Ten Thousand Skies Above You

by Claudia Gray

  Paul nods. He looks like he’s in shock. “And then what?”

  “Then I went to a New York where—where you went into business with your dad.”

  His entire body tenses. I realize he wants me out of his lap, so I stand; Paul begins pacing the length of the room. “I couldn’t have. I would never.”

  “Not often,” I say as gently as I can. “But in at least one universe.”

  “How did you know? How did you find out?”

  “I might have reached out to you in a way that freaked out your, um, colleagues and—well, they kidnapped me.”

  He blanches. “Oh God. My father didn’t—”

  “I wasn’t hurt. Paul—you know you could have talked to me about your dad. I wouldn’t have judged you for the things he’s done.”

  “Things I would do.” His voice has gone dull. “In the right circumstances.”

  “Don’t obsess over—”

  “How did you escape? I know you wouldn’t have left the other Marguerite there.”

  “Theo led the cops to my location. I was able to get out.”

  Paul steps closer to me. “You’re keeping something back.”

  “While Theo and I were trying to get away, you found us. When I retrieved that splinter—I think it made you angry.”

  “And?”

  Deep breath. “And you shot Theo in the kneecaps. Both of them.”

  Paul groans and turns away. He slumps against the wall, facing it, both hands above his head like someone being put under arrest. “Did he die?”

  “No! No, the paramedics were sure he’d make it.”

  “So he’ll just lose one or both of his legs, then,” he says flatly. “Our Theo had to feel it too.”

  “Theo specifically told me not to blame you for that! You’re not the same man as the one who decided to work with your dad. I mean, how could you be?”

  “Theo’s a better person than I am,” Paul says. His mood is darkening; looking at him now is like watching storm clouds roll in to blot out the blue sky. “What then?”

  This is even worse—but here, I’m the one to blame, not him. “I went back to the Russiaverse. I wanted to be in a world where you weren’t.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “It was just so I could think things through, someplace where I thought I’d be safe.”

  Sensing my hesitation, Paul says, “What is it? Is the grand duchess all right? If her father found out about us—”

  “She’s kept the main secret.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “Paul, she’s pregnant.”

  He whirls toward me then, almost angry. In one of those flashes of understanding that’s almost like telepathy, I know exactly why: His disbelief is so strong that he wants to think I’m joking, and he wants to hate me for making a joke that personal, that hurtful. Worse is seeing the truth sink in.

  “She’s having a baby?” Paul can hardly do more than whisper. “Because of me?”

  “Because of me. I’m the one who chose, remember? You were just—a shadow in Lieutenant Markov’s mind.”

  “But what if I made the difference? If I pushed him over the brink of what he dreamed about, and what he would actually do?”

  I don’t have any comfort for him, not about this. The most terrible mistake I ever made was in someone else’s body, someone else’s life, and I can never, ever put it right. “We both know I’m the one to blame.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Paul’s voice shakes, and I remember that he lived within Lieutenant Markov for nearly a month, loving the grand duchess as much as he loved me. It doesn’t make me jealous, exactly—only reminds me that I’m not the only Marguerite he’d sacrifice for. “She can’t hide that forever.”

  I walk to him and put my hands against his chest. He doesn’t respond, even as I say, “She wants the baby. Vladimir knows, and he’s taking care of everything.”

  “That’s our child,” Paul says. “Yours and mine.”

  I remember that faint goldfish-tickle, and the shivers that went through me as I felt Paul’s baby inside. “Yeah. It is.” I try to smile. “We managed to get pregnant before we slept together. That takes talent.”

  He doesn’t laugh. He shouldn’t. Even having cracked that weak joke makes me feel cheap.

  So I try to bring us back to the here and now. “Listen to me. We have to deal with the consequences of our actions, absolutely. I’m not even sure we can justify doing this.”

  “Doing what, exactly?” Paul says.

