Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  “I care about you. I love you,” I tell him, my voice soft. Whoever lurks nearby won’t be able to doubt my claims. The truth saturates my voice. “I love you with every fiber of my being.”

  Killian inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring. His hands settle on my waist, his grip strong enough to hold me up if I fall.

  “Ten.” My name is a benediction on his lips.

  “I don’t want you in danger, Killian. Not now, not ever.” More truth. But I have a part to play, too. One meant to keep this boy out of harm’s way. “Just…don’t help me again, okay?”

  He searches my gaze, and whatever he sees seems to undo him. Again he presses his forehead to mine, our exhalations mingling. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  A crack in my chest. “My grandmother,” I croak.

  He brushes the tip of his nose against mine. “I’m sorry, lass.”

  “Ten!” Victor comes barreling around the corner. He spots Killian and lifts a Stag. He takes aim, demanding, “Where’s Javier? Where did your people move him?”

  I sheathe my swords at last and spread my arms, covering as much of Killian as I can. “Don’t shoot,” I command. “Please.” I’m speaking to both of them. I can’t tell Victor what Killian has done, so, I’m sure this comes across as a major betrayal to Troika. Again. But I won’t back down and allow Killian to be hurt.

  Victor’s gaze darts between us; he’s clearly unsure about his next move.

  “Javier’s gone?” All this pain and death for nothing! “Do you know where he is?” I ask Killian.

  “No, but I’ll do what I can to find out.”

  Maybe Meredith could use the Eye to search—

  No. No, she can’t. My chin trembles.

  “What about the person he infected?” I ask.

  The space between Killian’s eyes crinkles. “To my knowledge, only Javier and Dior are infected. If you heard otherwise, I’m thinking you heard a lie.”

  Something in our favor. There are two infected people rather than three. “Let’s go home, Victor. Please.” I don’t want to leave Killian, I need him, but I have no other choice. I’ll see him again. I have to see him again. I’m breaking down from the inside out, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to put myself back together. But he can. He’s done it before. “We have to go while the Buckler is down. We need to regroup.”

  Killian backs away from me. Every cell in my body screams in protest. Chase him! I don’t. The separation allows Victor to approach him unimpeded.

  Victor’s finger twitches on the trigger, spurring me into action.

  I jerk up my knee, nailing his wrist, using one hand to push his arm to the side and the other to take possession of the weapon. He has no defense against me. He’s a Messenger, not a Laborer, and fighting isn’t his specialty.

  “No more killing,” I tell him.

  He glares at me. “You want to go home, we’ll go home.” He punches a code into his data pad and takes my hand.

  “Ten,” Killian calls.

  Too late. I’m caught up in a beam of Light.

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Excellent job!

  Your skill continues to amaze me, Mr. Flynn. One small quibble. You were supposed to pretend to kill our soldiers in order to “save” Miss Lockwood’s life, thereby placing her in your debt. You actually killed them. Why?

  Whatever the reason, I can’t bring myself to punish you. Miss Lockwood seems willing to do anything to keep you safe.

  Do you think she’s ready to take the next step and betray her realm for your sake?

  Might Equals Right!

  Sir Zhi Chen

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  Subject: No!

  I need more time.

  As for your men—oops. My bad. No, you know what? It’s their bad. They held me back at knifepoint and REPEATEDLY INJURED TENLEY LOCKWOOD. She was not supposed to be injured in ANY way. They could have killed her. If they had, you would have lost your ace. Is that what you want?

  Might Equals Right!

  ML, Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Focus on the details that matter

  None of the injuries Miss Lockwood sustained were life-threatening. How do I know? She survived. But without some type of injury, she could have saved herself. You wouldn’t have been needed.

  I’m beginning to wonder if your feelings for Miss Lockwood are genuine, after all. I’m also beginning to wonder why you’ve been disconnecting from the Grid so often, preventing me from reviewing your daily activities. I’ve given you great leeway and let you do your thing. Now we do things my way. Explain yourself.

  Might Equals Right!

  Sir Zhi Chen

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  Subject: Was the risk truly worth it?

  ANY injury has the potential to be life-threatening. What if Miss Lockwood had been unable to obtain manna and hemorrhaged to death?

  What happened to your plan to trust me?

  Let me be clear about this, in case any other opportunities to harm her arise. Hurt her, and I hurt you. News flash: you cannot defeat Troika without her. Myriad has tried for centuries. If she dies, the entire realm will be forced to pay a high price. Myriad will lose the war. Citizens will lose their realm, homes and families. And why will this happen? Because of your orders.

  You once told me you love your realm. Do you really want to be the one who destroys it?

  As for my disconnection from the Grid. The reason should answer both of your concerns. If you haven’t noticed, Miss Aubuchon’s feed has been going dark at the exact same time. What can you deduce from that?

  Might Equals Right!

