Everlife (An Everlife Novel)

by Gena Showalter

  I know he was stabbed twice, because sharp pains cut through my sides, Lifeblood pouring from me. He wanted my Light, and at the first opportunity, I shucked my distrust, desperate to help him.

  Clearly I haven’t learned my lesson, because I kept no Light for myself. It’s better to give than receive, right?

  But soon after the transfer, we both healed, and no new injuries have appeared on my body. So…he must have escaped Victor. Yes?

  Will he come for me? Better question: Do I want him to come for him? I still don’t trust him, and I cannot wait for him. I need to escape now. My friends are in danger—because of me. Though I wanted peace between the realms, I might have ushered in Troika’s defeat and Myriad’s victory. It’s time for damage control.

  I might be defeated now, but this isn’t over. While there’s breath, there’s time.

  —Love my Ten. Need more Light?—

  My heart leaps with joy. Jeremy again. The fact that he’s sharing with me…

  He must be a Conduit. —Save your strength, sweet boy.— The future is uncertain. No telling how much Light he’s going to need. Plus, if I were to inadvertently drain him…

  Nope, can’t risk it.

  I tell him, —If shadows try to invade your mind, let me know right away. I’ll help you fight them.— Or die trying.

  Jeremy giggles, a new ray of Light sneaking past every defense I have. Any lingering pain vanishes. Weakness subsides. My trembling limbs go still.

  —No more, young man. I mean it.—

  Another giggle before our connection fades.

  Concentrate on the task at hand. Worrying about him won’t help either of us right now.

  Okay. Need a plan of action. First, I’ve got to open my cage in secret. But how? Men and women, young and old, surround me. This is the City of Carnal Delights, and I’m the main attraction.

  The town square is nothing but a glorified circus, where degradation is an appetizer and humiliation is the meal. There are other cages nearby, all positioned on a dais; some are occupied, others are empty. The other prisoners have been stripped to their undergarments, like me. Vendors sell things to throw at the prisoners. Hail, rotten manna, buckets filled with creepy, crawling insects.

  The younger members of the crowd laugh and jeer at me, enjoying my predicament. Some of the older members watch me with concern, reminding me that there are good people in Myriad.

  Am I truly considering returning to Troika to help destroy this entire realm?

  To save my friends…to protect my brother…

  Yes. I am.

  Ugh! Who have I become? And which of these people can I convince to aid me? My gaze scans the sea of faces only to zoom back to—

  Aunt Lina?

  Shock pounds a nail of dismay through my heart. She can’t be here. No one told me she died, and someone absolutely, unequivocally, would have told me. Ambrosine would have used her against me.

  But she told me…

  Did I tell you I died in the Land of the Harvest?

  Maybe Ambrosine doesn’t know who she is. As a human, Lina had dark, graying hair and age-lined skin. Her eyes were often milky, a phenomena that happened every time her brain made the switch from Aunt Lina to Looney Lina.

  No matter Lina’s age, though, Looney Lina acted five years old. The milky film over her eyes blinded her, whether physically or psychologically, but only to the present. She saw far into the future, her head filled with tragedies that had yet to happen.

  The woman meeting my gaze has a glossy mane of silvery-white hair. Her skin is pale but flawless, and her eyes are brilliant blue.

  With all the changes in her appearance, I’m not sure how I recognized her. Not that the changes are surprising. After my Firstdeath, my black hair turned blue.

  She shifts, disappearing in the crowd, and I have to tamp down the urge to shout at her. The rest of her message plays through my head.

  Did I tell you I died? I’m sorry I killed Killian.

  I cried. You cried. I cried some more. I’m glad my husband made it up to you.

  Light was the answer. Light was always the answer.

  Obviously Killian hasn’t died, and I haven’t cried.

  If Light is the answer, what is the question? Who was— is?—her husband?

  “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” A sneering Javier runs a metal baton over the bars of my cage. “I’m told this is where traitors and Troikan sympathizers end up. I’m also told they’re more than happy to prove their loyalty to Myriad after a few weeks of confinement.”

