Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  Encasing the entire farmhouse and surrounding forest is a dome of jellyair—a faint blue Light that sparkles with diamond dust, just like our sky, keeping Myriadians out. Myriadians can’t even see what’s behind the Light, and if they try to walk through it, they will burn to ash.

  My vision blurs, sand blowing into my eyes. I blink rapidly to clear the Shell’s lenses.

  The wind brushes against me, and the sensation is…odd, as if it hits a wall, and I feel only the vibration of impact. Also, I have no perception of hot or cold. I remain the perfect temperature, outside factors inconsequential.

  Birds chirp, but unlike the other noises—nope, the other noises, too—the sound is muted, giving me the impression I’m hearing an audio recording on low.

  I sniff…and smell nothing. Are earthly fragrances somehow filtered out through the Shell?

  Clay grins from ear to ear as he takes a post on the left side of the porch. Victor moves to the far right.

  Elizabeth marches to the door.—Try not to mess this up.—

  Her voice drifts from the Grid, filling my mind. I’ve learned not to react when Troikans speak to me without moving their mouths.—I never try. I do.—

  —Funny.—She opens the door. Hinges squeak.

  I enter behind her. Inside, there’s a couch, two recliners, an ottoman and a coffee table. Everything is utilitarian.

  Elizabeth crosses her arms and watches a human pace.

  The human. Dior Nichols in the flesh. The woman who won Archer’s heart. The beauty used as rope in the tug-of-war between Archer and Killian.

  From her file, I know her mother is black, her father white. Dark hair frames a baby-doll face, with a small nose and adorable, Cupid’s bow lips. Humans might come with flaws, but she’s pretty close to perfect. Her skin is a few shades lighter than her hair, and her eyes are a few shades lighter than her skin, almost gold.

  But Levi is right. I can see the disease. Shadows slither across her cheeks, down her neck. They are thin, almost like veins…only filled with what looks to be toxic sludge. I don’t think she’s aware of them; otherwise she would be screaming or maybe even setting herself on fire.

  How did she become infected?

  “Who’s the girl?” she asks Elizabeth.

  “I’m—” I begin.

  “She’s no one,” Elizabeth interjects, flicking a narrowed glance my way. “She’s here to observe.”

  Oops. Gonna zip my lips now.

  Dior continues to pace, unaware a Messenger keeps pace beside her. A boy I’ve never met. Through Levi, I know he’s one of the best, hand-chosen by the Generals.

  He’s in spirit form, and he whispers to Dior, “Firstlife is an opportunity. The past is the past. You have a bright future. Do not fear. Fight for what you want.”

  Having trained with Victor and Clay, I know Dior doesn’t hear the words but somehow internalizes them, as if she’s just had an idea. She chooses whether to follow it or discard it.

  I’m tempted to introduce myself to him, but I don’t want to interrupt him. Or freak out Dior. She has no idea he’s here.

  “Why are you here?” Dior demands. “Has the court date been set?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” Elizabeth looks genuinely remorseful.

  Dior stops to glare at her. “Why? What’s the holdup? I don’t want to spend the Unending in Myriad.”

  The Unending. Another term for the Everlife, used by humans more than spirits.

  “I told you Myriad would contest the trial, and I was right. They have. Meanwhile, we need to prepare you for the hardships to come.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze zings to mine.—Too many fail. The process is difficult, with both realms examining and cross-examining the defector. All the while scenes from the human’s life play over a screen for everyone in court to see. If she’s not ready, she’ll crumble and we’ll suffer a loss.—

  The loss of Dior?

  A bitter laugh escapes the human. “Thanks to Killian Flynn, I’ve endured hardships for the past two years. He’s a monster, and I’m ready.”

  Oh, no she didn’t! “You are responsible for the pain you suffer. Your decision, your consequences.”

  Elizabeth sucks in a sharp breath. The Messenger I still haven’t met finally looks in my direction, his eyes wide.

  Dior balls her fist and steps toward me.

