Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  “Utterly unique and absolutely riveting-I couldn’t put it down! What a marvelously cool world.” —New York Times bestselling author Sarah J. Maas on Firstlife

  Return to the realms with the Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection from the author of the New York Times bestselling The White Rabbit Chronicles, Gena Showalter!

  FIRSTLIFE

  Tenley “Ten” Lockwood is an average seventeen-year-old girl…who has spent the past thirteen months locked inside the Prynne Asylum. The reason? Not her obsession with numbers, but her refusal to let her parents choose where she’ll live—after she dies.

  There is an eternal truth most of the world has come to accept: Firstlife is merely a dress rehearsal, and real life begins after death.

  LIFEBLOOD

  Lena Wise is always looking forward to tomorrow, especially at the start of her senior year. She’s ready to pack in as much friend time as possible, to finish college applications and to maybe let her childhood best friend Sebastian know how she really feels about him. For Lena, the upcoming year is going to be epic—one of opportunities and chances.

  Until one choice, one moment, destroys everything.

  EVERLIFE

  When nothing goes as planned and betrayal leads to the edge of utter defeat, Ten and Killian will have to rebuild trust from the ashes of their hearts. Victory seems impossible, the odds stacked against them. In the end, how far will they be willing to go for the sake of their realms and the Everlife?

  Titles originally published in 2016, 2017, and 2018.

  Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection

  Firstlife

  Lifeblood

  Everlife

  Gena Showalter

  Table of Contents

  Firstlife

  By Gena Showalter

  Lifeblood

  By Gena Showalter

  Everlife

  By Gena Showalter

  I’ve been told history is written by survivors. But I know that isn’t always true. My name is Tenley Lockwood, and very soon, I’ll be dead. This is my story—but the end is only the beginning.

  Tenley “Ten” Lockwood has spent the past thirteen months locked inside the Prynne Asylum. She’s earned her rep as the craziest of crazies, but that doesn’t stop the torture. Ten can leave, but only if she allows her parents to choose where she’ll live—after she dies.

  There is an eternal truth most of the world has come to accept: Firstlife is merely a dress rehearsal, and real life begins after death.

  In the Everlife, two realms are in power: Troika and Myriad, longtime enemies and deadly rivals. Both will do anything to recruit Ten, including sending their top Laborers to lure her to their side. Soon, Ten finds herself on the run, caught in a wild tug-of-war between the boy she’s falling for and the realm she wants to support. Who will she choose? Can she stay alive long enough to make a decision?

  Firstlife

  Gena Showalter

  CONTENTS

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Though The End Be Nigh…

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Troika

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Myriad

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A Chat with Gena Showalter Q & A

  Questions for Discussion

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: Tenley Lockwood

  Duuude. A heads-up would have been nice. Can you say whack shack?

  If you failed to read my dossier, Nanne, I’m happy to bring you up to date on the highlights. I’m a well-trained and vastly decorated Laborer. Victory might as well be my middle name. What I’m not: a babysitter. Watching Tenley Lockwood is a waste of my many talents.

  Oh, AND DID I FORGET TO MENTION SHE’S IN A WHACK SHACK??

  With all due respect, I’d rather fish out my internal organs with a coat hanger than stay here. I’m officially requesting a transfer.

  Light Brings Sight!

  Archer Prince

  TROIKA

  From: L_N_3/19.1.1

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: Officially Denied

  Mr. Prince,

  I’m not your duuude. I’m your superior. You will only ever address me by my proper rank: General. Or the always appropriate sir.

  You were selected for this mission for two very important reasons. You are young and (obviously) immature. Offense intended. Our older Laborers had trouble relating to Miss Lockwood, but you should fit right in.

  On that note, continue “babysitting” Miss Lockwood, or I’ll fish out your organs for you.

  Also, I expect daily reports. I’m not overstating when I say convincing her to make covenant with our realm is essential.

  Light Brings Sight!

  General Levi Nanne

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: You Suck (& I’m WAY Mature)

  Dear Sir,

  Laborer is below your pay grade, but aren’t you one of those “older” gents who failed with the girl? Just checking. (And prepping you for the time I succeed and rub it in your face.)

