Neverseen (32 page)

“We’re going,” Biana said before Mr. Forkle could answer. “And we’ll be fine.”

She adjusted the collar of her vest and her fingers grazed a button-style pin. It had a cloudy sky as the background with a black outline of half of a standing figure. Squiggly lines in all the colors of the spectrum had replaced the other half of the figure.

“Is this because I’m a Vanisher?” she asked.

Granite nodded. “You each have pins to reflect your abilities.”

“So Sophie’s going to have four?” Fitz asked. “Won’t that kind of ruin her anonymity?”

“We raised that question with the Magistrate,” Mr. Forkle said, “and were told the ability pins are mandatory.”

“But I thought Exillium was about skills over abilities,” Sophie argued.

“It is,” Granite agreed. “And that’s why you have to wear them. The Coaches need to see what you’re naturally able to do, in order to ensure you’re not using your abilities to cheat.”

“It’s also a safety measure,” Mr. Forkle added. “To warn what strengths the other Waywards have. The Coaches keep careful records of what everyone can do.”

“Speaking of which,” Granite said, reaching into one of the trunks and pulling out a stack of thick gray envelopes with the same
X
symbol. “We need you to verify that we filled out these forms correctly so we can return them to the Magistrate.”

“Should we really give them this much personal information?” Della asked, reading over Biana’s shoulder.

“We have to,” Mr. Forkle said. “The records must exist in case you are ever granted a return to Foxfire.”

Sophie snorted. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”

“You never know,” Granite told her. “Timkin Heks managed it, and he’d been caught up in
quite
the scandal.”

Sophie frowned, remembering some gossip she’d once heard. “I didn’t know he went back to Foxfire after he was expelled.”

“Only for his final weeks, so he could graduate with his class,” Granite said. “It was a rather strange case. Perhaps someday Timkin will share the story with you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll have me over for lushberry juice and mallowmelt,” Sophie mumbled. “Right after he tells me to call him Uncle Timkin.”

The Heks family included most of Sophie’s least favorite people in the Lost Cities. Their daughter Stina was one of the biggest brats at Foxfire, and both her parents had spread more slander about Sophie than anyone.

“You might be surprised,” Granite insisted. “Timkin has a challenging personality, no doubt about that. But you both see problems with the Council’s current methods. And perhaps you may understand him further after your time in Exillium.”

Sophie seriously doubted that.

She also didn’t want to think about what the Hekses must be saying about her. Stina had predicted she’d end up in Exillium, and now here she was, with “Sophie Elizabeth Foster” printed across an Exillium registration form, along with her height, weight, hair color, eye color, and all kinds of other personal information.

“Why does it say my address is the Crooked Forest?” Keefe asked.

“They all say that,” Mr. Forkle explained. “They needed to know where you’d be going after you left campus. We could hardly mention Alluveterre, so Calla will meet you in the Crooked Forest every day and escort you home.”

“That’s not in the Neutral Territories, right?” Sophie asked, worried about the plague.

“No, it’s actually in the Forbidden Cities,” Mr. Forkle said. “It’s one of those ‘unsolved mysteries’ humans are always spinning out wild theories for. Calla requested it specifically.”

He passed them each a leaping pendant with an oval crystal cut with only a single facet. Sophie tied it around her neck along with her Exillium bead. She was getting quite the necklace collection.

“How come Foster’s form says ‘et cetera’ on the line for special abilities?” Keefe asked, making Sophie wonder when he’d grabbed her pages. “On mine it says ‘Empath.’ But on hers it lists the four and then has an ‘et cetera.’ That means she has more hidden abilities, doesn’t it?”

“You cannot read too much into a simple ‘etcetera.’ ” Mr. Forkle told him.

“Psh, with you guys we can,” Keefe insisted as Sophie snatched her forms back. “And please tell me she’s not a Beguiler—that would get way too complicated.”

Keefe kept listing talents he hoped Sophie did or didn’t have and Sophie knew she should probably be listening. But her eyes had found a much more life-changing line on her form.

