Nightfall

by Shannon Messenger

  No answers.

  No plan.

  Each day dragging her further from her human parents and leading the Neverseen to their surely inevitable victory.

  * * *

  “I SAW THIS HUMAN MOVIE one time,” Dex said to her on the fourth day back at Foxfire after the healing, making her drop the book she’d been pulling from her locker.

  She hadn’t noticed him beside her.

  Had barely noticed anything. For days.

  “It was about this plague that turned everyone into zombies,” Dex continued, retrieving her book and handing it over. “There were all these people shuffling around with glassy eyes and rotting flesh. It was super gross—but also kind of hilarious to see what humans are afraid of.”

  “Okay,” Sophie said as she closed her locker. “You’re telling me this . . . why?”

  “Because that’s what you’re starting to remind me of—without the bloody sores. I mean, Fitz gave you another box of pudding puffs at lunch and you didn’t even blush. And you’ve been walking around with this stuck to your shoulder all day.”

  He peeled off a bold-lettered sign that said, ALL HAIL TEAM FOSTER-KEEFE!

  She blinked.

  He lowered his voice, making sure no one nearby was listening before he asked, “You’re worrying about your parents, right?”

  A lump caught in her throat. “I shouldn’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there are so many huger problems—like the soporidine and—”

  “Hey,” he said, waiting until she looked at him. “You’re allowed to care about your family.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “We’ve lost almost another week. And I know the Washers can erase their memories—but that doesn’t help them right now, with whatever misery they’re suffering.”

  “I know. But . . . I bet they don’t even know how long it’s been, or where they are, or what’s happening. You and I didn’t, remember? They kept us drugged.”

  “Not the whole ti—”

  “Don’t,” Dex interrupted. “If you’re going to find them—and fix all these other problems—you need to stay focused. And there’s a really good chance I’m right about them being sedated—you have to admit that. So can’t you try to believe it, and use it to shut the nightmares down before they get too distracting? Just tell yourself, They’re sleeping, they’re sleeping, they’re sleeping.”

  Her logical side wanted to poke a million holes in his theory.

  But . . . he had a point.

  She had no idea what her parents were dealing with—so why not hope for the best instead of assuming the worst?

  “I’ll try,” she promised.

  “Try it now,” he pushed. “Close your eyes and think it until you mean it.”

  It took so many repetitions that Sophie lost count. But by the end, her nerves had settled and her nausea had faded, and everything felt a little bit clearer.

  “Keep that up—every time the panic comes back, okay?” Dex pleaded. “And if you need to talk, hail me. Anytime.”

  She nodded and he reached for her hand, giving her gloved fingers a gentle squeeze before realizing he was going to be late for his technopathy session and racing away.

  It wasn’t until Sophie was halfway to her own session that she realized . . .

  That was the first time Dex had talked to her—really talked to her—since their infamous kiss.

  It was a small victory compared to the massive battles they were still waging. But she was still grateful for it.

  And later that night, she actually slept.

  Sixty-seven

  DEX’S SUGGESTION KEPT Sophie out of zombie mode for another week—though it required a lot of mentally chanting, They’re asleep, they’re asleep, they’re asleep.

  But it also dredged up a whole other kind of worry.

  If the Neverseen were keeping her parents sedated . . . could they be using soporidine?

  And much as she tried to tell herself that being in a deep, comalike trance was better than them being conscious prisoners, she couldn’t help wondering what kind of a toll a drug like that would take—especially since Lady Cadence and the ogres still seemed no closer to a cure.

  So when Friday rolled around again—and there hadn’t been the slightest bit of news or progress—Sophie found herself ignoring Sandor and climbing to the top level of Foxfire’s glass pyramid instead of heading to her afternoon session. And when the door to Magnate Leto’s office was locked, she plopped down on the floor to wait for him.

  “Whoa—is the Mysterious Miss F. ditching?” Keefe asked several minutes later as he strode up the stairs, followed by Ro and Magnate Leto. “Or did you get sent here? Either way, you clearly deserve the highest of high fives.”

