The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Gran sank to her knees. Hollows had begun to appear in her face. I realized that being alive again took energy. I could feel that power in me, very low, like a spent tank of gas. Would I have enough to put her back? My energy was faltered like a candle flame sputtering.

  She lifted her lips in an attempt to smile. There were about three teeth in a mouth that was black with decay and a bit of tongue.

  I sort of grimaced back.

  “You can put me away. I need to rest now.” She spared a glance for my parents, her eyes resting briefly on my mom. Then, she turned back to me. “Tell Alicia what is different. Only you matter in this time, this world.”

  “I understand.” And I did. I wasn't comfortable with it, but it didn't matter. This was my new reality.

  My parents came over and stood on either side of me.

  I didn't look at them. “I'm really tired.”

  “What can I do, Caleb?” Dad asked.

  “I gotta put her back.”

  Gran stared up at me, her gaze unwavering. No pressure... damn. Out of nowhere, I heard voices behind us.

  Dad moved to stand directly in front of Gran. Mom flanked Dad, and I was in the middle, behind them.

  I put my finger over my lips to signal Gran to be quiet.

  She understood; I could hear it.

  Three kids from school appeared over the rise. The middle girl was familiar somehow. My power flared, recognizing hers.

  She was like me.

  Swell.

  Her eyes widened, and she said to her friends, “Let's get out of here.”

  I came around Mom's side and said, “No!”

  I tried to think of the girl’s name. We had just been talking about other kids who had AFTD. Tiffany!

  “Tiffany, no... stop. Help me do this,” I said.

  She stiffened, slowly turning. My first thought was, Wow, she could be pretty. She wore a purple hoodie, brown hair peeking out from the hood that half covered her face. She had dark eyes.

  I knew I didn't have the energy to put Gran back. But I was pretty sure I didn't need blood or something catastrophic to make it work. I needed energy, death energy.

  “What?” she asked, kinda pissed.

  “I have AFTD, like you.”

  “Ya think?”

  Like we had a choice. Not for the first time I wondered if the adults that made the drugs, unlocking our paranormal potentials were really that smart. Right now, it didn't seem like it.

  She glanced at her friends, a guy and girl. They were taking turns looking nervously between my parents and me.

  The boy said, “I thought you said there wouldn't be any other people?”

  She gave him one of the best eye-rolls ever. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms across a barrel chest.

  She jerked her head to the left and said, “This is my brother, Bry.”

  I nodded. “Listen, I kinda raised my great-grandma.”

  “What the hell?” she yelled, her eyes taking in all of us.

  Mom harrumphed in the background, unappreciative of the colorful wording.

  Her palms went back and forth, warding us off as she retreated. “No... no, I can't help with anything that big.”

  In a voice that sounded like gravel crunching under tires, Gran said, “Yes, you can, Seer.”

  “What is that?” Tiffany asked.

  “That's Gran,” I responded.

  Mom and Dad moved away from me, revealing Gran. She looked worse for wear but not bad for a corpse who had accomplished a bit of precognitive forecasting.

  “That”—she pointed without an ounce of reverence—“is not your great-grandma. That's an it.”

  “Hey,” Mom said, “that's my gran you're dismissing, you brat.” Nice. Mom had regressed to name calling, a first.

  “Mom, I got this.”

  I told Tiffany, “Yeah, she's not really Gran anymore, but she still has to go back.”

  “You're the smart one that raised her. You put her back.” Tiffany crossed her arms.

  The sun broke through the clouds. A light drizzle continued to fall, making the whole scene glow with an eerie luminescence. I didn't have enough juice to force her help. In fact, I didn't think I could make her do anything, not with that humongous brother standing there.

  Gran came forward in an awkward shuffle.

  “You will do as this one says. He is a ruler amongst your kind.”

  That partial tongue does odd crap to speech.

  Tiffany stared at Gran in the strangest way.

  “Make me. I'm not gonna help out. I wanna get out of here. Period. End of discussion.” She snapped a big bubble of chewing gum. It was like machine gun fire in the silence.

