Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife Page 21

  “Myriad,” Archer says. “They’re tired of waiting for you to make a choice and don’t want to risk a covenant with Troika.”

  No. “I don’t believe that. Killian fought to save us.” He’s alive. He has to be alive.

  “Yes, and I’m sure he’ll be punished for it. He’s been different with you, going against orders, even killing Vans.”

  Rocked to the bone, I look up to the sky and shout, “If Killian is hurt, I will never sign with Myriad.”

  There’s a whistle of wind, and it scrapes against my nerves. But there’s no voice. No eruption of lights that spell out, He’s safe.

  A really tall, really muscled guy—Deacon?—approaches us. His features are rough; they are those of a warrior who’s lived on the battlefield and danced in the blood of his enemies. His hair is cropped and dark, but his eyes are the color of summer, green and lush with life, the perfect foil to his ebony skin. His nose is a little too long and his mouth a little too thin but both work for him, and work well. He’ll never be on the cover of a magazine, but I’m willing to bet he’s the star of many fantasies.

  He assists Sloan to her feet and drapes a jacket over her shoulders, speaking to Archer in a language I’ve never heard before. A beautiful language that rolls from his tongue.

  Archer replies in the same language.

  “Come,” he finally says to me.

  “What—” I begin.

  He already knows what I’m going to ask. “The Troikan language. That way, if any spirits from Myriad lurk nearby, they won’t understand what we’re saying.”

  We’re hustled to a van he’s procured. The back is empty, perfect for lying down.

  The driver introduces himself—yep, he’s Deacon. As he takes corners a little too swiftly, Archer does his best to patch our wounds. He doesn’t have the most delicate touch, and the bumpy ride only makes his inelegant ministrations worse. I wince when he ties the bandage around my arm a little too tight.

  Boom!

  The van rattles, and both Sloan and I gasp.

  “A battle between the realms,” Archer confirms. “My boss’s men are stopping Madame Bennett’s men from getting close to you.”

  No wonder the battles seem to follow me. They are. “What about Killian?”

  “No one has reported seeing him.”

  Fear and disappointment combine, threatening to flatten me. “Why don’t you just give us your Lifeblood?” That’s how he healed Sloan of her frostbite.

  “We lost too much fighting our way to you before the crash and even more as we fished you out of the water.”

  Now that I’ve hemorrhaged, I understand.

  “If we lose any more,” he says, “we’ll be useless for days. Since your injuries aren’t life threatening, I’m not going to weaken myself. You need me strong.”

  “I get it,” I say, and I do.

  We lapse into silence. Sloan is shivering, so I draw her closer. I should be as traumatized as she is, but despite everything, I’m somehow calm. Well, calmish. And tired, the vibrations from the road doing their best to lure me to sleep. I fight to remain awake. Part of me suspects I’ll open my eyes and find out I’m back in Many Ends.

  “All right, folks.” Deacon’s voice echoes through the van as the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop. “We’ve arrived.”

  I sit up gingerly and exit with Archer’s help. Deacon climbs into the back, scoops up Sloan and carries her out. We’re—in the middle of nowhere, nothing but green grass and mountains for miles. It’s pretty, but it’s not my idea of a well-guarded hideout where we can recover in peace.

  Silver lining: I’m not freezing.

  “This way.” Archer steps forward and vanishes.

  Right. Jellyair. With a sigh, I follow him and suddenly I’m standing in front of a dream come true: a two-story log cabin with twinkling lights strung around the roof. Fields of lavender scent the air. Lush green trees have actual beehives hanging from the branches. Around the cabin itself are troughs with wild strawberries overflowing from the sides, and my mouth waters for a taste.

  This is a home. Where doting parents sit on the porch, rocking in handmade chairs while watching their children run and play.

  Archer takes the lead but stops with his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder at me. “This is a Troikan safe house. No one from Myriad will be able to pass through the borders.”

  Meaning, Killian. “What keeps the Myriadians out?”

  “The beams are infused with light. A Myriadian touches them, and they burn. Badly.”

  “But Shells aren’t burned by light.” Only spirits, according to Killian.

  Deacon laughs as if I’ve said something funny. Have I? There’s so much I don’t know about the realms.

  “This is a special light,” Archer says with a glare directed at his friend. “Myriad Shells disintegrate in seconds.” He stomps into the house, done with the conversation.

  I stay where I am, looking past the wall for any sign of Killian.

  “We have safe houses all over the world. They aren’t opulent, but they should have everything you need.” Deacon comes up beside me and sets Sloan on her feet. “Go inside, girl.”

  “As long as this place has hot water and a tub,” she says, trudging forward, “this can be a slaughterhouse for all I care.”

  When she’s on the porch, I say to Deacon, “Do you bring humans here often?”

  “Only the ones who have been marked for death. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “So high and mighty. Troika is just as likely a suspect.”

  “That’s not the way we roll.” Deacon looks at me, adding, “A lot of people have gone to serious trouble for you, but they’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”

  “Even though I’m a Conduit?” Supposedly. More than ever, I don’t feel like one of the most powerful people on the planet.

