Lifeblood

At the asylum, he’d always greeted me with a number joke.

As I kiss his cheek, tears burn my eyes. My voice wobbles as I reply, “Hey! Nice belt.”

He chuckles. “I’m never going to stump you, am I?”

“Not in any lifetime, my friend.”

He tweaks my nose. The others join us, and I’m passed around like a hot potato.

By the time I make it back to Clay, his smile is gone. Sorrow peers at me. “You had so much more to do. You died too soon, Ten.”

My chest constricts. “So did you, my friend. So did you.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “Did Marlowe make it into Troika?” Please, say yes. Please.

Marlowe Dillinger is another of my Prynne friends. The sweetest, gentlest girl I’ve ever met. She ended up at the asylum because she stole money from her mother to—horror of horrors—pay for groceries.

She signed with Troika, hoping to escape the asylum. Her mom refused to spring her, and soon after, a guard sneaked into her cell to—

My mind shies away from the horrors she endured. The next morning, the girl with a heart of gold killed herself. Maybe she voided her contract, maybe she didn’t. I’m unclear about the fine print.

Clay flinches. “I’m told suicides are decided on a case by case basis. Hers... She’s in Many Ends.”

Fresh tears well, but I blink them back. No more crying. Marlowe’s Firstlife sucked, and guaranteed her Everlife is worse. It’s not fair. But I will find a way to free her and all the others trapped inside Many Ends. I will! My determination will never wane.

“I know a little boy who is eager to say hello,” Levi says, claiming my attention.

I give Clay another hug before stealing my little brother from the General. “Zero! He’s changed.”

Levi beams with pride, his love for the boy obvious. “He grows stronger every day.”

Jeremy Eleven Lockwood. The last time we were together, he was missing patches of hair. His cheeks were sunken in, and his swollen lips had turned blue as he’d struggled to breathe. Now he has a headful of curls the same shade of cobalt as mine. His peaches-and-cream complexion speaks of health and vitality, and his eyes...they sparkle like precious gems, mesmerizing me. Like me, one of his eyes is blue and the other is green. Though he’s only a few weeks old—spirits age just like humans, until reaching the Age of Perfection—both eyes regard me with intelligence and adoration.

A look I’ve received from only two other people: Killian and Archer.

Zero! I’m crying again, and I can’t stop. Have I become the world’s biggest sissy?

One of my tears splashes on Jeremy’s cheek, and he giggles. He wraps his chubby little fingers around one of mine and brings it to his mouth for a toothless nibble.

“We’re together forever now, baby bro.” A vow from my innermost being.

—Forever—

“Ye—” I shake my head. A little boy’s voice just whispered through my mind as surely as the wind had whispered earlier. Surely my brother didn’t...surely he can’t...

But maybe he can? New world, new rules. I don’t yet know what’s possible and what’s not. There’s no reason to stress over anything. One, I’ll figure things out. Two, if I ask, I’ll be given a cryptic answer that generates even more questions, guaranteed. That is Levi’s MO. And three, I’ve got bigger problems than my brother maybe, maybe not, speaking to me telepathically.

Namely: How can I help free the people of Many Ends without Archer’s and Killian’s help?

Everything always comes back to my guys, doesn’t it. And why not? Killian was my rock, the one who helped me stand when I wobbled. Archer was my guide. He showed me the way I should go every time I floundered.

Who else do I have? Clay is as new to this life as I am. I have family I don’t know, and I’m hated by the ones I do. I’m a soldier in a war I don’t fully understand.

Oh, I know the story: the Firstking created Troika for his son Eron, the Prince of Doves, and Myriad for his son Ambrosine, the Prince of Ravens. Afterward, he created the Land of the Harvest and the humans who populated it—humans allowed to choose the realm where they would ultimately live.

One decision. An eternity of joy or regret.

But it wasn’t long before Ambrosine plotted to destroy Eron, determined to rule both realms.

What I don’t know is why the different citizens loathe each other. Or why, exactly, they decided to go to war. Were they simply following the orders of their kings?

Why can’t we create friendships—relationships? If Troika and Myriad ever cease-fire, I can more easily save the people in Many Ends.

The portal to the realm of eternal horrors is hidden inside Myriad. But I can no longer enter Myriad...