  Anyway. I’m a good little robot, sir, so of course I’ll do as you asked. Sir. Here’s the thing, though, sir. If I have to watch/listen from the outside a minute more, I’m going to bleach my corneas and stab a pencil through my ears.

  I want my Shell, and I want to go INSIDE the whack shack. Sir.

  Also, here’s the first report as demanded. I mean so sweetly requested. Sir. During the institution’s version of creative writing class, your precious had to write a poem to express her feelings about life. I’m including a copy for your perusal. I defy you NOT to jump off a bridge after reading it. Sir.

  The gr
ave is the end

  And I will never accept that

  I have been set free from the chains that bind me.

  I know

  “Death has lost its victory”

  Is a lie, because there is no greater truth than this:

  “Life is hopeless”

  Gotta say, I don’t think Darkside McDowner is a great fit for Troika. I know, I know. We love the unlovable. We champion the weak. I don’t need a lecture. Just tell me what makes her so “essential.”

  Your humble servant,

  Archer

  TROIKA

  From: L_N_3/19.1.1

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: Poem, Among Other Things

  I didn’t fail with her, puppy, I cleared the way for you. There’s a difference. Want to succeed? Learn it.

  Expect a Shell at 0800. Just don’t expect yours. I’ve selected one from GenPop. And before you reply with your typical flair—General Population? Are you kidding me (dramatic pause for effect), sir?—save your fingers the trouble of typing. I’m not sending what you want. I’m sending what you need. You may thank me later.

  Also, in regards to the poem. Miss Lockwood understands there are two sides to every story. Why don’t you? Do yourself a favor and read the poem again. This time, start at the bottom and work your way up.

  And, Mr. Prince, the fact that I have to tell you what’s so special about this girl means I need to schedule you for an emergency jackhammer to the brain. Do yourself a favor and pay attention to the pearls I’m about to throw. Light. Conduit. Loss…darkness.

  Oh, and here’s a good one: Moron. Again, offense intended.

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: Four Things

  1) Sir Dude. I don’t want to point out your obvious lack of intelligence, but Tenley Lockwood can’t be a Conduit. Given your advanced age, you’ve clearly forgotten Conduits are raised by Troikan parents. They are the most loyal among us, from beginning to end.

  2) And okay, okay. I read the poem from bottom to top, so I get your “two sides” theory. That doesn’t mean the poem is any good. It doesn’t rhyme.

  3) The Shell arrived, and I honestly think I hate you. I’m pure male aggression, and you expect me to pass for a chick? As if anyone will be dumb enough to believe such a farce.

  4) Myriad sent Killian. I’ve seen him skulking around in the shadows, watching the girl. Permission to slaughter?

  TROIKA

  From: L_N_3/19.1.1

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: Permission Gr… Denied! (Admit it. Your little-girl heart skipped a beat.)

  You know our laws as well as I do. And what is at the heart of our second-most-important decree? Personal vendettas must be set aside for the good of the people. You are one of our people.

  Do your job. Nothing else matters.

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: My New Assignment

  Hot and crazy, just the way I like ’em. Consider Tenley Lockwood bagged and tagged.

  Might Equals Right!

  Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Show Some Respect!

  You will speak of the girl with deference, or you won’t speak of her at all.

  I’m already close to pulling you from this assignment, Mr. Flynn. In fact, I have no idea why I allowed the Generals to convince me you can do what no one else has managed to do. You’re too young, and your methods for success have always been inappropriate. But not this time! Persuade the girl to make covenant with us, but keep your pants zipped while you do it. And do not fail. We need her.

  Might Equals Right!

  Madame Pearl Bennett

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Fail? Not in This Lifetime <—See What I Did There?

  You’ve never cared about my methods before, only the end result. What’s changed? What’s so important about this girl? If you’ve got inside info, do me a solid and share with the rest of the class.

  And just so you know, we don’t need anyone. We’ve never been stronger, and we outnumber the Troikans two to one. Also, this girl is basically an “it.” When she dies, she’ll just be one more cog in our wheel. But don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll sign her—my way. I always do.

  In other news, Troika sent Archer. I’m going to cut off his limbs and beat him to Second-death with them.

