“You realize that’s a really long story, right?” Sophie asked.
Her sister shrugged and scooted over on the bed, patting the space she’d cleared beside her.
Sophie was pretty sure she’d never sat that close to her sister when they lived together, but as she settled under the blankets, her sister rested her head on her shoulder and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Sandor brought over the tray of mallowmelt for them, and Sophie handed her sister a slice of the chocolatey, butterscotch-y goodness.
“This isn’t like fairy food, is it?” she asked, poking the cake with her fork. “I’ll still be able to eat normal food afterward?”
Sophie laughed. “Of course. Though you might find other desserts disappointing.”
Her sister poked it a few more times before taking a tiny bite—her eyes stretching huge. “Okay, this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“I know,” Sophie said with a grin. “One slice is never enough.”
“It won’t be,” her sister agreed, snatching the other plate.
“Um, that one’s mine,” Sophie reminded her.
She shrugged. “You won’t have time to eat it anyway. You have a long story to tell.”
“Ha. Fine.” Sophie tugged on her eyelashes as she tried to figure out where to start.
Her sister tilted her head. “I remember you doing that when you were nervous. It’s so weird how the memories pop back. Is that going to keep happening?”
“Probably. Whenever you find the right trigger.”
She nodded, going back to poking at her mallowmelt. “Were you the one who erased my mind?”
“No. I actually don’t know who did—or how they do it. They call them the Washers. I guess they’re specially trained for that.”
“That’s . . . creepy.”
Sophie wished she could deny it.
“Are they going to do that to me again?” her sister whispered.
The best answer Sophie could give her was, “I hope not. That’s why I’m telling you all of this. Maybe if you show them you can keep our secrets, it’ll convince them you can handle it.”
“Then get back to that story,” her sister commanded, taking another bite of cake. “And start at the beginning. I want to know how you found out you’re an elf in the first place. I’m betting that was a weird day.”
Sophie nestled back against the pillows. “It was. And it all started with a field trip, a giant dinosaur model, and an especially noticeable pair of teal eyes.”
Five
SOPHIE HADN’T PLANNED on sharing so much, but her sister kept asking questions. So, they covered everything from her being adopted by Grady and Edaline to the craziness of going to Foxfire and living at Havenfield. Her sister couldn’t believe that dinosaurs weren’t extinct, and she hadn’t been able to stop laughing when Sophie described the antics of her troublesome pet imp named Iggy. But her favorite stories were the ones about the incredibly rare alicorns, and how Silveny and Greyfell were going to have a baby.
Both slices of mallowmelt were gone by that point, and Sophie told her sister about custard bursts and ripplefluffs and cinnacreme and starkflower stew, and how the gnomes grew all kinds of bizarrely colored vegetables that tasted like pizza and cheeseburgers and other delicious things.
“Gnomes,” her sister repeated. “So . . . all the fantasy creatures are real?”
“Not all of them. But a lot. And they’re not like the stories people tell.”
“Like how your ears aren’t pointy?” her sister asked, licking up every last crumb on her plate. “Or wait—are they?”
She tried to pull aside Sophie’s hair, and Sophie swatted her hand.
“They’re not. Though . . . I guess they will be, if I live long enough to be Ancient.”
“How old is ancient?”
Her sister nearly choked when Sophie explained about the elves’ indefinite life span.
“Gnomes live a really long time too,” she added, trying to make it sound more normal. “They’re like trees—they even have green thumbs and green teeth, and can sing to plants. And dwarves are kinda like kid-size moles, with pointed noses and shaggy fur and squinty eyes because they spend so much time underground.”
“Wow. The world is . . . really strange.”
“You have no idea. Trolls age in reverse. And Sandor has a secret girlfriend.”
Sandor shot her a glare that could’ve withered flowers.
“What?” Sophie asked. “Who’s she going to tell?”
Sandor muttered something about “respect for privacy.”
“Anything else weird about you?” her sister asked.
Sophie snorted. “Where do I begin?”
She described each of her special abilities in detail: Telepath, Teleporter, Polyglot, Inflictor, Enhancer. And she showed her sister more of the skills every elf had, like levitating, and telekinesis, and channeling energy into her muscles to make her stronger or faster. When she was done stalling, she finally explained about Project Moonlark, and all the times she and her friends had nearly lost their lives.
Even though she glossed over the gory details and emphasized that the elves’ medicines could treat pretty much anything, it still led to the question of whether anyone had actually died. And every name cut away another sliver of Sophie’s heart.
Jolie.
Councillor Kenric.
Calla.
Mr. Forkle.
“I don’t know how you made it through all of that,” her sister whispered.
Sometimes Sophie didn’t either. But she knew her sister needed hope. So she leaned her head against hers and whispered, “The same way we’re both going to get through this. One day at a time. One problem at a time. Each tiny bit of progress slowly adds up to something big.”
“But we’re fighting an evil organization—and they have ogres!”