  Gran didn't even flinch, moving closer until her rotting face was inches from mine. The smell was gag-worthy, but having been in the boys' locker room, I could take it.

  “What is your will, boy?” Gran asked solemnly.

  “I want you to be put back to rest,” I said.

  Zombies were terribly literal.

  Gran stepped toward Tiffany, all shuffling determination.

  Oh crap.

  Mom said, “Kyle? What's happening?”

  Dad surged forward. Gran turned—very smoothly for a zombie—put her palm on his chest, and shoved. Dad flew backward.

  One of his slip-on shoes came off and smacked Gran's tombstone with an audible thud. Dad landed on his butt in the grass, legs splayed in front of him.

  Rushing over, Mom screamed his name then crouched beside him. While Mom was panicking, Gran wrapped her hand in Tiffany's hair then dragged her over to where I was.

  Bry leaped on Gran's back. She reached behind with her free hand and plucked him off like a worrisome gnat. She tossed him in the direction she had shoved Dad. He promptly landed on his ass, jaws closing with a snap. Blood spewed from his mouth. Gran continued hauling Tiffany across the lawn.

  “Let her go!” I yelled.

  Gran complied, instantly dropping the girl. Tiffany landed face-down, and I heard a dull crunch. Bry struggled to his feet, blood spilling out of his mouth like a fountain.

  Oh this was so bad.

  He said something that sounded like, “I thont are aut oo re.”

  Then, he tackled Gran. Both of them tumbled to the ground. Rolling to a stop against another grave marker, Bry put his hands around Gran's neck and began thumping her head into the ground.

  Her hand shot out and grabbed him in the crotch as he straddled her. He yelped and released his grip on her neck. She used that opening to buck him off of her.

  Dad came to, moaning, his head in Mom's lap. His eyes grew wide when he saw the two kids lying in separate heaps. “Caleb, what's going on?”

  Looks like granny's getting her groove on. Hysteria pressed in on the edges of my consciousness.

  Gran went back and hovered over Tiffany.

  Tiffany sat up and flinched from Gran's outstretched hand. She held her nose and glared up at me.

  “You think you can help me now?” I asked with just a tiny bit of sarcasm.

  “Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She glanced at her brother, who lay on the ground a few feet away. The other girl had long since run off. Probably straight to the police, I thought dismally.

  Awesome—not.

  Gran hauled Tiffany to her feet none too gently, using her arm that was holding the nose. Tiffany let out a yelp. I almost felt sorry for her, but that was where her lack of cooperation had brought us. I was ready for a little grave closure myself.

  Dad rose shakily to his feet and cautiously made his way toward me with Mom on his heels.

  Gran looked speculatively at him.

  Bry got to his feet, too, holding his crotch, which was probably throbbing like hell.

  Gran and Tiffany eyed each other warily.

  I did what I thought would work. I released what I had left. It wasn't much, little more than a drop of water in a glass. But it found its mark and hit Tiffany.

  Tiffany threw her head
back, her mouth open. She looked like a little kid catching snowflakes on her tongue.

  “It feels good, so good. Why didn't you tell me it would feel good?”

  “Because I didn't know,” I replied softly.

  Tiffany stepped away from Gran, who kept a wary eye on Bry and my parents as they walked toward me. As she got closer, I noticed Tiffany's eyes were a deep hazel, not the brilliant shade of Jade’s but pretty in a mysterious way. Dried blood edged her nostrils.

  She held out her hand. I took it and felt an instant injection of juice. Also, the whispering grew in volume. The voices and their distinct signatures became clearer.

  Tiffany asked, “Is it always like this? The voices?”

  “For me, yeah.”

  Her eyes widened. “It's so loud.”

  “It's louder with us touching.”

  “Oh.”

  We turned as one mind, one intent.

  Gran had shambled over to her grave, looking rattier by the moment. I could feel Tiffany's energy or power, complementing mine.

