Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 8)

by Shannon Messenger

  Sophie gave her cookie another careful twist, finally feeling the stubborn jam separate. She held the two halves up triumphantly, then licked the raspberry off of her fingers. “I don’t know—I’m kinda feeling more determined than ever to find out what Mr. Forkle’s hiding from me.”

  Keefe flashed his widest grin yet, leaning back and giving her several slow, proud claps. “You hear that, Ro? Our sweet little Foster’s bringing the fight to the Forklenator.”

  “I like it!” Ro agreed. “Now if only she’d realize—”

  “So what do you think?” Keefe jumped in, before Ro could finish that sentence. “Was Forkle telling the truth about Bronte? Or lying to throw you off track?”

  “No idea,” Sophie admitted. “I mean… he seemed pretty surprised when I said it. But I guess that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

  “Does that mean you still want to go ahead with the awesome-Empath-gets-all-the-answers plan?” he asked.

  “Is that what we’re calling it?” Sophie wondered.

  Keefe smirked. “I’m also good with calling it Keefe-to-the-Rescue!—but that applies to so many things, you know? Plus, then I’d need you to start calling me your hero and swooning occasionally in my presence.”

  Sophie flung half of her cookie at him, and the raspberry side splatted perfectly against his cheek, suctioning on.

  “Oh, you wanna start the biscuit war, Foster?” Keefe asked, not even bothering to remove the Jammie Dodger from his face as he snatched the box of Jaffa Cakes and tore it open. “Because I can bring it.”

  Sophie was tempted.

  A cookie fight sounded way more fun than discussing biological-parent theories.

  But she’d already lost the majority of the day to a mix of fuming and sulking and avoiding everybody.

  So she set down the other half of her jam-covered weapon as a cookie surrender and caught Keefe up on what she’d discussed with the rest of her teammates—how she’d agreed to let Biana and Stina help, as well as Stina’s theory about Lady Cadence.

  Keefe whistled at that last revelation. “Wow, that does kinda make sense. I don’t know how I missed her when I made my list—and if she is your bio-mom, please tell me we can dump a bunch of curdleroots on her head for lying to you.”

  “I’d be good with that,” Sophie told him, needing an extra second to work up the courage to ask, “So… you have a list?”

  “A short one, yeah.” He hesitated for a beat before he offered, “Want me to go get it?”

  Sophie chewed her lip. “Maybe just tell me one of the names as a start?”

  “Sure—though you don’t know any of them, so I’m not sure if it’ll mean a whole lot. But one of the genetic-mom options is Lady Pemberley. She’s blond and a Telepath, so it seems worth looking into. But she’s also married and has a kid, and I kinda feel like we’re looking for someone who lives alone, since they’d be putting their family in danger by getting involved in all of this.”

  “Makes sense.” Sophie told herself to leave it there, but somehow she still found herself asking, “So… she has a kid?”

  Keefe nodded. “A son. Actually, I think you’ve met him—his name’s Dempsey. He was a Level Six when you were a Level Two, and I feel like I remember you showing him who’s boss in a splotching match one time.”

  “That does sound familiar,” Sophie agreed.

  She didn’t recall him being all that nice—though she had just defeated him in front of the whole school and splattered his face with bright orange goo.

  “Want me to see if Biana and I can coordinate a confrontation for Lady Pemberley?” Keefe offered.

  “I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “I think we’re going to need to be careful about how many people find out what we’re searching for. The more times we’re wrong, the more we risk that rumors will start flying and my biological parents will go into hiding—or at least be prepared to lie if we confront them.”

  Plus, it could cause a lot more speculation about her matchmaking status, but Sophie wasn’t in the mood to remind him about that.

  “I was wondering about that too,” Keefe said, finally peeling the Jammie Dodger off his face. “We might need a new strategy.”

  “Like what?” Sophie asked.

  He popped the cookie into his mouth, then licked his thumb and set to work removing the sticky jam residue left on his cheek. “Still working on it. Might have to get a bit creative.”

  “I like creative!” Ro agreed.

  Sandor muttered something unintelligible—though Sophie was pretty sure she caught the word “ridiculous.”