I must find a way.

I could ask Killian to enter for me. And get him caught, punished or killed.

Not an option. If I can help Troika and Myriad reach a truce, I can enter Myriad again. Maybe. Possibly. I like my odds.

Levi pats my shoulder. “Guess what, lucky girl? I’m overseeing your training, and I’m giving you homework on your first day. Take a moment to boo and hiss if you’d like. No? Fine. Memorize the Book of the Law, write the words on your heart and see.”

“Uh, care to finish your sentence? See what?” And how am I supposed to write words on my heart?

He winks at me, code for figure it out for yourself, dummy.

Fine. I arch a brow at him. “Please tell me the book is only a single page long, and part two of my assignment isn’t literal.”

Another wink.

Great!

“So sorry we’re late,” a familiar voice says. “Class ran over.”

Excitement blooms as Kayla Brooks and Reed Haynesworth make their way through the throng. I met short, pale-haired Kayla and tall, dark-haired Reed in Many Ends. My first saves.

But not my last!

Like too many others, Kayla and Reed died too young. She’s only eighteen, and he’s a whopping nineteen.

Troika has been good to the pair. They glow.

In their Firstlife, they were Unsigned, refusing to choose a side and fight in a war they didn’t understand. Instead, they joined HART. Humans Against Realm Turmoil.

They died when protestors bombed HART headquarters.

Had their deaths occurred before the age of sixteen, they could have entered either Troika or Myriad without problem. Anyone under sixteen—the Age of Accountability—has no ties to Many Ends, even if they are Unsigned.

Later, when the spirit-child reaches the AoA, he can choose to forsake whichever realm he’s been living in and enter the other.

I’m not sure how much time Reed and Kayla spent in Many Ends before I showed up...once, twice, three times. Third time is the charm. We escaped together, forever changing the course of our Everlives; that’s how I know the captives can be freed. There’s a secret Gate or Veil or whatever inside Myriad—where we ended up.

“Hey, guys.” I grin as I embrace them. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“A word of warning, my friend.” Reed gives me a pitying look. “You’ve already made adversaries here. You’re being blamed for the loss of several TLs.”

My heart cracks down the center and leaks acid. “I made mistakes. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

“You’re a new spirit in a new world,” Levi says, and sighs. “None of us had a perfect start, and anyone who casts stones will have to deal with me.”

The show of support both elates and depresses me. I don’t want people to pretend to like me, fearing they’ll get into trouble if they don’t.

Jeremy waves his arms and kicks his legs in a bid for freedom. I’ve never been around babies, so I’m not sure what to do. My unease must show, because Levi gathers him close. In thanks, my brother upchucks all over his tie.

“Slob goblin.” Levi laughs and gives Jeremy’s butt a gentle tap. “That’s what you are, isn’t it, young man?”

Jeremy farts.

My grandmother moves to my side and nudges me with her shoulder. She’s my mom’s mom, strong but elegant, even regal, and up close she’s more than beautiful. She’s absolutely stunning. A gold catsuit makes her luminous from head to toe.

“I’m glad you finally saw the Light,” she says.

Light Brings Sight is our realm’s battle cry.

“Should I call you Granny?” I tease. “Or maybe Gran Gran?”

She snorts. “You refer to me by either name, and I’ll put you over my knee to paddle the Light right out of you.”

You can’t take the old lady sass out of the young spirit, I see.

“Why don’t you call me Meredith,” she suggests, tugging on a lock of my blue hair.

“Sure. But I’m going to creep myself out every time I do it,” I admit. “You aren’t supposed to be so...”

“Hot?” She fluffs her glossy waves. “Just wait till you meet my mother—your great-grandmother—Hazel.”

Curious, I scan the sea of faces. “Is she here?”

“No, she’s out on an assignment. The job never sleeps.”

To my knowledge, only two positions ever really leave the realm. “She’s a Laborer, then? Or a Messenger?”

“Laborer. And a very good one.”

So she works with human souls while I’ll be working with Light. I’m supposed to absorb sunlight—which is more than just heat and illumination, I’ve been told—and direct the beams to Troika.

“And you are...what?” I ask.

“A Leader. I serve directly under Levi as one of his many assistants.”

Meaning she’s a step above a Laborer, and her official title is Madame. “Cool. But I kind of outrank you, right?” I say with a smile.