  I looked into Gran's eyes and felt a spark of some kind, slimy and evil. Tiffany reacted as well.

  She looked at me, scared.

  I asked, “Ready?”

  I let my power shift to Tiffany. I squeezed her hand, and it flowed between us.

  I thought, Rest. A mental muscle flexed. The strength of my will chased the thread that connected me to Gran.

  It was so simple it was criminal. Speaking of which, I could hear sirens in the background. There was no explaining our way out of this mess.

  Gran gave one last heave of her chest, seeming to suck in real air for the last time. The breath rattled hollowly as it left her lungs, then she lay down on the grave. The dirt flowed over her, engulfing her body.

  When it was done, the grave appeared undisturbed, as if nothing had happened. Tiffany and I released each other's hands, the spark between us fading.

  The first police car arrived, and Garcia stepped out with a smile of satisfaction. A second officer got out and opened the back door. I figured Tiffany's snitch friend had blabbed to the police.

  Perfect.

  ***

  Garcia sauntered over, that wide smile stretched over his face.

  He's loving this.

  Tiffany stayed where she was, Bry walking over to stand beside her. I had to assume it had been Tiffany's snitch friend who'd blabbed to the cops. Sure enough, she exited Garcia's squad car.

  With the hood covering her face I hadn't really noticed her that much, kinda busy with Gran-the-corpse and Tiffany's rather problematic older brother.

  She had weird-colored hair somewhere between dishwater blond and red. Her face was all tight and pinched.

  She looked warily from Tiffany to Bry then me and flushed a fine, true red.

  Garcia stood facing us, legs wide, considerable arms folded across his chest.

  “Well, Caleb, what do we have here?”

  Just a tiny bit of corpse-raising.

  Dad said, “Sergeant Garcia, good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hart. No offense, but I was talking to Caleb.” Garcia’s eyes went back to mine like a tuning fork.

  “And he's a minor,” Dad added.

  Garcia's head swiveled back to Dad, his eyes narrowing. “I don't have to be reminded of that Mr. Hart.”

  Their gazes held.

  “We were here, conducting some experiments, and these kids”—Dad gestured at Tiffany and her brother—“happened upon us.”

  Mom hiccuped behind me. Oh great, she always got those when she was nervous—loud ones, too, from her gut.

  I rolled my eyes. Mom let out another one. Garcia's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. Dad squeezed Mom's shoulder.

  The other cop joined Garcia. He was all business, with a military haircut. His hair was so blond that he looked bald. He was short, barely taller than I was, with deep set eyes that never stopped moving—restless. He gave me the creeps.

  Garcia introduced. “This is my partner, Officer McGraw.”

  This guy was big time Aryan nation, white bread in his pants, all blond and light compared to Garcia's tall darkness.

  And he was scarier.

  I could feel this guy's potential and it didn't feel good. What I wouldn't have done for a dose of Jade's Empath skills about now.

  “The department is pairing mundane officers with paranormal ones to better handle paranormal crime.”

  He said paranormal like a curse.

  That I-want-to-be-your-friend thing had been an act. I was really glad I hadn't said too much during the dog incident.

  McGraw let a cruel smile flash, then it was gone. I was guessing he was about Parker's age, one of the first group of kids that got the inoculation.

  They're not giving these guys good enough psych screenings.

  What was he anyway? That would prove pretty useful to know in say, the next ten minutes.

  I didn't have long to wait, this jerk was just dying to show off, who knew why? Because he could, like Carson.

  “McGraw's an elemental,” Garcia said. “If anything gets out of hand here, I have perfect confidence that McGraw can handle it to the letter of the law.”

  We were so screwed.

  Elementals could manipulate the four elements: fire, water, earth and air. McGraw obviously did not have all his dogs barking, so I wasn’t interested in show and tell.

  Dad frowned.

  “I don't think any of us will be unreasonable. There is no need for posturing.”

  Garcia flipped open his notebook (pulse it, moron) and got a pen out. Who wrote anymore?

