Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8)

by Shannon Messenger

  He’d had his world ripped out from under him so many times already.…

  But maybe that would make this easier.

  “You know what I’m going to show you,” she said carefully. “You guessed it from the beginning.”

  Keefe swallowed hard. “My mom?”

  Sophie nodded.

  His knees wobbled hard, and Sophie rushed to steady him—until she realized…

  “It’s fine,” Fitz said when she glanced over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t tell that she’d momentarily forgotten he was there.

  Keefe’s going to need you right now, he transmitted.

  He’s going to need both of us, Sophie corrected.

  Maybe, he conceded. But you’re better at this part.

  Sophie wasn’t so sure about that—but she closed the distance between her and Keefe, keeping the photo pressed against her chest as she wrapped an arm around Keefe’s shoulders.

  “Show me,” he told her—the words more of a plea than a command.

  Sophie pulled him as close as she could and held up the photo.

  Keefe sank to the grass, no longer able to stay standing, and Sophie sank down next to him, keeping the photo where he could see it.

  And he stared.

  And stared.

  And stared.

  Ro peeked over Keefe’s shoulder. “Wow. Leave it to Mommy Dearest to make Lord Jerkypants seem like the good parent.”

  “She really did kill the guy,” Keefe whispered. “And his daughter—what was she, ten?”

  “Yeah,” Sophie murmured, glad the obituary hadn’t included a photo.

  “I mean… I knew it,” Keefe said, mostly to himself. “But that’s different than knowing it, you know?”

  Sophie bit her lip, trying to decide if what she wanted to say would make things better or worse.

  Focusing on truth and facts seemed like it had to be the best way to go, though, so she reminded him, “Technically we still don’t know that she killed them. I know coincidences are hard to believe, but they do happen. It is possible that she went and visited the guy, and then a few hours later he got hit by a bus—or that he got hit by the bus before their meeting and she was trying to figure out what happened.”

  “That photo is from after the accident,” Mr. Forkle chimed in. “It has a time stamp.”

  Sophie’s eyes took a second to find the string of tiny white numbers hidden in the corner, and if she was reading the time stamp correctly, then Lady Gisela had been standing in front of Big Ben at 8:14 p.m.

  The obituary said the accident happened at 7:09 p.m.

  “Does anyone know how close Big Ben is to the British Library?” Sophie asked, realizing how silly the question was as soon as she’d said it.

  She was talking to elves, goblins, and an ogre.

  And yet, Mr. Forkle told her, “I looked it up on the map before I left my office. It takes an average of fifty minutes to walk from one to the other—and significantly less time if one takes something they call ‘the Tube.’ ”

  “That’s their underground train system,” Sophie said, because that was so much easier to think about than the fact that Lady Gisela definitely would’ve had enough time to kill Ethan Benedict Wright II and Eleanor Olivia Wright, and then walk—or ride the Tube—over to Big Ben for a little sightseeing before she left.

  “See?” Keefe asked, obviously picking up on her mood shift. “She killed them.”

  It was looking more and more that way.

  But…

  “We still haven’t technically proven anything,” she had to point out. “If this was a human murder trial and the only evidence the prosecution had was this photograph, there’d be plenty of reasonable doubt. It shows your mom nowhere near the scene of the accident—and I’m guessing she’s not in the accident footage, either, otherwise Mr. Forkle would’ve brought that.”

  She glanced at Mr. Forkle to verify.

  “Actually, there is no footage of the accident,” he informed them.

  “None?” Fitz asked.

  Mr. Forkle shook his head. “As I said, the system at Watchward Heath is unprecedented. But it’s not without its gaps.”

  “Well… that’s… convenient,” Fitz said slowly. “So the accident just happened to take place in one of the rare gaps in the Black Swan’s surveillance? Nobody else thinks that’s odd?”

  “Oh, I think it’s very odd,” Mr. Forkle told him.

  “And I think it proves my mom did it,” Keefe added with a hollow sort of authority. “Come on, Foster, even you have to admit that’s one too many coincidences.”

