Chapter One ONE OKAY. NOW WHAT?" Keefe made himself ask the question out loud. He needed to start using his voice again. After all, that's why he was doing this. Or part of the reason, anyway--and he didn't have time to think about the other scary, stressful things he was running away from. He had more than enough scary, stressful stuff to deal with already. Like the fact that he had no idea where he was, or where he wanted to go, and all he had was a small backpack crammed with elf-y things that probably weren't going to be very useful now that he was in Humanland. Or the fact that human emotions were WAY more overwhelming than elvin emotions. He'd figured they would be--and thought he'd mentally prepared for the onslaught. But whoa. This was a thousand times worse than when he woke up in the Healing Center after surviving his mom's lovely experiment. Every possible sensation kept punching his senses over and over and over, like he was caught in the middle of a fistfight with a bunch of angry ogres. Sharp irritation. Tingly joy. Burning frustration. Itchy impatience. Sour regret. Warm affection. Bubbly glee--plus a zillion other zings and zaps and prickles and pains mixed with a ton of loud noises and weird smells. It made him want to claw at his skin and tear at his hair and cough and sneeze and barf up everything in his stomach. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his waist and tried sucking in a deep breath. Didn't help. Neither did squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears--which also didn't fit with the whole "blending in" thing he was supposed to be going for. He pried his eyes open and tried to focus. The too-bright sunlight washed everything to a blur, but when he squinted, he could make out a stretch of desert and a few triangular structures. Keefe was pretty sure they were the pyramids he'd learned about in elvin history--the ones the elves helped the humans build back in the days when elves and humans were trying to be the bestest of buddies. The buildings looked old and crumbly now--but that didn't seem to bother the huge crowd that had gathered in the sweltering heat, mostly to record themselves pretending to balance the pyramids on their heads, for some bizarre reason. They were also talking. And laughing. And feeling . So. Many. Feelings. Too many. It was too much. The pressure in Keefe's brain kept building and building and building--but that wasn't nearly as terrifying as the word taking shape in the back of his throat. A heavy lump he couldn't choke down but refused to spit out. He didn't know what the word was--but he knew if he said it, his misery would vanish. Everything would be perfectly calm and blissfully quiet and... Seriously creepy. Keefe locked his jaw and shook his head, trying to knock the word loose. When that didn't work, he replayed his memories of the day he'd given his first command . The way everyone stood frozen with their mouths dropped open, with dull, unblinking eyes. Empty shells of the people he cared about. He'd barely found a way to snap them out of it--and he had no idea if he'd be able to fix that kind of mess again. Especially with humans, who didn't have any mental defenses. He tried picturing that, too. All the innocent people around him, frozen like a bunch of sweaty statues. Grown-ups. Kids. Even a few tiny babies. The lump in his throat deflated with the image--but it sprang right back when a group wearing shirts that said EASTLAKE HIGH SCHOOL! GO, FIGHTING LLAMAS! blasted him with a hurricane of nauseating angst. Time to move. There had to be somewhere nearby that wasn't so chaotic. Somewhere he could think. Breathe. Get control. But when he tried to weave through the crowd, their annoyance pelted him like goblin throwing stars--and the unspoken command slid across his tongue and pressed against his lips. Keefe gritted his teeth and spun around, searching for somewhere he'd be able to light leap without being noticed. All he found was people, people, and more people--plus a few grumpy camels and some smug cats flicking their tails. It's fine. I'll be fine. He chanted the words in his head, hoping that would make them true. But the crowd closed in tighter, forcing him to start shoving to make any headway--and their anger felt like a gorgodon chewing on his skull. His ears rang and his knees wobbled--but right when everything got spinny, he finally spotted a way out of there. The ugly contraption--was it called a bus? He couldn't remember--was spewing out smoke and chemicals. But it was big enough for him to hide behind. He ducked by one of the back wheels and dug out his pathfinder, wishing he knew where any of the facets on the blue crystal would take him. He'd stolen the pathfinder from his father, and it annoyingly hadn't come with any instructions. Please be somewhere quiet, he begged as he randomly locked the crystal into place and held it up to the sun. Somewhere less crowded. He repeated the pleas as the light whisked him away. Then there was nothing but rushing warmth and tingly freedom--until he re-formed. The sounds hit him first. Shouts and whoops and cheers and boos. Followed by OVERWHELMING DELIGHT and FURIOUS RAGE. He was standing outside an enormous arena that was swarming with people who were mostly wearing bright red, but some were wearing deep blue. The two groups were feeling ALL THE THINGS while shouting at each other about points and referees and penalties. Then a whistle blew, and pandemonium erupted. The word on Keefe's tongue turned to boiling lava. He couldn't hold the eruption back any longer--but with the last of his strength, he spun the pathfinder and tumbled into the light, not caring if anyone saw him. Maybe they wouldn't believe their eyes. Or maybe there'd be stories about a miserable, wild-haired boy who'd "magically" disappeared. It didn't matter. Anything was better than what would've happened if he'd stayed any longer. He just wished he knew where he was going. Another crowd would probably shatter him. Even leaping felt too exhausting. The light kept battering his senses, and he could feel his concentration slipping, slipping, slipping. It would've been so much easier to just... let go. Stay in the bright, twinkly warmth and never have to worry about who he could hurt or what might happen if-- NO! Keefe dragged himself back together and held on as tight as he could. He had to keep fighting. No matter how tired he was. If Foster could keep going after everything she'd been through, so could he--and as soon as he thought the name, he found a whole other reason to fight. Gold-flecked brown eyes with a tiny crinkle between them. She tended to have that cute little worry crease whenever she looked at him. Because she cared. Maybe not the way he wished she would. But a whole lot more than he deserved. He owed it to her to fight as hard as he could, for as long as he could. And honestly? He owed that to himself, too. So he rallied his concentration and braced for another emotional tidal wave as his body re-formed again. Excerpted from Unraveled Book 9. 5 by Shannon Messenger All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
