“I can’t defend Killian’s past,” I tell her. “He did what he did, just as you and I have done what we’ve done. You’ve asked for second, third and fourth chances, I’m sure. Shouldn’t he receive the same? Shouldn’t I?”
She glowers at me, and mutters, “Go count yourself.”
Um. I’m...not sure what to say to that.
“All right. Let’s get started.” Levi taps the top of his hand, and a blue glow appears. He types into the glow, and a few seconds later, a Shell materializes beside me. A Shell created to resemble me. “Everywhere you go, veteran Laborers will be securing the perimeter. You will never be without an armed guard. They’ll be able to track you through the Shell.”
I barely hear him. I’m too busy marveling at the Shell itself. She—it—has straight black hair and no brands, the only real differences between us. The eye sockets are empty and clear, but that will change the moment my spirit is inside. Humans and spirits alike will see my real eyes.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.
The Shell even has—Hey! “Was the pimple really necessary?” I demand.
“The key to blending in,” Levi replies, “is actually blending in.”
“Wow. Such wisdom.” Humans won’t know I’m a Shell unless and until I’m physically touched; Shells produce no body heat.
Not that the truth will register even with contact. Until I got to know Killian and Archer, I’d had no idea I was interacting with Shells, and blamed their cold flesh on a glandular problem.
Oh, the power of rationalization.
“Archer’s Shell was perfect,” I grumble. “Meaning, without flaw, in case you need the definition.”
Levi arches a brow. “Pimples are not flaws, they are pimples. People come in all types, shapes and sizes. Are you forgetting the time Archer used Bow?”
Bow, a rotund female Shell and my first introduction to a boy who would change the course of my Everlife. “No.” I’m still grumbling. “I’ll never forget Bow.” I took showers in front of her/him.
To Archer’s credit, he always used the time to marvel over his own breasts.
“Archer knew how to blend in without trying to blend in.” He claps his hands. “Now. Every Shell comes with three cases for weapons. One each for swords, daggers and guns. They are called Whells—Weapon Hull with Enhanced Link and Load—and if you acquire a different type of weapon, you’ll need to have a custom Whell made. Whells are useless until you anchor inside the Shell. In conclusion, if you want to fight with a sword, your Shell needs to be clutching the Whell meant for swords. Understand?”
I nod, even as my head spins. “What about swords of fire?” Like I saw the day I died.
“Pyres do not require a Whell. When you decode your Key, you’ll be able to create a Pyre of your own. An outward manifestation of your Light. Until then... We’re moving on.”
“Wait! Myriadians produce Pyres, too, but they have no Light.”
“A cheap perversion, I assure you. Their swords are called Glaciers and they smoke because they are made of something akin to frozen carbon dioxide. Now. A spirit cannot interact with humans without a Shell,” he says, “which means lesson number one is vital. Staying inside the Shell.”
Sounds simple enough.
He motions to my Shell. “Go ahead. Give it a shot.”
Confident I’ve got this, I walk into mine, as if I’m walking into an elevator—and I’m immediately ejected, propelled by a great force. Frowning, I try again, walking into it and—
I’m ejected.
My audience experiences different reactions.
Deacon remains stoic.
Clay grins. “Had the same problem myself.”
Meredith and Victor cheer me on. “You can do it!”
Kayla and Reed regard me worriedly.
“Give up, Numbers,” Elizabeth calls. “You’re going to fail, and we all know it.”
Levi doesn’t correct her. “Don’t ask yourself how you anchor,” he tells me. “Ask yourself why you haven’t already anchored.”
Is he freaking kidding me? “Just so you know, my class evaluation will read, totally sucked.”
Others snort, but he rolls his eyes. “What is explained is often forgotten. What is experienced is remembered forever.”
Fine. Why haven’t I anchored?
To anchor. A verb. To secure, fasten, attach or affix. So... I haven’t secured, fastened, attached or affixed my spirit to the inside of the Shell because...I haven’t tried to secure, fasten, attach or affix my spirit to the inside of the Shell?
I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“There she is,” Levi says with a smile. “The warrior I know and sometimes like.”
My fingers curl, preparing to dig in as I walk forward. My third attempt. The third time is the charm. My determination acts like glue, a suction developing between the animate and the inanimate. A suction that doesn’t last more than a few seconds; I’m ejected, but I don’t care. I did it once. I can do it again.
Levi’s grin widens. “Next time you’re in, slap the top of your hand. A one-handed keyboard will appear. My address is preprogrammed into your database. Send me a message.”
Shall I pull a rabbit out of my butt while I’m at it? “What do you want the message to say?”