  “In the meantime,” Keefe said, swiping the last of the raspberry smear off of his face, “you still haven’t answered the extra-super-duper-important question, Foster.”

  “And what’s that?” Sophie asked.

  He motioned for her to lean in closer, like he was afraid his father might be eavesdropping.

  “The question is”—his eyes locked with hers—“when are you taking me to go get some of these magical E.L. Fudge thingies? Because they’re officially a need, Foster. I neeeeeeeeeeeed tiny elf-shaped cookies in my life. I can’t believe you’ve never brought me any before! In fact, I kinda feel like that’s a betrayal of our friendship!”

  The question was so unexpected that Sophie couldn’t stop the loud snort-laugh from bursting out, which of course was followed by a fit of embarrassed giggles.

  “You’re not laughing your way out of this one either, Miss F!” Keefe warned her. “I expect another cookie delivery ASAP—and this time it needs to have all those kinds you mentioned, plus anything else shaped like an elf. And you’d better be able to answer all my questions about them and not give me any excuses about…”

  “About?” Sophie asked when his voice trailed off—right before she realized his eyes were focused on something over her shoulder.

  Or someone.

  Sophie had never thought she’d hope to turn around and find Lord Cassius standing there watching her—but she definitely would’ve preferred him over the handsome, teal-eyed guy with the crossed arms and the surly brow.

  “Hey, Fitzy’s here!” Keefe said, shooting a quick glare at Sandor—though this wasn’t totally Sandor’s fault.

  Fitz hadn’t come through the door that Sandor had been guarding, instead using a side patio entrance that Sophie hadn’t even noticed. Grizel stood several steps behind him, and Lord Cassius loomed several steps behind her, tucked in the shadows of the arched doorway, almost like he’d intentionally snuck Fitz onto the patio.

  Then again, that didn’t explain why Ro and Sandor hadn’t warned them that they had visitors—unless the reason for that was because no one needed a warning.

  Once again, Sophie had to remind herself that she and Keefe weren’t doing anything wrong.

  Keefe had asked for biscuits.

  She’d brought him biscuits.

  Then they’d talked for a bit—because they were friends.

  And Fitz knew they were friends.

  “You need to get in on this, Fitzy,” Keefe said, holding up the box of Jaffa Cakes. “Foster and Dizznee proved that they’ll do anything I ask them to”—he made a dramatic, evil laugh—“and brought me a bunch of human cookies. They’re mostly disappointing, I’m not gonna lie. But! There are still a few we haven’t tried, and who knows? They might be the life-changing ones. And you can help me convince Foster to go get us these elf-shaped cookies I’m just now learning about—though I also think she owes us all an apology for not telling us about the elf-shaped cookies sooner, don’t you? And I think she needs to use her teleporting way more often. I’m thinking we should give her a weekly Forbidden Cities item to track down for us. Maybe then I’ll finally be able to try Ding Dongs. I don’t know what they are—but I read something about them in my research, and I mean, they’re called ‘Ding Dongs,’ so I’m here for it. You with me?”

  He held up his hand like he was hoping Fitz would stride over and give him a high five.

&
nbsp; Fitz did not.

  “Looks like you’re having an interesting day,” Grizel said, her voice extra husky as she sauntered over to Sandor.

  “You have no idea,” Sandor squeak-murmured. “And I’m pretty sure it’s about to get worse.”

  Sophie had the same feeling, especially when she forced herself to meet Fitz’s eyes and was not gifted with one of his perfect smiles.

  “Have you tried hailing me today?” she asked, really, really, really hoping he hadn’t.

  “Three times,” he told her.

  Even Keefe winced at that.

  Okay, so maybe that was why Sophie felt so bad.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up from the swing to face him. “It’s been kinda a rough day—but I guess that’s not a very good excuse.”

  “It isn’t,” Fitz agreed.

  Silence followed, and Sophie wished Keefe would break it with another ramble about E.L. Fudges.

  But he was too busy glaring at his father, while Lord Cassius raised one eyebrow back at him.

  She cleared her throat and took a few steps toward Fitz—stopping before actually reaching him. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t,” he admitted, “though maybe I should’ve guessed?”

