information he was entering and turned to leave himself.
As soon as he was gone, I crept out from behind the screen, moving with confidence since Future Bree surely would have warned me if this was folly. I had to know what was in that tank.
The fluid inside had turned a murky blue. The large mass inside floated lifelessly, completely obscured by the combination of thick, frothy, sloshing liquid and the layer of frost on the outside of the tank. A small, soligraphic model floated in the air where the controls had been. At first, it looked like a glowing, baby seahorse, but when I prodded it, I realized what it was. A hippocampusâthe part of the human brain that contains the quantum tendrils. The part of the brain that enables Shifters to Shift. There was a number below the hippocampus, ticking up and down every few seconds. .01%.â¦03%.â¦04%.â¦02%
Something twitched in the fluid. I flinched away. Scratch what I had said. I didnât care what was in that tank. I just wanted out of here. This place gave me the willies, and then some.
It was with a rush of relief that I felt my fingers begin to tingle. I was going home. What exactly I would face there, I still wasnât sure. But home.
The room around me began to fade. Right before I took my final breath of chilled air, I looked straight ahead at the tank.
A hand reached out of the darkness and pressed against the inner glass.
Â
chapter 8
SQUISH.
My shoe slid into the unused sanislush of the otherwise empty toilet when I landed back in the movie theater in my time. A fitting return to my present situation.
I closed my eyes and could still picture the tank. There was a person in that thing. A person. But I didnât even know where ICEâs headquarters were. And besides, that person was there fifty years ago.
I counted to ten, an unsuccessful attempt to slow my shallow breathing. When I opened my eyes, I could still picture that hand.
There was only one reason I could think of why my future self would allow this fake-girlfriend-with-Wyck-charade to go on. Whatever was happening at ICE had to be stopped. And now that Bergin had been cut out of their organization, Wyck was my only connection to them.
The fact that I wasnât really with Wyck provided mild comfort. No, âcomfortâ was too strong a word. Consolation.
A fresh wave of panic, anger, and sadness sent me reeling when I looked at the door to the bathroom and realized I had to go out there and face Wyck. I had no idea how to act around him. No idea what to say. All the memories I had of the last six months contained Finn. And now I had to somehow convince Wyck that I was his girlfriend. This was why unchipped Shifters had sequestered themselves at Resthaven. The repercussions of this change were staggering.
I was so alone.
No, not alone, I reminded myself. Finn wasnât here, true. And he could never come here again since he was a chronofugitive. But surely it was only a matter of time before I would Shift to Chincoteague to see him and explain what had happened. Plus, I still had Mom and Quigley and Granderson. They would help me piece together what had happened.
And, apparently, a lot had happened.
It couldnât have been more than twenty minutes that Iâd been gone, but Wyck had likely worn a trench into the floor pacing outside. I splashed some water on my face and held my head directly under the revivamist jet. It wasnât quite as effective as a twenty-first-century triple espresso, but tasted a lot less like battery acid.
Deep breath. I opened the door.
Wyck sat about fifteen feet away in the theater lobby, on the corner of a massive fountain shooting globs of sparkly gunk that changed colors and scents depending on the number of people who were standing nearby and the moods they were in. His face was as pale as a washed-out snowman. He was staring at the bathroom door with an intensity that made me wonder if heâd blinked the whole
As soon as he was gone, I crept out from behind the screen, moving with confidence since Future Bree surely would have warned me if this was folly. I had to know what was in that tank.
The fluid inside had turned a murky blue. The large mass inside floated lifelessly, completely obscured by the combination of thick, frothy, sloshing liquid and the layer of frost on the outside of the tank. A small, soligraphic model floated in the air where the controls had been. At first, it looked like a glowing, baby seahorse, but when I prodded it, I realized what it was. A hippocampusâthe part of the human brain that contains the quantum tendrils. The part of the brain that enables Shifters to Shift. There was a number below the hippocampus, ticking up and down every few seconds. .01%.â¦03%.â¦04%.â¦02%
Something twitched in the fluid. I flinched away. Scratch what I had said. I didnât care what was in that tank. I just wanted out of here. This place gave me the willies, and then some.
It was with a rush of relief that I felt my fingers begin to tingle. I was going home. What exactly I would face there, I still wasnât sure. But home.
The room around me began to fade. Right before I took my final breath of chilled air, I looked straight ahead at the tank.
A hand reached out of the darkness and pressed against the inner glass.
Â
chapter 8
SQUISH.
My shoe slid into the unused sanislush of the otherwise empty toilet when I landed back in the movie theater in my time. A fitting return to my present situation.
I closed my eyes and could still picture the tank. There was a person in that thing. A person. But I didnât even know where ICEâs headquarters were. And besides, that person was there fifty years ago.
I counted to ten, an unsuccessful attempt to slow my shallow breathing. When I opened my eyes, I could still picture that hand.
There was only one reason I could think of why my future self would allow this fake-girlfriend-with-Wyck-charade to go on. Whatever was happening at ICE had to be stopped. And now that Bergin had been cut out of their organization, Wyck was my only connection to them.
The fact that I wasnât really with Wyck provided mild comfort. No, âcomfortâ was too strong a word. Consolation.
A fresh wave of panic, anger, and sadness sent me reeling when I looked at the door to the bathroom and realized I had to go out there and face Wyck. I had no idea how to act around him. No idea what to say. All the memories I had of the last six months contained Finn. And now I had to somehow convince Wyck that I was his girlfriend. This was why unchipped Shifters had sequestered themselves at Resthaven. The repercussions of this change were staggering.
I was so alone.
No, not alone, I reminded myself. Finn wasnât here, true. And he could never come here again since he was a chronofugitive. But surely it was only a matter of time before I would Shift to Chincoteague to see him and explain what had happened. Plus, I still had Mom and Quigley and Granderson. They would help me piece together what had happened.
And, apparently, a lot had happened.
It couldnât have been more than twenty minutes that Iâd been gone, but Wyck had likely worn a trench into the floor pacing outside. I splashed some water on my face and held my head directly under the revivamist jet. It wasnât quite as effective as a twenty-first-century triple espresso, but tasted a lot less like battery acid.
Deep breath. I opened the door.
Wyck sat about fifteen feet away in the theater lobby, on the corner of a massive fountain shooting globs of sparkly gunk that changed colors and scents depending on the number of people who were standing nearby and the moods they were in. His face was as pale as a washed-out snowman. He was staring at the bathroom door with an intensity that made me wonder if heâd blinked the whole
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