“No, you’re not!” Mr. Forkle snapped, stalking closer with such intensity that Sophie shrank back, leaning on her sister. “I understand your frustrations, Miss Foster. And I’m not going to tell you how to feel. But I hope you also remember at least some of the incredible things that you—and only you—are able to do, as well as the tremendous things you’ve accomplished because of those powers. I realize it’s not easy being one of a kind. I also understand how natural it is to fixate on the negative, particularly in a moment like this, when you’re facing another complication. And I won’t deny that we’ve run into unexpected challenges. But none of that makes you defective. You… are my greatest success.” He stepped closer, reaching for her hands. “Never lose sight of how special you are, Sophie. You’re unique in a way that no one else ever can or will be—and only part of that comes from our experiments, by the way. The rest comes from you. From the bright, brave, brilliant girl you naturally are. And I hope you know that as far as all of us involved with your creation are concerned, you exceed our expectations every single day.”
The words were some of the most wonderful things that anyone had ever said to Sophie.
But for some reason, they only threw kindling on her anger.
Maybe she was tired and frustrated and sick of being manipulated.
Or maybe she just needed answers.
Either way, she finally snapped back with the question she’d been avoiding. “Does that include Councillor Bronte?”
Mr. Forkle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The people involved with my creation,” Sophie clarified. “That includes Bronte, right?”
“Why would it?” Mr. Forkle asked.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to make me say it?” When he stayed silent, she sat up straighter, holding his stare as she said, “Fine. I know Bronte has to be my biological father.”
Amy sucked in a breath. “He’s the pointy-eared guy we rode the alicorns with, right? The one who let me keep my memories?”
Sophie nodded, not taking her eyes off Mr. Forkle, whose expression was as inscrutable as ever.
“Well?” she prompted. “Anything you have to say to that?”
He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should’ve realized you’d jump to that conclusion, given the rarity of his ability. And I won’t deny that I studied his DNA as I developed the tweaks I made to your inflicting. But that’s the full extent of his involvement in Project Moonlark—and he has no idea he was even a source of inspiration. I gathered the sample of his DNA without his permission and conducted all of my research without his knowledge.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe that?” Sophie argued.
“I would hope so, since it’s the truth.” He looked away, shaking his head. “You’ve also met Bronte—and seen how he treated you and our order. Can you honestly see him agreeing to be a part of Project Moonlark?”
“I don’t know—that could’ve been his way of trying to cover up his involvement,” Sophie countered.
Mr. Forkle sighed and reached up to rub his temples. “It wasn’t. And I’m only going to say this one more time, Miss Foster: Councillor Bronte is not your biological father. So I need you to put that thought out of your mind—and call off any investigations you and your friends might be making into it—before you start rumors that could cause a nightmare of drama and headaches.”
“If you don’t want us investigating, you should tell me who my genetic parents are,” Sophie told him. “That’s the only way it stops.”
“I’ve told you—I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Amy asked when Sophie didn’t bother.
“I can’t tell you that, either,” Mr. Forkle said, and Sophie mouthed his answer along with him, nailing the words and his inflection. “I can’t,” he added, when he noticed Sophie’s mimicry.
“Maybe not,” Sophie said quietly. “But I can’t let it go, either. And… I can’t trust someone who’s hiding things from me.”
“I’m hiding them for good reason,” Mr. Forkle assured her.
“Even if that’s true,” Sophie told him, “you’re also asking me to trust you with my life—again. Asking me to swallow something I’m deathly allergic to and trust that whatever remedy you give me—using another huge needle, by the way—will stop the reaction before I die. I’m supposed to do all of that, and you won’t even trust me enough to tell me a simple truth about my life that I deserve to know.”
Mr. Forkle turned away, pacing across the room.
“Is that what this is, then?” he asked, his voice ominously low. “ ‘Tell me who my biological parents are or I won’t let you reset my inflicting’?”
Sophie hadn’t realized it was until he spelled it out that way.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“That is… unfortunate,” he gritted out as he paced back the other way.
