Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,178

enough photos of London’s famous red double-decker buses to paint a pretty gruesome mental picture. “That’s… horrible,” she whispered, clearing the thickness from her throat. “But it was an accident, Keefe. Either the bus driver got distracted, or Ethan and Eleanor forgot to look both ways before they crossed the street, or maybe—”

“Or maybe my mom had something to do with it!” Keefe finished for her, turning away and tearing his hands through his hair. “Come on, Foster. You don’t think my mom could make it look like an accident? It wouldn’t be hard. One quick mental shove with telekinesis or a blast of wind from a Guster and…”

Sophie squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block the fresh round of nightmare images.

“Accidents happen all the time in the Forbidden Cities,” she insisted. “Humans rely on tons of super-dangerous things, and they just kind of go through life assuming nothing bad will happen to them—until it does.”

“It’s true,” Fitz agreed. “I was stunned by that the first few times I visited. I couldn’t believe they weren’t all in a constant state of panic.”

Keefe sighed. “So you guys really think it’s a coincidence that the same human guy who got a letter from my mom—a letter she had me illegally bring to the Forbidden Cities and then went to pretty drastic lengths to erase all my memories of—just happened to die that same year? I bet you anything, if I had a way of knowing exactly what day my mom gave me that letter, we’d see that this ‘accident’ happened right around the same time.”

Sophie sighed. “Okay, but why would your mom kill him and his daughter? Fintan made it sound like she was trying to recruit the guy—er, Mr. Wright,” she corrected, realizing she should probably start using his name and trying to be a little more respectful of the dead.

“And Fintan also said the recruiting didn’t work out,” Keefe noted. “And the guy—Mr. Wright—would’ve known stuff about what my mom was planning, so she would’ve had to get rid of him to protect her secrets. And the daughter either got in the way, or my mom figured it was just easier to take out the whole family. Who knows?”

“But why risk her sanity on two murders when she could have had their minds wiped instead?” Sophie countered. “We already know she basically had a Washer on standby.”

“Yeah, but—”

“If I might intercede,” Mr. Forkle said, before Keefe could make his next argument. “I figured this is how the conversation would go, once I gave you that obituary. And it’s the kind of debate that never actually leads anywhere because there is far too much speculation and far too little fact. It’s also exactly the kind of all-consuming distraction that none of us needs when there are so many urgent matters that require our attention. So with that in mind, I did a bit of research before I came here, to see if I could fill in some of the unknowns and ease some of the worries.”

“I thought you said you came here immediately,” Fitz reminded him.

“I did come here immediately from Watchward Heath,” Mr. Forkle insisted, “but I also completed some research before I left. And you should be thankful that I did—and even more thankful that I’m willing to share what I discovered, because I don’t have to. This was never part of our arrangement. And my instincts are even cautioning me against sharing, claiming that none of you are ready for this sort of revelation. So I need your word that you’ll stay calm and rational and avoid any reckless behavior, no matter how shocked and appalled you are.”

“Shocked and appalled?” Ro repeated, making her way over to Keefe’s side. “Wow, way to hype it, Forkle.”

“I need everyone to be properly prepared,” Mr. Forkle explained. “And that includes you bodyguards. You should be ready to prevent your charges from making hasty decisions.”

“We always are,” Sandor assured him.

“Just tell us!” Keefe demanded.

Mr. Forkle shook his head. “Not without your word—and you have to mean it. I need to know that level heads will prevail.”

“Level heads,” Keefe muttered under his breath. “Fine. Whatever.”

“There is no ‘whatever,’ ” Mr. Forkle informed him. “And there’s no way around this. I’ll say no more unless I have your word.”

Keefe rolled his eyes. “Fine. You have my word. Ugh, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve found out creepy news about Mommy Dearest.”

“It isn’t,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “And that’s why I need to hear