Kat in Zombieland

by Gena Showalter

  "Milla thought she lost her slayer's fire," Emma says. "She's wrong. It still burns within her even though it is covered by thanatos. What is covered can be uncovered, even if she gets burned when she lifts the lid."

  "Let's tell--"

  "No." She grabs my wrist, holding me in place. "You missed the rest of the judge's ruling. The battle between our slayers and Anima ends today. We are benched, but so is Lawrence. The humans have been given the tools to succeed. Now they must use those tools or fail."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Our guys barely survive the final battle. They are shot, burned, and stabbed, but they live. They live! They work together, drawing strength from each other. And Milla, well, she remembers the journal. She allows the thanatos to burn through her and burn itself out, unveiling the slayer light still crackling inside her. She saves the slayers and she saves the day. Anima is defeated, and Rebecca Smith is killed. Best of all, Milla survives! She has a future with Frosty. A future both of them embrace.

  We the witnesses watch everything on a big screen in my house.

  The war is over--for now--and we won! We won, we won, we won!

  In the middle of my living room, Emma and I jump up and down and cry tears of joy. I hug her so tightly I probably flatten her lungs.

  Other witnesses flood into my house to celebrate. Ali's birth mother Helen, slayer ancestors who have died over the centuries, plus their friends.

  All the while, a clock ticks inside my head, dimming my excitement. The war is over, and I'm no longer needed. At least not overtly. I'll always be needed behind the scenes. But now Frosty and Milla have a future... one that doesn't include me in a front and center kind of way.

  While the other witnesses party, I continue to watch the slayers, who are loading up in a van.

  "Let Rebecca be a cautionary tale for all of us," Milla says on the drive to Reeve's. "Act like a hooker, get screwed."

  Oh, good one!

  Frosty chuckles, only to sober quickly. "River. Chance." The two are sitting across from him. "You guys need to hack into Rebecca's accounts and drain her money. She's dead, yeah, but we can't allow anyone else to use her resources and keep the company afloat."

  "I'll do it," River replies. "Then I recover from battle, Marks-style."

  I don't have to wonder about Marks-style. He's going to sleep with some random chick. A lance of jealousy nearly rends me in two. Jealousy? Seriously? No, no, no. I'm Kathryn Parker. Fine! I'm Kat Parker. I think I earned back my shortened name. I'm not dependent on a relationship. I don't need a guy to obtain self-worth. I'm already priceless.

  The van arrives at Reeve's, and the slayers split up. Frosty takes Milla's hand and drags her toward the bedrooms.

  River steps in their path and says, "Is now a bad time to mention you guys have to do my laundry for a month?"

  He must have made some kind of bet with them.

  Milla flips him off. Good girl!

  He slaps her finger aside. "Is that any way to treat your favorite person on Earth?"

  "Currently you hold the exalted position of least favorite," she replies.

  He arches a brow. "Even though I promise not to stand in your way if you decide to live here?"

  He and Milla are based in Alabama, but they are an hour and a half away from the others.

  Frosty gives him a look of pure challenge. "Try to take her away. I dare you."

  River studies his sister before nodding. He turns away and calls, "Justin. We're the only smart--I mean single--guys left. After I pad our bank accounts with Rebecca's money, we're going to Hearts, and I'm going to teach you how to score any chick you want--except the ones I want."

  As the two head for the front door, Milla pouts--the way I foolishly want to pout about River! "You don't want to do long distance with me?"

  He grinds his teeth. "Do you want to return with him?"

  "Well," she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I haven't been offered an official position here."

  "Let's settle that once and for all." He hefts her over his shoulder, and she laughs as he carries her to their bedroom, shuts and locks the door, then sets her on her feet. She remains in place, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  I expect the screen to go blank at any second. Witnesses aren't voyeurs; we aren't allowed to view any getting-freaky times.

  "I love you, Milla Marks," Frosty tells her. "I love you more than pizza and victory, which I used to think were my two favorite things. But it's you. You are my

  favorite hello. If you die, I die. We're bonded in a way I never expected and never before experienced. You are a treasured part of me, and I don't care if you put me first or last, just as long as you put up with me."