  Sophie sighed. “I just… I wish I understood why she would do something like that.”

  “Because she’s a creepy psychopath!” Keefe crumpled the photo and flung it as far as he could—which wasn’t all that far thanks to the wind.

  “Keefe,” Sophie called as he stood and stalked to the fence of the nearest pasture. But he ignored her, leaning against the rails with his back to everyone.

  “Give him a minute,” Mr. Forkle told Fitz when he moved to follow.

  Sophie sighed again and used her telekinesis to retrieve the crumpled photo, laying it flat on the grass to try to smooth out the wrinkles.

  “What do you think she’s looking at?” Fitz asked as he squatted beside her.

  “I don’t know—does it matter?” Sophie wondered. “She’s on a busy city street. She’s probably trying to avoid a car or a pedestrian or something.”

  “But she’s not moving,” Fitz said. “See? Her feet are planted. And her head is turned to her right, her eyes focused on something taller than she is.”

  He traced Lady Gisela’s invisible eyeline across the photo, following it up and off the paper, to some point beyond the frame.

  “Well… maybe there’s another building over there?” Sophie guessed. “Or a billboard?”

  “What do you think she’s looking at?” Mr. Forkle asked when Fitz frowned.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, squinting at the photo and tilting his head. “I guess it’s not important.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Mr. Forkle corrected. “Do you know that for the entire five minutes and forty-three seconds of footage that I have of Lady Gisela standing there, she doesn’t look away from that spot once? Even when the wind blew back her hood—which is the moment I captured for this still shot—her eyes remain trained on that single point.”

  “Do you know what she’s looking at?” Sophie asked him.

  “I have my theories” was all Mr. Forkle said. “But they’re just theories. I checked the feed from every nearby camera and couldn’t get a view of that portion of the street to confirm.”

  “Well that’s… also convenient,” Fitz said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “It’s like she knows where your cameras are.”

  “That does appear to be the case,” Mr. Forkle said, staring up at the sky. “And it’s not altogether surprising, considering how rarely I’ve ever captured footage of any members of the Neverseen. I’d just been hoping that was because they stayed mostly underground or in their hideouts. But it seems they might know exactly how to evade detection. Which is particularly unsettling when you consider how many cameras I’ve hidden.”

  “They’re always ahead of us,” Sophie muttered, giving in to an eyelash tug.

  “I wouldn’t say always,” Mr. Forkle said. “They—”

  “What happened after five minutes and forty-three seconds?” Keefe interrupted, calling the words over his shoulder without turning around.

  “I’m sorry?” Mr. Forkle called back.

  “You said you only had five minutes and forty-three seconds of footage of her,” Keefe clarified, still without looking at anyone. “I’m guessing it starts when she shows up. But what happens at the end?”

  “She’s simply gone,” Mr. Forkle told him.

  “So she light leaped?” Fitz asked.

  “That’s what I’m assuming,” Mr. Forkle said. “But I have no record of
her raising a crystal, so if she did leap away, she must’ve used one of the Neverseen’s hidden paths—which, incidentally, is also what I believe she’s looking at, tucked into that small portion of the street that’s shielded from all of my cameras.”

  “You mean like the crystal that Dex and I found on one of the lanterns in Paris?” Sophie asked. When he nodded, she had to admit, “I’ve never really understood why that was there. Why go to so much trouble to hide a crystal in a Forbidden City when you could just use a home crystal or a pathfinder to leap away?”

  “Because those can be lost or damaged,” Mr. Forkle reminded her, “and the Lost Cities can only be reached through designated paths. That’s one of the many ways we keep ourselves hidden from humans—and why our registry pendants all have a crystal in the pendant. It’s a fail-safe, in case something unexpected were to separate us from all other paths. But for the Neverseen—and, admittedly, for the Black Swan as well—we have moments when our pendants must be removed in order to avoid the Council’s tracking. And we take that risk most often when visiting the Forbidden Cities. So both of our groups have made the effort to hide a few emergency paths, to ensure we never find ourselves without a means to get home.”