  One of my number brands throbs. A warning to stay quiet? Too late. “Don’t,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I must. When it comes to fight-or-flight, I fight. Every time. Continue down this path, and it won’t end well for you.”

  Levi told me I must temper my strength with humans. I’m stronger than they can ever hope to be.

  To be honest, I’m not as strong as I could be. I’ve got to push myself harder. My one-on-one with the spiked board proves I have to be ready for anything, anytime. And considering my aspirations for peace, I have to be prepared for pushback.

  Elizabeth jumps between us, her gaze remaining on me. “Threatening a human won’t end well for you, Ten.”

  Zero! She’s right. I’m allowing my emotions to steer me. It’s time for head-smarts to take the wheel. Proceeding with caution, I say, “Troikans are love. The true Lights of the world. Myriad embraces hate. Do you want to be Troikan, as you claim, or remain Myriadian? You can’t be both.”

  Dior closes her eyes and drags in a deep breath. If the actions are supposed to calm her, they fail. Her eyelids pop open, and she glares at me. “You’re already Troikan, an advocate against judging others, and yet here you stand, judging me.”

  I should fade into the background. I’m not observing, I’m participating. But what the heck? I’ve already violated orders. “I’ve stated facts, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You’re as cold as Killian. I would never—”

  “Tsk, tsk,” I interject. I am not cold, and neither is Killian. “Those three words—I would never—are an attempt to disguise judgment as opinion.”

  “Enough, Ten.” Elizabeth wraps an arm around Dior’s shoulders to draw her away while whispering words of comfort.

  Dang her! Is the TL brave or foolish?—What if Dior inadvertently drains your Light?—I throw the words at her through the Grid.

  She doesn’t miss a step.—Dior hasn’t exhibited any signs of becoming an Abrogate. Until she does, she can’t hurt me. I’m going to treat her as I would treat anyone else.—

  I almost say, So you’re going to smack her with a spiked board? I remain quiet instead.

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry.” Dior wrenches from Elizabeth’s hold. “I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

  “No reason to be sorry. I give you permission,” Elizabeth says, her voice gentle. Once again she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulders, and this time Dior allows it without protest.

  Long ago, the realms instituted a law stating humans are never to touch Shells. This saves the shelled spirits who are working in recruitment centers, the House of Troikan Representatives and other places throughout the world to do their jobs without interference, and allows more natural-looking Shells to blend in, hiding in plain sight.

  There are only two caveats to the rule. 1) When the human doesn’t know the other person is a Shell, and 2) when the human does know and has permission from the Shell.

  I stalk to the far window and gaze out, removing myself from temptation. But I’m not alone for long. Dior joins me.

  I tense, expecting some kind of attack. She simply says, “I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong, and yet I took my frustrations out on you.”

  Oh…zero. Levi would tell me the first to apologize is the strongest. Dior is human, but despite my earlier boasts she’s stronger than me in the way that matters most.

  What remains of my anger instantly deflates. “I’m sorry, too. Archer loved you. He
wanted me to make your life better, not worse.”

  A warm ray of Light shines through the glass, coils around my brands and…strokes me?

  I wonder if the beams are the Troikan counterpart to Penumbra. Or perhaps the rays are normal, and I’m the one who’s changed.

  “Archer.” Tears fill her golden eyes, and her chin quakes. “Elizabeth told me he died in battle.”

  My heart squeezes in my chest. “Yes.”

  “I loved him so much.” The tears streak down her cheeks. “I’ve tried to move on. Since I signed with Myriad, I mean. I’ve dated. I even have a boyfriend. But…”

  “I know. It’s hard to get over Archer.”

  Her head cants to the side. “You loved him, too.” A statement, not a question.

  “Very much. He was like an annoying older brother.”

  She laughs softly. Then her tears flow faster, harder.

