Firstlife (23 page)

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: L_N_3/19.1.1

Subject: Seriously

Corroded plastic. But I won't leave her side by choice. You have my word.

TROIKA

From: Unknown

To: A_P_5/23.43.2

Subject: Hi

She died. You should have saved her. Why didn't you save her? She died at 10:17 on November 12 of this year. Details attached.

TROIKA

From: A_P_5/23.43.2

To: Unknown

Subject: Who Is This?

How did you access my rank and ID?

And how could she—whoever she is—have died on November 12 at 10:17 of this year? That date is a week away.

As for your attachment with “details”? It's a crudely drawn map to a crack house. Thanks, but no thanks.

chapter seventeen

“Truth evolves. What is true today may not be true tomorrow.”

—Myriad

I roll over bumpy ground, air exploding from my lungs.

Gleeful laughter assaults my ears just before something hard slams into my stomach. A boot? Then a bird squawks, and the laughter stops. Footsteps. A man screams in pain. A second later, a lot of someones are screaming.

Get up! Get up! Danger!

I pry open my eyelids, expecting to see Killian and Archer with blades at each other's throats. At the very least, I should be inside the SUV, surrounded by paved roads, trees and buildings. Instead I see moonlight and ember-bugs, gnarled trees with toothy leaves that are snapping at me.

The Realm of Many Ends?

No, no, no. I'm not dead. Not again. I can't be.

But I am. Clearly.

My heart—finally working again—trips in panic. There are no monkey-skeletons in the sky, at least. Did they already capture prey? I draw in a deep breath, but the thick smoke and black clouds burn my throat, making me cough. A storm is brewing. In a place like this, I don't think I'll be treated to ordinary rain.

Weapon up. Now. The more the better.

Right. I search the ground, find a fallen twig. The moment I grab it, a sharp sting causes the muscles in my fingers to spasm. I drop the twig and watch as three beads of blood well in my palm.

Three...a triad. The noblest of all numbers. The only number equal to the sum of the numbers below it.

Troika.

The wells are...puncture wounds? Crouching down, I study the short, wrist-thick piece of wood, only then seeing the little brown bugs crawling all over it. And—

Oh. Wow, wow, wow. Dizziness nearly topples me. As I fight to remain standing, a crack of thunder booms so loudly my eardrums actually rupture. Grimacing, I stand. Again I teeter. With a single step forward, I almost face-plant. Ember-bugs were waiting nearby and now strike en masse, burning me.

I wave my arms. Another crack of thunder causes pain to explode through my skull. I cover my ears, but as the third crack sounds, I realize nothing can muffle the power of the boom. My scream joins the thousands of others still ringing out. Tears streak down my blistered cheeks.

Ten's tears fall, and I call.

The childhood song consumes my awareness, the perfect distraction.
Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me.

Something hard slams into my back, knocking me down. The ember-bugs scatter, but it hardly matters. The bird-skeletons are back, and they've come to finish the job! I jab my elbow backward, hear a grunt.

“Hold her.”

Through my pain and injuries, the voice is muffled, but I'm lucid enough to know birds squawk and humans speak. I've got a human on my back and another human—the speaker—somewhere nearby.

Two against one.

Two sets of hands latch on to my wrist in a tight clasp. A shackle. I buck up, dislodging whoever is straddling me.

The boy at my right says, “We're trying to help you, girl.”

Maybe he's telling the truth, maybe he isn't. Remembering what Archer and Killian taught me, I turn my wrists to grab hold of the hands still holding me. I use both as leverage, yanking on the owners as I hoist myself up, at the same time kicking back, nailing the other person—
three
against one—in the chest.

I'm released as the two at my arms stumble for purchase, and I end up in a crouch. I swipe up the bug-covered branch, ignore the new stings and throw it at the person—a guy, roughly six feet tall, brown hair, unfamiliar and dirty but definitely human. He catches the branch, instinct I guess, and grunts as the insects bite him. With him, the playing field is now even, at least. We've both been bitten. Poisoned? The dizziness...