Written in clear block letters, on the line designated for the names of her family.

MR. ERROL L. FORKLE.

S
OPHIE SCOOTED BACK
her chair, needing room to breathe.

There’d been a time when she’d wondered if Mr. Forkle could be her real father, but somewhere along the way she’d shoved the thought out of her mind. She couldn’t imagine her real father would experiment on her, or abandon her as many times as he had—not to mention looking her in the eye every time he saw her and never saying anything.

“You?” she asked Mr. Forkle. “All this time it was you?”

A pucker pressed between his brows. Then understanding dawned. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Who does she think he is?” Biana asked as Fitz snatched Sophie’s forms.

His jaw fell. “He’s . . . her father.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why would you list yourself as
family
?” Fitz asked.

“Because I
am
family. My name is the one on her Inception Certificate. Someone had to vouch for her existence. And since her genetic parents couldn’t reveal themselves, I took the responsibility. Though of course I had to use an assumed identity. But Mr. Forkle is still me.”

“Why the secrecy?” Della asked. “Can’t she know her family?”

Granite and Mr. Forkle shared a look.

“Someday you may understand,” Mr. Forkle told Sophie. “But for now I can at least assure you—as I did with your concerns about Jolie—that
I
am not your genetic father.”

Keefe grabbed Mr. Forkle’s wrist. “He’s telling the truth. And . . . he actually feels kinda bad about it.”

“Of course I do! Project Moonlark may have been
unconventional
. But I
am
your family. And you are mine.”

His voice cracked as he said the last sentence, and he turned away, wiping his eyes.

Was he . . . crying?

I’m aware of the offenses you hold against me,
he transmitted.
And I won’t claim I don’t deserve them. But I need you to know that I do care about you, Sophie—as much as I can allow myself to. And you may not want to believe this, but your genetic parents care too. They have incredibly important reasons for remaining
anonymous—but that does not mean they don’t wish they could be a part of your life.

Have I ever met them?
Sophie transmitted back.

I can’t tell you that—and I’m begging you to stop guessing. Should you finally settle on the correct answer, you will trigger a chain reaction that could topple our world.

How would me knowing who they are “topple” anything? Unless . . .

A new idea emerged—one far more heartbreaking than any of her other theories.

Mr. Forkle sighed.
I can tell you’re still pondering possibilities. So I will add that your genetic parents had no connection to each other. There was no unrequited love. They weren’t even friends. I did that purposely, because I couldn’t allow them to know who each other were.

But they do know I’m their daughter?
Sophie asked.

Yes. And that truly is the last I can say.

His voice went silent in her mind, but her head was still reeling with her new theory. What he’d told her ruled out half of it—but not the most heartbreaking part.

Her father still could be . . .

She couldn’t bear to think the name.

But he was a Telepath. And he’d always been incredibly kind to her. And it would explain why he’d given her his cache . . .

“Okay, you guys are doing that
staring into each other’s eyes
thing,” Keefe said, “and it’s a lot creepier when it’s Sophorkle.”

Mr. Forkle looked away, drying his eyes. “So . . . are we good?”

Sophie nodded. “I guess everyone has a few crazy family members they’d don’t know what to do with. You’ll be mine.”

Granite cracked up at that.

Fitz handed her back her Exillium papers, and Sophie studied Mr. Forkle’s name.

“Errol?” she asked.

“It’s a good strong name,” he agreed.

“You do realize your initials spell ELF, right?” Keefe asked.

“Of course. I couldn’t resist, once I knew my surname would start with an
F
.”

“How did you choose ‘Forkle’?” Della asked.

“Somewhat randomly. I was looking for a word that was memorable, but not too complicated, and I wanted the meaning to bear some sort of logic. Forkle is close to the word for ‘disguise’ in Norwegian, a part of the human world I’ve always been partial to, so it seemed the best fit—though strangely, I believe it also means ‘apron.’ Ah, the quirks of human languages.”

“What does the
L
stand for?” Dex asked.

Mr. Forkle looked slightly flushed as he mumbled, “Loki.”