  ML, Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  * * *

  From: Z_C_4/23.43.2

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: You’re right

  I shouldn’t have doubted your motives. Your passion is clear. For Myriad and for Miss Aubuchon. I support your romantic relationship. There’s no need to go dark again.

  I apologize for my actions. In my zeal to reach our goal, I placed our realm in danger. I won’t do so again, you have my word.

  However, what’s done is done. This is the perfect opportunity to reap the fruits provided by our labors. Whether you feel ready to take the next step or not. Because, if Miss Lockwood doesn’t begin to aid our cause, she will only continue to hurt it, and we will be forced to consider elimination.

  Might Equals Right!

  Sir Zhi Chen

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  “Trust in Fate. If one door closes, simply wait. Another will open.”

  —Myriad

  As I exit the Veil of Wings, the sense of calm and rightness I usually experience gives way to grief. Without Killian’s arms around me, holding the world at bay, I begin to spiral.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as Victor releases me. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No need to apologize. I understand. You love him. You wanted to protect him.”

  Does he understand? His voice is unruffled, but a muscle is jumping under his eye.

  I hand him the gun I stole from him. “Meredith is dead. I lost her.” The words are glass shards in my throat. I didn’t just lose her—I lost my way.

  “I know. Troika lost a great Leader today.”

  I don’t care about her station or her title. To me, she wasn’t a L
eader. She was an amazing grandmother.

  “You’ll see her again, Ten.” Victor pats my shoulder. “You know you will. It’s only a matter of time.”

  He doesn’t mention the Resurrection, and I don’t have to wonder why. He still wants Archer to win.

  Do I?

  “She saved me. I’d rather she lived, and I died.” I wrap my arms around my middle. The hated position of defeat.

  “She knew, and she felt the same about you.”

  Love is the single most essential part of our lives, a need we all share, and yet it’s always been invisible to the naked eye. Until today. Today I saw love in its purest form.

  Meredith loved me enough to die for me.

  A sob climbs up my throat, a poem drifting through my mind.

  I can’t say goodbye. This isn’t goodbye.

  You’re gone, but you’re still here.

  You’re still here with me, deep in my heart.

  I’ll hold you close. I won’t let you go.

  When I train, you’ll be with me.

  When I shine, it’s your Light others will see.

  When I hurt, your memory will be my comfort.

  We’ll be together. You and me. Forever.

  But not today. Today you’re gone.

  No matter where I look, you’re not here.

  When I cry, you’re not here to hold me.

  When I sob, you’re not here to comfort me.

  When I quiet, you’re not here.

  Why aren’t you here?

  Today I’m alone.

  Usually my poems have a double meaning. A negative and positive side. I can think of nothing positive about this situation. Hot tears flow down my cheeks.

  “Meredith is in a better place. And so are you,” Victor says. “Everyone in Troika will trust you now. Your wants—and the Laborers you desire to have on your team—will matter.”

  I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He grins. Grins! “You’ll be able to sway the Resurrection.”

  I don’t care! “I still don’t understand,” I say, managing to temper my voice.

  “I saw the Myriad soldiers you slayed. You should be proud. You should be celebrating.”

  My hands ball into fists. His words are a slap in the face. Killian is the one who killed the soldiers, but I can’t praise him without exposing his secret, and that I will not do.

  I want to scream. I want to scream until my voice is gone. I’m supposed to save us all, but I couldn’t even save my grandmother. I couldn’t save one person. A person I loved. A special woman with a special purpose of her own.

  Everything starts and ends with one. If I’m Troika’s last hope, we’re all doomed.

  I can’t deal with this. It’s too much.

  “I’m going home,” I croak.

  “You can’t. We have to visit the Sanatorium. The Troikan version of a hospital. After every battle, we’re required to see a Healer.”

  I have zero desire to undergo a physical checkup, but I don’t argue. I don’t have the energy.

  Thankfully, as Victor herds me to the nearest Gate, a sheen of ice numbs me. The only way I can get through this.

  The Grid attempts to warm me, gently prompting me to feel and heal, but I don’t want to be warmed. I don’t want to feel or heal.

  Victor is silent as we exit the Gate in the Capital of New. Other soldiers stride ahead of us and behind us, and everyone is headed in the same direction.

  In every section of the realm, the people who stayed behind line the streets, cheering us for our efforts.

  Fatima rushes from the crowd to throw her arms around me. My cold threatens to crack.

  “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she says, her dark eyes filled with relief.

  I wish I could say the same.

  She rushes off, then, to rejoin her group.

  The Sanatorium is housed in a building similar to the cathedral, with a plethora of stained-glass windows, a pergola covered in clinging ivy and a rose garden leading to the entrance.

  Dogs and cats play chase along the cobblestone paths, pausing to offer licks and purrs—and conversation—to anyone willing to stop.

  It’s true, then. The animals talk. I’m amazed, fascinated and curious, but I don’t deserve their brand of comfort and sidestep the creatures in my path.

