Fear and dread and doubt and worry. But also hope.
She gave herself three seconds to steady her nerves and let the sounds of the waves wash away the other distractions. Then she closed her eyes and took a cold, salty breath before she pushed her consciousness into Keefe’s mind.
THIRTY-NINE
KEEFE’S HEAD WAS full of cities.
Places Sophie recognized.
Some she didn’t.
But they all had one thing in common.
Why are you visiting humans? she transmitted.
Not for the reason you’re thinking.
You don’t know what I’m thinking.
Actually, I do. Your emotions are so intense, you might as well hold up a sign saying, “I’m worried about THIS.” But I’m just there to study people. It’s part of my empathy training—and yep, working with the Neverseen is just as annoying as it is with the Black Swan. It’s either this, chores, or hardcore skill lessons that make the stuff we did at Exillium look easy.
The scene shifted again, and for a second Sophie thought she was looking at Paris, until she realized the Eiffel Tower–esque structure was white and orange.
When did you go to Tokyo?
Yesterday. If you look at the signs, you can probably find the date somewhere. Now do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with what happened to Wylie?
You get why we had to make sure, right?
It’s still not awesome knowing you guys sat around talking about how you don’t trust me.
You don’t make it easy.
In his memory, she could see Keefe standing on a rooftop next to Fintan. She wasn’t sure she could do that without shoving Fintan off the edge.
Hey, I’m just as disgusted with him as you are.
Quit reading my emotions!
Can’t help it. You’re impossible to ignore. And believe me, I get the same nauseating fury every time I look at him. He doesn’t deserve to be alive after what he did to Kenric.
No, he doesn’t.
If it helps, I’m not around him that much. Alvar supervises me during chores. And Ruy’s the one in charge of the skill lessons. All Fintan does is take me to crowded places and make me isolate each person’s feelings.
Why humans? she asked as the city scene shifted again, showing a street full of life and movement and color—and people. So many people. Rich and poor. Young and old. Locals and tourists. Talking, laughing, shouting—selling food and trinkets. Some wore saris and turbans, which meant Keefe was probably in some part of India—but Sophie couldn’t tell which city.
Well, for one thing, the Neverseen can’t exactly go hopping around the Lost Cities, Keefe reminded her. But I can also feel most human emotions through the air without needing contact. Plus, humans fascinate Fintan. He hates them, but he’s also obsessed with knowing everything about them.
The next city was London, right in the heart of Piccadilly Circus, where people seemed to be gathering around a weird statue and watching a bunch of ads on the giant screens.
So this is all you do? she asked. What about during the skill lessons?
Those are just Ruy showing off. He must’ve been Exillium’s star student, and I’m pretty stinktastic at everything, so the lessons usually end with him calling me useless.
Sophie could feel the sting the word triggered, after all the times his dad had hurled the same accusation. But she was glad he wasn’t excelling at the Neverseen’s training.
And that’s it? she asked. You don’t do anything else?
Pretty much. There are lots of nasty chores. And there’s been the occasional mission, like the day they stormed the Sanctuary—but I had NOTHING to do with Wylie. I swear I didn’t even know it was happening. I’m actually glad you guys told me, so I can prepare before I head back.
Will you be safe?
Sure—why not? I wasn’t part of the botched mission. In fact, some people might get demoted.
You say that like it’s a good thing.
It is a good thing. It’ll make Fintan use me more.
But for what?
I can’t worry about that, Foster. I can’t think about what-ifs or maybes. I can only take it one day at a time—one assignment at a time—and fight my way through.
In the memory, Fintan smiled at something Keefe said, and Sophie’s insides twisted.
I hate that he’s the one training you. He’s not even an Empath.
I know. But all the one-on-one time I’m getting with him is crucial if I’m going to steal his cache. Plus, there aren’t any other Empaths to train me. I asked him why, and he said, “It’s rare to find those who are open to new sensations.”
He made his mental voice sound like Fintan, and the knot of emotions under Sophie’s ribs pulled so tight, it hurt to breathe.
Sorry. I guess it’s probably pretty hard to hear that after the awful times you’ve been in his head, Keefe mumbled.
I don’t know how you stand it. It makes me want to claw my ears off—or claw his lips off, or I don’t know—I just want to claw something.
I know. I’m super glad you’re not clawing me. And fortunately, he doesn’t talk much. Mostly he says, “Tell me what they’re feeling” and points to some random person in the crowd. It only gets weird at the end. Before he brings me back to the hideout, he always asks, “If you could only save one of these people, who would you save?”
That’s . . . terrifying.
I know. I totally thought he was going to burn down the city, and I had no idea what I’d do if he did. But he just scratched his chin and asked why I chose the person. He always writes down my answer in this little notebook he keeps in his pocket. Most of the time he tilts it up so I can’t see what he’s writing. But a couple of days ago it was windy and the pages kept flipping, so he held it at a different angle and it looked like he’s making a list—but I have no idea of what. The label at the top said: “CRITERION.”
FORTY
I’M GUESSING THERE’S a reason you just gasped, Keefe said as the city in his memories shifted again, to a colorful barrio filled with music and dancing.
