Everlife (An Everlife Novel)

by Gena Showalter

  “We’ll tell no one of this,” he mutters as I anchor the collar to his neck, and I want to smile. “Ever.”

  Killian’s voice directs me. —Close your eyes. Let your other senses take over.—

  I obey, knowing he needs me alive. Not because he loves me, but because he’ll do anything to protect himself, just the way he’s been trained. A stab of disappointment keeps me quiet.

  —Feel the breeze against your skin. Hear the sound of it drifting through the hallways.—

  A slight wind drifts from…the left!

  —Go against it.—

  Very well. With my arms extended, I move forward at a gradual pace. Encountering no resistance, I increase my speed, fueled by ferocious determination. Biscuit’s nails click-clack against the concrete, blending with our panting breaths, creating an ominous soundtrack.

  Exhaustion sets in, but I remain resolute. My mind is my worst enemy right now, a whirlwind I can no longer subdue, and a bramble of emotion I do not want to feel. Less than an hour ago, I killed a man. A friend of my friends.

  Guilt threatens to burn my outward calm to ash. Sorrow picks off my excuses like a hunter who finally found worthy prey. I had to kill Nico in self-defense—I could have found another way. I had no time to capture Nico and escort him to jail—There’s always time to save a life. I had to choose, him or me, and I chose me—Could I not have chosen both?

  How am I supposed to tell my friends what I’ve done?

  If Nico had survived, he might have realized his mistake. He might have gone on to do amazing things, perhaps even help save our realm. What if he was a key player, necessary for our victory? We’ll never know, because he’ll never have the chance, and it’s my fault.

  —Why am I bein’ flooded with sadness? Whatever you’re thinkin’, stop.—

  I sigh. Killian is right. In the past, I would have broken down over something like this. At least for a little while. I’ve never enjoyed ending a life. But. I won’t break down, not this time. I defended myself, yes, but also Killian and Biscuit. I can bring myself to regret only the need to act.

  Nico made his choices, and I made mine. What’s done is done.

  Now I wonder how many other lovers Victor left behind. Who else will attack in his name?

  And, oh, zero! All this focus on death reminds me of Aunt Lina’s message. I jolt before tensing from head to toe. She thinks she’s going to kill Killian. Has she foreseen his death?

  My stomach twists into those hated knots, wringing out acid. I’ve never had the power to change her visions, but then, I’ve never before known they were, in fact, visions. This time, I can take precautions.

  —So. What do you plan to do with Shamus when you reach him?—

  Good question. —I’ll Daze him and, with Clementine’s help, transport him to the house. Boom. Done.—

  —If the Bucklers are down, sure. You can use your comm to transport. Good plan. If Bucklers are still up, you’ll have to drag the man across the realm. And we both know citizens will not be lookin’ the other way when they see a General being hauled down the street like luggage.—

  Ugh. He just had to go and make a good point, didn’t he. —What do you suggest?—

  —You already know the answer, you just don’t want to do it. Now slow down. You’re approachin’ a fork, and I need to figure out which way you should go.—

  I ignore his comment about knowing what to do…because he’s right. —How can you tell? About the fork, I mean.— The gloom hasn’t thinned, is still all-consuming.

  —Subtle nuances in darkness. Trust me.—

  —I did…once. Look what it got me.— A groom with no memory.

  Silence. And it’s like poking a bear with a stick. The anger currently lying dormant inside me yawns and stretches, close to wakefulness. My hands fist.

  When I reach the fork, as predicted, I pause, as commanded.

  I’m told: —Go right.—

  —How do you know?—

  —You are bound to Troika, and I am bound to you. I feel what you feel. There’s a charge when you shift right, but no charge when you shift left.—

  Right again.

  My heart rate spikes as I round the corner. Up ahead, a spark of Light glows. More of the princess’s Light? Like a moth to a flame, I surge forward. Must get closer. Strength awaits.

  —Stop!—

  Killian shouts the command, jarring me enough to stop me. Biscuit bumps into the back of my leg, and I stumble forward another step.

  —What’s wrong?— My heart is ready to pound its way out of my chest.

  —Look down.—

  My gaze drops, and I gasp. Through the Light, I spy a row of zigzagging spikes that extend from the ground, ready to rip me to ribbons.

