Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  Um… “How do you tell which is which? How does a weapon offer a second chance or judgment? Are they sentient? For that matter, how did Archer acquire them?”

  “The Secondking gifted the swords to Archer for successfully completing a mission. They aren’t sentient but an extension of you. Everything you need to know about the Blessing and Cursing can be found on the Grid, in a special room only their owner can unlock. Even without decoding her Key.”

  Really?

  “Go ahead. Give it a try.”

  I do. I close my eyes and concentrate on the Grid, just as Meredith did when she searched for all the places she’d hidden her Light.

  My chin trembles.

  Lockdown!

  A glowing crimson river flows in the back of my mind, reminding me of the waterfall in front of the Veil of Wings…and the water flowing from the second throne. That water rushes toward me, rising up, up, and finally sweeping me away.

  I’m carried to a door and placed on my feet as the water drains. The door glows, beckoning me closer. Excitement sparks as I twist the knob…in an instant, a stream of data floods my mind. A vast sea. I cringe. Too much! But suddenly I understand why I have to work to decode my Key. I have to be ready for what I learn.

  I concentrate on the barest facts.

  The Blessing offers a do-over. A second chance, wiping away one set of deeds to make way for a new choice.

  The Cursing causes the condition of the heart to manifest in the body. If a heart is as hard as stone—figuratively speaking—the body turns to stone. If a heart is an inferno of hate, the body burns to ash.

  “All right. You’ve been buried inside your head for over an hour,” Levi says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Time to practice with the swords.”

  Over an hour? He’s got to be kidding.

  He wasn’t kidding. My knees are the consistency of pudding as I rise.

  He hands me the swords and shows me how to twirl my wrists. At first, I drop the weapons more than I twirl them, but I continue until I can smoothly swing the two in opposite directions.

  “Good,” he says. “You also need to learn how to connect the pair. A staff doesn’t get trapped in bone, and it has a much longer range. You can take out more people at once.”

  Right. I slide the swords together, and the center locks. As I twirl the staff—far more clumsily—the outer casing grows hot…almost too hot. Definitely too hot. Literal flames crackle at the ends. My eyes widen. Despite the heat, my hands remain uninjured…until I shift my thumb out of the handhold. One of the flames licks over my skin, blistering me.

  Hissing, I drop the staff. The flames vanish.

  Levi grins. “I’ve got to get me one of those.”

  I snatch up the weapon, surprised to find the metal is already cool. “Mine.” My sore muscles protest the action, but not by word or deed do I reveal my pain. The moment I do, I suspect Levi will call a halt to the session.

  Teach me more! Teach me everything!

  He snickers at me. “What of generosity, Miss Lockwood?”

  “I’ll think about saving your life with my weapon. Can’t get more generous than that.”

  As he chuckles, a shadow falls over us. I spin and spot—

  Deacon. A smiling Deacon.

  Have I entered Bizzaro world? Last time we were together, he gave me the stinky boot.

  “I hear you killed an entire contingent of Myriad soldiers,” he says to me. “Good job.”

  I bite my tongue until I taste the sweetness of my Lifeblood. Cannot talk about Killian. Cannot admit the truth. I change the subject. “Where have you been?”

  His smile slips. “I was part of a select group guarding Javier. During the last battle, I had a chance to escort him to a new safe house, but he refused. At that point, I could do nothing to help him without violating his free will.”

  “How is he?” Levi asks.

  “The disease is stronger in him than in Dior. He rages out, and nothing calms him.”

  For once, I lament free will. If a human doesn’t want us near, we cannot go near. The only exceptions? When a family or friend inside the realm asks on behalf of the human. Like Meredith so often did for me.

  Lockdown!

  Even with a family member’s interference, there are codes of conduct all TLs must respect.

  “I received word before you arrived at the coliseum,” Levi says. “One of the reasons we lost the battle is Javier himself. Our soldiers were weakened in his presence. We believe he’s begun the transition. He will become an Abrogate.”

  A sound I don’t recognize slips from my lips. If Javier becomes an Abrogate… “Could he cleansed and become a Conduit for Troika?”

  “It’s…possible.”

  A chance is better than nothing.

  Javier could be the one, then. He could save Troika and win the war. Because Javier Diez is—

  In my mind, the Grid translates the word Diez. In Spanish, diez means ten.

  He is Javier Ten.

  The knowledge comes with a strange mix of dismay and hope. And pressure. A whole lot of pressure. If he signs with Myriad, he’ll become a General. Before the deaths of Rosalind and Abdul, he would have been the tenth. The complete set.

  Myriadians have always favored the numbers one and zero. They have ten cities within their realm. Ten festivals of celebration. Ten points on their brand.

  The day of my birth, nine of their Generals were killed. Their Leaders believe the spirits of those Generals immediately Fused with humans. Beginning with me.

  With the loss of Rosalind and Abdul, Myriad desperately needs two new Generals. Javier is a nice start. Do they believe Javier is the one they’ve been searching for, instead of me? After all, ten is ten, and there are always different ways to say the same thing:

  2 x 5 = 10

  1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10

  Greater than 9 but less than 11.

  *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *.