  “Why are you here?” Sophie asked, ignoring his raised hand as she stumbled to her feet.

  “Tiny incident in the Level Five wing—but don’t look at me. This one was all on her.” He hooked a thumb toward Ro.

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Sandor grumbled.

  Ro batted her eyelashes. “Hey, it’s not my fault if someone gets their foot broken while trying to trip me.”

  “It is if you stomp on them as hard as you can,” Magnate Leto argued.

  His usually sleek hair looked much more disheveled than usual as he led the way into his triangular office.

  “You should’ve heard the crunch,” Keefe whispered when Sophie followed him in.

  “And the squealing,” Ro added. “You elves are such melodramatic babies. The bone barely even poked through her skin.”

  Sophie shuddered. “Who was it?”

  “I don’t think you know Shayda,” Keefe said, collapsing into one of the tweed armchairs across from Magnate Leto’s gilded, antique-style desk. “I barely know her either—except that she always gives me lots of presents at midterms and finals.” He winked. “By the way, love what you’ve done with the place, Leto.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Magnate Leto sank into his own chair, which was more of an upholstered throne now.

  “You’re welcome for making it so you don’t have to stare at ten thousand reflections of yourself every day,” Keefe told him.

  Sophie elbowed Keefe as she sat beside him. “You don’t get to brag about leaving me covered in shattered glass.”

  “Wait—did you wreck this place?” Ro asked, studying the sloped glass walls and pointed ceiling with new appreciation.

  “He did.” And Sandor’s glare made it very clear that Keefe hadn’t been forgiven. “He’s lucky the floor didn’t shatter with the walls.”

  “I knew it was thicker,” Keefe mumbled, “just like I knew the cloak would keep Sophie covered.”

  Ro whistled. “You know, when you’re trying to impress a girl, it’s probably better if you don’t almost kill her.”

  “Eh, this is Foster. She loves the thrill.”

  “Moving back to the much more pressing matter,” Magnate Leto interceded, “Shayda Adel happens to be the daughter of two important Emissaries.”

  “So? I’m a princess.” Ro pointed to the tattoos on her forehead.

  “I’m aware. But royalty or not, you’ll still have to face consequences for your actions—and not just the detention I’m going to make you both serve through the end of the school year. The Adels will insist the Council issue their own punishment.”

  “What about the punishment for her assault on me?” Ro countered. “She was trying to knock me into that ugly jeweled dragon statue in the atrium—and if you think I’m going to let some scrawny elf make a fool out of me—”

  “Miss Adel’s punishment will be the days of bed rest she now requires while her bones heal,” Magnate Leto interrupted. “And yours will likely involve some sort of apology during orientation next week—which I recommend you attempt to sound sincere for. I understand that some of my prodigies have been far from welcoming—and I’m working to correct that. But in the meantime . . . play nice. And if anything like this happens again, tr
y defending yourself in a way that Elwin can quickly heal with an elixir.”

  Ro crossed her arms. “Fine. But I’m going to need a list of exactly what kinds of injuries that leaves available—ranked in order of how painful they are.”

  “Can I get a copy of that list too?” Keefe asked.

  Magnate Leto rubbed his temples. “Some days I miss being Beacon.”

  “Hey, if you ever need a day off principal duty, I’d be happy to fill in,” Keefe offered.

  “Me too! Me too!” Ro said.

  “And what about you?” Magnate Leto said, ignoring them and shifting his attention to Sophie. “To what do I owe this visit?”

  Sophie glanced at Ro. “Um . . . I need to talk to you alone.”

  “Wow, subtlety is not your thing,” Ro told her. “So let’s end the misery—I already know this guy is the Forklenater. Took me about two seconds to figure it out after I met him. The berries might mask his scent for your noses—or his.” She grinned at Sandor. “But one whiff and I was like, come on, who are we kidding?”

  “Interesting,” Magnate Leto said, leaning back in his chair. “Have you shared this knowledge with your father?”

