Keeper Of Lost Things Quotes

Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.

Sophie flung a pillow at his head. Or, she tried to. Throwing with her left arm was much harder than she expect, and... She ended up nailing Magnate Leto in the face. Keefe doubled over, clutching his sides and gasping between choking laughs: “THAT...WAS...THE...GREATEST...THING...IVE...EVER...SEEN!

He cried that night for all that he had lost, but he would say it taught him a valuable lesson: that holding on to things "will only break your heart.

Let's not add projectile vomiting to the list of Awesome Things We Get To Do Today.

That’s impossible [...] 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.

Her grandmother had once told her that one could blame ugliness on one's genes and ignorance on one's education, but there was absolutely no excuse whatsoever for being dull.

This is…magic?” Fitz laughed – a full body laugh, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard [...] “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.

...I never knew I needed a lot of things before I met you. (Keefe Sencen to Sophie Foster)

Mr. Snuggles is always the best thing to see when you first wake up.

Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. .45 here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could be you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin, Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd. he became the shepherd instead of the vengeance. Jules Winnfield- Samuel L. Jackson

the wonderful thing about books was that they were films that played inside your head.

I believe in the all-powerful Fitzphie! Actually, you know what? We should call this one Sophitz, since-let’s face it-Foster’s the real talent when it comes to this sort of thing.

We shouldn’t pass judgment until we see how things play out. Actions never tell the whole story. Good can be done for the wrong reason. And bad can be misunderstood.

In this world, Daisy, we are tiny. We can’t always win and we can’t always be happy. But the one thing that we can always do is try.

She was a girl with strange abilities and a different way of looking at the world. What she decided to do with these things was up to her.

Sophie smiled. “We all have our things.” “Well, yours is weird,” Amy told her.

And keep in mind,' Oralie added, finally turning her azure eyes toward Sophie, ' true trust does not require absolute transparency. There is incredible power in accepting that there are some things you cannot know--and being willing to maintain your commitment to that person despite the secrets.

...if you lose, you’ll have to wear a metal diaper to school and call me Lord Hunkyhair from now on.” “Uh... yeah, no,” Fitz said as Biana asked, “Hunkyhair?” “Lord Hunkyhair,” Keefe corrected. “What? It’s accurate.” He tossed his head like he was in a shampoo commercial. “I think we need to make it a thing either way- don’t you, Foster?” “I think you’re ridiculous,” Sophie told him.

The more she thought about it, the more she realised both sides had lost an important alternate perspective. And maybe that was what she'd been created for. A girl from both worlds, who'd seen the follies and triumphs of each side. And her job was to shake things up and do something new.

I already did a cave of horrors thing with you a few weeks ago, and it wasn't awesome.

Keefe leaned his head against her shoulder and Sophie counted his breaths, considering what a strange thing grief turned out to be. Grady and Edaline closed themselves off. Fitz pushed everyone away. She couldn't figure out how Keefe was handling it all yet. But she was glad he wanted her to stay.

Now I know why Bianas ready to start stabbing things.

If you never get sadness, how do you know what happy is like?” she asked.

Time for the lovely cup of tea

Do you have any fathomlethes around here?” “I hope you’re not talking about the weird river-pearl thing you took in Alluveterre that made you cover your walls in scraps of paper like a serial killer,” Sophie told him. “Oh I am- I know you’re not going to like it, Foster. But I remembered a ton of stuff last time. So how about I promise to let you help me sort through the notes again? Remember that? Such a classic Keephie moment!

And it was hilarious,” Ro added. “One night he got out of bed and started doing a wiggle dance in his sleep and singing about Prattles pins. And another time he decided he was a baby alicorn and dropped to his hands and knees and galloped all over the house, whinnying. Greatest thing I’ve ever seen.

dress for yourself, and marry for love.

Are you kidding?” Sophie and Fitz asked, once again in perfect unison. Elwin chuckled. “I’m sure if Keefe were here, he’d have a lot to say about how in sync you two are getting.” “Just more proof that Fitzphie’s the best,” Fitz told him, with a wink that shouldn’t have made Sophie’s heart flutter. But hearts could be foolish things.

The Fitzphie pizzazz, Sophie repeated, There's no such thing. Not what that attitude, there isn't! Keefe told her.

Common decency, good manners, kindness and hard work were treated as peculiarities

Guilt is a treacherous thing.