  “Yeah, we were working on”—she glanced at Lord Cassius and corrected the rest of that sentence—“that project Keefe’s helping me with—trying to come up with an alternate strategy in case we need to be a little subtler.” And because she didn’t want him to think she was hiding anything from him, she added, “We also talked through a couple of other things I still need to tell you about.”

  “How come you’re here, Fitzy?” Keefe asked, jumping in before Fitz could ask any of the harder questions, like when Sophie had been planning to tell him about those things or why she hadn’t come to him first. “Finally ready for that bramble rematch? If so, I say loser has to eat the rest of the Digestives.” He pointed to the slightly smashed package he’d tossed at Ro earlier.

  “Actually, Fitz is here to help me,” Lord Cassius interceded, smoothing the sides of his hair.

  Keefe’s eyes narrowed at his dad. “With what?”

  “With a new project of my own.” Lord Cassius studied his cuticles as he added, “It’s not lost on me, Keefe, that you’ve been drawing so tediously lately because you’re attempting to sort through your memories, searching for fragments of things your mother might’ve erased. I don’t understand why you’re working by hand when it would be so much more efficient to have a Telepath assist you with a task like that—and clearly Miss Foster would be more than willing. But regardless of your foolish planning, your little mission got me wondering whether your mother dared to erase anything from my mind over the years.”

  “I bet she did,” Keefe warned him. “It sounded like she had a Washer on standby in case we saw anything or heard anything she didn’t want us to.”

  “Yes, that’s the conclusion that I reached as well,” Lord Cassius noted, his eyes and voice darkening as he said it. “I’ve worked with Telepaths before, searching for clues your mother might’ve let slip around me. But we weren’t checking to see if anything had been stolen away. So young Mr. Vacker here has agreed to help me search my memories yet again. And this time, we’ll see if I can find what your mother tried to hide from me.”

  NINETEEN

  YOU’RE GOING TO SEARCH MY dad’s memories?” Keefe asked, shaking his head when Fitz nodded. “Why?”

  Fitz’s shrug didn’t look quite as casual as he probably wanted it to. “Someone has to.”

  “Okay, but why you?” When Fitz didn’t answer, Keefe turned to his father. “Why not ask whoever you worked with last time? Or Quinlin Sonden? Or Alden? Or Tiergan? Or even Forkle?”

  Lord Cassius smoothed his hair again. “Young Mr. Vacker has proven to be every bit as powerful as any of them. Perhaps even more so. And he has a much more flexible schedule.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not why you picked him,” Keefe argued.

  “It isn’t,” Lord Cassius agreed, his eyes flashing with enough glee that Sophie could guess his ulterior motive.

  He’d chosen his son’s best friend knowing it would make Keefe uncomfortable—probably as punishment for all the times Keefe had rebelled.

  “Mind you, the ideal candidate would’ve been young Miss Foster,” Lord Cassius added. “But she’s always so busy with you.”

  Before Sophie could formulate a response—or even parse out what Lord Cassius was implying—Ro patted the side of her breastplate and told him, “Sounds like it’s time to bust out my extra fun bacteria buddies. Get ready to lose a lot of body fluids, Lord Snootypants.”

  “Nah, save ’em for when it’ll really be worth it,” Keefe told her, stalking over to his father and tilting his head. “You wanna share all of our family secrets with the Fitzster—you do that. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Neither do I.” Lord Cassius flashed a particularly oily smile before turning his attention back to Fitz. “I’m assuming you’d like to visit with your friends for a few minutes—be my guest. But don’t keep me waiting too long. I’ll be in my office.”

  Keefe whistled as Lord Cassius left the way he’d come. “Wow. Have fun with that, Fitzy.”

  He sounded so calm and casual that Sophie almost believed him. But she knew Keefe better than that. She’d seen the terrified, broken version of Keefe tucked behind his mask of snark and indifference. And she couldn’t blame him for being bothered by this.

  He didn’t try to hide the abuse he’d suffered—but he definitely wasn’t an open book about it either. And now Fitz was going to read the extended, annotated version, complete with sound and visuals.

