Unlocked 8.5 (Keeper of the Lost Cities)

by Shannon Messenger

  Let it burn, she told herself. Let the Neverseen see how it feels to scramble.

  All their plans.

  All their soporidine.

  She was destroying everything.

  And it felt good.

  “Seriously, come on,” Sandor said, coughing as he dragged Sophie away from the fire. “We have to go—now!”

  Sophie nodded, holding Tiergan’s crystal up to the light—but before she stepped into the path, she scratched a few lines in the dirt with her heel.

  It wasn’t a perfect symbol, but it kinda looked like a moonlark with spread wings.

  She hoped the mark survived the inferno.

  She wanted the Neverseen to know she did this.

  She wasn’t scared.

  She was strong.

  And she was ready to start winning.

  - FOURTEEN - KEEFE

  You can’t tell Rex!” Dex snapped—then disappeared from his Imparter’s screen, making Keefe wonder if that meant that he was too upset to talk.

  Keefe wouldn’t blame him.

  But Dex reappeared a few seconds later, mumbling, “Sorry—had to lock my door. Didn’t want to risk that anyone might hear us.”

  “Probably a good call,” Keefe told him, cringing a little.

  Just when he’d finally found a way to talk, he’d managed to ruin it—though that was a ridiculous, selfish thought to be having after the bomb he’d just dropped on poor Dex.

  Dex’s skin looked pale and sweaty, like he might hurl any second.

  “There has to be a mistake,” Keefe mumbled. “Rex can’t be…”

  He didn’t even want to repeat the word.

  “You’re sure you felt the same thing from my dad?” Dex asked. “Like… it couldn’t have been… I don’t know, that one of the elixirs got on my dad’s skin, and maybe it had some numbing ingredients in it—and that felt similar to holding Rex’s hand, but wasn’t exact?”

  Keefe sighed. “I guess it’s possible.”

  He closed his eyes and covered his ears, not letting anything distract him as he replayed both memories—focusing on each moment separately and trying to pick the sensations apart down to the tiniest detail.

  But… as much as he was dying to tell Dex, You’re right! There actually were a bunch of differences!

  He just… couldn’t.

  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that both touches had been exactly the same. He’d never felt anything like that strange emptiness before—and he hoped he’d never feel it ever again.

  You will, though, his brain reminded him. Every time you’re around someone who—

  He shook his head, refusing to finish the thought.

  But that didn’t make it any less real.

  Any less horrible.

  And when he opened his eyes, Dex looked absolutely wrecked.

  His whole body trembled, and he wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, “We seriously can’t tell Rex.”

  Keefe nodded. “I know. We won’t.”

  “It’s going to be so hard lying to him,” Dex mumbled. “He’s going to talk about manifesting all the time—especially as he gets older and starts to worry about it. But I can’t tell him! I can’t.”

  “You can’t,” Keefe agreed.

  Dex hugged himself tighter. “He was crying earlier—did I tell you that? Bex and Lex had been teasing him like they always do—and he usually doesn’t care. But this was bigger, and he got all upset and ran upstairs and slammed the door to his room. My mom was busy trying to stop Lex from burying everything we own in snow, and my dad was trying to help Bex free her feet from the floor, so I went to check on him, and I found him curled up on his bed, sobbing about how unfair it was. And I told him…” Dex swallowed hard. “I told him that it would be his turn soon enough. And… he didn’t believe me. He looked right at me and whispered, ‘What if I never manifest?’ ”

  Keefe turned away.

  Dex choked a little as he added, “I told him he was being ridiculous. I said he was only twelve, and he still had tons of time left—and that just because Bex and Lex got their abilities early didn’t mean he wouldn’t get one too. And then I said his ability would probably be way cooler than theirs and that’s why it was taking a little longer—and he sat up and asked, ‘Like a Technopath?’ And I remember thinking how weird that was, since I was actually bummed about my ability at first. But he told me, ‘Think of all the cool stuff we could build together!’ ”

  His voice broke with a sob, and Keefe had to scrub away a few tears of his own.

  He tried to think of something to say—something to fix this.

  The best he could come up with was “We could still be wrong. Just because the two feelings were the same doesn’t mean…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Dex said quietly. “That’s why we can’t tell him. Maybe once you get a little more used to the ability, you’ll realize it was just… a misunderstanding.”

  “Exactly,” Keefe agreed.

  But neither of them sounded convinced.

  Dex sniffled. “The thing is, though… even if we knew for sure… we’d still have to hide it for as long as we could. I mean… think about what it would do to him—to his life? He’d probably get expelled from Foxfire. And everyone would start treating him even worse than they already do. Gossiping about how there’s another Talentless Dizznee—they’ve all been waiting for that since the triplets were born. So once they have their confirmation, they’re going to focus all their judgment on Rex and make him feel defective and worthless and inferior—like he shouldn’t exist, and—”

  “And they’re wrong,” Keefe interrupted. “You and I both know that. So will everyone who matters.”

