“Or, wait, am I supposed to guess?” she asked. “Let’s see. . . .”
She closed her eyes, pressing two fingers against one of her temples and pretending to read his mind. “You’re here because you’ve finally realized that your cause is totally creepy, and that you’re never going to win, so you’re hoping to cut a deal for your cooperation. Not a bad move, honestly. But you’re forgetting that the Council holds a grudge.”
“Do they?” Gethen asked. “Seems to me like they’ve gotten rather lenient lately.”
His smile made it clear that he was well aware of Alvar’s sentence—and she refused to rise to his bait.
She polished the blades of her throwing star with the edge of her tunic. “Don’t worry, when your time comes I have a long list of suggestions for how they can punish you. My favorites involve flesh-eating bacteria.”
“Ugh, now I get why Keefe was always going on about this one,” the figure on Gethen’s right grumbled. “They both think they’re so clever.”
Her voice was soft and raspy, like curls of smoke. And the shadow at her feet seemed darker than the others.
“You’re Umber, right?” Sophie asked.
“To some people.” She crossed her arms, pulling back her sleeves and drawing attention to her black-painted fingernails. “I only give that name to those I don’t trust.”
“Huh,” Sophie said. “Seems like you could’ve come up with something cooler. Like Dusk—or Midnight! Midnight would’ve been so much more mysterious. Plus, Umber sounds like a noise your stomach makes when you eat something too spicy.”
“Careful, Sophie,” Gethen warned as Umber’s fingernails grew, and Sophie realized the black that coated them wasn’t polish—it was shadows. Thick, sludgy darkness that seemed to pour out of her and curl into long claws.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Umber told her.
“You’re right,” Sophie agreed, “because you’re still wearing that ugly cloak. Aren’t you guys supposed to be done with that? Isn’t that why Lady Gisela told everyone in Atlantis that you weren’t hiding anymore? I know she was still covered up when she said it, but I figured that was because you slashed her up before handing her over to King Dimitar. Think she’s still angry about that, by the way? She seems pretty vain.”
“She knows that was Fintan’s decision,” Gethen assured her.
“Right, but you still let it happen. Well, not you,” she corrected, stopping herself from thinking about where Gethen had been or what he’d been preparing for during that time. She had to keep her cool—even if rage was slithering down her spine. “But you guys,” she added, pointing her throwing star at Ruy and Umber and wishing she had a way to fling it through the force field. “Don’t you worry that Lady Gisela’s planning some sort of payback? You let Fintan torture her. And you didn’t even try to rescue her. And you kept working with Fintan after he took over.”
“She knows we had our reasons,” Umber insisted.
“You’d better hope that’s true. Otherwise you’ll be the next bodies left sliced up and drugged in an abandoned cell.”
“Is this your attempt to trick us into revealing why Alvar was cast out of our order?” Gethen asked. “Because you really needn’t bother. He was simply no longer useful.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Fitz shouted, and Sophie’s knees nearly collapsed with relief as she watched him struggle to his feet. He looked sweaty and pale, but his legs held steady and his eyes were clear and focused.
Sandor and Grizel had recovered as well and were busy trying to tunnel out of their force fields—but the energy kept stretching with the shifting sand, keeping them sealed inside.
Sophie pressed her panic switch again, trying not to worry about why Dex was taking so long to get there.
“I don’t really expect anything from you,” Gethen told Fitz. “But I’m telling the truth—and I erased your brother’s mind personally, so I would know. I’m sure you’ve both seen how thorough I was.”
“That doesn’t mean his memories won’t trigger,” Fitz snapped back.
“Actually, it does. My washing skills are the reason I was recruited to the order. Do you think we would’ve released him if there was any chance you could learn something?”
“Why release him at all?” Fitz countered. “If you’re really done with him, why not just kill him?”
“You sound as if that’s what you would’ve preferred.” He smiled when Fitz didn’t deny it. “Clearly no love lost between the Vacker brothers—though I suppose that was always the problem, wasn’t it? Families are so gloriously complicated. Which also makes them predictable. I knew you’d envision some grand conspiracy for your brother after my success in Lumenaria—but if you think Alvar could ever muster the discipline, determination, and endurance he would need to pull off a feat like that, you’re even more foolish than I thought.”
