Firstlife (4 page)

One hour ticks into another, but I remain in place. I've done this kind of vigil before, during the realm riots that occurred in my front yard.

My dad is a senator in the House of Myriad, responsible for ensuring Myriad-friendly laws are passed and Troika-friendly laws aren't.

Sometimes when a hot-button issue arose—like Myriad's desire to supersede the human government—Troikan protesters congregated on our lawn, threw rotten food at our doors and windows and screamed vitriol. I just had to wait for it to end.

The stress is the biggest obstacle. My limbs shake. My stomach twists. Sweat drips down my spine. At least I'm not cowering.

I'll never cower again.

“You sure they're coming tonight?” Bow asks, as blasé as ever.

“Yes. No. I don't know.” Sloan could have lied to me. Her version of payback, I suppose. Although keeping us frazzled tonight so we're useless tomorrow isn't exactly her MO. She likes to use shivs of her own.

Finally the doors slide open. I tense, ready to strike.
Four
men wearing black masks march into the room.

They know where we're hiding. The two men in front swing their arms to deliver a brutal punch. One to each of us.

I'm slower than usual, so I fail to duck in time. I take a fist to the center of the chest, my heart skipping a beat...then another...before leaping into a too-fast rhythm. Bow manages to duck just fine, grab her guy by the arm and, using her elbow as a hammer, break his radius. As he howls with pain, she kicks out her leg, nailing my guy in the torso, causing him to double over.

I act quickly, slamming my knee into his nose. He goes down as another guy dives on me, knocking
me
down. Upon impact, agony consumes me. I can barely breathe, my lungs flattened, stars winking behind my eyelids.

Get up!
I have to win this.

I try without success. Meanwhile, I hear a rustle of clothing, the crunch of other bones breaking...another howl of pain. Dragging sounds. A feminine grunt.

A shadow falls over me. I hold out my hands to ward off—

“It's okay,” Bow says. “It's just me.”

Relieved, I sag against the cold, hard floor.

“The men are out for the count and now in the hall.”

Good, that's good. Guess she had this, after all.

Maybe I can trust her a little?

No, no.
Must resist the urge
. Despite what Sloan said—despite Bow's actions—no good can come from an alliance. We're too different, and with Bow's support of Troika, she'll turn on me soon enough.

“I guess we're even,” I manage to say. I had her back with Sloan, and she had mine with the guards. I got the better end of the deal, but that's not a me problem.

“Wow. You are one tough Nutter to crack. And that's
not
a compliment.”

“I used to be nice,” I tell her. My version of an apology, I suppose. “I was even shy.”

I don't miss the girl I used to be; she's a stranger in so many ways. She was scared and weak.

With a strength that baffles me, Bow picks me up and carries me to my bed. She gently lays me across the mattress, saying, “What you need is—”

“Do
not
say light.”

“Fine. A distraction from your troubles. Want to make out a little?” There's a teasing note in her tone. “This would be a pity session, nothing more. You may be female, but you're still not my type. You're way too mouthy. Oh! I know! I can teach you better uses for your—”

“Shut. Up,” I say, trying not to laugh. Laughing will only make the hurt worse.

“Is that a soft no?”

“Hard no. I'm currently in a relationship.”

She arches a brow. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No.”
Miss you so much, James.
“I'm dating myself.”

Bow snorts. “You want my advice? Break up with her. She's no good for you.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it's true. Right now her priorities are seriously screwed up.”

* * *

The next six days are surprisingly good. Well, as good as can be expected in a place as vile as Prynne.

The four guards were culled from the pack. Dr. Vans says they just up and disappeared, but that can't be true. He never punishes his men. I think the bastards are recovering in the medical ward. I just don't know why
Bow and I
haven't been punished.

I mean, we've been fed three squares every day, we haven't been singled out during any of our classes, and Sloan hasn't attacked us.

It's the little things.

My biggest complaint? Most of Bow's conversations begin with “If you sign with Troika, you'll...”

Discover the true meaning of joy.