I straighten and turn, my hands balled into fists, my legs braced apart. I'm ready. One boy and one girl left. The boy has shoulder-length blond hair. At least, I think it's blond. It's matted with dirt and blood, dried leaves woven through the strands. He's on the short side for a guy, though he's taller than me, and he's thin, as if he hasn't had a decent meal in eons.

The girl is shorter and cleaner with braided blond hair and the face of an angel, despite the streaks of dirt she's sporting. When my gaze moves to her, she ducks her head. She's timid. Noted.

“Idiot!” The shorter boy scowls at me. “We're trying to save your stupid life.”

Another boom of thunder nearly sends me to my knees, yet the three amigos merely grimace.

“When the rain falls, you don't want to be out here,” he continues. “Your skin will melt off your bones.”

“If you knew me,” I reply through gritted teeth, “you'd know trust doesn't come easily. So. How do I know you're not as bad as the animals, leading me into a trap?”

The scent of something fetid wafts on the breeze, and I gag. This is death itself, and it's closing in.

“Stay here or follow us,” he says. “The choice is yours.”

Always
. “Who are you?”

“Out here? I'm food.” He turns and runs into the thick of the forest. The other two follow him, and I don't have to think for long. I sprint after him, too, mimicking the zigzag pattern as they dodge chomping limbs and shimmery patches of air. The scent of death begins to fade.

Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me.

The song starts up again, but I shake my head to clear the words.
Not now. Concentrate!

Finally, the shortest boy says, “My name is Brett.”

“Kayla,” the girl says.

The taller boy is next. “I'm Reed.”

“I'm Ten.”

“How'd you die?” Reed asks.

I flinch. “I don't know. You?”

“Ever heard of HART?” Brett jumps over a rock. “We were at a meeting, planning a peace rally. There was an explosion, and we woke up here.”

I rack my brain for news reports but come up empty. Must have happened while I was locked inside Prynne.

“Where were you based?”

“LA.”

“My old stomping ground. And you truly believed you could make the realms stop fighting and start hugging?”

Kayla throws me a glare and misses the rock in front of her. She stumbles. Unlike me, she falls to her hands and knees. Brett and Reed immediately rush to her side to help her up. They are like a well-oiled machine. Clearly, they've had to do this before.

A squawk sounds—the bird-skeletons!—and I automatically reach for my scalpel. Zero! When will I learn?

Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don't stay dry.

Wait.
They
fly. They. The birds?

The song can't refer to this place...can it? Lina couldn't have known I'd end up here.
Right?

Always spoke in past tense. As if the future had already happened.

Always knew I'd escape Prynne.

One of the creatures lands just in front of me, and I skid to a stop. Wings made of bone and metal stretch on and on, knocking down trees. The boys draw weapons—crudely made wooden daggers. Good, that's good. Four of us against one of them. Excellent odds.

Kayla crawls to the base of a tree and curls into a ball, whimpering.

Okay. Three against one. Not bad odds. But even now, the skin-melting rain is closing in. Except...do we
want
to get wet?
Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don't stay dry.

Don't stay dry. But...if the rain melts us, it isn't water; it's some type of acid.

So the rain is out.

“Water,” I say. “We need water.” It's worth a shot.

“No.” Brett jumps from one foot to the other, preparing to leap. “The lake is more dangerous than the creatures.”

Clawed feet remain embedded in the ground as the creature lunges forward, its neck stretching...stretching...its beak snapping at Brett, who dives out of the way at the last second.

“No one ever returns from the lake,” Reed adds.

But the song—

Is probably meaningless.
Get over it. Concentrate.

I'm weaponless. I can't help the boys fight, but I
can
act as the bait.

“Hey,” I shout. “Over here. Come get me.”

The creature focuses on me. At least, I think it does. The head swings in my direction, but the eye sockets are clear.

The boys understand my intent and dive on the creature as it steps toward me. Another squawk is followed by another crash of thunder, this one louder than any of the others. Warm liquid gushes from my ears. I scream as I fall—

“Ten!”

My eyelids spring open. Killian looms over me, the sunglasses gone, the gold flecks in his eyes bright. I pat my ears as the throb fades. I don't... I can't...

“You're all right. I'm here, I'm here.”

Yes, yes, he is. He's here, and I'm alive. Thank Firstking!

