Pittacus Lore
the r evenge of seven
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Follow Penguin
The Lorien Legacies by Pittacus Lore
NOVELS
I Am Number Four
The Power of Six
The Rise of Nine
The Fall of Five
The Revenge of Seven
NOVELLAS
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 1: Six’s Legacy
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 2: Nine’s Legacy
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 3: The Fallen Legacies
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 4: The Search For Sam
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 5: The Last Days of Lorien
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 6: The Forgotten Ones
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 7: Five’s Legacy
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 8: Return To Paradise
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files 9: Five’s Betrayal
NOVELLA COLLECTIONS
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: The Legacies
(Contains novellas 1–3)
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Secret Histories
(Contains novellas 4–6)
I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Hidden Enemy
(Contains novellas 7–9)
The events in this book are real.
Names and places have been changed to protect
the Loric, who remain in hiding.
Other civilizations do exist.
Some of them seek to destroy you.
1
The nightmare is over. When I open my eyes, there’s nothing but darkness.
I’m in a bed, that much I can tell, and it’s not my own. The mattress is enormous, somehow
contoured perfectly to my body, and for a moment I wonder if my friends moved me to one of the
bigger beds in Nine’s penthouse. I stretch my legs and arms out as far as they’ll go and can’t find the edges. The sheet draped over me is more slippery than soft, almost like a piece of plastic, and it is
radiating heat. Not just heat, I realize, but also a steady vibration that soothes my sore muscles.
How long have I been asleep, and where the heck am I?
I try to remember what happened to me, but all I can think of is my last vision. It felt like I was in that nightmare for days. I can still smell the burned-rubber stench of Washington, D.C. Smog clouds
lingered over the city, a reminder of the battle fought there. Or the battle that will be fought there, if my vision actually comes true.
The visions. Are they part of a new Legacy? None of the others have Legacies that leave them
traumatized in the morning. Are they prophecies? Threats sent by Setrákus Ra, like the dreams John
and Eight used to have? Are they warnings?
Whatever they are, I wish they’d stop happening.
I take a few deep breaths to clean the smell of Washington out of my nostrils, even though I know
it’s all in my head. What’s worse than the smell is that I can remember every little detail, right down to the horrified look on John’s face when he saw me on that stage with Setrákus Ra, condemning Six
to death. He was trapped in the vision, too, just like I was. I was powerless up there, stuck between
Setrákus Ra, self-appointed ruler of Earth, and …
Five. He’s working for the Mogadorians! I have to warn the others. I sit bolt upright and my head
swims – too fast, too soon – rust-colored blobs floating through my vision. I blink them away, my
eyes feeling gummy, my mouth dry and throat sore.
This definitely isn’t the penthouse.
My movement must trigger some nearby sensor, because the room’s lights slowly grow brighter.
They come on gradually, the room eventually bathed in a pale red glow. I look around for the source
of the light and discover it pulsing from veins interwoven through the chrome-paneled walls. A chill
goes through me at how precise the room looks, how severe, lacking any decoration at all. The heat
from the blanket increases, almost as if it wants me to curl back up beneath it. I shove it away.
This is a Mogadorian place.
I crawl across the mammoth bed – it’s bigger than an SUV, big enough for a ten-foot-tall
Mogadorian dictator to comfortably relax in – until my bare feet dangle over the metal floor. I’m
wearing a long gray nightgown embroidered with thorny black vines. I shudder, thinking about them
putting me into this gown and leaving me here to rest. They could’ve just killed me, but instead they
put me in pyjamas? In my vision, I was sitting alongside Setrákus Ra. He called me his heir. What
does that even mean? Is that why I’m still alive?
It doesn’t matter. The simple fact is: I’ve been captured. I know this. Now what am I going to do
about it?
I figure the Mogs must have moved me to one of their bases. Except this room isn’t like the horrific
and tiny cells that Nine and Six described from when they were captured. No, this must be the
Mogadorians’ twisted idea of hospitality. They’re trying to take care of me.
Setrákus Ra wants me treated more like a guest than a prisoner. Because, one day, he wants me
ruling next to him. Why, I still don’t understand, but right now it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
Oh no. If I’m here, what happened to the others in Chicago?
My hands start to shake and tears sting my eyes. I have to get out of here. And I have to do it alone.
I push down the fear. I push down the lingering visions of a decimated Washington. I push down the
worries about my friends. I push it all down. I need to be a blank slate, like I was when we first
fought Setrákus Ra in New Mexico, like I was during my training sessions with the others. It’s easiest for me to be brave when I just don’t think about it. If I act on instinct, I can do this.
Run, I imagine Crayton saying. Run until they’re too tired to chase you.
I need something to fight them with. I look around the room for anything I can use as a weapon.
Next to the bed is a metallic nightstand, the only other furniture in the room. The Mogs left a glass of water there for me, which I’m not dumb enough to drink even though I’m insanely thirsty. Next to the
glass, there’s a dictionary-sized book with an oily, snaky-skin cover. The ink on the cover looks
singed, the words indented and rough around the edges, as if it were printed with acid for ink.
The title reads The Great Book of Mogadorian Progress, surprisingly in English. Under it are a series of angular boxes and hash marks that I assume is Mogadorian.
I pick up the book and open it. Each page is divided in half, English on one side and Mogadorian
on the other. I wonder if I’m supposed to read this thing.
I slam the book closed. The important thing is that it’s heavy and I can swing it. I won’t be turning
any Mogadorian guards into ash clouds, but it’s better than nothing.
I climb down from the bed and walk over to what I think is the door. It’s a rectangular panel cut
into the plated wall, but there aren’t any knobs or buttons.
As I tiptoe closer, wondering how I’m going to open this thing, there’s a mechanical whirring noise
from inside the wall. It must be on a motion sensor like the lights, because the door hisses upward as soon as I’m close, disappearing into the ceiling.