A few minutes after his children had left for Everglen, Keefe slipped back into his and Sophie's bedroom.
He smiled when he saw Sophie's eyes closed, a peaceful expression across her soft features. Even her emotions were calm and tranquil, which hopefully meant she wasn't having another nightmare.
Her body was still and tangled in the crisp bedsheets, her hair ruffled as it spilled out among the soft pillows. Ella was clutched in her arms, the stuffed animal's Hawaiian shirt rumpled from all her tossing and turning.
Keefe used to tease her for sleeping with it, but he had no right to, as he slept with his own stuffed animal—a green gulon. It currently rested on his side of the bed, half covered by the bedsheets.
Keefe heard a light knock on the front door, a soft rap that was barely audible.
He strolled into the living room and over to the door. He twisted the crystal knob open, forgetting to breathe for a couple seconds when he saw their visitor.
"Forkle?"
Despite his current disguise as Magnate Leto, a man with overly gelled dark hair and bushy eyebrows, Keefe knew the man anywhere.
"Hello, Mr. Sencen."
Keefe raised his eyebrows.
The principal sighed. "Excuse me. I meant Mr. Foster."
"Still can't remember after 17 years?" Keefe said with a smirk, opening the door wider so Mr. Forkle could come in.
The man sighed again. "Has it really been that long?"
As Mr. Forkle walked into Dreamglade, Keefe shut the door behind him. "Yep."
"Where's Miss Foster?" Mr. Forkle asked, eyes scanning the luxurious surroundings.
Keefe didn't care to correct that it was actually Mrs. Foster now, as he doubted the leader of the Black Swan would ever call Sophie something else.
The wrinkly old man had been to their house a few times in the years they'd lived there, yet he was staring at everything like it was completely foreign. He took in the shimmering archways and crystal balconies overlooking the living room with wide eyes.
"Sleeping," Keefe replied with his trademark smirk.
Mr. Forkle almost laughed, dumbfounded. "She sleeps?"
Keefe leaned against the wall and sighed dramatically. "Shocking, I know."
"What's shocking?" Sophie asked as she walked into the room, making both of them jump.
She had changed from her pajamas and now wore a simple gray tunic and legging—her typical style of clothing. Despite the dull colors Sophie always insisted on wearing, she always found a way to look beautiful.
Her hair was pulled back into a loose French braid—a style Biana had taught her recently. She was tugging on the ends of the plait, chewing her lip like she was wondering if she should take it out. Sophie rarely put her blond locks up, but Keefe had to admit she looked gorgeous with her hair like that.
Keefe smiled. "That you actually sleep."
Sophie shook her head and laughed slightly, turning to Mr. Forkle. "What are you doing here?"
She led them to the living room, where there were two couches facing each other, a small glass table wedged between them.
As Mr. Forkle sat down on the couch opposite them, he said, "It's about Ember."
Sophie's emotions fluctuated and her jaw clenched the tiniest bit. Keefe could nearly sense her heartbeat picking up speed.
Keefe took her hand, intertwining their fingers. Her skin was soft and cold, clasping his hand tightly. He sent a cool breeze through her mind, letting the current pass through her mind and haze her worries. Sophie squeezed his hand thankfully as she took a deep breath, her tout shoulders loosening their strain.
Keefe stared at Mr. Forkle. "What about her?"
"Well, she just manifested. She needs an inflicting teacher."
"And?" Sophie prompted.
Keefe could hear the dread building in his wife's voice as she stared at Mr. Forkle with wide, scared eyes.
Mr. Forkle let out a strained breath. "There are only two inflictors that can teach her."
"I can't," Sophie whispered, staring at the tightly woven carpet beneath their feet, studying each fiber with glazed eyes. "I'm her mother. I can't . . ."
Mr. Forkle nodded. "I don't expect you to teach her, Miss Foster. But if you don't, it will be—"
Sophie and Keefe whispered the name together. "Bronte."