  The Grid buzzes inside my head, pricking like bee stings. Remember the year you spent as an Unsigned, torn between Troika and Myriad, unsure what was best for you? Every time someone pushed you one way, you pushed back and ended up further away from a conclusion. Be the Laborer you needed someone else to be.

  The suggestion grounds me. Deep breath in…out… “Before he died, Archer forgave Killian for what he did to you. They worked together to recruit me to Troika.”

  Her eyes widen. “He worked with Killian? Seriously?”

  I nod. “You define Killian by the worst of his actions. Actions that are part of his past. Mistakes he made and now regrets. By the end, Archer defined him by his current actions, which proved how much he’d changed. He’s different, Dior. He feels remorse for what he did to you. He even searched your contract for a way to free you from your punishments.”

  “But he couldn’t find one.” She slumps a little. “He wrote the contract, and he’s very good with fine print.” She presses her palm against her neck. “Despite the contract, I decided to continue on with the life I’d planned. I accepted a residency and dedicated myself to saving others. Which I can do. But only if my patients are Myriadian. And I know, I know. I’m told I shouldn’t have any problem turning Troikans away. They’ll only hurt my realm later, right? But people I like and admire are Troikan. If they scream in agony and I turn away, I’m a monster.”

  “I’m sorry.” I am. Her struggle is agonizing.

  “My contract states I’ll be a Laborer in the Unending, not a Healer. I’ve only ever wanted to be a Healer.” She shudders, and finally, she breaks down, her knees crumbling. She lands on the floor with a hard thud, sobbing into her hands.

  I’m angry on her behalf. Her choices led her down a terrible road filled with bumps and potholes. She’s bruised and broken, clinging to the only life raft she’s been thrown. A court date.

  Compassion overtakes me. This girl doesn’t know me, but I know her. I can help her. I know I can!

  I crouch beside her and comb my fingers through her hair. She hisses and scrambles away from me. I hiss, sharp pain exploding at the ends of my fingertips, shooting through the rest of me.

  “What was that?” she demands.

  I rub my arms, feeling as if lightning is now striking on the underside of my Shell. “I don’t—” But I do. I do know, and I look to Elizabeth, my jaw clenched.

  Penumbra.

  How am I supposed to cleanse her?

  I cast my voice to Elizabeth.—Is that a sign she’s becoming an Abrogate?—

  —No. I’m guessing that is Penumbra’s defense against a Conduit. That is why you weren’t supposed to touch her.—

  Right. Rules are rules for reasons. Whether I know the reasons or not. “I’m sorry, Dior. I’ll be more careful in the future.” I stand. “And I will help you, even if I have to work myself to the bone.” I will act like the woman Archer expected me to be.

  “Ten,” Elizabeth snaps, reminding me I’ve overstepped my bounds yet again.

  I don’t care. This girl needs me. And I get it now. I understand why Troika will go to so much trouble to save a single soul. Everyone is precious. Everyone is someone’s child or loved one. Everyone has potential.

  “When is the last time you spoke with someone from Myriad?” I ask.

  Dior calms enough to say, “Three days ago.”

  I run my bottom lip between my teeth. “Killian?”

  “No. Rosalind Oriana and Zhi Chen.”

  Instant relief; Killian wasn’t involved. “Did they say or do anything unusual?”

  “Like what?” She wipes away her tears.

  “You tell me.”

  Now she frowns. “They came to my house and chatted about nothing for what seemed an eternity. Then they left.”

  I consider the timing and ask, “Why did you contact Troika afterward?”

  She bristles, as if I’ve insulted her. If I did insult her, it was unintentional. I only want answers.

  “Is this necessary?” Elizabeth demands.

  “Yes,” I reply without looking away from Dior.

  “I’d had enough,” she says. “I’d reached the boiling point. I remembered Archer told me to contact Elizabeth if ever I needed anything, so I called her.”

  But how did Rosalind and Zhi—assuming they did it—infect her? “Who else have you spoken with? Any strangers? Did you notice any odd behavior from your patients?”