Keefe closed the distance between them. And then... everything was new. The soft press of his lips against hers. The way their breath seemed to fall perfectly into sync as her heart and brain screamed FINALLY! Some tiny part of her had always wondered if kissing could really be as great as everyone claimed. But kissing Keefe was So. Much. Better. He was the one to finally pull away, leaning back to study her in the shimmering light. "You're okay, right? No regrets?" She grinned. "Absolutely none." His relieved smile was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen- but it faded a little as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I don't want to mess this up," he whispered. "Please don't let me mess this up." "I won't," she promised, tilting her chin up to steal another quick kiss.

Nothing wrong doesn’t make him Mr Right.

But I don’t care what happens to her.” “Then why are you crying?” She reached up to wipe his cheek and showed him the tear on her finger. “I . . .” The rest of his words twisted into a sob. Sophie held him tightly, letting him soak the shoulder of her tunic with tears. She wondered if Fitz had felt this helpless when she’d done the same thing to him. He’d seemed so strong and steady that day, when he’d taken her from her human family. She wished she could be the same for Keefe.

Ro blinked. “Wow! Okay—I officially take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about your Councillors! They’re my heroes! All hail the sparkle-fied twelve for breaking up the Great Fitzphie!

His shadow slipped over hers again, and she could almost feel his eyes studying her. "You're different," his voice whispered. "I can't decide if that's a good thing." 'It is', she transmitted, surprised at how much she wanted him to believe her. He walked away without another word.

TEAM FOSTER-KEEFE: [WOO-HOO, TEAM FOSTER-KEEFE IS OFFICIALLY A THING!]

Sophie smiled, “We all have our things.” “Well, yours is weird,” Amy told her.

Biana and Fitz stared in wonder at Silveny. Keefe grinned at Sophie. “Yeah, Foster’s always doing crazy things no one can understand. It’s how she keeps her sense of mystery.

We can’t always win and we can’t always be happy. But the one thing that we can always do is try.

A hush is a dangerous thing. Silence is solid and dependable, but a hush is expectant, like a pregnant pause; it invites mischief, like a loose thread begging to be pulled.

Perhaps he had seen her as a challenge. Or a novelty.

The fact that they're shaped like tiny elves!" Keefe said, clapping his hands before he pointed to the label. "Hang on-THEY CALL THEM 'ELF WITCHES'?" "They do, Keefe. They do. And that's not even the best part." "AHHHHHH LOOK AT THEIR LITTLE FACES!" Keefe shouted as he peeled back the plastic cover. "THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN---EVER!" "Greater than when you discovered Fitz slept with Mr. Snuggles?" Sophie had to ask. "Um. YEAH. They have names, Foster. NAMES!" He held up one of the cookies and pointed to the name tag the little elf was holding. "This one's Ernie! AHHHH AND THIS ONE IS FAST EDDIE!" he said, snatching a different cookie. "And this one is Bickets! And Elwood! I don't know who named these guys, but whoever they are, they're a genius, I tell you--a GENIUS. - Legacy, chapter 37, page 596-97 hardcover.

She’d been kidnapped right after—and then her abilities had broken, and Alden’s sanity collapsed, and Silveny was attacked, and Kenric was murdered, and the Council turned against her, and she was banished along with all of her friends, and the gnomish plague was unleashed, and Keefe ran off, and Lumenaria fell, and so many other devastating and distracting things had happened that Sophie had never stopped to wonder . . .

Time is a funny thing. Once it's gone, it's gone. But then it passes onto someone else.

I know we’ve done stuff, Foster. But it’s not even close to enough. And the scariest thing is how little we know. I mean... I can’t even tell you if I’ve gotten back all the memories my mom erased. Meanwhile they know everything about us: where we live, where we go to school, what our abilities are, who our friends and family are, how to find us- do you need me to keep going? Because we both know I can.

If you never get sadness, how do you know what happy is like?’ she asked. ‘And by the way, everybody dies.

I swear, watching boys try to communicate is like watching amoebas,” Ro told Sophie during the long silence that followed. “You just stare at their blobby little bodies and think, ‘How do these things even function?

I’ll always remember that’s you found me and brought me to the Lost Cities and showed me where I really belong. And that you came when I called for help and saved me from fading away. And you left everything behind to go with me when I joined the Black Swan. Need me to keep going? Because I can.” His smile was a beautiful thing. But it didn’t last.

And you get to bathe the verminion for the next month,” Grady added. Sophie groaned. She swore the giant mutant-hamster-thing had been plotting to destroy her since she’d helped trap it when it arrived at Havenfield. “That’s just mean.” “No, that’s awesome,” Dex corrected. “Glad you think so, Dex,” Grady told him, “ ’Cause you get to help her.” “Hey—I didn’t do anything wrong!” “I never said you did. But do you really think Sophie will let you just stand there and watch her work?

