Everlife (An Everlife Novel)

by Gena Showalter

  He jolts, as if surprised, but he doesn’t dart away.

  One step at a time. I must take joy in small victories.

  “Credits.” He holds out his arm, and points to his wrist. “We have a chip implanted. Every time I convince a human to sign with Myriad, a certain number of credits are added to my account.” His tone hardens. “When I fail to convince a human to sign with Myriad, I lose a certain number of credits.”

  A barbed lump grows in my throat. “How many credits did you lose when I made covenant with Troika?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Come on.” He leads me to a small chrome and glass building. Near the closed—and locked— door, he holds his wrist under what I assume is a scanner.

  Bingo! The scanner thanks him for paying a credit, and the door unlocks.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “We can’t be traced.” Now he leads me inside the building.

  Well. He wasn’t kidding when he said everything costs something.

  I find myself in— A white-hot blush heats my cheeks. A small bedroom. There are mirrors on the walls and the floor. There’s a vanity-slash-wet bar, complete with mirror and stool, a bed without sheets, and a cabinet filled with individual packets of sheets that are for sale. A desk occupies the far corner, a screen hanging on the wall in front of it. Beyond another door is a bathroom with a shower—and a scanner in order to turn on the water—plus a bin with a sign overhead that reads, Dirty sheets go here.

  The door locks behind us.

  “This is a love shack,” I blurt out. “A place for a quickie on the go.”

  “Also a place to make inquiries. You want to see Dior, don’t you?” He scans his wrist at the wet bar, and a shot glass slides from a cubby in the wall. A spout extends from a different cubby to fill the glass. He downs the shot before sitting at the desk, scans his wrist on a different scanner, and begins to type on the desktop, despite not having any kind of keyboard. Images appear on the screen. “I need to log on to the data system under an alias.”

  Interested in the exchange of money, I hold my wrist under the sink’s scanner, but nothing happens.

  “Chips are placed inside Myriadian comms,” he says. “Scanners scan a spirit, even when a Shell is involved. But there are ways around it. There’s a chip in my Shell that overrides the one in my comm.”

  “Are you using stolen credits, then?” I ask, realizing he can’t use the ones he earned while using a Shell that isn’t linked to him.

  “Only from the dead.” Noticing my confusion, he adds, “When a spirit experiences Second-death, their remaining credits are wiped from the system. But not right away. Not until the bodies are collected and identified. See, when we go to battle, we lose soldiers. It’s inevitable. I take note of who bites the dust. As soon as I return to Myriad, I break into the accounts of the fallen soldiers, take a small amount of credits, and assign them to a new owner.”

  “So credits aren’t passed to family members?”

  “Nothing is passed on to family members or loved ones. If you don’t do something to help the realm—”

  “You don’t get,” I finish.

  He nods.

  “What will happen if you’re caught?”

  “Depends. The number of credits you steal is the number of days you spend in the Kennels. But how will I get caught? The dead won’t come back to tattle.”

  I detect a note of bitterness in his tone, that the system is so broken, and part of me wants to exploit it. Think of all the times Myriad has punished you, let you down, or hurt you. You don’t want to help the realm, do you? Instead, I move to the doorway that separates bathroom from bedroom and lean against the frame, watching as he works.

  He curses. “Dior’s location has been blocked. I can’t track her.”

  Disappointment flares, and I quickly tamp it down. “We’ll find another way.” We always do.

  My thoughts travel another road, returning to the problem with his memory. Maybe seduction isn’t the answer. Not on its own, anyway. People only ever take from Killian. By his own admission, everything he’s gotten, he’s had to pay for. I can give him access to my mind—my heart— free of charge.

  “How long are we allowed to stay in here?” I ask. The longer we’re here, the less time I can be watched by whoever is following us. And someone is following us, guaranteed.

  He pauses, meets my gaze. Curiosity and interest glitter in his eyes. “One hour. Well, fifty-six minutes now. Why?”

  A slow smile blooms. I walk toward him, stepping out of my Shell and saying, “Because I have plans for you.”

