Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  I swallow the words poised at the edge of my tongue. Such recklessness will get us both killed, you fool!

  I’ve learned enough about Tenley to know she doesn’t react to threats, dangers and warnings like anyone else. I’ll only spur her on. Fuel to her fire. Besides, she doesn’t need a rebuke. She needs help.

  Though my mind is a jumble of contradictions, I make a decision.—Don’t worry, baby. The dark is where I excel.—

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  “Seeing is believing.”

  —Myriad

  Ten

  I walk through the lasers, expecting no problems. Mistake! Shadows scream and hiss, clawing at my skull. My chest constricts, and my lungs empty.

  Instinct demands I turn. Retreat. Leave now, now, now. Destroy everyone, always.

  I grit my teeth and continue forward, my fingers remaining clenched in Biscuit’s fur. I won’t let him go for any reason. My dog will not experience Torchlight. And he is mine. A part of my family—just like Killian.

  Biscuit contorts this way and that, avoiding the lasers. If he accidentally brushes against one, I will absorb and store the excess boost of Light. Light I can then share with Raanan when we cleanse the humans in the warehouse.

  With every step, Killian’s last words reverberate inside my mind. The dark is where I excel. Having him with me has been a blessing and a curse, a help and a hindrance. A comfort, but also a distraction. Does he have my best interests at heart?

  No, no. Of course not. He has his own interests at heart.

  New Killian sucks. Maybe if I punt his face like a soccer ball a few dozen times, I’ll knock Myriadian-made screws loose, and he’ll start to remember our past.

  —I’m sensing irritation.—His voice is a caress along the Grid, causing tremors to rush down my spine.

  Argh! Concentrate.

  If there are rats down here, I don’t want to know it. Or insects. During my time at Prynne, I had to eat bugs to survive. But…oh, zero! What if the rats and insects talk?

  —Now I’m sensing fear. Is the mighty Ten afraid?—

  —I’m leery. There’s a difference. I mean, what if I once dined on their family member?—

  His chuckle is genuine and husky, and it warms me. How I’ve missed his amusement.

  Very few people have the ability to make him smile, and even fewer people have the ability to make him laugh.

  “We did it!” Biscuit exclaims as we pass the final laser.

  Thank the Firstking. Breathing is easier. And rewarded. The air is warmer here, and scented with manna, lavender and orchids.

  The princess is nearby. I like her, admire her even, and do not want to hurt her. If she tries to stop me, however…

  Determined to return to Killian victorious, I push aside the grate, revealing a small entrance to the tunnels. Light bursts free, pure and bright and warm.

  I thought we were experiencing total darkness?

  I scale down, down, Biscuit behind me. The scent of lavender and orchids intensifies as we inch forward, toward an open doorway, from which the Light seems to originate.

  Looming outside the door, we see the princess inside. She’s standing—no, she’s levitating, her head thrown back, her arms spread. She is oblivious to the rest of the world. No longer does she appear to be a living being—she is the embodiment of a true conduit. I don’t mean the job title, but a channel or instrument.

  Awe renders me immobile. Light shines from her. Bright, bright Light, spilling from her pores. I’m astonished I’m able to see her, but I’m certain she can’t see me. Beams of Light shoot from her eyes, as well. Glorious beams aimed up, up at the ceiling. Through the ceiling.

  Around her, I hear… My ears twitch. A chorus of singing angels? The melody is haunting and gorgeous, a soothing balm. A promise that her royal highness is not alone. None of us are.

  One of the voices stands out, capturing my attention, and the singer’s identity crystalizes. Meredith. Our dead are serenading the Conduit?

  Shock punches me. The spirits in the Rest are helping her as she…

  She’s powering the entire realm, isn’t she? Sacrificing herself to save others.

  My awe deepens, and my Light responds to hers, warming, growing, brightening. Shadows flee in terror, searching for new hiding spots. I’m witnessing a miracle, and I don’t want to ever look away. This is beauty. This is life.

  I’ve never exuded so much Light, even when I fought Dior’s Penumbra. I absorb as much as possible, strength driving the last of my tremors away.

  Zero! I might not be able to help Raanan cleanse the people in the warehouse, after all. We’ll have to come up with a new plan.

  There’s no sign of Shamus.

  I force myself to continue on, Biscuit at my side. The farther we get from the room, the darker the tunnel becomes, until whoosh, all Light is gone.

  In an instant, I’m weakened. Which sucks more than usual, because the cuts in my legs have been steadily leaking Lifeblood, and I’m out of manna.

  “I can do anything, absolutely anything…except see in the dark,” Biscuit says.

  “Today, thanks to Killian, I’ll be your Seeing Eye dog.” I unwind the thin metal belt from my waist, then loop one end through the other to create an all-in-one collar and leash. “I hope this doesn’t offend you, but…” I lean over, patting the air until I encounter the softness of his fur.

  “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 c
onstant 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.