“It is,” Sophie agreed, refusing to worry that she was being stubborn or selfish.
She’d taken every single risk the Black Swan had ever asked of her—plus dozens more.
And they repaid her by hiding the one secret she’d ever demanded in return.
Silence followed—nothing but Mr. Forkle’s shuffling steps and Sophie’s pounding heart for thirty-seven breathless beats.
Then he told her, “Well then, if that’s your decision, I guess we’re done here.”
Sophie nodded, proud of her legs for not shaking as she pulled out her home crystal and stood to face him. As Sandor moved to her side, she transmitted a promise to Amy that she’d hail her later.
“I guess we are done,” Sophie told Mr. Forkle, holding his gaze as she raised her crystal to the light.
And she didn’t hesitate when she leaped away.
EIGHTEEN
SOOOOOOOO… THESE ARE DISAPPOINTING.” Keefe took a second bite from a round Digestive biscuit and crinkled his nose. “Are they supposed to suck up all the spit in your mouth and turn it into a paste? Is that, like, something humans find delicious?”
“Maybe you’re supposed to dunk them in milk?” Sophie suggested, trying not to spray crumbs as she struggled to swallow the bite she’d taken. They really did win the prize for Driest. Cookies. Ever. “Actually, I think you’re supposed to eat them with tea.”
“You think?” Keefe asked, shaking his head and stuffing the rest of the Digestive into his mouth. “You’re failing me with your human knowledge, Foster.”
“For the thousandth time, I grew up in the U.S., not the U.K.!” she reminded him. “We had Chips Ahoy! and Oreos and E.L. Fudges!”
“Hm. Those do sound more fun than a Digestive,” Keefe conceded.
“I’m sure you’d especially enjoy the E.L. Fudges,” Sophie told him. “They’re shaped like tiny elves.”
Keefe dropped the package of Jaffa Cakes he’d been in the process of opening and scanned the beach in front of them. “Okay, where’s the nearest cliff? You need to teleport me somewhere to get some of those immediately.”
“She most certainly does not,” Sandor corrected from his position in the doorway that connected the patio they were on to the rest of the Shores of Solace.
Sophie couldn’t tell if he’d chosen that spot to keep an eye on both the house and the shoreline, or if he was there to keep Lord Cassius away from them. Either way, she was just glad Sandor hadn’t fought her—too hard—about the visit.
“Aw, come on, Gigantor!” Keefe whined. “We’re talking about elf-shaped cookies! I need this in my life!”
“So do I!” Ro added. “Do you have any idea how much fun I would have smashing them?”
Sophie laughed, and Keefe leaned back against the arm of the large cushioned swing they’d been sharing, watching the sun slowly sink toward the ocean.
“There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for! It’s about time, Foster! I wasn’t sure how many more biscuits I’d be able to stomach. I mean, these weren’t too bad”—he picked up the Jammie Dodgers from the stack of cookie packages pil
ed between them—“but note to self: Next time Foster shows up out of the blue, clearly upset over something she’s been worrying about all day and yet refuses to talk about, stick with mallowmelt for the cheer-up process.”
Sophie’s gaze dropped to the pack of Custard Creams they still hadn’t opened. “I didn’t need cheering up. And I’m not worrying about anything.”
“Uh, do I really need to remind you that I’m an Empath?” he asked. “Or can I just pelt you with the rest of these Digestives? It’d be way better than having to eat them.”
He wasn’t wrong about anything he’d just said—but Sophie still stuck with the safer topic.
“I’m not feeling a whole lot of gratitude from you here for all the effort I went through to bring you back your biscuit shopping list—plus bonus treats,” she pointed out.
“You mean having Dizznee pull some money from your birth fund and then hitting up a shop for a couple of minutes?” Keefe asked. “Yeah, Dex told me all about how not exhausting that was last night, when he checked in to tell me how things went for you two in London, while someone was off doing something with Mr. Forkle that was clearly both frustrating and intense—as most things with Forkle tend to be.”