  X

  11-1 = 10

  A dime.

  A decade.

  Decem.

  Dix.

  An insidious monster with fangs and claws prowls through me—his name is Envy. I actually envy Javier. He might be the one my realms need. Him, not me.

  I’ve bewailed my status for weeks and now, when it might be taken from me, I want it back? Wow. I suck.

  “I wonder if our s—” Remembering our audience, I press my lips together.

  “It’s okay. Deacon knows there’s a spy in our midst,” Levi says, understanding the direction my mind had traveled. “We’ve checked out everyone who knew where we were keeping Javier, but have come up with no concrete evidence any information was leaked. But all that means is he or she is very, very good at hiding his or her activities.”

  “Maybe Myriad is fighting so hard to keep Dior on their side because she influences Javier.” Once Levi told me I wasn’t seeing the full picture. He was right. But my eyes are beginning to open.

  “They aren’t fighting to keep her anymore,” Deacon says. “This morning they voided their petition to stop her trial. A court date has been set for two weeks from today.”

  Unease prickles at the back of my neck, but I say, “That’s wonderful.” She’ll be pleased. And I did promise to help her. But I can’t help remembering Killian’s warning…

  Deacon rubs the back of his neck as if he feels the same sense of unease. “I don’t think she’s ready.”

  “Why? I still don’t understand the in and outs of court,” I admit.

  He looks to Levi.

  Levi thinks for a moment, sighs. “It’ll be better if you show her. Do you have time?”

  “I’ll make time. But first things first. We’re stopping by your apartment, Ten.” Deacon wrinkles his nose. “You
have to shower and change into a ceremonial robe.”

  “No problem. And no need to go home. I can use the locker room—”

  “Robes aren’t stored there.”

  Right. Meredith would have fetched one while I showered and waited for me to finish. She would have offered me pearls of wisdom and—

  Lock. Down. Now.

  “All right. Let’s go.” Using Stairwells and Gates, we travel thousands of miles in seconds, stopping at Deacon’s house—mansion—to acquire a robe for him, then at an outdoor market to buy manna since both our cupboards are bare.

  I hurry through a shower. Deacon eats half the food and takes a power nap on my couch.

  Clean and dry, I weapon-up, strapping blades to my waist, thighs and ankles. I slide Meredith’s ring on my finger—lockdown—and pull a white robe over my head. The material is feather-soft. As I anchor my hair in a knot on the crown of my head, I head to the living room.

  “Let’s go,” I say, and stuff my mouth full of manna. Energy zings me.

  Deacon looks me over and shakes his head. “No weapons.” He pushes a few keys on his keyboard. In a flash of Light, his Shell appears. “You’ll need yours.”

  I reluctantly remove Meredith’s ring and all the daggers and step inside my Shell, which is flush against the massage wall. We make our way to the Veil of Wings. People smile and wave at us. A few try to stop and chat with me, but Deacon sends them off as kindly as possible.

  Everyone thinks I’m a hero, despite Meredith’s death. They think I’ve finally proved myself loyal to the realm. I want to lift my head to the sky and scream, It wasn’t me. I did nothing right and everything wrong. I’m a failure.

  “You’re tense,” Deacon says with a frown. “Why?”

  I ignore his question and ask, “Where are we going?” I won’t lie to him, not even a small, innocent lie. Actually, there are no small, innocent lies. Saving his feelings today will only hurt him in the future.

  I know this firsthand. My parents lied to me often. So did the people in charge at Prynne. Madame Bennett. Even friends, and once, Killian. Trust is precious. Once lost, it’s difficult to rebuild.

  But I won’t tell Deacon about Killian, either.

  “We’re headed to the Courthouse. It’s neutral territory, overseen by the Firstking. We do not break the Firstking’s rules. Ever. Ignorance is not an excuse.”

  “Enlighten me, then.”

  “No weapons of any kind inside the building. No fighting anywhere, either verbally or physically. He is the judge supreme. When one of his delegates rules on a case, it is final. There are no appeals. Both Troikans and Myriadians attend the sessions, so be prepared for killing glares. We attend in Shells for the benefit of humans—they’re usually the ones on trial.”

  Usually…

  I think of my mother, desperate to switch sides to spend time with her infant son. I think of Killian…who might not be as happy in Myriad as he used to be?

  If he would go to trial… I close my eyes, imagining the joy of having him nearby, of touching him and being touched by him, of working cases with him rather than against him, and I smile. I don’t want to be parted from him. I want him out of danger, mine to protect. I want…him. I just want him.

  Live well. When you step toward a dream, you step away from a regret. I’m coming for you, Killian.

  “This way.” Quickly and efficiently—like the boy himself—Deacon leads me to the outside edge of the realm.

  We step through what looks to be a dense fog, and end up directly in front of the Veil of Wings.

  Another step, and we’re whisked to the border of a guard tower, where sunlight shines on one side and shadows cloak the other. Stone steps lead to the tallest skyscraper I’ve ever seen.

  As we make our way up, Troikans nod at us. As predicted, Myriadians glare at us. Just past the towering double-door entrance, a guard pats me down. I’m unarmed and expect to be sent on my way, but he tugs the band from my hair.

