Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(90)

Levitating.

“Should’ve thought of that,” Keefe grumbled as Dex floated to the ground and tossed his silver blade—fashioned out of his vest’s buckles—at the purple figure’s feet.

“Impressive,” the purple Coach said. “Too bad you won’t be in my hemisphere.”

“And then there were three,” the red Coach called to Sophie, Fitz, and Biana.

“Try two!” Biana shouted, pumping her arms to swing back and forth. Her rope frayed against the metal thistles of the arch, and she stopped her fall with shaky levitating. She got most of the way down before her concentration gave out, but she was able to tuck and roll when she hit the ground.

Sophie tried Biana’s method, but her rope refused to fray. And there was no way she was dropping down pantless, like Keefe—not that she really understood how he’d managed that. She also had no idea how to turn her vest into a blade. But there had to be something else she could use. She checked all of her pockets.

“GOT IT!” Fitz shouted, doing a gold medal–worthy flip to stand on top of the arch. He unknotted his rope easily, then climbed over to Sophie.

“NO ASSISTANCE ALLOWED!” all three Coaches hollered at him.

“I’m not going to leave her up here!” Fitz shouted back.

“It’s okay,” Sophie told him. “I have a plan.”

She doubted it was a good plan—but he didn’t need to know that. She refused to be the only one who couldn’t get out on her own.

Fitz reluctantly floated to the ground, and Sophie reached under her vest and dug out her Black Swan pendant, remembering how it had worked with the force field. She held it by the swan-shaped handle and tipped the glass into the orangey rays of sunrise. As soon as the light hit the lens, a blue beam flashed like a laser. She aimed it for her rope and it erupted with white-hot flames, spreading down her boot and igniting the metal arch in a shower of sparks.

She thrashed and broke free, but the fire kept burning her leg, the pain making it impossible to levitate as she fell. She curled into a ball, bracing for a brutal landing and . . .

A powerful stream of cold water knocked her back.

She sank into the wet, glad to feel the flames vanish on her leg. Then the wave rolled forward, tossing her gently to the dirt like the ocean crashing onto the shore. She gasped for breath and tried to pull herself to her feet, but the searing pain of her burns was too unbearable.

The last thing she saw was a giant wave crashing against the burning arch. Then everything faded to black.





FORTY-TWO


LEAVE IT TO you to try to burn down Exillium on the first day,” Keefe said as Sophie’s eyes fluttered open, revealing that she’d been moved to a dimly lit tent. Her narrow mattress rested on the floor, and her ankle felt tender, but the rest of her seemed okay—until she realized her boots were missing. And her pants . . .

She scrambled for a blanket and discovered she’d been dressed in a faded gray robe. She decided not to ask when and where the change had happened.

She rolled to her side, and the bed made an embarrassing squeaking sound.

“That was the mattress,” she said.

Keefe giggled. “Everybody farts, Foster. It’s cool. I still think you’re cute.”

Sophie became very interested in studying the tent. The canvas had been decorated with bold swirls of color. It might have once been pretty, but there were too many patches and tears, and the whole thing looked like it could use a thorough wash.

“How’s your ankle?” she asked Keefe as he stretched and winced. He wore a robe just like hers and had a black bandage wrapped around his foot.

Keefe hiccupped. “The boobrie dude said it’s not broken. And he gave me this to help with the pain.” He held up an empty vial and hiccupped again.

“Boobrie dude?” Sophie asked.

“He wouldn’t tell me his name. And he has this crazy bird mask.” He giggled again.

“Where did he go?” Sophie asked.

“Hopefully to get me more of this.” Keefe tried to take another drink from the empty vial, then settled for licking the rim.

Must’ve been a powerful elixir.

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“No idea. All I know is it tasted like kissing a muskog.”

“And you have a lot of experience with that?”

“Hey, I never say no to a dare!”

“Wait—you seriously kissed a muskog?” Sophie asked, remembering the burpy froglike thing Stina had put in Dex’s locker once.

Keefe hiccupped again. “I’ve kissed lots of things! Just ask Biana.”

“You kissed Biana?”

“A couple years ago, yeah,” he mumbled. “Mostly on the cheek.”

“What do you mean by ‘mostly’?”

“You want a demonstration?”

“Um . . . I think I’ll pass.” She was sure her face was redder than Mr. Snuggles.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he told her. “It was just a dare.”

“Okay,” she said, not sure why she was clenching her fists so hard.

Keefe narrowed his eyes. “You’re a hard one to read, Miss F., you know that? Sometimes I think you—ohhhh, the boobrie dude gave you some of the awesomesauce!” He pointed to a vial on the floor next to her mattress, filled with swirly purple syrup. “You should take it. Or if you don’t want it, you should give it to me!”