At step four hundred and six, a high-pitched ring blasts through my head, making me cringe. I stop and rub at the cloth covering my ears. The ring fades, and I hear--
"--another one, sir." An unfamiliar voice. "He's already dead."
Gasping, I spin to see who's come up behind me, but I'm alone. There's not even movement to indicate someone is hiding in the trees.
"Take him back to the facility," another voice commands. "His parents will need to be notified."
Realization dawns. The voices are spilling from speakers attached to the sides of the mask. I'm now hooked up to Prynne Radio.
"No sign of the girl," yet another voice says.
The girl. Me? Surely not. There are others out here.
"Don't worry about her. You see her, you walk away. Without harming her."
"But, sir--"
"No arguments. The order came from up top. Just...find the others and go silent. Our frequencies have been compromised."
I pick up the pace and push through a jumble of gnarled limbs. Up ahead, I spot a glow-in-the-dark lump. One I recognize. The Prynne uniform. An inmate! Has to be. Relief gives me the strength I need to run...run. When I'm close enough, I drop to my knees and skid across the ice. I reach--a boy. He's lying on his side. With a gentle push, I roll him over.
His glassy eyes stare into the distance. Ice shimmers in his hair, and on his nose, mouth and chin. The rest of him is tinted blue.
I'm able to overlook my panic as I cling to hope. This doesn't mean he's dead.
With my teeth, I rip off my glove. I feel for a pulse, but...
My hope withers. He is dead. His spirit has already moved on.
Is he in Myriad? Or Troika? Or was he Unsigned, like me?
Is he in the Realm of Many Ends?
A crunch of ice sounds behind me, but I don't have time to investigate. Or prepare for an attack. Something--someone--collides into my back, knocking me to my face. On impact, a jagged piece of ice cuts my cheek, and my lungs are flattened. I fight for breath I can't catch, stars winking behind my eyes.
Anger engulfs me. No more abuse! With a roar, I jam my elbow into his torso. A bellow of pain echoes through the night, the heavy weight lifting from me in a blink. I turn and kick, nailing the culprit in the chin.
He falls, landing on his butt, and I look him over. A guard! We're wearing the same mask, coat and boots. But...why would one guard attack another?
"Big mistake," I say through gritted teeth.
"Ten?" He tears off his mask, revealing dark hair and a blood-smeared face I recognize. A fellow inmate. Clayton Anders--Clay! Undiluted joy brings tears to my eyes.
He climbs to his feet, very much alive.
"Clay." I jump up and tear off my own mask, the cold nipping at my skin and freezing the tears. My teeth chatter. "You're here. You're with me." We close the distance and hug each other with complete abandon. "I'm so happy to see you."
"Ditto, number girl. I've missed you every day. Thoughts of you kept me going." His grip on me tightens. "Why is six afraid of seven?"
I laugh. This boy! He's always loved to tease me. "Why else? Because seven eight nine."
He buries his head against my shoulder. Even through my coat I feel something warm and wet. Tears of his own? "I'd hoped you escaped. Sometimes I heard screams..."
"Yeah." A tremor rocks him and seeps into me. "Yeah. I did escape. I made it outside the asylum, but last time I was unprepared for the cold. A group of Russians caught me. They did... The things they..."
"I know. I know." I can imagine. I stroke his hair. "It's over, done. You're safe now."
His next tremor is stronger. "The next morning, they brought me back to Vans. I was locked in an underground facility where the guards are trained."
I pull back and fit my gloves over my hands. "How'd you get free yesterday?"
"Some pink-haired girl came through and opened my door."
Bow. I owe her. Him. Whatever! "Have you found any other inmates out here?"
His voice is low and filled with countless regrets as he replies, "No one living. You?"
"The same." There has to be more we can do. I won't accept failure.
A moan drifts on the wind, and I turn toward the sound. "Did you hear that?"
Another moan, softer but no less agonized.
"Yeah." He fits his mask over his face. "Come on," he says and races forward.
I replace my mask, as well, and though I hate to leave the dead kid out in the open, I follow Clay. Take care of the living, and let the dead take care of the dead. The sound leads us to a small clearing surrounded by thriving evergreens, but there's no sign of the Prynne uniform.
