Ro whistled. “What do you know? For a moment, I actually like Captain Perfectpants.”
“Good, you can be his bodyguard,” Keefe grumbled, well aware of how sulky he sounded.
But it was super annoying when people made valid points when he’d rather be mad at them.
Plus, he was now getting slammed with sour waves of his least favorite emotion.
“I really don’t want your pity,” he warned, squeezing his blankets so hard he could feel the fibers in the fabric stretching.
Elwin plopped down on the cot next to him. “Good. Because you’re not going to get it.”
Keefe snorted. “Uh, hate to break it to you, Dr. Pity-Party, but—like Fitz just told you—I know you’re lying.”
“You sure what you’re picking up is pity?” Elwin countered as Keefe fanned the air. “Because from what I’ve heard, pity can feel a whole lot like empathy—and apparently empathy is an emotion a lot of Empaths struggle to distinguish. Don’t ask me why—maybe the name throws you guys off? Either way, I can’t speak for Fitz and Ro. But for me”—he held out his hand—“I think you should check your reading.”
Keefe glared at Elwin’s fingers, waiting for him to give up. But Elwin just sat there, raising one eyebrow until Keefe finally swiped his thumb across Elwin’s pinky.
“Focus,” Elwin said when Keefe doubled over. “Take a deep breath if you need it.”
Keefe closed his eyes and inhaled, struggling to sort through the emotions battering his senses.
He’d never felt a reading so strongly—not even while Sophie was enhancing him.
But as his breathing steadied and his mind sharpened, he realized Elwin was right.
There was no pity.
Only worry, and frustration, and concern, and sadness, and anger, and determination, and lots of other things that twisted together into something that felt… warm.
Elwin cared.
“I think you’re starting to get it,” Elwin said, waiting for Keefe to look at him before he added, “I understand why you’re trying to push everyone away. You’ve had so many people let you down that it’s hard for you to trust anybody. But I’m on your side, Keefe. No matter what happens. And I promise, I’ll never give you any judgment or pity. I’m just here to help you through this, so will you please let me? We can even come up with one of those names you’re always giving things. Team Sencen-Heslege?”
“Huh—I never knew your last name,” Fitz mumbled.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Elwin told him, before turning back to Keefe. “So, what do you say? Team Sencen-Heslege for the win? Or maybe Team Troublemaker and the Worrying Doctor?”
“Oh! Team Funkyhair and Funkyclothes!” Ro suggested, pointing to the krakens covering Elwin’s sleeves.
“Hey, don’t knock my special tunics!” Elwin told her. “I’m a trendsetter! In fact, I think Keefe and I should get matching outfits as our team uniform. Maybe gulons—or are you still trying to pretend you had nothing to do with that?” He frowned when Keefe didn’t smile. “Come on, Keefe. Stop overthinking this. The more you sink into your head, the more you’re going to keep missing important stuff. Like, oh… I don’t know… how about the fact that what’s going on with your empathy sure sounds a lot like what happens when everyone first manifests?”
Keefe sat up taller.
“Ha, didn’t think about that, did you?” Elwin asked.
No.
He definitely hadn’t.
And Elwin was right.
This was exactly how he’d felt when he’d manifested as an Empath.
Well, maybe not exactly—but it was close enough.
Special abilities were always disorienting in the beginning.
It was normal to be overwhelmed.
In fact, when his empathy first kicked in, he’d ended up laughing and crying at the same time—and he’d gotten majorly queasy that night. And sure, the nausea was partly because he suddenly had proof of how little his parents cared about him—but it was also because being an Empath is rough sometimes.
“You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?” Elwin asked.
He absolutely was.
He also wasn’t sure if he wanted to kick himself for being so dense, or wrap Elwin up in a giant bear hug. But he settled for collapsing back onto his pillows, shaking with so much laughter that it was a little tough to breathe.
“Um… I think it might be time to give our boy a sedative,” Ro noted.
