“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Forkle said, even though Sophie was ready to snatch it and tear it open. “Perhaps this will prove that you need not resort to such drastic measures, should you ever seek my help in the future.”
He stepped closer, and Marella flinched. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No!” Marella straightened in her chair. “I was just wondering if it will . . . um . . . hurt?”
“Having an ability triggered can be a strange sensation—but not an unpleasant one. It’s also important to keep in mind that hardly anyone manifests immediately. It will only take me a few moments to send mental energy into the portions of your brain where abilities develop—but you might not notice a change for several hours or days. Or your mind may still not be ready.”
“Is there a way to specifically trigger empathy?” Marella asked.
“No. Our abilities stem from our genetics. Whatever you will or won’t be has already been decided—and might I add that oftentimes nature is far smarter than we are. We may want a certain ability, only to discover that what we manifest is far better suited.”
“That’d be easier to believe if it weren’t coming from the guy who handpicked a billion abilities for Sophie,” Marella mumbled.
“As I said, Miss Foster is a special case—though for the record, I did let her genetics guide me. Not every ability she has is one I would’ve chosen.”
“Which ones aren’t?” Sophie asked. “Besides teleporting?”
“That’s irrelevant information,” Mr. Forkle told her. “They’re a part of you either way.”
“Does she have abilities she hasn’t manifested?” Dex asked.
“Let’s not get sidetracked,” Mr. Forkle said. “Are you ready now, Miss Redek?”
Marella took a deep breath before she nodded.
“Very well. Hold still.” Mr. Forkle reached for her face, pressing two fingers against each of her temples as he closed his eyes. “I’ll start in three . . . two . . . one.”
“Whoa—you were right about it being strange,” Marella said, scratching the top of her head. “It’s super tingly—and it keeps getting warmer.”
“Try to clear your mind,” Mr. Forkle told her. “It’s best not to focus on the process. I’m trying to trigger your instinct, not your active mind.”
“Right,” Marella said. “Sorry.”
The seconds ticked by and Sophie found herself holding her breath, wishing with everything she had for Marella to manifest. Like Stina had said, even if Marella didn’t get the ability she wanted, it would help her so much just knowing the issue was settled.
“One last push,” Mr. Forkle said, scrunching his brow.
Marella gripped the arms of her chair and let out a tiny squeak before Mr. Forkle stumbled back and leaned against the desk. A sheen of sweat glistened across his face, and his breathing sounded like he’d just run up ten flights of stairs.
“Whoa, it’s all spinny and flippy in my head right now,” Marella mumbled.
“I’m not surprised. I gave you every bit of mental energy I could spare,” Mr. Forkle told her. “I’ll leap you home as soon as your head clears—and then you need to rest. Let me know when you feel ready.”
“I might need a few minutes,” Marella warned, waving her fingers in front of her eyes like her vision had blurred.
“So can we open the envelope now?” Fitz asked, already reaching for it.
“Up to you,” Marella said. “Oh, but I should probably explain.” She swallowed hard, rubbing her temples as she said, “I asked my mom why she’d told Cyrah she needed to be more careful, and she told me it was because Cyrah was messing with things she didn’t understand. So I asked her what that meant and she got up and walked away. I figured she was done with the conversation, but—whoa, it’s really spinny right now. Hang on.”
Marella leaned her head between her knees. “Think this is a sign that it’s working?”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Mr. Forkle told her.
She nodded carefully. “Anyway, my mom came back down and gave me the thing I put in that envelope—but only after I promised her I’d never try to use it. She told me she found it in Cyrah’s stall. It doesn’t look dangerous to me, but maybe I just don’t know what it is.”
The four friends huddled close as Fitz tore open the envelope and poured the single item into his clammy palm.
A smooth, oval starstone.
And when Fitz held it up to the light, it flashed blue.
SIXTY-FOUR
WE NEED TO find out where it takes us,” Sophie said, pointing to the blue beam of light that the starstone cast on the floor.
