Firstlife (25 page)

Women are usually sterilized a year after giving birth to their first—and only—child. Time to ensure the baby survives infancy. My mom could have healed. There are always rare cases...

I have a brother!

“Your father found out this morning,” Archer continues. “He's requested a meeting with his ML.”

“No way.” I'll die before my brother is used. I head for the house.

Archer latches on to my wrist. “I'll go ahead of you. In spirit. I'll clear the way.”

“You'd better hurry.”

He nods and a second later, his Shell goes still.

I look to Deacon. “Don't let Killian inside the house.”

“Lass—”

I turn and stare at him, willing him to understand. “I'm kicking Archer out as soon as I reach my mom. I have to do this on my own.”

Silence.

When he gives a stiff nod of his own, I take off. I'm a bundle of raw, exposed nerves as I fly inside the house, up the stairs, past the walls decorated with my mother's artwork. Her paintings are famous all over the world. But these are paintings of...me? I slow. Yes, me. My face has replaced the abstracts. Me as an infant. Me as a preteen. Me as a teenager. Even pictures of me at the asylum.

Ten. Hurry.

Archer's voice fills my head. Right. He's invisible, and whatever he's doing to distract the maids is working. They turn away from me just before I pass, allowing me to reach my mother's bedroom without incident.

The door is locked, but that hardly matters for Archer.

Try it now
, he says.

I do, the knob hot enough to blister. He must have used his light and melted the tumbler inside the lock.

I burst inside the room. There's a human-size lump on the bed, motionless, a crib in place of the nightstand and a woman—not my mother—in a rocking chair beside it. The woman gasps when she sees me, clutching the baby she's holding tight against her chest.

“You must be Ten,” she says, sounding relieved. She stands. “I'm Maggie, and I'm very happy you're here.” Her hair is fully gray, and her features are heavily lined, her jaw offset by jowls. But her eyes...they sparkle like freshly polished emeralds. “You're as pretty as your pictures.”

I don't know her. I don't trust her.

I step forward, almost challenging.

“I'm an old friend of your grandmother's. Knew your mother when she was a little girl.” She smiles a sad smile and pulls the blanket from the infant's face. He's sleeping, his eyes closed. “Would you like to meet your brother?”

My stomach clenches, and for a moment, I'm unable to catch my breath. “What's his name?” The words are whispered. I don't want to wake him.

“Jeremy Eleven Lockwood.”

I almost smile. Eleven. In the periodic table, group eleven consists of the three coinage metals: silver, copper and gold. Eleven is the first double digit of the same number. Often thought to represent balance.

Jeremy Eleven is...not pretty. Patches of hair have fallen from his scalp. His cheeks are sunken in, his lips swollen and tinged with blue. My hand shakes as I reach out. I brush my fingertip over the softness of his knuckles, and he opens his fist to latch weakly on to my finger.

If love at first sight is possible, I'm already head over heels. “What's wrong with him?” I ask, still whispering.

Tears well in her eyes. “Your mother didn't know she'd been poisoned until after she'd fed him. She...”

She must be devastated, is probably eaten up with guilt. But she didn't do this. A monster did. Someone who places no value on Firstlife.

Bile burns my throat, and I struggle to retain my composure.

A moan rises from the bed. “Ten?” My name is nothing but a gasp, barely audible.

I meet my mother's gaze, and there's no stopping my gasp of horror. To me, it feels as though we sat across from each other in Vans's office only hours ago. She looked good then, if pale. She looked
normal
. Now her cheeks are hollow, and her eyes sunken. Her skin is sallow and paper-thin. Like Jeremy, her lips are cracked and tinged with blue.

As though in a trance, I glide to her side and sink to my knees. She moves at a snail's pace, but eventually manages to reach up and clasp my hand. Her grip is shockingly weak, even considering the way she looks.

“My baby girl,” she says. “They couldn't break you. I'm so glad.”

A cluster of thorns sprout in my throat. “I'm sorry, Momma. So sorry for—”

“You have nothing to apologize—” A cough racks her body, blood spraying from her mouth.

“Shh. The past is over and done. Save your strength.” Seeing her like this...whatever anger I still harbored evaporates, leaving only the love I have for her. I suffered because of the choices she made, but so did she. Regret is etched into every line of her skin.

A tear trickles from the corner of her eye. “I never should have...pushed you...should have let you...choose.” She taps the spot just over her heart. “Let Jeremy...choose. Let him. He's your dad's... Didn't know I could...pregnant again. Think he fed... Lifeblood. Healed me. Had mistress...just in case.”

She jumps from one point to another, but I'm able to keep up. When Jeremy dies, his spirit will be up for grabs. I can't let my dad choose for him. “Archer,” I croak.

I'll stay with him. I'll escort him into Troika, and when he reaches the Age of Accountability, I'll allow him to choose without interference. You have my word.

