Well, he told her, I should probably get some sleep. Gotta rest up for another day of playing nice with the bad guys—and no need to tell me to be careful. I’ve got that one down.
She doubted that. “Careful” wasn’t a word that described Keefe Sencen.
Fine, she said. But before I go, I need you to promise me something.
Yes, I will call you Lady Lectures-a-Lot every time you transmit to me.
That’s definitely not what I meant.
What about Little Miss Heartbreaker?
Keefe!
Okay, fine, we’ll stick with the Mysterious Miss F. Deal?
Deal, she agreed. And can you focus for one second?
I suppose I can try. . . .
I need you to promise that if this gets too tough, you’ll walk away. No matter how close you are to what you’re trying to learn.
Edaline had once made Sophie give her a similar promise, after admitting she should’ve said the same thing to Jolie.
It’s not going to come down to that.
Then promise me anyway.
Endless seconds slipped by before he told her, Okay, fine, I promise. Now get out of my head, Miss F. I need my beauty sleep.
FIVE
YOU KIDS WOULD sleep the day away if I’d let you,” a wheezy voice grumbled, dragging Sophie out of her tangled dreams.
She rubbed the crustiness from her eyes and waited for her vision to adjust to her still-very-dark bedroom. “I thought you said dawn—and whoa. You’re back to the Forkle disguise?”
She hadn’t seen the heavyset figure standing in her doorway since the day he’d revealed his other identity. But there he was, looking wrinkled and puffy and reeking with the dirty-feet scent of ruckleberries.
Strangely, Sophie liked him better that way.
This was the face she’d known her whole life. The nosy next-door neighbor who’d kept watch over her while she’d lived among humans. The elf who’d healed her abilities after they’d been damaged by a failed light leap, and fought at her side on Mount Everest. The elf who’d driven her crazy with his riddles and secrets—but who seemed to know her better than anyone.
“As I told you before,” Mr. Forkle said, “it’s easier for me to compartmentalize my life. When I’m in the Lost Cities, I rely on my established identities. But today we’re going to the Stone House.”
The name launched sparks through Sophie’s nerves.
She’d only been to the isolated cottage twice, and neither were happy memories. One was the day they’d first brought Prentice home—when they’d discovered how severely his condition had deteriorated. And the other was when Calla had brought her there to deliver devastating news about the gnomish plague.
“You know, the last time I was there, you weren’t in Forkle mode,” she reminded him.
She probably should’ve figured out his secret identity right then. But Magnate Leto had given her some story about how the Black Swan had brought him along to help cover for Tiergan and Wylie’s visit.
Sometimes it was better if she didn’t think about how good he was at lying.
“That was for young Mr. Endal’s benefit,” Mr. Forkle told her. “He’s unaware of my other identities—and I’d prefer it stay that way for the time being.”
“Will Wylie be there today?”
“Are you hoping to avoid him?”
Seeing Wylie tended to be unpleasant—he’d spent the majority of their conversations blaming her for every horrible thing that had happened to his dad.
But their last talk hadn’t been as awkward.
“I just want to be prepared,” she said. “I’m sure he’s wondering why I haven’t healed Prentice yet.”
“Actually, Wylie came to us after his father woke, begging us not to perform the healing until we understand why Prentice slipped away. He’s terrified of undoing what little progress his father has made. So remember: You and Mr. Vacker are going there to retrieve, not heal.”
“Wait—Fitz is here?”
She scrambled to cover her frumpy pajamas and accidentally launched poor Iggy off the bed. He flapped his black batlike wings and shook his tiny blue arms as he flew to the top of her canopy and glared down at her.
“Mr. Vacker’s waiting downstairs,” Mr. Forkle said, snapping his fingers to turn on her lights, “and your imp looks like he’s plotting revenge. So I’ll leave you to get ready. But do try to hurry. I’d prefer to get out of here before sunrise.”
Sophie tried not to think about how early that meant it was—or how little she’d slept—as she stumbled out of bed and threw on a simple tunic and pants.