  Dex sniffled again. “Yeah, but we also know that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”

  Keefe sighed. “Very true.”

  Several agonizing seconds passed before Dex murmured, “And I do realize that if you’re right and Rex is… you know… then all of that is going to happen eventually, anyway. I can’t change that. But… if we don’t tell him, at least he’ll get a few more good years before he has to deal with it, right? It’s not like I’m keeping the secret for me—it’s actually going to be brutal hiding it. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to pretend to be excited when he talks about the abilities he wants—or how I’m not going to strangle Lex and Bex when they tease him about not manifesting yet. And if he ever finds out that I hid this… I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’d be grateful or furious if someone kept something like this from me. Probably a little of both. But I’d also feel super betrayed and foolish, like… You listened to me cry about how bad ability detecting was going, and you never said anything! He may even hate me for it. But… I can’t tell him. I can’t do that to him—not yet.”

  Keefe stared at his hands, wishing he had something to squeeze or throw or punch. “I’m sorry I dumped this on you,” he whispered, wondering if he should smack himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He’d kept his mouth shut for days, trying to make sure he didn’t say anything to hurt someone.

  And the first time he lets himself talk, what does he do?

  Dex would never look at his brother the same now.

  There’d always be a little bit of weirdness between them.

  All because he had to tell Dex—

  “It’s not your fault,” Dex said, like he knew what Keefe was thinking. “You didn’t do this to him. It’s just… genetics.”

  “I still didn’t have to tell you about it,” Keefe argued.

  “Well… I asked,” Dex reminded him.

  And it looked like he wished he hadn’t.

  Which made Keefe wonder what he was supposed to do the next time this happened—the next time he felt that strange emptiness and knew exactly what it meant.

  Should he tell the person?

  Hide it?

  Would he even be able to pull that off?

  Or would they know right away
that something was wrong?

  Wrong with HIM—not THEM, he clarified.

  He shouldn’t be able to know these things. And if people found out, it would turn into a serious nightmare.

  Every kid who hadn’t manifested would swarm him, wanting to find out what they were going to be.

  The parents would be even pushier.

  And what if it turned out that he actually could trigger their abilities?

  He hadn’t ruled out that possibility yet.

  In fact, it seemed pretty likely.

  Was that what his mom wanted?

  But… why?

  Why give him that ability? Since there was no way it manifested by accident.

  She definitely planned this.

  So… what was in it for her?

  Power, he realized.

  That’s always what it went back to with his mom.

  And in a world where abilities were the single most defining thing in someone’s life, having any kind of knowledge about what was going to happen to them—or making it happen for them—was the ultimate advantage.

  She could demand anything she wanted for a meeting with her talented little son, and people would pay it—swear it. And she’d get to pick and choose who got the chance.

  Or…

  Was it bigger than that?

  He hadn’t forgotten what his mom called her plan.

  The Archetype.

  An original model, that all other things were copied from or compared against.

  He’d thought that was just her obnoxious way of saying, I’m smarter than everyone else, and this is why they all need to listen to me!

  But what if the title was about him?

  What if he was her Archetype—and she was going to use him to measure everybody?

  Judge them.

  Sort them.

  Gather up the best of the best.

  Form her own superior elite class and use them to dominate everyone else.

  Was that his legacy?

  But if it was… wasn’t his power limited?

  It wasn’t like he could stop people from manifesting.

  Or… could he?

  Was there some word—some command—he could give that would strip someone’s ability away?

  He didn’t know—and he didn’t want to know.

  Keefe pulled himself into a tight little ball and buried his head.

  “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

  “Do what?” Dex asked.

  “All these freaky, unnatural things my mom did to me. I can’t control these abilities—”

  “Yes, you can,” Dex argued. “I’ve seen you do it. I mean, sure, you’re still getting the hang of it, but I’ve watched you choke back commands. And this is the first time you’ve let yourself talk in days—and only because you know it’s safe.”

  “Yeah, but what happens when my mom shows up again? She knows everyone I care about, and how to use them to manipulate me and—”

  “And you’re stronger than her,” Dex assured him. “Trust me, I know you—you’ll never give in. She could have ogres pry your jaw open, and you still wouldn’t give a command.”

  Well, there was a lovely mommy-son image.

  But Keefe wouldn’t put it past her.

  And Dex was right—he’d fight that for sure.

  But what if she did that to one of his friends?

  Or to Sophie?

  And… did it even matter?

  This new ability wouldn’t need anything drastic like that.

  All his mom would have to do is strap him to a chair and keep a Telepath around while people touched his hands. Then she’d know everything Keefe felt and what it meant—even trigger their abilities or maybe take them away—and there was nothing he’d be able to do to stop that.

  Even wearing an ability restrictor wouldn’t be enough, because his mom would just have her Technopath remove it—and probably put it on Sophie instead.

  “I can’t do this,” Keefe repeated, glancing around his room like he was hoping some magic solution would appear in the glittering walls.

  Or maybe a hole to disappear into.