The pride in Gethen’s voice was equal parts disgusting and terrifying.
It took a special kind of evil to brag about murder.
“How’s the Black Swan faring without their bloated leader, by the way?” Gethen asked, as if he knew what Sophie had been thinking.
But he didn’t know that there used to be two Mr. Forkles gobbling up ruckleberries to disguise themselves for that role—or that one of the twin brothers lived on. And it was Sophie’s job to make sure it stayed that way.
So she let her shoulders slump and curled one arm around herself, looking every bit the grief-broken girl she knew Gethen wanted her to be.
He rewarded her performance with another smile.
“I still have the sword,” he said, pulling aside the thick fabric of his cloak to reveal the familiar diamond-encrusted hilt protruding from a gleaming silver sheath. “I’m sure I’ll find another use for it eventually.”
His voice sounded flat and bored, as if he were talking about a pair of shoes instead of an ancient weapon he’d pulled from a stone in Lumenaria and used to steal a life. But there was a wild gleam in his eyes, a hint of whatever damage the murder had done to his mind—and now was not the time to let that madness take over.
“The Black Swan is . . . adjusting,” Sophie told him. “Mr. Forkle had a plan in place for his death.”
“I’m sure he did,” Gethen said, “but it’s not working very well, now, is it? All these weeks since Atlantis, and what has your Collective done—besides waste time investigating a worthless prisoner with no memories? Though I suppose that isn’t all that unusual for them. Aside from creating you, what has the Black Swan done, other than lie to you and risk your life—and the lives of everyone you care about—while we succeed over and over and over? And now here you are, trapped like the helpless little bird you were designed to be. Does it bother you knowing you’ll always be weak because your creators were too afraid to make you strong?”
“You and I have different definitions of weak,” Sophie snapped, pressing her panic switch a third time and promising herself that if Dex didn’t get there in the next five minutes, she’d switch to plan B—and make sure Gethen burned right along with her. “I can get out of this cage anytime I want. But I’m still waiting for you to tell me why you’re here. I’m assuming you’re planning to trade me for somebody. I just can’t decide if you want Fintan or Alvar.”
“I told you: Alvar is worthless. And Fintan has no place with us any longer.”
“Then it must be the caches,” Sophie realized.
Keefe had stolen Fintan’s cache—and the cache that used to belong to Councillor Kenric—when he’d abandoned his plan to infiltrate their order.
Ruy snorted. “Wow, I thought you guys would’ve figured that out by now.”
“I know!” Umber’s laugh was verging on a cackle when she told Sophie, “The caches you have are fake.”
“Fintan knew Keefe would be dumb enough to go after them,” Ruy added, “so he had our Technopath make a couple of replicas.”
Sophie opened her mouth to call them liars, but . . .
It would explain why Fintan hadn’t been able to retrieve any of the secrets from his cache. And why all of Dex’s efforts had been thwarted—even when she was enhancing him.
“Yes, Sophie,” Gethen told her, “you should feel shaken. We really are that many steps ahead. Any victories you think you’ve had are only because we’ve let you believe. And lest you forget, we haven’t yet brought our ogre allies into play. Or our dwarves. And we have so many other plans in the works—things you can’t even begin to imagine. That’s why I came here to deliver a message. It’s time for you to understand that the fact that you’re alive at this moment and generally free to do as you wish has nothing to do with your sloppy abilities, or the Council’s paltry protection, or the Black Swan and their ridiculous methods, or your absurdly loyal bodyguard, or your father’s tedious Mesmer tricks, or your obnoxious friends. We can find you anytime we want, anywhere we want, and if we wanted you dead—or in our custody—you would be. The only reason we haven’t taken you out is because Lady Gisela is still clinging to her hope that you’ll prove yourself useful—especially with her son. But her patience will only last so much longer. In fact, she’s already preparing your replacement.”