What I'm trying to realize is that it's okay to be different. If everyone were the same, we'd all make the same mistakes. Instead we all face our own things, and that's not so bad because we have people who care about us to help us through. You have that, Keefe. We're all here for you. No matter what." -Sophie Foster

It was too early for gin and lime, and too hot for tea.

The things of the world fell by the wayside, you lost your speed and your eyesight and your fucking Electric Boogaloo, but literature was eternal,

Things are happening, and I need your help. When and where can we meet?

I am,” Dex said, as Linh asked, “Did Fitzphie become an actual thing?

And now I need you to promise something to me. Don’t worry, I won’t tell you not to take risks, or not to worry about us, or any other impossible things. I just need you to promise that you’ll never give up. No matter how hard it gets. Or how hopeless it feels. Never, ever give up.” “I won’t if you won’t,” Sophie whispered. “Never,” Edaline promised.

Plus, after the whole ogre king thing, you’re on pretty thin ice, y’know? I bet if you sneeze too loud, Bronte will call a Tribunal.

A girl from both worlds, who’d seen the follies and triumphs of each side. And her job was to shake things up and do something new.

No, I kept my promise to someone who’d made me feel like I mattered at a time when everyone else just wanted me to go away. Someone who gave me a place to stay and made it feel like a home after mine had been ripped apart. I know that doesn’t erase the things she’s done, but it meant too much for me to totally ignore it. I did owe her.

When I observe Gram, I see how fragile the notion of tradition can be. If I take my eyes off the way she kneads her Easter bread, or if I fail to study the way she sews a seam in suede, or if I lose the mental image I have of her when she negotiates a better deal with a button salesman, somehow, the very essence of her will be lost. When she goes, the responsibility for carrying on will fall to me. My mother says I’m the keeper of the flame, because I work here, and because I choose to live here. A flame is a very fragile thing, too, and there are times when I wonder if I’m the on who can keep it going.

Fitz offered Sophie his arm, and she tried to ignore the way her insides fluttered at the gesture. He was probably only doing it because everyone knew that climbing things wasn’t her strengths- particularly when she was wearing heels. But her face grew warm as she hooked her elbow around his. It got even warmer when he told her, “I’m glad you’re here.

There were other ways to learn, she decided. Things which could not be found in books,

Henry. She could never trust a man who shared his name with a vacuum cleaner.

Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better-Keefe Sencen

Pretty sure the last thing he wants is an Empath holding on to him when he goes anywhere near Sophie’s hand.

But he, that dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose. Anne Brontë

She wanted excitement; a life less lifeless.

But now she dreamed every night of lost things.

I tried to warn you." "I know," Keefe told him. "And I tried to listen." "I know," Tam said quietly. "And ... here we are." "I'm pretty sure that was inevitable," Keefe agreed. "So I want you to know three things, okay? The truest things you'll ever hear." He waited for Tam to nod before he told him, "Number one: I still don't like you."Tam's lips twitched at that, but he stayed silent as Keefe added, "Number two: I will always make fun of your bangs." That earned Keefe an actual smile.

You’re bleeding,” Fitz interrupted, lifting Sophie’s hand and examining her palm. Thin streams of red dripped down her skin. “These look bad, Sophie. You should get them treated.” “I’m fine,” she said, trying not to think about the blood, or the fact that Fitz was technically holding her hand, since both things made her head spin way too fast. “Really. It’s not a big deal. We don’t need to call Elwin.

Keefe leaned his head against her shoulder and Sophie counted his breaths, considering what a strange thing grief turned out to be. Grady and Edaline closed themselves off. Fitz pushed everyone away. She couldn’t figure out how Keefe was handling it all yet. But she was glad he wanted her to stay. Their

Oh, I know you,” Sophie said through a sigh. “I’ll just never stop hoping you’ll decide to play things smart for once.” “See, but ‘smart’ really isn’t my brand. I’m more ‘reckless dream guy without a care’! It’s part of my whole ‘bad boy’ image.” He tossed his hair.

Together they were sacrosanct.

When so much has been uprooted—so many things lost—one must seek comfort in rituals. Even the sad ones.

We can’t always win and we can’t always be happy. But the one thing that we can always do is try. There will always be Baylee-Trashcan Johnsons”—a twitch of a smile crossed Daisy’s face—“ and you can’t change that. But you can change how she makes you feel.

Most of it was boring stuff. Complaints he was getting about tomorrow’s healing. Something about Grady not making any progress on the dwarves. But there was one thing I knew I had to tell you. A goblin patrol found some new tracks outside the Sanctuary. They were far away from the gates, and whoever made them was only there briefly. But one of the footprints definitely belonged to an ogre.