  My heart starts to melt inside my chest. He's done it. He's found his happily-ever-after. He's learned to love again, to trust and to look forward to the future rather than dread it. He believes in possibilities, and he's hopeful.

  Milla's eyes fill with tears, and her chin trembles. "I don't... I can't... Aston. I love you so freaking much."

  The screen finally blanks, but my heart continues to melt. She's found her happily-ever-after too. She's forgiven herself for her past and found the strength to carry on. She could have accepted death. I'm certain the pain of her injuries was great when she returned to her body, but she chose to live on. To fight for Frosty... for what is right in a world gone wrong.

  I couldn't have picked a better partner for Frosty.

  Emma approaches my side and rests her head on my shoulder. "My sweet Kat. I know you're happy but also dejected. I felt the same way when I realized my interactions with Ali would be... not coming to an end, but no longer an everyday thing."

  Have I mentioned the wisdom this little girl carts around?

  "What do I do?" I ask.

  "Tell Frosty good-bye. Closure for you both. Then every other interaction you have with him in the future is pure gravy."

  I do love me some gravy. I hug her and picture Frosty--

  I end up in Reeve's kitchen. Frosty is alone, gathering ingredients for... something. Well, well. He must be cooking for his girl.

  He often cooked for me. I'm going to miss him. Milla is a lucky girl.

  Frosty is a lucky man.

  "Hello, Frosty."

  He loses his grip on bags of sugar and flour but manages to set them on the counter without dropping them before facing me. Happiness has given him a glow, and the sight of him sends a pang through my chest. A good pang.

  "Hey," he says.

  I smile at him. "I came to say congratulations on your V-I-C-T-O-R-Y."

  "We couldn't have done it without you."

  "I know," I say and fluff my hair.

  He laughs the way he used to laugh when we were dating, and I experience another pang.

  Say good-bye, experience closure. I add a step. Let him get on with his life. "I just came to tell you that I'm glad you ended up with Milla. You two fit in a way we never did. One day you would have resented me for my fears, for trying to keep you out of danger. I know it."

  "Kat--"

  "No, don't try to deny it." Or maybe he wanted to confirm it. Either way, I don't want him ever feeling guilty. "I'm glad you're at peace, Frosty. You deserve a happily-ever-after."

  He pauses, breathes in... out... "So do you."

  "Don't worry. It's not too late." An image of River flashes inside my head, and my pulse races.

  Why am I fascinated by him?

  If I wasn't good for Frosty, how could I be good for River? He's fought more battles than Frosty. He seeks danger, even craves it. His sense of honor is questionable at best. The only person he's a hundred percent loyal to is Milla.

  I blow Frosty a kiss. "Well, I better go. Petitions to file, people to help." I pivot on my heel and spot Milla, who is standing in the doorway. She looks uncertain about her reception. Does she think I resent her relationship with Frosty now that they're officially a couple?

  I smile at her. "If you ever need advice about the
best ways to torture him, all you have to do is call for me. Kat to the rescue!"

  She smiles back.

  I appear in my bedroom. I'm alone. Cheers sound from the living room, drifting up the stairs to tickle my ears, but I decide to stay put. Part of me expected the world to stop when I died. I mean, hello. Bright light, beloved friend, precious treasure. Yep, that's me. But the world spins on.

  And that's okay. I lived a good life. Here, now, I'm fighting the good fight, and I'll continue to do so. For the slayers, yes, but also for myself. I've changed. I'm no longer afraid of loss or pain or failure.

  What I lose, I can regain.

  The pain I feel is only temporary.

  Any failure can be used as a stepping-stone. If I fall, I can stand. And I will. I must. I finally have a purpose. To help when I'm needed. To love in the midst of hate. To shine light in the darkness.

  One day my friends will join me here. Let's face it--as Frosty said, death is hereditary and no one is getting out alive. Together we will go to court and help future generations of slayers.

  One day even River will join me...

  I fan my cheeks as they overheat. One day I can put my best moves on River and...

  Well. That will be a story for another day.

  Kat Parker, signing out.

  There are worse things than death.

