Keeper of the Lost Cities, Page 2

  “It means you’re . . . different from what I expected. Your eyes really threw me off.”

  “What’s wrong with my eyes?” She touched her eyelids, suddenly self-conscious.

  “We all have blue eyes. So when I saw them, I figured we had the wrong girl again. But we didn’t.” He looked at her with something like awe. “You’re really one of us.”

  She stopped and held up her hands. “Whoa. Hang on. What do you mean, ‘one of us’?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he spotted a crowd of fanny-pack-wearing tourists within earshot. He pulled her toward a deserted corner of the parking lot, ducking behind a dark green minivan.

  “Okay—there’s no easy way to explain this, so I’m just going to say it. We’re not human, Sophie.”

  For a second she was too stunned to speak. Then a hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “Not human,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Riiiiiight.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked as she moved toward the sidewalk.

  “You’re insane—and I’m insane for trusting you.” She kicked the ground as she stomped away.

  “I’m telling the truth,” he called. “Just think for a minute, Sophie.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was listen to another word he said, but the plea in his voice made her stop and face him.

  “Can humans do this?”

  He closed his eyes, and vanished. He was only gone for a second, but it was enough to leave her reeling. She leaned against a car, feeling everything spin around her.

  “But I can’t do that,” she argued, taking deep breaths to clear her head.

  “You have no idea what you can do when you set your mind to it. Think of what you did with that pole a few minutes ago.”

  He seemed so sure—and it almost made sense.

  But how could that be?

  And if she wasn’t human . . . what was she?

  THREE

  SO . . . WHAT?” SOPHIE MANAGED TO SAY when she finally found her voice. “You’re saying I’m . . . an alien?”

  She held her breath.

  Fitz erupted into laugher.

  Her cheeks grew hot, but she was also relieved. She didn’t want to be an alien.

  “No,” he said when he’d managed to compose himself. “I’m saying you’re an elf.”

  An elf.

  The word hung in the air between them—a foreign object that didn’t belong.

  “An elf,” she repeated. Visions of little people in tights with pointy ears danced through her brain, and she couldn’t help giggling.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Did you really expect me to?”

  “I guess not.” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick out in wavy spikes—kind of like a rock star.

  Could someone that good looking be crazy?

  “I’m telling you the truth, Sophie. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. If he refused to be serious, so would she. “Fine. I’m an elf. Am I supposed to help Frodo destroy the ring and save Middle-earth? Or do I have to make toys in the North Pole?”

  He let out a sigh—but a smile hid in the corners of his mouth. “Would it help if I showed you?”

  “Oh, sure—this ought to be good.”

  She folded her arms as he pulled out a slender silver wand with intricate carvings etched into the sides. At the tip, a small, round crystal sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Is that your magic wand?” she couldn’t resist asking.

  He rolled his eyes. “Actually, it’s a pathfinder.” He spun the crystal and locked it into place with the silver latch at the top. “Now, this can be dangerous. Do you promise you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do?”

  Her smile faded. “That depends. What do I have to do?”

  “You need to take my hand and concentrate on holding on. And by concentrate, I mean you can’t think about anything else—no matter what happens. Can you do that?”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want proof or not?”

  She wanted to say no—he couldn’t actually prove anything. What was he going to do, whisk her away to some magic elf land?

  But she was curious. . . .

  And, really, what harm could come from holding someone’s hand?

  She willed her palms not to sweat as their fingers laced together. Her heart did that stupid fluttery thing again, and her hand tingled everywhere their skin touched.

  He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot again. “Okay, we’re alone. We go on three. You ready?”

  “What happens on three?”

  He shot her a warning look, and she scowled at him. But she bit her tongue and concentrated on holding his hand, ignoring her racing heart. Seriously—when did she become one of those silly girls?

  “One,” he counted, raising the wand. Sunlight hit a facet in the crystal and a bright beam refracted toward the ground.

  “Two.” He tightened his grip. Sophie closed her eyes.

  “Three.”