Keefe stepped closer. “I know. It’s one of the things I like about you.” Her stomach filled with fluttering things, which flitted around even more when she noticed how close they were now standing. The toes of their boots were almost touching, and his breath felt warm on her cheeks. Someone cleared their throat, reminding them they weren’t alone. When Sophie turned, she found Grady glaring and Edaline smiling that goofy smile again. She couldn’t decide which was worse. “We’re heading home—” Grady started. “But you don’t have to leave with us,” Edaline finished. “Just make sure you let us know where you are if you decide to go somewhere.” Grady started to say something else, but Edaline created a path of light and whisked him away. “That was weird,” Sophie mumbled, sure her face was bright red. “Yeah,” Keefe said, his cheeks flushed too—but that was probably from the freezing wind. “So you really don’t want to come over?” she asked. “Even for a little while?” “I . . . can’t. But you should go to Dex’s. Or go hang with my buddy Bangs Boy.” “Still refusing to call him Tam, huh?

Hang on,” Keefe interrupted, turning to Alvar. “You seriously allowed them to erase your memories, torture you, drug you, abandon you, almost kill you—and let you rot for months in a miserable prison cell—all in hopes that the Council would move you back to Everglen so you could . . . open a gate?” “It was not about the task,” Vespera answered for Alvar. “It was about proving his value.” “By opening a gate,” Keefe insisted. “That’s . . . the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Sophie had to agree.

Iggy’s fur and Ro’s hair were now deep shades of purple, blue, and gray, with each color fading into the next in an ombré effect. It reminded Sophie of the night sky, right before the stars appear—and it was definitely an improvement from the weird mermaid-tiger thing Iggy had going on before. But… Keefe’s final gift was gone. Just like him.

Fitz offered Sophie his arm, and she tried to ignore the way her insides fluttered at the gesture. He was probably only doing it because everyone knew that climbing things wasn’t her strengths- particularly when she was wearing heels. But her face grew warm as she hooked her elbow around his. It hit even warmer when he told her, “I’m glad you’re here.

Bomber said that the wonderful thing about books was that they were films that played inside your head.

More memories flooded Sophie’s head of Silveny’s life at the Sanctuary—everything clean and comfortable and cared for. Plenty of food. Plenty to do. Flying with Greyfell. Chasing Greyfell. Playing with Greyfell. Wait—that wasn’t playing. . . . “Gah!” Sophie said, shoving the last images out of her mind. TMI, Silveny. Too. Much. Information! She knew it was supposed to be a natural, beautiful thing. But ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I think it's best if I don't let you finish that sentence," Ro jumped in. "The probability of you making things worse is muuuuuuuuuuch too high. And since I'm being more helpful than you deserve, I'll also add that now might be a good time for you to tell us how you're feeling -- and spoiler alert: 'Fine' is not the correct answer.

Probably.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d need a stuffed animal to sleep. But . . . I never knew I needed a lot of things before I met you.” Somehow he’d moved closer, and Sophie’s throat went dry as he reached up and touched her braid again. Their eyes locked, and when his lips parted they seemed to curve with a different word than the one he eventually said. “Anyway. We don’t have a lot of time before the rest of the Foster Fan Club gets here, so I’m going to ask this fast—and I want a real answer, not that distract-and-avoid thing you’re becoming a master at. You’re planning to reach out to my mom, aren’t you? To ask her to take us to Nightfall?

Damn, Josie. Are you trying to kill me?” She glanced back my way. “Not particularly right now. Why?” I didn’t even try to stop staring. It would have been a wasted effort. “Because that dress is enough to give a man a heart attack if you come any closer, or break a man’s heart if you walk away.” “Now lines like that help me understand why you’ve got a reputation for being such a ladies man.” “That wasn’t even my best one.” (…) That kind of dress could bring a man to his knee to propose, even if that had been the furthest thing from his mind when he woke up that morning. Hell, it was bringing me close to a proposal, and I was dead set against anything marriage related.

Dreary beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the fate of this complication, to join together this man, Saint Anthony’ –she tapped the top of his urn –‘and this woman, The Lady of the Flowers’ –gesturing towards the photograph with an upturned palm –‘in holy macaroni which is the honourable estate. Saint Anthony takes The Lady of the Flowers to be the lawful wedding wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, richer or poorer, to love and to perish with death now you start. And it still rhymes,’ she added proudly to herself. She paused again, long enough this time for it to be almost uncomfortable, but no doubt with the intention of underscoring the sanctity of the occasion. ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, funky to punky. We know Major Tom’s a monkey. We can be heroes just for today.