Another snort. “Honey, you outrank us all. Or rather, you will. You’ve got a lot to learn first. Here’s proof.” Moving too swiftly for me to track, she secures her leg behind my knee and gives me a push.

I topple to my butt, air leaving my lungs in a single heave. Before I can catch my breath, I’m lumbering to my feet. Never stay down!

Her eyes gleam with pride. She motions to my right arm with a tilt of her chin. “Have you decoded your Key yet?”

Only then do I realize I’m rubbing the numbers branded into my flesh. “Uh—no. I haven’t. How am I supposed to decode my... Key? What Key?”

She ignores my questions. “You will. Until then, the Grid will provide an invisible link between you and every other Troikan. We’re all tied together, an army of millions with one true heart. Draw on our strength and peace.”

I imagine the heart of Troika beating inside my chest, keeping me alive while my own weeps over losing Killian and Archer. “Why do I need to decode my Key?”

She shows me her right arm, where the words Faith, Hope and Love are etched. “When you do, you’ll be able to open locked doors within the Grid.”

Uh... “Why are the doors locked?”

“The information stored behind them is more than your puny brain can currently comprehend.”

Puny brain? “How kind you are, Grandmother.” I bat my lashes at her. “Your Key is three common words. Mine is a sequence of numbers with no rhyme or reason.”

“Oh, there’s a rhyme and reason all right. I had to do three things I’d never done before. Believe in myself, expect good things to happen to me and love the people around me, whether I felt like loving them or not. Easier said than done.”

“I don’t understand. You used to take my mother to homeless shelters.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. I did what I did under duress. It was my husband, your grandfather, who so faithfully served others.”

My grandfather Steven. A man I’ve never met. “Where is he?”

“Out on assignment with Hazel. He’s eager to meet you.” She blows me a kiss before strolling away.

A woman I’ve never met takes her place at my side, clutching my hands and gazing at me with pleading eyes. My heart knows something my mind doesn’t: she’s a blood relation from my father’s side.

“My daughter,” she says. The hem of her robe sways at her feet. “Please. You have to help her.”

My stomach churns as if I’ve swallowed a mix of batteries and broken glass. “Help your daughter with what?”

“She is Unsigned. You will understand her better than most. You can convince her to choose Troika. She needs you—”

Deacon to the rescue! He wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulders and whispers what I assume are words of comfort. She pales but nods, and he ushers her away. I watch them with wide eyes, wishing I knew more about this realm, my abilities, my responsibilities—or anything useful, really. Wishing I could help her, even though I can’t seem to help myself.

I look to Levi and say, “How can I help her daughter choose Troika? I’m not a Laborer.”

“You must crawl before you can walk.”

Someone save me. “Thank you, Confucius.” I really hate cryptic-speak.

“You’ll be trained for every job here,” he continues. “Through trials of your own, you’ll better understand the people only you are to aid.”

Great. Wonderful. But no pressure, right?

Levi waves Clay over. “Escort Ten to her new apartment. She’s had a long day and could use a bit of rest.”

My own apartment...an actual home. I’ve been without a home for over a year. The asylum was simply a building where I received a cot and three hots.

I say goodbye to the others, and Clay leads me outside. The crowd has thinned considerably. I’m so busy marveling at new sights, I have no idea how he gets me inside another tube.

The sides blaze and blur, and once again I experience the sensation of being sucked into a vacuum, only to step out a few seconds later into a maze of wildflowers. Fruit and nut trees are in full bloom, heavy with their bounty. Wisteria trees arch overhead, creating a ceiling of lavender petals.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The Capital of New.”

I nod, pretending I know what that means.

We clear the garden and come to a street peppered with homes from every era, from Egyptian pyramids to futuristic spaceships. When Clay stops in front of a Gothic cathedral, a chill sweeps over me.

Trepidation? Awe? I’m not sure!

“This,” he says, “is where the most elite trainees live, no matter their field of study. You’re on the top floor and, because you’re so precious—” he snickers as he air-quotes the word “—you get me as a next-door neighbor. There are eight others on our floor. A mix of Messengers, Laborers and Healers.”