“Archer?” Momma asks.

“A friend,” I tell her, and it's the absolute truth.

“Friend...good...such a good girl...love you...scribe.”

I'm not sure she knows what she's saying anymore. I gently trace my fingers over her cheek. “Rest now, all right? We'll talk when you wake up.”
Please, wake up.

Her panicked gaze lands on Maggie. “Scribe.”

“I'll give it to her, Grace,” the old woman says. “Don't you worry.”

The reassurance calms her, and she closes her eyes. I watch her chest for a telltale rise and fall of breath—holding my own until...yes. She hasn't slipped away.

Maggie places Jeremy in the crib and pulls a small black device from her pocket. Another flash-scribe. She hands it to me and I press my thumb on the center.

Her voice fills the room. “My dearest Ten. I can never express my regret for all the horrors you've endured. Because of my mistakes! Because I allowed bitterness to harden my heart when Troika failed to save my parents. Or so I thought. My mother visited me, you know. In a Shell. She was granted permission and she explained the truth. The fault was hers. I think I finally understand what you shouted at me so many times. Our choices direct our path.”

I blink back tears.

“Seeing you at the asylum, sweet girl, knowing what they planned to do to you, how much they would hurt you, I'm overcome by sorrow. The only thing I should have done was love you. You're a beautiful girl, inside and out, and I want only the best for you. But I wasn't the best mother. I didn't give you the best life, despite the money and fame, but I
will
give you the best future.”

The tears cascade down my cheeks now, rivers of remorse and sorrow, leaving hot streaks behind.

“I've arranged to get you out of Prynne and bring you home. Your future—your Everlife—is your own. I wish...well, it doesn't matter now. Take care of Jeremy. He's your brother, sweet Ten. He's going to need you. Your father sees him as a second chance. A chance to meet the conditions of his contract without you. Loophole. Because of population control, the contract doesn't mention you specifically, merely his child. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. I want Jeremy to live. I want
you
to live. My prayer is that you have a long, long Firstlife, happy and content, and in your Everlife you are free of regrets.”

I hunch over to contain a sob. Does my mother know she and Jeremy are going to die together? And soon? Is she trying to tell me that my dad now wants me dead?

Is he the one who arranged the plane crash? The car wreck? He must be.

I am bleeding inside as I stuff the device in my pocket.

Archer opens the door; he's back in his Shell, his expression grim. “Your father is here. You were noticed on camera. He's being told of your presence right—”

“Ten!” My father's voice echoes off the walls.

chapter nineteen

“The future belongs to us.”

—Myriad

“Ten!”
my father shouts. “I know you're here.”

My mother is sleeping so deeply, she doesn't stir.

Maggie rushes to the crib and gathers Jeremy close. “I'm sorry to abandon you, but I don't want the senator to notice the boy and take him away from me.”

“I understand,” I say even though everything inside me screams to keep the boy near me.

“Don't worry, dear. The nursery is your mother's walk-in closet.”

“I won't let him hurt you,” Archer says.

As a Troikan, he can't harm a human without punishment and that's what it will take to get me out of here unscathed.

Trust him
, a part of me cries.
He'll find a way.

No. Sorry. I won't trust him, not about this. “Stay in the nursery,” I tell him. “Do as you promised for my brother. You and Killian taught me how to fight for a reason. Now let me fight. I'll be okay.” At least physically.

My father has a way of wounding my heart.

“Ten!”

Archer looks as if he wants to argue with me.

I shake my head. “Nursery. Now.”

He scowls, but as my Laborer, he can't stay where he's not wanted and he does as I requested. Perfect timing. My father storms into the room—and stops.

He actually smiles at me. “You're here.” He closes the distance and draws me in for a bear hug. “You finally did it. Ten, I'm so proud of you. Thank you. Thank you for signing with Myriad.”

Frowning, I wrench away from him. “Why would you think I signed with Myriad?”

He blinks at me. “Because you've been released.”

“No, I escaped.”

His brow furrows with confusion, as if I'm speaking in a foreign language. “But you signed with Myriad first.”

“No. I'm still Unsigned.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to hurt me? Is that it?”

A bomb of rage detonates—I have thousands on tap, collected over the past year. “
Me
hurt
you
? Daddy, you paid people to
torture me
. And I think... I think you tried to kill me.”

His cheeks redden. “Everything I did, I did for your own good.” He grips me by the shoulders and shakes me. “I wanted you happy in the Everlife. I wanted to be a family.”

“We could have been a family here, in this life!”

He continues as if I said nothing. “But you wouldn't cooperate. You weren't just ruining your life, you were ruining ours.”

It's as good as a confession. Every internal wound he's ever given me splits open once again, and I cry out. “Did you poison Mom?”