Let him go, Lord Cassius told her. He’s better off where he is. And he can handle himself. How can you be so sure? He sighed, and his mind rumbled again—shaking and shaking and shaking, until several dim memories rose up from the shadows. Sophie’s chest tightened as she watched the scenes from Keefe’s childhood. So many tears. So many lectures. So little warmth or support or love. I’ll only say this once, he told her, and I’ll deny it if you ever bring it up again. But… if there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he’s a survivor. And if he could endure more than a decade at Candleshade with his mother and me, he can handle anything the humans throw at him. Let him take care of himself. He’s been doing it his whole life.

. . . kinda had to after I got tangled in a chandelier my first night home. Seriously? Sophie cracked up as she tried to imagine that. Oh, it was way more humiliating than what you’re thinking, he told her, sharing his actual memories of the way the strings of crystals seemed to wrap around him like sparkly tentacles. How did you even manage to do that? she wondered. No idea. I was just trying to get upstairs and I launched myself too high, and then my sleeve got caught and I tried to untangle it and next thing I knew Biana was collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles and my dad was calling for the gnomes. It took five of them to free me. They had to stand on each other’s shoulders in a giant gnome stack. Sophie was laughing so hard that Sandor peeked his head into her room, probably making sure she wasn’t losing her mind. I wish I’d been there, she told Fitz.

You told That Boy about this?” Grady interrupted. “He didn’t make you feel embarrassed, did he? Or pressure you to—” “Actually, he told me no one would care about the unmatchable thing,” Sophie corrected. “Well, not anyone who mattered, at least.” Edaline’s smile practically glowed. “That was very sweet of him—not that I’m surprised.” Grady snorted. “And he’s absolutely right,” Edaline added, elbowing Grady in the ribs.

When we reflect that her century was the brutalest, the wickedest, the rottenest in history since the darkest ages, we are lost in wonder at the miracle of such a product from such a soil. The contrast between her and her century is the contrast between day and night. She was truthful when lying was the common speech of men; she was honest when honesty was become a lost virtue; she was a keeper of promises when the keeping of a promise was expected of no one; she gave her great mind to great thoughts and great purposes when other great minds wasted themselves upon pretty fancies or upon poor ambitions; she was modest, and fine, and delicate when to be loud and coarse might be said to be universal; she was full of pity when a merciless cruelty was the rule; she was steadfast when stability was unknown, and honorable in an age which had forgotten what honor was; she was a rock of convictions in a time when men believed in nothing and scoffed at all things; she was unfailingly true to an age that was false to the core; she maintained her personal dignity unimpaired in an age of fawnings and servilities; she was of a dauntless courage when hope and courage had perished in the hearts of her nation; she was spotlessly pure in mind and body when society in the highest places was foul in both—she was all these things in an age when crime was the common business of lords and princes, and when the highest personages in Christendom were able to astonish even that infamous era and make it stand aghast at the spectacle of their atrocious lives black with unimaginable treacheries, butcheries, and beastialities.

So that’s how you de-Forkle!” Dex said. “I should’ve guessed it was callowberries. My dad uses them in his anti-inflammatory ointments. They smell like flareadon poop.” “Taste like it too,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “So all we need to do is crush a few of those into your breakfast, and bam! Instant Forkle-reveal?” Keefe asked. “I’ve been consuming callowberries for thirteen years, Mr. Sencen. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice the smell?” “I dunno—I’m really good at hiding things in people’s food.” Mr. Forkle ignored him,

You are many things, Mr. Sencen, but quiet is not one of them.” “So you’re saying I’m a beauty?” Mr. Forkle scowled. “We’re trying to have a private conversation.” “Then you shouldn’t have it in a common room.” Keefe plopped into one of the boulder-beanbag chairs, propping up his feet. “And by the way, Sir Astin? How’d you pull off being a Mentor while you were living next to Sophie in human land?” “That is a secret I’m not willing to share.” Keefe got up and circled Mr. Forkle. “I bet if I really think about it I can guess the other yous.

