Sophie nodded, pulling Dex into another hug, relieved that it still didn’t feel a tiny bit weird between them.
“Thank you,” she told him. “You saved me from being Lady Marshmallow Hands.”
Dex grinned, flashing his dimples. “See, now I kinda want to take back the gadgets.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Sophie warned.
“Oh, I’m thinking about it, Lady Marshmallow Hands,” Dex countered.
Mr. Forkle cleared his throat. “In all seriousness, Miss Foster, I still hope you’ll keep searching within yourself, because I feel quite strongly that you have more to discover. In fact, I’m regretting that I never made self-reflection and meditation into a habit for you when you were younger. I should’ve considered that the uniqueness of your abilities would require a measure of deep introspection, since only you can truly understand the workings of your mind.”
Sophie wanted to roll her eyes and tell him how pointless everything she’d tried the day before had been. But it was easier to just say, “I’ll do my best,” and change the subject.
“What are you working on today?” she asked Dex.
“I asked Forkle to take me back to Watchward Heath, because I had a few thoughts about the cameras while you were enhancing me. The tweaks I made to the feed already are solid—but they’re slow because there are so many different cameras. And I think I came up with a way to make it all work much faster. See? It’s a good thing you had your abilities reset. I know you’ve been lying here regretting it.”
She had, actually—though she hadn’t even admitted that to herself.
She’d just lost so many days.
And now her enhancing was so much more complicated.
And she still couldn’t even use her inflicting—still didn’t even know if it worked any better than it had before.
“It was the right call, Sophie,” Dex assured her. “Just give yourself time to adjust.”
“Mr. Dizznee is very wise,” Mr. Forkle told her. “And I’ve been meaning to add one more thing. I think it’s quite telling that both Mr. Sencen and Mr. Vacker were so much more sensitive to your enhancing.”
“Fitz needed the same number of gloves as you,” Sophie reminded him.
“Yes, but my telepathy is far more honed than his, so for him to be at my same level is fascinating. And I realize you’ve always had strong connections with both boys in different ways. But I wonder if having them assist during the reset amplified those bonds. I think it might be worth exploring. I’d recommend working with both of them in tandem to see what you discover. Perhaps complete a few trust exercises.”
Dex snorted. “You want Sophie, Fitz, and Keefe to do trust exercises together.”
“I think it would be very enlightening,” Mr. Forkle agreed.
“Oh, it’ll definitely be that,” Dex said with a particularly huge grin. “Can I, uh, be there when you do?” he asked Sophie.
“No, it’ll work best if it’s just the three of them,” Mr. Forkle informed him. “Try it today, if you’re up for it,” he advised Sophie. “And if you’re not, then I hope you’ll work on more self-reflection.”
Sophie couldn’t decide which sounded more miserable.
But.
She already knew self-reflection was a total fail.
So even though she could definitely recognize the potential for disaster with Mr. Forkle’s suggestion, she hailed Keefe and Fitz after Mr. Forkle and Dex left and invited them over to work together. And both boys reluctantly agreed to meet her in the Havenfield pastures in a few hours.
They started small—the three of them sitting in the shade of Calla’s Panakes tree, testing Sophie’s new enhancing-blocking gadgets to make sure Dex’s design worked on both of them. And it did—though Keefe said he could still feel that same tiny bit of extra clarity he’d started picking up just by being around Sophie. But they decided that must be an Empath thing, since Stina had been feeling a similar boost for a while.
And then… it was time to pick a trust exercise.
“We could play something like Two Truths and a Lie?” Sophie suggested—and then immediately un-suggested it once she saw how excited Ro was by that idea.
But every other trust exercise she’d done with Fitz would be so much worse with Keefe as part of it.
So.
Much.
Worse.
In fact, Sophie was starting to think the best idea would be to feign exhaustion, flee to her bedroom, and hide under her covers until the boys and their bodyguards left.
But then Keefe stood, pacing past Sophie a few times before he asked, “This is about inflicting, right?”