  Fitz pulled her forward, and the warm tingling in her hand shot through her body—like a million feathers swelling underneath her skin, tickling her from the inside out. She fought off a giggle and concentrated on Fitz—but where was he? She knew she was clinging to him, but it felt like her body had melted into goo, and the only thing keeping her from oozing away was a blanket of warmth wrapped around her. Then, faster than the blink of an eye, the warmth faded, and she opened her eyes.

  Her mouth fell open as she tried to take it all in. She might have even squeaked.

  She stood at the edge of a glassy river lined with impossibly tall trees, fanning out their wide emerald leaves among the puffy white clouds. Across the river, a row of crystal castles glittered in the sunlight in a way that would make Walt Disney want to throw rocks at his “Magic Kingdom.” To her right, a golden path led into a sprawling city, where the elaborate domed buildings seemed to be built from brick-size jewels—each structure a different color. Snowcapped mountains surrounded the lush valley, and the crisp, cool air smelled like cinnamon and chocolate and sunshine.

  Places this beautiful weren’t supposed to exist, much less appear out of thin air.

  “You can let go of my hand now.”

  Sophie jumped. She’d forgotten about Fitz.

  Her hand released his, and as the blood tingled in her fingertips, she realized how hard she’d been squeezing. She looked around, unable to make sense of anything she saw. The castle towers twisted like spun sugar, and something seemed oddly familiar about them, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. “Where are we?”

  “Our capital. We call it Eternalia, but you might have heard it called Shangri-la before.”

  “Shangri-la,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Shangri-la is real?”

  “All of the Lost Cities are real—but not how you’d picture them, I’m sure. Human stories rarely get anything right—think of all the ridiculous things you’ve heard about elves.”

  She had to laugh at that—and the sharp burst of sound echoed off the trees. It was so quiet there, just the gentle breeze brushing her face and the soft murmur of the river. No traffic, no chatter, no hammering, unspoken thoughts. She could get very used to the silence. But it felt strange, too. Like something was missing.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, rising on her tiptoes to get a better view of the city. The streets were a ghost town.

  Fitz pointed to a domed building that towered over all the others. The green stones of its walls looked like giant emeralds, but for some reason the building sparkled less than all the others. It looked like a serious place, for serious things. “See the blue banner flying? That means a tribunal is in progress. Everyone’s watching the proceedings.”

  “A tribunal?”

  “
When the Council—basically our royalty—holds a hearing to decide if someone’s broken a law. They’re kind of a big deal when they happen.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Laws are rarely broken.”

  Well, that was different. Humans broke the law all the time.

  She shook her head. Was she really thinking of humans as something other?

  But how else could she explain where she was?

  She tried to wrap her mind around the idea, tried to force it to make sense. “So,” she said, cringing over her ridiculous next question. “This is . . . magic?”

  Fitz laughed—a full body laugh, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  She glared at him. It couldn’t be that funny.

  “No,” he said when he’d regained control. “Magic is a stupid idea humans came up with to try to explain things they couldn’t understand.”

  “Okay,” she said, trying to cling to the remaining strands of her sanity. “Then how can we be here, when five minutes ago we were in San Diego?”

  He held the pathfinder up to the sun, casting a ray of light onto his hand. “Light leaping. We hitched a ride on a beam of light that was headed straight here.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. You need infinite energy for light travel. Haven’t you heard of the theory of relativity?”

  She thought she had him stumped with that one, but he just laughed again. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Who came up with that?”

  “Uh, Albert Einstein.”

  “Huh. Never heard of him. But he was wrong.”

  He’d never heard of Albert Einstein? The theory of relativity was dumb?

  She wasn’t sure how to argue. He seemed so ridiculously confident—it was unnerving.

  “Concentrate harder this time,” he said as he grabbed her hand again.

  She closed her eyes and waited for the warm feather sensation. But this time it was like someone turned on a hair dryer and sent the feathers scattering in a million directions—until another force wrapped around her and pulled everything back together like a giant rubber band. A second later she was shivering from a cold ocean breeze whipping her hair around her face.

  Fitz pointed to the massive castle in front of them, which glowed like the stones were carved from moonlight. “How do you think we got here?”

  Words failed her. It really had felt like the light passed through her, pulling her along with it. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, because if that was true, every science book she’d read was wrong.

