What was that supposed to mean? Fitz asked, and Sophie winced.
She’d forgotten she wasn’t the only one watching that memory.
No idea, Keefe told him. My mom was already working with Alvar back then, so maybe she meant all the gossip you’re dealing with now that everyone knows he’s with the Neverseen?
But she was leading the Neverseen, Fitz argued, so she knew all that drama would be coming for you, too.
True. Well, maybe it’s something with the mysterious Vacker legacy, then. And wait a minute—I just realized we’re Legacy Buddies! We should get matching tunics that say, My Legacy Is Creepier Than Yours! Or I tried to discover my legacy and all I got was this ugly tunic!
Sophie wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t quite get there. Not when her mind kept replaying the way Keefe’s father had shattered that glass.
When did that happen? she asked.
After the Level Two midterms. My dad wasn’t happy with two of my scores.
Uh, weren’t your lowest scores still in the nineties? Fitz asked.
Ninety-eight and ninety-nine But Dear Old Daddio expected me to get a perfect one hundred on everything. Apparently, that’s what HE got when HE was at Foxfire.
Okay, but did he skip Level One like you did? Sophie wondered.
Nope. But he also doesn’t have a photographic memory, so he said being the top of my Level should be a given. Imagine how excited he was when he found out I came in second!
Fitz shuffled his feet. I . . . came in first.
Oh, I know. Had to go and make the rest of us look bad, didn’t you, Fitzy?
I didn’t—
Relax, I’m kidding. But it’s a good thing I like you, ’cause it’s not exactly easy being your friend.
The thought was meant to be teasing. But Sophie could feel a glimmer of truth behind it.
Fitz must’ve felt it too, because he told him, I’m sorry.
Don’t be. It’s seriously not a big deal.
Then why didn’t you say anything?
Uh, our friendship wasn’t really at the “sharing” stage back then. I sat at your table at lunch sometimes—not really enough to be all, “Let me unload all my daddy drama.” Plus, it wasn’t your fault Lady Delmira thought my elixir was too frothy and Sir Bubu snuck in a trick question on me.
His name is Sir Bubu? Sophie had to ask.
Yep! I had a LOT of fun with that during the second half of the year. And that’s the thing: This made me realize I was never going to be who my dad wanted me to be, so I might as well have some fun. In fact, that was the night I first came up with the Great Gulon Incident.
She could almost hear his smirk—and when a new memory flashed to the front of his mind, she wondered if he was finally going to show her the story.
But Fitz interrupted.
Why was your dad talking about my dad anyway?
Keefe sighed. I was hoping you weren’t going to ask that. Guess it’s probably easier to show you.
His memories shuffled again, flashing to the Level Two atrium at Foxfire all decked out in tinsel and filled with big bubbles floating with candy and treats in the center. Everywhere Keefe looked, parents were hugging their kids and celebrating.
But his mom hadn’t bothered to come. And his dad had his wrist in a death grip as he dragged him away from his locker, forcing him to leave behind his presents.
“Wait,” Alden called, rushing to catch up to them in the hall. “You’re not leaving already, are you, Cassius?”
“Lord Cassius,” Keefe’s father corrected. “And yes. Keefe needs to study.”
“Tonight?” Alden asked. “I think he’s earned a night off, don’t you? To test so high—and at his age—”
“Yes, well, I’ve never felt youth should be an excuse,” Keefe’s father interrupted.
Alden’s jaw tightened, and the quick glance he stole at Lord Cassius’s hand made Sophie wonder if he realized how hard Keefe’s father was squeezing.
“Why don’t you come to Everglen tonight?” Alden suggested. “Della’s been planning quite the celebration, and—”
“Perhaps another time.” Lord Cassius turned to pull Keefe away.
But Alden grabbed Keefe’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper, “I’m very proud of you, Keefe. I want you to know that.”
Oh wow, Sophie thought as Keefe’s head erupted with a hundred different emotions.
