Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  I much prefer love.

  Still. I don’t feel like letting go of my resentment; I do it, anyway, imagining it floating away like a balloon. “I hope you find peace,” I say, and I mean those words from the bottom of my heart.

  My number brands tingle and throb, the sensations too strong to ignore. I know I’ve done the right thing, and the Grid is pleased.

  Sloan blinks with confusion, fat tears raining down her cheeks. Is it possible my compassion is doing what my anger never could and…changing her?

  “I don’t trust you,” I tell her gently. “But I want peace between our realms.” One by one… “Let it start here, with us. I’ll stay out of your way, and you’ll stay out of mine.” I offer her my hand, intending to shake. “Deal?”

  Killian steps between us. “You’re right, Ten.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, making me shiver all over again. “You can’t trust her.”

  What is he—

  Comprehension dawns. Now he’s playing a part.

  “Can I trust you?” I say to him for Sloan’s benefit. “You’ll need to prove your good intentions and return Gingerbread to Dior.”

  The corners of his mouth quirk up. He reaches out to pinch a strand of my hair, the darkness perfectly contrasting with the flawless bronzed beauty of his Shell. “I knew you’d demand the dog’s return, which is why I’ve already made arrangements.”

  Sweet Killian. I barely contain the urge to throw myself back in his arms.

  Stiffening, Sloan swivels around to inspect the line of trees. “I think someone’s coming.” She closes her eyes, her expression taut as she concentrates. “Six MLs. I sense they’re angry and heavily armed.”

  She’s that connected to Myriad’s version of the Grid? Zero! She’s a step ahead of me.

  Killian curses and unsheathes a gun—a gun he aims at me.

  I frown, certain I’m misreading the situation. “Hey. What are you—”

  “You can’t stay here. I’m sorry, lass, but this might sting a bit.” He squeezes the trigger, nailing me between the eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  “Mercy and correction forever walk hand in hand.”

  —Troika

  Zero!

  He did it. He actually did it. Killian Flynn shot me.

  Yes, you can shoot a Shell in a specific spot, destroying the outer casing while ejecting the spirit, unharmed. The spirit returns home in a split second. There are also ways to destroy the Shell while injuring the spirit, as well as ways to trap a spirit inside a Shell, causing the spirit to hemorrhage to death.

  Killian went with option A.

  My Shell explodes, every nerve in my body hit with a sudden blast of heat. For a moment, I’m in limbo, Shell-less but trapped in a vacuum of air I can’t escape.

  My mind whirls. In the past, Killian did everything in his power to protect me, and that kind of vigilance can give a girl certain expectations. Like, he wants to kiss me and not he wants to blow me to smithereens.

  I know, I know. By shooting me, he prevented a battle between me and the MLs headed our way. He protected the image he’s worked so hard to cultivate: a dedicated Myriadian willing to turn on me whenever necessary.

  I can’t throw a hissy fit over this, can I? On the flip side, I might have to award him a gold star of excellence.

  The vacuum tightens until I feel as if I’m being expelled from a birth canal, sliding into the welcome arms of…the Veil of Wings.

  I rush through the crimson water and, to my absolute delight, the fires cool and every lingering ache leaves me. I intend to find Meredith or Levi. Someone to send me back.

  I have to go back. Not for Killian, not this time, but for Dior. I promised to deliver Gingerbread, and I will.

  I come out the other side and discover Kayla waiting for me, a Shell standing beside her. A new Shell for me, with new Whells attached. This one is a replica of the first, with only one major difference. There are two zits on her chin.

  Hilarious, Levi. Simply hilarious.

  “How did Meredith know I’d need a new one?” I step inside the Shell and anchor.

  “She didn’t. She suspected. As soon as she gave you permission to lead the mission. Oh!” Kayla says. “I’m supposed to tell you Gingerbread is tied to the pecan tree near the spot where you met with Killian and Sloan. The dog was hidden by a Myriad shield, but that shield has since been removed.”

  He did it. He really did it. Warm honey spills over my heart. “How do you—never mind. I can guess. The Eye.”