“No! I would never hurt her.”

He truly sounds offended. “But you can hurt me, right?” Something my mom mentioned peeks through the dark mire of my thoughts. “Lifeblood.” Black market, I bet. “You fed her Lifeblood, and it healed her reproductive organs. And just in case that didn't work, you got yourself a girlfriend and got her pregnant.”

His eyes beseech me to understand. “You don't understand. Every day, Madame Bennett pressured me.”

Boo-hoo. “I know a little something about pressure!”

“Not like this. Every day she threatened me and cajoled. She even gave me a tour of Many Ends, which is where I'll end up if my contract is voided.”

How could she give him a tour of Many Ends when the Myriadians have no way inside it? “To save yourself, you were willing to send
me
to Many Ends.” How has the man who carried me on his shoulders so I could reach the sky become
this
? “You're a coward!”

He shakes his head as he backs away from me. “You don't understand,” he repeats. “Madame Bennett was right. Prynne stripped away your weakness and left you with strength. You're going to be an indomitable Abrogate, and I helped you. I played a part. I should be praised, not castigated.” He's not listening, choosing instead to focus on anything but the crux of the matter.

“If happiness is dependent on outside variables, it can't last. Variables always change. Real happiness has to come from within. Right here.” I hit my heart with my fist. “Sometimes you have to dig for it, and you have to dig deep. I know because I managed to find glimpses of it even when I was locked inside a cell, spied on and beaten.”

“Enough!” He stalks to the door, but pauses to glance over his shoulder. “You're making it difficult to love you, Ten.”

As long as there's breath, there's hope.

I'm not sure that's true. “I'll kill you before I allow you to use my brother.”

The muscles between his shoulders bunch. “I'm going to lose everything. You get that, don't you?”

I dismiss him and stalk to the bed to wake my mother. I'm getting her and Jeremy out of here. As I gently pat her cheek, the coldness of her skin makes my stomach twist. Her lips are bluer than before...lips that are now curved into a smile I haven't seen since I was a little girl.

Dead...
no. No, no, no
. “Mom. Momma.” I give her shoulders a shake.

Her eyes remain closed, her body as limp as a noodle.

I look to my dad, but he's already gone.

“Maggie,” I shout.

She bursts from the closet/nursery, Jeremy tucked in her arms. Her eyes are red-rimmed, as if she's been sobbing. Pink lines streak her cheeks. Like me, she's been crying.

Archer is stoic.

“She's not responding,” I say. “You have to help me...” What? Perform CPR?
Baiser de la mort
decimates the heart, reducing it to tattered remains. There's nothing to resuscitate.

Fat tears fill my eyes. My chin trembles. Mom is gone. She's gone, and there's nothing I can do to bring her back.

At the asylum, I dreamed of hurting her, of dishing to her what she dished to me. But here, now, I only want her healthy and whole. I didn't get enough time with her. Would do anything for five more minutes. Just five. To hold her hand, to tell her I forgive her. To hug her and be hugged by her.

Now she's in Myriad. Hopefully happy. But I won't get to see her until
I
die.

Will we be on the same side—or enemies?

Maggie eases onto the edge of the bed. “She held on as long as she could, hoping to see you.” She chews on her bottom lip as tension stretches between us. “Ten.” Sadness is like a rainfall in her voice. “I'm afraid Jeremy doesn't have much time, either.”

My hands shake as I reach out. I gather the featherlight bundle in my arms and cradle the sweet boy to my chest. His eyes are closed, his dark lashes so long, they cast shadows over his cheeks. His lips are bluer than before, and he's wheezing. I've heard that sound before. The death rattle.

No, he doesn't have much time.

I'm going to lose my mom and brother in the same day.

Killian stalks into the room. He spots me with the baby, and his angry countenance softens in a blink. The compassion he projects almost kills me.

My tears fall freely as I peer down at Jeremy. One drop splashes on his cheek, and his lids flutter open, his gaze meeting mine for two precious seconds. He has my eyes. One blue, one green. I bring his little hand to my mouth to kiss his knuckles.

“I love you, little man.” Another of my tears lands on the corner of his mouth, and if this were a fairy tale, that tear—born of true love, offered freely—would save him. But this is real life and next he expels his last breath, his head lolling to the side.

I know time is of the essence. Once the physical body dies, the spirit
will
leave it.

Killian reaches for him, saying, “I'll make sure he ends up with his mother, lass.”

Even with my mom, Jeremy will be strenuously
encouraged
to stay in the realm when he reaches the Age of Accountability. And in Troika, he'll still have family. The grandparents I was never allowed to meet.

And... I want Jeremy to walk in the sunlight, to feel the warmth stroking his skin.

I shake my head...and...and...
do it, just do it
...and hand my baby brother to Archer, who is no longer so stoic. There are tears in his eyes, as well.