  “Nope. He’ll respect you more if you tell him yourself. And I never thought I’d say this, but . . . I want you guys to keep working together—even after he tracks down the jerks who defected. Your Councillors are too stuffy—and the Neverseen are backstabbers. But the Black Swan might actually be useful.”

  Magnate Leto’s lips twitched into a smile. “I appreciate your discretion.”

  He turned back to Sophie. “I’m assuming you’re here about the journals?”

  Sophie nodded. “Please tell me you’ve finally learned something that might help?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I’d been planning to call a meeting once we finished the school week and I could take a break from this identity. But since you’re here . . .”

  He reached into his desk and held up a rough sketch of the Nightfall symbol, tracing a finger along one of the lines. “What does this look like to you?”

  “I’m guessing the correct answer isn’t ‘a line’?” Sophie said.

  Keefe leaned closer, squinting at it. “I think it’s a rune.”

  “It is. As is this.” Magnate Leto traced his finger over another line in the design. “And this. And this. And this. And this. And this. Seven runes in all, which means this isn’t just a symbol. It’s a signature.”

  Now he had Sophie’s attention. “You know the name of the escaped prisoner.”

  “I do.” He ran his finger over each of the runes again. “Vespera.”

  Sixty-eight

  VESPERA.”

  The name gave Sophie goose bumps—and not just because they finally had a piece of concrete information about the new villain they were chasing.

  “Do you think that’s the password?” she asked. “For one of the Forgotten Secrets in Fintan’s cache?”

  “It’s seems worth testing,” Magnate Leto said.

  He promised to make sure that Bronte and Dex met at Havenfield the next morning—then ordered Sophie and Keefe to return to their sessions while he cleaned up Ro’s foot-smashing mess.

  Sophie did as he asked, but the whole rest of the day her brain was a constant loop of Vespera, Vespera, Vespera. And the more the name repeated, the more certain she was that they’d found their breakthrough.

  This had to be the big AHA! that would make everything come together and finally help them get ahead of the Neverseen’s plans.

  It felt like morning would never get there—but then it did. And Dex was already waiting for her when she made her way downstairs. So was Bronte. And Mr. Forkle. And Alden and Della. And Grady and Edaline. And Tam, Linh, Biana, Fitz, Keefe, Grizel, Woltzer, Lovise, and Ro.

  Bronte insisted on giving all of them a lecture about the risks of learning a Forgotten Secret—and made the goblins and Ro wait outside—and Sophie was going to explode with impatience until Dex brought out the cache, and they all held their breath as he whispered “Vespera” to the tiny crystal orb, and . . .

  . . . absolutely nothing happened.

  Bronte tried saying it louder, with more authority, but it didn’t make a difference. Just like it didn’t matter when Keefe tried saying it with an unsettlingly accurate mimic of Fintan’s voice. Nor when Dex closed his eyes and tried to say the name through the strange language of Technopaths—even when Sophie enhanced him.

  “How can that not be the password?” she groaned, sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t do something stupid, like grab the cache, run outside, and hurl it off the cliffs.

  “Honestly, I’m not surprised,” Bronte admitted, and she switched to wanting to throw the cache at his head. “The passwords are supposed to be personal to the cache’s owner, so Vespera’s name is too generic. But, I can run it through the registry and see if it turns up any records. And I’ll share it with the rest of the Council in case it dredges up a rare memory.”

  “I can also run it by the former Lumenaria guards,” Alden offered. “And Fallon as well. He wouldn’t let me in the last time I visited, but he did respond a few times when I shouted through the door.”

  Every plan sounded awfully similar to the things they’d already been wasting time on.

  But . . . they knew the prisoner’s name now. That had to make a difference.

  And yet, when they regrouped at Havenfield the next day, no one had any good news.

  “Maybe ‘Vespera’ is an alias,” Biana suggested as she squished into the space on the couch between Dex and her brother. “Or . . . maybe we arranged the runes wrong.”

  “I guess it could be Evespar,” Linh said. “Or Apreves, or Pravese, or . . . are those actually names?”