  —Thank you.— “Careful,” I whisper to Biscuit.

  Together, we tiptoe, hop and wind our way past the spikes.

  —In roughly one hundred feet, there’s a room on the right.—

  —I’m not going to ask how you know. Not again.— No way he can miss the grumble in my tone. I palm the mini-Dazer, my finger hovering over the trigger.

  Kill Shamus. He dared take Killian from you. He must learn the error of his ways.

  Not Killian, not this time, but me. The darkest part of me. I stumble as the desire for bloodshed overwhelms me.

  Resist! My teeth gnash. Must ignore her—or me. I’ll Daze Shamus, nothing more.

  Once again I surge forward, this time counting my steps. Two…ten…thirty…ninety…

  At long last, I reach this newest Light. Killian claimed the room is on the right, but the Light shines from the left. I’m about to step in that direction when the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Electrical impulses. From the Light. A trick?

  I turn to the right—

  Something hard slams into my jaw. I careen to the side, sharp pain exploding through my face, stars winking in the back of my mind.

  Killian hisses. Biscuit growls.

  A booted foot kicks my stomach, and I careen once again, stumbling toward the Light, then through it. Lasers! Shadows scream and claw at my skull, sharp pains shooting through my temples.

  No time to recover. Another kick. The Dazer flies out of my hand and skids across the ground, and it does reach the Light. Oh, yeah. Definitely electrical impulses. A new kind of laser. The gun disintegrates.

  —Attack!— A command from Killian, the white-hot burn of his rage crackling, inciting my shadows. —He isn’t allowed to hurt you.—

  Kill. End your enemies, end your problems… A true temptation.

  With a grunt, I fling myself at my opponent. He reels backward, and we fall into a spacious and well-lit room. No time to appreciate the finer aspects of the decor. Or the fact that Biscuit can’t pass the lasers on the door. In the Light, my attacker’s identity registers. General Shamus. I’m not surprised, only disappointed he’s willing to harm me in order to keep Killian behind bars.

  We spring apart and face off.

  Though Shamus is taller and stronger than me, and far more experienced, I refuse to back down. I’ve taken down bigger and stronger.

  “You shouldna have come here. You’ll never convince me to leave with you, and I’ll never decide it’s a good idea to free the Butcher.” He pops the bones in his neck. “You’re part Myriadian now, and it’s clear Troika isn’t, and will never be, your top priority.”

  “And you, the guy who broke Troika’s law to love his fellow citizens—to do no harm to one another—are a shining example of putting Troika first?”

  He flinches.

  Unfortunately for him, I’m not done. “If you only love the lovable, you’re no better than the Myriadians you hate. You know that, don’t you?”

  “They killed my wife. I have good reason to hate them.” His dark eyes are wild, his body vibrating with rage of his own. Or is his darkness fueled by mine? “She was a Messenger, had no battle experience, and wanted none. Like you, she craved peace. One day, she was in the Land of the
Harvest, helping a human, when an ML spotted her and…” His hands fist. “He beheaded her. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing! And he killed her.”

  —Enough conversation. Take him out.—

  —You mean do your dirty work for you?—

  Argh! Push, pull. Why am I doing this? Why am I fighting so hard to free a boy who plans to betray me? And he does plan to betray me, doesn’t he?

  The answer fills my head, and it is as simple as it is complicated. Plans can be changed. I have hope. Hope that Killian will remember our past. Hope that I will reach him. Hope that we didn’t destroy our futures but can strive for better.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Shamus.” I hurt for him. I really do. “Tell me true. Is Killian her murderer?”

  He blusters for a moment. “What does that matter? A Myriadian is a Myriadian.”

  “Do you really believe that? Is one Troikan the same as any other Troikan?” As his cheeks darken, I demand, “Is. Killian. Her. Murderer?”

  “No,” he finally snarls.

  “Then your vendetta isn’t against Killian. Stop this. You are a General. The best of us. So be the best! Set an example of love and forgiveness.” I give my words a second to sink in, pray they do. “Enough people have died. It’s time for peace.”

  “As if we could ever trust Myriadians to keep a peace treaty. We would merely set ourselves up for slaughter. Again! Do you think we never tried your route in all these millennia? We did, and we suffered for it.”

