Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,120

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.

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