Bile turned Sophie’s mouth sour, but she swallowed it down and asked, “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“No,” Umber told her. “This is.”
She circled her hands, bending all the nearby shadows into a spear—then thrust her arms toward Sandor and sent the darkness slicing through his force field.
A strangled sound tore from Sophie’s chest as the spear hit Sandor’s face, smashing his nose and splattering red as the dome sealed any gaps, keeping him caged.
“And this,” Umber added, launching another shadow spear at Grizel, nailing her in the stomach hard enough to make her vomit.
“Stop!” Sophie screamed as yet another shadow spear smashed into Fitz’s legs, knocking him into his force field and making his body twitch and flail as the white energy zapped him with a thousand bolts of lightning.
She grabbed her monocle pendant, ready to put plan B into action—and hoping her aim with her throwing star was as deadly as possible—but Umber’s next shadow spear blasted toward her, smashing the monocle into needle-sharp splinters that tore through her skin.
The pain nearly knocked Sophie over, and as the throwing star slipped from her grasp, Umber’s shadows snatched the weapon and dragged it back to her waiting hand.
“Had enough?” Umber asked, holding up her new trophy.
“Let’s hope so,” Gethen said as he strode to the edge of Sophie’s force field. He tilted his head, watching her wrap her bleeding fingers with her tunic, staining the white fabric red. “Ugh, that looks gruesome. You with me, Sophie? Your eyes seem a little glazed.”
They probably were. All the throbbing and bleeding was making it hard to concentrate.
“You need to get yourself, and your friends, to a physician,” he told her. “But first you need to prove that you understand the importance of cooperation. So I’m going to give you a little test—and I’ll be kind enough to make it easy. All I need you to do is tell me where Wylie’s hiding.”
The name dragged Sophie out of her daze.
Wylie had barely escaped the Neverseen after they’d tortured him for information about his mom. Cyrah had been a Flasher, and Lady Gisela had blackmailed her into making special starstones—and then Fintan had Cyrah killed in order to make sure she couldn’t tell anyone. But she hadn’t delivered the final starstone, and now the Neverseen were trying to find it—or that was one of the prevailing theories. Wylie had also met with Gethen a few weeks earlier, trying to keep him distracted while Sophie and her friends snuck into Nightfall, and Gethen had seemed much more interested in learning about Wylie’s recently recovered father, Prentice.
But whatever they wanted, Sophie would never put Wylie at risk, no matter what they threatened.
“There’s no need to look so defensive,” Gethen told her. “I just want to have a little heart-to-heart with him—and since he called the last meeting, it’s my turn to extend the invitation.”
Sophie straightened up, pressing her hand against her stomach to keep pressure on the wounds. “If you can find anyone, anytime, why would you need me to tell you where he is?”
Gethen sighed. “I didn’t say we can find anyone. I said we can find you.”
“And that was the wrong answer,” Umber added, whipping her hands again.
Sophie tried to dodge, but there were two spears this time, one smashing into her right shoulder as the other nailed her injured hand again, this time cracking bone. And instead of dissipating, the shadows sank under her skin, shredding muscle and nerve with a million icy tentacles.
“Let’s hope you’re ready to tell me now,” Gethen said as Sophie dropped to her knees, gritting her teeth to silence her screams. “Otherwise this is going to get messy.”
Tears blurred Sophie’s eyes as she used her good hand to retrieve the Panakes blossoms tucked inside her pockets.
“That won’t help as much as you think it will,” Gethen warned as she swallowed the pinkish, purplish, bluish petals.
“It won’t,” Umber agreed, twisting her fingers and making the darkness slice into Sophie’s bones. “If you think that hurts, imagine how it will feel when I tell the shadows to expand.”
“I doubt she cares,” Ruy warned.
“Oh, I’m sure she does.” Umber smiled, and Sophie closed her eyes, bracing for pain—but nothing could prepare her for the agony that followed.
There was a crackling pop—almost like a firework—and a stomach-heaving pressure as jagged bone punched through her skin and her knuckle just . . . collapsed. Then another and another—though by then Sophie had lost feeling, her senses too overloaded to process the horror.