I try to speak, I do, but all I manage are unintelligible sounds. The beauty astounds me. Up top are two towers with pointed pergolas, between them a crocket and a gable. A massive oval window consumes the center. Glistening in the sunlight are stained-glass windows interspersed with wrought iron twisted in the shape of a tree of life.

Clay presses two fingers under my jaw to help me close my mouth.

I noticed the brand on his wrist—three interlocking circles—and finally find my voice. “Have you decoded your Key?”

“Not yet,” he grumbles.

I bump him with my shoulder. “Is it wrong how happy I am that we’re in the same boat?”

“Yes! You should encourage me to kick your butt.”

We share a laugh and enter the cathedral. The occupants range in age, anywhere from sixteen to twenty. Some smile at me while others frown. A few scowl.

I distract myself, studying the magnificent architecture. Above every doorway are triptychs—paintings divided into three separate panels. Along every wall are marble columns, intricate mosaics—again in patterns of three—and murals. Above the farthest is a magnificent frieze ceiling with three tiers.

When we turn a corner, an elaborate staircase looms ahead. Both guys and girls race up and down. Again I receive a mixed bag of reactions.

I try to ignore the guy with the darkest glower. When I hear Killian’s name whispered, I wonder if everyone’s anger has more to do with my affiliation with a Myriadian than my actions on the battlefield.

“So coeds live here. Do we train here, too?” I ask.

“Nope. You’re going crap yourself when you find out where we do train.”

I snort. “Should I go ahead and order adult diapers?”

“The sooner the better.”

I catch a glimpse of Victor, who is speaking with a pretty redhead. The two are wrapped up in each other and don’t notice me. Then my gaze catches on a familiar face. The girl from today’s battle. The dark-haired one who shot me with a dart when I dived in front of Killian.

She spots me, too, and stops in the middle of the staircase to glare at me.

I swallow a groan.

“That,” Clay says, “is Miss Elizabeth Winchester. She’s a bit of a wild card. Only speaks to a select group of people, but defends our weaker members with shocking ferocity.”

“She’s a trainee, right?” Meaning we’re on equal footing? Come on, throw me a bone.

Nope, no bones today. A trainee wouldn’t have gotten the green light to fight.

Clay confirms my suspicions, saying, “She’s a new graduate. She’ll be moving to a house soon. Until then, you might want to wear your armor. If looks could kill...”

I can’t recover from a bad first impression. I can only work harder, do more and prove I’m better, wiser, stronger than I was before.

Am I better, wiser and stronger, though? I’m a girl with both feet in Troika and pieces of a broken heart in Myriad with Killian.

“Don’t worry,” Clay says. “One day, everyone will get behind you.”

Yes. Let’s just hope they aren’t holding daggers in each hand.

Head high, I ascend the staircase.

When I reach Elizabeth, she grabs my arm and softly grates, “Watch out, Numbers. I owe you big-time, and I always pay my debts. Plus interest.”

chapter four

“Pride will carry you when you’re weak.”

—Myriad

Clay shows me around my new apartment. He’s beaming, excited to explain the ins and outs, and I try to concentrate on him, I really do, but...

Elizabeth’s warning echoes inside my head. She called me Numbers. As if she knows me. Until today, we’ve never interacted. Someone who does know me must have told her about my obsession with numbers. Who? And what else was mentioned?

“Are any of my friends buddies with Elizabeth?” I ask, interrupting whatever tale Clay was spinning about a remote control.

He sighs and pats the top of my head. “As a suspected Conduit, you’ve been a topic of conversation among the masses for weeks. A lot of people know a lot about you. Messengers and Laborers—other than Archer—used to watch over you, protecting you, and when they returned to the realm, curious people asked questions.”

My hands fist so tightly, my nails cut into my palm. Those Messengers and Laborers had been in spirit form. They had seen me, but I hadn’t seen them. Now everyone I come across—strangers!—could know intimate details about my life. Embarrassing details.

Maybe I’ll hole up here and never leave.

“If you’ll show me the apartment again,” I grate, “I’ll pay attention this time.”

He laughs. “I knew I’d lost you. All right. Thus begins the tour, take two.”

He steers me to the front door and spreads his arms to indicate the small hallway leading to the living room. “This is your foyer.”