I scan the vehicle. We're stationary, pulled to the side of the road. “Where's Archer?”

“Don't worry. He'll return shortly...had to run an errand.”

Even though my synapses aren't firing at full capacity yet, I detect doublespeak. “Did you destroy his Shell?”

His teeth flash in a smile that's part delight, part malevolence. “Define
destroyed
.”

So, yes.

“I didn't punch him,” Killian adds, “I just showed him my fists really fast.”

We'll have to address that, but not now. Now I have to go back. “The Realm of Many Ends,” I say. “There are kids there. They need me.” If they aren't already dead...dead...dead again. I can't go back without dying.

I don't want to die.

He cups my jaw and I can't look away from him. He's too relieved, too gut-wrenchingly gentle. He acts irredeemable so much of the time, but he has these great moments of compassion.

“You were in the Realm of Many Ends?” he asks gently.

“I was. But how did I die?” The fog in my mind...the pain in my chest. Oh...zero. Bowel check!

I don't want the last memory people have of me in this life to be soiled pants.

I manage a discreet glance down. All clear.

“How was I brought back?” I ask.

Killian releases me to rub his forehead. “You were poisoned. I looked you over, found an injection site.” He slides his hand under my back, tapping a sensitive spot. “Your heart stopped, and I poured Lifeblood down your throat.”

Poisoned while I was alive? Impossible. “When could I...? How?” No one knows where I am. “Who?” I sound like an idiot, but I don't care.

“My guess? The kid at the charge station. He bumped into you on purpose, must have had a needle hidden under the stone in the ring he was wearing.”

I remember the sting in my back. But...but... “Why?”

“Whoever wants you dead could have had someone waiting at every charge station between New York and LA.” Killian closes his eyes, draws in a deep breath. “The realms are definitely tired of waiting for you to make up your mind. They won't give you more time.”

“That sounds like a me problem, Killian. You can ease off—”

“No! I won't ease off.” He gives my shoulders a little shake. “This is an
us
problem.”

We stare at each other, silent, and I wonder if my expression is as tortured as his.

I know the realms are capable of murder. Not just because of the plane crash and the poison, but also because of the kids from HART. Someone feared their end goal enough to bomb them.

I sit up, fighting the dizziness that followed me out of the realm. Cars whiz past our SUV. The sun is in the process of setting, which means I slept—and dirt-napped—another day away.

“I'm sending a message to Madame Bennett,” he says, typing into his arm. “Telling her you're very close to signing with us.”

“But—”

“It should buy you a little time.
If
the ones who want you dead are from Myriad. If not, and word of this gets out, Troika will strike again and strike harder.”

I disagree. A sneak attack isn't Troika's style.

Know them so well, do I?

No, but I know Archer and Deacon. I know their laws mean something to them. I know how precious life is to them. “I don't want you to lie for me, Killian.”

He stops typing and lowers his head toward mine, the scent of peat smoke and heather thick between us, heady and intoxicating, making me shiver. “I'm not. I do think you'll sign with us. Why wouldn't you? You'll have a place of honor, you'll be adored by the citizens...and you'll be one of mine.”

I gulp.

“If that doesn't convince you—I hope that convinces you—just remember the horrors awaiting you in Many Ends.”

Like I'll ever forget. “I'm rolling the dice on this.” At least for a little while longer. If I really am a tipping factor of the war, backing the right people—the ones I'll have to live with—is more important than ever.

“You make protecting you an almost impossible task, lass.”

“Don't protect me, then. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time.”

“You shouldn't have to.” He cups my cheeks again, his grip stronger, his thumbs caressing. “It's a sad way to live, and I don't want that for you.”

I curl my fingers around his wrists, holding him in place. “How do you know it's sad? You have Elena and Charles.”

“They report directly to Madame Bennett. I'm on my own and have been since Archer left.”

I slide my hands up his arms and cup
his
cheeks. “We'll look out for each other, then.”

As he holds my gaze, something shifts in our relationship. I don't know what. I've never experienced anything like this. But I feel the change deep, deep inside. I think he does, too, and it throws him.

He pulls back, severing contact. “Let's get back on the road. Time is our enemy.”