  I kiss her cheek and rush through the Veil—

  I end up where I started: in front of the farmhouse door. Clay, Victor and Elizabeth pace the porch, arguing about me while typing into their keyboards.

  Elizabeth spots me first and scowls. “I told you. I told you he’d choose his realm over you. You are now what his breed of slimeball likes to call nothing special.”

  Her venom misses its target—my heart—and doesn’t even rouse my anger. I know she’s wrong. Besides, we’re teammates, she and I, and we’ve got to find a way to get along…which means someone has to make the first move.

  Together we’ll stand or one by one we’ll fall.

  The ground quakes with greater force, and dust plumes the air. Obviously the battle still rages in the sky, the damage spilling into the Land of the Harvest.

  Clay pulls me close for a hug. “Thank the Firstking you’re all right.”

  “Yeah, well, my job isn’t over. Kayla told me Gingerbread is just beyond the wall.” Is Killian still there? Is Sloan? Looking between Clay and Victor I say, “Back me up?” Just in case the MLs haven’t moved on.

  “Of course.” Victor nods.

  “Now you want my help?” Clay quips.

  “Yes, please, and thank you.”

  We stalk down the yard, side by side, each of us clasping a weapon. I scan the area beyond the Buckler for any indication that Killian and Sloan have lagged behind, but I find none. Good. That’s good. If they threatened or hurt my friends…

  If my friends threatened or hurt them…

  Remain calm. Deep breath in…out…

  When we reach the edge of the perimeter, Victor holds out his arms to block me. “You’re in charge, Ten, and you can go first, if that’s what you want, but I don’t like the thought of a Conduit in danger. Let me check things out per protocol? Just in case?”

  “No. I would much rather place myself—”

  “Thanks for understanding.” He pats my shoulder and rushes through the Buckler, gun aimed and at the ready.

  Well. Irritation flares, but I tamp it down. Is this how I come across to Elizabeth? Pushy and relentless?

  Sow and reap.

  I have to start working with my team rather than bulldozing over everyone. They have more experience, collectively and individually. I can take a backseat…upon occasion.

  Victor peeks through the glittery wall and smiles. “All clear.”

  I remain on alert as I move forward, Clay at my side. Out of habit, I conduct a search of my own. No twigs snap to signal a coming approach. Up ahead, a jiggling rope is tied to the base of a tree.

  “Over here,” I say, already running.

  “Could be a trap,” Victor says. “Slow down.”

  Clay almost passes me. Almost. Just before we reach our destination, a gorgeous white-and-ginger pit bull chases a butterfly around the trunk.

  She spots us and wiggles her butt. There are no marks on her fur to suggest she’s suffered any kind of abuse, and she has meat on her bones. She’s been fed and cared for.

  So happy I could burst—mission complete!—I crouch to scratch behind the ears. “Hey, pretty girl.”

  I laugh as she licks my face. No wonder Dior missed her. This animal offer
s unconditional love. No judgment or snide remarks. No stinging rejections.

  There’s a note attached to her collar, addressed to 10. Curious, a little suspicious, I unfold it.

  You wanted the dog, you got the dog. You’re welcome. Now you owe me two favors, and I WILL collect. Yours, K

  I snort.

  “What’s it say?” Clay asks.

  There’s a spy among you.

  Killian’s warning sounds an alarm in the back of my head.

  I trust Clay. Victor, too, for that matter. He is Archer’s brother, for goodness sake. But I’m not going to gamble with Killian’s life.

  I stuff the note in my mouth, chew and swallow before anyone can snatch it. Shells are able to eat to better blend in with humans, but the food—or note, whatever—goes into a tube we have to empty later.

  Clay regards me with a blend of annoyance and exasperation before cutting the dog’s leash from the tree. Victor eyes me quizzically.

  I’m stuck on Clay’s reaction, though. Why annoyance?

  Because he plans to report to Myriad?