“Hey, I still thought of you!” Sophie argued, ignoring the obvious nudge he was giving the conversation. “That counts for something.”
“It does indeed, Foster,” Keefe said quietly, fidgeting with another Digestive. “It does indeed.”
A beat of silence followed before he cleared his throat and added, “But do you really think you’re going to be able to leave here without telling me what happened with the Forklenator? If you do, you’re going to be sorely, sorely disappointed—and covered in biscuit crumbs.”
“Don’t worry, she came here to talk to you about it,” Ro jumped in. “The cookies were just her excuse. You gonna deny it?” she asked when Sophie turned to scowl at her.
Sophie definitely wanted to.
But… Ro was right.
Sophie had spent the day avoiding Grady and Edaline’s questions about where Mr. Forkle had taken her—and ignoring whoever kept hailing her on her Imparter. And after a few hours of that, her bedroom had started to feel smaller and smaller and smaller. She’d been ready to beg Silveny to fly her somewhere far away when she’d noticed the bag of biscuits on her floor, and the next thing she knew, she was teleporting to the Shores of Solace again and claiming she’d wanted to bring Keefe his London cookies before they got stale.
“The thing is,” she said, scooting back as far as she could on the swing, since space felt important in that moment, “I made a decision yesterday—and it probably wasn’t the right decision, or the smart decision, but I made it anyway because… I just had to. And I’m sure I can take it back if I want, but… I don’t want to. And I figured you might understand that better than a lot of other people would.”
“Soooooooo, what you’re saying is, you think I’m the king of bad decisions,” Keefe said, laughing when Sophie fumbled for an apology. “Relax—I know what you meant. I’m just giving you a hard time. And you have a point. I’m not necessarily great at doing what I’m supposed to do and giving people what they want. And I’m not usually sorry about it either.”
“Don’t forget about all of the self-sabotage!” Ro added. “I can happily provide numerous examples.” She ducked when Keefe flung the package of Digestives at her. “That all you got, Cookie Boy?”
Keefe rolled his eyes and turned back to Sophie. “Anyway… how can I help?”
Sophie dropped her gaze back to the packs of biscuits, tracing her gloved fingers along the logo for the Hobnobs. “I guess I just wanted to talk to someone who might not judge me for what I decided, since I’m pretty sure most people are going to say I made the wrong call—and they’re probably right. I know what the smart thing to do is. I’m just so sick of always being the good little moonlark, you know?”
“Sorta?” Keefe said, waiting for her to look at him. “I mean, you came to the right place—this is definitely a judgment-free zone. But it miiiiiiiiiiight help if you tell me what the decision actually was. Just, you know, for clarity.”
Sophie gave in to the urge to tug on her itchy eyelashes as she explained what had happened in her missing memory, and how Mr. Forkle wanted to reset her inflicting and enhancing, and why she’d refused and leaped away.
“So… you chose to not let the Black Swan almost kill you—again,” Keefe said when she’d finished. “And you think people are going to judge you for that?”
“They should,” Sophie mumbled. “I have the chance to have an ability—or maybe two abilities—that might actually help us take down the Neverseen. And I know better than anyone how badly we’re going to need that kind of power.”
“Yeah, but you also know better than anybody what it feels like to almost die from a huge allergic reaction,” Keefe countered.
“I do,” Sophie agreed.
Her sister had said pretty much the same thing when Sophie had hailed her to check on her after she’d leaped back to Havenfield. Amy had been firmly on Team Don’t-You-Dare-Let-Them-Convince-You-to-Risk-Your-Life-Again.
But… Amy was also human.
She didn’t really understand the gigantic problems the entire planet was facing, or how they threatened the safety of every single species.