  As soon as we enter the cathedral, two Healers step forward, as if they’ve been waiting for us. We’re led down a hallway. Victor is escorted into a room on the left and I’m escorted into a room on the right.

  The word room is somewhat inaccurate, however. Closet works better. There’s enough space for a gurney and a medical cart with wheels, nothing more.

  Despite the diminutive size, the area is designed to inspire relaxation; a waterfall cascades down the center of each wall, splashing into bowls of amethyst geodes.

  My Healer removes the belt around my waist and in a gentle voice says, “Lie down, please.”

  Fine. Whatever. Let’s get this over with. I peer up at the ceiling mural. Doves in flight.

  She checks my vitals and injects me with liquid manna. She asks me questions—how do you feel, what happened, what do you need? I remain silent. Answers will only invite more questions.

  She refills the vial around my neck. When she lifts a rag to clean Meredith’s Lifeblood from my skin, I latch on to her wrist, stopping her. She flinches.

  “Sorry,” I say and release her.

  “I only wish to cleanse you,” she says in her gentle, soothing voice.

  “No.” The Lifeblood is all I have left of my grandmother. I’m going to wear it with pride.

  The look she gives me is filled with tenderness. “Visit the Baths of Restoration, then. The water will buoy you, spirit, soul and body.”

  I have no desire to be buoyed. “Are we done?”

  She sighs. “Yes.”

  I thank her, stand and walk out. I don’t wait for Victor; I go home.

  By the time I’m locked inside my apartment, the ice is threatening to crack for good. I want to cry. Oh, I want so badly to cry, but tears are a luxury I shouldn’t be allowed to experience.

  The sunlight streaming in through the window calls to me. I need it like air, but I avoid every golden, glorious beam. Another luxury I shouldn’t be allowed. I flop onto my couch.

  When the Book of the Law appears, I stab at it with my fingers until it fades. I hate this. Right now I think I hate myself, too. If I’d taken Levi’s out and refused the mission, Meredith would still be alive.

  A hard knock sounds at my front door.

  “Go away,” I call.

  Someone picks the lock, or maybe uses a key. Hinges squeak as the door opens.

  Levi leans against the frame, his arms crossed. “We have Mr. Diez. Two of our Laborers followed the group hiding the human. They called for backup, and a new team of Laborers swept in to squire Mr. Diez away. He’s staying in one of our safe houses, away from other humans.”

  So I wasn’t needed, after all. Meredith wasn’t needed.

  My nails bite into my thighs. “Thanks for the info.” I motion to the hall; a not-too-subtle hint I’d like to be alone.

  “I’m not done,” he says, unaffected by my rudeness. “We suspect we were given Mr. Diez’s location in the first place, and told another human had been infected, in order to lure you out of Troika. I apologize for asking you to fight.”

  My throat tightens, air wheezing in and out. He has no reason to apologize. My decision, my consequences.

  “The situation has been explained to Miss Nichols,” he continues. “She’s upset, could use a friend.”

  Silent, I turn away from him. Dior has Clay. I’ll only make things worse for her.

  He si
ghs. “Tomorrow, your training starts again. You will not hide here. You will practice with me until you’ve decoded your Key and have full use of your Light.”

  “What if I can’t?” I rub the number brands on my arm.

  He strides over, crouches in front of me and gives my chin a gentle tap. “You can. You will.”

  Will I? Another crack in the ice. No, no, no. My eyes burn. I press my lips together to contain a whimper.

  He places a ring in my palm. A very unusual ring. “She wanted you to have this. A six-shot pinfire cylinder that can be fired straight from your hand. Notice the notch on one side.”

  I tremble as I slip the ring on my index finger and hug it close to my chest.

  “Her grandfather gifted her with the ring before his Second-death, along with a message. So often we are given the tools to fight against evil but fail to use them. Use this.” Levi pats my shoulder. “Joy is strength, Miss Lockwood, and you need to find yours.”

  My eyes burn hotter. “How? Meredith died today.”

  “Yes, and you are parted. For now. But true joy isn’t a state of mind or even a feeling. It’s a weapon you wield. It stands up to fear and says No. You won’t come near me. It butts heads with defeat and says I can do anything, despite the odds. You have it inside you, desperate for release, but you must choose to see your situation through its eyes. You must be diligent and watch over your land. Pull the weeds—grief and sorrow—when they try to grow.”

  I scrub a hand down my face. “Why did you send Meredith to battle? You had to know she would—”

  “We didn’t. We told her to stay in Troika. She disobeyed.”

  The news shrivels my insides. I’m looking for someone to blame, aren’t I? But our present will always be the sum total of decisions made in our past.

  “I think it’s time we ask ourselves the hard question, Levi. What if I’m not a Conduit? What if I’m a time bomb waiting to blow? Just…” I motion to the door a second time, my arm shaking. “Go. Please.”