Know peace for the first time.

Have access to the best advisors in the world.

Make friends who will always have your back.

Pick one. Pick all. Gimme. But too bad for her, Myriad makes the same promises.

I place my newest blood mark on the calendar and straighten with ease. My back is on the mend, my range of motion almost normal.

“Tell me something,” Bow says as she ties her boots. I'm surprised she's lucid. She spent the entire night threatening the wall.
Go away. I'm going to kill
you
.
Oh, yeah? Well, I can definitely hurt you.
“Have you met with a new ML lately? A boy? Maybe kinda sorta...handsome.” She gags, as if the word tastes foul. “Maybe he pulled you aside in secret.”

ML—Myriad Laborer. “No. Why?”

She hikes a shoulder in a faux-casual shrug. “I know Myriad's MO. When a teenage girl refuses to do their bidding, they send a boy they think she'll like. One who's supposed to rev her engine.”

“My engine is set to idle, remember? Maybe permanently.” After James... No. Just no.

“Hey. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

My parents would never agree to...

Oh, who am I kidding? They so would.

“I guess it's better than the alternative.” She stands, stretches her arms over her head and arches her back. “If Myriad ever considers you a lost cause, there's a good chance they'll send someone to kill you.”

Same with Troika. There have always been whispers about Laborers who poison the Unsigned to prevent a pledge to the other realm. “One, I'm not close to signing, period. And two, if I die here, Dr. Vans won't get a bonus.”

The pro? The greedy bastard would take a bullet to save me. The con? It's just a matter of time before he ramps my torture to the next level.

No matter what's done to me in the future, I will hold out. I must. I'll be released on my eighteenth birthday. Though my parents signed with Myriad before my conception, there was a special clause for the birth of a child.

When I came along, their contracts had to be renegotiated. Now their benefits are dependent on my decision. An incentive to raise me the “right” way.

If I haven't signed with Myriad by the time I'm a legal adult, my parents will lose everything they love more than they ever loved me. Money, prestige. Homes. Cars. Boats. Not to mention the things they were promised in the Everlife.

Bow sighs. “Another day, another breakfast. Or a meal pretending to be breakfast.”

A sense of doom overtakes me, a shadow I'm unable to shake. Bad is coming. Bad is always coming. But since six days have passed without incident—bad is coming
soon
.

Sounding resigned, she says, “Our cell will open in—”

“Three, two, one,” I finish.

The doors slide apart, and we race into the hall.

Sloan spots me and flips me off. I know she's pleased four guards are missing, but she's also ticked about something—clearly—and lashing out.

I look her over and find finger-size bruises around her neck. Someone tried to choke her out. Been there, lived through that.

If I show her an ounce of sympathy, she'll try to throat punch me. I blow her a kiss.

“Come on,” I say to Bow.

We make our way to the cafeteria, where I count the occupants out of habit. My gaze lands on a boy I've never before seen and oh, wow. Okay. He. Is. Gorgeous. Not that I care about a pretty face. Pretty can hide a monster. But I'm not overhyping when I say he's a living ad for every dream-boy fantasy every girl in the universe has ever had.

He has dark hair that hangs over a stern brow. I can't make out the color of his eyes, but just like with Bow, I can feel the intensity of them—because they're locked on me. His nose is straight, perfect, and his lips soft and pink. His jaw is strong and dusted with the shadow of a beard.

He leans back and drapes his tattooed, muscular arms over the tops of the chairs flanking him, and smiles, a slow unveiling of perfect, white teeth.

In moments like this I miss Clay more than usual. He was—is!—such a good judge of character. He can take one look at a new inmate or guard and tell me if they have a heart of gold or one that's as wrinkled as a prune. We called him the heartalyst.

Where are you, Clay?

“Son of a Myriad-troll.” Bow snarls, taking a step forward, about to move out of line. “How dare he show his ugly face!”

I shackle her wrist in a hard grip to hold her in place.

“Don't worry,” she says, huffing and puffing. “I won't break the rules and murder
him. I'll just introduce him to my fists—repeatedly!”

