We lapse into silence. Sloan is shivering, so I draw her closer. I should be as traumatized as she is, but despite everything, I’m somehow calm. Well, calmish. And tired, the vibrations from the road doing their best to lure me to sleep. I fight to remain awake. Part of me suspects I’ll open my eyes and find out I’m back in Many Ends.
“All right, folks.” Deacon’s voice echoes through the van as the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop. “We’ve arrived.”
I sit up gingerly and exit with Archer’s help. Deacon climbs into the back, scoops up Sloan and carries her out. We’re—in the middle of nowhere, nothing but green grass and mountains for miles. It’s pretty, but it’s not my idea of a well-guarded hideout where we can recover in peace.
Silver lining: I’m not freezing.
“This way.” Archer steps forward and vanishes.
Right. Jellyair. With a sigh, I follow him and suddenly I’m standing in front of a dream come true: a two-story log cabin with twinkling lights strung around the roof. Fields of lavender scent the air. Lush green trees have actual beehives hanging from the branches. Around the cabin itself are troughs with wild strawberries overflowing from the sides, and my mouth waters for a taste.
This is a home. Where doting parents sit on the porch, rocking in handmade chairs while watching their children run and play.
Archer takes the lead but stops with his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder at me. “This is a Troikan safe house. No one from Myriad will be able to pass through the borders.”
Meaning, Killian. “What keeps the Myriadians out?”
“The beams are infused with light. A Myriadian touches them, and they burn. Badly.”
“But Shells aren’t burned by light.” Only spirits, according to Killian.
Deacon laughs as if I’ve said something funny. Have I? There’s so much I don’t know about the realms.
“This is a special light,” Archer says with a glare directed at his friend. “Myriad Shells disintegrate in seconds.” He stomps into the house, done with the conversation.
I stay where I am, looking past the wall for any sign of Killian.
“We have safe houses all over the world. They aren’t opulent, but they should have everything you need.” Deacon comes up beside me and sets Sloan on her feet. “Go inside, girl.”
“As long as this place has hot water and a tub,” she says, trudging forward, “this can be a slaughterhouse for all I care.”
When she’s on the porch, I say to Deacon, “Do you bring humans here often?”
“Only the ones who have been marked for death. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“So high and mighty. Troika is just as likely a suspect.”
“That’s not the way we roll.” Deacon looks at me, adding, “A lot of people have gone to serious trouble for you, but they’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
“Even though I’m a Conduit?” Supposedly. More than ever, I don’t feel like one of the most powerful people on the planet.
“Even though. We’ll die to preserve your right to choose. If your choice destroys you—destroys us—so be it. And it will. Destroy us both, I mean. We’ve lost two Conduits in the past five hundred years. We have only two others. If even one is killed, we won’t have enough light to sustain our people for more than a few decades.”
Pressure...
He sighs. “I hope you’re worth everything we’re doing.”
“I’ll save you the trouble of wondering. I’m not.” I’m undecided and pretty much changing sides as often as I change underwear.
Considering the scare I just had, I’m probably due for another.
“With that attitude?” he says. “No. You’re not.”
“You’d rather I do the narcissistic song and dance? I’m so amazing and wonderful.” I fluff my hair and bat my lashes at him. “Of course I’m worth the trouble.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have your moments, but I’d rather you saw yourself as Archer does.”
“And how is that?” Maybe I would, too.
“When he was first assigned to you, he saw you as a spoiled rich girl with a little too much crazy. Mommy and Daddy are mean to me, boo-hoo. All this torture, wah-wah.”
“Screw you both. Pain is pain, and if you’ve never been whipped or beaten or injected with poison, your opinion in this matter doesn’t mean jack.”
“I make light, because you didn’t have to go through any of it. You could have signed with us—”
“I could have, yes, but I didn’t because I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know where I belong.”
“You do. Everyone knows. Everyone always knows. Deep down, where it matters. But they want something else, a seemingly better offer, perhaps, so they talk themselves into doubt and confusion—darkness of the mind. Then, finally, the doubt and confusion morph into certainty you were wrong to begin with.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“I’ve lived longer than you. I’ve seen more. I know, and you know. You just don’t want to face the truth.”
“And what if the truth is Myriad?”
“Then for you, it’s Myriad.”
I scoff at him. “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”
“I never debate the truth. You know your answer, so grow a pair of balls and accept it. Stop wasting our time. Now, are you going to let me finish telling you my story?” he asks.
I wave my hand in regal command.
“After the institution, Archer told me there’s something about you...an inner strength very few people possess. A goodness untouched by the evil around you. A generosity of spirit that allows you to put the safety of others above the safety of yourself. And I hope he’s right, because word came down today. For Archer’s part in your friend’s untimely death, he will experience the Exchange.”
* * *
I use my time at the safe house to recover from my wounds and plan my next move.
Myriad wants me dead and without Troika’s assistance, I can’t hide from them. I’m only human. But then, I don’t want to hide from the realm, and I don’t want to rely on one over the other. I want to see Killian, thank him, maybe hug him and slap him for risking his life.
There’s been no sign of him, no rumors about his life—or his death.
I absolutely refuse to consider he died and he’s now Fused with a newborn, that he has a new Firstlife tied to someone else. He’s out there. What’s he doing?
I miss the jerk.
By the dawn of the seventh day, I realize I have only one viable option. It’s simple, but it just might work. I will request the one thing I’ve wanted since this whole travesty began: time to think without interference. I’ll promise to voice my decision the day before my eighteen birthday. Of course, the closer we get to the date, the more danger I’ll face, the realms fearing my defection. But the fact remains: any time I gain is more than I currently have.
