Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,179

you specifically say that you won’t be reckless.”

For a second, Sophie wondered if Keefe was going to tackle Mr. Forkle.

But he must’ve realized Mr. Forkle was serious because he gritted his teeth and said, “Fine—I won’t be reckless.”

Sophie and Fitz offered the same oath with a whole lot less venom—but that didn’t stop Sandor and Grizel from moving to their sides. Sandor even hooked an arm around Sophie’s shoulder to prevent her from leaping or teleporting without him.

“Very well, then,” Mr. Forkle said, looking more wary than satisfied. “I suppose you’re sufficiently prepared.”

He turned to pace, and with each plodding step Sophie could almost feel Keefe’s patience evaporating.

But somehow Keefe kept his jaw locked and waited.

And waited a little longer.

Until Mr. Forkle finally said, “I knew you were going to fear that your mother—or any member of the Neverseen—was involved in these deaths. So I had Mr. Dizznee set up a very specific set of search criteria for the archive. We checked all the footage from the week before the accident as well as the footage from the week after the accident, searching for black-cloaked figures as well as Fintan’s, Brant’s, Gethen’s, Lady Gisela’s, and Alvar’s faces.”

Fitz sucked in a very sharp breath at the last name. “Did my brother—”

“No,” Mr. Forkle promised. “Though I suppose it’s possible he used his ability as a Vanisher to hide from my cameras. But I have no record of him being in London during that time period.”

“What about me?” Keefe asked. “Did you check to see if I was there?”

“I did,” Mr. Forkle admitted, taking several agonizingly slow steps before he added, “and I found no trace of you in any of the footage.”

Keefe blew out a huge breath, bending over and resting his hands on his knees.

But his relief only lasted a second before he demanded, “So who was there? Obviously you found someone.”

“I did.” Mr. Forkle glanced at the sky, and Sophie wondered if this was one of those moments where he was wishing he had his brother there to help him figure out the right decision.

But it was just him.

And he reached into his cape and withdrew a rolled piece of paper.

Keefe held out his hand expectantly, but Mr. Forkle gave the paper to Sophie, and she angled herself away from Keefe as she smoothed out the page.

“I feel that panic, Foster,” Keefe told her as she studied the image that Mr. Forkle had given her.

A still from a video camera—a little too dark in certain places and too bright in others.

But there was no mistaking the fact that she was staring at Big Ben—London’s most notable landmark.

And standing in front of it—in a black cloak with the hood flipped back, like the wind had just knocked it out of place—was Lady Gisela.

Keefe’s mother.

THIRTY-THREE

DON’T MAKE ME RIP THAT paper out of your hands, Foster,” Keefe told her, and Sophie blinked, wondering how long she’d been staring at the horrifying photograph. “I’ll do it,” Keefe warned. “I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

“You’ll try,” Sandor corrected. “And you won’t like what happens—but I’ll enjoy it immensely.”

“Hmm, that’s a tricky dilemma,” Ro noted. “It would be fun to watch my boy get goblin-clobbered. But I’m supposed to protect him—and if I do, then I get to clobber a goblin, so… decisions, decisions.” She held her hands out on each side of her, dipping them up and down like a shifting scale.

“No one’s clobbering anyone,” Sophie told them, taking a cautious step toward Keefe, trying to figure out the best way to guide him through this latest nightmare.

He’d had his world ripped out from under him so many times already.…

But maybe that would make this easier.

“You know what I’m going to show you,” she said carefully. “You guessed it from the beginning.”

Keefe swallowed hard. “My mom?”

Sophie nodded.

His knees wobbled hard, and Sophie rushed to steady him—until she realized…

“It’s fine,” Fitz said when she glanced over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t tell that she’d momentarily forgotten he was there.

Keefe’s going to need you right now, he transmitted.

He’s going to need both of us, Sophie corrected.

Maybe, he conceded. But you’re better at this part.

Sophie wasn’t so sure about that—but she closed the distance between her and Keefe, keeping the photo pressed against her chest as she wrapped an arm around Keefe’s shoulders.

“Show me,” he told her—the words more of a plea than a command.

Sophie pulled him as close as she could and held up the photo.

Keefe sank to the grass, no longer able to