  “You can,” Dex promised. “Because you won’t have to do it alone.”

  Keefe shook his head, hating that he was making this all about him after what he’d just put Dex through.

  But he had to be very clear. “You can’t tell anyone about this, Dex. No one. Not Elwin. Not the Black Swan. Not even Sophie! Especially not her.”

  “Okay,” Dex told him. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “I need you to promise,” Keefe pressed.

  Dex held his stare. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone about this new ability.”

  “About any of my new abilities,” Keefe clarified. “I know a few people already know a little bit—and I can’t change that. But just… downplay that part as much as you can—and don’t tell them anything else.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” He must’ve known that Keefe was still worried because he added, “It’s better for my brother that way.”

  “It’s better for everyone,” Keefe told him.

  Every. Single. Person would be happier and safer if no one ever found out what he could do.

  “Where are you going?” Dex asked as Keefe reached to click off the Imparter.

  “I don’t know. I just… need to think. This is so huge, you know? I need some time to process it all.”

  Dex nodded slowly. “But… you’re okay?”

  “No,” Keefe admitted. “Are you?”

  Dex sighed. “No, not really.”

  And it was those three words that sealed it.

  Dex wasn’t okay.

  And it was his fault.

  He had to make sure he never did that to anyone else.

  No matter what that meant.

  “Okay,” Keefe said, dragging a hand down his face. “I have to go, but… thanks. For all the help with this voice thing. And… for everything else.”

  “Sure.” Dex frowned and tilted his head. “You know we’re not done, right? We can figure all of this out—I’m not giving up.”

  “Neither am I,” Keefe said, his eyes burning as he turned away.

  He wasn’t giving up.

  But he couldn’t keep pretending everything would be okay, either.

  “Thanks again,” he told Dex. “And… I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Keefe bit his lip to stop himself from agreeing. “Bye, Dex.”

  He clicked the Imparter off before he could say anything else, staring at the silent silver screen.

  He knew what he needed to do.

  He just needed to make himself do it.

  Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he whipped around, cringing when he found Ro standing there studying him.

  “I feel like this is a good time to remind you that I didn’t put any earplugs in like Elwin did,” she told him. “So yeah, I heard that whole conversation. Elwin didn’t, in case you’re worrying. I even talked him into going downstairs because I know you well enough to know you’re probably planning something super melodramatic and reckless right now. So make sure you’re keeping in mind that I go where you go.”

  Keefe shook his head.

  She sighed. “Riiiiiiight, we’re back to the whole ‘not talking’ thing now that your little gadget is switched off. Fine—I’ll do the talking for both of us. I know what you’re thinking right now. You want to stop your creepy mom—make sure she doesn’t use you to make a giant mess out of Elf-y Land so it all comes crumbling down and she can swoop in, take over, and rebuild it the way she wants. And I gotta admit, I’m not happy about that plan either. So I repeat—I go where you go. It’s my job to keep you alive and out of trouble, but if you want to hunt down Mommy Dearest together, I’m game. It’s not ideal—and your pretty little Blondie is going to be so mad at us. But if you want to try to end this now, we can.”

  Keefe shook his head again, and Ro blocked him when he s
tood.

  “I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying, Hunkyhair. So let’s try this again. You’re not going anywhere without me. Seriously,” she said when he tried to shove past her. “Fight me all you want. I’m stronger than you and smarter than you. And you need me. You’re not a killer. I am.”

  She let the words hang there for a beat, probably waiting to see if he’d flinch.

  He didn’t.

  “Interesting,” she said. “I think you’re finally ready. But you’re still getting my help—whether you want it or not. I’m in control here.”

  She usually was.

  Usually, he needed tricks or schemes to get the upper hand with Ro.

  But there was nothing usual about him anymore.

  So he closed his eyes and let the fear and worry and desperation build and build, until a command burned his tongue—and he didn’t try to hold it back.

  “Sleep.”

  Instantly, Ro collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs.

  Keefe watched her snore for a second, taking in the full gravity of his power—reminding himself that this is why he had no other choice.

  Then he tore the sheets and blankets off his bed and used them to restrain her before he gathered up his meager possessions.

  His dad hadn’t sent much—just some clothes and notebooks and Mrs. Stinkbottom.

  But that was all he needed.

  Probably more than he deserved.

  Still, he slung the bag over his shoulder and checked Ro’s bedsheet bonds one more time.

  They wouldn’t hold her for long.

  But he only needed a few seconds.

  Just enough time to step into the light.

  He took one last look around the room, wondering if he should leave Elwin a note to thank him for trying so hard. But he didn’t have time.

  Plus, his brain was too busy composing the harder letter he needed to write.

  “Sorry, Elwin,” he whispered, focusing on Ro as he breathed another “sorry.”

  Then he closed his eyes and gathered the energy to tell her, “Wake.”

  She tried to jolt upright, but the bonds held her in place—and in the split second it took Keefe to raise his crystal, he watched her realize what was happening.