  Why are we not taught about the attempt(s)? Let me guess. For the same reason we’re not told about inter-realm bonding. To weed out the fools. “The Prince of Ravens is to blame.” Everything I’ve learned about him tells me this. If he were a tree, his people would be his branches, feeding off him. He lies and cheats. Envies and steals. “When he’s gone, the shadows will die.” They must. You can prune the branches, but to kill the tree, you must uproot it. “Myriadians will be free of their influence.” Killian will be free.

  I will be free.

  “You are supposed to be the best of us, Conduit, and yet you gave a key to our Grid to the Butcher!”

  Zero! It’s like I’m punching at the wind, getting nowhere. “He’s lost people, too.” His mother. Archer. And at one point, even me. Having seen into Killian’s past, the constant rejections from potential families, the General who beat him and made him beg, I may never get over my guilt and remorse, or my desire to hurt those who hurt Killian.

  I know nine Myriadian Generals died the day of my birth, his greatest tormentor among them. Deep down, I’m kind of…glad.

  “Your compassion has ruined us,” Shamus informs me.

  Where is that compassion now? “No.” I shake my head. “Your lack of compassion ruined you a long time ago.”

  My words push him over the edge. With a war cry, he hurls his big body at me. We bang together and fall. I take the brunt of impact as we slam against a table, shattering its legs. Pain sears me. As I sprawl over the remains, Shamus’s heavy weight shoves the air from my lungs. Empty.

  Stars wink before my eyes. Fear mixes with anger and congeals, becoming a hard lump I can’t swallow. I’ve lost the fight before it ever really began? Unacceptable!

  In one seemingly fluid movement, he maneuvers to his knees, straddling me and cocking his fist, ready to whale. I hold up my arms, blocking him. At the same time, I anchor a finger through each of the metal hooks on my wrist cuffs and stretch the two wires across the open space between us. His fist tangles in the wires, momentum shredding skin and muscle. Glittering Lifeblood pours and splatters over my face as Shamus bellows with agony.

  Guilt makes a play, trying to overwhelm me, but I resist. How can I hurt a General? Easily.

  Before he can try to land another blow, I jerk upright and slam the heel of my palm into his nose. Cartilage snaps, and a new bellow assaults my ears. More Lifeblood pours down his chin.

  Determined, knowing I have a very small advantage, I work my legs out from under him, flatten my feet on his chest and push. I expect him to soar backward, but he’s too strong and merely tilts.

  Frustration mounts. Think, Ten. Think!

  No time. He snaps upright and throws a punch. I kick up my leg, his fist meeting my thigh rather than my face. A saving grace. When he draws back his elbow to throw yet another punch, I react on instinct, wrapping both my legs around his neck and squeezing with all my might.

  Threat… Must kill…

  Guilt and remorse return, redoubled, reminding me of my choices. Find another way or deal with the consequences.

  Is there another way?

  He strains and pulls at me, but cannot free himself, and I force him to the ground. Momentum lifts my upper body and, with a screech of aggravation, I release him at last, spinning away while on my knees. I kick out my leg, my boot slamming into his jaw.

  Killian is silent, providing no distractions for me. Appreciate it.

  Fast as lightning, Shamus grabs my ankle and yanks, planting me on my back, the short swords clinking. In seconds, he has my legs tied together. Once again, I jolt upright, but this time he’s ready and punches me in the jaw. Pain! The bone snaps out of place, annihilating the joint.

  There’s a slight ringing in my ears, but I think I hear Killian roar. Again, the desire to kill bombards me.

  Must resist!

  As panic knocks on the door of my mind, I fall back, punting Shamus in the face with my bound feet. Hissing, bleeding, he reaches for my arms, probably intending to bind my wrists, too. But I kick up my legs again, blocking him, before contorting my body. I swipe the space between my ankles over the tip of a short sword, and the rope is rendered useless.

  A cool tide of relief propels me to my feet. Problem: Shamus palms a gun. Not a Dazer, meant to stun me, but a revolver, meant to maim. He aims, fires. The bullet whizzes through my hand, cracking bones and tearing muscles, and a cry leaves me. The newest wound throbs. Other sore spots make themselves known. Warm Lifeblood pours from the wound, weakening me, and I drop the sword.

