it all might mean.
So he twisted his lips into what he hoped was a convincing smirk and told Elwin, “I appreciate the pep talk, Dr. Worries-Too-Much. But really, I’m fine. I mean, yeah, I’m a little queasy, and I have a slight headache—but wouldn’t you, if you hadn’t eaten in two days? Or has it been three?”
Elwin sighed. “Actually, it’s probably closer to four at this point.”
“Okay, four,” Keefe corrected, trying hard not to wince.
But almost four days unconscious in the Healing Center?
That was a Foster-Level of almost dying!
He’d have to make sure he returned the favor the next time he saw Mom of the Year.
Or finish her off entirely.
In the meantime, he needed to convince Elwin to let him go home, because he really wanted to talk to his dad—which kinda felt like proof that his mom actually had broken his brain.
But… his dad was an Empath. So maybe Lord Jerkface would know what was happening with Keefe’s ability—especially since he’d also been a part of the creepy experiment in the beginning.
Keefe was trying not to think about that.
He was trying not to think about lots of things.
He just needed answers—even if he despised where they’d be coming from and dreaded the horrible bargains he’d have to make with Lord Jerkface to get them.
And the sooner he got those answers, the better. So he was careful to keep his voice perky as he told Elwin, “No wonder I have a headache! I mean seriously, what’s a guy gotta do to get a meal around here? You’d think the near-death experience would count for at least a few snacks or something. Guess I’ll just have to head home and see what weird food Daddy Dearest is making for dinner. He thinks he’s some sort of culinary genius, but trust me, he’s not.”
Elwin crossed his arms. “Okay. If that’s how you want to play this, I can have Fitz head to the Mentors’ cafeteria and get you some butterblasts. I know how much you love those.”
Keefe did love butterblasts.
But the thought of all that rich, sweet goo made his stomach turn a few backflips, and he had to lock his jaw to stop himself from hurling all over the blankets.
“That’s what I thought,” Elwin said, shaking his head. “You’re not fooling anyone, Keefe. So how about we try this again? On a scale of one to ten, how bad are the nausea and the headache?”
“A two,” Keefe tried—but even he didn’t believe himself.
Time to switch to his ultimate defense mechanism.
“Okay, fine, maybe a four—but that’s still not a big deal! And if you don’t believe me, check out Bullhorn over there.” He nudged his chin toward the purple-eyed banshee curled up in the corner. “He’s so not interested in me right now. In fact, I swear, if he could talk, he’d be like”—he shifted his voice down a couple of octaves and added a hint of rasp as he said—“yo, dudes, this guy is super boring—get him out of my Healing Center so I can get back to snoring!”
“That’s what you think a banshee would sound like?” Fitz asked, exactly the way Keefe hoped he would.
Humor made the perfect distraction.
“Hey, not everyone can have the fancy Vacker accent,” Keefe said, switching to an impersonation of Fitz’s crisp voice. “But you can’t stop us from trying.”
He nailed the intonations so perfectly that it almost felt…
Wrong.
He’d done hundreds of awesome impressions over the years. But this…
This was something else.
This felt like he’d channeled some sort of deeper instinct as he’d said the words.
Almost like—
NOPE!
He definitely wasn’t going to let his mind go there—because there was no way that was possible.
None.
Less than none.
Negative infinity!
“Care to explain what just made you grind your teeth and turn so pale?” Elwin asked, snapping his fingers and switching to a bright orange light that felt like it was shredding Keefe’s skull.
“If you must know,” Keefe said, clearing his throat to make sure his voice sounded like him again, “I’m bummed that no one noticed the awesome rhyme I just pulled off. The Black Swan could learn a thing or two from me if they ever go back to the whole mysterious-notes strategy—anyone else miss those days? All the suspense! All the intrigue! All the—”
“Nice try,” Elwin cut in, “but you’re not going to distract me.” He adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes as the light around Keefe flared brighter. “Based on what I’m seeing, your nausea has to be at least an eight. And I’d put the