  I frown at him. “Seriously?”

  “Choking hazard.” He shrugs and throws the band at an oval mirror hanging on a wall. Only, the band ghosts through the glass, because it isn’t glass; it’s a Buckler hiding a…trash can?

  Gimme!

  Deacon and I move forward. The lobby is devoid of color or decoration. In fact, there isn’t a single piece of furniture, just more stairs and what must be a thousand doorways. Our footsteps echo as we make our way up…up… The staircase moves with us, twisting and turning around corners. On every floor, we pass through a veil of jellyair, and I suspect we are traveling through a maze as well as a building.

  Finally Deacon stops and taps a screen with a flashing digital number. 1001.

  In The Book of One Thousand and One Nights, the heroine tells her husband the king a new story every night for one thousand and one nights to pique his curiosity and stave off her execution.

  Stomach cramp.

  “Game face on,” Deacon mutters.

  We quietly tiptoe past the doors and—

  I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. It looks like a courtroom found in the Land of the Harvest. There’s a viewing section with benches. A waist-high wall with a swinging gate in the center divides the front section from the back. Beyond it is a desk for Troikan representatives and a desk for Myriadian representatives.

  The judge’s desk consumes the back wall, with a court reporter on one side and a witness seat on the other. There is a second seat beside the witness. The only noticeable difference? The floor is concrete, with several drains.

  I go cold. The “punishment” rooms at Prynne had drains.

  The judge isn’t the Firstking. I’ve seen our creator only once, when Archer allowed me to glimpse Troika through his eyes, but he left a strong impression. He’s tall and strong, but Light, such intense Light, radiates from his eyes, even his pores, making it impossible to distinguish his individual features. He carries a rainbow on his back as if it’s a weapon, an actual bow. Power radiates from him, and as I’d gazed upon him, my blood fizzed; my skin felt as if lightning zipped over the surface.

  This man is…odd. Half human and half spirit, as Victor and Elizabeth explained. He looks like he’s made of wind and flesh. A ghost, but dappled, like water is raining over him.

  —Here.—Deacon’s voice whispers over the Grid. He waves to an open section on the bench, and we ease into place.

  —So, what’s going on?—I ask, thankful no one else can hear me.

  —In the witness seat is the human on trial. She’s the only human in the room. Her TB is the one seated beside her.—

  The human. A thirtysomething female currently sobbing into her hands.

  Deacon continues. —The ML, who works within the temporary sub-position of Barrister, is the one slapping the metal wand at the hologram playing beside the human.—

  The judge gives us a fierce side-eye, as if he knows we’re having a conversation inside our minds. Then, focusing on the TB, he says, “You are certain you’re willing to do this?”

  After a slight hesitation, the TB nods and says, “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. You may proceed.”

  —Do what?—I ask Deacon.

  —Every court case must be paid in blood. Since both realms agree the human isn’t to be harmed, the Barrister on the losing side pays the price.—

  —But why is blood demanded, of all things?—I struggle to understand.

  —One way or another, a contract is paid in full, even when it’s voided. Blood contains cells, nourishment for tissues, oxygen, antibodies for disease, hormones and other substances that help maintain health. Blood is the life of all flesh, and there is nothing more precious or priceless. Only blood can bind this woman to her contract—or set her free from it.—

  Oh…zero. I get it. One way
or another, someone is going to die today.

  The hologram changes to reveal…a section of her life? Maybe her past? In it, a younger version of her looks over her shoulder before taking money from a grease-stained purse.

  “Are you watching?” the MB demands of the TB. “Her mother worked hard for her cash. Cash she needed to pay for medicine. She had cancer. She existed rather than lived and her pain pills were her only source of relief. This girl, the one you hope to add to your flock of sheeple, stole her dying mother’s money—to get high.”

  —Um, why does Myriad want to keep her?—The question springs from me, not out of a place of judgment but out of a need to understand the proceedings. —Why does Troika want her? Why are we willing to risk one of our citizens for her?—

  —Love is never about a person’s actions. Love is about the person. This girl is loved. She has family in both Myriad and Troika. Family who will do anything to keep her or win her. More than that, the crimes mentioned…they are things that have eaten at her for years. Today, she’s not the girl she was yesterday. We know it. Myriad knows it, too. They mention these things only as a means of winning the case.—

  The scene changes. The human is speaking with another girl. “Tammy is such a slut. I don’t know why we’re friends with her. Payton snapped his fingers, and she came running.” Snicker, snicker.

  Another scene change. The human is in bed, snuggled against a boy’s side. She calls him Payton. The boy she ridiculed Tammy for sleeping with.

  “You consider yourself a horrible person, don’t you?” the MB asks at her, and she only cries harder. “You steal. You lie. You degrade your supposed friends. Worse, you’re a hypocrite. You cut others down for things you yourself have done. Shall I go on? Does Troika need to know more about your despicable character before you call a halt to these proceedings?”

  I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. My gaze locks on the Troikan Barrister, who remains silent in the witness seat.

  —Why isn’t the Troikan objecting?—My tone is fierce. I’m struggling not to object.