He shook his head, not wanting to relive the rest.
But his brain still gave him a full playback—and thanks to his photographic memory he got to witness the terror in Sophie’s eyes as she watched the freaky shadows rush toward him, and the agony on Tam’s face, and his mom’s sickening smile.
He’d told himself not to look at her, but he’d stolen one quick glance, and…
She’d looked triumphant.
Like, Yay, torturing my son is the greatest thing I’ve ever done!
And now he was going to have to face her again someday and watch her celebrate how she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
“Hey.”
Sophie’s voice sounded closer, and when Keefe followed the sound, she was standing only a few steps away.
His senses hadn’t overloaded when she moved—which should’ve been good news.
But he was too busy freaking out to care.
“Hey,” Sophie said again, closing the last of the space between them. “I know what you’re thinking—and not because I read your mind. I just… I get it, okay? I’ve been experimented on too. I know what it’s like to have unnatural abilities—how unsettling it is. And I’ve been lucky, since the Black Swan—”
“Aren’t psychotic murderers?” Keefe interrupted, twisting his pillow into a stranglehold.
“Well… yeah,” Sophie admitted. “That does make it a little easier. But I’ve also been lucky because they’ve been pretty good about reminding me of something I’m sure your mom is hoping you’ll forget.” She waited for him to look at her before she said, “You still have a choice, Keefe. Nothing your mom does will ever take that away. She can give you whatever abilities she wants, but she can’t make you use them. You’re not her puppet—you’re Keefe Sencen: the most stubborn person I know.”
Sandor snorted from the doorway. “Boy, is that the truth.”
“Tell me about it,” Ro agreed.
Keefe felt his lips twitch, like they wanted to smile.
“You should listen to your pretty little Blondie, Hunkyhair,” Ro told him. “I honestly don’t get what your mom is thinking. Like… she’s met you. She has to know there’s no way you’re ever going to do what she wants you to. So why give you more elf-y powers to use against her?”
“And why a Polyglot?” Fitz added. “It’s not exactly the most useful talent. Not that it’s bad or anything,” he added, glancing sheepishly at Sophie—which normally would’ve given Keefe an abundance of Fitzphie Fail jokes.
But he’d been wondering the same thing.
What did his mom think he was going to do for her now that he was a Polyglot?
Translate stuff?
Mimic voices?
She could already do all of that herself!
“Well… maybe this is proof that your mom’s plan isn’t very good,” Sophie suggested.
“Yeah, most of the Neverseen’s plans don’t make a whole lot of sense,” Fitz reminded him.
“And yet, they keep beating us,” Keefe muttered, tossing his pillow aside, “usually because we can’t figure out what they want until it’s too late. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand here we are again.”
“Wow, that’s quite a pity party you’re throwing for yourself,” Ro told him.
“Uh, if anyone’s heaping on any pity, it’s you guys.” Keefe fanned the air, which felt so thick and sour it made him want to vomit.
“I don’t think your senses are as good as you think they are,” Sophie said, offering him her hand, just like Elwin had earlier. “You’re not getting any pity from me. Go ahead and check.”
Keefe stared at her gloved fingers, very aware that holding her hand in front of the Fitzster was a terrible idea—even if it was just to take a reading.
But… he couldn’t leave her hanging there, could he?
And he was curious about what she was feeling.
So he reached up and…
There were no words.
Keefe had never stood directly under a waterfall before, but he was pretty sure he knew what it felt like now as every possible emotion crashed against his senses with the force of a million stampeding mastodons.
He couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
Even after he yanked his hand back—assuming he actually did that.
He couldn’t tell.
He couldn’t feel his body anymore.
All he could feel was fear and fury and panic and pain and hate and horror and sadness and regret and things he didn’t have words for—pounding and stretching and twisting and tearing and shredding.
His lungs screamed for air, and his brain screamed for help, and the rest of him just screamed the only word—the only thought—left in his exploding head.
The plea was fire and ice on his tongue, searing hot and cold as he ordered his senses to do the only thing that would save him.
“NUMB!”
And it worked.
The roaring faded.
The emotions vanished.
The nausea and headache eased.
And his starved lungs sucked in a trembling, grateful breath.
Then another.
And another.
His pulse followed the same steady rhythm, and his vision sharpened into focus, and he searched the room, realizing he was now surrounded by…
… blank stares.
Sophie.
Fitz.
Elwin.
Even Ro and Sandor.
They just stood there, slack-jawed and unblinking.
And he realized.
He wasn’t numb.
Everybody else was.
- THREE - Sophie
SOPHIE HAD BEEN DRUGGED BEFORE.
Lost days drifting in and out of a blurry haze.
But she’d never experienced anything like this.
There were no words to describe it.
No metaphors or comparisons.
Everything was just…
Blank.
She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears—see her chest rise and fall with each breath.
But she couldn’t feel it.
Nor could she register any trace of the panic her brain kept telling her she should be experiencing.
She was empty.
She was nothing.
Life had become a memory.
All that remained was existence.