  “So… you’re saying you think one of the Neverseen’s secret leaping crystals is hidden in London near that giant clock thing?” Keefe asked. “On a part of the street where they know the Black Swan can’t see them?”

  “That would be my guess,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “And I know what you’re going to say—”

  “I say we go find it,” Keefe interrupted.

  Mr. Forkle sighed. “Yes, that’s what I knew you were going to say. And I think you’re misunderstanding what the crystal is—the hidden paths are not meant to go somewhere secret or significant, because they’re left unguarded. All of the crystals the Collective has hidden leap to the most innocuous locations we could think of—places where we could blend in should we arrive unexpectedly, but that also have zero connection to our order in case our enemies find them.”

  “Okay, but just because you guys are smart enough to think of that doesn’t mean the Neverseen are,” Keefe argued. “And even if you’re right, isn’t it worth it to double-check?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “I plan to head there in the wee hours of the morning, once the streets are empty. And no—you’re not invited to come with me. For lots of reasons, but the biggest one being that where you go, so do an ogre and multiple goblins and many of your friends, all of whom create far too much spectacle for such a simple task—even at that early of an hour.”

  “Uh, the ogre and goblins don’t have to come with us,” Keefe reminded him.

  “Yes, we do!” Sandor stalked over to Sophie and grabbed her arm again to keep her at his side.

  “You think Foster can’t take you down right now if she wants to?” Keefe asked with a sharp, bitter laugh.

  A very un-Keefe laugh.

  Mr. Forkle must’ve noticed too, because he told him, “This is why I made you promise to stay calm and rational and avoid any reckless behavior.”

  “Yeah, well, then you proved my mom’s a murderer, so excuse me for freaking out a little,” Keefe snapped, tearing a hand though his hair.

  Mr. Forkle narrowed his eyes. “Would it help if I promise to report back on everything I find?”

  “No, because I don’t want to know what you find. I want to know what I find. I’ve been to London. I’ve walked some of those streets—and who knows? Maybe I’ve even used that path my mom used to leave. I can’t remember it because SHE ERASED MY MEMORIES SO I WOULDN’T REALIZE SHE WAS KILLING PEOPLE!”

  He paused to catch his breath.

  Mr. Forkle shook his head. “If Big Ben held any significance to you, the photo alone would’ve triggered the memory.”

  “That’s not true and you know it! Memories aren’t only triggered by sights. Sound plays a role too. Smell. Taste. Touch. Even emotions. So we all know my best shot at recovering the memories is to walk those streets again. And I need to get them back.” His voice broke, and he looked away, tearing at his hair some more. “The guy’s dead, Forkle. And his daughter. She killed them. And I might know why. I might’ve…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but Sophie could see the worry in his eyes.

  The voiceless fear that he was partly to blame, because he’d delivered that letter.

  Or maybe that he’d played an even larger role and had yet to fit those pieces together.

  “I don’t care about safe or smart right now,” Keefe added quietly. “I care about finding the truth. Just let me walk those streets. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Mr. Forkle dragged a hand down his face. “Fine. Give me a few days to properly prepare and I’ll get you to London, and—”

  “I see zero advantage to waiting,” Keefe interrupted.

  “And what about spontaneity?” Sophie added, realizing how close Keefe was to unraveling. “It worked great when Dex and I went, and—”

  “That was a very different situation,” Mr. Forkle cut in. “You were going somewhere totally random and leaving in a matter of minutes—not heading to a location with a proven connection to the Neverseen and planning to spend untold minutes wandering around. Also, I feel the need to point out that just because a somewhat reckless decision worked out once doesn’t mean you can use that as a standard of measure for all similar situations.”

  Keefe’s hands curled into fists. But it was the worry and panic dulling his ice blue eyes—mixed with something so much darker—that had Sophie transmitting, I can sneak us to London tonight—but you need to stop fighting, otherwise Ro will be watching you too closely.

  She opened her mind to his thoughts so he could ask, You’re serious?