  “No. I haven’t been to the hospital in a week. The only other person I’ve spoken to is my boyfriend, Javier Diez.”

  “Is he Myriadian?”

  “He’s Unsigned. Why?”

  I look to Elizabeth. —Does she know she’s sick?—

  —No. And we’re not to tell her.—

  Because she would freak out? Who wouldn’t? “Where’s Gingerbread?” Dior could use a special friend right now.

  Dior starts sobbing all over again.

  Zero! What’d I do wrong this time?

  “The dog was taken by her ML.” Steam practically curls from Elizabeth’s nostrils. Either I’ve pushed her too far or—“By Killian, in case you require clarification.”

  That.

  I flinch. “How long does it take to set a court date?” We’ve got to get Dior out from under Myriad’s control. Once she’s made covenant with Troika, we can safeguard her until she’s been cleansed, ensuring she doesn’t enter the Everlife with Penumbra, potentially harming the Grid.

  “Could take months, depending on how hard Myriad continues to fight us,” Elizabeth replies.

  “Well. You take care of that, and I’ll take care of the dog. And you,” I say to Dior, remembering tidbits I read about her. “You’ve been dealt a raw deal, there’s no question about that, but self-pity isn’t your friend. See past it and fight for what you want, like Elizabeth said.”

  She peers at me through eyelashes beaded with her tears, her face red and blotchy. “You can find Ginger? Really?”

  Elizabeth stomps over and gets in my face. —This is a watch and observe assignment for you, not a command and do whatever the hell you want.—

  I respond. —You are free to make your own choices, just as I’m free to make mine.—

  Stiff as a board—har har—she types a message into her keyboard. Probably contacting Meredith. Maybe even Levi. No…chain of command is important in Troika. She’s definitely contacting Meredith.

  Any second now, I should receive a message telling me to stand down. Well, I won’t. I absolutely will not! There’s hope in Dior’s eyes for the first time since we arrived. It’s fragile, and it needs tending. Doing anything but what I promised will destroy her, and she might not be able to weld the pieces back together.

  My palm glows, and Elizabeth smirks at me.

  Meredith has sent me a text. I brace myself to read it…and a fiery lance of shock nearly splits me in two.

&
nbsp; Proceed.

  Whooo hoooo! Thank you, Granny.

  Elizabeth growls as she reads a message of her own, one telling her I can do what I want. “This is why family shouldn’t work together,” she grumbles.

  Suck it. “A good plan is a good plan.”

  The front door swings open, and a determined Victor enters the farmhouse. “Killian and an ML-in-training found us. They’re just outside our security wall.”

  Everything inside me goes haywire. My heartbeat slips out of rhythm. My blood heats, melting my spirit inside my Shell. Different parts of me tremble…all the places Killian has touched… I ache in the most delicious way.

  Finally! He is nearby. The boy who 143s me is within reach.

  I smooth my hair, my clothing. How do I look? How will he react when he sees me?

  Dior pales. Her eyes chill to frostbite-cold.

  “How did he get past our guard?” Elizabeth demands. “How did he find us?”

  Dior’s fear, maybe? But I doubt she’s in the mood to hear my opinion.

  “I don’t know,” Victor replies.

  “Let’s go.” She grabs hold of Dior’s arm and pulls her to her feet. “I’m taking you to a new safe house.”

  “Stop and think this through.” Victor crosses his arms. “You take Dior away, and the Myriadians will leave. She stays, and we can send Ten out to talk with Killian. For her, he might let good intel slip. Like how he managed to track us. You still want to know, right?”

  Elizabeth throws a death-glare at me. “Apparently we’re doing things her way today. If Numbers wants to risk Dior’s safety in order to talk with the guy who will destroy us, she can.”

  He high-fives me. “Way to go, Ten. You’re in training, but you’re being trusted to lead. What an honor!”

  Stomach cramp. What if this is a test, and I’m failing?

  “If you go out there,” Elizabeth tells me, her tone grave, “you will endanger us.”