Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  To trust this odd little stranger or not to trust? A choice. Not one I like, but one I’ll make of my own free will.

  “I’ve got a car out front ready to whisk you to our version of an airport, where a plane is being prepared to fly you stateside. Anywhere you’d like to go. Oh, and there’s a gun for each of you below the floorboard.”

  Trust, I decide. For once I’ll take the easy road. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. My job is now officially done.”

  Sloan isn’t so easily convinced. “Maybe I’ll scoop you up and take you with us. You’ll be our shield, just in case you’ve set any traps.”

  “Go ahead. Would you like a preview of what’s gonna happen when you carry me outside the inn?” He tosses the empty bottle at the trash can, misses, then skips over to scoop up the teddy bear. He meets Sloan’s gaze, his bottom lip turning down in a pout. Tears well in his eyes. “I tried to s-stop her, officer, but she t-touched my private p-place.”

  “Why you little—” Sloan launches forward, but I grab her wrist, stopping her.

  Steven, eyes now dry, cackles as he strides to the door. He has to stretch on his tiptoes to reach the doorknob. He steps into the hall and pauses to look over his shoulder. “Archer visited while you were sleeping. He cashed in a favor and asked me to help you. Otherwise, I would have let you fend for yourselves.” With that, he skips away.

  Archer couldn’t help me directly, so he was helping me remotely.

  Zero! I don’t want to like him. Not after everything that’s happened. But I do. He’s a good guy, and maybe…maybe he truly cares about me, not just my decision. Or maybe I’m deluded. How am I ever to know?

  Sloan and I gather our meager belongings, don our new coats and make our way outside. The air is as bitterly cold as I remember, despite the bright rays of light and warmth spilling from the sun, but with every blast of wind, our clothes actually heat. I scan the surrounding sidewalks for Archer… Killian. There’s no sign of either boy.

  Archer can’t approach me until I invite him back. Killian can show up at any time.

  As promised, a black sedan waits at the curb. As we step forward, the back door opens without outward assistance. I hesitate only a moment before sliding onto the cushioned leather seats.

  The partition blocking us from the driver is shaded, hiding our identities. And his. A fact that makes me nervous, but I say nothing, merely remaining on alert. Get to the airport, get to the States.

  We motor forward, soon twisting and turning along a thin, treacherous road that offers no railing to prevent a plummet over the side of the mountain. There are signs posted along the way.

  Light Brings Sight!

  Might Equals Right!

  We HART You! Humans Against Realm Turmoil!

  Don’t Believe the Lies! Realms Are Simply a Way to Control You!

  Sloan looks away from the window and sighs. “What are you going to do after you buy your beach house and learn to surf?”

  “Stuff myself on Twinkies and Ding Dongs and finally figure out my eternal future.” And it’ll be easy…maybe. There will be no one to pressure me.

  She gives me a double thumbs-down. “I’m going to marry the first unsuitable suitor I can find.” She spreads her arms and throws back her head, laughing. “Granny will be soooo ticked.”

  “Did she really try to force you to marry some old fart just to save her estate?”

  “Oh, yes, she surely did.” Anger and bitterness twist her expression. “One day, I’m going to burn down the ancestral estate. But I don’t want to discuss my revenge.”

  Afraid I’ll try to change her mind? “No prob. You were boring me, anyway.”

  She snorts. Then she shifts nervously in her seat and rubs her hands over her thighs. “So… I wanted to wait until I had my head wrapped around the details before I talked to you about this, but, well, I’m too eager. I have new Laborers. My TL is Deacon, and my ML is Elena. She visited before my shower, and afterward I actually called for my TL. Just said, I’d like to speak with someone from Troika, and he appeared.”

  I go on higher alert. “And?”

  “Myriad offered me a house of my own design, any car I desire and a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus deposited straight into my bank account. For my Everlife, I’m to train as a Laborer.”

  My heart flutters. “Did you accept?”

