Every Laborer comes to earth in a Shell, a humanoid outer casing that somehow makes a spirit tangible to the physical world.
Despite that tangibility, we’re forbidden from touching the Shells for any reason. Without being told why!
She crosses her arms. “What was he like? This boyfriend?”
“His name was James. I met him my first week. He snuck me food when I was starved and salve every time I was beaten.” The true miracle? In the quiet of the night, he made me laugh. “Why the curiosity about him?”
“Duh. I’m nosy. You know this. Was he Unsigned?”
“No. He was secretly a Myriad loyalist—” Vans would have fired him if he’d known “—but he rarely talked realm business with me.” He saw me, not a potential realm-mate.
“Ah.” She makes a face as she nods. “He was doing the long con.”
“Excuse me?” What did that mean?
“The long con requires more planning and preparation. A longer window of interaction with a target as well as a longer period of time to execute the main objective—signing you.”
White-hot anger sparks. “Not everyone is obsessed with eternity.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t the guy who claimed to love you want you to be with him forever? And you once mentioned bonuses... I bet staff and inmates alike receive them.”
She...she... Oh! She’s ticking me off!
“What else did you like about him?”
“Screw you. I’m done with this subject.”
She gives a regal wave of her hand, all the queen wishes you to proceed. “Was he staff or inmate?”
“Staff. And he lived for me—then he died for me.” Apparently I’m not done with the subject. My chin trembles, my defensive tone echoing in my ears. “He was killed when he aided my escape attempt.”
Nine months have passed since Dr. Vans shot him in the chest.
A baby spends nine months in a mother’s womb. The phrase “on cloud nine” means to be happy or euphoric.
I’m anything but happy. Maybe I should sign with Myriad. I’ll get to see James again.
Part of me expected him to visit at least once. Even though the realms claim loved ones can damage a cause far worse than a stranger, so laws are in place to prevent after-death interactions.
“You saw his actions,” Bow says, “but not his heart.”
Is she serious? “Actions reveal heart.”
“Not always. Deception is all about perception.”
Okay. That’s it. “I’m done with this subject.” I mean it this time.
“Of course you are.” With an unfeminine grunt, she falls onto her pillow. “You’re a runner.”
The words are like a punch to the gut. “I’m a fighter.”
“Ha! Fighters take a stand.”
I throw myself on my bed and peer up at the ceiling, wishing I lived in a time before the realms existed. Not that there was such a time. There is and has always been a Firstking. He created both Myriad and Troika, a realm to give each of his sons. Then he created the Land of the Harvest and humans. Subjects to inhabit the kingdoms—after they picked a kingdom.
Of course, one brother soon plotted to destroy the other, hoping to rule both realms, and a war ignited.
Guess who says which brother is at fault?
Many Ends was (supposedly) created for criminals, but ultimately became the home for the Unsigned.
“Tenley Lockwood. You are expected in the commons.” The heavily accented female voice suddenly spills from the speakers strategically placed in our ceiling. Next, the door opens.
Well, zero. The time has come.
I give myself a pep talk: A pretty face won’t sway you, and pretty words won’t affect you. You will remain distanced. No boy is worth the hardships that accompany him—not here.
“Be careful.” Bow’s anger drains, and worry takes its place. “Do you have steel panties? If yes, put them on right now.”
I snort and rush into the hall, where I find Killian waiting for me. His eyes aren’t on me, but Bow, and they’re crackling with fury. His hands are balled into fists, ready to deliver.
Bow remains in place, staring back through slitted lids, but her hands aren’t balled, and she doesn’t try to sneak out and murder him, so I consider it a major improvement.
Like me, Killian has been relieved of his jumpsuit. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and both fit him to perfection. I mean, wow. If he was beautiful before, he’s exquisite now. He’s a boy—man—without equal.
“How old are you?” I find myself asking.
“Nineteen.” When his blue-gold gaze finally finds me, he gives me a once—twice—over and smiles. “For once, I’m glad for my lack of years.”
So he can score without being a major creeper? “You’re a legal adult.”
“And you’re not. I know. Opposites attract.”
“I mean, no one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Why are you here?” I asked before, but he only fed me a bunch of bull. “If you want to survive the evening with all your parts intact, answer honestly.”
His smile returns as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and hikes his shoulders in a shrug.
Irritating! “Be a big boy and use your words.”
“Maybe Vans is paying me to beguile you. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
Yes! And what if James was paid to do the same?
Argh! Bow! She’s in my head.
Killian offers me his tattooed hand. “By the way, you should always wear pink, lass.”
My stupid heart stutters and my stupid hand trembles as I link our fingers. His skin is as cold as Bow’s and James’s. That’s weird, right? Or am I the weird one?
“I shouldn’t have to mention this, but hey, why leave anything to chance? This isn’t a real date.”
“Don’t like the label? Fine. We’ll give it a new one. How about pants party for two?”
I almost laugh. Almost. “I’m not wearing pants.”
“Underpants?”
“I think I prefer the term death match.”
“Death match, it is. And look at me, willing to compromise. I really am the perfect guy.”
I do laugh this time. He’s shameless.
He leads me down the hall, into the commons, just not the commons I’m used to seeing.
One corner of the room has been transformed. There’s a small candlelit table with two cushioned chairs placed side by side. Platters of food occupy every inch of the tabletop. There’s even a bottle of wine and a chocolate cake.
Cake! Is this heaven?
Killian doesn’t lead me to the table. No, he leads me to the left, where a virtual tour is playing over the wall. One I’ve never seen before. A moonlit beach so realistic I can almost smell the salt and sand.
“You’re going all out, right from the start,” I mutter. Waves dance over the shore, leaving lacy foam behind. Pinpricks of light crawl toward the water—glow-in-the-dark turtles! I coo with delight. “They’re so beautiful.”
“Wouldn’t you love to hold