  I focus on him even as I add “find Lina” to my To Do list. “You were misinformed. The condemned want their freedom, not a chance to prove their loyalty. Guaranteed, former prisoners hate this realm—they’re simply too afraid to say so.”

  “Fearful is better than loyal. Loyalties can change, but fear never dies.”

  “Wrong.” People like Javier, heck, like Ambrosine, think they need others to fear them in order to get what they want, but that isn’t true. Just the opposite, in fact. Finally I get what Levi tried to teach me when my training began. If you want results, make people love you. Love inspires love. If you want a secret enemy, make people fear you. Fear inspires betrayal. “Eventually, people do everything in their power to destroy the things they fear.”

  He pales, but spits another curse at me.

  Troika isn’t perfect. The citizens might be spirits, but deep inside they are still human, and where there are humans, there are mistakes. But one thing we do not do is lock up “traitors” and “sympathizers,” strip them of their clothing and dignity, and hurl objects at them.

  I’d call that a win.

  Teach him to fear.

  My darker side rears her ugly head, and I grind my teeth. No. Absolutely not. Fear isn’t the answer. Fear is a symptom of hate. Hate isn’t all-powerful. Love is stronger.

  My eyes widen. That’s right. Love is stronger. Light is the answer. The words reverberate in my mind, creating an equation without numbers.

  Troikan Light comes from Eron, who powers the sun. Eron is love. “Light is love. Love is Light.”

  How else could Jeremy share his Light—love—with me?

  “What did you say?” Javier demands.

  I ignore him.

  If shadows are born of envy, hatred and fear, then Light must be born of love. Fondness. Tenderness. Intimacy. Endearment. Attachment. Devotion. Adoration. Passion.

  Closing my eyes, I center my attention on love. Despite everything that’s happened, I love Killian. That hasn’t changed. The hard times are better with him than the best times with others.

  I love Jeremy. I love Archer, the wind beneath my wings. I love Clay, my loyal, faithful friend. I love Deacon, Reed, Biscuit and Kayla. I love Raanan and Clementine. My helpers. I love Sloan, who proved herself loyal in the end.

  I love Troika. I love Meredith, Hazel and Steven. I love Levi and even Alejandro and the other Generals. They fight for what they believe in: truth, justice and equality for all.

  My heart begins to warm as…yes! Light flickers.

  Shadows claw at me, determined not to lose ground. I love my mother, a Myriadian.

  The Light spreads, and warmth follows.

  Javier sucks a breath between his teeth. “What are you doing?”

  Shadows quake.

  “She’s glowing,” someone in the crowd calls, and others boo. “Make her stop!”

  Someone buys one of the buckets of insects, and boos instantly morph into cheers. The other prisoners scramble to the corner of their cage, but they needn’t have worried. The insects are tossed on me, only me. I remain in place, refusing to react, even as a thousand little legs skitter over me, cutting me, biting me, stinging my skin, muscle and even bone. I’m filled with love, and there’s no room for hate. And this? This is nothing.

  I even love these people. They are deceived. Connected to Ambrosine, mainlining his hatred and envy. They need my help, not my censure.

  My lack of co
ncern disconcerts Javier. “Stop that.” He slams the baton into my cage, causing the entire thing to quake.

  “I feel sorry for you,” I tell him.

  His jaw drops and he sputters for a response. “You feel sorry for me?”

  “When I return to Troika, and I will, I’ll be reprimanded for disobeying a direct order, but I’ll also be accepted back into the fold. My worth isn’t based on what I do, but on who I am. A Troikan. Beloved. You will never be able to say the same. You’ve already been cast aside by your king, labeled a failure.”

  With a snarl, he reaches through the cage, and though he can’t touch me, his shadows can; they extend from his fingertips to wrap around my neck and squeeze. As I fight for air, he smugly says, “How do you feel about me now?”

  Love…love…do I love him? The worst of the worst.

  “Stop this.” A young woman pushes her way through the throng. “Please.”

  Dark hair frames a face I recognize. She has a small nose and adorable, Cupid’s bow lips. Her skin is a few shades lighter than her jet-black hair while her eyes are a few shades lighter than her skin and ringed with gold.

  Dior Nichols in the flesh. Or rather, spirit.

