Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  We smile at each other, snicker really, and I make my way up the stairs. In my bedroom, I brush my teeth and hair and stuff the clothes and toiletries Archer gave me into a bag. I grab the stash of protein bars I’ve been hiding just in case, then roll my scalpel and a few kitchen knives in the shirts to prevent clinking.

  I head downstairs, determined. To my surprise—and really, I’m surprised that I’m surprised—Archer is waiting for me in the living room.

  He scowls. “It’s safe to say you were the target of the plane crash. Someone wants you dead and plans to use your mom to draw you home.”

  Yeah. He’s probably right. “That someone knows me well, because I can’t not go see her.”

  “She’s going to die. Going to her won’t change—”

  “She’s not going to die!” Deep breath in…out. “You don’t know the future. I survived baiser de la mort. She can, too.”

  “You survived a weakened version. She was given a full dose.”

  My chin trembles, and I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. I’ve been in contact with her friend’s TL, who’s stuck around to monitor her progress.”

  Her friend’s TL? My mom doesn’t have a Troikan friend. Well, not to my knowledge. “Tell the TL to give her Lifeblood.”

  “She has. Many doses in fact. But Lifeblood isn’t a cure-all, Ten. It’s a spiritual strengthener. A power source. It can speed up the healing process, but it can’t repair what’s damaged beyond repair.”

  I hear his unspoken words—She’s beyond repair.

  I stalk past Archer, banging my shoulder against his. “Are we gonna chat all day or start driving?” I’m out the door before he can respond.

  I march across the yard. Outside the Troikan perimeter, Killian is standing next to a black SUV. He’s wearing sunglasses, hiding his eyes, the one real feature found on a Shell. His dark hair is tousled by wind.

  I move around him to throw my bag in the backseat of the vehicle.

  He comes up behind me. I feel him. Not the heat of his body, but him. All him. I turn, and he’s right there. So close we’re pressed together, two halves of a whole.

  “Back off,” I say through gritted teeth. “This isn’t the time to attempt a manipulation.”

  His lips thin into a straight line. “I’m worried about you. I want to offer…comfort.”

  “No, you want to take advantage of a terrible situation. We both know comfort isn’t in your wheelhouse.”

  He flicks his tongue over an incisor. “I think it is. For you.”

  I’m too raw to play nice. “I’m not special to you, Killian.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m not. You made that very clear today.” I glare up at him. “You did everything in your power to bend me to your will. But I’m not part General, okay? I’m just me. Just Ten. I don’t believe in fate, or Fusion, and I never will.”

  He’s silent for a long while, tension vibrating from him. Finally he says, “You are special. When you look at me, I dinnae feel as if I’m alone. You make me think, and you make me better.” His accent is thicker than ever before, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  I sigh, expelling my anger. “Killian—”

  “Nae.” He takes a step back, putting distance between us, hated distance, necessary distance. “I tried to manipulate you, yes, but only because I want the best for you. I want your future settled. Safe.”

  Zero! In my raw state, I lashed out and hurt him. I hurt him badly, and I’m so ticked with myself.

  He climbs behind the wheel and slams the door, making me flinch.

  Archer suddenly appears, stepping from the invisible wall. He doesn’t glance in my direction but claims the front passenger seat.

  With another sigh, I take the middle of the bench directly behind the warriors who are probably thinking of all the ways they can murder each other. One wrong word could set them off.

  Grass and gravel spray from the tires as Killian speeds over roadless terrain. He seems to have no concept of safety as he snakes around corners and bounces over stumps and rocks, but the guys aren’t trying to kill each other and no one’s hurling curses at me, so I consider it a major win.

  Soon the trees are replaced by buildings, each taller than the last. Eventually my eyelids grow heavy, and I yawn.

  Gotta stay awake. “Are we going to sit in silence the entire drive?”

  “Yes,” they snap in unison. Then they growl at each other.

  “Forget I asked.” I spend the hours counting. Cars. Trees. Buildings. Clouds. When we stop to charge the car’s battery—gas is no longer needed, thanks to the realms—I borrow money from Archer to pay for the power.

  “Wait, and I’ll go with,” he says.

  “Stay with the car and ensure nothing’s tampered with. I’ll go with her.” Killian wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me forward.

  Archer ignores him. “What do you want, Ten?”

  “For you guys not to fight about this.”

  He looks as if he wants to protest, but nods to Killian.

  I stalk away, and Killian rushes forward to open the door. “You my bodyguard?” I ask as he motions me inside.

  “Yes. You’re welcome.”

  There are eleven people inside. Four are girls, and they stare at him. He pretends not to notice.

  “There are three Shells.” He whispers the words straight into my ear, making me shiver. “I don’t like this. Hurry.”

  “How can you tell who’s what at a glance?”

  “I’m that good.”

  Yeah, yeah.

  I go straight to the candy bars and grab five of my favorite.

  On my way to the register, I notice the digital newspapers flashing this week’s headlines. For an extra five dollars I can upload the latest stories straight into my cell phone. Well, if my cell were activated.