“You might want to consider using a hairbrush,” Sandor warned as she passed him on her way to the stairs.
Sophie rarely gave much thought to her appearance, but Sandor’s twitching smile sent her rushing to the nearest mirror.
A tiny face appeared in the corner and immediately burst into laughter.
“What’d you do—get zapped by a Charger?” Vertina asked, swishing her silky dark hair.
Sophie glared at the spectral mirror, wishing she could tell Grady and Edaline to get rid of the obnoxious piece of technology. But the mirror had once belonged to Jolie. And Vertina had occasionally proven herself useful.
Plus, her hair did look like the top part of a pineapple.
“You’re making it worse,” Vertina said as Sophie tried brushing out the tangles. “Go grab a box of hair pins and let me save you from this impending disaster.”
Sophie was tempted to ignore her—Vertina would disappear the second she stepped out of the mirror’s range—but she let Vertina walk her through pulling her hair into some sort of sleek, twisty ponytail.
“Aren’t I a genius?” Vertina asked as Sophie tucked the final strand.
“You actually are,” Sophie begrudgingly admitted.
“Okay! Now for your makeup. Go get—”
Sophie stepped out of range, done with primping.
“Whoa,” Fitz said as she made her way down the stairs. “I didn’t recognize you for a second.”
“Bad hair day,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the end of the ponytail.
“No—it looks good,” he promised. “It really draws attention to your eyes.”
She knew Fitz probably meant it as a compliment. But she’d never gotten used to being the only brown-eyed elf.
Why couldn’t the side effect of her tweaked genes have been green eyes?
Or purple?
“You should do that more often,” Grizel said, emerging from her hiding spot in the shadows. “It’ll drive the boys wild.”
“Um, maybe.”
Attention made Sophie sweaty and fidgety. Especially attention from Fitz.
He was studying her so closely she finally had to ask, “What?”
“Just . . . checking for cuts or scratches. Making sure he didn’t hurt you.”
“You mean Keefe?”
Fitz cringed at the name. His hands also curled into fists—the knuckles turning white from the pressure.
Sophie turned to Mr. Forkle. “Can we have a minute?”
Mr. Forkle nodded and led Sandor and Grizel to the other side of the room.
Sophie motioned for Fitz to take a seat next to her on the sofa and decided it’d be easiest to talk telepathically. She gave him permission to enter her mind—he and Mr. Forkle were the only ones who could—and he effortlessly slipped past her mental blocking. Apparently she had a point of trust, and if someone transmitted the right thing, it worked kind of like a mental password. But it all happened subconsciously, so she had no idea what they said.
Okay, Sophie thought, sitting on her hands so she couldn’t tug on her eyelashes. We have to talk about Keefe. I know you don’t want to. But the more we ignore it, the more it’s going to affect our ability to work as Cognates.
All of their training focused on being open with each other. Their ultimate goal was supposed to be no secrets at all.
Are you sure it’s a good idea? Fitz asked.
We both know I say stupid stuff when I’m angry.
Are you angry? she asked. I know you are at Alvar—and I’m with you on that. But are you sure that’s what you’re feeling toward Keefe?
Uh—did he or did he not destroy part of Foxfire yesterday?
Yeah, but it wasn’t like how you’re picturing.
In his mind, Keefe looked like a proper villain, laughing as the glass rained down.
Just watch, okay? She rallied her concentration and replayed what actually happened, from the moment she stepped into Magnate Leto’s office, to the final shattering seconds. Her photographic memory painted the scenes in perfect detail, and she left nothing out.
Okay, so maybe it’s not as bad as I thought, Fitz reluctantly admitted. But I still think you should’ve Sucker Punched him as soon as he spun around in that chair.
I thought about it, Sophie admitted, tracing her finger across the wide bracelet Dex had given her to make her punches stronger. But I’m glad I heard him out.
Fitz sighed. I guess that’s why he went to you instead of me.
Does that bother you?
No.
There was a strange prickliness about the thought, though.
