That was probably better—the idea of facing her parents now that she’d been erased so thoroughly from their memories would be a special kind of misery.

And yet, the part of Sophie’s heart that would never forget how it felt to have them tuck her in at night and kiss her cheeks and call her “Soybean” felt like it had been jabbed with a sharp pin at the missed opportunity. So she had to ask, “Why couldn’t they be here? I thought seeing me can’t trigger anything anymore, now that I’m… you know… gone.”

“That’s correct,” Mr. Forkle told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But it would be very hard to explain why a strange adult male is at their house asking for alone time with their daughter and another young girl, don’t you think?”

Sophie grimaced. “Yeah… They’d definitely call the police.”

“As well they should,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “And that’s why we should stop stalling. I doubt your sister was able to buy us more than a couple of hours—and while returning the memory itself won’t take long, you two will need time to process and discuss. So once again, I have to ask: Are you ready?”

He offered her his hand again, and Sophie reluctantly took it, letting him guide her the rest of the way up the path, to a short flight of stone steps that led to the front door.

Watson’s barking grew more desperate, his paws scratching at the other side of the door, but Sophie was too busy taking in all the tiny unfamiliar details to care. The house had a new welcome mat since the last time she’d been there, the kind that said WIPE YOUR PAWS in big, bold letters, surrounded by doggy paw prints. And three pairs of beat-up sneakers were lined against the wall, along with a few pots of prickly succulents. But what really caught Sophie’s eye were the wind chimes.

Dangling from the highest eave, the chimes were gleaming silver interspersed with strands of dangling crystals, and they were so sparkly and fancy, they looked like they belonged in the Lost Cities.

In fact…

“Are those leaping crystals?” Sophie had to ask.

“No, but they look like it, don’t they?” Amy’s familiar voice said behind her, and Sophie’s heart wedged so hard in her throat, it nearly choked her as she turned toward the now open door and faced her younger sister.

Amy’s smile was shy, her green eyes watery and darting between her feet and Watson, who she held tightly by his collar—though the beagle had gone very still now that he was facing a goblin warrior. “That’s why I had Mom and Dad buy them,” Amy added, swallowing hard as she shifted her gaze up to the chimes. “It seemed like there should be something around here to represent… everything. You know?”

Sophie nodded, her voice not working as she studied her sister more closely.

Amy’s hair was longer and straighter, with a few soft layers framing her face. And her skin had picked up a whole bunch of freckles. Somehow the combination made her look so much older than Sophie wanted her to be and much too young for what they were there for, all at the same time.

She still couldn’t find any words, so she threw her arms around Amy and pulled her into the tightest hug she could manage.

“I take it that means you’ve missed me?” Amy grunted out as Watson broke free from her hold and started thwapping Sophie with his wagging tail.

Sophie cleared her throat, realizing she needed to get herself together.

She was supposed to be the strong one—and she knew she should say something fun and teasing—keep the mood light given the heaviness they both had coming. But she blurted out, “I have to tell myself not to hail you every single day.”

A shiver rocked Amy’s shoulders, and her voice sounded choked as she whispered, “Me too.”

They’d been ordered not to communicate unless it was an absolute emergency—part of the deal they’d struck with the Council in order for Amy to keep her memories of the Lost Cities.

And speaking of memories…

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Sophie asked, pulling back to meet her sister’s eyes—the first time they’d really faced each other since she’d gotten there. “Whatever happened between us that day, it… seems like it was pretty bad.”

Amy chewed her lip and went back to staring at the wind chimes. “Bad like… what happened to Mom and Dad?”

“No,” Mr. Forkle assured her. “What happened was an accident. Nothing more.”

Amy nodded, shifting her focus back to Sophie. “Then I want to know. I want to know everything. The good and the bad. You’re my sister, and… that’s how it works with family.”

She emphasized the last word, and it nearly undid Sophie.

A few tears leaked from her eyes, but she blinked hard to fight back the rest.

“You’re really doing okay?” she whispered, tucking Amy’s hair behind her ears. “It’s not too hard, hiding everything you’re hiding?”

Amy shrugged. “I mean… sometimes I wish I had some mallowmelt, but…”

“I’ll bring you some,” Sophie promised, not caring how many rules she’d have to break to make that happen.

“What about you?” Amy asked, studying Sophie like she was checking her for injuries. And somehow, even though Sophie’s right hand showed no new scars, Amy’s focus lingered there.

“Oh, you know how it goes,” Sophie told her, forcing a smile. “Lots of near-death experiences. But nothing I can’t handle.”

Amy didn’t look convinced. But she changed the subject. “How about the cute boys? Still trying to decide which one makes your heart flutter the hardest? I haven’t changed my vote, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

Mr. Forkle cleared his throat. “I realize you two have lots to catch up on. But now really isn’t the time. I’m assuming your parents will be home soon.”

Amy sighed. “I mean, I convinced them to go to the boring farmers market they always spend hours and hours at, since apparently looking at stalls of avocados and tomatoes and fresh-churned butter is super exciting when you get old. But I don’t really know when they’ll be back.”

“Then we should get started,” Mr. Forkle said gently, turning to Flori and asking her and Nubiti to keep watch for the parents’ return.

Amy and Sophie shared a long look—and Amy seemed every bit as nervous as Sophie felt. But her determination was clear.

“We’re doing this?” she asked Sophie.

Sophie fought the urge to tug on her eyelashes. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Amy nodded, taking Sophie’s hand.

And they clung to each other as Amy opened the front door wider and they stepped aside to let Mr. Forkle take the lead.

SIXTEEN

I SHOULD WARN YOU THAT THIS process will be painful,” Mr. Forkle said, his wheezy voice slicing through the silence of Amy’s dim bedroom.

Sophie jolted off the bed, where she’d been lying beside her sister, attempting to relax. “Why? It didn’t hurt when you gave my other memory back.”

“Yes, but that moment didn’t involve this level of pain,” Mr. Forkle reminded her. “And I can’t separate the visuals from the sensations that go with them. It all comes back together—though you’ll only experience a shadow of what you endured the first time, since our brains have a way of filtering trauma to help us move past it. And the pain will fade once the memory settles into the correct place in your mental timeline and no longer feels present. But you both need to prepare yourselves for some intense discomfort. Especially you, Amy.”