“The thing is,” Sophie admitted quietly, “that’s not why I said ‘no’ to what Mr. Forkle was asking. I’m used to pain. I don’t like it—but it’s not like it’s a deal-breaker or anything. And I’m not that worried about surviving, since I’m pretty sure Mr. Forkle, Elwin, and Livvy would find a way to get me through. I even know how valuable the abilities might be. I just… I’m sick of everyone telling me to trust them when they clearly don’t trust me. And I’m really tired of no one caring about what I want when it comes to… pretty much anything. I mean, would it be so hard for someone to say, ‘Hey, Sophie, we get how rough this is for you and we want to do something to make your life a little easier’? Is that such an unreasonable dream? Especially since all I’ve been asking for is a tiny bit of personal information?”
“That one hundred percent makes sense,” Keefe promised, and Sophie felt her shoulders relax a little—until he added, “which is why I have to ask why I feel so much guilt coming from you when you say it. And yeah, it’s definitely guilt—don’t try to deny it. The same stuff that can shatter your sanity if you let it get out of control, so… we kinda need to figure out how to stop you from feeling so much of that, okay?”
Sophie curled her knees into her chest, focusing on the subtle swaying of the swing in the cool ocean breeze. It made it easier for her to say, “I guess it’s because I’m being selfish. And I’m supposed to be better than that.”
“Because you’re the moonlark?” Keefe asked.
She nodded. “The entire reason I exist is so I can use my abilities to stop the Neverseen. I didn’t have parents who loved me and wanted to have a child to add to their family—”
“Neither did I,” Keefe pointed out. “I’m here for my ‘legacy.’ ”
“I know,” Sophie said, hating that Keefe had to live with that. “But… at least for you, doing the right thing means ignoring all of their plans. It’s the opposite for me. I was created to do a job. A pretty important one, from what I can tell. And here I am, refusing to do it simply because I’m trying to find a way to make my life a little more normal. And that’s just… really selfish and silly of me. It’s like an Imparter saying, ‘Hey, I’m sick of you telling me who to hail all the time—I’m not going to do it anymore until you tell me why you made me a square!’ ”
“Uh, but you’re not an Imparter, Foster—though I appreciate the little voice you just did there to really sell the character,” Keefe teased. “But in all seriousness… I see what you’re trying to say. The thing is, though, the Black Swan didn’t make a gadget. They made a person. So they’re going to have to deal with the fact that you have a mind of your own—and a pretty darn
smart one too. It’s okay to trust yourself sometimes. If something feels wrong to you, it probably is wrong. And if it feels like someone’s taking advantage of you, they probably are.”
“I guess.” Sophie sighed, hugging her knees tighter. “But… I keep thinking about how I’m going to feel if someone gets hurt the next time we run into the Neverseen, and I’ll have to wonder if I could’ve stopped it if I hadn’t been so stubborn and agreed to fix my inflicting.”
“But you shouldn’t do that.” Keefe reached toward her, and for a second she wondered if he was going to take her hand—but he grabbed the Jammie Dodgers instead. “I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but I’m going to say it anyway because you clearly need to hear it—and I think it might even be why you came here to talk to me. So… listen closely: It’s not your job to protect anyone, Sophie. No matter what you think—or how many abilities you have—or what plans the Black Swan had when they created Project Moonlark. The only job you have is to be Sophie Foster. And you get to decide who Sophie Foster is.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sophie said, turning back to the sunset. A sad smile curled her lips as she added, “I don’t believe you. But… thanks.”
“Anytime.” Keefe crunched on another cookie, and Sophie closed her eyes, letting everything he’d said float around her head for a few more seconds.
It sure would’ve been nice if her life really could be that simple.
But the world was far, far too complicated.
“So… how goes the memory searching?” she asked, needing to fill the silence.
He shrugged. “Nothing new so far—and nice subject change. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Sophie snatched the Jammie Dodgers away from him and pulled out another cookie, twisting the two halves slowly back and forth, determined to find a way to separate them. “What about our other project?”
Keefe’s eyebrows shot up. “If you mean the Bio-Mommy-and-Daddy Quest, I… wasn’t sure you’d be in the mood to talk about that after yesterday.”
Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8) Page 30