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked.
“I mean, that’s why you went through all of this, isn’t it? And that ability comes from both the head and the heart, doesn’t it?”
Sophie nodded.
“All right, then forget trust exercises!” Keefe decided. “Fitzy can cover the head stuff, I’ll cover the heart stuff, you’ll do your Ragemonster thing and you’ll start getting a feel for your shiny, improved ability.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Fitz said, glancing at Sophie, and Sophie was right there with him.
Keefe dragged a hand down his face. “I’m saying we focus on letting Foster practice inflicting. You and I will be here to make sure she doesn’t lose control of anything. But that’s what’s most important, right?”
“But Elwin and Livvy think it’s going to set back her recovery,” Fitz reminded him.
“Right… but… if it’s going to do that anyway, then why not test it out, let it set her back, and then she can focus on recovering?” Keefe countered.
“I don’t think it works that way,” Fitz insisted.
“And I don’t know how to just… inflict,” Sophie added. “I have to be angry and afraid—”
“So we’ll make you angry and afraid,” Keefe interrupted. “I mean, I feel like if there’s one thing Fitzy and I both excel at, it’s making you angry.”
“I can help with afraid!” Ro volunteered.
“No, you can’t!” Sandor warned.
“Actually, this might be a good idea,” Grizel told him, stopping Sandor from drawing his sword.
“You can’t be serious,” Sandor snapped back.
“Why not?” Grizel asked. “We’ll all be here to keep her safe.”
“How can it be safe if there are no physicians to monitor her?” Sandor countered. “And why don’t we see what her parents have to say?”
Round and round they went, and Sophie honestly didn’t know which side she was on—but then it didn’t matter because someone was clearing their throat behind them and they turned to find Mr. Forkle standing on the path, watching them. And he seemed…
Nervous.
It almost looked like he wanted to raise a crystal and leap away before any of them could ask why he was there.
And maybe that was because he knew Keefe would ask, “You found him, didn’t you? The guy in my drawing?”
“We did,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Mr. Dizznee’s latest adjustments gave us the speed we needed to also search the archive, starting with the year we estimated you first saw the man, since we knew his appearance would match most completely at that point.”
“You have an archive?” Sophie had to ask.
“A very thorough one,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “And… that’s where we found him. The video didn’t give us his location, but it did give us a name that Mr. Dizznee and I were able to search for in several human databases.”
“You have access to human databases?” Sophie blurted out, even though she probably shouldn’t have been so surprised—and she definitely should stop interrupting Mr. Forkle because Keefe looked ready to combust with impatience.
“We do,” Mr. Forkle agreed, “and… I gave you my word that I’d let you know anything we found immediately. So… even though this goes against my better judgment… your mystery man’s name was Ethan Benedict Wright II.”<
br />
“Ethan Benedict Wright II,” Fitz and Keefe both repeated.
But Sophie was stuck on a different word—one she almost didn’t want to point out, since Keefe clearly hadn’t noticed that Mr. Forkle had used it, and she hated to snuff out the triumph and enthusiasm she could see in Keefe’s eyes.
Still, she forced herself to ask, “Was?”
And her heart thudded into her stomach when Mr. Forkle winced.
“What do you mean ‘was’?” Keefe asked her.
“That’s what I’m asking him,” Sophie said gently. “Mr. Forkle said his name ‘was.’ Not is. Did he legally change it?” she asked Mr. Forkle, trying to give Keefe what little hope she could.
Mr. Forkle sighed. “No. I said was because I found this.” He reached into his cape and pulled out what looked like a crinkled printout of a newspaper clipping.
And at the top, in big black letters, was the word “Obituaries.”
THIRTY-TWO
HE’S DEAD.”
Sophie couldn’t tell who said it.
There was too much roaring in her ears, between the cold ocean wind, her frantic pulse, and the ragged breaths she forced herself to take in.