I follow him through the rooms, attuned to his every word. What I learn: my new home is a diminutive but extravagant space, fully furnished with many of the creature comforts I was denied while locked in Prynne, and one bedroom. There’s a cool hologram capable of following me anywhere, showcasing footage of newborns and new arrivals, promotional announcements, giveaways hosted by everyday average citizens, and Laborer interviews.

In those interviews, TLs talk about the humans they’ve most recently signed and any victories achieved in the Land of the Harvest. I wonder how many times I’ve been mentioned. A thought I do not allow myself to explore further. I’ll rage.

The holograms are incredibility lifelike; the people appear to be inside my apartment.

Does Killian live like this?

“Take a seat on the couch,” Clay says, his eyes twinkling.

Ooo-kay. As soon as I obey, a glowing book pops up in front of me, and I gasp.

“Go ahead.” Clay does his best impression of an evil queen slash drug dealer and mimes what he wants me to do. “Touch it. You know you want to...”

I reach up. When my fingertip meets the illumination, the page flips. I huff and jerk back.

He laughs with delight. “Read.”

I scan a page, and the numbers on my arm tingle. Actions matter. Always. You are at the helm of your Everlife just as you were for your Firstlife. Take responsibility for your decisions. Be kind. You never know the details of another person’s life. The pain they’ve suffered.

“Wait! This is the Book of the Law, isn’t it?” A manual about the Troikan way of life.

“Sure is.”

Excited, I read on. You are a treasure, a gift. There’s no one like you. There are people in the world only you can help. Don’t feel worthy? Just remember, no matter how far you’ve fallen, you can rise again. You can rise stronger. Your past weak link can be turned into tomorrow’s strength.

I’m trembling as I flip to the next page. We have an enemy, and only one enemy. The Prince of the Ravens. Fight him, for he seeks your destruction. Never surrender. You—we—are the Light of the world.

“All right, all right. That’s enough for now.” Clay helps me stand, and the book vanishes. “Your tour isn’t over.” But even as he speaks, he gives me a little push.

“Hey.” I fall back onto the couch, the book reappearing.

Laughing, he helps me stand a second time, and the book vanishes. Well, okay then. There’s an easy on-off switch.

“This,” he says, holding up the fancy remote before passing it to me, “is your new favorite thing. It controls the holograms.” This is made of metal and shaped in the Troikan symbol. The buttons are dispersed over the three outer leaves, while the center cutout allows a comfortable grip. “You can turn it on and off at will or watch a different hologram on every screen. You’ll probably want to leave it running day and night. Levi told me you have a special link to Jeremy’s nursery.”

“What?” I thrust the remote back into his hands. “Show me.”

With the press of a few buttons, the image on the nearest wall changes to reveal an empty room with a crib, rocking chair and a basket filled with toys.

“Dang, I’m good.” Clay grins. “You should probably leave another screen on, as well. You don’t want to miss the giveaways.”

The giveaways. Need a brand-new hand-carved table? So-and-so just finished one, and he can’t wait to gift it to you. Want a brand-new ceremonial robe sewed from authentic Victorian muslin? So-and-so just completed one, and she would love to gift it to you.

There has to be a catch, right? Or is this true kindness in action? Giving without expecting anything in return. The way Killian endangered his future to secure mine. The way Archer gave his life to save mine.

I rub my aching chest and say, “I don’t need anything.” Nothing materialistic, anyway.

As a distraction, I fiddle with the remote control and soon discover I can change the color of any wall or program an automatic change of sheets on the bed. Neat.

“You even have a treadmill.” Clay motions to a portion of wall with strategically placed silver bulbs to fit my exact height and weight. Those bulbs rotate and vibrate every time I come near. “After you’ve run or walked at least five miles, the machine becomes a massager.” He messes with the metal joints.

A small portion of the wall detaches from both the ceiling and floor, remaining hinged at the center while tilting to a steep incline. The rollers spin, creating the aforementioned treadmill. Up top are two handholds.

“Exercise is your friend,” he states.

“If you said extra fries, you’re right.”

He snorts and drags me into the bedroom. The bed is small, a twin, but the mattress is as soft as clouds and cools or heats automatically, according to my body temperature. A door in back leads to a private bathroom. Inside is a sink, toilet and shower with settings to program a “gentle summer rain” or a “torrential downpour.”