“Anything you’d like. This is your one and only chance to tell me off without repercussions for disrespecting your superior.”
She glowers at me, and mutters, “Go count yourself.”
Um. I’m...not sure what to say to that.
“All right. Let’s get started.” Levi taps the top of his hand, and a blue glow appears. He types into the glow, and a few seconds later, a Shell materializes beside me. A Shell created to resemble me. “Everywhere you go, veteran Laborers will be securing the perimeter. You will never be without an armed guard. They’ll be able to track you through the Shell.”
I barely hear him. I’m too busy marveling at the Shell itself. She—it—has straight black hair and no brands, the only real differences between us. The eye sockets are empty and clear, but that will change the moment my spirit is inside. Humans and spirits alike will see my real eyes.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.
The Shell even has—Hey! “Was the pimple really necessary?” I demand.
“The key to blending in,” Levi replies, “is actually blending in.”
“Wow. Such wisdom.” Humans won’t know I’m a Shell unless and until I’m physically touched; Shells produce no body heat.
Not that the truth will register even with contact. Until I got to know Killian and Archer, I’d had no idea I was interacting with Shells, and blamed their cold flesh on a glandular problem.
Oh, the power of rationalization.
“Archer’s Shell was perfect,” I grumble. “Meaning, without flaw, in case you need the definition.”
Levi arches a brow. “Pimples are not flaws, they are pimples. People come in all types, shapes and sizes. Are you forgetting the time Archer used Bow?”
Bow, a rotund female Shell and my first introduction to a boy who would change the course of my Everlife. “No.” I’m still grumbling. “I’ll never forget Bow.” I took showers in front of her/him.
To Archer’s credit, he always used the time to marvel over his own breasts.
“Archer knew how to blend in without trying to blend in.” He claps his hands. “Now. Every Shell comes with three cases for weapons. One each for swords, daggers and guns. They are called Whells—Weapon Hull with Enhanced Link and Load—and if you acquire a different type of weapon, you’ll need to have a custom Whell made. Whells are useless until you anchor inside the Shell. In conclusion, if you want to fight with a sword, your Shell needs to be clutching the Whell meant for swords. Understand?”
I nod, even as my head spins. “What about swords of fire?” Like I saw the day I died.
“Pyres do not require a Whell. When you decode your Key, you’ll be able to create a Pyre of your own. An outward manifestation of your Light. Until then... We’re moving on.”
“Wait! Myriadians produce Pyres, too, but they have no Light.”
“A cheap perversion, I assure you. Their swords are called Glaciers and they smoke because they are made of something akin to frozen carbon dioxide. Now. A spirit cannot interact with humans without a Shell,” he says, “which means lesson number one is vital. Staying inside the Shell.”
Sounds simple enough.
He motions to my Shell. “Go ahead. Give it a shot.”
Confident I’ve got this, I walk into mine, as if I’m walking into an elevator—and I’m immediately ejected, propelled by a great force. Frowning, I try again, walking into it and—
I’m ejected.
My audience experiences different reactions.
Deacon remains stoic.
Clay grins. “Had the same problem myself.”
Meredith and Victor cheer me on. “You can do it!”
Kayla and Reed regard me worriedly.
“Give up, Numbers,” Elizabeth calls. “You’re going to fail, and we all know it.”
Levi doesn’t correct her. “Don’t ask yourself how you anchor,” he tells me. “Ask yourself why you haven’t already anchored.”
Is he freaking kidding me? “Just so you know, my class evaluation will read, totally sucked.”
Others snort, but he rolls his eyes. “What is explained is often forgotten. What is experienced is remembered forever.”
Fine. Why haven’t I anchored?
To anchor. A verb. To secure, fasten, attach or affix. So... I haven’t secured, fastened, attached or affixed my spirit to the inside of the Shell because...I haven’t tried to secure, fasten, attach or affix my spirit to the inside of the Shell?
I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“There she is,” Levi says with a smile. “The warrior I know and sometimes like.”
My fingers curl, preparing to dig in as I walk forward. My third attempt. The third time is the charm. My determination acts like glue, a suction developing between the animate and the inanimate. A suction that doesn’t last more than a few seconds; I’m ejected, but I don’t care. I did it once. I can do it again.
Levi’s grin widens. “Next time you’re in, slap the top of your hand. A one-handed keyboard will appear. My address is preprogrammed into your database. Send me a message.”
Shall I pull a rabbit out of my butt while I’m at it? “What do you want the message to say?”
“Anything you’d like. This is your one and only chance to tell me off without repercussions for disrespecting your superior.”
