That actually turned out to be a good thing, though, when Physic and Amy arrived a few minutes later, dragging a storm of awkwardness in with them. Amy wouldn’t look at Sophie, and Sophie was happy to return the favor, pretending to be fascinated by the jewels on Physic’s mask. So Keefe jumped in to fill the silence.
He’d just agreed to tell Amy all about the Great Gulon Incident when a loud knock halted the conversation. Sophie was too nauseous to care that she’d lost another chance to hear about Keefe’s epic prank—especially when Mr. Forkle shuffled back into the room, followed by a tall elf in a long gray cloak.
He tossed back his hood, revealing dark skin, buzzed dark hair, and shockingly handsome features—though most of the shock came from how young he looked. Sophie wouldn’t have guessed him a day past sixteen.
“Everyone, meet Mr. Kafuta,” Mr. Forkle told them.
“You’re a Washer?” Amy asked, clearly as surprised by his obvious youth as Sophie was.
He flashed a bright white smile. “I am, and you’re welcome to call me Damel, if it’s easier. Oh, and yeah, I know I have a baby face. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for years.”
“Since he was a Level Four, I believe,” Mr. Forkle agreed.
“And next year you’ll be . . .” Keefe prompted.
“A Level Eight,” Damel told him.
Which didn’t actually sound like a whole lot of experience—but Sophie reminded herself that in a little over two years she’d faced fires and floods and plagues and beasts and tribunals and banishments and far too many Healing Center visits.
And if she’d survived all of that, surely she could survive this.
Damel frowned at Amy. “Is this the girl I’ll be . . . ?”
“I’ll sedate her when it’s her turn,” Physic promised, squeezing Amy’s shaky hand. “But she wanted to see that her parents were safely through their wash before we started on hers. And I can’t blame her with how tricky this one’s going to be.”
“That’s what I hear.” Damel turned to Sophie. “I was told you want to be in the room with me. Planning on assisting?”
“In a way.” Sophie held up her right hand and peeled off her lacy glove. “I’m going to enhance you.”
Damel’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d heard your powers were legendary, but . . .”
His voice trailed off as Keefe tried to cover his choked laugh with a cough.
“This particular ability of Miss Foster’s is not public knowledge,” Mr. Forkle explained.
“Gotcha,” Damel said, rubbing his chin as he studied Sophie. “I’ve never been enhanced before. What should I expect?”
“I’m not sure,” Sophie admitted. “But I’m hoping you’ll be able to get everything that could be triggering completely out of their heads. Especially all their memories of me.”
“What?” Amy and Keefe asked at the same time.
“Will that work?” Amy added.
“I don’t know,” Sophie said, turning back to Damel. “But we have to try. I’m the reason my parents were captured. So if something ever made them remember me, it could trigger all of their other horrifying memories. The only way to keep them safe is to try to wipe myself totally out of their heads, and maybe if I enhance you, your instincts will tell you how to do it.”
Damel whistled. “Alden said this one would be intense, but this is a whole other level.”
“It is,” Physic agreed. “And there’s one other variable. The sedative they’re under—let’s just say you’ve never seen it before. So I’ll have to administer a special antidote to wake them up. And I’ll be honest, I have no idea how that’s going to affect what you’re here to do—especially since I don’t feel comfortable sedating them again.”
“I’ve done one other wash with someone awake,” Damel told her. “It’s weird that way, but I should be good.”
“Then shall we?” Physic asked, adjusting her mask as she headed down a dove-gray hall.
Keefe hooked his arm through Sophie’s. “Don’t argue, Foster. You’re going to need me.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Forkle told her. “And we’ll wait here,” he added, placing a hand on Amy’s shoulder to stop her from following.
Sophie didn’t look at her sister as she walked away. And she tried not to think about what was happening—tried to focus on one foot in front of the other.
But as they entered the dimly lit bedroom, she realized . . . this was it.
The last time she’d ever see her human parents.