  “No, but for the first time in my life, I’m actually thinking about it. I’m not sure Many Ends is as bad as we’ve heard, but if there’s a remote possibility, well, I need a new Everlife plan.”

  “What did the Deacon guy offer?”

  “Same thing Archer offered Clay. Family, aid whenever requested, you know the rest.”

  “You interested in that?”

  “Are you kidding? I hate my family. Why would I willingly sign on for another one? But, girl, Deacon is hot, so of course I said I’d think about it. I’m considering allowing him to plead his case…in bed.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re as bad as Killian.”

  When the car stops, I peer out the window to see a line of caves—the airport? Seriously? In one of the caves, I can make out the nose of a plane, the wings retracted to fit inside the smallish hole.

  “I think we have a talent for going from bad to worse,” Sloan mutters.

  “Agreed.” Up ahead, there’s a long stretch of flat ice. Most likely the runway. Seems perfectly safe.

  The door swings open, but this time it’s courtesy of a man—the driver.

  “Hallo, Ten.” Killian smiles at me, slow and wicked. “So good to see you again.”

  Butterflies dance in my stomach a split second before anger mows over them, shredding their wings. I glare up at him. “Your actions led to the death of my friend.”

  His smile vanishes. “Clay is in the Everlife now. We should be happy for him.”

  Happy? Happy? “Your favorite little motto—Victors Are Adored and Failures Are Abhorred—is garbage. You might have won your skirmish with Archer, but you lost my respect.”

  An unreadable mask falls over his features. “I said should be, Ten, not that I am. I haven’t been able to forget your words. If victory is achieved the wrong way, it’s not really a victory at all. I didn’t want your friend to die. Especially not that way.”

  “And yet you helped kill him.”

  His gaze lifts, staring at the other side of the mountain. “One day, you’ll see him again.”

  “That doesn’t negate the loss I feel now. His Firstlife mattered. To me! To him! He had hopes and dreams.” I swallow a sob.

  If I ultimately choose Myriad, Clay will become my enemy despite his claim to the contrary, and I hate the very idea. But war is war.

  “Firstlife matters,” I repeat.

  “Hear, hear,” Sloan calls. “I’m looking forward to wrinkled skin, gray hairs and most especially the use of diapers.”

  “Maybe it does matters,” he says, acting as if she didn’t speak, his attention steady on me, “but it’s still not the end. When you live as long as we do, loss is inevitable. You have to learn to let go.”

  Never! “Some things are worth clinging to, no matter the cost. If you have nothing to lose, well, I pity you.”

  He scowls at me. “Never pity me.”

  I blow him a kiss. “Pride is a weakness.”

  His scowl deepens as he offers me his hand.

  I take it, asking through gritted teeth, “How did you know about the car?”

  He remains directly in front of me, keeping the sunlight out of my eyes. “Steven owed me a favor, ta. I cashed it in.”

  His accent is stronger than usual, his voice huskier. “A Troikan owed a Myriadian a favor? How did that happen?”

  “With great skill.” The mask falls away, and he looks at me with something ak
in to desperation. “I spy, and I wait. When circumstances appear hopeless, I offer hope…for a price. I’m owed thousands of debts.”

  A deal with the devil. But…part of me suspects he’s trying, once again, to impress me with his strength, reverting to old habits. It may be kinda sorta endearing, and it softens me when I want so badly to remain fortified against him.

  His gaze sinks to my wrist, and he practically vibrates with happiness. “You like your present.”

  I sigh. “I do.” I’m not one of those girls who can’t accept a gift. Gimme. “Thank you.”

  Sloan slides out behind me, saying, “Maybe you didn’t see or hear me, handsome. Surprise! Here I am! I’d love to catch up.” She moves around me to link her arm with his and draw him away from me.

  He allows it, frowning at me over his shoulder, as if he’s unsure how to proceed.

  Again, it’s endearing.

