A memory tickled the back of her mind.
Lumenite.
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she dug out her memory log to record it.
She projected the image in her mind: a squat, round bottle with a glowing, golden seal. Did that mean Everblaze needed gold and lumenite to be bottled? What was lumenite? And why was the bottle short and round? Sir Conley drilled it into her head that fire was caught with long, narrow bottles. The shape was essential to hold the heat without cracking the glass.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the memory to make sure she was seeing it right. The image was fuzzy—like something was missing that would clarify things. But she was sure the bottle was round.
A loud rip! shattered her concentration.
“No, Iggy!” she screamed, racing across the room. She yanked Grady’s scroll from his grubby little paws.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP.
A huge chunk of paper stayed in Iggy’s possession as he skittered away, clutching his treasure.
“Get back here right now or I’m feeding you to the verminion!”
Five minutes of racing around the room and she was still no closer to retrieving the rest of the scroll.
“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop right now. Stop!”
STOP!
Her mental plea was so desperate it transmitted.
Iggy froze and turned to look at her—eyes wide with shock.
Let go of the paper!
The paper fluttered to the floor, and she grabbed the tattered page to assess the damage.
“Look at this,” she groaned, laying the pieces on the rug to figure out how to glue them together. “What am I going to tell Grady? Do you have any idea how much trouble . . .”
Her voice trailed off when she noticed her name.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind begged her to stop reading. But her eyes had already spotted another word.
“Adoption.”
She skimmed the rest of the page, struggling to figure out what the tattered document was saying. And then she found it.
“In accordance with your request, adoption proceedings for Sophie Foster have been canceled.”
THIRTY-NINE
THE WORD RANG IN HER EARS, POUNDING with every heartbeat. Canceled. Canceled. Canceled. As in started. Then stopped.
She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning. It wasn’t until her lungs burned that she realized she’d stopped breathing. She hugged her chest as her body shuddered. Iggy crawled up her shoulder and snuggled into her neck, like he knew she needed a friend. It didn’t help.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to function again. Then the front door opened and somehow she made it to her feet, scrubbing tears away with the back of her hand as Grady and Edaline entered the room.
“What’s wrong?” Grady asked.
Her chest heaved from a choked-back sob. “A messenger brought this scroll from Eternalia, but Iggy ripped it.”
Grady gasped and rushed for the scroll as Sophie turned and fled upstairs. He called her name, but she kept running.
She slammed her door, dragging a chair in front of it for added security.
Grady pounded outside, begging her to let him in, but she ignored him. She collapsed on the bed and buried her face against Ella to muffle the sobs.
Eventually the knocking stopped.
She lowered the shades and sank into darkness, wrapping it around her like a blanket of misery. Then she curled into a ball and cried herself to sleep.
THE NIGHTMARES WERE UNBEARABLE. THIS time the whole world burned, leaving her alone. She woke up screaming and couldn’t stop shaking.
Her eyes were red and puffy and her hair was a disaster, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Getting out of bed felt like a tremendous accomplishment. The only effort she gave her appearance was to tear the Ruewen crest off her uniform. If anyone asked, she’d blame Iggy.
She went straight to the Leapmaster, but Grady and Edaline were waiting under the glittering crystals.
“Foxfire,” she yelled, refusing to acknowledge them.
“I locked it down,” Grady explained when the crystals didn’t move. Edaline stared at the gaping hole in Sophie’s cape, biting her lip. “We really need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not your daughter.”
Their faces crumbled at her words, but she was too angry to care.
“Sophie . . . ,” Grady tried.
“No, it’s fine. I thought we were a family but I was wrong. I can’t replace Jolie and I guess you don’t want me.”
The words left a sour taste on her tongue, but she ignored it. Even when they both fell back a step, like the name Jolie was a physical blow. She wanted them to hurt—they deserved it. “There. We talked. Can I go now?”
“I want you to come straight home after school,” Grady ordered, but his voice was hollow. “We need to talk, regardless of what you think.”
She ignored him.
“Sophie, we’re still your guardians. You have to do what we say.”
Her eyes flashed as they met his. “Fine. If you want to keep up the charade, I’ll play along. Would you like a hug while we’re at it? Should I tell you ‘I love you’ again?”
Edaline covered her mouth to block a sob.
Grady paled. “No. Just . . . have a good day at school.” He snapped his fingers and the crystals spun to life, obeying her earlier command.
She looked away, but Edaline’s muffled sobs made her stomach churn. Even the rushing warmth couldn’t erase the cold emptiness as the light swept her away.
“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU LOST a fight with a yeti,” Jensi said, pointing to the hole in her cape. His smile faded when she didn’t return it. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” She threw her books into her locker. One ricocheted and landed on her foot, and she kicked and muttered a few words she wasn’t supposed to say.
