Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,240

arms—then turned back to Lady Gisela and reminded her, “We have a deal.”

“We do,” she agreed. “But you still have to hold up your end.”

He nodded again.

Then he took a very long breath, tugged on his bangs—hard—and told Keefe, “I’m so, so sorry,” as threads of shadowflux poured out of his hands.

Tam twisted them into an arrow, checking his aim twice before launching it at the magsidian stone high on the wall, triggering a flash of eerie black lightning.

The ricochets happened even faster than they had with Wylie’s ball of light—the dark energy turning the air shimmery as it blurred from stone to stone, showering Keefe with black sparks that fortunately didn’t seem to hurt him.

Neither did the final swirling beam that blasted into the throne, shaking the room—the world—as it sank in.

For one second nothing happened, and Sophie knew Keefe was about to ask if that was it.

And then the throne…

“Melted” wasn’t really the right word—but Sophie couldn’t think of anything better. She’d never seen anything like the sludgy black syrup that somehow dripped up instead of down.

Keefe unleashed some creative words as it slicked around him, coating his legs.

His torso.

His chest.

His body should’ve collapsed to the floor by then, but the liquid darkness kept him suspended—spinning him around in slow rotations as it coated every inch of him.

Pooling thicker and thicker, like a goopy cocoon.

“Embrace the change,” Lady Gisela said as the inky oil oozed toward his face.

I’m here, Sophie transmitted. And she could tell Keefe wanted to scream, but he didn’t want the shiny sludge to pour into his mouth. So he clamped his lips tight and squeezed his eyes shut as his handsome features disappeared into the goo.

“Now, Glimmer!” Lady Gisela ordered, and the other black-cloaked figure stepped forward, blasting Keefe’s crown with a swirling beam of rainbow light.

The metal melted into a blinding silvery syrup that trailed down Keefe’s face in thin streams, coating the darkness in thin threads.

This looks as weird as I’m assuming it does, right? Keefe thought—and Sophie wanted to laugh and cry at the proof that he was still him.

It definitely does, she admitted. I’ll show you my memories later. It doesn’t hurt?

Not yet. It’s just really cold and strangely sticky, and I’m going to shower for a year after this, but—

The thought cut off as the darkness sank in, disappearing under his skin, making his limbs thrash and flail, and in his head Sophie could see the agony take over.

His consciousness tried to flee from the pain—and she understood why.

But she stayed with him.

Hide if you need to, she told him. But I’m here.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

And she was.

Every time he retreated, her thoughts followed, sending him warmth and strength and reminders that this would soon be over.

Soon. Soon. Soon.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

And she was there the moment the darkness reached the deepest part of his consciousness. The raw, ragged space he’d tried to wall off.

Embrace the change, Keefe, she told him. I won’t let you lose yourself.

And she didn’t.

She clung to the threads of him as the shadows poured in—filling every crack and cranny.

Making everything smooth.

New.

And a blinding flash of light sealed it shut.

Don’t go, Sophie pleaded as Keefe’s consciousness faded—terrified she might be losing him after all of that.

Tired, he told her.

And she was sure he was.

But she didn’t want to let go.

Tired, he repeated. Tired. Tired. Tired.

And his head turned fuzzy and warm.

Okay, she told him. Sleep now. I’ll still be here.

Sleep, he repeated.

And his mind went silent.

FIFTY-ONE

HOW IS HE?” LADY GISELA asked as Sophie blinked back to the shadowy present and found Keefe’s mom leaning over her—definitely not who she wanted to see. “Don’t try to deny it, Sophie—I knew you’d use your telepathy to stay connected to him during the transformation. Why do you think I left you conscious?”

“I thought that was so you could torture me if he wouldn’t cooperate,” Sophie snapped back.

“Well… I didn’t say it was the only reason, did I?” Lady Gisela countered, with the kind of smile that made Sophie’s skin feel crawly. “My point was: You’re predictable. I knew you’d monitor Keefe’s thoughts today. Just like I knew you’d stage a standoff in this room—exactly where I needed it. All I have to do is not suggest something to you, and I can count on you to plan it for me, since you and I think so much alike. So, I’ll ask you again: How is my son?”

For a second, Sophie’s brain got stuck on