  “We’ve been so vulnerable on our own,” she continues. “We’re so weak, and here you are, a big strong slice of beefcake, ready to save the day.” When they reach the wall of the cave, where the nose of the aircraft peeks out, she pushes him with all her might, and presses a toothbrush shank against his carotid. “Or not. Lookit. I know your type. Sweet when things are going your way, but meaner than a wet panther when they’re not.” The sugar has abandoned her tone completely, leaving only anger. “I’d rather die than allow you to hurt Ten. Rephrase. I’d rather kill you than allow you to hurt Ten.”

  “Is that so?” In a lightning-fast move, he grabs her wrist and rotates her so that her back presses against his chest and her cheek against the icy, rocky wall. “Let me tell you what I’d rather do.”

  “Don’t harm her,” I shout, rushing over.

  He lets her go in an instant, holding up his hands, palms out, and my relief is palpable.

  A scowling Sloan pivots, pointing the shank at him once more.

  “No,” I say, moving between them. “Put the weapon away, Sloan. He’s not here to hurt me.”

  He yanks me behind him, safeguarding me from the shank. As if she’d hurt me now. Still. The protective gesture is—freaking—endearing.

  I’m so sick of the word!

  “Enough, you two. Please.” I wait until both nod before leaving them to their own devices and entering the cave.

  There’s someone checking something under the plane.

  “Hello,” I call, a sense of unease sliding over me. I’m not sure why. Kind of reminds me of the fear I experienced when I ran from Killian, and yet I’m not fearful. Just wary.

  Are Messengers from Troika here, attempting to guide me?

  “I thought I heard voices out there.” An unfamiliar man closes the hatch and strides over to greet me. He’s tall with gray hair and craggy skin. “You must be my newest cargo.”

  “Yes.” I extend my hand for one reason and one reason only, and it’s not to be friendly. We shake, and I conclude he’s human rather than a Shell, his skin calloused and warm. He’s also an Unsigned, his hands and wrists free of brands.

  But…my unease only grows stronger. I ignore it, determined to leave this place.

  “Where are we headed?” Killian asks, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “I’ve got enough fuel to take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “Hawaii,” I say, making a split-second decision. I’ll be far from LA—and my parents—but close to water.

  “It’s settled then,” the pilot says. “Go ahead and board and we’ll take off.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Reality exists within the scope of your senses. If you feel it, it’s real.”

  —Myriad

  We’re in the air fifteen short minutes later. The aircraft is small and the flight is bumpy, and I’m laid bare by a certainty I’d rather not face: I’m afraid of heights. Well, afraid of falling.

  The way Clay fell…

  I shudder.

  “Cold?” Killian asks. He’s perched in the seat next to mine, toying with the ends of my hair. “Or frightened?”

  “Screw you,” I mutter. Why can’t I be like Sloan? She’s as happy as a boss in the copilot seat.

  Fear hinders, never helps. Look past it.

  “I can distract you,” he says. “Or we can sit in silence.”

  “I pick silence.”

  “Very well.”

  True to his word, he says nothing for hours. Despite my annoyance, I manage to nap for several more. But, after I wake up, another hour slips by as I shift uncomfortably and visualize the many ways to die in a plane, I finally admit the cold-shoulder treatment is only hurting myself.

  I give up, saying, “Earn your keep. Do something to distract me.”

  His chuckle is warm, not the cold thing I expect. “Dance, monkey, dance?”

  “Good. You understand.”

  “How about we negotiate terms for your covenant?”

  Why not? I’m a little curious and a lot desperate. “All right. Tell me what, exactly, Myriad is willing to offer me.”

  He goes still. “You’re serious?”

  I swallow a snort. “Yes. I’m serious.”

  As if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, he rushes to say, “Your contract will last your Second-death. We will ensure your Firstlife is filled with fame and riches that far surpass anything your parents ever achieved, and in your Everlife, you’ll be given a place of honor inside the palace, as well as any other home you desire. If you want it, you get it, even if it’s occupied. You will never lack for anything. You will have servants, and you will answer only to our King.”

