Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(21)
The entire ensemble should weigh a hundred pounds or more, but it’s as light as a cotton T-shirt. Even more astounding, I have full range of motion.
I wish Killian were here. He would look me over slowly and say, “Nice dress. Now take it off.” And I would laugh a throaty laugh to mask my shivers of need. I would ache to be in his arms.
I do ache.
Where is he at this precise moment? What’s he doing? Who is he with?
I dreamed about him again last night, and I’m still raw. I felt the soft brush of his lips a split second before he vanished like morning mist.
I can’t shake the feeling he needs me. That we need each other.
What if he’s in some kind of trouble? What if he’s trying to reach me, desperate for my help?
What if he’s trapped in the Kennels?
I shudder. The Kennels are Myriad’s number one choice for punishment. Cage is stacked upon cage, a different spirit locked inside each one. Men and women, boys and girls. Age doesn’t matter. Everyone is degraded, cramped and starved.
I cover my eyes, as if I can somehow block the horrific image.
I have to find a way to contact Killian.
Head high, I rejoin Meredith. “Will everyone be dressed like this?” Good. I sounded normal, breezy.
In lieu of an answer, she says, “Oh, honey bunny. You have to dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”
“Then I should wear a calculator.” If I’d had a longer Firstlife, I’d planned to get an accounting degree.
“Tsk-tsk. Your nerd is showing.”
“And your old lady is showing.”
We share a smile, but I notice the merriment doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Upon closer inspection, I notice the lines of tension bracketing her mouth.
Considering her reaction to yesterday’s message, something bad has happened behind the scenes.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Madame.” I use my most authoritative tone. “That’s an order from your exalted superior.”
Her tension lessens, and she snorts. “You want to know? Fine. You’re going to be briefed, anyway.”
I am?
“Myriad has been guarding a girl they’ve already signed as if she’s...well, as important as you. And she just might be. There are rumors she’s infected with...” She shudders as she leans in to whisper a single word, “Penumbra.”
I flip through mental files, find no reference. “What is—”
She slaps a hand over my mouth and shakes her head, her eyes wide as saucers.
All right, all right. I hold my hands up, all innocence. Top secret topic. Got it. “Why don’t we call it the Bra?”
Her hand falls away, a half smile teasing one side of her mouth. “The Bra is a highly contagious disease we’ve only ever dealt with in rumor-form. There has never been a breakout. Half our population believes it’s a scare tactic while the other half believes it’s a time bomb waiting to blow. Humans are, supposedly, the only ones susceptible, but the infected can develop the abilities of an Abrogate.”
Abrogate—the highest rank of General in Myriad. My counterpart. I draw Light—or rather, I will—and Abrogates drain it.
“Which camp are you?” I ask.
“Time bomb. The Book of the Law predicts the worlds as we know them will one day end. What better way than this? But that’s another story for another time.”
Maintaining a neutral expression requires a massive effort. The worlds are going to end? This is the first I’ve heard of any upcoming disasters!
What makes you think the changes will be disastrous?
The disembodied voice I heard the day I died, springing from the back of my mind. This is the Grid. My link to the heart of Troika. I’m certain now.
Deep breath in, out. “If the worlds as we know them change, they could change for the better.” Like...peace could be achieved.
Her head cants to the side. “Very true. But because we’ve never dealt with this disease, we have no definite cure. However, we are certain Conduits are the key. If Pen—the Bra is total darkness, then the Light must chase it away.”
Cold fingers of dread creep down my spine. With Princess Mariée MIA, Troikan powers that be will look to me for Penumbra containment, won’t they? No wonder I’ll be debriefed.
I’m supposed to save us. Me. All by my lonesome.
I’m not ready.
I’ll never be ready. But I’m going to help, anyway.
“What causes a...Bra outbreak?” I ask. “Why can’t other Troikans wield the necessary amount of Light?”
“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?”