  I swallow a groan. Rampant paranoia would be a beautiful way for me to ruin my relationship with my team. What if that’s how I’m supposed to help Myriad?

  Ugh. Now I suspect Killian?

  No! My decision has been made. Instincts matter. I’m not changing my mind.

  We walk Gingerbread to the farmhouse, each of us lost in thought. The moment we’re inside, the pittie scents Dior and whimpers.

  At the kitchen table, Dior jumps to her feet. With a bark of delight, Gingerbread bounds over.

  “Gingy bear!” Dior drops to her knees and opens her arms. She chants, “Thank you. Thank you so much” as she sobs into the dog’s fur.

  The sight is balm to the scars on my soul. This is why I’m here. This is why I picked Troika. To help people. To make their lives better.

  “Next up, your court date,” I say, blocking Killian’s other warning from my head. “How do we bypass the obstacles Myriad created and set a date?”

  “There are twelve judges, and each presides over a specific territory in the Land of the Harvest,” Victor says. “In two weeks, we’ll present the facts to Dior’s judge, and he’ll decide if the case can go to trial.”

  Time is measured in units of twelve—twelve hours equals half a day. Humans have twelve pairs of cranial nerves. There are twelve months in a year.

  “Are the judges Troikan or Myriadian?” In other words, is there bias?

  “They are neither. Like humans, spirits and realms, they were created by the Firstking for a specific purpose.”

  Oookay. “If they aren’t human or spirit, what are they? What do they do when they aren’t being judgy?”

  Stymied, he looks to Elizabeth. “How do we explain? They’re a mix of both human and spirit, I guess. And no one knows what they do after court. We only ever interact with them during a case.”

  “Also, I believe I mentioned the injunctions Myriad has filed against us,” Elizabeth says. “We have to deal with those as soon as a Barrister is found.”

  There’s so much I don’t know. So much I need to learn. “Barrister?”

  Clay motions to Dior, who is now watching us avidly, her eyes filled with concern. “That’s a conversation for another day.”

  Right.

  The house shakes. Furniture scoots across the floor and knickknacks clink together.

  Will the battle never end? “I’m ready to move Dior and Gingerbread to another safe house.”

  “You?” Elizabeth scowls at me.

  “Yes, me. I know where I want to take her.” To a secret place. To borrow Killian’s words: the fewer people who know, the better.

  I send Meredith a message, asking if my chosen location is sound. Her response is instantaneous.

  Yes. I’ve had it cleaned.

  I ask her to hide the coordinates from everyone else, even those tracking me through the Eye.

  Done.

  Love her! “Clay will come with me as my personal Messenger,” I tell the group. I trust him more than I trust the others.

  “Levi isn’t going to like this,” Elizabeth mutters.

  “Ten….buddy. Pal,” Clay says. “Are you sure this is wise? We’re both so green.”

  “Why don’t I act as your Messenger,” Victor says.

  “No. I’m sorry. Not this time.” Instinct demands I take Clay.

  I don’t wait for another chorus but move to Dior’s side. She hasn’t stopped hugging her dog. A treasured friend, given new life.

  I smile at her. “The change of scenery might be jarring.”

  She wipes away the happy tears and stands, Gingerbread dancing at her feet. “I’ll adjust.”

  Elizabeth comes up behind me. “Let’s hope you arrive in one piece. Ten,” she says, patting my shoulders, “has never traveled at the speed of Light with a human in tow.”

  Dang her! Free will matters, even in times of danger. She’s hoping Dior will protest and force me to abandon my plan. “Like it’s hard,” I snap.

  Chalk white, Dior says, “You loved Archer, and he loved you. What you tell me to do, I’ll do. If you think this is best, I’ll do it. If you think you can do this, I’ll believe you.”

  Her confidence empowers me. “I’m not even the one who will be doing the work. Someone in Troika will. All I have to do? Hold your hand. So easy even Elizabeth can do it.” Zing!

  Elizabeth flips me off.

  “Such a fine representative of your realm,” I tell her, earning another scowl.