Right on cue, the door burst open and all four bodyguards rushed in, shouting the many reasons none of them would be going anywhere.
“Wow, is this how it always is for you guys?” Marella asked, rubbing her forehead.
“Pretty much.” Sophie raised her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know you don’t want us to do this. But starstones remember the last place they’ve been, so we have to find out where this one goes. And since goblins can’t light leap without elves, some of us are going to have to go. So how about we pick a small group—two elves, two goblins—and make a quick leap? We can keep our crystals right in our hands, that way we’re ready to leap away the second we re-form if there’s any trouble. And I’m sure Alden and Della have some crystals we can use to make sure we end up back here and everyone knows we’re safe.”
“Of course,” Della said, blinking into sight on the far side of the room—making Sophie wonder how long she’d been eavesdropping.
The goblins debated a couple of minutes more, and eventually admitted that Sophie’s argument was solid. Which brought them to the bigger question.
“How do we decide who goes?” Fitz asked.
Of course everyone nominated themselves—and the adults did their usual adult thing and tried to claim it should be them instead of “children.” Round and round it went until Grizel slipped her fingers in the corners of her mouth and destroyed everyone’s eardrums with a high-pitched whistle.
“If anyone tries to start another shouting match, I will do that again,” she warned. “And I won’t stop until everyone has a migraine. So let’s try logic instead, shall we? We already agreed that two goblins will be part of the mission—and of the four of us, those ranked the highest are Sandor and myself. And since neither of us can separate from our charges—and we all know there’s no way Sophie’s not going to be a part of this—that means we’ll be bringing Sophie and Fitz, and they will stand behind us and do exactly what we say. We go. We look. We leave. It’ll be five minutes, tops.”
“Works for me,” Fitz said, grinning at Biana when she pouted.
“Wow,” Marella said. “I’ve never seen people fight because they all want to do the crazy, dangerous thing.”
“Welcome to my world,” Sophie told her. “Still mad at me for not dragging you into it?”
Marella shook her head. “Starting to think I’m not cut out. You’re really going to blindly follow a random beam of light, knowing full well it could leap you into a room full of killers?”
“It’s not even the scariest thing we’ve done,” Fitz told her.
Mr. Forkle sighed. “I should go with you. There can just as easily be five to the group, instead of four.”
“If we go with that slippery reasoning, there can just as easily be six or seven or eight,” Grizel argued. “But the smaller the group, the faster and more discreet we’ll be. Besides, you’re looking a little wobbly.”
She was right—the color still hadn’t returned to Mr. Forkle’s features.
“And you’re supposed to be helping Marella home,” Sophie reminded him. “And maybe—if Caprise is up to it—you could ask her some follow-up questions.”
“My mom is having another kinda-okay day,” Marella admitted. “She might be up to talking for a few minutes.”
Mr. Forkle looked anything but thrilled with this plan, but seemed to swallo
w back his protests. “Very well. Make sure you leave the starstone here.” He held out his hand, waiting for Sophie to pass it over. “You can just as easily step in to a path created by someone staying here, and that way we have a way to find you if we need to.”
“They also have their panic switches,” Dex reminded everyone.
Sandor unsheathed his sword. “We won’t need them.”
Grizel drew her weapon as well, with an especially impressive flourish.
Della gathered Fitz and Sophie into a hug, promising that she and Alden would be waiting for them at Everglen’s gates. Biana joined in the embrace, pulling Dex along with her.
“Wow,” Marella mumbled. “You guys are huggers.”
“We’ll be fine,” Sophie said as she pulled away—though her voice was slightly scratchier than she wanted it to be.
Fitz reached for her hand, and Sandor and Grizel completed the circle as Mr. Forkle created the starstone’s dim path. They each took a second to steady their nerves before together, they let the starstone’s blue glow carry them away.