  Read on for an excerpt from LIFEBLOOD,

  book 2 in the Everlife series

  only from Gena Showalter and Harlequin TEEN.

  "Lifeblood ramps up the action "Ten"fold--don't miss this exhilarating sequel to Firstlife!" --#1 New York Times bestselling author P. C. Cast

  "My Firstlife is over, but my Everlife is only now beginning."

  With her last living breath, Tenley "Ten" Lockwood made her choice and picked her realm in the Everlife. Now, as the war between Troika and Myriad rages, she must face the consequences.

  Because Ten possesses a rare supernatural ability to absorb and share light, the Powers That Be have the highest expectations for her future--and the enemy wants her neutralized. Fighting to save her Secondlife, she must learn about her realm from the ground up while launching her first mission: convincing a select group of humans to join her side before they die. No pressure, right?

  But Ten's competition is Killian, the boy she can't forget--the one who gave up everything for her happiness. He has only one shot at redemption: beating Ten at a game she's never even played. As their throw-downs heat up, so do their undeniable feelings, and soon, Ten will have to make another choice. Love...or victory.

  It's time to do what I was born to do. It's time to arise and shine.

  Whatever I face--be it war, persecution, hunger, simple threats or my Second-death--I will not be deterred. Night will be replaced by day, and those who cry in the dark will rejoice in the morning.

  The day is about to dawn. Time is short. Let the battle begin.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Tribulation reveals your greatest strength... or greatest weakness."--Troika

  Present day

  Sand in the hourglass falls, one grain at a time... time... one second bleeds into two... three... I try to piece together my fragmented thoughts. A difficult task. My mind is hazy, my thoughts blurred. Four...

  A fact clicks into place. Numbers are my greatest obsession; they always tell a story, and they never lie.

  Five...five...five. The numeral gets trapped in my head, set on constant repeat. Click. Five minutes and fourteen seconds ago, I died.

  Whoa. I'm...dead?

  I must be. My heart no longer beats, and my lungs are deflated. I can't breathe. I need to breathe. Sweat beads on my nape and trickles down my spine, and yet my limbs remain ice-cold.

  Calm. Steady. Though my body is wrecked, my spirit lives on. This is a new beginning. A new life.

  Calm? Seriously? From now on, I'll have zero second chances. Zero do-overs. Everything I do will matter: every word I say, every action I take, every person I befriend and every enemy I slay will positively or negatively affect me. No ifs, ands or buts.

  Welcome to the Everlife.

  The words whisper on the wind, and a quiet ring erupts in my ears. In seconds, the volume cranks to high. I cringe. My bones vibrate, and a light tap registers against my ribs. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Bang, BANG!

  I gasp, taking my first breath, the real me awakening at last. My chest cools, and my lungs fill. I can breathe again. I'm dead, but still I live.

  Arise! Arise and shine!

  Another whisper drifts on the wind...or a voice is speaking inside my head.

  I'm dead and crazy?

  Inside, I wither and return to my default setting: counting. Six... seven...

  Click. Seventeen! I'm seventeen years old. I was born on the tenth day of the tenth month at 10:10 a.m., and I died on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at 10:14 a.m.

  1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 0 + 1 + 4 = 10

  The work of Fate, some would say. Wrong! Fate is a myth, an excuse, a way to cast blame. While we might have a divine purpose, not everything that happens is through divine intervention. Our actions change the course of our lives for good or for ill.

  We are the final authority.

  My present is the sum total of decisions made in my past-- my own decisions, and even those made by the people around me. We are accountable...count...eight, nine... Ten!

  Click, click. My name is Tenley Lockwood. "Ten" to my friends.

  5 + 5 = 10. A representative of two equal parts.

  The last piece of the puzzle snaps into place. Two realms in the Everlife--Troika and Myriad--are currently locked in a fierce, brutal battle.

  Troika fought to save my Firstlife while Myriad strove to end it. Myriad proved successful. My body lies on a blood-drenched street in the heart of LA.

  Congrats, Myriad. You won a battle. You won't win the war.

  With my last breath, I pledged my allegiance to Troika, evermore, and I have no regrets. I value Firstlife. I like rules and enjoy structure. I understand every punishment is meant to teach rather than harm.