Yeah, Keefe said quietly. No one had ever told me that before, so . . .
And your dad felt it, she realized. Since he had his hand wrapped around your wrist.
Pretty much. And you saw how happy he was about it.
Fitz muttered something under his breath that didn’t sound like a very nice word—and Sophie felt like doing the same.
You okay over there, Fitzy? Keefe asked. Your moods keep shifting on me.
I’m fine. I’m just . . . trying to understand why you never told me about any of this once we became best friends. You could’ve said something.
I know. Keefe shifted his weight. The thing is . . . talking about it made it real. And I didn’t want it to be real. I wanted to pretend my life was as perfect as yours.
My life isn’t perfect, Fitz argued.
Maybe not. But it’s pretty close, dude. I mean, yeah, Alvar’s a creep—but you still have your dad. And your mom. And Biana. And you’re still the top of our class. And you’re Foster’s Cognate and . . . even without all of that, you’re still a Vacker. You’re always going to be the golden boy everyone expects greatness from. And I’ll always be the mess.
You’re not a mess, Sophie promised.
Oh, I am, Foster. The more we do this, the more you’ll see. And that’s fine. I can’t pretend everything’s normal anymore. Too much has happened.
Then why still hide some of your memories? Fitz asked.
Keefe snorted. Because I’d like to actually keep you guys as friends.
Sophie had no idea what that meant—but it didn’t matter. I’m always going to be your friend.
So am I, Fitz added.
You sure about that? Keefe asked, making his memories shift again, this time to a flashback Sophie had already seen several months earlier—but Fitz hadn’t.
This was the first memory I got back, Keefe explained.
Why is it all crackly and distorted? Fitz asked.
Keefe shrugged. I guess it got a little damaged by the Washer.
He was just a kid in the memory, following his mom’s voice up to the roof in the middle of the night, where he found her talking to two figures in hooded black cloaks. Now Sophie knew the figures were Brant and Alvar, and that they’d been discussing Alvar’s failed efforts to find where the Black Swan hid Sophie among humans. But in that moment, the only thing Keefe understood was that his mom implied that she was going to encourage him to become friends with Fitz so that he could keep an eye on Fitz’s search for Sophie.
So? Fitz asked. You think that’s the only reason we’re friends?
No—but I’m sure it was a big part of it, Keefe told him.
Couldn’t have been that big, Fitz argued, since we didn’t start really hanging out until years later, when we were both at Foxfire.
I guess, Keefe mumbled.
Besides, Fitz said, my dad . . . kinda did the same thing. After those same midterms, he started asking me about you all the time, telling me I should invite you over. I figured he just wanted us to hang out since we were ranked one and two or whatever. But now I’m pretty sure he was worried about you, and wanted to give you somewhere else to go after school.
Huh, Keefe said—and Sophie recognized his jumbled feelings.
Alden had done something similar with Biana, encouraging her to befriend the strange new girl who’d been living with humans.
He was a master of well-meaning meddling.
The thing is, she told Keefe, it doesn’t matter WHY we all became friends. Just that we did.
Exactly, Fitz said.
Yeah, I guess. Keefe cleared his thr
oat. But I gotta say—heartwarming as all of this is, it’s noooooooooot what I’m looking for. Where are the fancy Telepath tricks to dredge up all my mom’s secrets? Do you guys need to stare into each other’s eyes more or something?
Sophie let out a long sigh. I told you—we have no idea how to trigger memories.
Then hit me with all the Fitzphie pizzazz and see what happens.
The Fitzphie pizzazz, Sophie repeated. There’s no such thing.
Not with that attitude, there isn’t! Keefe told her.
I guess we could try probing, Fitz suggested after a few seconds.
Sophie’s brain automatically flashed through the various “probing” scenes she’d seen in human sci-fi movies, and Fitz cracked up. No wonder you got so freaked out when we took you to Atlantis to have Quinlin try a probe on you.
It’s a super weird word! she argued.