  “Even though. We’ll die to preserve your right to choose. If your choice destroys you—destroys us—so be it. And it will. Destroy us both, I mean. We’ve lost two Conduits in the past five hundred years. We have only two others. If even one is killed, we won’t have enough light to sustain our people for more than a few decades.”

  Pressure…

  He sighs. “I hope you’re worth everything we’re doing.”

  “I’ll save you the trouble of wondering. I’m not.” I’m undecided and pretty much changing sides as often as I change underwear.

  Considering the scare I just had, I’m probably due for another.

  “With that attitude?” he says. “No. You’re not.”

  “You’d rather I do the narcissistic song and dance? I’m so amazing and wonderful.” I fluff my hair and bat my lashes at him. “Of course I’m worth the trouble.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You have your moments, but I’d rather you saw yourself as Archer does.”

  “And how is that?” Maybe I would, too.

  “When he was first assigned to you, he saw you as a spoiled rich girl with a little too much crazy. Mommy and Daddy are mean to me, boo-hoo. All this torture, wah-wah.”

  “Screw you both. Pain is pain, and if you’ve never been whipped or beaten or injected with poison, your opinion in this matter doesn’t mean jack.”

  “I make light, because you didn’t have to go through any of it. You could have signed with us—”

  “I could have, yes, but I didn’t because I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know where I belong.”

  “You do. Everyone knows. Everyone always knows. Deep down, where it matters. But they want something else, a seemingly better offer, perhaps, so they talk themselves into doubt and confusion—darkness of the mind. Then, finally, the doubt and confusion morph into certainty you were wrong to begin with.”

  “No.” I shake my head.
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  “I’ve lived longer than you. I’ve seen more. I know, and you know. You just don’t want to face the truth.”

  “And what if the truth is Myriad?”

  “Then for you, it’s Myriad.”

  I scoff at him. “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”

  “I never debate the truth. You know your answer, so grow a pair of balls and accept it. Stop wasting our time. Now, are you going to let me finish telling you my story?” he asks.

  I wave my hand in regal command.

  “After the institution, Archer told me there’s something about you…an inner strength very few people possess. A goodness untouched by the evil around you. A generosity of spirit that allows you to put the safety of others above the safety of yourself. And I hope he’s right, because word came down today. For Archer’s part in your friend’s untimely death, he will experience the Exchange.”

  * * *

  I use my time at the safe house to recover from my wounds and plan my next move.

  Myriad wants me dead and without Troika’s assistance, I can’t hide from them. I’m only human. But then, I don’t want to hide from the realm, and I don’t want to rely on one over the other. I want to see Killian, thank him, maybe hug him and slap him for risking his life.

  There’s been no sign of him, no rumors about his life—or his death.

  I absolutely refuse to consider he died and he’s now Fused with a newborn, that he has a new Firstlife tied to someone else. He’s out there. What’s he doing?

  I miss the jerk.

  By the dawn of the seventh day, I realize I have only one viable option. It’s simple, but it just might work. I will request the one thing I’ve wanted since this whole travesty began: time to think without interference. I’ll promise to voice my decision the day before my eighteen birthday. Of course, the closer we get to the date, the more danger I’ll face, the realms fearing my defection. But the fact remains: any time I gain is more than I currently have.

  It’ll mean saying goodbye to Killian and Archer—shredding my heart when I lose the best friends I’ve had in forever—but it’ll only be for a little while. At least for one of them.

  With a sigh, I press the tip of a steak knife into my finger, a drop of blood welling. A drop I wipe on the wall beside my bed, leaving a smear of crimson behind.

  My new calendar. Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, highlighting the numbers.

  “Do you not know how to relax?”

  Archer’s voice fills my room, and I slowly pivot to face him. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

  “No. Just like you don’t know how to share important details with your friends.” I’m miffed with him. He refuses to tell me anything about the Exchange.

  “Fine. It will be bad. Blood for blood. A crime was committed, and a punishment must be meted out. That is law, even for Myriad, though they would deny it. Every human is precious, priceless, and I’ll pay a price that reflects that. Happy now?”

  Not even close. Maybe the crash knocked some sense into me, because I no longer want him penalized. He’s suffered enough. “What about mercy?”

  “Trust me. In this, I’m being shown great mercy. I should be dead, like the one I helped kill, and yet I live.”

  “But—”

  “This is justice, Ten. You can’t pick and choose the parts you like and ignore the rest. That opens the door for partiality.”

  He makes a good point. Not that I’ll admit it. “Why are you here?”

  “Two reasons. The first, to ask if you want to reactivate your cell phone. I’ll have to put you to sleep but it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “No, thanks.” I still don’t want my parents or Prynne able to call or track me.

  “Now the second. I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

  What is it with these Shell boys and their lack of respect for my skills? “I know how to fight.” I hold up the butcher knife. “Want a demonstration?”

  He nods. “I do. But allow me to amend my statement. I’m going to teach you how to fight…and win.”

  “I know how—”

  “Win every time,” he adds.