“You have goblins,” Sandor reminded her, unsheathing his massive sword and slashing it so fast, the black blade was nothing more than a blur. “I can assure you—we’re the better allies.”
“The ogres also don’t seem to be working with the Neverseen anymore,” Sophie added. “King Dimitar signed a new treaty at the Peace Summit that basically said he’d leave us alone if we left him alone.”
“Assuming he wasn’t lying so he could carry on his warmongering without anyone watching him,” Sandor grumbled, ignoring Sophie’s that’s-not-helping glare. “There are also the ogre-rebels to consider—assuming they truly are rebels, and not another of Dimitar’s tricks.”
“My adoptive parents were attacked a few weeks ago,” Sophie reluctantly explained—while shooting Sandor a look that said I will yell at you later. “But it was only a small band of ogres, and most of them were taken down in the fight.”
“How can you say that like it’s not a huge deal?” her sister asked.
It was. Grady’s goblin bodyguard had been killed in the skirmish. But Sophie was trying to keep her sister calm, so she said, “Because even if there are ogre rebels to worry about, they’re working with the Neverseen, so that’s what we need to focus on. It’s like fighting a monster—no matter how many claws and fangs it has—if you chop off its head, you win.”
“Unless it’s a hydra,” her sister argued.
“Those aren’t real,” Sophie told her. “At least, I don’t think they are. I haven’t heard anyone mention them—but I’m still trying to learn it all myself.”
Her sister sighed. “I just wish I understood why this is happening. I still have no clue what these Neverseen people actually want.”
That was probably because Sophie had no idea either. The Neverseen had started out following something that Keefe’s mom had called the Lodestar Initiative—but Sophie had never been able to figure out exactly what the plan involved. And it might not even matter, because when Fintan took over, he shifted the Neverseen’s focus to something he’d vaguely called his “vision,” which seemed to have something to do with br
eaking an unidentified prisoner out of the dungeon at Lumenaria. He’d also brought Keefe to human cities and made him use his ability as an Empath to make a list of personality traits he’d called “criterion.” But Sophie had no idea how any of that tied together, or what their ultimate goal was.
“All you need to know,” she told her sister, “is that I’m going to stop them. I was made for this—which used to scare me. I used to wish I could be normal. But now I’m glad I have these abilities, because they help me fight. And I have a group of powerful friends who are always there to back me up—even when I tell them not to.”
Her sister snorted. “You make it sound like you’re Super Elves. All you’re missing are the capes.”
Sophie bit back a smile. “Actually . . . we do wear capes—but not because of that.”
Her sister stared at her like Sophie had just admitted she had a detachable head.
“If you think that’s bad, you should see the frilly, ridiculous gowns I have to wear to anything formal,” Sophie added.
“The gloves are pretty weird too,” her sister noted.
“They are. But I’m the only one who has to wear them. I can’t turn my ability as an Enhancer off, so if I don’t cover my fingers, I’d enhance everyone I touched—and we’re trying to keep the ability secret. Dex said he’s going to see if he can make some sort of gadget that would give me more control.”
“Was Dex the one with the teal eyes?”
“No, that was Fitz.”
“And Fitz is your boyfriend?”
Sophie nearly toppled off the bed. “No! Why would you think that?”
“Because you get all dreamy-eyed when you talk about him.”
“I do not!”
“You’re doing it right now!”
Sandor snickered from the corner, and Sophie flung a pillow at his head.
“Trust me,” she told her sister. “Fitz and I are friends. That’s it.”
It was true, even if part of Sophie didn’t want it to be. And even if there’d been that moment under Calla’s Panakes tree that she still didn’t totally understand.
Against her will, her mind flashed to the way his teasing smile had faded and he’d leaned in so close, it almost felt like he might—
“What about the other guy?” her sister asked, interrupting the memory almost exactly the same way Keefe had that day under the tree. “The one whose hand you kept holding.”
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Sophie insisted. “We have to hold hands for leaping and stuff, so it’s not a big deal.”
“Are you sure? He was looking at you pretty intense.”
“Because he’s worried,” Sophie said as she searched for another pillow to fling at Sandor’s newest round of snickers. “Keefe feels like he should’ve figured out what his mom was up to and stopped her—especially since she tricked him into helping her in small ways. She’s horrible.”
Sophie wasn’t sure what scared her more: imagining what Lady Gisela was going to demand in exchange for information on finding Nightfall—or the fact that she’d probably be willing to give it to her.
“How’s it going in here?” Livvy called through the door. “Ready for a tour of this place yet? I promise it won’t be as boring as it sounds!”
Sophie glanced at her sister, noting the way she’d pulled the covers up to her nose. “Can we have a few more minutes?”
“Was that one of the people I’ll be living with?” her sister whispered, after Livvy’s footsteps retreated down the hall.
Sophie nodded. “She’s really nice. And I just found out that she works with the Black Swan, so she’ll probably tell you stuff before I even know about it.”
“What’s her ability?” her sister asked. “Anything I should be afraid of?”