  “We could play with ugly anagrams all night,” Keefe told her. “Or we could solve this the faster way. Who has my old Imparter?”

  “I do,” Sandor said from his post in the corner. “But I don’t see why we need to involve your mother again.”

  “Because she’s the only one who’s helped us so far,” Sophie reminded him.

  “Ohhhh, does this mean I get to stab Keefe?” Ro asked when Sandor handed over the silver gadget and Sophie took a seat on the bottom step of the staircase.

  Keefe sat beside Sophie. “Just my finger—and keep in mind that I have an elixir that will turn you sparkly pink if you cut me too hard.”

  Ro’s grin was downright wicked as she drew a dagger from the back of her breastplate. “I bet I’d look good in sparkles.”

  “Wait,” Sophie said, before Ro could draw any blood. “Mr. Forkle can’t be here when we hail her. And I doubt Lady Gisela will talk with Bronte around either.”

  “If I know my mom,” Keefe said, “she’ll be way more helpful if we don’t have any adults listening in. She thinks we’re easier to fool without them.”

  “You are,” Bronte said, earning groans from all of Sophie’s friends. “What? It’s a fact. Adults have more experience.”

  “Yeah, well, go be experienced in the kitchen,” Keefe told him. “Feel free to make us some snacks while you’re there. And OW!” He yanked his hand away from Ro. “Did I say you could stab me yet?”

  “You would’ve been way flinchier if I’d warned you first. Besides, I barely nicked you—but if you want me to kiss it and make it better when you’re done . . .” She puckered her lips—which she’d painted blue that morning—and made a loud smooch. “Or were you going to offer that job to Sophie?”

  “Don’t hate me for saying this,” Grizel whispered to Sandor, “but I’m starting to like this ogre.”

  Sandor let out a squeaky sigh.

  Keefe, meanwhile, waited for the adults to file into the kitchen before he smeared his blood across the Imparter and held it up to face him, angling it to show as little of the room as possible.

  “Looks like the reckless son has finally returned to fight for his legacy,” Lady Gisela said through the blank screen. “And with his loyal bodyguard, no l
ess. Hello, Princess—it’s so good to see you. Are you enjoying your time in the Lost Cities?”

  Ro shrugged. “It’s not so bad when I get to smash things. I had a lot of fun in your old house. You didn’t care about that desk, did you?”

  Sophie could hear the scowl in Lady Gisela’s voice when she said, “No, my son already retrieved what I needed from there.”

  “I did,” Keefe agreed. “So now you can tell us all about Vespera.”

  “And here I thought you were hailing me to say you’d finally gotten your hands on the Archetype.”

  “Nope. If you want your stupid book back, you have to tell us where to find it,” Keefe told her.

  “I already gave you my journals. And if you’ve figured out the signature, you’ve no doubt spotted the other clues. Your job is to find where it all leads.”

  “Maybe you should tell us what clues you found,” Fitz jumped in, “so we can make sure we caught them all.”

  “Ah. The Vacker boy is around,” Lady Gisela said. “And still contributing very little, it seems. But if you need me to spell it out, there are several entries that talk about steps—and I’d once thought Vespera meant a list of tasks. But now I believe she means literal stairs. I can’t tell if they identify the facility or are simply a part of it, but either way it gives you a landmark to watch for. There’s also a part where she goes on and on about rebuilding after the sinking—and I’d thought she meant rebuilding her plans. But I think she meant the facility itself—or part of it, at least—which is why it has to be in Atlantis. And the part about leaving her mark on Nightfall implies the facility is branded with her symbol.”

  “So . . . you’re not actually sure about any of this,” Sophie said through gritted teeth. “These are all just theories.”

  “No, Sophie, these are facts. You’ve read the journals. You saw how she described it. Or wait—have you?”

  “I didn’t have time to translate thousands of ancient runes,” Sophie admitted.

  “Ugh. What a horrible time to delegate. That explains why this is taking so much longer than I’d expected. I’ve been wondering how you could stand to let so much time pass.”