The people of jewel," said Olga Ciavolga,"treat their children like delicate flowers. They think they will not survive without constant protection. But there are parts of the world where young boys and girls spend weeks at a time with no company except a herd of goats. They chase away wolves. They take care of themselves, and they take care of the herd. And so, when hard times come - as they always do in the end - those children are resourceful and brave. If they have to walk from one end of the county to the other, carrying their baby brother and sisters, they will do it. If they have to hide during the day and travel at night to avoid soldiers, they will do it. They do not give up easily." The tunnel took a sharp right-hand turn and, for a moment, the old woman s voice was lost. Something dropped onto Goldie's arm, and she opened her mouth to yelp - and thought of those children carrying their baby brothers and sisters through the night - and closed her mouth and kept going. She rounded the corner in time to hear Olga Ciavolga murmur,"Of course, I am not saying that it is a good thing to give children such heavy responsibility's. They must be allowed to have a childhood. But they must also be allowed to find their courage and their wisdom, and learn when to stand and when to run away. After all, if they are not permitted to climb the trees, how will they ever see the great and wonderful world that lies before them?

Uh . . . you’ve seen how cute she is, right?” Keefe asked. Sophie flung a pillow at his head. Or, she tried to. Throwing with her left arm was much harder than she’d expected, and . . . She ended up nailing Magnate Leto in the face. Keefe doubled over, clutching his sides and gasping between choking laughs: “THAT . . . WAS . . . THE . . . GREATEST . . . THING . . . I’VE . . . EVER . . . SEEN!” “IT WAS!” Ro agreed, nearly collapsing to the floor in a fit of giggles. Fitz and Elwin were cracking up too—though they at least tried to cover it with coughs. Sophie slunk down under her covers. “Sorry.” “It’s all right, Miss Foster,” Magnate Leto said, handing her back her pillow. “It’s good to see you regaining some strength.” Keefe wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to call you Principal Pillowhead from now on, right?

Dex leaned in. “Um, I’m pretty sure it’s your call, since you’re the one in charge—unless you want us to choose for you. How about Lady Sophie the Reluctant?” “Very funny,” Sophie told him as Biana covered her mouth to muffle her giggle. “I kinda like Foster the Great,” Dex went on, oblivious to her annoyance—or perhaps because of it. “But I still feel like we could do better. Hmmm. Wait! I’ve got it!” He paused for a beat, dragging out the suspense before he leaned in and whispered, “The Fos-Boss.” “Ohhhhh, I like it!” Biana breathed. “I vote for that too,” Wylie added as he leaned in. “Then it’s settled,” Dex decided. “Unless you think Lady Fos-Boss is better.” “Yes!” Biana said, fighting to hold back another giggle. “That’s the winner.” Sophie gave them each her deadliest glare. “If you call me either of those things, I swear I’ll—” “And she thought she was going to have a hard time bossing us around,” Dex whispered to Biana and Wylie. “Looks like our fearless Lady Fos-Boss is a natural leader.” This time even Wylie had to muffle his laughter. “You guys are worse than Keefe,” Sophie grumbled, wondering if she could smother them with her frilly gown.

KNOWN ABILITIES: Empath [DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING ELSE MY MOM TELLS YOU] RESIDENCE: The Shores of Solace and Candleshade [ANYONE WANNA TRADE LIVES WITH ME?] IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Lord Cassius Sencen (father); Lady Gisela Sencen (mother) [AKA: WORST. PARENTS. EVER!] MATCH STATUS: Unregistered [TRY NOT TO BE TOO HEARTBROKEN, PEOPLE] [THOUGH I GOTTA SAY: I DON’T REALLY GET WHY EVERYONE PAYS SO MUCH ATTENTION TO THIS.] EDUCATION: Current Foxfire prodigy [AND PROUD DETENTION RECORD–HOLDER] NEXUS: No longer required [BECAUSE I’M COOL LIKE THAT] PATHFINDER: Not assigned. Restricted to Leapmasters and home crystals. [HA, THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK!] SPYBALL APPROVAL: None [BUT I HAVE FRIENDS WITH CONNECTIONS, THAT’S ALL I’M SAYING.…] MEMBER OF THE NOBILITY: No [THANK GOODNESS] TITLE: None [UM, HELLO, WHAT ABOUT LORD HUNKYHAIR? THAT’S A THING!] NOBLE ASSIGNMENT: None [MASTER MISCHIEF-MAKER] SIGNIFICANT CONNECTIONS: Fealty-sworn member of the Black Swan; former Wayward at Exillium; son to one of the leaders of the Neverseen [SWORN PROTECTOR OF THE MYSTERIOUS MISS F] ASSIGNED BODYGUARD(S): Ro (ogre) [AND SHE KNOWS, LIKE, 500,000 WAYS TO KILL YOU! SO IT’S REALLY NOT A GOOD IDEA TO MESS WITH US!]