The unreadable mask falls over Killian, and I know I've hurt him yet again. I have to do what's best for my brother.

“He will know love,” Archer says.

This is
killing
me. “Thank you.”

Archer and Jeremy vanish in a bolt of light, and all I can do is stand in place, trying to see past my pain. But there's too much of it, and it's too intense, every bomb of emotion I've ever stored in my heart suddenly exploding at once.

With a screech from the depths of my soul, I launch across the room. My hands are on my mother's dresser. I yank with all my strength, and the entire thing falls to the floor. Wood cracks, and the knickknacks that were sitting on top of it shatter.

“Why hurt two innocents?” I demand. “Why? Who would do this?”

I turn to the nightstand and kick it over. The legs extend into the air, and I kick them, too. I kick and I kick and I kick until one of those legs detaches. Panting, I swoop down to pick it up. I could beat my dad with it. I could dish to him the same pain he paid to have dished to me. Vengeance will be mine at last. He will deserve every blow.

I tell myself these urges are temporary. They will fade, just like my fury. I tell myself I'm a hypocrite. I chastised Archer and Killian for giving in to their hatred, and yet here I am, desperate to do the same.

I tell myself all that—but here, in this moment, it doesn't matter. My brother is dead. My mother is dead, and my father is free to start a new family with his mistress. When the baby is born, he'll no longer need me alive. He'll depend on the contract loophole to save his future while destroying mine. I'll be at risk once again.

“No, lass.” Killian snatches the stake from my grip. “You'll never forgive yourself.”

I turn to him and, with another screech, beat my fists against his chest. “Who would do this? Who would hurt a baby?”

He doesn't try to shield himself, and he doesn't try to stop me. I pound on him with all my strength, pouring my rage and hurt into every blow. This isn't fair.
Life
isn't fair.

“I wish I had the answers you seek,” he says softly.

“This isn't meant to be. Do you hear me? This
isn't meant to be
.” A child isn't supposed to die without ever living. A mother and son aren't supposed to be separated in the Everlife, and yet my mother is in Myriad and my brother is in Troika.

“I know,” he says, surprising me. “This was done deliberately.”

When the last of my strength abandons me, Killian wraps his arms around me and gathers me close. I bury my face in the hollow of his neck. I sob for everything I've lost—everything this little boy has lost.

“This isn't the end for either of them, lass. You'll see them again.”

He still considers the fact a comfort. I release a near-hysterical laugh. “Yes, but which one will be my enemy? My Troikan brother or my Myriadian mother?” Maybe I
should
have given Jeremy to Killian.

“Why didn't you let me take the boy to Myriad?” he asks. “You divided mother and son.”

I look up and notice Maggie is gone...think I remember Killian hustling her out the door during my outburst. “For once, I made a split-second decision based solely on instinct. Do this, not that. Light versus dark.” Right versus wrong.

He considers my words, sighs and kisses my temple. “I ensured your father...fell asleep before I came to your room. Come on. Let's get out of here.”

He punched my father into unconsciousness, didn't he? “My path started here, and I'd like it to end here.” Determination gives me a surge of strength. “I'm going to make my decision. Today.” I'm not running. Not anymore. I'm meeting my present—and my future—head-on.

He brushes his thumbs over my eyes, capturing the remaining tears. “A good General leads an army. A great General leads every individual member. Today, you are a great General.”

“Maybe, but it's not because someone else inhabits my body.”

“How do you know?”

The very question I once asked him. “Some things you can't explain. You just know. Right here.” I take his hand and place it over my racing heart. “The truth is so bright the shadows of doubt are chased away.”

“What of actual proof?”

“I'm
living
proof.”

He's thoughtful as he twines our fingers and leads me into the hall. “If you want to stay, we'll stay, but not in this room.”

“Let's go to my bedroom.” I point straight ahead, only to realize he probably has the blueprint of the house memorized. “Did you hurt Deacon to get to me?”

“Are you kidding? I wanted to fight him, but he told me to do whatever was necessary to protect you and then he opened the door for me.”

Surprise, surprise. Troika and Myriad worked together.

We enter what had once been my sanctuary, and everything is just as I left it. The king-size bed has a large white canopy. When I was a little girl who dreamed of living in the moonlight of Myriad and marrying a handsome prince, my dad would use my sheets to make me a castle.

My mind shies away from the memory. Too painful right now.

I pull from Killian's side to walk around, bypassing the chrome-and-glass nightstand to stop in front of the vanity, where I used to sit every morning before school to fix my hair and makeup. Over the marble fireplace hangs a portrait of white roses. While some of the roses are skillfully done, some are clearly
not
so skillfully done. My mother and I painted the portrait together. Our first—really our only—dual project. My chin trembles. I was seven at the time.