“Ooooookaaaaaaay then,” he said, slinking away. “Watch out,” he whispered to Dex and Marella.
Sophie slammed her locker and stomped off without acknowledging them.
She tried hiding in the library during lunch, but Dex tracked her down.
“How long are you going to give everyone the silent treatment?” he asked, not even attempting to use a library-appropriate voice. The librarian glared at him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled.
“But I might be able to help.”
“No one can help. But thanks for trying.”
“You really want me to leave you alone?”
She nodded.
He sighed. “Okay. If you change your mind . . .”
“Thanks.”
She watched him go, torn between relief that he was gone and loneliness so deep her chest felt ripped apart.
Dex must have warned everyone to leave her alone, because no one sat with her in study hall. Biana dropped a note in her lap when she passed by, though.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Sophie blinked back tears as she read the note a second and third time.
She still had her friends—until they found out what a freak she was, at least—and they would help her through this. Once she was ready to tell them.
Bile rose in her throat when the bells rang. She didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t home anymore. If they didn’t want her, what was the point of staying?
Maybe Grady and Edaline felt the same way.
Maybe they wanted to talk to her about leaving.
Totally sick, she moved slothlike to her locker to triple-check she had all her homework supplies. Then she took the long way to the Leapmaster, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls. All too soon she was th
ere. She stared at the crystals, unable to give the command.
“What are you still doing here, Foster?” Keefe asked, coming up behind her. “Don’t tell me you had to go to the Healing Center again.”
“Nope. Just lost track of time.”
He fanned the air. “Phew, those are some pretty strong emotions. Can’t tell what they are . . . but they don’t feel good.”
She looked away, avoiding his close scrutiny.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about it.”
She stared at the ground.
“And I doubt I’ll be able to guess, so I’m not sure where that leaves us.”
“Havenfield,” she commanded, glad her voice held steady.
She could see him shrug out of the corner of her eye. “Candleshade,” he called.
Their eyes met as the crystals spun overhead.
“Well . . . I hope you have a good night,” he said as he stepped toward his beam of light.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
GRADY WORKED IN THE PASTURE, clipping Gildie’s claws. Sophie waited for him to yell at her for being late, but when he met her eyes all she saw was sorrow.
“Do you want to talk now?” She kept her tone cold.
“Let me finish up here first.”
She stalked inside, collapsing on her bed. She dug out her iPod, shoved in her earbuds, and switched to her “angry” playlist. The screaming was jarring at first—it’d been so long since she’d heard that kind of music—but after a minute the familiar numbness sank in.
She closed her eyes. This was what she needed. Not to feel. Not to care. She would never care about anyone ever again.
Someone grabbed her hand and she bolted upright.
Grady’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him over the screaming and bass. She toyed with the idea of letting him keep talking—he didn’t seem to realize she couldn’t hear him—but decided to be mature.
She pulled out her earbuds. “What did you say?” The loud song continued to blast from the tiny speakers.
Grady frowned. “Is that . . . music?”
“Really? You want to talk about my taste in bands?”
He sighed. “No.”
He sat on the edge of her bed and she scooted to the far corner—the more space between them the better. “Where’s Edaline?”
“She couldn’t . . .” He shook his head. “This isn’t easy for us, you know.”
She bit back the sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. She wanted this conversation over. “Look, it’s your choice and you made it. No point explaining.”
“But you understand why we can’t?”
“I don’t have to. You have your reasons. They’re none of my business.”
Grady bit his lip. “Well . . . we’re sorry.”
“Me too.”
He stood to leave but turned back. “It’s not your fault—you know that, right?”
She snorted. “Just let me know when I should start packing.”
Grady said something else, but she’d already popped her earbuds back in.
Sophie leaned back and let the angry music tune out the world. When the playlist ended, it was dark outside. A tray of food waited for her on the table by her bed. She took a couple of bites but her stomach swirled in protest, so she took the tray back to the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t run into Grady and Edaline on the way.
She was almost back to the safety of her room when she saw light seeping through the cracks around Jolie’s door. Curiosity triumphed over anger, and she tiptoed down the hall, pressing her ear against the smooth wood.
“This is only making it worse,” Grady murmured. “Let’s go to bed. You need some rest.”
“I want to sleep in here,” Edaline insisted.
“No. We agreed you wouldn’t do that anymore.”
A sigh cut through the silence.
“Do you think we made the wrong decision?” Edaline whispered.
“I . . . don’t know.”
“Me either.” Fabric rustled. “She looks so hurt. Do you think we should—”
“Do you think she’d actually want to stay with us now?”