[WAIT—IT WON’T LET ME REDACT THESE LITTLE SUBHEADING THINGS? THAT’S SUPER ANNOYING!] [FINE, I’LL JUST GIVE YOU MY SUMMARY.] [SO, WHOEVER WROTE THIS WAS ALL BLAH-BLAH-BLAH-STELLARLUNE-SOMETHING-SOMETHING-LEGACY. BUT SERIOUSLY, NO ONE WANTS TO READ ABOUT THE CREEPY STUFF MY MOM DID BEFORE SHE GOT PREGNANT WITH ME! (AND WE’RE ALL SUPER SICK OF HEARING ABOUT MY “LEGACY,” AMIRITE?) SO, LET’S JUST LEAVE IT AT THIS: MY MOM IS EVIL. SHE THINKS SHE’S WAY SMARTER THAN SHE IS. AND NOTHING SHE DID IS GOING TO AFFECT MY GENERAL AWESOMENESS, OKAY?] A PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORY: [WOW, HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH SUCH A CLEVER TITLE?!] [AND YEAH, I HAVE A PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORY. NOT SURE WHY ANYONE CARES. BUT IT DOES COME IN HANDY DURING MIDTERMS AND FINALS.] AHEAD OF THE GAME: [BASICALLY: I’M A GENIUS. I SKIPPED LEVEL ONE AT FOXFIRE. YES, YOU SHOULD BE IMPRESSED.] UNREASONABLY HIGH STANDARDS: [GOTTA ADMIT, I WAS TEMPTED TO LEAVE THIS ONE ALONE, SINCE WHOEVER WROTE IT ACTUALLY GOT THINGS PRETTY MUCH RIGHT. I GUESS EVEN THE COUNCIL KNOWS MY DAD’S A JERK WHO FREAKS OUT ALL THE TIME BECAUSE I’M NOT A LITTLE MINI-HIM. WHO KNEW?] A POWERFUL EMPATH: [UGH, THAT’S THE BEST YOU COULD DO FOR THIS SUBHEADING???] [HOW ABOUT “LORD OF THE FEELS”? OR “TRUST THE EMPATH”! OR “HE KNOWS WHAT YOU’RE FEELING—AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF”?] [OOO! I’VE GOT IT! “HE KNOWS FOSTER BETTER THAN YOU DO! BETTER THAN SHE EVEN KNOWS HERSELF!”] [THOUGH… KEEPING IT REAL? THE FOSTER OBLIVION CAN BE KINDA NOT COOL SOMETIMES.] THE HEART OF THE MATTER: [I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GUYS NAMED A SECTION OF MY FILE AFTER MY FATHER’S SUPER-BORING BOOK—AND THEN RAMBLED ON FOR TWO PAGES ABOUT HIS SUPER-BORING THEORY!!!!!] [YOU DON’T NEED TWO PAGES ON IT. YOU DON’T EVEN NEED TWO SENTENCES. HERE’S ALLLLLL YOU NEED TO KNOW—BESIDES THE FACT THAT HE’S TOTALLY NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO COME UP WITH THIS (JUST THE ONE WHO LOVES TO TAKE CREDIT): OUR HEADS AND OUR HEARTS SOMETIMES FEEL DIFFERENT EMOTIONS, AND WHAT’S IN OUR HEARTS IS PROBABLY STRONGER.] [THAT’S IT!] [WELL… OKAY… I GUESS HE ALSO GOES ON A BIT ABOUT HOW EMPATHS PROBABLY ONLY READ THE EMOTIONS FROM THE HEAD.] [AND THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT HEART EMOTIONS BEING PURER BECAUSE NO ONE CAN CONTROL THEM.] [BUT THAT’S IT.] [AND DON’T TELL LORD BORINGPANTS I READ HIS DUMB BOOK! I MOSTLY SKIMMED.] PRANKSTER AND TROUBLEMAKER: [100 PERCENT ACCURATE. ALSO, I’M LEAVING YOUR LITTLE ATTACHED DETENTION RECORD BECAUSE IT’S THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!]