  “I’d like to go on the record and make it clear that I was against this idea from the start,” Grizel informed all of them.

  Fitz rolled his eyes, and Sophie stepped closer to him, keeping her voice low as she asked, “Why would you agree to this without telling us?”

  “Uh, maybe I tried to tell you but someone ignored my hails—even though you promised you weren’t going to do that anymore?” he snapped back.

  There was nothing Sophie could say to that except, “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Fitz looked away. “And just so you know, I agreed to do this to help Keefe. If Lady Gisela tried to hide something from Lord Cassius, we need to find it. And I figured Keefe would rather have someone he trusts poking around his father’s memories—someone he knows won’t tell anyone about anything he finds.”

  “Except none of those other people that Keefe suggested were strangers,” Sophie couldn’t help reminding him. “And some of them he’d even worked with before.”

  “Okay, everyone, relax! It’s fine!” Keefe flopped back down on the swing and scooped up the box of Custard Creams. “This is definitely not worth you two having your first Fitzphie fight over it. Seriously. Spend as much time with my dad as you want, Fitzy—and if you feel like telling people all about the fun things you learn, fine by me. If Daddy Dearest is cool with you knowing exactly how awesome he is to live with, by all means, spread the Sencen shame!” He tore open the box and fished out one of the biscuits. “Ooo, these ones are fancy! Check that out!”

  He held up one of the rectangular sandwich biscuits and pointed to the swirling filigree pattern on the top. “Looks promising, doesn’t it? But there’s only one way to tell.”

  Pale yellow crumbs showered his tunic after he took a huge bite, and he closed his eyes as he chewed. “Hm. Still a little on the bland side—but the cream center really helps. Definitely the best so far. You guys should get in on this.”

  “Ugh, I think I’m on biscuit overload,” Sophie admitted.

  “Better stop, then,” Keefe told her. “We don’t want you tossing your cookies—if you know what I mean.”

  He looked very proud of his wordplay, so Sophie let him enjoy it.

  “What about you, Fitzy?” Keefe asked, shaking the package of Custard Creams. “You’ve yet to experience
the wonder of a British biscuit. And trust me, if you’re going to spend hours poking around my dad’s brain, you could use a good sugar rush.”

  Fitz ran a hand through his hair as he made his way over, reaching for a cookie and—

  Keefe snatched Fitz’s wrist. “I knew it!”

  “Knew what?” Fitz shouted, trying to wrench his arm away.

  Keefe tightened his grip. “Shhhhh, let the Empath work.”

  “Ugh, a little help here?” Fitz asked Grizel, who was talking to Sandor, barely paying him any attention.

  “No, this one’s your mess!” Grizel called over her shoulder. “You can get yourself out of it!”

  “Relax, Fitzy, no need to take your frustrations out on the poor innocent biscuits!” Keefe told him when Fitz’s next escape attempt nearly sent the rest of the Custard Creams plummeting toward the floor. “I’ll let go in a second. First things first. It feels like… Yep! There’s definitely another reason you signed on to be my dad’s personal memory boy. Something you’re embarrassed of and super angry about, so… I’m guessing it has to do with your brother?”

  Fitz muttered about Empaths as he stopped struggling.

  “I take it that’s a yes?” Keefe confirmed.

  Fitz nodded. “Your dad said he knows how to find Alvar and offered to track him down for me if I help with this.”

  Keefe released Fitz’s wrist. “Sounds about right. And okay, three things.” He held up his right hand to count them off. “One: Take a Custard Cream. Seriously.” He waited until Fitz had grabbed one of the cookies before he continued. “Two: Uh, you know my dad will claim anything to get what he wants, right? I mean, I’m not saying you made a bad call—hopefully you’ll also find some juicy secrets my mom tried to hide. But just… prepare yourself for disappointment, okay? Odds are, my dad only knows one tiny, useless thing about your brother—if that—and you’re going to want to punch him.”

  “And if that’s the case,” Ro jumped in, “punch away!”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I will,” Grizel assured her.

  “So will I.” Fitz took a tentative bite of the Custard Cream. “Wow, human cookies are dry, aren’t they?”