“No, I’m fine,” Keefe choked out—meaning it for the first time. “It’s just… Don’t you realize what this means? My mom almost killed me, and did painful experiments on herself and my dad, and took Bangs Boy prisoner, and made a really bad deal with King Enki—and who knows what other ridiculous stuff she did—all so she could make me manifest as an Empath all over again! It’s like… the most epic fail of all epic fails!”
Another round of laughter took over, and he curled his knees into his chest as relieved tears streamed down his cheeks.
His mom hadn’t changed him!
All he needed was a couple of days for his empathy to settle down and then he’d be back to his old self again!
Or that’s what he’d started to believe—until Fitz had to go and prove that he was the worst best friend in the history of best friends by asking, “Okay, but… what about the mimicking?”
“Mimicking?” Elwin repeated as Keefe tried to calculate how many times he could smack the teal-eyed Wonderboy with his pillow before Elwin stopped him.
He should’ve just grabbed the pillow and started whomping, because then he could’ve stopped Fitz from adding, “That’s why Keefe got so pale after he impersonated my voice. He thought it felt like he’d tapped into some sort of deeper instinct—which sounds like mimicking, doesn’t it? And his mom is a Polyglot. And Polyglots usually have more than one ability, so…”
Keefe went back to strangling his blankets. “Might as well go ahead and say it, Fitzy, since you clearly already believe it.”
Fitz kicked his toe into the side of his boot. “Even if I’m right, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. So you’re a Polyglot and an Empath? That—”
“You are?” a new voice interrupted.
A beautiful voice.
Keefe’s favorite voice—even when it was all squeaky with worry.
But he’d barely caught a glimpse of a pair of gold-flecked brown eyes before he called out, “ ’Bout time you got here, Foster!” before an emotional storm crashed against his senses.
Panic and confusion and joy and fear and frustration—plus a billion other things Keefe couldn’t translate because it was way too much for his poor pounding brain.
“Uh, you should probably step back, Sophie,” Fitz warned. “I think your emotions are too strong for him.”
“No, they’re not!” Keefe argued—and wow, did his voice sound strained. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Nothing’s wrong. I swear, I’m fine.”
“He keeps saying that,” Fitz told her—because he was begging for a face-punch. And if the world hadn’t gotten so spinny, Keefe might’ve given it to him when Fitz added, “But Keefe’s been picking up all of our emotions without even trying. And he’s always been able to do that with you, so I think you’re overwhelming him right now.”
“Okay, I’m done liking Captain Perfectpants,” Ro announced.
Keefe was right there with her—which was probably why he blurted out, “Uh, for the record, most of the emotions are coming from you, Fitzy. You wouldn’t happen to have some unresolved feelings for anyone in this room, would you?”
Agonizing silence followed—along with enough misery to make the room blurry. All Keefe could see were splotches of color, and he closed his eyes and reached up to rub his temples, trying to think of something to fix the mess he’d just made—but that only made the dizziness worse.
Elwin coughed. “Well. I think maybe visiting hours should—”
“No,” Keefe interrupted, turning towar
d the blobby shape where Elwin had been sitting a few seconds earlier. “It’s okay. My senses just… need to adjust. Plus, I never took anything for the headache and nausea. I should have.”
“Yes, you should,” Elwin agreed, leaning in to whisper, “Guess Ro was right about what we needed to get you to cooperate—or who we needed.”
Keefe felt his cheeks burn.
He wanted to snap back with some sort of clever denial, but witty banter was way too much for his spinning brain. So he settled for a shrug as Elwin’s blurry shape moved toward the colorful shelves of elixirs, and the sound of glass vials plinking against each other echoed through the awkwardness.
If Fitz’s grumpy resentment had been the only emotion churning around the room, Keefe would’ve let him stand there and stew in it—maybe even made another joke to amp it up. But Foster’s feelings were such a brutal mix of hurt, heartache, and humiliation that he had to mumble, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant—”
“I think it’s best if I don’t let you finish that sentence,” Ro jumped in. “The probability of you making things worse is muuuuuuuuuch too high. And since I’m being more helpful than you deserve, I’ll also add that now might be a good time for you to tell us how you’re feeling—and spoiler alert: ‘Fine’ is not the correct answer.”