But she knew exactly what Keefe was going to say next.
He looked like he couldn’t decide if he was going to run off and pick a fight with the gorgodon or hurl all over his shoes as he told them, “My mom had something to do with this.”
Not a question.
A fact.
“You don’t know that,” Sophie argued, snatching the obituary away from Mr. Forkle before Keefe could get his hands on it.
It took her overloaded brain three tries before any of the tiny black-and-white words sank in.
“Okay,” she said, wishing the three short paragraphs gave a little more information. “It says here that Ethan Benedict Wright II, and”—her stomach turned—“his ten-year-old daughter, Eleanor Olivia Wright, were struck by a bus outside of the British Library and killed instantly.” She told herself not to picture it. But she’d seen enough photos of London’s famous red double-decker buses to paint a pretty gruesome mental picture. “That’s… horrible,” she whispered, clearing the thickness from her throat. “But it was an accident, Keefe. Either the bus driver got distracted, or Ethan and Eleanor forgot to look both ways before they crossed the street, or maybe—”
“Or maybe my mom had something to do with it!” Keefe finished for her, turning away and tearing his hands through his hair. “Come on, Foster. You don’t think my mom could make it look like an accident? It wouldn’t be hard. One quick mental shove with telekinesis or a blast of wind from a Guster and…”
Sophie squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block the fresh round of nightmare images.
“Accidents happen all the time in the Forbidden Cities,” she insisted. “Humans rely on tons of super-dangerous things, and they just kind of go through life assuming nothing bad will happen to them—until it does.”
“It’s true,” Fitz agreed. “I was stunned by that the first few times I visited. I couldn’t believe they weren’t all in a constant state of panic.”
Keefe sighed. “So you guys really think it’s a coincidence that the same human guy who got a letter from my mom—a letter she had me illegally bring to the Forbidden Cities and then went to pretty drastic lengths to erase all my memories of—just happened to die that same year? I bet you anything, if I had a way of knowing exactly what day my mom gave me that letter, we’d see that this ‘accident’ happened right around the same time.”
Sophie sighed. “Okay, but why would your mom kill him and his daughter? Fintan made it sound like she was trying to recruit the guy—er, Mr. Wright,” she corrected, realizing she should probably start using his name and trying to be a little more respectful of the dead.
“And Fintan also said the recruiting didn’t work out,” Keefe noted. “And the guy—Mr. Wright—would’ve known stuff about what my mom was planning, so she would’ve had to get rid of him to protect her secrets. And the daughter either got in the way, or my mom figured it was just easier to take out the whole family. Who knows?”
“But why risk her sanity on two murders when she could have had their minds wiped instead?” Sophie countered. “We already know she basically had a Washer on standby.”
“Yeah, but—”
“If I might intercede,” Mr. Forkle said, before Keefe could make his next argument. “I figured this is how the conversation would go, once I gave you that obituary. And it’s the kind of debate that never actually leads anywhere because there is far too much speculation and far too little fact. It’s also exactly the kind of all-consuming distraction that none of us needs when there are so many urgent matters that require our attention. So with that in mind, I did a bit of research before I came here, to see if I could fill in some of the unknowns and ease some of the worries.”
“I thought you said you came here immediately,” Fitz reminded him.
“I did come here immediately from Watchward Heath,” Mr. Forkle insisted, “but I also completed some research before I left. And you should be thankful that I did—and even more thankful that I’m willing to share what I discovered, because I don’t have to. This was never part of our arrangement. And my instincts are even cautioning me against sharing, claiming that none of you are ready for this sort of revelation. So I need your word that you’ll stay calm and rational and avoid any reckless behavior, no matter how shocked and appalled you are.”
“Shocked and appalled?” Ro repeated, making her way over to Keefe’s side. “Wow, way to hype it, Forkle.”
“I need everyone to be properly prepared,” Mr. Forkle explained. “And that includes you bodyguards. You should be ready to prevent your charges from making hasty decisions.”