“Had enough?” Umber asked. “Or shall I keep going? There are still plenty of little bones left—it’s one of my favorite things about the hand.”
“You won’t break her that way,” Ruy insisted. “You have to threaten her bodyguard.”
“Is that the trick?” Umber asked, taking out another of Sophie’s knuckles. “Look at me!” she ordered. “Look at me, Sophie!”
Pain had made the world hazy—but it snapped into focus when Umber turned toward Fitz and asked, “Would it be better if I try this on your little boyfriend?”
“DON’T!” Sophie gritted out—which was a mistake.
Umber laughed and stalked to where Fitz lay collapsed on the sand. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving.
“I’ve always wanted to break a Vacker,” she said, gathering a fresh batch of shadows.
“Please,” Sophie begged, “he has nothing to do with this.”
“Of course he does,” Umber insisted. “He’s with you, isn’t he?”
“NO!” Sophie screamed, the sound shredding her throat. But it didn’t stop the darkness from slamming into Fitz’s injured leg with a gut-wrenching crunch—followed by a deeper, wetter crackle that had her spitting bile on the sand.
Even Gethen looked green as he told her, “End this, Sophie. Where. Is. Wylie?”
“Right here!” a new voice shouted—and for a second Sophie thought she must be hallucinating.
But Gethen spun toward the sound as well, facing a tall, muscular guy with dark skin and hate in his deep blue eyes. And he was flanked on either side by a strawberry blond boy and a battle-poised goblin.
Dex and Lovise had finally arrived.
And somehow, they’d brought Wylie.
SIX
YOU WANTED TO FIND ME so badly?” Wylie asked as Sophie struggled to her feet, not sure if she felt hopeful or horrified to see him.
He stretched out his arms as a challenge while Dex and Lovise fanned out and charged toward the Neverseen. “Come and get me!”
“Gladly,” Umber said, hurling a shadow spear straight for his face.
Wylie dropped into a crouch to dodge, and as soon as he was down, Ruy tried to tr
ap him in a force field. But Wylie somersaulted away before the energy could lock into place.
Lovise snarled, and a blur of metal streaked toward Ruy’s chest, but he shielded himself in time to block the spinning blades.
“Hiding in your bubble already?” Wylie asked, jumping back to his feet, and Sophie tried to spot where Dex and Lovise had disappeared to. But a flash of green caught her attention, and she watched Wylie shape the light into a vivid sphere that looked almost solid as it hovered over his palm—before he whipped it at Gethen’s head.
Gethen ducked in time, collapsing to his knees as Umber swung a beam of darkness like a baseball bat and knocked the squishy ball of light toward Lovise as she charged forward. But the orb whizzed over Lovise’s head, smashing into a nearby dune and bursting with a shower of green sparks that only seemed to speed Lovise’s sprint. And Dex leaped from behind a nearby dune, tossing a silver cube right where Gethen was still kneeling.
The gadget exploded, blotting out the world with a gritty red fog.
But when the dust settled, Gethen, Ruy, and Umber were safely shielded inside a glowing white dome.
Now it was a standoff, Sophie realized.
And the Neverseen looked way too happy about it.
“Cowards,” Wylie muttered. “If you want a fight—let’s fight!”
Gethen’s smile widened, and he took his time shaking the red powder out of his hair. “You do seem like you’ve been practicing. But I only came here to talk. And I must say, this is certainly a surprise. If Sophie didn’t look so stunned to see you, I’d almost think this was proof that she’d decided to cooperate. Pity for her that it isn’t.”
Wylie stole a glance at Sophie, swallowing hard when he looked at her ruined hand. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you told them where I was.”
“I would’ve blamed me.” Her words were a rasp, her throat still hoarse from all the screaming.
Gethen sighed. “Stubborn, foolish child. You can’t protect him any more than you can protect yourself.”
“I don’t need her to!” Wylie snapped. “You think I haven’t been waiting for you guys to come after me?”
Flashback (Keeper of the Lost Cities Book 7) Page 7