With you on that one, Foster, Keefe told her. But I’m up for a Fitzphie probe-athon. Commence all the probing!
We have to stop calling it that, Sophie noted.
Probably, Fitz agreed. But don’t you think it might work?
I don’t know I don’t know how to probe.
“You don’t know how to probe?” he said out loud, turning to where Tiergan stood watching them. “You never taught her?”
“Why would I?” Tiergan asked. “Her mind uses a better method instinctively.”
“Okay, will someone please tell me what ‘probing’ is?” Sophie begged.
“It’s a way of pushing through someone’s mental blocking,” Tiergan told her.
“Then why do you think that will help us find Keefe’s missing memories?” Sophie asked Fitz.
“Because when you probe, you transmit different words until you get a reaction, and then you keep transmitting that same word over and over until it breaks through.”
“I . . . still don’t understand how that helps with this. Keefe’s not blocking us from the memories. They were erased.”
“No, they were washed,” Tiergan corrected. “And washing is mostly about knocking memories loose and burying them out of reach—usually under the person’s deepest fears, since they instinctively avoid that section of their mind. So probing might be a useful solution—assuming you can find the right word. It would need to be something that specifically connects to those memories.”
“I guess we could try saying ‘Neverseen,’ ” Fitz suggested.
“Isn’t that too vague?” Sophie wondered.
“The Neverseen are in tons of my memories,” Keefe agreed. “But Washers aren’t—and I’m betting there’s a moment in all of my erased memories where my mom tells someone to call for one.”
Tiergan nodded. “ ‘Washer’ could work.”
“Of course it could—I’m a genius. We ready to do this?”
“All we do is transmit the word?” Sophie clarified.
“Think of it more like giving a command,” Tiergan told her. “Put as much energy behind it as you can.”
Sophie closed her eyes, digging deep into her mental reserves until her thoughts felt warm and tingly.
“On three?” Fitz asked.
Keefe counted for them—and when he called out, “Three!” they both transmitted WASHER with every bit of authority they could channel.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sophie asked when nothing happened.
“It usually takes a few tries,” Fitz told her. “Let’s go again.”
WASHER!
WASHER!
WASHER!
WASHER!
Still nothing.
“Are you getting a headache?” Tiergan asked as Sophie reached up to rub her temples.
“I’m fine. Just running low on mental energy.”
“Then you should quit for the day,” Tiergan told her. “Get some rest and pick up where you left off tomorrow. The last thing you want to do is push yourself too hard.”
“Or,” Sophie countered, “we could see what happens if we add enhancing to the mix. That usually gives Fitz a huge surge of energy, and he can share some with me.”
Tiergan sighed. “I suppose you could give it a try. But then I’m going to insist you stop.”
“Deal,” Sophie agreed, using her teeth to pull off her glove and then holding out her bare hand to Fitz.
“Ready?” he asked Keefe.
“So ready. Give me all the Fitzphie probing pizzazz!”
Fitz pressed his palm against Sophie’s, and a blast of warmth surged between them—a richer, rawer kind of power that left trails of tingling sparks shooting from the tips of her fingers to the top of her head.
“I swear this gets stronger every time,” Fitz murmured.
“It does,” Sophie agreed, tightening her grip and soaking up the energy he shared with her, letting it build and build and build until her brain felt ready to burst from the pressure.
“Count us down,” he told Keefe.
And when he got to “one” . . .
WASHER!
The word was more than a command. It was a blade, slicing through Keefe’s consciousness and striking somewhere deep, turning everything cold and dark.
For a second Sophie worried they’d miscalculated.
Then Keefe whispered, “I think we found something.”
TWENTY-TWO
KEEFE SANK ONTO THE NEAREST cot as a memory flashed to the front of his mind—a scene so distorted that Sophie couldn’t tell what she was supposed to be seeing.
Some parts were too dim and others were too bright, and there were strange flickering gaps, like trying to watch a really old, scratched-up piece of film with some of the frames missing. Even the soundtrack was warped, with voices fading in and out.