The last time she’d have a connection to the people who’d tucked her in every night, and read her bedtime stories about fairies and hobbits, and taught her to ride a bike, and let her cry on their shoulders when she skinned her knees.
She gave herself one minute to study their familiar faces, memorizing every line and shadow. They looked like themselves again.
Peaceful.
Happy.
She hoped they would be.
“Ready?” Physic asked, removing two small green vials from her cloak.
The antidote hadn’t been shaped into spheres like the one they’d used on Ro, but the thick green sludge looked familiar as Physic smeared it on Sophie’s father’s foot.
Within seconds he began to stir—limbs thrashing, eyelids fluttering. And Sophie held her breath as his eyes opened and slowly seemed to focus.
For one moment his gaze met hers, and she could’ve sworn a hint of recognition flickered.
“Bye, Dad,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Damel took her shaky hand. “Wow. That’s, that’s . . . different.”
“You okay?” Physic asked him.
“Yeah. Just trying to settle my head for a second.”
His forehead creased, and he took a long, slow breath before he reached for Sophie’s father’s temple and pressed his fingers against the pale skin.
Sophie let her mind go blank, not wanting to see any of the horrible things Damel had to be witnessing. Whatever they were, they had him quivering and moaning.
“It’s okay,” Keefe whispered, pulling off Sophie’s other glove and sending her a blue mental breeze.
He had to send two more before Damel stumbled and fell back, bending to rest his head near his knees.
“Need a break?” Physic asked.
“No, I think . . . I think I just want to get this over with.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s a lot to process.”
Two more breaths and he straightened, glancing at Sophie. “Ready?”
She really wasn’t. But she nodded, and Physic smeared the antidote on her mother’s foot.
It took longer for her mom to stir, and her eyes were cloudy when they opened. But when Sophie whispered, “Bye, Mom,” they seemed to clear.
“I’ll always love you,” Sophie added, choking back a small sob.
Her mom blinked hard and looked away.
But right as Damel pressed his hand against her temple, she rasped, “I’ll always love you too, Sophie.” Then her eyes rolled back and Damel washed her memories away.
Ninety
I’M FINE,” SOPHIE told Keefe.
She’d already said it a dozen times. But he kept his grip on her hand and sent another soft breeze rushing through her head.
It helped, a little. But the numbness was fighting hard to take over. Which was probably why Keefe wouldn’t let go.
They’d moved back out to the porch—Sophie, Keefe, and Damel—craving air and sunlight after that suffocating room. It was Mr. Forkle’s turn at the moment, and he was busy flooding her parents’ minds with the new backstories he’d meticulously crafted to fill the gaps in their memories and prepare them for their new lives. Shaping them into people Sophie would never know.
“She remembered me,” she whispered.
Damel nodded. “I’m sorry she won’t anymore.”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s fine. It’s how it has to be. But were you really able to erase everything we needed?”
“Everything,” he agreed
. “As far as they’ll know, you never existed.”
“And nothing can change that?” Amy asked from the far end of the porch.
Sophie hadn’t noticed her hiding over there, tucked into the shadows next to Sandor.
“Nope,” Damel promised. “With the enhancing . . . I don’t know how to describe it. But every memory I washed didn’t just get buried—it’s gone. And it was super easy to find them. The second I thought Sophie’s name, it dragged every thought they’d ever had about her right to me, and all I had to do was wash them away. Same thing worked with anything about elves.”
Amy’s sob rang out over the crashing waves, and a tiny, bitter part of Sophie was tempted to let her cry alone.
But she got up to be the big sister one last time. “It’s going to be okay,” she promised, resting her hand on Amy’s shoulder. “You won’t even remember any of this in a couple of hours.”
“NO!” her sister shouted, nearly knocking them both over as she threw her arms around her. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want anyone taking my memories.”