Sophie bit her lip. Biana overheard Alvar talking to someone on his Imparter at Everglen a few months back. And he used the word “criterion.” He also talked about “test subjects.”
She let that sink in before she asked, Do you think that means they’ve been planning to train you like this for a while?
Probably, Keefe said, disgust laced through every syllable. I keep trying to tell you—I’m not the guy you want me to be.
I don’t want you to be anyone except you. Whatever the Lodestar Initiative is—it doesn’t define you any more than Project Moonlark defines me. Especially since I’m starting to think their plans aren’t even working. I can’t remember the last time the Black Swan were ahead of all the crazy stuff going on—and it seems like the Neverseen are scrambling too. These groups may have created the game. But that doesn’t mean we have to play by their rules. And if there’s one thing you and I are both good at, it’s making things up as we go along.
I guess I can live with that, Keefe thought as his memory changed to a quaint village-style city, with a long wooden bridge spanning the peaceful river in the center. Enormous snowcapped mountains loomed in the distance, and Sophie assumed that meant they were somewhere like Austria or Switzerland.
So . . . what are your criteria for deciding which person you would save? she asked.
It depends. I mostly look for whoever feels the happiest, since I figure they’d appreciate getting to live. Or I pick one of the kids. They’re so cute and small and innocent—and wow, that’s a huge wave of sappy mushiness you’re hitting me with.
What do you expect? You’re talking about saving kids!
And ten minutes ago you thought I was Wylie’s fourth kidnapper. Remind me to thank Bangs Boy for that the next time I see him. And the Fitzster.
If you could’ve seen Wylie’s injuries, you’d understand why we had to be sure. She had to clamp down on her me
mories to stop herself from picturing it. Besides, seeing you in that robe . . .
Yeah, I can feel how much you hate it.
“Hate” isn’t a strong enough word. I want to rip it to shreds.
Well, don’t. I’m not wearing anything underneath.
He snort-laughed when she scrambled back a step.
I’m kidding—though your gross-out is noted. And FYI, the reason I’m still wearing it is because I can’t risk losing another one. Fintan flipped out when I came back from Foxfire without it, probably because he couldn’t track me or something.
That’s not the only reason.
Oh?
Yeah.
Seconds passed.
Aw, come on, Foster. I’m the cute guy who chooses to save the kids, remember? How can you resist me?
Who said anything about cute?
It totally goes without saying. Don’t even try to deny it.
She couldn’t.
And he knew it.
And she hated it.
If I tell you, I want something in return, she decided.
Isn’t my eternal devotion enough?
Not even close.
That hurts, Foster.
That’s the game. If I tell you what we found in your cloak, I want a secret in return. I want to see whatever memory you got back that freaked you out and made you run away.
His mind seemed to squirm.
Come on, Keefe. Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell me anyway.
See, but “later” sounds way better than “sooner.”
You think it does, because hiding stuff always sounds easier. But all it really means is that you’re stuck carrying the burden all alone.
That’s better than dumping it on you.
But I’m asking you to—and I promise, it’s not going to change anything.
Oh, it changes everything. You’ll see.
Does that mean we have a deal?
She heard him sigh. Fine. But you go first.
Fair enough.
She explained about the disk in his cloak, and how Prentice’s memory of the symbol seemed to be connected to him calling swan song, and how they found the shadowprint of the symbol on the floor of the abandoned hideout in Paris. And while she was at it, she told him about the listening device in his old Imparter.
Your turn! she finished.
Whoa, hang on—you can’t just dump all of that on me and not give me a second to process. There was a listening device in my old Imparter? How did you even have it?
Yours accidentally got switched with mine the day we searched your room and found your mom’s note. Dex couldn’t track the signal, but we’re assuming it went to the Neverseen, and that’s how they knew about our ambush on Everest and had time to prepare.
Mom of the year strikes again. His mind seemed to darken as thick clouds of anger swirled through his consciousness. I don’t know why I even get surprised anymore.
Because you haven’t let her break you—and I hope you never do.
She watched him gather the words, tucking them away somewhere safe before he asked, So the disk you found in my cloak—was it a kind of tracker?
Sandor and Mr. Forkle didn’t think so. It wasn’t covered in any enzymes, and it’s made of something called duskitine, which is apparently a type of stone that reacts to starlight. We have no idea why it has a piece of the symbol carved on it, but it can’t be a coincidence. And you haven’t seen the symbol anywhere?
Nope. But I’m still at their stupid “new recruit” house. I bet I’ll find it once I get to a real hideout. And in the meantime, maybe I need to lose this cloak and see what happens. . . .
Bad idea—especially after you took such a risk to meet with us today.
There you go again with your logic. It’s really cramping my style.
Well then, why don’t you stop me by showing me that memory?
Are you sure you wouldn’t rather lecture me a little longer?
Tempting, but no.
When he still hesitated, she added, Come on, Keefe, haven’t you stood by me through all the weird things in my past? Let’s not forget I’m the girl with the alicorn-inspired DNA.
Yeah, but that lets you teleport—and communicate with Silveny—so it’s a total win. How are she and Greyfell doing, by the way?
