Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,115

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 piled between them—“but note to self: Next time Foster shows up out of the