“Loki,” Sophie repeated, tempted to roll her eyes. “You named yourself after the Nordic trickster god?”

“Actually,
he
was inspired by
me
. Do not credit me for the insane stories humans made up—especially that one about the
stallion. But as I said, I’ve always been partial to that part of the world, and in my younger days I may have had a bit too much fun there. It was so easy to take on disguises and cause a little chaos. And over time my escapades morphed into the stories of a shape-shifting trickster god. So I thought it only fitting, as I assumed yet another disguise, that I accept the title officially as part of my new identity.”

“Guys, I think the Forkster just became my hero,” Keefe said. “And is anyone else wondering about the stallion?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Granite promised. “And getting back to relevant things, have you all ensured that your forms are accurate?”

“Mine is,” Biana said, handing hers back.

Sophie was about to do the same when she noticed a field her eyes had glossed over the first time. “What does ID mean?”

“That’s your inception date,” Mr. Forkle said. “The moment your life began.”

“But the date you put is months before my birthday.”

“Of course. Birth comes after inception.”

“Wait—I remember seeing something about this in one of those human movies my dad has,” Dex said. “Humans celebrate birthdays, right?”

“Most of them, yeah,” Sophie said, wishing her brain could work faster. She could tell there was something important she was missing, but she couldn’t seem to catch up to it.

And then it clicked.

“Wait—do elves count age from this ID thing?” she asked.

“Of course,” Mr. Forkle said. “The day you were born is simply the day you took your first breath—no more significant of a milestone than when you spoke your first word or took your first step. And don’t worry, despite your unusual beginning, I was
very
careful to ensure your inception wasn’t affected. There were only seconds between the moment I sparked your life and the moment I had you safely implanted in your mother. Her belly button even turned pink and popped out like it would’ve if she were an elf—I still can’t understand why it did.”

The important thought Sophie had caught nearly slipped away in the deluge of
super-weird information.

“Okay,” she said, counting the months on her fingers to double check. “My ID and my birthday are nine months apart.”

“Technically, they’re thirty-nine weeks apart,” Mr. Forkle corrected. “It should’ve been forty, but your mother delivered a week early. I’d worried that meant something had gone wrong, but it was a flawless delivery, even if watching her fight through the labor pains made for one of the longest nights of my life. Honestly, it’s incredible human women ever choose to have children. The agony they go through is unimaginable.”

“It doesn’t hurt for elves?” Sophie asked.

“Not at all,” Della said. “It’s exhausting, of course, and there are a few moments where it’s difficult to find a comfortable position. But then they hand you your beautiful baby, and the baby gazes up at you and says hello, and your heart just melts.”

“It talks?”
Sophie asked, then remembered Alden telling her months earlier that elvin babies spoke from birth. It sounded even stranger now that she could picture it.

“Your speaking caused quite the uproar,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Though luckily no one could understand the Enlightened Language, so they thought you were babbling. I spent the majority of your infancy inventing excuses for the elvin things you did.”

“Okay,” Sophie said, wishing he’d stop with the
weird-info overload
. “But what I mean is . . . I’ve been counting my age from my birthday.”

Mr. Forkle didn’t look surprised.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“How could I? Humans built everything around their birthdays. As long as you were living with them I had to let you do the same. And since you’ve been in the Lost Cities, we’ve had so little contact. I assumed someone would notice, since your proper ID is on your Foxfire record—and in the registry. But I don’t think anyone realized you were counting differently.”

“Alden wouldn’t have thought to check,” Della agreed. “Neither of us knew humans didn’t count inception.”

“So wait,” Biana jumped in, “does that mean that by our rules Sophie is—”

“Thirty-nine weeks older than she’s been saying,” Mr. Forkle finished for her.

Fitz cocked his head as he stared at Sophie, like everything had turned sideways. “So then you’re not thirteen . . .”

“Not according to the way we count,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Going by Sophie’s ID, she’s fourteen and a little more than five months old.”

Keefe laughed. “Only Foster would find a way to age nine months in a day. Also, welcome to the cool fourteen-year-olds club!”