You would’ve enjoyed all the horrible team name suggestions that Dex and Biana kept bugging the Council with, though,” Sophie shouted over the abundance of snorts and gurgles. If that was what Ro actually sounded like when she slept, poor Keefe probably had to sleep with a pillow over his head. “I thought Emery was going to exile them at one point.” “Okay, now I’m interested,” Ro informed her. “And let’s hope Team Fancypants was the winner. Because I can almost forgive you for wearing all of those sparkly accessories if that’s what you’re making your stuffy Councillors call you.” “Wait,” Keefe said, before Sophie could respond. “Dex and Biana were there?” Sophie nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. Which actually made it a little easier to tell him. “Yeah. And Wylie. And Stina. I guess the Council decided I’m way more successful when I have backup—and they’re not wrong. But I’m still trying not to be insulted that they built this whole team because I’m useless alone. Oh—and you’ll love this. They wanted to name us Team Prodigious.” “Wow,” Ro said. “You guys shut that down, right?” “First thing we did,” Sophie agreed, pulling on a blissfully boring gray tunic and wishing all clothes could be

and helped her invent two flavor combinations. “How did you know that chocolate and mint is my favorite?” Fitz asked, peeling off the silver wrapper and devouring the whole fluff in one bite. “I didn’t,” Sophie admitted. “If I had, I wouldn’t have given you any of the butter toffee ones.” “Those look amazing too,” he said, then frowned at his present. “Aren’t you going to open it?” “Shouldn’t I wait until we’re with the others?” “Nah. It’ll be better if it’s just the two of us.” Something about the way he said it made her heart switch to flutter mode, even though she knew Fitz didn’t think of her that way. Her mind raced through a dozen theories as she carefully tore the shimmering paper. But she still wasn’t prepared to find . . . “Rings?” “They go on your thumbs,” Fitz explained. “It’s a Cognate thing.” She wasn’t sure what thumb jewelry had to do with their rare telepathic connection. But she noticed Fitz was wearing an identical set. Each ring had initials stamped into the verdigris metal. SEF on the right—Sophie Elizabeth Foster—and FAV on the left. “Fitzroy Avery Vacker.” “Your full name is Fitzroy?” she asked. “Yeah. No idea what my parents were thinking with that one. But watch this. Try opening your thoughts to mine, and then do this.” He held his hands palm-out, waiting for her to do the same. As soon as she did, the rings turned warm against her skin and snapped their hands together like magnets. “They’re made from ruminel,” Fitz said, “which reacts to mental

ultimately, most of us would choose a rich and meaningful life over an empty, happy one, if such a thing is even possible. “Misery serves a purpose,” says psychologist David Myers. He’s right. Misery alerts us to dangers. It’s what spurs our imagination. As Iceland proves, misery has its own tasty appeal. A headline on the BBC’s website caught my eye the other day. It read: “Dirt Exposure Boosts Happiness.” Researchers at Bristol University in Britain treated lung-cancer patients with “friendly” bacteria found in soil, otherwise known as dirt. The patients reported feeling happier and had an improved quality of life. The research, while far from conclusive, points to an essential truth: We thrive on messiness. “The good life . . . cannot be mere indulgence. It must contain a measure of grit and truth,” observed geographer Yi-Fu Tuan. Tuan is the great unheralded geographer of our time and a man whose writing has accompanied me throughout my journeys. He called one chapter of his autobiography “Salvation by Geography.” The title is tongue-in-cheek, but only slightly, for geography can be our salvation. We are shaped by our environment and, if you take this Taoist belief one step further, you might say we are our environment. Out there. In here. No difference. Viewed that way, life seems a lot less lonely. The word “utopia” has two meanings. It means both “good place” and “nowhere.” That’s the way it should be. The happiest places, I think, are the ones that reside just this side of paradise. The perfect person would be insufferable to live with; likewise, we wouldn’t want to live in the perfect place, either. “A lifetime of happiness! No man could bear it: It would be hell on Earth,” wrote George Bernard Shaw, in his play Man and Superman. Ruut Veenhoven, keeper of the database, got it right when he said: “Happiness requires livable conditions, but not paradise.” We humans are imminently adaptable. We survived an Ice Age. We can survive anything. We find happiness in a variety of places and, as the residents of frumpy Slough demonstrated, places can change. Any atlas of bliss must be etched in pencil. My passport is tucked into my desk drawer again. I am relearning the pleasures of home. The simple joys of waking up in the same bed each morning. The pleasant realization that familiarity breeds contentment and not only contempt. Every now and then, though, my travels resurface and in unexpected ways. My iPod crashed the other day. I lost my entire music collection, nearly two thousand songs. In the past, I would have gone through the roof with rage. This time, though, my anger dissipated like a summer thunderstorm and, to my surprise, I found the Thai words mai pen lai on my lips. Never mind. Let it go. I am more aware of the corrosive nature of envy and try my best to squelch it before it grows. I don’t take my failures quite so hard anymore. I see beauty in a dark winter sky. I can recognize a genuine smile from twenty yards. I have a newfound appreciation for fresh fruits and vegetables. Of all the places I visited, of all the people I met, one keeps coming back to me again and again: Karma Ura,