  TROIKA

  From: A_P_5/23.43.2

  To: T_L_2/23.43.2

  Subject: Something strange is happening

  You know how you’re an Architect now? Well, so is Raanan. He’s making other Conduits, Ten. Like, a lot. Deacon, Clementine, Clay and Reed and…drum roll, please…ME. Yes, you read that correctly. Me. Archer Prince. He touched me, that’s all, and a bolt of lightning shot through me. Suddenly I could see—and absorb—Light like never before.

  So yeah, I rock hardcore. The entire realm is going batcrap crazy over this. (Be honest. Are sophisticated Conduits like us allowed to use the word batcrap???)

  I’m sure you want other updates, though I’m sure we can both admit I just gave you the most important one.

  The princess: She’s come out of hiding. Not just to help Raanan, but to train us. In fact, with so many Conduits, she has no reason to hide anymore.

  Warehouse: We haven’t engaged. Yet. Deacon figured out Sloan’s code (you know, the flash of three fingers, three times.) She was warning us. There are eighteen warehouses just like the one we found. The moment we trip one of many silent alarms, the machines shut down and the potential Abrogates wake up. A new battle begins.

  Kayla: She’s doing well. She’s on her feet, and standing with us.

  Have you found Dior?

  Wish you were here!

  Light Brings Sight ←Especially to me! Because I’m a Conduit!

  TL Conduit Archer Prince

  TROIKA

  From: Mailer-Erratum

  Subject: THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN DEEMED UNDELIVERABLE

  chapter fourteen

  “There are no moral absolutes. What is wrong for one might be right for another.”

  —Myriad

  Killian

  I have plans for you. As Ten saunters toward me, full of confidence and the embodiment of feminine wiles, her final words echo in my mind. I’m undone.

  I look at this girl, and I want her. I scent her sweetness, and I want her. She has become the sun to my world, and I cannot help but gravitate to her. The loss of control enrages me, even as it thrills me.

  The earth cannot touch the sun without being engulfed by flames. The problem is, I long to be engulfed. I’m as desperate as a man dying of thirst.

  I should walk, no, run, from this room.

  I’m trembling as I stand, my body thrumming with aggression, my blood hot. I step from my Shell, becoming myself again…and sit at the edge of the bed.

  I’m not leaving.

  The bond…it can’t be blamed. Not fully. Not this time. The bond isn’t responsible for Ten’s breathtaking smile, or the way her mismatched eyes light up every time she looks at me. The bond also can’t take credit for her stunning wit and staunch determination…or the trust she continues to have in me.

  Trust I do not deserve.

  She has no idea I’ve already sold her out. After our shower, I was reeling more forcefully than ever before. Or harder than ever before. Yeah. That, too. In more ways than one. Touching her had been a revelation. The softness of her skin nearly unmanned me. The little mewls in the back of her throat delighted me. Everywhere they traveled, my fingers left a trail of goose bumps, and it thrilled me. When she touched me…

  My world upended. I craved more, then and now.

  The craving consumed me, and I freaked out. I shouldn’t want her this much. Shouldn’t want anyone this much. At some point,
I’m going to lose her, either because of the war, or because of my own foolishness. I thought, Why prolong the inevitable, making things worse for myself?

  Rip the bandage. Move on. Quickly.

  Next I thought, If I have to sacrifice myself and my desires to get this done, so be it. For my realm, and my king, I will do anything. I believe in both—yes?

  As soon as I entered the closet to dress, I sent a message to my Leader, Sir Zhi Chen. Because of me, an ML was waiting for us just beyond the Veil of Midnight. Took me a while to pinpoint who, exactly, but only one Shell followed us to every location.

  The second I lost him, I darted in here.

  We’re at a serious disadvantage. Except for my cuffs, our weapons are bogus; they don’t work.

  What have I done?

  My dark side provides an answer: the right thing. If I hadn’t bargained for Ten’s life, death would have been a real possibility, if not an outright inevitability.

  Now, Ten will stay safe. And so will I.

  The true shocker: When I made the bargain, I wasn’t concerned about my future, only hers.

  Right now, she’s looking at me with the same intense longing and desire that is smoldering inside of me. When she finds out what I’ve done, she’ll look at me with hatred.