Sophie twisted in the stranglehold, trying to breathe. “I know how scary this all seems—”
“That’s not it!” Amy insisted. She leaned back, waiting for Sophie to meet her eyes—which were so much like her mom’s eyes that Sophie’s chest tightened. “I’m not scared. I just . . . I don’t want to forget anything. I only said I did because I didn’t want to put Mom and Dad in any danger. But I can’t now, right?”
“You shouldn’t be able to,” Damel agreed.
“Then, please,” Amy begged him. “Don’t erase my memories. I want to remember Havenfield and Atlantis, and Quinlin and Livvy, and Silveny and Greyfell and everyone else, and—”
“Especially me?” Keefe couldn’t resist jumping in.
“Yes.” Amy sniffled. “I want to know that elves are real—and so much cooler than all the stories people tell about them. I want to remember what mallowmelt tastes like, and what it feels like to ride on a beam of light. But mostly . . . I want to know that I have a super-amazing sister out there who’s way too cool for me, but . . . I love her.”
Tears blurred Sophie’s eyes. “I love you too.”
Amy hugged her tighter. “Does that mean I can keep you?”
“Only if I can keep you.”
“Awwwwwwwww, you guys are going to make me cry too!” Keefe said, wrapping his arms around them and turning it into a group hug.
Sandor joined in too—much to everyone’s surprise. And Sophie had no idea how long they stood like that, or what Damel must’ve thought of them.
But eventually Mr. Forkle cleared his throat and said, “Looks like I need to hail Bronte.”
* * *
“YOU CAN NEVER VISIT HERE,” Bronte told Sophie as he led her and Amy up the stone path to a fancy Tudor-style house with cut-glass windows glinting in the pale dawn light. It was slightly bigger than her family’s last house, and nestled closer to the neighbors. But Mr. Forkle had done a good job of finding a place that would feel familiar.
“I know,” Sophie growled at Bronte. “I’ve sat through all your lectures.”
Amy had spent the last two days at Havenfield, while Bronte went over all of her new rules. The basic gist was: Amy wouldn’t tell anyone anything. And Sophie would stay far away. Not because they were worried about triggering her parents’ memories, but because they didn’t want to draw the attention of the Neverseen.
The Council would also be keeping a close watch on Amy and her family—as would the Black Swan. And Amy had an Imparter for extreme emergencies.
Someday, they hoped things would calm down and Amy could visit the Lost Cities.
In the meantime, she’d have to settle for keeping her memories.
“So . . . I guess this is it, then, huh?” Amy said when they reached the front door. Watson was inside barking and scratching at the wood.
“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Sophie asked.
Amy nodded. “It’ll be . . . an adventure.”
Her parents had been brought in the night before—and were currently sleeping off a mild sedative. Once they woke up, Amy would feed them the final details of the cover story Mr. Forkle had perfected, and life would hopefully settle into some sort of new normal.
“We need to hurry,” Bronte said, glancing over his shoulder at the empty street. “We are far too conspicuous.”
Sophie could’ve pointed out that if he wanted to blend in he should’ve removed his cape and circlet—and put a hat over his ears.
But that would’ve cost precious seconds she refused to use for anything other than pulling her sister into a strangle-hug.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Sophie whispered.
Her sister nodded. “And you keep . . . saving the world.”
Sophie smiled through her tears. “I’ll try.”
Neither of them said goodbye.
But they let go, and Bronte immediately dragged Sophie toward a small cluster of trees where they’d have enough privacy to leap away.
She stole one final glimpse over her shoulder as Bronte adjusted his pathfinder, and spotted Amy still standing in the doorway, half in and half out of her new life.
She used her foot to block Marty and Watson from sprinting into the street and gave a small wave, shouting, “See you later, Sophie.”
Ninety-one
KEEFE WAS WAITING under Calla’s Panakes when Sophie leaped back to Havenfield after a final lecture from Bronte. And Sandor stood beside him, for once not looking annoyed by Keefe’s existence.