  Psychic Arrested. Never Saw It Coming!

  Man Kidnaps Ex-girlfriend. Demands She Do His Ironing!

  Dead Man Found in Cemetery. Town Distraught!

  Pass on Marijuana? Issue Being Discussed by Joint Committee.

  Then my dad’s picture flashes over the screen of Realm Politics Today.

  The senator’s mistress is pregnant! No one is surprised, considering his wife, famed artist Grace Lockwood, left him, preferring to live in seclusion for over half a year. Hiding away with a lover, perhaps? Dr. Dewayne Reynolds, who is also married to someone else, was spotted on the premises more than once. But there’s a good chance Mrs. Lockwood and Dr. Reynolds have already split because Mrs. Lockwood is back with her husband. When asked about the senator’s love child, she had no comment.

  I’m—utterly—flabbergasted. Soooo much happened while I was gone. My dad wasn’t lying when he said my mom was living in seclusion. He didn’t wait for her to return, either. He had a fling, and the woman is now having his baby.

  Soon I’ll have the brother or sister I always wanted but never expected.

  I smile. I curse. My dad found a loophole to population control since the law is geared toward women. Only they are limited to one child.

  My dad might have even found a new bargaining chip for Myriad.

  I taste blood and realize I’m biting my tongue. My sibling will not be used the way I was used. I’ll die first.

  “Did you know?” I ask Killian with more bite than I intended. “About the mistress’s baby?”

  “I knew only about the affair.” His tone has as much bite as mine. “I requested reports on his activities, and they must have been redacted. Someone’s keeping secrets.”

  His words spur a memory. My mother’s flash-scribe.

  I know I haven’t come to see you in forever, but there’s a very good reason. A beautiful secret. One that’s taught me ho
w to be a mother again.

  While she was speaking, a baby was crying. “I wonder if the mistress already had her baby.” Was my mother allowed to claim responsibility for it?

  Killian places his hand over the digital paper, his eyes closed. He’s downloading the story?

  “No,” he finally says. “The mistress is only seven months along.”

  I open my mouth to say more, but the guy in front of me looks over his shoulder for a moment. Our eyes meet before he turns forward then back to look again, lingering this time. He starts to grin.

  Killian moves in front of me. “You’ll want ta keep your attention ahead,” he tells the guy. “The sooner the better. For you.”

  The guy’s cheeks redden, and he swings around.

  I’m not sure if I just witnessed a display of jealousy or the equivalent of a dog peeing on my leg. But either way, I’m smiling when I shouldn’t have anything to smile about.

  My turn comes up, and I pay with Archer’s wad of cash. The cashier stuffs everything in a bag, and Killian, my gentleman bodyguard, grabs the handles. I’ve just pivoted to head for the door when a weight slams into me from behind. There’s a stinging pain in my back then a throbbing pain in my hip as I slam into the counter.

  With a growl, Killian spins to push the culprit away from me. “Be careful.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I tripped.” A teen who looks like he’s suffering from a cold wipes his nose with a tissue, a ring too big for his hand glinting in the light…before sneezing all over Killian. The kid apologizes again, and he does look sorry. He also looks miserable. Poor guy.

  Killian stares at his soiled shirt and grimaces.

  I snort as I’m dragged to the exit. Then I remember my sibling.

  “What’s wrong?” Archer asks.

  Rather than lie with the typical girl response—Nothing, I’m fine—I settle inside the car and angrily unwrap my first candy bar. If ever a girl needed sugar therapy…

  I’m only halfway through when a horrible fog fills my head. A terrible ringing erupts in my ears. My heartbeat…warps, reduced to nothing but flutters, as if someone reached inside me and nailed the organ to my rib cage. Pain radiates from my left shoulder to the tips of my fingers.

  Too young for a heart attack.

  Muttering enters my awareness.

  “—voice gives me a headache. Shut up.” Killian.

  “How about I cut off your ears instead?” Archer.

  I’m not sure if Killian responds. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, and I gasp. Buckets of sweat pour from me and yet the blood in my veins freezes. I open my mouth to cry for help—please!—but all I can manage is another gasp. Then I feeeel my heart welcoming death, fluttering one moment, going still the next. My lungs seize up, and suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, need to breathe.

  The fog in my head grows thicker until—

  The fog vanishes in an instant. And so does the pain. Suddenly I’m weightless, and I’m falling…falling…thud.

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: Now What?

  I’m with Ten, and we’re headed to LA to see her dying mother. Killian is with us and the urge to attack now and apologize later is strong. Please advise.

  TROIKA

  From: L_N_3/19.1.1

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: My Best Advice

  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

  General Levi Nanne

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: Wow! Thanks!

  Are your pearls of wisdom actually plastic?

  TROIKA

  From: L_N_3/19.1.1

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: All Right, How About This?

  Don’t just protect the girl—get to know her better. I realize you like to maintain a bit of distance with your assignments because of what happened with Dior, but caring for someone doesn’t weaken you, son, it makes you stronger. To love is to have a reason to fight for something better.

