Lifeblood (Everlife #2)

“Have you heard of Torchlight?” When I shake my head no, she adds, “For us, Light is power. Our version of electricity. If a spirit is hit with too much electricity, his body shuts down. Torchlight is the spiritual equivalent.”


Stomach cramp. There’s so much I don’t know—so much I need to know if I’m going to survive. “This war,” I say with a sigh. “The realms have been fighting for centuries. Do people even remember why they’re fighting?”

“Of course. Right versus wrong. Values versus anarchy.” She nudges my shoulder, saying, “Speaking of fights. I heard about your run-in with Elizabeth.”

Recruit my grandmother to my peace plan—strike one. “She’s angry with me. And I get it. I do. But I don’t want to fight her. I don’t want to fight anyone. Why can’t we all just get along?”

“Easy. If we don’t fight for what’s right, we’ll be overpowered by what’s wrong.”

Okay. Strike two.

She checks a wristwatch she isn’t wearing and gives me a gentle shove toward the door. “Enough chatter. We should go.”

“Fine,” I grumble.

We exit my apartment. The hallway overflows with trainees just hanging out and talking. Most are wearing armor while a few are draped in robes. Everyone stops whatever they’re doing to bow...to Meredith?

Ooo-kay. Here, we are all equals in terms of love and respect, but this is a show of respect for her position as Leader. The fact that I’m with her—or maybe the threats Levi voiced last night have spread like wildfire—earns me a handful of smiles and even more waves. No one glares at me. A few girls gaze at my dress with longing.

We take two Gates to the Temple of Temples. There’s a crowd, but this one is much thinner, allowing me to note details previously missed. The courtyard teems with an abundance of roses in an array of colors. No petal is dry or withered, no leaf droops. The stems have no thorns.

The next chamber is the Waft of Incense, and I suddenly understand the reason for the name. A heavenly fragrance saturates the air. With every breath, I’m certain I’m inhaling pure life.

Fourteen men and women stand before the gold brick wall guarding the entrance. I scan each face, taking the measure of my peers, and scout out every possible exit.

Work now, relax later.

The fourteen represent a mix of nationalities and appear to be average Troikans, but they are the only ones wearing turquoise robes with short metal links sewn into the shoulders. Levi is among them.

Fourteen, a multiple of seven. A double portion. In numerology, it means deliverance from pain, problem and panic.

Long ago, when people married, they celebrated the wedding feast for fourteen days.

To the right of the fourteen, eight people form a line. Eight is the atomic number of oxygen. Meredith and I take a spot at the end, making us nine and ten. How appropriate.

“Spine straight, shoulders squared,” she says as we make our way forward. “You’re about to meet our mighty Generals.”

Nervousness pricks at me. Will I be rejected or welcomed?

When we reach the front, Meredith takes care of introductions. Just when I think I’ll never be able to remember their names, the Grid kicks in. Agape, Ying Wo, Tasanee, Bahari, Mykhail, John, Spike, Alejandro, Marcos, Jane, Chanel, Luciana, Shamus and of course, Levi. They hail from all over the globe, and they welcome me as they welcomed everyone, with genuine warmth and affection. I’m hugged, patted and teased about my obsession with numbers.

“You’re going to do good things here,” Alejandro tells me. I kinda sorta want to stare at him for the rest of eternity. He is beauty personified. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. The poster boy for perfection.

“I hope so,” I say. I really do.

I’m practically floating as Meredith escorts me into the courtyard, where she introduces me to the eight who stood in line with me. The other newbies.

Eight—looks like the symbol for infinity. A stop sign has eight sides. With me, we are nine. According to yoga, a human body has nine doors—two eyes, two ears, the mouth, two nostrils, and the openings for...um, waste removal and the one for procreation. A cat has nine lives. Happiness is found on cloud nine.

The newbies are Raanan—the guy who’d accompanied Elizabeth to the manna restaurant—Fatima, Winifred, Nico, Rebel, Hoshi, Sawyer and Clementine. They, too, come from all over the globe. Thankfully the Grid allows us to understand each other, no matter the language we speak.

At six—and a half, foot stomp—Fatima is the youngest, killed in a house fire. At seventy-three, Nico is the oldest. I feel like such a creep for thinking this but...he’s hot.

To my delight, I’m not the only one with odd hair. Clementine has pink ringlets, Nico’s mass of curls are fire-engine red and Hoshi’s straight-as-a-pen locks are the color of plums, dark with purple undertones.

Everyone but Raanan offers an enthusiastic greeting; he remains mute, his expression contemplative. Despite him, I’m relieved by my easy camaraderie with the others, considering we are strangers. Strangers in a strange land flock together, I guess.

“By the way some of the others have been talking about you,” Fatima says with an innocent grin, “I expected you to have horns, fangs and a forked tail.”

“I know, right?” Rebel, who is fourteen, playfully elbows the little girl in the side. “I’m actually megadisappointed.”

Raanan frowns as Hoshi and Clementine jump up and clap.

“He’s here!” Clementine squeals. “Someone pinch me. No, don’t! If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

“I’ve been praying for another glimpse of him,” Hoshi admits.

I glance over my shoulder to discover...Victor Prince. He’s involved in a deep conversation with a girl I’ve never met, and he hasn’t yet noticed his admirers.

My good mood deflates like a balloon with a hole. Days have passed since Archer’s death. My sweet, lovable Archer.

I haven’t begun to heal.

I miss you every minute, every second

Are you near? Hope no longer beckons.

I want to sob, but here, now, I can only kneel.

Emptiness is the only thing I feel.

Tell me, please, how I’m supposed to go on.

For the rest of eternity, you, Little “Bow” Peep, are gone.

Has grief erased Victor’s optimism? I’ve heard no more talk about the Resurrection. How can we convince others to vote for Archer? Do we even try?

Soft music drifts through the air. A live band plays amid the wealth of roses. Their instruments, like so many other things in Troika, are different than what I’m used to seeing, and the sounds...oh, wow, the sounds! The melody is hauntingly beautiful. My ears tingle. Tears well in my eyes.

“Have you ever heard anything so exquisite?” Winifred stares at the band with dreamy eyes.

“Excuse us, everyone. I’m going to steal Ten away.” With an arm snaked around my waist, Meredith herds me toward the Great Throne room, even though the door is closed.