Agent Moonlark

Chapter Twenty Two

Sophie

What Keefe said next would have made a sailor blush. He had a, um, very colorful vocabulary.

"Wait," Sophie interrupted his ranting, "I don't understand. When could this have happened?"

Keefe tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Sophie gasped in realization. "Cadfael!"

"What about him? I mean, I know he wasn't easy on the eyes, but-"

"Remember when Cadfael disappeared? He must have snuck off and put the bomb on the car!"

"Oh shi-"

"Language!"

"-Shiitake mushrooms."

Sophie buried her head in her hands. "What are we going to do?" They had no car, no way of transportation. They were practically in the middle of nowhere.

"Hey," Keefe said gently. He put a hand on her shoulder. "If anyone can get through this, it's us. Especially if we work together."

Sophie gave him a weak smile. "I'm just...sick of the Neverseen. No offense."

Keefe sniffed. "I would hope so, Ms. Foster."

"Who were you impersonating?"

"My dad."

Sophie snorted. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"Hey! I just realized that my carsickness saved us!" Keefe smirked proudly. He bowed. "Thank you, thank you. Hold the applause - wait don't."

Sophie laughed and clapped. He was trying to lighten the mood, and it was working. She no longer felt like this would only end in certain doom.

"Well," she said, "we were lucky. And it's a good thing you took the jar with you."

Keefe shuddered. "I don't even want to think about what would have happened if we hadn't gotten outside in time."

Sophie winced involuntarily. They would probably be in literal pieces. Her stomach turned, and she classified that thought as 'One of the things to think about later - actually never.'

"Well, it's part of the business," Keefe said. He whistled. "We should ask for a pay raise. Correction : we need a pay raise. Because we both have to add one to our 'Number of Times We Have Almost Died' count."

Sophie bit her lip, deep in thought. Everything had been in that car. Even Calla's journal. Her eyes widened. Calla's journal.

She sprinted towards the remnants of the car.

"Foster, where are you going?"

Sophie didn't answer. Her pulse quickened as she dug through the pile of junk. Her breathing became uneven.

She didn't care that her hands were getting dirty. They were covered in dirt and grime. She searched furiously, her eyes darting around.

She saw a dried petal at the bottom. She picked it up slowly, her hands trembling. This was all that was left. All that was left of the last thing Calla had to say to her.

Her only reassurance was her photographic mind. But that wasn't enough. Just the touch of the journal, the smell of it, had made it precious. And it was gone. All of it.

She broke down into tears. She felt Keefe wrap his arms around her, and she sobbed quietly into his chest.

"It's gone, Keefe," she sniffed. "Her journal."