  I hadn’t known I would say this until the moment it comes from my mouth. “Traveling through dimensions at all.”

  His eyes meet mine, and as surprised as he is, I think he might agree.

  “We shouldn’t stand around tearing ourselves up about it,” I say. “There are things we need to do as soon as we can. I want to take this treatment to Theo, to see if we can get him back in shape. And we need to talk with Mom and Dad about everything—what the Home Office is, how we might be able to communicate—”

  And about the Home Office’s plan to collapse as many universes as necessary until they get their Josie back. I need to tell Paul that, too. But not this moment. He looks weary and battered by what I’ve said so far. Wounded. The rest can wait until we get home. When we’re all together, able to make plans for defending ourselves, then he can bear it. Not yet.

  I reach up to put my arms around his neck, but Paul pushes me away, gently but firmly. “Marguerite—I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  He stands there a long moment, the harsh light from his one cheap lamp painting his profile in stark lines and elongating his shadow on the wall. This place smells musty—unclean and sad. The pretty green campus and cozy town house seem to belong to another world altogether.

  “You’ve talked a lot about how the dimensions bring us together, time after time. You were the one who made me believe we belonged with each other in any world we could ever find.” Paul takes a deep breath. “I believed in destiny even before I fell for you. I saw it written in the equations. Woven into the fabric of the universe itself. But you helped me understand that we were part of destiny, you and me.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re the same in every single world,” I say. “Yes, there’s something powerful that we share—and maybe that’s a soul. But we’re separate people, every time.”

  This isn’t the game-changing revelation for him that it is for me. “I know. When I traveled, and got lost within the other Paul Markovs—I always sensed the differences. The ways they thought and spoke and dreamed that I never would, or could.”

  He had told me this much before, but I didn’t truly understand until now.

  By this point Paul looks wretched, like he’d rather be anywhere in the multiverse than here. Yet he still gazes at me with a love so strong I can almost physically feel it. “Don’t you see? We find ourselves in worlds so altered we can hardly understand them. When we’re people so different we can’t comprehend how we could ever be made of the same DNA. But so many times—so many—I only wind up hurting everyone around me. And more than anyone else, I hurt you. What if that’s our shared destiny? What if it’s not love but pain?”

  That’s not the journey I’ve taken. Not the Paul I’ve seen. But I look at it through the lens of what I’ve just told him—imagining Theo bleeding in a New York alleyway, and the Grand Duchess Margarita pregnant and in hiding—

  “Hey.” I embrace him around his waist. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, though I can’t tell whether it’s a caress or a prelude to pushing me away again. “You don’t only hurt me. You help me, and you love me. You save me. Don’t forget that, because I never will.”

  “Look at the scar on your arm.”

  “That was just a stupid accident!”

  “Yes and no.” His expression clouds over. “I remember the things Paul said to you during that last fight, because he keeps thinking about it, over and over, replaying it like a loop inside his head. That day, it was like—lik
e my father had taken over my body. Like his words were coming out of my mouth. All that anger he threw at me, I kept inside to throw at you. So yes, I’m to blame for what happened to you, and it could easily have been worse.”

  “Not you. Another Paul Markov did that, and I’m not worried about him.”

  Paul isn’t convinced. I can tell by the sadness in his eyes. But when he brushes his fingers through my hair, I take hope from his touch. He says, “You never know when to quit, do you?”

  “I’ll know when the time comes, but it hasn’t yet.” How can he be saying any of these things? After everything we’ve seen and done, how can he believe that he’s only destined to hurt me?

  But then I remember—Paul has spent the past couple of weeks within this world’s version, who is mired in depression and guilt. That sadness lingers inside him; it’s not the kind of thing you can shake off easily. I never should have told him about the shooting or the grand duchess when he was in this state, because now he’s looking at me like it’s the last time.