She realized her arms were moving and glanced down, watching a pair of hands jostle her wrists. The jarring motion should’ve startled her, but she couldn’t feel that, either. She also couldn’t tell when she lost her balance. The only clue was the ground rushing toward her—and some tiny part of her wanted to scream. But she didn’t have the energy.
She couldn’t even brace for the crash.
But the hands holding her wrists pulled her back up and steadied her as a familiar voice echoed in her ears.
“Sophie.”
“Sophie!”
“SOPHIE!”
She didn’t know how to answer.
Even when the calls turned to pleas.
Then commands.
“WAKE UP!”
“RELAX!”
“UNDO!”
Nothing made any difference.
“Please,” the voice begged. “Please don’t be numb anymore.”
Still no change.
Time slowed to a crawl and Sophie tried to count her breaths. But she kept losing track after three or four.
She’d just started over again when the voice spoke, sounding sharper—darker—as it told her, “FEEL!”
Then it was like being dumped into a pool of hot and cold water.
Too many sensations.
Too many emotions.
All surging and swirling and churning—making her head spin and her heart race and her knees collapse again.
The hands holding on to her wrists came to her rescue once more as thumps and crashes thudded all around her. She tried to follow the sounds, but her brain and eyes weren’t ready to focus.
She needed to start smaller.
She concentrated on that small point of contact—the gentle pressure of fingers against her skin, sharing their strength while her own failed her.
She knew those hands.
And she knew the voice they belonged to.
“Keefe?” she whispered as her vision slowly sharpened.
Her eyes traced the line of his arms up past his shoulders, to his pale, terrified face, and he nodded and burst into tears—and seeing his raw, unrestrained emotion unlocked something deep inside Sophie, flooding her with a softer, gentler rush that made her feel like her again.
A sob crawled up her throat, and she didn’t try to swallow it down.
She’d never try to bury her emotions again.
They were far too precious.
“Keefe,” she repeated, scrambling to grab his hand when he tried to back away. “What happened?”
He shook his head again, pulling free from her grasp.
“Whatever that was, it wasn’t your fault,” she promised as he sank onto his cot and dragged the covers up over his head.
“Yes, it was,” a new voice declared—a voice Sophie didn’t hear very often. And when she did, it usually meant problems.
She spun toward the sound and there was Councillor Alina, standing in the doorway wearing a ridiculously fancy purple gown, staring with narrowed eyes at the Keefe lump hiding under his blanket.
Sophie was more interested in the frilly pink figure beside her.
“You told the Council that Keefe was awake?” she asked Oralie, not bothering to hide her irritation.
She hadn’t trusted Oralie much, but she’d thought after Oralie’s we have to start working together speech, it was at least safe to explain why she had to rush back to the Healing Center.
Apparently not.
“Of course she told us,” Alina said, adjusting her peridot circlet. “I realize this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but we’re your leaders. We expect to be apprised of all significant developments. And it’s a good thing Oralie hailed me, because this is an even bigger disaster than I feared.”
Oralie sighed. “There’s no need to be so dramatic, Alina.”
“Oh, really?” Alina pointed at something behind Sophie. “Then why do I see four unconscious bodies on the floor?”
“Bodies?” Sophie repeated, wheeling around and gasping. “Fitz!”
He was a tangle of arms and legs.
So was Elwin.
And Ro.
And Sandor—though he was flat on his stomach, as if he’d leaped to get to her and ended up face-planting instead.
“We’re not unconscious,” Elwin mumbled, his voice groggy and his glasses askew as he carefully sat up. “We’re just moving a little slow, from… everything. Plus, this floor is definitely not as soft as I wanted it to be.”
“No, it’s not,” Fitz agreed, wincing as he rose to his knees. He reached up to rub his left shoulder, but Sophie didn’t see any other injuries.
Sandor seemed okay too, looking more dazed than hurt as he shakily rose to his feet.
Sophie wanted to kick herself for forgetting about them as she watched Elwin hand Fitz a vial of something that was probably a painkiller—and she felt even worse when she realized that Keefe had saved her from falling, but hadn’t been able to help anyone else.
“Normally I’d give you some ‘smooth points’ for taking care of your pretty little Blondie and leaving Captain Perfectpants to fend for himself,” Ro told Keefe as she stood and stretched. “But next time, how about a little help for the person who knows a hundred different ways to kill you?”
The Keefe lump under the blanket didn’t respond.
“Shouldn’t there be another bodyguard here?” Alina asked. “The female assigned to Fitz?”
“Grizel is doing a perimeter sweep,” Sandor told her.
Sophie had bigger questions. “Does anyone know what happened?”
“No. But I’m guessing this is why Mommy Dearest gave her little Legacy Boy that weird ability that starts with a P,” Ro muttered. “What’s it again? A Polystar?”
“What I saw had nothing to do with being a Polyglot,” Councillor Alina argued. “Polyglots simply have a capacity for language and intonation. They can’t affect emotion.”
“Does that mean Keefe’s a Beguiler?” Fitz asked, and Sophie’s mouth turned sour.
She didn’t know much about the ability—only that Councillor Alina was one, and that Beguilers could use their voice to affect what people were feeling.
