Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(15)
I follow him through the rooms, attuned to his every word. What I learn: my new home is a diminutive but extravagant space, fully furnished with many of the creature comforts I was denied while locked in Prynne, and one bedroom. There’s a cool hologram capable of following me anywhere, showcasing footage of newborns and new arrivals, promotional announcements, giveaways hosted by everyday average citizens, and Laborer interviews.
In those interviews, TLs talk about the humans they’ve most recently signed and any victories achieved in the Land of the Harvest. I wonder how many times I’ve been mentioned. A thought I do not allow myself to explore further. I’ll rage.
The holograms are incredibility lifelike; the people appear to be inside my apartment.
Does Killian live like this?
“Take a seat on the couch,” Clay says, his eyes twinkling.
Ooo-kay. As soon as I obey, a glowing book pops up in front of me, and I gasp.
“Go ahead.” Clay does his best impression of an evil queen slash drug dealer and mimes what he wants me to do. “Touch it. You know you want to...”
I reach up. When my fingertip meets the illumination, the page flips. I huff and jerk back.
He laughs with delight. “Read.”
I scan a page, and the numbers on my arm tingle. Actions matter. Always. You are at the helm of your Everlife just as you were for your Firstlife. Take responsibility for your decisions. Be kind. You never know the details of another person’s life. The pain they’ve suffered.
“Wait! This is the Book of the Law, isn’t it?” A manual about the Troikan way of life.
“Sure is.”
Excited, I read on. You are a treasure, a gift. There’s no one like you. There are people in the world only you can help. Don’t feel worthy? Just remember, no matter how far you’ve fallen, you can rise again. You can rise stronger. Your past weak link can be turned into tomorrow’s strength.
I’m trembling as I flip to the next page. We have an enemy, and only one enemy. The Prince of the Ravens. Fight him, for he seeks your destruction. Never surrender. You—we—are the Light of the world.
“All right, all right. That’s enough for now.” Clay helps me stand, and the book vanishes. “Your tour isn’t over.” But even as he speaks, he gives me a little push.
“Hey.” I fall back onto the couch, the book reappearing.
Laughing, he helps me stand a second time, and the book vanishes. Well, okay then. There’s an easy on-off switch.
“This,” he says, holding up the fancy remote before passing it to me, “is your new favorite thing. It controls the holograms.” This is made of metal and shaped in the Troikan symbol. The buttons are dispersed over the three outer leaves, while the center cutout allows a comfortable grip. “You can turn it on and off at will or watch a different hologram on every screen. You’ll probably want to leave it running day and night. Levi told me you have a special link to Jeremy’s nursery.”
“What?” I thrust the remote back into his hands. “Show me.”
With the press of a few buttons, the image on the nearest wall changes to reveal an empty room with a crib, rocking chair and a basket filled with toys.
“Dang, I’m good.” Clay grins. “You should probably leave another screen on, as well. You don’t want to miss the giveaways.”
The giveaways. Need a brand-new hand-carved table? So-and-so just finished one, and he can’t wait to gift it to you. Want a brand-new ceremonial robe sewed from authentic Victorian muslin? So-and-so just completed one, and she would love to gift it to you.
There has to be a catch, right? Or is this true kindness in action? Giving without expecting anything in return. The way Killian endangered his future to secure mine. The way Archer gave his life to save mine.
I rub my aching chest and say, “I don’t need anything.” Nothing materialistic, anyway.
As a distraction, I fiddle with the remote control and soon discover I can change the color of any wall or program an automatic change of sheets on the bed. Neat.
“You even have a treadmill.” Clay motions to a portion of wall with strategically placed silver bulbs to fit my exact height and weight. Those bulbs rotate and vibrate every time I come near. “After you’ve run or walked at least five miles, the machine becomes a massager.” He messes with the metal joints.
A small portion of the wall detaches from both the ceiling and floor, remaining hinged at the center while tilting to a steep incline. The rollers spin, creating the aforementioned treadmill. Up top are two handholds.
“Exercise is your friend,” he states.
“If you said extra fries, you’re right.”
He snorts and drags me into the bedroom. The bed is small, a twin, but the mattress is as soft as clouds and cools or heats automatically, according to my body temperature. A door in back leads to a private bathroom. Inside is a sink, toilet and shower with settings to program a “gentle summer rain” or a “torrential downpour.”
The bathroom opens to a closet already filled with clothes, everything from black leather catsuits to elaborate ceremonial robes, some white with green trim, some white with gold trim, some red with black trim, but all are in my size.
“These things...they’re luxuries,” I say. “Troikans are supposed to be dedicated taskmasters, all business and no pleasure. Myriad focuses on indulgence.” Wait. Am I complaining? I suck.