“Actually, I’m not sure if she’s ever told me—but you don’t have to be afraid. It’s safe here. They’re going to take super good care of you.”
Her sister twisted her fingers so tight, it had to hurt.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Sophie told her. “I was terrified when Alden first brought me to Havenfield to meet Grady and Edaline. But that worked out awesome.”
“But I don’t want a new family.”
“You aren’t getting one. Quinlin and Livvy are only helping until everything is back to normal.”
She braced for her sister to ask more questions about what “normal” meant—but sadly, she chose something even harder.
“Do you like them better than us? Your new family?”
Sophie sighed. “There isn’t a better. I love them—but I’ll always love you guys too.”
“But you let them adopt you.”
“Well . . . yeah. The thing is, all the years that I lived with you guys, I always knew something was off. I could feel it, even though I didn’t understand what was wrong. And then Fitz brought me to the Lost Cities, and it felt like . . . taking a deep breath for the very first time.”
Her sister nodded. “I guess I get that. But then . . . you’re never coming home.”
“Not to live,” Sophie admitted. “I belong here. But I might be able to visit someday—if you guys wanted me to.”
She couldn’t really wrap her head around how that would work—how she’d blend her old life and her new without everything getting tangled up.
But there had to be a way.
If she could convince everyone to let her family keep their memories . . .
If they got her parents back safely . . .
“I know everything’s a mess right now,” she said. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I promise we’ll figure it all out, okay?”
She waited for her sister to agree before she reached for her hands. “In the meantime, I have a question. What am I supposed to call you? Amy? Natalie?”
“Oh.” She scooted down under the covers. “Is it bad that I don’t know?”
“Not after everything that’s happened. But you do need a name—unless you want me to call you, ‘hey you.’ Or maybe you’d rather try a title, like The Doctor?” She pointed to her sister’s T-shirt.
Her sister couldn’t seem to smile. “It’s just . . . neither name really feels like me anymore.”
“Well . . . you could always choose something new.”
Seconds crawled by.
“Amy’s the name Mom and Dad chose for me, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Mom even told me she picked it because it meant ‘beloved.’ ”
Her sister’s eyes turned watery. “Okay . . . Amy it is.”
Sophie had no idea if that was the right or wrong choice—or if there even was a right or wrong in their situation. But it felt really good to call her sister by the familiar name again.
“So then, Amy—think you’re ready to see where you’ll be staying?”
“You’ll come with me?”
“Of course. We’re in this together.”
She helped Amy up and kept an arm wrapped around her trembling shoulders as she led her to the sitting room, where the adults were waiting.
Quinlin looked just as nervous as Amy—he was wringing his hands so hard, Sophie could see his skin twisting.
But Livvy was all smiles, tossing her sparkly braids and declaring, “There’s my new best friend!”
Amy’s timid grin faded.
“You okay?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not sure.” Her frown dug deeper into her cheeks as she took a longer look at Livvy and said, “I . . . know you.”
Six
YOU KNOW HER?” Sophie asked. “How can you know her?”
Amy closed her eyes, massaging the sides of her forehead. “I think . . . she was my doctor. She came to the house one night and asked me a bunch of questions about how I was feeling. And she gave me this candy that kept changing flavors. I forgot about it until I saw the sparkles in her hair. Now I remember thinking they looked like real jewels.”
“They are,” Livvy said, examining a couple of her braids. “I gues
s I should’ve known they’d give me away.”
“Does that mean you helped relocate my family?” Sophie asked.
“No, she did not,” Alden said, with a look for Livvy that said, care to explain?
Livvy sighed. “What your sister’s remembering happened a few years ago.”
“Years?” Sophie repeated as Quinlin muttered something under his breath. “How many years?”
And then she knew. “I was nine, wasn’t I?”
“By the human way of counting age . . . yes,” Livvy said quietly.
“The human way?” Amy asked. “What’s the human way? And what happened when you were nine?”
Sophie stuck with the question that wouldn’t require a long conversation about birthdays versus inception dates. “Do you remember when I had that big allergic reaction and ended up in the hospital?”
“Sort of. I remember Mom freaking out at the doctors because they couldn’t figure out what you were allergic to.”
“What about before that?” Sophie asked. “Do you remember how I got sick?”
Amy’s forehead got all scrunched. “Huh. I don’t—but my head’s still kind of a mess.”
“I’m sure it is,” Sophie told her, turning back to Livvy. “But I think it’s funny how my sister and I have the same blank spot in our memories—the same time she also saw you. Did my allergy have to do with Amy?”
Livvy twisted her braids. “Right now isn’t the time for this conversation. That memory was taken for a very specific reason. We can’t give it back until you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” Sophie insisted.
“Me too,” Amy added.
“I figured you might say that,” Livvy glanced to Quinlin and Alden as if she was hoping they’d jump in with a subject change.
No such luck.
“The most I can tell you is that there was an accident that day.” She seemed to choose each word carefully. “One that we feared would leave lasting trauma. So your memories were taken, to ensure that neither of you would be haunted by the experience.”