I take a risk, calling, "This is Tenley Lockwood. I know someone's here, but I'm having trouble finding you. I don't want to hurt you. I just--"
A pile of rocks rattles, and a trembling, gloveless hand reaches out.
"Here!" I shout to Clay, desperate as I sprint over. I dig through the stones to discover--
Sloan. Her partially frozen face is tinted blue, but she has a pulse. Faint, but there. She's not shivering, and I know that's a bad, bad sign.
Clay falls at my side and helps me pull her the rest of the way from the rubble.
My desperation escalates as I grab the coat from my backpack and wrap it around her shoulders, then remove my gloves yet again to shove them onto her hands. "Do you know how to start a fire?"
"No, but even if I did, the guards--"
"If they find us, we'll fight them, but we have to get her warm now." The cave is too far away. She won't survive the uphill trek, and I'm not sure we're strong enough to make it.
"All right. Okay. I'll do my best."
Zero! "We need help," I mutter.
If telling Archer to stay away actually forced him to stay away, maybe summoning him would force him to appear?
A girl had to try.
"Archer," I call. "Bow. Whatever your name is. I'm asking for help." I remember what I shouted to the shadow at Killian's bidding, the restrictions I put in place, and add, "If you can hear me, you can come closer now."
"Oh, I can hear you." Ice crunches in the distance.
I jump to my feet, the scalpel clasped and ready for action. Just in case. Clay moves beside me, holding a rock, just as ready. I remember his withdrawals, how unsteady he was. Now he looks clean and sober.
A guy I don't recognize steps into the clearing, both of his hands lifted, palms out. A sign of surrender. His hair is the color of spun gold, and he's impossibly handsome. He has the kind of face you'd see on a magazine. World's Sexiest Male.
He is the saint to Killian's sinner.
Like Killian, he's without a coat. He's wearing a T-shirt that hugs the massive cut of his biceps. Also like Killian, he's tall and gloriously muscled.
"Stay where you are," Clay commands. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will."
"Why would you hurt me? Ten asked for my help." The newcomer takes one more step, landing in a beam of moonlight. "Here I am."
"You heard her call for Archer, could have decided to pretend you're him to take advantage of her."
His gaze locks with mine, his eyes odd yet captivating, the color of copper, and smoldering with an intensity that should be too much for any one person to contain. They are Bow's eyes.
"I am Archer."
I detect a slight English accent, the very voice that once whispered through my head, and I reel anew. Killian told me I would see Bow again--Bow, as a male named Archer.
Well, I'm seeing him.
"What are you?" I want to hear him say it.
He smiles. "You know what I am... Sperm Bank."
I lurch back.
"Well, I don't know who you are. Why are you talking about a sperm bank?" Clay turns to me. "And what do you mean, what is he?"
"You're a TL," I say to Archer. "My TL, to be exact."
His nod is relieved and resigned at once. "And you're going to have to trust me, at least for a little while, if you want Sl
oan to live. I can get her warm and hide her from approaching guards."
I'm just as relieved, just as resolved, but I'm also angry all over again. How dare he pretend to be a girl, invading my privacy? How dare he pretend to be my friend?
I don't trust him, not anymore. He's as bad as Killian, only wanting one thing. But I give him a clipped wave over anyway. At the moment, he is Sloan's best and only chance for survival.
He needs no more encouragement and springs into motion. Clay and I stand in place, watching as Archer crouches, holds out his hands and taps his fingers over the top of his palm. A bright blue light springs from his flesh--like the one I saw on Killian--and my jaw drops.
"What do you really look like?" I ask.
"Exactly like this." He dances his fingers through the light, as if he's typing. I think... I think he is typing. He stands, moves a few yards away and repeats the process, crouching and typing. He does this four times in total, until he's formed a square with us in the center.
"What's happening?" Clay asks, his incredulity as fierce as my own. "How are you glowing?"
"One of the perks of the job. I'm always hooked to the Grid."
Grid?