  “Listen to me,” I say. “The multiverse is infinite. So, yeah, we go through some terrible things together, and I’ve seen versions of you who are darker, and damaged, and I don’t care. I want you even when you’re broken. I want you no matter what. Your darkness, your anger, whatever it is you fear inside yourself—it doesn’t matter. I love you completely, don’t you see? I even want the worst of you because it’s still a part of you.” I press one hand against his chest, as if I could send everything I feel straight into his heart. “I want you when it’s crazy, when it’s frightening, when it’s impossible, because there’s nothing within you that could hurt me half as much as not having you.”

  Paul struggles for composure; he won’t look me in the eyes. “Nothing could hurt me as much as hurting you, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve broken your body, attacked your friends, left you pregnant and alone. Don’t you see the pattern? Destiny is real, Marguerite. I have the equations to prove it, and now we’ve both lived it.”

  “Paul, no—”

  “I loved you enough to give you up,” he says. “When I used the Firebird for the first time, I knew I might not make it back. It didn’t matter to me; nothing mattered to me as long as you were safe. You could lead your life without me. If I have to give you up again, I will. It feels like—like cutting off your own arm—” His voice chokes off as he glances down at my exposed arm and the dark scar there.

  Only then do I realize—Paul may not consciously remember the other versions of himself or the universes they inhabit. His subconscious, however, has been profoundly affected. He can’t see it yet, but I can. This fatalism—Paul’s belief that he could only hurt me—has been built like a wall between us, stone by stone.

  Father Paul in medieval Italy thought both God and the church would part us forever. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Markov of the Warverse had already pursued me in vain; he’d resigned himself to watching me love another. The Paul who wound up in the Russian mob? He’s bitter at twenty, surrounded by violence, nearly as much a prisoner as I was, tied up in that cellar. He only knew me as a victim—his victim. And now Paul dwells within the body of a version who lost everything that mattered to him: first the Firebird project, then his close relationship with my parents, then me.

  Did Conley do this on purpose? Or was it merely terrible luck? Either way, all the disappointment, anger, and misery of those four lifetimes has taken root within my Paul. He no longer believes in our destiny or in himself.

  The past several days have taught me so much about the impact my actions have on the dimensions—and Marguerites—I visit. Now, in Paul’s sorrowful eyes, I see that they have an impact on us too. Maybe I’ve been protected as a “perfect traveler,” but Paul hasn’t. His splintering has exacted a terrible price.

  I’ve spent this entire journey trying to bring Paul back from these other universes. But as he stands here in front of me in this Cambridge flat, he feels farther from me than he has ever been.

  Talking Paul down from this bleak place will take time—not minutes, not hours, but days or weeks—and that’s time I don’t want to spend in this dimension. When we’re home, he’ll come back to himself. He has to. “Let’s go home, okay? Let’s just focus on Triad and go over this together. We only have so much time to work against Conley. That’s what matters most.”

  Paul nods. Having a concrete goal helps him steady himself. “Yeah. Let’s. But—you should head home first. If the other Paul and Marguerite woke up with you in his apartment—”

  “That would be bad. All right.” I can’t yet bring myself to step away, though. “You will follow me. You promise.”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  Then he pulls me close for a kiss.

  When our lips meet, Paul clutches me to him—like he never wants to let go. I open my mouth for him, lean into him. The night we planned to spend together, during my parents’ trip: I want Paul to understand that we’ll still have that, and so much else besides. When this is over, we’ll still have each other.

  I can tell he’s kissing me this desperately because he thinks it might be the last time. The way I’m kissing him should tell him it’s not. Not even close.

  Ten thousand skies, and a million worlds, and it still wouldn’t be enough for me to share with you. Nothing less than forever will do.

  By the time we pull apart, I’m shaky. Paul looks heartsick. He puts one hand over the Firebird on his chest. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay,” I say as I head for the door.

  I refuse to say goodbye.