  I cleansed her of Penumbra, only to find her re-infected the next day, all because she refused to cut ties with Javier. Bad company will corrupt.

  In the Everlife, she is more beautiful than ever, but she is still suffering from the effects of Penumbra, black lines branching under the surface of her skin. Her clothes are wrinkled and dirty, as if she hasn’t showered or changed since her Firstdeath.

  Archer was right. Troikans are in danger. But so are Myriadians. The infection can turn an ordinary citizen into an Abrogate, but I’ve gone head-to-head with it, and I know what others don’t. Penumbra obliterates everything good and right inside a person, leaving only the things that thrive in absolute darkness. Hatred, misery, violence, despair.

  As I gasp for breath she looks me over and squares her shoulders. “Where is the key to her cage? I’m letting her go.”

  Do I love her?

  She’s the reason Levi is dead. He went to court for her, acting as her Barrister, and died trying to save her. I want to hate her, but how can I? She made a mistake; she believed the lies Javier, her boyfriend, told her.

  “Leave,” Javier snaps.

  “Let her go or lock me up with her,” Dior states bluntly.

  He goes stiff, ready to tell her off. Maybe because he’s embarrassed by her behavior. Maybe because he doesn’t want the crowd to turn on her. Either way, I brush a spider off my shoulder and tell her, “Don’t worry about me.” If I die and wind up in Many Ends, I can escape, free the spirits trapped there…and ambush Ambrosine. Win/win.

  “I don’t want to lock you up.” Through gritted teeth, he adds, “But I will if you stay.”

  “That’s fine,” she says. “I’m standing with her—and against you.”

  His eyes widen. “You don’t mean—”

  “I do. I’m done with you. I should have been done with you long before now. You’re a liar and a cheat. But I’m no better. I’ve been a fool. I let you play on my fears, convince me to stay with Myriad, despite the awful things they’d done to me, because I was afraid of being punished by Troikans. A good man died because of my decision.” Tears well in her eyes, and her chin trembles. “I punish myself more than anyone else could.”

  “Dior.” He reaches for her, but she wrenches back.

  “No. Don’t touch me. I hate you, and I hate myself.”

  —Ten? Lass?— Killian’s voice drifts along the Grid, and my heart races with a mix of emotions I can’t name. —I’m comin’ for you. Almost there. You need tae know…—

  The wall of my distrust shakes, but in the end holds steady, cutting off his words. Silence reigns.

  No time to reach out. “I’m sorry, Ten,” Dior says, drawing me out of my head. “Your father…he’s on his way.”

  My heart races faster. One, ten, twenty, fifty—counting the beats doesn’t do me any good.

  Daddy loves me. Daddy loves me not. Loves me. Loves me not.

  Yeah. That one. He loves me not.

  “What’s worse,” she adds. There’s worse? “He’s got your mom.”

  Javier laughs, overcome with glee at the first sign of my distress. Then, my dad is there, standing beside my tormentor. He’s alone, no sign of my mother. Like everyone else, Senator Leonard Lockwood is young and beautiful, and in his prime. He’s tall, as leanly muscled as pictures promised, with blue hair and mismatched eyes: one blue, one green.

  How can we resemble each other so much but be so different?

  He’s shirtless but wearing black leather pants. His feet are tucked into combat boots. Women eye him appreciatively, as do some of the men.

  His gaze meets mine—and he smiles. “You destroyed my Firstlife. It’s nice to see you’re finally getting what you deserve.”

  The words slice me to ribbons. Deep down, part of me has always yearned for his approval. His affection. Even when he paid Dr. Vans to torture me at Prynne Asylum.

  A little girl is supposed to be her daddy’s princess, not his nightmare.

  “How adorable,” I tell him, feigning nonchalance, acting as if I’m not sobbing inside. “You’re a fool. You haven’t realized you destroyed your own life. As for me, I wanted only what you’d already been given. A chance to make a decision about my future.”

  “You thought of no one but yourself.”

  “Hello, Pot. Meet Kettle.”

  His eyes narrow to tiny slits. “Watch your mouth, young lady. Speak to me with respect.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll punish your mother for your crimes.”