When she continues to struggle, I plant myself in front of her, forcing her to concentrate on me. “Calm down. Now. Or you'll be dragged out of here kicking and screaming.”

She tries to glare at the boy over my shoulder.

“My TL once said hate is like drinking a vial of poison and expecting it to harm the other person,” I tell her, and she finally settles. “You're not hurting the guy, only yourself.”

“But...but... I'm justified,” she says with a whine.

“So is everyone else, I'm sure.” As I peer at her, curiosity fills me. “How do you know him? What'd he do to you?”

Stiffening, she turns away. “We've crossed paths a time or two. He's pure Myriad evil, trust me.”

“He can't be that bad. I'm sure—”

In a flash of motion, she's facing me again, fisting my shirt, clinging to me, her copper eyes imploring me to understand. “He's worse than bad. Stay away from him. Okay? All right?”

I dare another glance at “pure Myriad evil.” He's focused on Bow now, looking her up and down like he's a predator and it's finally mealtime. He smiles again, even more slowly, a lot more wickedly, and runs his tongue over his teeth, as if he can already taste her...and he only wants more.

I lose the ability to breathe.

“Move,” the inmate behind Bow commands, giving her a push.

I snap to and toss the girl a scowl that rivals Sloan's, silently promising violence. Only when she's staring at her feet do I step forward and accept my tray from a creeper with greasy hair and an even greasier mustache. I'm pretty sure Dr. Vans purposely hires the scourge of the earth to scare us straight.

Bow accepts her tray and shepherds me across the cafeteria, as far away from New Guy as possible. I let her get away with it for only one reason: that stupid curiosity. Along the way we pass Sloan, who just can't resist the opportunity to stick out her leg to trip Bow. But Bow is a freak of nature. She jumps over the obstacle and kicks back, hooking Sloan's ankle between her feet and ripping the girl out of her chair.

As Sloan goes down, her elbow slams into her tray. Food pours over her head, and as she shrieks, the rest of the cafeteria grows quiet. Finally a chuckle cuts through the shock, and it's like a starting bell. The rest of the room explodes into squawks of laughter.

Bow doesn't grin over her triumph; she frowns. Once again wishing she'd handled things differently? “I'm sorry,” she calls over her shoulder.

What a conundrum she is. Smart, with sharply honed protect-yourself-at-any-cost instincts. But she also has a deep-seated need to soothe others.

When we find a table, she stares at me, intent. “Listen. Things are different now. Things you won't understand. You have to trust me, and you have to keep me nearby from now on. No matter what. Okay? All right? I'll see to your safety. If you'll let me.”

“You can't see to my safety.” No one can. “There are too many threats.”

“Dude. I've already proved otherwise, and yet still you doubt me?”

“And,” I continue as if she hasn't spoken, “I don't want you to try. I mean it. You'll only get yourself into trouble.”

“Ten—”

“No. No arguments.” I may be confused about my future, but I'm not confused about my present. I'll never place my well-being in the hands of someone else. Once, I trusted my parents. They sent me here. I trusted James. Since his death, I've been stuck with a terrible sense of loss. I trusted Marlowe, who'd been pro-Troika, but ultimately, she was so desperate to leave the asylum and enter the realm, she hung herself. She also abandoned Clay, who
loved
her.

Now I don't know if she's actually in Troika or Many Ends—if it's real. Suicide is expressly forbidden by both realms, and it can even render a contract null and void.

I trusted Clay, too. He managed to stay clean and sober until Marlowe's death. Afterward, he spiraled, doing I-don't-know-what to buy “happy” drugs from a nurse.

His mind roilin' and boilin', he asked me to escape with him. Said he'd paid the guards to do what they'd done for James. I'd already lost my boyfriend and couldn't bear the thought of losing another friend, so I turned him down and begged him to give me time to figure out a better way.

The next day, he was gone.

That was three months ago. Where is he? Free? Or was he caught? Is he somewhere within these horrible walls?