IT WASN’T THE COLDEST LEAP Sophie had ever experienced. But it felt strangely turbulent, like the light was part of a windstorm whipping them around, trying to send them scattering. She rallied her concentration and wrapped it tighter around Sandor and Grizel, refusing to lose a single particle as the world rushed back and they reformed in . . .
. . . a bedroom.
A very fancy bedroom.
Everything was velvet and silk in shades of red and black, with a bed big enough to sleep ten people.
“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Fitz whispered as Sandor and Grizel sniffed the air.
“Think it’s Fintan’s room?” Sophie asked, staring at the twinkling balefire chandelier that cascaded from the ceiling. “It wouldn’t be Brant’s—he can’t stand to be around kindling.”
“No idea,” Fitz said. “I’m just glad it’s empty.”
The bed wasn’t made, and a lump under the blankets caught Sophie’s attention. She tiptoed over and peeled back the covers and found . . .
“Mrs. Stinkbottom?”
The fluffy stuffed gulon stared back at her with its glassy eyes.
“So is this Keefe’s room?” Fitz asked. “I thought he didn’t take Mrs. Stinkbottom with him.”
“He didn’t,” Sophie mumbled. “So maybe . . .”
She wandered to the wall of windows and peeled back one of the curtains. Far below she could see a stark courtyard with an iron arch over the main pathway.
“We’re not in a Neverseen hideout,” she whispered. “We’re in . . . Candleshade.”
Her brain was still figuring out what to do with the idea of Lord Cassius cuddling with Keefe’s favorite stuffed animal, when Fitz connected all the dots to the much more disturbing implication.
“This proves Cyrah made the starstone in Lady Gisela’s hairpin, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It’s worse than that,” Sophie said, taking a moment to add her dread to the knot of emotions she’d been rebuilding.
She glanced around the room, making sure Lord Cassius wasn’t around to hear her before she whispered, “I think it proves for sure that Lady Gisela killed her.”
SIXTY-FIVE
I HAVE TO tell you something, Sophie transmitted, rubbing the growing tangle under her ribs as she pushed the call out into the night.
Fitz tightened his hold on her hand, snapping their thumb rings together.
Once she’d realized they had to tell Keefe about his mom, she’d asked if she could stay the night at Everglen so she wouldn’t be alone. Fitz would be eavesdropping on the conversation, helping her gauge Keefe’s reaction—that way she wouldn’t be the only one deciding if he’d reached a danger zone of guilt and recklessness.
Sandor hadn’t been thrilled with the sleepover arrangement, since he needed to return to Grady and Edaline in Gildingham. But Grizel had teased him into trusting her to protect both of their charges. If Sophie had known a girlfriend was all it took to get Sandor to relax a little, she would’ve tried fixing him up months ago.
“Has he said anything yet?” Biana asked, blinking in and out of sight as she wandered Everglen’s upstairs guest bedroom.
Sophie had stayed in the cozy-yet-elegant room several times since she’d moved to the Lost Cities, and it always seemed to happen when things got hard.
“What do we do if he doesn’t respond?” Dex asked.
“Wait until morning and try again,” Sophie mumbled, knowing it would mean a long, sleepless night—though sleep was a lost cause anyway. She hadn’t realized how many hopes she’d rested on the slim excuses Mr. Forkle had given for why Lady Gisela might not be Cyrah’s murderer, until they’d been ripped away.
Is this going to be another one of those nights where you spend the whole time yelling at me to come home? Keefe asked, making her sit up straighter as his thoughts filled her head. Because as much as I love it when you get all feisty on me, now’s really not a good time.
Why? Are you with other people? Sophie asked.
Nope. But I’m working on something that’s kinda time-pressed. And no, I can’t tell you what it is. I don’t want to get your hopes up until I know for sure if this is going to work. So let’s save the lecture for tomorrow.
It’s not a lecture, she transmitted. It’s . . .
Her hands shook, and Biana and Dex scooted closer, offering support.
Hmm, Keefe said. This sounds serious.
It is. I’m really scared it’s going to be too much. But I don’t think you’d want me to keep it secret, so I don’t know what to do.