  I'm a Troikan now, born anew in blood and violence. A soldier in a war as old as time. I've become enemies with people I've never met as well as people I know and love.

  I've become enemies with Killian, a top Laborer in Myriad.

  Killian! His name is a ragged cry from the depths of my soul. I'd say we dated, but dated is too mild a word. I craved him like a drug...and yet I still chose Troika over Myriad.

  Home sweet home. Something I've never really had.

  I'm supposed to hate him, but every fiber of my being flinches at the thought. I will never harm him. He means too much to me.

  "Is she dead?" A harsh, unfamiliar voice claims my attention. "Did she make covenant with Troika?"

  "Aye and aye." The husky Irish lilt I recognize, and relief is a cool cascade. Killian never left my side!

  I want to see him so badly, I shake.

  "Sucks to be you," Unfamiliar continues. In the distance, I hear the clink-clank of dueling swords. "Now that Madame

  Bennett is dead, you fall under Zhi's command. When he learns you failed to recruit the Lockwood girl, he'll mount your head at the end of a pike."

  Relief gives way to distress. Killian is in danger. Because of me. I need to help him, have to help him, but though I try to stand, I'm stuck, walled in. Useless!

  What's the problem? My outer casing is dead, any ties to my spirit now broken. I should be able to ghost out, yes?

  "Leave." Menace drips from Killian's command. "Protect our kinsmen from the Troikans."

  "So you can kill Lockwood before her spirit escapes her body and collect the bounty on your own? No."

  Bounty?

  Buzzing noises erupt. Flames crackle. Smoke fills the air, sharp and pungent.

  There's a pained gasp. A hard thump.

  "Stay down," Killian spits.

  He just attacked Unfamiliar?

  Why would he harm his brother-by-realm to save an enemy? Why would
he risk punishment?

  The answer is simple: he wouldn't, except for me, only ever for me. I vacillate between melting and rallying.

  Get free, protect Killian.

  When he had the chance to seal the deal and convince me to make covenant with Myriad, he urged me to follow my heart instead. We'd both known I belonged in Troika. To him, my needs had been more important than his wants, a reward or a penalty.

  He sacrificed his happiness for mine, but I failed to do the same for him. What kind of maybe, maybe not, girlfriend am I? My final moments replay inside my head. Sloan Aubuchon, once my enemy, then my friend, then my bitter enemy, nailed me with a poisoned spear.

  I hate him more than I love you, she told me.

  Him. Dr. Vans, the monster who oversaw every facet of our torture at Prynne Asylum, a "home" for wayward teens. Myriad vowed to help Sloan punish Vans. If she made covenant with them and murdered me. She agreed to both.

  Her treachery cuts as deeply as the spear. Granted, Vans did terrible things to her. Things no one should ever have to endure. But his behavior does not excuse hers. In her quest for vengeance, she became his mirror image, betraying my trust the way he betrayed hers.

  Consequences were immediate.

  Killian yanked the spear out of me and, to protect me from further harm, impaled her. Another reason he will be punished. I've got to help him. I punch and kick, but even still, I make no progress.

  "Where is she, Killian?" A new voice registers. This one is easy to recognize, too. "Where are you hiding her?" Deacon, a TL. My friend. He's always reminded me of a die-hard warrior of old, his sense of honor as much a part of him as muscle and brawn.

  If anyone can free me, it's Deacon.

  "Over here," Killian croaks. "She's already...it's too late to save..."

  Something hard and warm shackles my wrist. Suddenly I'm steady on my feet, and I can see!

  I gasp, glimpsing the spirit world in operation around me for the first time. Dappled golden sunlight spills from a sky of sapphire silk. Fat clouds sprinkle the land below with a breathtaking rain of diamond dust.

  Realization. They aren't just clouds, but an array of oddly shaped buildings with armed soldiers marching along the parapets.

  A floodgate opens in my mind, releasing a wave of information. They are guard towers, from which humans can be watched and spiritual battles fought. They move between the realms and the Land of the Harvest, and ownership is ever-changing. Winner of every battle determines rights.