What would you have done if he’d left the note for you instead of me? Sophie asked.
Fitz flopped back against the pillows and stared at the cascading crystal chandelier. I have no idea.
Are you sure? Sophie pressed. I can feel the words bubbling in the back of your mind. Just let them out—I can take it.
Fitz chewed his lower lip. Fine. I . . . don’t trust Keefe. I know you want me to—and I know I probably should, since he’s my best friend and he’s been through a ton of hard stuff. But he also has a LOT in common with my brother. Shoot—he used to call Alvar his hero.
Keefe didn’t know Alvar was with the Neverseen when he said that.
Maybe not. But it still makes me sick. Did you know that Alvar went to your planting in the Wanderling Woods? After he’d drugged you and tied you up and staged the cave to make everyone think you’d drowned? Then he stood there with his hand on my shoulder and offered to let me borrow his stupid handkerchief. And later that night, he snuck back to the Neverseen’s hideout and helped them torture you.
The skin on her wrists stung, phantom pain left from the interrogation.
Brant was the one who questioned me, she reminded him quietly.
Yeah, but Alvar let it happen. He knew what they were doing. Probably heard you screaming.
He punched one of the fluffy pillows so hard, bits of feather swirled through the air.
You’re right, Sophie said as the fluff slowly settled. But that was Alvar. You can’t keep lumping him together with Keefe. Your brother is . . . I don’t even know. I don’t understand why he would turn his back on his family, or do such unimaginably awful things. But Keefe really is trying to help us. He’s in over his head, and his plan is probably full of holes, and I’m betting we’re going to have to save him before this is over—but . . . his heart is still in the right place. I have to believe that.
Fitz shook his head. How do you stay so trusting after all you’ve been through?
It’s not always easy. Her hand moved to rub the emotions tangled under her ribs. Did I ever tell you what happened with Councillor Bronte? Remember how much he used to hate me?
Yeah, I used to hear my mom and dad whispering about what they’d do if Bronte got you expelled or banished.
He tried really hard. And when the Council made him my inflicting Mentor, I was pretty sure that would do it. It got so bad that Kenric had to be there to make sure Bronte wasn’t hurting me during the lessons. But then, Bronte made me teach him how I inflict positive emotions. And the happiness I blasted into his mind caused this weird mental shutdown. I still don’t know how to explain it. But I had to pull his consciousness back, and his head was seriously one of the scariest places I’ve ever been.
She shuddered just thinking about it.
After that, I figured things would get way worse between us, she continued. But somehow Bronte ended up becoming one of my only supporters on the Council. I didn’t know what caused the change until after the whole ability restrictor nightmare. Bronte sent me a message through Magnate Leto. He told me, “It takes a special person to see darkness inside of someone and not condemn them.” But the funny thing was, I had condemned him. I’d decided he was a traitor. I’d even asked Keefe to go all Empath-lie-detector on him to see if we could find proof that he was leaking confidential information from the Council. So . . . now I try to be the person Bronte thinks I am. Which is why I’m not ready to give up on Keefe. Not yet.
I guess that makes sense. But—
I’m not trying to change how you feel. In fact, maybe it’s better this way. I’ll be the believer and you can be the skeptic and we’ll keep each other in check—but that only works if you’re honest with me and actually talk about stuff.
He sighed. There you go being all practical and wise.
Hey, one of us has to be.
He laughed at that—and reached over to give her ponytail a playful tug.
She moved to block him and their rings snapped their hands together—which would’ve been startling enough without Mr. Forkle asking, “I take it the hand-holding means you’ve worked things out?”
“I think so,” Sophie mumbled, not looking at Fitz as she pulled her palm free.
“Very good, because we really do need to get going. The window of time that we can be away is closing by the minute.”
“And you have your Imparter in case you need me?” Grady asked Sophie as he strode in from the kitchen.
Sophie showed him the square silver gadget she’d tucked safely in her pocket. Imparters were the elves’ much sleeker voice-commanded version of a videophone.