  Also, Miss Lockwood’s grandparents are Troikan Watchers and they’ve informed me there’s talk in Myriad of another attempt on Miss Lockwood’s life. Do not leave her side.

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: L_N_3/19.1.1

  Subject: Seriously

  Corroded plastic. But I won’t leave her side by choice. You have my word.

  TROIKA

  From: Unknown

  To: A_P_5/23.43.2

  Subject: Hi

  She died. You should have saved her. Why didn’t you save her? She died at 10:17 on November 12 of this year. Details attached.

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: Unknown

  Subject: Who Is This?

  How did you access my rank and ID?

  And how could she—whoever she is—have died on November 12 at 10:17 of this year? That date is a week away.

  As for your attachment with “details”? It’s a crudely drawn map to a crack house. Thanks, but no thanks.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Truth evolves. What is true today may not be true tomorrow.”

  —Myriad

  I roll over bumpy ground, air exploding from my lungs.

  Gleeful laughter assaults my ears just before something hard slams into my stomach. A boot? Then a bird squawks, and the laughter stops. Footsteps. A man screams in pain. A second later, a lot of someones are screaming.

  Get up! Get up! Danger!

  I pry open my eyelids, expecting to see Killian and Archer with blades at each other’s throats. At the very least, I should be inside the SUV, surrounded by paved roads, trees and buildings. Instead I see moonlight and ember-bugs, gnarled trees with toothy leaves that are snapping at me.

  The Realm of Many Ends?

  No, no, no. I’m not dead. Not again. I can’t be.

  But I am. Clearly.

  My heart—finally working again—trips in panic. There are no monkey-skeletons in the sky, at least. Did they already capture prey? I draw in a deep breath, but the thick smoke and black clouds burn my throat, making me cough. A storm is brewing. In a place like this, I don’t think I’ll be treated to ordinary rain.

  Weapon up. Now. The more the better.

  Right. I search the ground, find a fallen twig. The moment I grab it, a sharp sting causes the muscles in my fingers to spasm. I drop the twig and watch as three beads of blood well in my palm.

  Three…a triad. The noblest of all numbers. The only number equal to the sum of the numbers below it.

  Troika.

  The wells are…puncture wounds? Crouching down, I study the short, wrist-thick piece of wood, only then seeing the little brown bugs crawling all over it. And—

  Oh. Wow, wow, wow. Dizziness nearly topples me. As I fight to remain standing, a crack of thunder booms so loudly my eardrums actually rupture. Grimacing, I stand. Again I teeter. With a single step forward, I almost face-plant. Ember-bugs were waiting nearby and now strike en masse, burning me.

  I wave my arms. Another crack of thunder causes pain to explode through my skull. I cover my ears, but as the third crack sounds, I realize nothing can muffle the power of the boom. My scream joins the thousands of others still ringing out. Tears streak down my blistered cheeks.

  Ten’s tears fall, and I call.

  The childhood song consumes my awareness, the perfect distraction. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me.

  Something hard slams into my back, knocking me down. The ember-bugs scatter, but it hardly matters. The bird-skeletons are back, and they’ve come to finish the job! I jab my e
lbow backward, hear a grunt.

  “Hold her.”

  Through my pain and injuries, the voice is muffled, but I’m lucid enough to know birds squawk and humans speak. I’ve got a human on my back and another human—the speaker—somewhere nearby.

  Two against one.

  Two sets of hands latch on to my wrist in a tight clasp. A shackle. I buck up, dislodging whoever is straddling me.

  The boy at my right says, “We’re trying to help you, girl.”

  Maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he isn’t. Remembering what Archer and Killian taught me, I turn my wrists to grab hold of the hands still holding me. I use both as leverage, yanking on the owners as I hoist myself up, at the same time kicking back, nailing the other person—three against one—in the chest.

  I’m released as the two at my arms stumble for purchase, and I end up in a crouch. I swipe up the bug-covered branch, ignore the new stings and throw it at the person—a guy, roughly six feet tall, brown hair, unfamiliar and dirty but definitely human. He catches the branch, instinct I guess, and grunts as the insects bite him. With him, the playing field is now even, at least. We’ve both been bitten. Poisoned? The dizziness…

  I straighten and turn, my hands balled into fists, my legs braced apart. I’m ready. One boy and one girl left. The boy has shoulder-length blond hair. At least, I think it’s blond. It’s matted with dirt and blood, dried leaves woven through the strands. He’s on the short side for a guy, though he’s taller than me, and he’s thin, as if he hasn’t had a decent meal in eons.

  The girl is shorter and cleaner with braided blond hair and the face of an angel, despite the streaks of dirt she’s sporting. When my gaze moves to her, she ducks her head. She’s timid. Noted.

  “Idiot!” The shorter boy scowls at me. “We’re trying to save your stupid life.”

  Another boom of thunder nearly sends me to my knees, yet the three amigos merely grimace.

  “When the rain falls, you don’t want to be out here,” he continues. “Your skin will melt off your bones.”