Keefe rolled his eyes. “Okay, how about this? My senses are a little overloaded—but it’s definitely not anyone’s fault.”
“It got worse once I was here, though, right?” Sophie asked, sounding farther away.
Keefe followed her voice to a blurry blond shape lurking in the doorway, along with a gray blob that was probably Sandor. “It’s not you, Foster. Trust me. The dizziness isn’t getting any better with you standing way over there.”
Which was true!
And supergood news—unless it meant she was still too close…
“I just need medicine,” he insisted. “Elwin to the rescue!”
Too bad the first elixir Elwin gave him only succeeded in making him gag. And the sickeningly sweet one after that actually made his headache worse.
But then Elwin gave him a vial filled with something sour that felt strangely cold when it hit his tongue, and the brain-pounding faded to a soft pulse as the room sharpened into focus.
Elwin followed that with a bubbly elixir that helped Keefe’s insides stop all the backflipping.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Elwin said, flashing lavender light around Keefe’s head. “And you’re probably right about needing to eat something. Think you can take down three squelchberries?”
He handed Keefe three purplish, reddish, fuzzy things that kind of looked like dead caterpillars, and Keefe’s stomach tightened—but he shoved them into his mouth and…
“Guess I should’ve warned you not to do that,” Elwin said as the evil fruits melted into an earthy-tasting slime that glued Keefe’s jaw shut. “Sorry, I thought you were familiar with squelchberries. They have a whole meal’s worth of nutrients in each bite—but they have to be eaten one at a time, otherwise there’s too much juice.”
“I wouldn’t call this juice,” Keefe said—or that’s what he tried to say. With his teeth stuck together it sounded like “Hai-wunnit-hall-ish-oosh.”
“Okay, I’m going to need about a thousand of those,” Ro told Elwin.
“Me too!” Keefe added, but it came out like “Hee-oo!”
Elwin laughed. “I almost want to give you guys a bag and see what kind of chaos ensues. But I’m guessing I’d end up regretting that. And thankfully there’s an easy fix. Tilt your head back, Keefe, and try to open your mouth as much you can.”
Keefe did as he was told—though the Sticky Juice of Doom forced some strange combination of grinding teeth and fish lips. And when Elwin tried to pour in a little Youth, it mostly splattered Keefe’s face.
“This may be the greatest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ro informed everyone. “Can we try dunking his head next?”
“I’d be happy to help,” Sandor volunteered in his strange, squeaky voice.
“I’m down,” Fitz agreed.
“I’m just glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t know everything about all the weird plants and foods here,” Sophie added quietly—which was why she was Keefe’s favorite.
“Hang in there, Keefe,” Elwin said, drenching Keefe even worse than the first time. But a tiny bit seeped through the cracks in his teeth, making the gooey glue start to loosen. “A little more should do the trick.”
He soaked Keefe again, and that time the cool water washed away enough goo to let Keefe wrench his jaw open.
“Wait!” Elwin warned when Keefe started to close his mouth. “You have to rinse the rest of the juice down first, or you’ll get stuck again.”
It took four bottles of Youth before Elwin announced that the squelchberry slime was gone—and Keefe’s stomach felt like he’d swallowed the entire ocean.
Ro let out a happy sigh. “Seriously—you have to give me some of those berries.”
“Same!” Fitz flashed Keefe a wide smile, but Keefe could feel the tension lingering in the air between them.
He just didn’t have the energy to deal with it right then.
Especially since the brain pain was back with a vengeance.
“How are you feeling?” Sophie asked, and Keefe’s gaze shifted to where she stood in the doorway, looking wary and worried and…
Absolutely perfect.
Which was a dangerous thought to have around her telepathic, eavesdropping maybe-boyfriend, so he quickly added, No sign of any injuries.
