.
Dad’s laptop lies open on the floor, dirt from a capsized fern scattered across its keyboard, but it still works, signaling us that someone is calling via Skype. Paul gets that icy look in his eyes as he staggers to his feet. “There’s only one person it could be.”
My father grabs the laptop, brushes it off, and sets it on the rainbow table as we gather around. Still trembling, I brace myself against a chair. When he clicks Answer, Wyatt Conley’s face appears on the screen. His smug satisfaction has been wiped away, replaced by fear. “Listen—I know we’re not on the best terms, but if I’m interpreting these readings correctly, we just—”
“—took care of it.” Mom folds her arms. “Our world is safe. Triad as you knew it is over. One of your counterparts is dead, and the other is trapped permanently in a sealed universe.”
Dad cuts in. “As of now, Wyatt, you’re alone. You’re also outnumbered—because we now have several other worlds working with us, every one of which has been warned about you. So I suggest you drop the idea of meddling with interdimensional travel ever again.”
Josie leans between our parents’ shoulders to show her face to the screen. “And also, just for the record? We are never going out.”
It’s like Conley can’t take it in. Has he ever been defeated before, even once in his life? He’s succeeded over and over again, raking in the money and praise of the entire world, but now all he can do is stare. At last he says, “What happens now?”
I step forward to speak to the screen. Hopefully this is the last time I ever have to look Wyatt Conley in the face. “I suggest you go back to cell phones. That’s what you’re good at.”
With that, I hang up. The screen goes blank.
Theo shakes his head. “If we could put that bastard in jail—expose him, make the world see what’s he’s done—”
“We can’t.” Dad’s expression is rueful as he flops down on the sofa. “They haven’t any laws against this sort of thing yet, have they? We stopped him, Theo. Let that be enough.”
“Besides, think of all the research awaiting us.” Even amid the wreckage of our house, a brush with death not even ten minutes in our past, Mom’s eyes are already starry with the thought of discoveries to come. “The links between the universes, the unlimited potential of the data we can share . . .”
“Mad sexy science.” Theo manages to smile.
Josie resumes rescuing the poor plants, putting them back in their pots, and Mom tries to sort the scattered piles of paper back in the order they were in to begin with. Dad and Theo head to the front door. This is supposedly to check on how bad the damage is outside in our neighborhood, but probably Theo also wants to be sure his car made it through okay.