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: NO!

  Control your temper until you’ve signed the girl. Afterward, I’ll use my highest pair of heels to pin Archer down, and you can flay his skin to wear as a coat, if that’s what you desire. Have I made myself clear? Do not engage. Not yet!

  And the girl is so much more than an “it” and a “cog.” Everyone is! But this girl…one day, she’ll be your boss. She’ll be both our bosses. If I were you, I’d be careful how I treated her.

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Sorry, but You’re NOT Me

  What you are? Too cute. Imagine me wincing in embarrassment for you as I say: I don’t actually care about your permission. Consider my last message an FYI.

  And you know better than most I treat my bosses the same way I treat everyone else. If you don’t like it, Madame, you can absolutely reassign me. I have nothing to lose. I’m guessing you have plenty.

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Nothing to Lose?

  How about something to gain? Sign the girl, and I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted. Your mother’s name and where to find her.

  I’ve been told history is written by survivors,

  but I know that isn’t always true.

  My name is Tenley Lockwood and very soon, I’ll be dead.

  This is my story—but my end is only the beginning.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You are better off Unsigned than a slave to Troikan law.”

  —Myriad

  I’ve been locked inside the Prynne Asylum—where happiness comes to die—for three hundred and seventy-eight days. (Or nine thousand and seventy-two hours.) I know the exact time frame, not because I watched the sun rise and set in the sky, but because I mark my walls in blood every time the lights in the good-girls-gone-bad wing of the facility turn on.

  There are no windows in the building. At least, none that I’ve found. And I’ve never been allowed outside. None of the inmates have. To be honest, I don’t even know what country we’re in, or if we’re buried far underground. Before being flown, driven, shipped or dropped here, we were heavily sedated. Wherever we are, though, it’s bone-deep cold beyond the walls. Every day, hour, second, our air is heated.

  I’ve heard friends and enemies alike ask the staff for details, but the response has always been the same. Answers have to be earned.

  No, thanks. For me, the price—cooperation—is simply too high.

  With a wince, I rise from bed and make my way to the far corner of my cell. Every step is agony. My back hates me, but the muscles are too sore to go on strike. Last night I was caned just because.

  I stop in front of my pride and joy. My calendar. A new day means a new mark.

  I have no chalk, no pen or marker, so I drive the tip of an index finger over a jagged stone protruding from the floor, slicing through the flesh and drawing a well of blood.

  I hate
the sting, but if I’m honest, I’ll love the scar it leaves behind. My scars give me something to count.

  Counting is my passion, and numerology my favorite addiction. Maybe because every breath we take is another tick on our clock, putting us one step closer to death…and a new beginning. Maybe because my name is Tenley—Ten to my friends.

  Ten, a representation of completion.

  We have ten fingers and ten toes. Ten is the standard beginning for any countdown.

  I was born on the tenth day of the tenth month at 10:10 a.m. And, okay. All right. Maybe I’m obsessed with numbers because they always tell a story and unlike people, they never lie.

  Here’s my story in a nutshell:

  Seventeen—the number of years I’ve existed. In my case, lived is too strong a word.

  One—the number of boys I’ve dated.

  Two—the number of friends I’ve made and lost since my incarceration.

  Two—the number of lives I’ll live. The number of lives we’ll all live.

  Our Firstlife, then our Everlife.

  Two—the number of choices I have for my eternal future.

  (1) Do as my parents command or (2) suffer.

  I’ve chosen to suffer.

  I use the blood to create another mark on the stones. Satisfied, I head to the “bathroom.” There are no doors to provide even a modicum of privacy, just a small, open shower stall next to a toilet. For our safety, we’re told. For the amusement of others, I suspect. All cells are monitored 24/7, which means at any given time during any given day, staff members are allowed and even encouraged to watch live camera feed.

  Dr. Vans, the head of the asylum, likes to taunt us. I see and know everything.

  A good portion of teachers scold us. Time waster!

  Orderlies belittle us. Put on a little weight, haven’t we?

  Most of the guards leer at us. They hail from all over the world, and though their language varies, their sentiment is always the same. You are begging for it and one day I’ll give it.