But then the images sharpened, and she realized she was watching Lady Gisela lean down and talk to a slightly younger version of Keefe, both of them standing in front of a wall of bookshelves.
How old are you here? Sophie transmitted.
Keefe looked skinnier than she was used to, and his chin and cheeks were rounder.
Eleven, I think? Or maybe ten?
You don’t know? Fitz asked.
Not yet. I can’t figure out where the memory’s supposed to fit. I guess that’s what Tiergan meant when he was rambling about “mental ripples.”
You’re at Candleshade, though, right? Sophie recognized the study area in Keefe’s bedroom.
Yep. I keep trying to see what books are on my shelves, since that’ll tell me when this was. But the background’s too blurry.
Yeah, what’s up with that? Fitz asked.
No idea. This one’s way more damaged than the other memory. Think another burst of energy will fix it?
Worth a shot, Fitz said, tightening his grip on Sophie’s hand and pouring all the warmth that pooled between them into Keefe’s mind.
But the tingly energy didn’t change a thing.
“I need you to do me a favor,” Lady Gisela said in the memory—or that’s what Sophie assumed. All they could hear was, “I need . . . do . . . favor.”
She handed Young Keefe something white and blurry, and Sophie was pretty sure it was a sealed envelope. “Deliver . . . man . . . green door.”
Uh, did she just say “man”? Fitz asked, beating Sophie to the question. Not “elf”?
Looks like it, Keefe thought as they watched Lady Gisela hand his younger self something small and cobalt blue—a leaping crystal to the Forbidden Cities.
“Yes,” his mom said when Young Keefe’s mouth fell open, and for a moment the memory sharpened, letting them hear her clearly when she told him, “I need you to go right now.”
Young Keefe’s eyes glittered with excitement, and Sophie expected him to hold the facet up to the light and zip away.
But he glanced back at his mom. “Why?”
“Because I’m telling you to.”
“Yeah, but why?”
She reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Does Fitz question his father when Alden sends him off on their little erra
nds?”
“I don’t know—like I’ve told you a zillion times, Fitz doesn’t tell me anything about that. But I’m pretty sure he knows where he’s going and why he’s going there.”
“Yes, well, all you need to know is that the message you’re holding needs to be delivered discreetly. And since no one’s watching your registry feed, you can sneak away far easier than I can.”
The memory distorted again, warping most of Keefe’s response. But they caught the part where he insisted, “Tell me what’s in the letter.”
“You’re not in a position to bargain,” Lady Gisela warned.
“Funny—it sounds like you’re the one who isn’t in a position to bargain,” he countered.
Looks like you were old enough to be driving your parents crazy, Fitz noted. And it sounds like we were friends.
Yeah, Keefe said. So I was probably eleven.
“That kind of information is earned,” Lady Gisela told him in the memory. “And you can prove you’re ready by delivering that message without any further argument.”
Young Keefe’s attention snagged on the gleaming splotch of gold in the center of the envelope. It looked like wax or putty, and it was stamped with a symbol that Sophie had never seen before: two crescents forming a loose circle around a glowing star.
Do you think that symbol has anything to do with her facility? Fitz asked. Didn’t the runes on the door say, “The star only rises at Nightfall”?
I thought that was a reference to the Lodestar Initiative, Sophie reminded him, which had a different symbol.
True, Fitz said. And Vespera’s symbol was more of a swirly shooting star, wasn’t it?
Keefe sighed. Anyone else getting super sick of symbols?
Sophie definitely was. But they were still going to need to figure out what the new symbol meant, unless the memory would just tell them—but she highly doubted that was going to happen. Especially since Young Keefe didn’t seem particularly interested in the symbol. He was much more focused on whatever was inside—he even held the letter up to the light and squinted at the note’s silhouette.
“You won’t be able to read it,” his mom told him. “Think of where you’re going.”
Young Keefe’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s in human?”
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