I take it this means you know about my mom, Keefe thought quietly.
Sophie’s and Fitz’s eyebrows shot up. You know? she asked.
His thoughts felt a little fidgety as he told her, Yeah. Fintan told me a couple of days ago. I didn’t mention it because you’ve been so mad at me. Plus, I was still trying to figure out how I feel about it.
How do you feel about it? Sophie asked.
I still don’t really know. I smashed a few things—and that felt good. And I did a little sulking. But the thing is, it doesn’t actually change anything. I was already done with her long before this.
I guess . . . , Sophie thought, studying Fitz’s expression.
He looked as wary as she felt.
Could Keefe truly be this calm? Or was he a ticking time bomb?
So, she said, scooting away from Dex and Biana, who were elbowing her and Fitz, wanting updates on what was happening. Are you okay with me telling Wylie about this? I promised I’d keep him updated, but I’ll wait if you aren’t ready to have him know.
Why did Wylie ask for updates about my mom?
He didn’t. He asked for updates about his mom.
So what does my mom have to do with his mom?
Sophie frowned. Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about?
I . . . don’t know anymore.
Sourness pooled in her stomach. What exactly did Fintan tell you about your mom?
Why don’t you tell me what you were going to say first?
Fitz squeezed her hand for support as Sophie told Keefe everything they knew about the starstone Marella gave them, and where her mother had found it, and how it had leaped straight into his parents’ bedroom. She even told him about his dad sleeping with Mrs. Stinkbottom at night. And each new fact rumbled around his brain like a thunderstorm.
So she killed her, Keefe said. His mental voice was flat. His mind gray, like the storm was taking over.
It looks that way, Sophie admitted. But technically we still don’t—
Forget it, Foster. You don’t have to make pretend excuses. We both know there’s no way it’s a coincidence that someone found a super-rare starstone leaping straight to my parents’ bedroom at the place where someone died—especially since Gethen knew something about it. And it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s . . . whatever. I’m over it.
No you’re not, she pressed.
N
o. But I can’t deal with it right now. I’d rather focus on destroying everything she’s built, piece by piece.
An understandable goal. Also a super-reckless one. And proof that the only way they’d ever get Keefe to come home would be to drag him there, kicking and screaming.
So, was that it? he asked. Because I really do need to concentrate.
Sophie was about to let him go when she realized he’d yet to clear up the misunderstanding. What did you think I was going to tell you about your mom?
His mind thundered again, darkening the space between them. I thought you were going to tell me that no one knows where she is anymore. Dimitar went to check on her at the prison, and she’d escaped.
SIXTY-SIX
I’M ASSUMING NO one knows how she escaped, or if someone helped her,” Mr. Forkle said, watching a stringy-looking creature floating in the dimly lit aquarium. Alden had been kind enough to loan them his office again to talk privately.
Mr. Forkle had been at the Redeks’ house when Sophie hailed him with the latest news—resting after giving Marella a second burst of mental energy, since she still hadn’t manifested.
“Who would help her?” Sophie asked.
The Neverseen were the ones who’d locked Lady Gisela away, and there weren’t exactly a lot of other people in the Lost Cities who knew how to pull off an ogre-prison break.
“Has anyone been keeping an eye on Keefe’s dad these last few weeks?” Fitz asked.
“You think Lord Cassius pulled this off?” Biana countered.
“I don’t know. He’s not really a get-his-hands-dirty kind of guy,” Fitz said, which was a tremendous understatement, “but he did suggest a prison break when we talked to him. Plus . . . she’s his wife. Is it so hard to believe he might try to save her?”
“Trying isn’t the same as succeeding,” Biana argued. “Am I really the only one who thinks it sounds impossible?”
“The implausibility of a theory rarely negates its possibility,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Especially since Lord Cassius is quite capable of securing allies. I’ll have our Technopath dig into his registry records and see if he can shake out anything interesting.”
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