  He turned to Tiffany’s friend. “Miss Cote, why don't you repeat what you told me at the police station.”

  She came forward awkwardly, eyes downcast. “It's cot-A. Ya know, a long 'A',” she corrected sullenly.

  Cops growing out of the ground and she's correcting their pronunciation.

  “Okay... Miss Cot-A,” Garcia said. “Please repeat what you told us at the police station for these folks.”

  Cote looked at Tiffany, who shook her head.

  So Tiffany wasn't feeling like being outed either.

  Cote bit her lower lip. Garcia moved closer until he was towering over her.

  She looked up at him, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.

  “I thought I saw something over there by his parents.” She pointed in the general direction of Gran's tombstone. “But it isn't here now.”

  “Now come on. You said a lot more than that,” McGraw prompted.

  Tiffany said, “Mia, no.”

  That was it! Mia. I hated forgetting peoples' names.

  Mia said, “We were just going to come out here and hang. And then we saw these guys”—she gestured at my parents and me—“and saw something else, too. It smelled.” She crinkled her nose.

  “What smelled?” McGraw asked.

  “The dead woman,” she said finally.

  Garcia smiled with triumph.

  He and McGraw began a tight search of the area, moving in between tombstones. Garcia stepped on Gran's grave without a downward glance. Not a blade of grass was out of place. It looked perfect.

  McGraw turned back to Mia. “Where did you see this dead woman?”

  “Right there,” she said, pointing.

  He looked at where she indicated—Gran's headstone. He brought his gaze up and studied me.

  Don't ask, Garcia.

  He asked, “One of your relatives, maybe? Doing a little visiting?”

  “No. Actually, we were conducting experiments, as I mentioned earlier,” Dad said.

  “Well, I did some looking.” Garcia tapped his pen on the side of his head. “I have the last five generations of both your families in my little notebook right here. And here you all are, right at the family plot.”

  He snapped the notebook closed with a tight grinding sound and I gave a little involuntary jump. “But from what Miss Cote tells us, you were doing more than experimenting.”

>   Bry said, “Caleb and I got into a fight, that's all. His dad tried to break it up when it got out of control.”

  McGraw looked skeptical as he took in our little group. Dad's hair was a spike fest, and his pants had grass stains on them.

  Bry had blood all over his chin and the front of his shirt, and Tiffany had some dried blood under her nose. Mom shrank behind Dad. That clinched it for me. She didn't like him any better than I did.

  McGraw looked back at me.

  “But not a scratch on you.”

  “I guess I got lucky,” I said with only a small tremor in my voice.

  “But the,” he opened his notebook, scanning with his index finger until he came up with the name, then tapped it once, “Weller boy, has what looks like a piece of his tongue missing. And the sister,” he looked down again, “Tiffany, has sustained trauma to her nose.” His eyes narrowed at me, barely more than slits.

  “It's not Caleb's fault,” Tiffany said. “I just got in the middle.”

  McGraw scowled. They couldn't do anything. They'd have to chalk the whole thing up to a hysterical girl thinking she saw things in a graveyard that she didn't. Two boys getting in a fight was not a police matter.

  Garcia turned to Mia. “Are you sure that you saw a dead woman? Or are you willing to recant your testimony?”

  “Recant?” Mia asked.

  “Take it back. What you said. All of it.”

  “Yeah... yes... I recant. I don't know what I saw.” She looked so helpless that I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  “I guess we'll have to be satisfied with that,” Garcia said.

  “But know this: I thought I smelled a skunk, so there must be one.”

  Weird, just like Morginstern. A strong breeze blew, whipping my hair and lashing my face.

  Garcia pointed his pen at me. “You have my full attention, Caleb, and for the record, I don't like being played. If I find out you're a cadaver manipulator, we are lawfully bound to report that to the proper authorities. Don't let me find out you've been holding out on us.”

  He rested his hand on the baton strapped to his utility belt.

  McGraw smiled toothily, then his face took on an odd look of concentration. Raising his hand, he said, “Be still.”