Шеннон Мессенджер - Keeper of the Lost Cities

Alden fiddled with his cloak. “It’s possible. Fintan claims innocence. But he also won’t submit to a probe—so he’s hiding something. And if we have an unregistered Pyrokinetic out there, I have no doubt Fintan knows something about it.”

“Why doesn’t the Council just order a memory break?”

“They want to give their friend a chance to see the error of his ways—and perhaps this new information will motivate him to confess. If not, they’ll order one. They’re just trying to avoid condemning him to a life of madness.”

“That’s his choice, if he won’t confess.”

“It is. But if you’d ever seen a memory break, you would understand their reluctance.” His shoulders trembled. “It’s haunting.”

Her thoughts flashed to Prentice. She didn’t know what he looked like—or even who he was—but he let his mind be broken to protect her, maybe from the same people who’d taken her and Dex. She wasn’t sure she deserved that sacrifice. Especially since it had also destroyed the lives of his family.

“I’m sure the memory break will be ordered,” Alden said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “The Council is simply giving their friend every chance to help himself. Plus, they don’t want to believe he tried to single-handedly wipe out the human race. In the meantime, if there’s anything else you can remember that might help us find the kidnappers, now’s the time to tell me.”

There was something else—something big. But the memory was out of reach, repressed by the trauma. She stared at Alden’s hands as he fiddled with his cape. His pale, white hands.

She lunged for the memory log. “I’ve seen one of them.”

“What? When?”

“The man who tried to grab me in the human world the day Fitz brought me here. He had a dog bite on his hand. The kidnapper had a crescent-shaped scar in the same place.”

She projected the wound and the scar on a page and handed the memory log to Alden. One was fresh and bleeding and the other was a faded scar, but they were the same size and shape, and were even jagged in the same places. “See? He really was an elf—and he had been there to get me.”

“Yet another way I’ve failed to protect you.” Alden shook his head. “Do you remember what he looks like?”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the memory, waiting until she’d recalled every detail before she sent it to the paper.

Her hands shook as she stared at the person who’d tied her up and drugged her—who’d been ready to kill Dex. He had short blond hair, piercing blue eyes, chiseled features—it seemed wrong for someone so handsome to be so evil.

Alden’s eyes pored over the image. “I don’t know him. It’s amazing he let you go the first time, with only a human to threaten him.”

“Well, Mr. Forkle could be . . .”

“Could be what?” Alden asked, when she didn’t continue.

Her mind was racing in too many directions to answer. She rubbed her temples, trying to think through the chaos of memories. She needed to be really sure of what she was about to say.

“Should I call Elwin?” Alden asked, rushing to his feet.

She grabbed his cape. “It was him .”

“What was?”

“Mr. Forkle.” She shook her head as she met Alden’s eyes. “Mr. Forkle rescued us.” The sentence was so bizarre it made her want to laugh. But she knew it was true.

“Mr. Forkle,” Alden repeated.

She nodded. “He started almost every sentence with ‘you kids.’ The man who rescued us said it too.”

“That could be a coincidence.”

“It was him.” She scooted back, like she needed room to fit her huge epiphany. “Mr. Forkle is an elf.”

Alden sank down beside her. “You’re sure?”

She wanted to say yes, but . . .

She grabbed the memory log and projected Mr. Forkle the way she remembered him. Wrinkled. Overweight. There had to be a mistake.

Alden gasped as he looked over her shoulder. “He is an elf.”

“But he’s old.”

“That’s exactly what someone looks like when they’ve eaten ruckleberries. See the way the skin looks stretched? The body swells and wrinkles as the berries digest.”

“He did smell like feet,” Sophie remembered. “That could’ve been from the berries.”

Alden swept his hair back and stared into space. “That explains why the kidnapper backed down. He could tell your neighbor was more powerful than him. I’m sure the Black Swan had their most skilled operative guarding you.” He shook his head. “I should’ve guessed they wouldn’t leave you alone. They’d want someone nearby in case anything went wrong.”

He was right. Mr. Forkle had always looked out for her. He’d called 911 when she hit her head. And he was always asking about her headaches. He must have known she was a Telepath. “But . . . why could I hear his thoughts? Shouldn’t his mind have been silent?”

“Another part of his disguise. A highly skilled Telepath can broadcast thoughts the way humans do. He gave you what you needed to hear to not suspect him. I bet that’s how they planted some of the memories in your brain. He certainly had enough access to you to broadcast subliminal messages when he needed to.”

Mr. Forkle? A Telepath?

She sucked in a breath. “He was there when I fell and hit my head—the accident that started my telepathy when I was five. Do you think he did something to me?”

“It’s possible. I’m not sure why they’d want to trigger an ability in you at that age. But he might have decided to take advantage of you being unconscious. Telepathy can be easier to activate that way—not that I’ve ever tried it. In fact, I wonder . . .”

“What?” she asked, when he didn’t finish.

“I wonder if he’s the reason you’ve developed more abilities. He might have triggered some after he rescued you. They were exactly the skills you needed to survive.”

She didn’t remember that much of what happened, but she did remember feeling five years old again. Was that because he’d done the same thing he’d done back then?

She shook her head. It was too much.

Her whole life she’d been controlled and manipulated—and they were still doing it.

“Why?” she asked, wishing she had something to throw. “Why put me with humans? Why all the secrets? What was the point ? ”

“I don’t know,” Alden whispered as he rose to pace. “I’d always assumed it was to hide you from us. But maybe there was more to it than that. Tell me this—why did you risk everything to bottle the Everblaze?”

She was surprised he had to ask. “People were dying.”

“ Humans were dying,” he corrected. “And no one cared enough to stop it. Except you. I think you can hardly deny your upbringing played a big role in that decision. Maybe that’s what the Black Swan wanted all along. If you’re right—and they’re working against these other rebels, who seem to want to destroy the human race—then perhaps they thought it would be wise to have someone who cared about humans on their side.”

“I’m not on their side.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t want you to be.” He paused to stare out the window. “The only ones who’ll know for sure are the Black Swan. It’s time we find them and ask them.”

He made it sound so simple, like he could just look up their address in the phone book. “They’ve been hiding from you for years. What makes you think you can find them now?”

He held up the memory log. “We’ll run these images through the registry database. Your neighbor might be hard to match, but we’ll check every Telepath until we find him and force him to lead us to the Black Swan. In the meantime, we’ll use the other picture to find the identity of the kidnapper. Once we catch him, we’ll be able to probe his mind to find the others.”