He advances until he's inside the square with us then types into the blue light one more time. The light vanishes--only to reappear in the four corners he created. Beams shoot up, out, over and under us, forming walls and surrounding us with heat, such delicious heat. And the walls are so freaking beautiful, sparkling with diamond dust. I can almost convince myself the sky fell on top of us and stars are glimmering.
I reach out with a trembling hand and ghost my fingertips over the wall. And that's exactly what it is. A wall of air with a jellylike consistency--jellyair. Trademark pending, I think drily. I can joke or sob. How is any of this possible?
Ripples spread from one wall to the other, entrancing me. "How are we hidden?"
"We see the light." Archer crouches beside Sloan and measures her pulse. "Others see the reflection of the forest."
"And if they bump into us?"
"They won't. The moment the light activated, Troikan Messengers arrived. You can't see them, but they're there."
"Fear based?" I ask, still resentful of my encounter with the Myriad Messengers.
He gives me a look, all, Who do you think you're dealing with, puny human? "Distraction based."
"Messengers." Clay rubs the back of his neck. "That's the job my ML and TL said I'd have in the Everlife."
"Have you signed with one of the realms?" I panic at the thought. What if we end up on different sides?
"Not yet. But I've had a lot of time to think, and I'm leaning toward Troika. My family is Troikan and I'd like to spend eternity with them."
"But... I thought you hated your family for sending you to Prynne."
He peers at his feet. "I hated myself. And as horrible as my experience at Prynne has been, I can't regret coming here. I'm sober. I met you...and Marlowe."
Marlowe, who might or might not be in Troika right now.
"After I help Sloan, I can give you a tour of the realm." Archer takes a dagger from a sheath at his ankle and slashes his wrist. He holds the wound over Sloan's lips.
"Wait. What are you--" He's not doing the vampire thing, at least. Glittery liquid leaks out rather than blood.
"I'm giving her Lifeblood," he says. "She'll heal."
As droplet after droplet trickles into her mouth, she gives no reaction. But Archer appears satisfied by the time his wound mends. Mends, right before my eyes, the flesh weaving back together. I've never seen anything like it.
He lowers his arm and smiles at Clay. "Now for the tour."
The words are for Clay, but the tour is for my benefit, I'm sure. My anger with Archer hasn't lessened, despite his cool tricks, and I currently want nothing to do with his realm.
He types in his arm again, and a few seconds later, images begin to play over the walls. Like Killian, he shows me a beach. Only this one is sun-drenched, revealing the crystal clarity of rainbow-colored water. When I see surfers riding waves--and whales!--I close my eyes, every muscle in my body clenching. He's using the information he gathered against me. Information he shouldn't have.
Can no one like me just because I'm me? Will I always be a commodity to win rather than a person to love?
chapter ten
"Grass isn't greener on the other side. Grass is greener when you water it."
--Troika
A bead of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades, and I remove everything but my uniform to use as a cushion, creating a cozy spot to rest beside Sloan. She's still unconscious, but I'm happy to note rosy color is seeping into her cheeks. Archer's Lifeblood worked.
I guess he's not a total ass.
Clay does a similar strip after the tour, sits beside me and focuses on the TL. "I refused to speak with my TL for years. A way to punish my parents, I think. Maybe myself. I've regretted the decision for a while now."
"If you'll accept me, I'll be happy to be your TL by proxy."
"You can do that?"
"I've already requested and gained permission."
"I'll accept you, thank you." Clay looks down at his wringing hands. "A covenant was offered to me years ago. My parents told me the offer was revoked. I'd done too much..."
"No," Archer says. "No. An offer is made to every child and once made, it remains active until Firstdeath."
Expression agonized, Clay whispers, "But...you don't know the things I've done."
"I don't need to know. Nothing you've done can compare to the things I did, and yet, when I was ready, I was welcomed with open arms."
Hello, intrigue. What did Archer do? He's so by-the-book, I can't imagine him purposely breaking a rule.
"I just... I want to make up for my mistakes before I pledge." Clay scrubs a hand through his hair. "Want to be worthy."
"Why?" Archer walks over, pats him on the shoulder, clearly surprising him with the forbidden touch. "It's not necessary, and you never know how much longer you have left in the Land of the Harvest."
