Шеннон Мессенджер - Keeper of the Lost Cities

“They’re working on it,” she said, feeling a strange need to defend her home. “Plus, these aren’t normal fires. The arsonist used some sort of chemical when he started them, so they’re burning white hot, and the smoke smells sweet.”

Usually, wildfires made the city smell like barbecue. This time it was more like melting cotton candy—which was actually kind of nice, if it didn’t burn her eyes and rain ash.

“Arsonists.” Fitz shook his head. “Why would anyone want to watch the world burn?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She’d asked herself the same question, and she wasn’t sure there was an answer.

Fitz pulled the silver pathfinder out of his pocket.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, hoping he didn’t notice the way her voice hitched.

“I have to find out what my dad wants to do now—if he even knows. Neither of us thought you were going to be the girl.”

The girl. Like she was someone important.

If she could hear his thoughts, she’d know what he meant. But his mind was still a silent mystery. And she still had no idea why.

“He’s not going to be happy I took you to our cities,” he added, “even though I was careful no one saw us. So please don’t tell anyone about anything I’ve shown you today.”

“I won’t. I promise.” She held his gaze so he’d know she meant it.

He released the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you. And make sure you act normal so your family doesn’t suspect anything.”

She nodded—but she had to ask one question before he left. “Fitz?” She squared her shoulders for courage. “Why can’t I hear your thoughts?”

The question knocked him back a step. “I still can’t believe you’re a Telepath.”

“Aren’t all elves Telepaths?”

“No. It’s a special ability. One of the rarer ones. And you’re only twelve, right?”

“I’ll be thirteen in six months,” she corrected, not liking the way he’d said “only.”

“That’s really young. They said I was the youngest to manifest, and I didn’t start reading minds until I was thirteen.”

She frowned. “But . . . I’ve been hearing thoughts since I was five.”

“Five?” He said it so loud it reverberated off the houses, and they both scanned the street to make sure no one was around.

“ You’re sure?” he whispered.

“Positive.”

Waking up in the hospital after she hit her head wasn’t the kind of moment she could forget. She was hooked up to all kinds of crazy machines, with her parents hovering over her, shouting things she could barely separate from the voices filling her mind. All she could do was cry and hold her head and try to explain what was happening to a group of adults who didn’t understand—who would never understand. No one could make the noise go away, and the voices had haunted her ever since.

“Is that wrong?” she asked, not liking the worry etched between his brows.

“I have no idea.” His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see inside her head.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you blocking me?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“I don’t even know what that is.” She stepped away, wishing the extra space could stop him from reading her private thoughts.

“It’s a way to keep Telepaths out. Kind of like putting a wall around your mind.”

“Is that why I can’t hear you?”

“Maybe. Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

“I told you, I don’t hear your thoughts the way I do with other people.”

“That’s because humans have weak minds—but that’s not what I meant. If you listen , can you hear me?”

“I . . . don’t know. I’ve never tried to read a mind before.”

“You just have to trust your instincts. Concentrate. You’ll know what to do. Try.”

She hated being bossed around—especially since he wasn’t answering her questions. Then again, what he wanted her to do might be the only way to find out why he looked so concerned. She just had to figure out what he meant by “listen.”

She didn’t have to tell her ears to hear—they just did. But listening took action. She had to concentrate. Maybe mind reading worked the same way—like an extra sense.

She focused on his forehead, imagining that she was stretching out her consciousness like a mental shadow, feeling for his thoughts. After a second Fitz’s voice swept through her head. It wasn’t sharp or loud like human thoughts, more of a soft whisper brushing across her brain.

“You’ve never felt a mind as quiet as mine?” she blurted.

“You heard me?” He looked pale.

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No one else can.”

She needed a few seconds to process that. “And you can’t read my mind?”

He shook his head. “Not even when I try my hardest.”

A whole new world of worries pressed down on her shoulders. She didn’t want to be different from the other elves. “Why?”

“I have no idea. But when you pair it with your eyes, and where you live—” He stopped, like he was afraid he’d said too much, then fumbled with the crystal on his pathfinder. “I need to ask my dad.”

“Wait—you can’t leave now.” Not when she had more questions than answers.

“I have to. I’ve already been gone too long—and you need to get home.”

She knew he was right. She didn’t want to get in trouble. But her knees still shook as he held the crystal to the sunlight. He was her only link to the amazing world she’d seen—the only proof that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

“Will I ever see you again?” she whispered.

“Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“How will I find you?”

He flashed a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you .”

T HERE YOU ARE!” HER MOM SHOUTED. HERpanicked thoughts battered their way into Sophie’s brain as she entered their cluttered living room and found her mom still on the phone. “Yes, she’s home now,” she said into the receiver. “Don’t worry, I will be having a very long talk with her.”

Sophie’s heart jolted.

Her mom hung up the phone and reeled around. Her wide green eyes glared daggers. “That was Mr. Sweeney calling because he couldn’t find you at the museum. What were you thinking, wandering off like that—especially now, with the fires making everyone nervous? Do you have any idea how worried I was? And Mr. Sweeney was about to call the police!”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Sophie stammered, struggling to find a convincing lie. She was a horrible liar. “I . . . got scared.”

Her mom’s anger faded to concern, and she tugged nervously at her curly brown hair. “Scared of what? Did something happen?”

“I saw this guy,” Sophie said, realizing the best lies were based on truth. “He had the article about me. He started asking all these questions and it was freaking me out so I ran away from him. And then I was scared to go back, so I walked to the trolley and took the train home.”

“Why didn’t you get a teacher or a museum guard—or call the police?”

“I guess I didn’t think of that. I just wanted to get away.” She tugged out an eyelash.

“Ugh—stop doing that,” her mom complained, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She took a deep breath. “Well, I guess the important thing is that you’re okay. But if anything like that ever happens again, I want you to run straight to an adult, do you understand?”

Sophie nodded.

“Good.” She rubbed the wrinkle between her brows that always appeared when she was stressed. “This is exactly why your father and I were upset about that article. It’s not safe to stand out in this world—you never know what some weirdo is going to try to do once they know where they can find you.”