  My relief is gone, wiped away as if extinct. Helplessness hurries to launch a coup.

  —Ten!— Killian is a commanding presence in my head, and he refuses to be ignored. —Kill him. Kill him now. Before it’s too late.—

  I can see Biscuit prowling behind the lasers, as if he’s considering risking his life to enter the room.

  “No,” I shout, my heart galloping at warp speed. “Don’t. Please.”

  Shamus takes aim a second time. Target: right between my eyes. Decided he’s better off with me dead?

  Cold fingers of dread creep down my spine as shadows flicker inside his eyes. Because of me. Because I welcomed the darkness. He was right about that, at least. Or maybe he’s always had shadows, like me, and they’re just now coming to light.

  Maybe we all have shadows.

  “You doona yet understand the price of betrayal.” He radiates fury. Letting his emotions get the better of him. “But I’m going to teach you. As a General, it’s my job to teach you.”

  An eye for an eye, a hurt for a hurt. This is a recipe for disaster.

  But even faced with defeat, I will not buckle. I will fight for what I believe is right.

  “How can I learn anything if I’m dead?” Every word is agony, my jaw unhinged. I hold up my hands, palms out. Pretend innocence. “But go ahead. Do what you think you must.” Just as I will.

  Killian protests, loudly. —What are you doin’? No! Accept nothin’ but survival. Fight this. Fight him.—

  “Trying to spur me into killing you?” Shamus stalks toward me. “Too bad, little girl. You’re going to face a jury of your peers and answer for your crimes.”

  —If you doona take him down, Tenley Lockwood, I’ll find a way tae survive without you and tear this realm apart.—

  My eyes narrow, my lids heavy with fury of my own. —Isn’t that your plan, anyway?—

  A pause. Then, —Tenley. Ten.—

  His tone beseeches me. Seduction is his defaul
t, after all. I ignore it—ignore him. I must.

  The second Shamus is within reach, with every intention of binding me, I swing my arm. I’ve learned from my mistakes. With Nico, I hesitated and second-guessed myself. Too bad for Shamus I’m all systems go now. Full steam ahead.

  He doesn’t see the shard hidden between my fingers. Then, he doesn’t see anything. The tip jabs into one of his eyes, then the other. With a scream, he drops the gun to reach for his face. Cold as ice, I act swiftly, hooking my leg behind his and sending him to his knees. He hits the ground, and I press my boot into his back, holding him down.

  Kill him. My darker side. Again, I ignore it.

  What will I do for my realm? For Killian? Anything.

  “I meant what I said.” Shamus is panting, and there’s Lifeblood on his teeth. “I won’t leave with you.”

  “That’s okay. You can stay.” I clasp the hilt of my other sword and raise my arm. Then, not giving myself time to second-guess my actions, I swing the weapon down, down, and remove one of his hands.

  TROIKA

  From: R_A_5/40.5.16 To:

  T_L_2/23.43.2

  Subject: Bad news/worse news

  Check it. I’m outside the warehouse with Pop Tart, and we’re peeking into the windows. We count roughly 100 humans. But there’s no telling how many are inside the rooms without windows. Everyone is snoozing, and strapped to gurneys. Here’s the thing that’s got my Spidey senses tingling. There’s no Myriadian Buckler up. Nothing to keep me from storming inside and going crazy on potential Abrogates.

  Why aren’t they protected to the max? Why aren’t MLs here, acting as guards?

  The only answer that makes sense: Myriad wants us to break in. This is a trap. I mean, they know we’ll be desperate to sneak inside to pull the plugs before any of the humans wake up and spread Penumbra.

  Okay, here’s the worse news.

  I know, I know. You thought you’d already heard it. Nope. Brace yourself.

  Sloan Aubuchon is trapped inside. (I’ve never met her, but the Grid filled me in.) She’s nailed to a pole, as if she’s a Myriadian scarecrow. She’s awake, and when she spotted us through the window, her eyes went wide and she flashed the number 6 (3 fingers from each hand, flashed 3 times, like Morse code or something). There’s a gag in her mouth, so she can’t call for help—or warn us about a trap.