  “You look confused,” he observed.

  “Well, it’s like you’re saying, ‘Hey, Sophie, take everything you’ve ever learned about anything and throw it away.’”

  “Actually, that is what I’m saying.” He flashed a smug grin. “Humans do the best they can—but their minds can’t begin to comprehend the complexities of reality.”

  “And what, elves’ minds are better?”

  “Of course. Why do you think you’re so far ahead of your class? The slowest elf can still trump a human—even one with no proper education.”

  Her shoulders sagged as Fitz’s words sank in.

  If he was right, she was just some stupid girl who knew nothing about anything.

  No—not a girl.

  An elf.

  FOUR

  THE SCENERY BLURRED—BUT WHETHER IT was from tears or panic Sophie couldn’t be sure.

  Everything she knew was wrong. Her entire life was a lie.

  Fitz nudged her arm. “Hey. It’s not your fault. You believed what they taught you—I’m sure I’d have done the same thing. But it’s time you knew the truth. This is how the world really works. It’s not magic. It’s just how it is.”

  The castle bells chimed, and Fitz yanked her behind a large rock as a gateway opened. Two elves with floor-length velvet capes draped over their black tunics emerged, followed by dozens of bizarre creatures marching in military formation down the rocky path. They were at least seven feet tall and wore only black pants, leaving their thick muscles prominently on display. With their flat noses and coarse gray skin, which fell in pleated folds, they looked part alien, part armadillo.

  “Goblins,” Fitz whispered. “Probably the most dangerous creatures you’ll ever meet, which is why it’s a good thing they signed the treaty.”

  “Then why are we hiding?” she whispered, hating her voice for trembling.

  “We’re dressed like humans. Humans are forbidden in the Lost Cities—especially here, in Lumenaria. Lumenaria is where all the other worlds come together. Gnomes, dwarves, ogres, goblins, trolls.”

  She was too overwhelmed to even think about the other creatures he was mentioning, so she focused on the better question. “Why are humans forbidden?”

  He motioned for her to follow him to a rock farther away, squatting behind it. “They betrayed us. The Ancient Councillors offered them the same treaty they made with all the intelligent creatures, and they agreed. Then they decided they wanted to rule the world—like it even works that way—and started planning a war. The Ancients didn’t want violence, so they disappeared, forbid any contact with humans, and left them to their own devices. You can see how well that’s working out for them.”

  Sophie opened her mouth to defend her race, but she could see Fitz’s point. War, crime, famine—humans had a lot of problems.

  Plus, if everything he was saying was true, they weren’t her race. The realization chilled her much more than the frigid wind licking her cheeks.

  “The stories told by the humans who’d known us must’ve sounded impossible after we disappeared, and eventually they evolved into the crazy myths you’ve heard. But this is the truth, Sophie.” Fitz pointed around them. “This is who you are. This is where you belong.”

  Where you belong.

  She’d waited her whole life to hear those three simple words. “I’m really an elf?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Sophie peeked through the rocks at the glowing castle—a place that wasn’t supposed to exist but was somehow right in front of her. Everything he was telling her was insane. But she knew it was true—she could feel it. Like a crucial piece of her identity had clicked into place.

  “Okay,” she decided, her head spinning in a thousand directions. “I believe you.”

  A loud clang sounded as another gate closed. Fitz stepped out of the shadows and pulled out a different wand—no, pathfinder—sleek and black with a cobalt blue crystal. “Ready to go home?”

  Home.

  The word jolted her back to reality. Mr. Sweeney would call her mom when she didn’t get on the bus. She needed to get home before her mom freaked.

  Her heart sank a little.

  Reality seemed so bland and boring after everything she’d seen. Still, she took his hand and stole one last look at the incredible view before the blinding light swept it away.

  THE SMOKY ASH STUNG HER lungs after the crisp, fresh air of Lumenaria. Sophie looked around, surprised she recognized the plain square houses on the narrow, tree-lined street. They were a block away from her house. She decided not to ask how he knew where she lived.

  Fitz coughed and glared at the sky. “You’d think humans could handle putting out a few fires before the smoke pollutes the whole planet.”

  “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.