  “I have no desire for fame and riches.” I’ve already experienced the heavy cost of each. “And I don’t want to steal someone’s home.”

  I think I’ve surprised him again. He regards me quizzically. “Name your desire then. Your wish is my command.”

  No way I’ll tell him about the beach house. I want to buy it with my inheritance and owe no one. “What about a job?”

  “As an Abrogate, you’ll need to train for other positions. Messenger. Laborer. Scout. Leader. The more you know about each, the better Abrogate you’ll be.”

  “But…how do you even know I’m an Abrogate?”

  “For starters, you’re Fused with a General.”

  He drops the news as if I’m supposed to coo with excitement. Thing is, I’m not even slightly startled. I should have guessed this was always about the spirit I’m supposedly Fused with, not me.

  “Again I ask how you know—beyond any doubt.”

  A slight pause. “We…don’t. We can only guess, but all our Generals were wiped out at once, and their Second-death coincided with your birth.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure my birth coincides with a lot of Second-deaths.”

  “Yes, but your spirit glowed through your skin. That only happens when a soul is Fused with one of the more powerful positions.”

  “Or, as Troikans believe, the soul is a Conduit.” At least, I’m guessing.

  He gives a formal nod.

  “Abrogates are Generals, and Generals are decisive, right? They make battle plans. They lead the masses. They aren’t torn about a major decision. Like me.”

  “You don’t know what Generals are. You’ve never spoken to one.” He pauses. “Would you like to? I can arrange a meeting.”

  Again curiosity gets the better of me. “Yes. All right. But only if you answer one more question for me.”

  “Anything.”

  I lick my lip, a small tremor moving through me. “Do you like me, or am I just a job to you?”

  He grapples for a response, finally settling on, “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  No, they aren’t. “Do. You. Like. Me?”

  “I…do,” he says and scowls, as if the
admission is painful. Maybe it is. Friends have the power to hurt you in ways enemies never can.

  He curses suddenly and throws a glance over his shoulder to the seat in back. “Enough! Leave us.”

  My eyes go wide. “Someone’s here?”

  He faces me again, his expression stony. “No.”

  Word games. “Who was here?”

  “One of my Flankers.” He flicks his tongue over an incisor. “Before you ask, Flankers are a subdivision of Laborer. They follow me to chronicle my exploits.”

  One, I’d had no idea he had a tail. And two, someone actually chronicles his exploits? Like he’s what, a knight of the days of old with a troubadour?

  I laugh at him—I can’t help it—and soon, he’s laughing with me.

  When we hit a particularly nasty bump, I gasp. He winds an arm around my shoulders and I let him, offering no protest. I even lean against him of my own volition, resting my head in the hollow of his neck, where the scent of peat smoke and heather soothes me.

  “Why don’t you take another nap?” he says. “I like listening to your one-sided conversations.”

  He’s heard my sleep talking? Great! “What have I said?”

  “Ten’s tears fall…”

  “No. Ten tears fall. The number ten.”

  “No. You clearly said Ten’s tears. Your name.”

  I did? “Yeah, well, you leak liquid glitter when you’re injured.”

  “Glitter? How dare you. My manliness is offended.”

  “Your manliness will survive.”

  He caresses my shoulder, almost as if he’s petting me. “A spirit doesn’t function like a body. While we have muscle and bone, we’re sustained only by Lifeblood, and when we lose it, we hemorrhage power.”

  I try not to react to his touch…yeah, I try. “So, when you lose all your Lifeblood…”

  “We experience Second-death.”

  “So you can die, even inside the Shell.”

  “Yes. I’ve lost many friends that way.”

  The news…isn’t welcome. What happens afterward? Fusion, or the Rest?

  Another air pocket causes us to lurch, and I go cold inside.