It’ll mean saying goodbye to Killian and Archer—shredding my heart when I lose the best friends I’ve had in forever—but it’ll only be for a little while. At least for one of them.
“All right, folks.” Deacon’s voice echoes through the van as the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop. “We’ve arrived.”
I sit up gingerly and exit with Archer’s help. Deacon climbs into the back, scoops up Sloan and carries her out. We’re—in the middle of nowhere, nothing but green grass and mountains for miles. It’s pretty, but it’s not my idea of a well-guarded hideout where we can recover in peace.
Silver lining: I’m not freezing.
“This way.” Archer steps forward and vanishes.
Right. Jellyair. With a sigh, I follow him and suddenly I’m standing in front of a dream come true: a two-story log cabin with twinkling lights strung around the roof. Fields of lavender scent the air. Lush green trees have actual beehives hanging from the branches. Around the cabin itself are troughs with wild strawberries overflowing from the sides, and my mouth waters for a taste.
This is a home. Where doting parents sit on the porch, rocking in handmade chairs while watching their children run and play.
Archer takes the lead but stops with his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder at me. “This is a Troikan safe house. No one from Myriad will be able to pass through the borders.”
Meaning, Killian. “What keeps the Myriadians out?”
“The beams are infused with light. A Myriadian touches them, and they burn. Badly.”
“But Shells aren’t burned by light.” Only spirits, according to Killian.
Deacon laughs as if I’ve said something funny. Have I? There’s so much I don’t know about the realms.
“This is a special light,” Archer says with a glare directed at his friend. “Myriad Shells disintegrate in seconds.” He stomps into the house, done with the conversation.
I stay where I am, looking past the wall for any sign of Killian.
“We have safe houses all over the world. They aren’t opulent, but they should have everything you need.” Deacon comes up beside me and sets Sloan on her feet. “Go inside, girl.”
“As long as this place has hot water and a tub,” she says, trudging forward, “this can be a slaughterhouse for all I care.”
When she’s on the porch, I say to Deacon, “Do you bring humans here often?”
“Only the ones who have been marked for death. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“So high and mighty. Troika is just as likely a suspect.”
“That’s not the way we roll.” Deacon looks at me, adding, “A lot of people have gone to serious trouble for you, but they’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
“Even though I’m a Conduit?” Supposedly. More than ever, I don’t feel like one of the most powerful people on the planet.
“Even though. We’ll die to preserve your right to choose. If your choice destroys you—destroys us—so be it. And it will. Destroy us both, I mean. We’ve lost two Conduits in the past five hundred years. We have only two others. If even one is killed, we won’t have enough light to sustain our people for more than a few decades.”
Pressure...
He sighs. “I hope you’re worth everything we’re doing.”
“I’ll save you the trouble of wondering. I’m not.” I’m undecided and pretty much changing sides as often as I change underwear.
Considering the scare I just had, I’m probably due for another.
“With that attitude?” he says. “No. You’re not.”
“You’d rather I do the narcissistic song and dance? I’m so amazing and wonderful.” I fluff my hair and bat my lashes at him. “Of course I’m worth the trouble.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have your moments, but I’d rather you saw yourself as Archer does.”
“And how is that?” Maybe I would, too.
“When he was first assigned to you, he saw you as a spoiled rich girl with a little too much crazy. Mommy and Daddy are mean to me, boo-hoo. All this torture, wah-wah.”
“Screw you both. Pain is pain, and if you’ve never been whipped or beaten or injected with poison, your opinion in this matter doesn’t mean jack.”
“I make light, because you didn’t have to go through any of it. You could have signed with us—”
“I could have, yes, but I didn’t because I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know where I belong.”
“You do. Everyone knows. Everyone always knows. Deep down, where it matters. But they want something else, a seemingly better offer, perhaps, so they talk themselves into doubt and confusion—darkness of the mind. Then, finally, the doubt and confusion morph into certainty you were wrong to begin with.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“I’ve lived longer than you. I’ve seen more. I know, and you know. You just don’t want to face the truth.”
“And what if the truth is Myriad?”
“Then for you, it’s Myriad.”
I scoff at him. “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”
“I never debate the truth. You know your answer, so grow a pair of balls and accept it. Stop wasting our time. Now, are you going to let me finish telling you my story?” he asks.
I wave my hand in regal command.
“After the institution, Archer told me there’s something about you...an inner strength very few people possess. A goodness untouched by the evil around you. A generosity of spirit that allows you to put the safety of others above the safety of yourself. And I hope he’s right, because word came down today. For Archer’s part in your friend’s untimely death, he will experience the Exchange.”
* * *
I use my time at the safe house to recover from my wounds and plan my next move.
Myriad wants me dead and without Troika’s assistance, I can’t hide from them. I’m only human. But then, I don’t want to hide from the realm, and I don’t want to rely on one over the other. I want to see Killian, thank him, maybe hug him and slap him for risking his life.
There’s been no sign of him, no rumors about his life—or his death.
I absolutely refuse to consider he died and he’s now Fused with a newborn, that he has a new Firstlife tied to someone else. He’s out there. What’s he doing?
I miss the jerk.
By the dawn of the seventh day, I realize I have only one viable option. It’s simple, but it just might work. I will request the one thing I’ve wanted since this whole travesty began: time to think without interference. I’ll promise to voice my decision the day before my eighteen birthday. Of course, the closer we get to the date, the more danger I’ll face, the realms fearing my defection. But the fact remains: any time I gain is more than I currently have.
It’ll mean saying goodbye to Killian and Archer—shredding my heart when I lose the best friends I’ve had in forever—but it’ll only be for a little while. At least for one of them.