Yes, Sophie wanted to tell them. Yes, if you really want me to.
“Besides, I thought you said it was too hard having her around,” he added quietly.
“She does remind me of her.” A tiny sob cut through the silence. “How does she know about Jolie?”
“Alden must have told her. Or maybe Dex.” Fabric rustled again. “Edaline, come on, you can’t sleep here.”
“Just for tonight,” she begged. “I need to be in here.”
Grady sighed. “Just tonight. And I’m staying with you.”
The bed creaked and the light turned off.
Sophie stood there listening to the muffled sobs for a long time before padding back to her room and crawling into bed. She tried to imagine what it felt like for Grady and Edaline. How much they must miss Jolie. How hard it must be to spend every day without her. How lonely it must be to live in a world where no one else really understood what they’d lost. It was almost enough to make her forgive them. Almost . . .
For now, it was easier to try to forget them.
FORTY
THE NEXT MORNING EDALINE MUST’VE CONJURED her breakfast, because the tray appeared on her desk—and Sophie was okay with that. The only way to survive her remaining time there was to avoid Grady and Edaline as much as possible.
Dex stood waiting by her locker when she got to Foxfire. He stared at the hole in her cape. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” She brushed past him to open her locker.
Dex cleared his throat. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Because I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
“But I’m your best friend.”
“I know, Dex. I’m just not ready. I’m sorry.”
His shoulders sagged. “Maybe I could cheer you up then. We could practice alchemy after school—start getting ready for finals. You could come to my house if you want, and I won’t even get mad if you burn down my room.”
The idea of a smile twitched around her lips, but it wasn’t strong enough to fully form. “Maybe another time.”
He sighed. “If you change your mind . . .”
“Thanks.”
She leaned against her locker after he left, trying to shove his stricken expression out of her mind. She hated hurting Dex’s feelings, but she wasn’t ready to be “poor, unwanted Sophie Foster.” She yanked her last book from her locker with unnecessary force, knocking an envelope to the ground.
Inside she found a scrap of newspaper with the headline: FIRESTORM CLAIMS FIRST VICTIMS.
There was also a note written in a hasty black scrawl—“You have to stop this”—and a Prattles’ pin. A silver moonlark.
She stared at the glowing metal bird, and somehow she knew it was made of lumenite.
Her hands shook as she folded up the note.
“You okay?” Marella asked. “You look really pale.”
Sophie clutched her chest, taking deep breaths to calm her pounding heart. “Fine.”
Marella laughed. “You might be the worst liar ever. Whoa—is that a moonlark? Do you have any idea how rare that pin is? There are less than a hundred of them!”
“Oh, really?” She shoved it back in the envelope and hid it in her bag. “Well . . . cool.”
“Cool? You have the Prattles’ moonlark! You should be dancing through the halls!”
Marella’s loud announcement turned several heads. Sophie slammed her locker shut. “Sorry, I have to get to session. I’ll talk to you later.”
Marella mumbled something about “waste” as
Sophie fled the atrium, trying to think clearly over the words pounding through her brain.
You have to stop this.
She stumbled through the halls, searching for somewhere isolated to call Alden. She finally found a deserted corridor with stark-white walls and dug out her Imparter.
Alden’s face appeared before she could finish saying his name. “Sophie? What happened?”
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone. “I found another note in my locker.”
His jaw set. “We’d better not talk about it now, but I want you to come to Everglen as soon as school is over.”
She nodded.
His image flashed away and she sank against the wall.
“Don’t even think about claiming you’re not mysterious anymore,” Keefe said, and half a scream slipped out before she could stop it. He grinned as he stepped out of the shadows. “Surprised to see me?”
She sucked in huge gulps of air to calm her panic. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my ditching spot—remember?”
The white walls did look vaguely familiar.
“So, you want to tell me why you’re sneaking off to talk to Alden about mysterious notes?”
“It’s no big deal, Keefe.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Nope, sorry, I’m feeling way too much panic to believe that.”
Empaths made lying annoyingly difficult. “I can’t tell you Keefe, so don’t ask.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to tell everyone Valin is slipping you love notes.”
“You—do what you have to do.”
He laughed. “Wow. This must be important.” When she didn’t say anything, he shrugged. “Fine, have it your way. But at the end of finals I want a really awesome gift as thanks for my silence.”
“Deal.” They shook hands and Keefe listed off a few suggestions—but she wasn’t listening. Thinking about finals gifts reminded her.
“How did you get into my locker after midterms?”
“I told you, I have my methods.”
“I’m serious. How did you do it? It’s supposed to need my DNA.”
“Please. I never reveal my secrets.”
“This is important, Keefe. If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Alden and let you deal with him.”
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