  “Mr. Flynn. Where are you? I demand a report.”

  Zhi’s voice fills my head, unbeknownst to Ten, interrupting the moment, and I grind my teeth. I programmed my Shell to relay every incoming message via audio rather than text. Texts can be sent along the Grid, which is a danger while I’m connected to Ten.

  Once again, Zhi speaks. “We have intercepted a message from Archer Prince to Miss Lockwood. There’s been a startling development. Either that, or the Troikans have realized we’ve hacked into Miss Lockwood’s feed and hope to trick us. But either way, something must be done ASAP.”

  I palm a dagger and stab my comm, ending any further communications. “I’m out of my Shell,” I say, my voice roughened as I head off any questions she might have. “Doona want tae take any chances.”

  My time with Ten isn’t up, and I won’t relinquish another second.

  She reaches me and climbs onto my lap, bracing her knees at my sides. Automatically my hands settle on her hips to hold her in place. She smells incredible, like a field of wildflowers on a warm summer’s day. I breathe her in as if she’s a lifeline. Maybe she is. Or maybe she’s more than a lifeline.

  Maybe she’s everything.

  “You make my toes curl.” She rubs her nose against mine, and the soft contact is electric. “Tell me what you want, Killian.”

  I open my mouth to say, Ye, only ye, but an accusation escapes instead. “You make poems for Archer.” As the words echo in my ears, I curse. I want a poem more than I want sex?

  Who have I become?

  “Are you jealous?” A tinkling laugh leaves her, her warm, sweet breath fanning over my chin. “Even though I made one for you, too. Tsk-tsk.”

  “I have no’ forgotten the one you made me, lass.” It’s getting more and more difficult to control my accent around her. And why bother, anyway? She knows I’m an orphan, and she doesn’t care. “You doona love me. I canna trust you. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Except now you know I do love you, and you can trust me.” She studies my face, grinning a toothy grin and spinning my heart into a dangerous spiral. “But you still want a new one.”

  I hike one of my shoulders in a shrug, all whatever. Meanwhile, my mind is shouting, Give me!

  She plays with the ends of my hair, tickling my scalp, and recites:

  There’s a boy named Killian Flynn.

  The most handsome of all the men.

  Each and every night

  Girls melt at first sight

  But he only has eyes for Ten.

  One corner of my mouth lifts. “A limerick?”

  “Archer would flip his lid over a limerick, yet I’ve never created one for him. But. If you don’t like it, we can pretend I didn’t create one for you, either, and—”

  “It’s mine,” I rush to say. “You can no’ take it back.”

  Her grin returns full force. “Possessive of a poem. Could you be any more adorable?”

  I shouldn’t preen, but that’s exactly what I do, like a once-dying rose suddenly opening to face the ever-brightening sun. This girl likes me, just as I am. She likes me enough to tease me, and she enjoys the time we spend together. To her, I’m worth something. I’m…family?

  “Since you can’t remember our past,” she says, then pauses to chew her bottom lip. “What if I can let you inside my mind so that you can see our history through my eyes?”

  Shadows take me by the throat, squeeze. “You know how tae let me in yer mind?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” Frowning, she tilts her head to the side. “My Grid is on the fritz, and yet I know exactly what to do.”

  I’m shaking my head before she finishes. “You shouldna make such a temptin’ offer.” Not to me. “You shouldna let anyone inside your mind, ever. Especially me. I’m no’ a bad guy. I’m worse. People will always take advantage, learnin’ your weaknesses tae use against you.”

  She’s got to do a better job of protecting herself from predators like me.

  Again she rubs her nose against mine. “How cute. You assume I have weaknesses.”

  I want to smile and shake her at the same time. And I want to resist her… I do…should…but I can’t. My curiosity is too great. Can I be blamed? With Ten perched on my lap, my brain isn’t functioning at optimum levels; all of my blood has rushed elsewhere.

  “Whatever memories you share, I’ll see through yer eyes, learn yer every thought and secret,” I say, my final warning. “I might acquire information you wish tae keep private.”

  “You are priority one. Whatever you need, I’ll give.”