  When he jerks his arm forward, I notice a strip of leather in his hand. At the end of that strip? Grace Lockwood, my mother. A metal collar circles her throat. She’s on a leash, I realize, anger threatening to detonate inside me.

  My love for this man withers.

  My mom’s head is bowed, shoulder-length hair shielding her face. When she was human, the strands were auburn. Here in the Everlife, the strands are fire engine-red.

  She sniffles, a glistening teardrop falling to the ground. “Let her go,” Dior says, stepping toward him, but Javier grabs hold of her, keeping her in place.

  The anger bomb detonates. Fire seems to sear me. Debris rains. Shrapnel embeds, slicing my heart to ribbons.

  “Let her go,” I scream, launching forward to rattle the door of my cage. “Now!”

  “Or what?” my dad asks, mocking me.

  Breathing becomes more difficult, every molecule of air an inferno in my lungs.

  Kill him. Teach him the error of his ways. He deserves pain, and not even you, Goody Two-shoes that you are, can deny it.

  Dread overtakes me. Not my dark side. No, no, no. Not now. My resistance is weak…

  I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the terrible urges bombarding me. Or maybe I’m holding on to those urges. I want to hurt my dad the way he has hurt me. The moment I do, however, the darkness wins. It will own me; I know it. With every fiber of my being, I know it.

  I will do everything I chastised my dad and Killian for doing.

  You can’t preach the merits of love, then turn around and hate your enemy. Anyone can love a friend. It takes a warrior to love an enemy.

  Deep breath in, out. “You won’t hurt her,” I croak.

  “Won’t I? She attempted to defect to Troika, a terrible crime. As punishment, she was placed in the Kennels until early this morning, when she was gifted to me. I’m allowed to harm her however I wish.”

  “Gifted to you? As if she’s a pair of shoes?” Does any life other than his own hold any meaning to him?

  “Had she supported her realm, she would have been punished but forgiven, eventually permitted to rejoin society. But she continued to push for a court date, determined to defect.”

  “Let her go. Please.” I swallow my pride. What good is pride, anyway? The opinion
of others matters little. “This is between you and me. Face me like the man you never were in Firstlife.”

  A new smile blooms, but it radiates fury. “Beg a little more. I like the sound of it.”

  I don’t hesitate. “Please, Leonard. Dad. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.” I want what she and I were denied as humans: more time together. I want her to defect to Troika, as planned, and raise Jeremy. This. This is a true desire of my heart. “Don’t deny your son the mother he so desperately needs.”

  Now my dad stiffens. “You mean the son she tried to hide from me?”

  Mom lifts her gaze, finally meeting mine. We have the same pale skin, freckles and eyes too big for our faces, though hers are dark and filled with a storm of tears. I inherited her high cheekbones, small but pert nose and heart-shaped lips, as well. Jeremy, too. He is her masculine counterpart.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “The past is the past,” I tell her. The bond between a parent and child is sacred, a gift as well as a responsibility. “Jeremy needs you, too, Dad. One day, there will be peace between the realms. We could be a—”

  “Shut up!” His nostrils flare as he inhales sharply.

  While my parents failed me most of my teenage life, my mother more than made up for it the day of her Firstdeath, doing everything in her power to break me out of Prynne. She sent Jeremy to Troika, even though she would end up in Myriad. There’s still time for my dad.

  “I love you,” she tells me softly. “Tell Jeremy I love him, too. You two made my life worth living. You are my greatest accomplishments, and I—”

  “I told you to be quiet,” Dad snaps, yanking her leash.

  I reach for her, intending to take her hand, but he wrenches her backward, out of range.

  “Oh, daughter dearest,” he says, and tsks. “You’re supposed to be smart, but you haven’t yet grasped the gravity of the situation. Though enjoyable, no amount of begging is going to save your mother’s life. Either you let Javier do his job, or I kill her, right here, right now.”

  I gulp. I can’t let Javier invade the Grid. I can’t save one woman while condemning an entire realm to death. Not even this woman.

  “Momma,” I say, my chin trembling. Hot tears stream down my cheeks.