  Fair enough. I could use the practice before I leave him. I sheathe the blade at my waist. “What’s this lesson going to cost me?” Let’s get the nitty-gritty out of the way.

  “Only a poem. Something cheery for once.”

  I arch a brow. “Does it have to rhyme?”

  “Of course. Good poems always rhyme.”

  He and Loony Lina would adore each other. “All right. Here goes.” I clear my throat. “You, the he-man, will teach me how to fight. Me, a little girl with little might. But what you don’t know about this lass is that she’s super determined to kick your ass.”

  He barks out a laugh and waves his fingers at me. “Come on, then. The toll has been paid in full.”

  I slide my feet out of my favorite house slippers, a luxury I haven’t experienced in over a year. Funny how I used to take such things for granted. I’ve known great wealth, and I’ve known great loss. I’ve had tastes of happiness and sorrow in both states.

  Emotions never discriminate.

  I tug on a pair of combat boots and follow him downstairs. I’ve memorized the layout of the house to ensure I’ll be able to find my way to any room blindfolded. Never know when something like that will become necessary. There are four bedrooms upstairs, each with its own bathroom. Sloan has spent the bulk of her time in bed, and Deacon has spent the bulk of his seeing to her wounds and coaxing her to eat.

  “You’d choose Troika again today, even if you were given the chance to change your mind,” I say. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I would. I love my realm. I love my family. I love my job.”

  Would Killian say the same?

  Killian. Where are you?

  We stride through the spacious living room furnished with an oversize leather sofa, two recliners and a blazing fireplace. Archer swipes a large black bag from a coffee table made from logs. He turns left, and the scent of bacon and eggs almost draws me in the opposite direction. If I were to go right, I’d enter the kitchen, a paradise of gray stone, rose-veined marble and oak cabinets, rustic yet opulent. Deacon must be cooking breakfast.

  “Later,” Archer announces, sensing the direction of my thoughts.

  I whimper like a spoiled baby.

  He stalks outside and, a few yards from the house, drops the bag. His legs are encased in leathers that reveal every flex of his muscles as he crouches to dig out a gun, two daggers and a thing I can’t identify.

  I really like this guy. He’s more emotionally secure than Killian, but then, I think he’s had a better support system. He doesn’t need me, but I’m pretty sure he could use me, and not just because of his realm. After the way he handled those boys in Prynne, the ones who called him names, I can guess how badly he wants to dish out Troikan light to those in need. And even to Myriadians. He just hasn’t found a way to do it. He needs a bridge.

  He glances up, notices I’m staring and smiles slowly, his copper eyes alight with amusement. “Please don’t tell me you want a piece of me.”

  “Gross! I most certainly do not.”

  “Good. What about Killian? You wanting a piece of him?”

  I…think I do, but I also think Archer isn’t ready to hear the answer.

  He wags a finger at me. “I’m not going to warn you about him. Not again.”

  Guess my expression gave me away. “Thank you. I appreciate—”

  “But I am going to tell you about my feud with him. He—”

  I’m about to tell him to spill now, now, now when a tornado rolls over the top of the dome. I gape. Fence posts and other debris swirl inside a vortex of wind I can’t feel.

 
“Only an F-2,” Archer says. “There’s a battle going on between the realms, but it hasn’t reached critical.”

  “What’s the battle about this time?”

  “Myriad wants you out of our safe house.”

  The fact that I’m the cause is a weight around my ankles, pulling me deeper and deeper into a sea of guilt. Soon I’m going to drown. I hate the thought of innocent people being hurt because of me.

  I make a decision to leave the safe house tonight.

  I’ll send a flash-scribe message to Madame about my intentions, and I’ll leave a note for Archer. Can’t take a chance they’ll try to stop me.

  “Well. Tell me about your feud with Killian,” I say.

  He works his jaw. “There was a girl.”

  Nailed it. “Dior?” I ask, remembering the name the two spat at each other.

  “Yes. We were both assigned to her. I loved her. When she laughed, she had a dimple right here.” He touches his cheek. “She dreamed of being a doctor, of tending anyone of any realm who couldn’t afford medical care.”

  Hesitantly I ask, “He stole her away from you?”

  His nod is clipped. “Then he tricked her into signing with Myriad.”

  I almost can’t breathe, my chest is so tight, but I manage to say, “He was just doing his job, what he thought was right.”

  Archer’s nostrils flare. “Usually Myriad Laborers earn more for getting humans to accept the least possible amount, but he ensured she received the worst possible deal just to spite me, adding fine print she didn’t understand.”

  “So she didn’t get a fancy house or car. So what? There’s more to life.”

  “You don’t understand. She’s in medical school right now, but even then, if she saves the life of a Troikan loyalist, she earns a penalty in Firstlife and Everlife. There’s nothing I can do to help her.”

  What Killian did…yeah, it was bad. There’s no getting around that fact. But he’s not the same Killian. Firstlife didn’t mean anything to him back then. Now he’s learning to value human life. Why else would he put himself in harm’s way to save me?

  “Can you get her out of her contract?” I ask. “What about court?”