Realization suddenly hits me. Harvest is a farming term, and here, Troika and Myriad reap souls. At the moment, I'm not sure if I'm insulted or flattered.
"I'm young. I'm finally clean. I've got time," Clay says.
Archer's shoulders hunch in ever so slightly. He's like a kid who's just been denied his favorite dessert. "Be careful. No one knows the day or the hour."
Two Prynne guards approach our well-lit square. Just before they reach us, however, they veer to the left, as if deep, deep inside they know to avoid what their eyes cannot see.
Messengers in action. I can't see them either, but I can see the result of them.
Surprise! There's more to the world--worlds--than I ever thought possible.
"Neat." Clay yawns and stretches.
The yawn is contagious. Despite my earlier rest, I'm operating on nothing but the fumes of an adrenaline surge that has already crashed and burned. The medicine Killian used on me is wearing off, my soreness coming back. I'm also hungry, cranky and weak.
"You're tired. Both of you." Archer gives me a pointed look. "I'll keep you safe. Sleep for once. Don't fight it."
Another reminder that he knows more about me than he should. "You should have told me you were a guy before I showered in front of you," I snap at him.
Unabashed, he says, "You're in a mood. Is it that time of the month for you, too? Have our cycles finally synced?"
Oh, them be fightin' words.
I yawn again, my jaw cracking. Okay, fine. Them be fightin' words tomorrow. "What about Killian? He'll stop at nothing to find me." At the mere mention of the boy's name, my blood heats and crackles like the fire, making me tingle. Foolish! "Or to keep me from signing with you."
"Killian?" Clay asks.
There's a flash of resentment in Archer's copper eyes. "The epitome of Myriad evil. And he can't see us, either."
Good. That's good. Of course.
Archer's gaze
narrows on me. "Have you accepted your importance? Have you realized you're the final drop of water that causes the cup to overflow?"
Pressure... I turn away from him without saying a word.
Clay blows me a kiss before refocusing on Archer. "How old are you, Mr.--"
"Call me Archer. And I'm nineteen."
"How long have you been with Troika?"
"I was raised in a realm."
In "a" realm. The odd phrasing catches my attention, but I let it go. I'm too tired to match wits with him, and besides that, I don't want his attention returning to me.
"I've always known people age in the Unending." Clay frowns. "But no Laborer I've ever seen has looked older than thirty."
"Unlike physical bodies, spirits are eternal and never decay," Archer says. "They reach a certain threshold--the Age of Perfection--and freeze."
Like our Age of Accountability, only better.
My eyelids grow heavy, and I finally give up the battle, stretching out on Sloan's other side. I'll catnap. My circumstances have changed, yes, but my mind-set has not. No matter how much I trust Clay and, okay, all right, in this regard I trust Archer, too, I can rely only on myself.
My mental lights go out...
And switch back on--
A needle jabs into my neck, and pain shoots through me. Vans laughs in my face. I try to kick him, but the chains on my wrists limit my range of motion--
"Ten. Ten."
Hands on my shoulders, shaking me.
"Wake up. Now!"
Danger! Under attack!
My eyelids split open and I jolt upright, swinging my arm.
Sloan ducks, avoiding a punch to the cheek. "Wow. Not a morning person, are we?"
I'm panting, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. I scan my surroundings--the glowing square. Archer stands at the farthest edge, his arms hanging at his sides. Sloan sits at my right, facing me. Clay sits at my left, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes closed. No enemy lurks nearby. No one's trying to hurt me.
Calm. Steady. The torture...only a memory.
Sloan, despite her teasing, is pale and trembling, but at least she's alive.
"What's wrong?" I reach for my scalpel.
"You were screaming in your sleep. What is this?" She motions to the glowing walls, then points to Archer. "Who is he?"
Right. She missed yesterday's intros. "That's Archer."
"Great. Wonderful. But that bit of info tells me nothing. What is he?"
Looking him over a second time, I notice details I previously missed. He's as still as death, unblinking, and his eye sockets clear as glass. So. His spirit is no longer inside the Shell. He can leave it at will?