“I figured you were having a rough morning,” Keefe said, patting a spot on the grass beside him. “And since I still have a few more days without Ro driving me crazy, I thought I’d bring you a cheer-up present, since apparently that’s a thing.”
He held out his arms.
“Um . . .” Sophie didn’t see a gift.
Keefe smirked. “Foster, Foster, Foster—always so adorably oblivious. I’m the gift. I’m all yours today—though I might be willing to extend my servitude if you call me the Gift Master.”
Sophie rolled her eyes as she smiled. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“And you love it.” His grin shifted into something softer, something that made her stomach tighten. “So what do you need, Foster? A shoulder to cry on? A good old-fashioned cuddle? Or should we go back to brainstorming my favor?”
Sophie tugged an itchy eyelash. “Actually, Fitz will be here any minute.”
“Oh? And why is the Fitzster coming over? Hot date?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Can’t say that he did.” He frowned when she reached for her eyelashes again, and his eyes dropped to his hands. “Why so nervous, Foster? Are you guys finally making Fitzphie official? Because if you are—”
“We’re not,” Sophie interrupted, not sure she wanted to know how that sentence ended. “If you must know, we’re going to see Alvar. Mr. Forkle is going to use some of the antidote on him to see if we can get some answers.”
Keefe was immediately on his feet. “Any chance I can be part of the big awakening? And maybe borrow your Sucker Punch while I’m there?”
“Only after I get the first shot,” Fitz said behind her.
Sophie spun around and found him standing between Alden and Grizel. It was hard to decide who looked most exhausted among them.
“You guys going to be okay with this?” Sophie asked.
Fitz’s nod looked grim. “I should be asking you the same thing. How’d it go with your sister?” He’d been reaching out telepathically every night to check on her, even though she’d told him to focus on helping Biana with her recovery.
Sophie shrugged. “Not as sad as I thought. Just . . . weird.”
“I bet.”
Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that.
“It’s okay if I crash your Alvar party, right?” Keefe jumped in, draping an arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “Foster made it sound sup
er fun.”
“Sure,” Fitz said slowly. “I guess I should’ve known you’d be here.”
There was a strange edge to the words, and Keefe was quick to change the subject.
“Della and Biana aren’t coming?”
Alden shook his head. “Biana’s not feeling up to leaving the house yet, and Della didn’t want to leave her alone. Especially since Dex and Kesler are supposed to stop by with their next round of elixirs. We’re hoping this might be the last batch she needs.”
Sophie opened her mouth to ask for more details about Biana’s recovery, but Mr. Forkle glittered into the pastures and appeared to be in quite the hurry.
“I need to get back to being Magnate Leto by this evening,” he explained as he dug a magsidian ring out of his pocket, “and we still have a long walk ahead.”
“Of course we do,” Keefe grumbled. But it didn’t stop him from joining hands with the others and stepping into the path Mr. Forkle created—though he probably regretted it when they reappeared in the middle of a sweaty, putrid bog filled with sticky vines and an abundance of skittering things.
“Any chance I can convince either of you goblins to carry me?” Keefe asked, the third time he ended up knee-deep in sludge.
“No, but I’d be happy to carry Sophie,” Sandor offered.
Keefe clutched his heart. “That hurts, Gigantor. I bet Ro would carry me.”
“And probably bang your head into all the trees,” Grizel added.
“No one needs to carry anyone,” Mr. Forkle told them. “We’re here.”
He kicked aside the long grass, revealing a metal hatch sunken into the muck.
“Please tell me it smells better down there,” Keefe begged.
It didn’t.
A slippery ladder brought them down into a tiny round room that was so humid and foul it felt like crawling inside someone’s snotty nose. But maybe that was deserved, since the only occupant was a violent traitor.
And yet, Alvar didn’t look much like a monster when Sophie spotted him strapped to a cot in the center. He looked . . . defeated. His frail body was covered in angry red scars, and he was strapped to the bed with thick metal bands across his chest, knees, and ankles.