“All will be fine,” Mr. Forkle assured Grady. “We’re going to a secure location.”
Grady strangled Sophie with a hug anyway. “I keep thinking it’s going to get easier, sitting back and letting you take risks,” he told her. “But every time, I want to drag you back upstairs and barricade you in your room.”
“That makes two of us,” Sandor said. “But I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on both of them,” Grizel said. “Show them how it’s done.”
Grizel tossed her long hair—which she’d let hang loose that day—as Mr. Forkle pulled a pink pathfinder out of his cloak, making Sophie wonder how many types of leaping crystals the elves actually used. Blue went to the Forbidden Cities. Green went to the ogres. Pale yellow to the Neutral Territories. And clear to the Lost Cities. She’d also seen the Black Swan use purple crystals. But this was the first time she’d seen pale pink—and its hundreds of facets sparkled with different colors, like a diamond.
“Please tell me this isn’t going to be like leaping with the unmapped stars,” Sophie begged. She’d experienced that particular misery several times, and really didn’t have the energy to endure it again.
“No, the hint of opalescence is simply an added security measure,” Mr. Forkle assured her. “Now everyone lock hands.”
Their group formed quite a chain, with Sophie, Fitz, Mr. Forkle, Sandor, and Grizel.
“You ready for this?” Fitz asked.
“Of course she is,” Mr. Forkle answered for her. “This is what she was made for.”
SIX
PRENTICE’S NORMALLY RICH brown skin had a grayish tint, and shiny streams of sweat trickled down his forehead and soaked his tangled dreadlocks.
But he was awake.
His cloudy blue eyes kept darting blankly around the room.
Even his mumble-gurgle sounds were a huge improvement from his previous deathly silence.
Still, Sophie understood Mr. Forkle’s reasons for keeping her away.
Watching the string of drool hanging from Prentice’s lips made her want to dive into his mind and call him back to reality. He deserved to be truly awake—not strapped to a bed so that his flailing l
imbs wouldn’t send him crashing to the cold silver floor.
All in good time, Mr. Forkle transmitted. And I’m not reading your mind, in case you’re worried. I know you well enough to know that your thoughts echo mine. But we must be strong.
“Everything okay?” Fitz asked as Sophie gave Mr. Forkle a reluctant nod.
She forced a smile and tried to look anywhere but at Prentice.
The house was exactly as she remembered it. Sleek and sterile and sparse—and small. Sandor and Grizel chose to patrol the moorish grounds to escape the low ceilings.
The only pieces of furniture were the neatly tucked cot Prentice was resting on and a medicine-strewn table next to it. The rest of the space was floor-to-ceiling apothecary shelves and one narrow counter under the room’s only window, covered in an elaborate alchemy setup.
“Isn’t someone watching him?” Sophie asked, studying the beakers on the burners, which were bubbling with some sort of smoky magenta liquid.
“Of course,” a ghostly voice said from the loft hidden above.
Seconds later, Wraith’s silver cloak came swishing down the narrow corner staircase. Just his cloak—though his invisible body was clearly moving underneath the slinky fabric. He used a trick called partial vanishing—hiding his body, but not his clothes—to keep his true identity secret.
All five members of the Black Swan’s Collective had crazy nicknames to match their even-crazier disguises. So far Sophie and her friends had only learned who two of them actually were. They knew Mr. Forkle was both Magnate Leto and Sir Astin—though he’d admitted that he still had other identities they’d yet to uncover. And they knew . . .
“Granite!” Sophie said as a bizarre figure struggled up the narrow staircase from the cramped basement below. He looked like a cracked, unfinished statue come to life, thanks to the chalky indurite powder he ingested for his disguise. Sophie knew him better as Tiergan, her telepathy mentor at Foxfire—and she still couldn’t believe she’d trained with him for more than a year and never guessed he was secretly involved with the Black Swan.
“Squall already left,” Granite told Mr. Forkle. “And she won’t be able to return for our evening meeting.”
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