  I offer my hand to Dior, remember our reaction to the Penumbra, and drop my arm to my side. “Does anyone have a glove?”

  Of course, the answer is no. I stride into the kitchen and select a pink oven mitt. Good enough. Before I put it on, I send another message to Meredith, asking her to send us to my location of choice in sixty seconds. She agrees.

  One. I take Clay’s hand, counting the seconds in my head. Ten…

  I offer Dior the hand with the oven mitt. Fifteen… “Don’t let go of me, okay? Also, maintain a tight hold on Gingerbread’s leash.” Twenty…

  “The leash is enough?” Straight white teeth worry on her bottom lip. “Are you sure?” Thirty…

  “I’m positive.” Right? Right! “Anything connected to you in any way goes with us.” Forty…

  “Where are we going?” Clay asks, only to press his mouth shut. “Never mind. I’ll know soon enough.”

  Fifty… “Ready?” I ask Dior.

  A tremor rocks her, but she nods.

  Sixty!

  Meredith can’t track Dior, specifically; she can only base her measurements on the girl’s proximity to me and Clay, and she nails it. In unison, a beam of Light hits the three of us and the dog, surrounding us with a Buckler to stabilize Dior’s fragile human body while sucking us up and carrying us away.

  Dior screams and tries to wrench from my hold.

  She’s in pain? How? We’re not touching.

  The oven mitt allows a slippery grip, and I almost panic. If we’re separated, she’ll be flung from the jellyair, and she’ll die. I yank Clay against me and spin toward her, using him as a shield between us.

  “Grab her,” I shout.

  He obeys, and we land in the Urals…in Prynne Asylum. Together. Success!

  Dior collapses, and Gingerbread licks her face, offering comfort. She whimpers, Penumbra writhing under her skin. I suck in a breath. Penumbra. Of course! It reacted to the Light used to transport us.

  The same Light inside of me.

  “I’m so sorry.” I wonder if manna will help her or make her worse. After the way she reacted to me? Probably worse. “Penum—you had a bad reaction to the Light.” If we have to move her again, we’ll knock her out f
irst.

  “Are you all right?” Clay pats her back.

  “I’m fine,” she rasps. “I’ll be fine. The pain is fading.”

  He straightens and looks around. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Ten.”

  “No one will ever believe we’d come back here.” Too many people avoid their fears. I face them. Only by looking fear in the eye do we see it for what it really is: a coward afraid of us. When we fight back, fear flees.

  “What is this place? It’s creepy.” Dior eases up. “And freezing.”

  The fortress once used to torture kids into doing whatever their guardians desired is now a skeleton of its former self. The walls are cracked, the floors bloodstained.

  “It’ll warm up once we get you settled in the staff’s quarters, where you’ll have all the comforts of home. As for what it is…it’s a nut house. Or a whack shack, according to Killian. Happiness once came here to die.”

  She shudders and leans into Gingerbread, seeking more comfort and warmth. “Did you live here?”

  “Clay and I both did for well over a year.”

  “Is this where you died, then?” she asks softly.

  “Close,” Clay says, but he doesn’t sound upset. “I escaped and fell off a cliff a few miles away.”

  He’s clearly satisfied with his new life, and with his words, a weight lifts from my shoulders. The burden I’d carried for choosing to save Sloan first.

  “I died in LA,” I tell her, and leave it at that. No reason to outline all the gory details.

  “So…what happened here?” Dior asks, her features pinched. “Exactly.”

  “Torture, and a lot of it,” Clay says. “Whips. Chains. There’s even a rack.”

  “That’s it. Get me out of here!” she demands.

  “We are horrible salesmen,” I mumble to Clay. To Dior, I say, “Don’t worry. You’re going to make this place a sanctuary, where victory begins. Besides, the asylum’s reputation gives you an extra layer of protection. No one will visit the place.”

  “True.” She breathes a weary sigh. “All right. I’ll stay.”

  “Excellent.” I should probably feel something as I look around. There are the tables where I ate slop. The halls where I was stripped and whipped and dragged, leered at by guards.