  My mouth dries. I nod.

  Nibbling on her lower lip, an action that only makes my blood descend faster, she frames the sides of my face with her beautiful hands. Skin to skin, female to male. Warmth to warmth, wife to husband. My fingers twitch involuntarily, my grip tightening on her hips.

  Determined to maintain control of my memories, the shadows sharpen their claws, sinking their razor tips deeper into my mind. I flinch.

  “Close your eyes.” Ten kisses one of my temples, then the other.

  Perhaps this is a trick meant to disarm me. When I close my eyes, she’ll attack. For once, I don’t care. I’m willing to take a chance.

  No risk, no reward, right?

  “Inhale…exhale… That’s good,” she says, her voice as soft as a caress. Every time I inhale, she exhales; when I exhale, she inhales, until we’re breathing each other’s air. I still taste the shot of whiskey I downed, but now the sweetness of her teases my senses.

  As I wait for something, anything to happen, I’m tense, on edge. Then, oh, then, I feeeeel her. She’s there, in my mind, standing in the middle of the bridge that connects us, smiling at me, everything right in a world gone wrong.

  Light glows from her pores. Light she saved and desperately needs, yet still she gives it to me.

  “Stop,” I croak.

  She brightens…grows brighter still…making my shadows shudder with fear, run and hide.

  Between one second and the next, a nearly blinding flash of Light explodes between us. Agony sears me, and I grunt. Sweat pours from my temples.

  Suddenly I’m trapped inside a small room. My—Ten’s— arms are lifted overhead, wrists bound by chains that are anchored to the ceiling. She’s human, a prisoner at the Prynne Asylum.

  A thirty-something human stands in front of her, rolling up his shirtsleeves. Dr. Vans. Evil in the flesh. “You know, I’ve always admired your spirit, Miss Lockwood. It’s a shame I have to damage it.”

  She’s sick to her stomach, but determined to withstand whatever the male dishes. “Go ahead. Do your worst. Your best has only ever tickled.”

  Sickness churns in my stomach. How could anyone hurt her like t
his?

  A big-boned nurse with frizzy red hair wheels a large tray inside the room. The door closes behind her. Two wolves. One sheep. No way out.

  Ten does her best to remain calm. “You don’t have to do this. You said there are no other options, but that’s not true. You can give me the time I asked for.”

  Time… She hasn’t yet decided where she’ll live after she dies. Myriad or Troika. Stand with her parents, or against them. All she wants is the right to freely choose—what we all want.

  “Time is running out.” The doctor smiles at her, and it’s clear he enjoys her pain. “No, we’re going to do this. Money buys happiness, and anyone who says otherwise is lying. I want my money.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what awaits you in the Everlife?” she asks.

  “I’ve never cared about tomorrow. Only today.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve always been like Dr. Vans, taking care of now with no concern for tomorrow. Or the feelings of others. I despise the fact that we have something in common.

  The two argue for a bit, and I’m amazed at Ten’s strength, at her unwillingness to bend. She’s willing to die, simply to use a basic human right too many take for granted. When have I ever felt so strongly about anything?

  Then she says, “Living shouldn’t be synonymous with surviving.”

  The doctor pops on a pair of latex gloves. “You have my permission to scream as loudly as you’d like. These walls are soundproofed.”

  What he does next fills me with such righteous rage, I’m nearly rent in two. Yes, he makes this brave, precious girl scream, over and over again. Despite the horrors he inflicts upon her, she never gives him what he wants: a pledge to Myriad.

  A realization I reached earlier solidifies: Ten Lockwood will never betray Troika. Not now, not ever. And I… I…

  The shadows do everything in their power to shut down the memory, but they are no match for Ten. Her Light forces those shadows to run and hide…and…

  I begin to remember bits and pieces of my life… How I read Ten’s file before I met her. How my Leader called her “hardheaded” and “foolish.” Before me, Myriad sent a sleazy ML named James to win her over. While everyone else around her attacked her, he pretended to show her kindness; of course she fell for him. Only, she still didn’t make covenant with Myriad for him, even under the guise of saving his life.