“You don’t have to stay back, Foster,” he told her, scrubbing his fingers through his drenched hair, trying to bring a little life back to it. “Seriously. I’m much better now. Right, Elwin?”
Elwin snapped his fingers, wrapping orange light around Keefe’s head. “I’d prefer you to take another dose of headache medicine first.”
“Bring it on. Just no more squelchberries, okay? Let’s save those to sneak into Ro’s dinner, so we can all have a few hours of silence.”
“Um, excuse me, Berry Boy—I think you’re forgetting that I have plenty of ways to make your life miserable, even with the doc’s restrictions.” Ro shot a meaningful glance at Sophie that Keefe really hoped no one noticed.
Elwin saved him from having to reply by handing him another elixir, and Keefe sighed as the cold tingles made his skull-pounding fade.
“See, Foster?” he asked, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m all good. You don’t have to keep hiding in the doorway.”
He waved her over, and she chewed her lip for several seconds before taking the world’s tiniest step closer—which would’ve been adorable if another worry storm hadn’t slammed hard into Keefe’s senses.
She scrambled back so fast that she crashed into Sandor. “It is my fault!”
“No, it’s not what you think!” Keefe sucked in a shaky breath, trying to figure out how to explain it. “You got nervous about moving closer, right? That’s what I felt. And it’s not just you. I’m picking up everyone’s mood swings right now, without trying—even Gigantor’s, who, I gotta say, is a big old softie. Who knew our favorite goblin had so many fuzzy feelings?”
Sandor let out a squeaky growl.
But the joke mostly fell flat. And Sophie’s worry surged even stronger.
“I’m seriously okay, Foster,” Keefe promised. “It’s always this way when Empaths first manifest—ask Elwin.”
“Well, I’m not an Empath,” Elwin corrected. “But… abilities do tend to be overwhelming in the beginning. And it seems like Keefe’s empathy has been reset. I’m sure you understand better than any of us how intense that can be, right, Sophie?”
“Yeeesss,” she agreed, dragging out the word as she tugged softly on her eyelashes.
She really was the cutest worrier ever.
“I’m fine, Foster,” Keefe assured her, “and yes, Ro, I know I keep saying that. But I’m serious. In a coupl
e of days, I’ll be totally back to normal.”
Sophie flicked an eyelash away. “But… Fitz said you’re a Polyglot now.…”
Fitz at least had the decency to look uncomfortable as he mumbled, “Well… I don’t know for sure if he is. But he mimicked—”
“No, I thought I mimicked,” Keefe corrected. “That doesn’t mean I was right.”
“You realize there’s a super-easy way to settle that, don’t you?” Ro asked before Fitz could argue. “Do the pretty boy’s snooty voice again!”
Keefe snorted. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the worry storm kicked up again, thrashing against his senses so hard, it felt like a hurricane.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, struggling to focus on Sophie. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She sacrificed another eyelash before she told him, “Because… you understood Ro. And you replied back in her same language.”
Her same language?
He spun toward Ro. “You were speaking Ogreish?”
Ro nodded. “So were you. And your pronunciation was eerily perfect. Who knew you could growl like that?”
It was the perfect setup for a joke.
But Keefe couldn’t find anything funny to say.
He couldn’t find any words at all—except the ones he really didn’t want to admit.
He made himself say them anyway.
“So… I guess I’m a Polyglot, then.”
“Why is that bad?” Elwin asked as Keefe reached for his pillow and hugged it tight, wishing it was Mrs. Stinkbottom. “Your dad’s an Empath. Your mom’s a Polyglot. Now you have both of their abilities. That’s honestly the way the matchmakers wish it would work all the time!”
Keefe squeezed his pillow tighter. “Awesome, because my goal in life has always been to make the matchmakers happy. Besides, we all know I wasn’t a Polyglot yesterday—or the day before, or the day before that. And I wouldn’t be one now if my mom hadn’t attacked all of my friends, bound me to King Enki’s throne, and…”
Unlocked 8.5 (Keeper of the Lost Cities) Page 31