They’re good. If they were here, Silveny would tell you to stop stalling.
Pretty sure she’d be chanting KEEFE! KEEFE! KEEFE! As everyone should be when they see me.
There you go, changing the subject again.
Caught that, huh? You’re a quick one, Miss F. And I’m pretty sure I’ve given you way more than five minutes, so—
Nope. You’re not getting out of this. We made a deal, and I’m holding you to it.
See, and I’d kinda like to find out how you’ll punish me if I don’t.
She was tempted to snap back with a long list of incredibly creative forms of Keefe torture. But then she’d be giving him the distraction he wanted.
Please? she tried. I’m tired of wondering about that memory. I’m tired of worrying what side of the line you’re on every time things get weird. I’m tired of having Dex tell me he thinks you’re my nemesis and—
Whoa—back up. Dizznee thinks I’m your what?
Well, he didn’t actually say “nemesis”—but he implied it. We were trying to guess what the Lodestar Initiative is, and he wondered if it’s the Neverseen’s version of Project Moonlark, which would basically mean they made you to stop me.
Wow. That’s just . . .
He burst into a fit of snorty giggles.
I’m glad you find this so amusing.
You don’t? Don’t tell me you actually believe him.
I don’t want to. But what else am I supposed to think? You told me when you ran off that you were meant to be something other than the hero. And just a few minutes ago, you told me you’re not the guy I want you to be.
Ugh. I guess you do need to see that memory, don’t you?
Yeah, I really do.
Okay. The word felt sluggish, like his mind was dragging its feet. But after several seconds, a new flashback began.
FORTY-ONE
IT WAS DARK in Keefe’s bedroom. So black he could barely make out the silhouette of his mother leaning over his bed, as her arms shook him from his dreamless sleep.
“Mom?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
His voice was squeakier than Sophie was used to hearing it. She guessed that meant he was more like nine or ten years old.
“Everything’s fine,” Lady Gisela told him as she yanked back his covers.
A whoosh of cold air rushed around him and he curled up tighter, shivering in his overstarched pajamas.
“None of that,” she said, grabbing his wrist to stop him from reaching for his blanket. “Put this on. It’s even colder where we’re going.”
She tossed a thick black cloak at him as he slowly sat up.
Sophie squinted through the dim memory, half expecting to find the white eye symbol staring back at her from the sleeves. But the cloak was plain, and the coarse fabric seemed to swallow Keefe’s skinny frame as he stumbled to his feet, his knees still shaky with sleep.
His eyes slowly adjusted to being awake, letting him see more of his mom, who looked as immaculate as ever. Despite the middle-of-the-night time, her lips were glossed, her heavy black cape glittered with flecks of onyx, and her shiny blond hair was twisted into an intricate updo.
She clicked her tongue as he stood there gaping at her.
“Honestly, Keefe. You can’t figure out that you need to put on your shoes?”
Keefe stared at his bare feet.
Lady Gisela rolled her eyes and dropped to her knees, grabbing a pair of soft black boots from the foot of the bed.
“No socks?” Keefe asked, clinging to her shoulders as she ordered him to step into the left shoe. “And shouldn’t I change first?”
“We won’t be gone that long.” She pulled the other boot
on and adjusted the collar of his cloak, securing the fabric higher up on his neck. “There. Good enough.”
“Where are we going?” Keefe asked as she strode across the room and pulled back the curtains covering his windows. Only a sliver of moon lit the lonely night sky. “Why isn’t Dad coming with us?”
“Because. This is our special secret. You like secrets, right?”
She offered half a smile as he gave an enthusiastic “Yes!”
“Good. Then let’s get going.” She reached for the back of her head and pulled a long silver hairpin out of her twisted style. Her hair fell around her face in silky waves, softening her features. But the look in her eyes was hard as iron as she held the pin up to the window, letting the pale silver light illuminate the smooth stone set among the swirled pieces of metal.
“Is that crystal glowing?” Keefe asked, pointing to the pin’s white-blue aura.
“It’s not a crystal. It’s a rare starstone—which is important. Someday I’ll need you to remember that. But not tonight. Tonight I just need you to take my hand.”
He did, his fingers looking so much smaller than hers as they twined together. A wide golden nexus covered his left wrist, glittering with dozens of diamonds.
“Concentrate,” Lady Gisela said as they stepped into the starstone’s glow and let the cold rush sweep them away.
The memory shifted then—picking up after the leap, at a gleaming silver door surrounded by shadows and snow. Elvin runes had been carved into the metal, forming words that looked like gibberish to Sophie.
“Where are we?” Keefe asked as an icy breeze prickled his ears. He dropped his mom’s hand and pulled his arms against his chest, trying to preserve what little warmth he could.
“It doesn’t matter yet,” Lady Gisela told him. “Someday this place will be the solution our world needs. But for the moment, we’re just here for security. Better keep your hands out of those sleeves. It’ll be easier if your fingers go numb.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see. And relax,” she added, tapping the frown on his lips. “It’ll be over fast.”
“What will?”
“So many questions. Don’t you trust me?”