But the thought of Keefe being able to do something like that sounded… complicated.
Alina shook her head. “Beguiling is about suggestion—persuasion. Planting thoughts in someone’s mind to guide them to a desired response, preferably without them even realizing what you’re doing. That’s not what happened here.”
“How much did you see?” Elwin asked, straightening his glasses as he stood.
“Not much,” Oralie told him.
“But enough,” Alina insisted. “We arrived right before he gave the command that brought you all out of whatever strange trance he’d put you in.”
“It wasn’t a trance,” Sophie argued. “I was conscious. I just couldn’t…”
“Feel,” Fitz finished for her, turning slightly pale.
Oralie shivered. “I’ve never experienced anything like that numbness.”
“You could sense it?” Elwin asked.
Oralie nodded. “There was a strange emptiness in the air. And when he snapped you out of it, the deluge of emotion felt like it was drowning me.”
“I had to steady her,” Alina added, the silky fabric of her gown swishing as she stalked closer to Keefe’s cot. “Care to shed any further insights on the situation, Mr. Sencen?”
Keefe’s only response was to pull the blanket even tighter around his head.
“He’s scared to talk,” Fitz explained, “in case something goes wrong again.”
Alina frowned. “I’m assuming you know this from communicating with him telepathically?”
“Well, he’s mostly ignoring me,” Fitz admitted. “But that’s what he was worrying about when I checked his thoughts—and now he’s grumbling about eavesdropping Telepaths.”
Sophie couldn’t necessarily blame Keefe for that—even if part of her also wished she’d thought to reach out to him that way.
Her brain felt like it was five steps behind everybody.
“It just… doesn’t make sense,” she said quietly. “Keefe said all kinds of other stuff that didn’t have any effect on us. He was talking like normal until…” She stared at her hands.
“Did you enhance him?” Fitz asked, voicing the same question she’d been about to ask herself.
She replayed her memories. “I don’t think so. I feel like I’d know if I had. And I can control the ability now—and I’m wearing gloves as backup. Plus, Keefe was holding my wrists—not my hands—when he snapped us all out of it, so there’s no way I could’ve enhanced him for that.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Fitz dragged a hand through his hair. “Seems like you must’ve done something, though, since he was fine until…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. But he didn’t need to.
“Until I showed up,” Sophie mumbled miserably.
Her emotions had overwhelmed Keefe the moment she’d walked into the Healing Center. So… maybe the physical contact had pushed him over the edge.
“Okay, I’m definitely not an expert on your freaky elf-y abilities,” Ro jumped in, “but I don’t think it’s anything you did, Blondie.”
“Of course you don’t,” Fitz grumbled.
“Uh, because I know how to use my brain,” Ro snapped back. “I’ve watched her and Hunkyhair together more than anyone, and they always have a calming influence on each other.”
“Maybe,” Fitz conceded. “But that was before…”
Once again, he didn’t finish the sentence. And once again, he didn’t need to.
&n
bsp; Before Keefe’s mom changed him.
It was time to start acknowledging that, wasn’t it?
He was a Polyglot now.
And he could do… whatever it was that had made them all go numb.
“I think part of the problem,” Elwin said, yanking back the blanket covering Keefe’s head, “is that we don’t know what Keefe actually did, so we’re just speculating and making assumptions.”
He snapped his fingers, flashing an opalescent orb around Keefe’s entire body as Keefe rolled to his side, keeping his back to everyone.
“It was his tone,” a hushed voice said from the doorway, and Sophie turned to find a third Councillor watching them.
It took her brain a second to recognize him as Councillor Noland—one of the Councillors she rarely interacted with. His dark hair had been slicked back into a very tight ponytail, and he had the most sculpted eyebrows she’d ever seen.
His eyebrows scrunched together as he repeated, “It was his tone. Keefe’s inflection shifted when he gave the command that brought back your emotions. So it’s safe to assume he did the same when he numbed you.”
“You’re sure?” Alina asked.
Noland nodded. “I know voices.”
He did.
He was a Vociferator—another talent Sophie didn’t fully understand. All she knew was that Noland could make some painfully loud sounds when he wanted to. Which might explain why he was speaking so softly.
“So… you’re saying Keefe’s a Vociferator?” Fitz asked.
“No, I’m saying he can give his words power—which also means he can take that power away and let his words simply be words. It all depends on his tone.” He made his way to Keefe’s cot. “I understand how it feels to fear your own voice,” he whispered when Keefe didn’t turn to face him. “But hiding behind silence is not the answer. You must learn control. Restraint. Master when and how to use this ability.”
“Are you volunteering to train him?” Alina asked.
Noland shook his head. “I doubt I will be of much use. As I said, he’s not a Vociferator.”
“Okay, so… what is he?” Sophie asked.
Everyone waited for Noland’s answer—even Keefe peeked over his shoulder.
So the room filled with a collective groan when Noland told them, “Honestly, I have no idea. This is something new to me.”
Unlocked 8.5 (Keeper of the Lost Cities) Page 32