  Amazingly, she was.

  She believed in the power of spontaneity.

  Mostly, though, she’d seen Keefe like this before—dangling by such a very, very thin thread. There was too high of a risk that it would snap and he’d run off without her.

  Can you slip away from Ro? she asked.

  Can YOU slip away from Sandor? he countered.

  I think so. Meet at the swings at your house at midnight?

  That’s too late, Keefe argued. We don’t know what Forkle means by “wee hours of the morning,” and we need to be out of there before he shows up.

  Okay, how about eleven o’clock?

  He chewed his lip and glanced at Fitz, who could clearly tell they were communicating telepathically.

  Which meant Mr. Forkle could surely tell as well.

  And the bodyguards.

  “Thank you,” Sophie said out loud, trying to cover. She sent Keefe a quick Go with me on this, before she turned to Mr. Forkle and said, “He said he’ll wait two days and then he’s going there on his own. Seems like a pretty fair compromise to me.”

  Mr. Forkle’s forehead puckered, and Sophie couldn’t tell if it was with suspicion or displeasure at being bossed around. All he said was, “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Sophie nodded, careful not to look at Keefe as she transmitted, So we’re on for eleven?

  You’re sure you’re up for teleporting after the ability-resetting thing? he thought back.

  I’m fine. Just play it cool until eleven o’clock—but not so cool that Ro gets suspicious.

  His mental voice sounded slightly wobbly as he told her, Thank you.

  Yeah, well, remember that feeling of gratitude when you have to deal with however Ro punishes you. I’m pretty sure flesh-eating bacteria will be involved.

  Probably, he agreed. But it’s worth it.

  He thanked her again. And right as she was about to sever the connection between them, he added, Oh, and Foster? Make sure you bring Fitz.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  YOU GOT AWAY FROM RO?” Sophie whispered, the words barely louder than the soft sigh of the waves lapping against the moonlit shore.

  “Kinda,” Keefe whispered back from somewhere in the darkness. She couldn�
�t see him, but she could hear his footsteps on the patio, padding closer—which actually felt kind of ominous given the strange, shifting shadows cast by the swings. “I… might’ve laced her dinner with some of the amoebas she’s been breeding to punish my dad when he’s being particularly fun, and she hasn’t been able to leave my bathroom ever since. I also barricaded my room juuuuuuuuust in case.”

  Sophie’s jaw fell open, and it took her a minute to get her mouth working again. “Um, you realize she’s going to kill you tomorrow, right? Like… you legitimately need to fear for your life.”

  “Oh, I know. I mean, I have a plan to make it up to her. But I also have an escape route ready to go.” A hint of shine nearby caught her attention, and she realized he’d flashed a smile—something she hadn’t expected to see after watching him spin so close to a breakdown earlier.

  It felt like proof that she was doing the right thing—even if there was also a very good chance that it was a phenomenally bad idea to sneak away without their bodyguards like this.

  We’re being spontaneous, she told herself.

  It worked before with Dex.

  Spontaneous. Spontaneous. Spontaneous.

  “What about you? How’d you get away from Sandor?” Keefe asked.

  “Honestly? I have no idea,” she admitted. “I set up my bed outside again—”

  “You’ve been sleeping outside?” Keefe interrupted. “That wasn’t just something you did for the reset?”

  Sophie shook her head—then realized he probably couldn’t see that. “I know it’s ridiculous because my room is huge, but… it keeps feeling like the walls are closing in. And I figured tonight it’d also be way easier to sneak away if I was already outside. So I left the Cliffside gate unlocked, put a robe on over my clothes, and waited for Sandor to go check in with Flori. And then I threw off my robe, slipped on my boots, and ran for it—but I swear, Sandor must’ve guessed what I was planning because he caught up to me so fast. I totally thought it was over. But I channeled everything I could into sprinting and… I don’t know. One second the cliffs seemed really far away and Sandor was right behind me, and the next I was at the cliff’s edge and Sandor was too far back to do anything except shout a bunch of threats as I jumped.”