“We always are,” Sandor assured him.
“Just tell us!” Keefe demanded.
Mr. Forkle shook his head. “Not without your word—and you have to mean it. I need to know that level heads will prevail.”
“Level heads,” Keefe muttered under his breath. “Fine. Whatever.”
“There is no ‘whatever,’ ” Mr. Forkle informed him. “And there’s no way around this. I’ll say no more unless I have your word.”
Keefe rolled his eyes. “Fine. You have my word. Ugh, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve found out creepy news about Mommy Dearest.”
“It isn’t,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “And that’s why I need to hear you specifically say that you won’t be reckless.”
For a second, Sophie wondered if Keefe was going to tackle Mr. Forkle.
But he must’ve realized Mr. Forkle was serious because he gritted his teeth and said, “Fine—I won’t be reckless.”
Sophie and Fitz offered the same oath with a whole lot less venom—but that didn’t stop Sandor and Grizel from moving to their sides. Sandor even hooked an arm around Sophie’s shoulder to prevent her from leaping or teleporting without him.
“Very well, then,” Mr. Forkle said, looking more wary than satisfied. “I suppose you’re sufficiently prepared.”
He turned to pace, and with each plodding step Sophie could almost feel Keefe’s patience evaporating.
But somehow Keefe kept his jaw locked and waited.
And waited a little longer.
Until Mr. Forkle finally said, “I knew you were going to fear that your mother—or any member of the Neverseen—was involved in these deaths. So I had Mr. Dizznee set up a very specific set of search criteria for the archive. We checked all the footage from the week before the accident as well as the footage from the week after the accident, searching for black-cloaked figures as well as Fintan’s, Brant’s, Gethen’s, Lady Gisela’s, and Alvar’s faces.”
Fitz sucked in a very sharp breath at the last name. “Did my brother—”
“No,” Mr. Forkle promised. “Though I suppose it’s possible he used his ability as a Vanisher to hide from my cameras. But I have no record of him being in London during that time p
eriod.”
“What about me?” Keefe asked. “Did you check to see if I was there?”
“I did,” Mr. Forkle admitted, taking several agonizingly slow steps before he added, “and I found no trace of you in any of the footage.”
Keefe blew out a huge breath, bending over and resting his hands on his knees.
But his relief only lasted a second before he demanded, “So who was there? Obviously you found someone.”
“I did.” Mr. Forkle glanced at the sky, and Sophie wondered if this was one of those moments where he was wishing he had his brother there to help him figure out the right decision.
But it was just him.
And he reached into his cape and withdrew a rolled piece of paper.
Keefe held out his hand expectantly, but Mr. Forkle gave the paper to Sophie, and she angled herself away from Keefe as she smoothed out the page.
“I feel that panic, Foster,” Keefe told her as she studied the image that Mr. Forkle had given her.
A still from a video camera—a little too dark in certain places and too bright in others.
But there was no mistaking the fact that she was staring at Big Ben—London’s most notable landmark.
And standing in front of it—in a black cloak with the hood flipped back, like the wind had just knocked it out of place—was Lady Gisela.
Keefe’s mother.
THIRTY-THREE
DON’T MAKE ME RIP THAT paper out of your hands, Foster,” Keefe told her, and Sophie blinked, wondering how long she’d been staring at the horrifying photograph. “I’ll do it,” Keefe warned. “I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”
“You’ll try,” Sandor corrected. “And you won’t like what happens—but I’ll enjoy it immensely.”
“Hmm, that’s a tricky dilemma,” Ro noted. “It would be fun to watch my boy get goblin-clobbered. But I’m supposed to protect him—and if I do, then I get to clobber a goblin, so… decisions, decisions.” She held her hands out on each side of her, dipping them up and down like a shifting scale.
“No one’s clobbering anyone,” Sophie told them, taking a cautious step toward Keefe, trying to figure out the best way to guide him through this latest nightmare.
Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8) Page 46