  As I cycle back toward my family’s Cambridge home, I concentrate on the thoughts I need this Marguerite to remember best. She’ll be my messenger to this world, the world we need on our side most of all. We need to know how to communicate throughout the multiverse. That’s the only way we’ll ever be able to defeat Triad. And since Conley spied on this dimension once, he could come back eventually. If he does, and he sees you have this technology, you’ll be in even more trouble than we are. But don’t be scared. I swear, if we work together, we have a chance to win. To be safe from Triad forever.

  I know she’ll believe me; she won’t be able to help sensing that I’m telling her the truth. But what will these versions of Mom and Dad do? Will they stand with us, or tell us to stay the hell out?

  As my bicycle glides into the driveway of our home, I bring it to a gentle stop. I already scraped one of her knees leaping into her dimension at the wrong moment; the least I can do is avoid scraping the other. I settle the kickstand, brace myself, and prepare to leap.

  On impulse, I reach into my bag and pull out a compact. When I flip it open, I peer into the mirror—as close as I can ever come to looking this Marguerite in the face—and I say just one word, “Please.”

  After that, I snap the compact shut, drop it into my bag. Across town, even now, Paul is preparing to leap through the dimensions with me. It won’t be our last journey together. I have to believe that.

  I take the Firebird in hand and watch this world vanish, like watercolors rinsing away.

  Returning to my own body is always so much easier than any of the other jumps. Everywhere else the collision of selves jolts me in a way my parents haven’t been able to scientifically explain. But coming home? That’s as easy and effortless as slipping into a warm bath.

  I open my eyes to see Theo standing above me. Though his face is too pale, his eyes shadowed, he smiles as he says, “About time you got here.”

  “Good, you made it. How do you feel?”

  He makes a face as he scratches the back of his head. “I’ve been better. But, hey, you got the juice, right? The data for the juice, I mean.”

  “Right. You’ll be feeling better in no time.” I rise from my bed and walk into the main area of the house in search of my parents. Theo must be as ready as I am to put them to work re-creating this solution. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  “They were out when I got here. Probably at the university l
abs, trying to figure some other way out of this, or building another Firebird.”

  No doubt. Well, they’ll be back by dinnertime, because they never eat on campus if they can help it. From the slant of the sunshine through the glass door to our deck, I can tell it’s midafternoon. “Have you checked to see if Paul has come back yet?”

  “You found him, huh?” Theo doesn’t high-five me, or celebrate in any obvious way. This is kind of odd—I’ve seen him do a victory dance just because he managed to flick a paper clip into his hat from across the room—but then I remember how weak he is. He’s back in this battered body, the one on the verge of failure. We don’t have any time to lose.

  A wave of powerful vertigo sweeps over me, making my stomach flip-flop as the whole world goes sparkly and dark. “Whoa,” I say, putting one hand to the side of my head. “What was that?”

  Theo puts one hand on my shoulder, only a touch. “You’ve been through a lot. No wonder you’re tired.”

  Tired is not what I just felt. The Firebird has to have operated correctly; if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be home now. Whatever this sensation is, it hasn’t left me. At least it’s not so strong that I can’t shake it off.

  “So Paul was going to come back at the exact same time as you?” Theo asks.

  “That’s what he said.” I know Paul wouldn’t break that promise, and yet I won’t feel totally reassured until I’ve spoken to him or seen him, here in our own world. Slowly I get to my feet, slightly dizzy but determined to keep going. “Where did I leave my phone? I want to call him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Theo says. He’s already looking on the rainbow table, which isn’t where I usually put my phone, but I guess it’s a place to start. “Take it easy. You’ll find him, Meg.”

  Meg.

  Only one person has ever called me that—Theo.

  But not my Theo.

  I turn to him, horrorstruck. From the way his smile hardens, I can tell he knows that I know who he really is. The Triadverse’s Theo has returned.

  “Was it the nickname?” he says. “I bet it was the nickname.”

  “Why are you here?” I demand. “Why did the Triadverse send you? Theo can’t take much more.”