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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Moments filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing ticked by.

  “Do you understand the importance of this?”

  “If he knew of Beth…” Jeb said.

  “He would come after her.”

  “And leave a tailwind for every Sector One to follow.”

  Rachett smiled, the first real one of the conversation. “Precisely.”

  As they said on Three: no pressure.

  “And, Jeb?”

  He turned back, his hand on the old brass knob.

  “She could be important.”

  That bit of Sector One blood could be harnessed to allow Reflectives to jump through theoretically anything.

  Jeb tried to wrap his mind around someone jumping through the rain, with no locator, while holding a dead body.

  He couldn't. That kind of raw ability would be… dangerous.

  Jeb thought of Beth jumping through mist. However, she'd been solo. Her father had carried another with him, who was not living. Jeb certainly had food for thought.

  *

  A swift jab to the ribs brought him back to himself in a hurry.

  “What in the Hades, Merrick?” Beth glared at him angrily.

  He shook off the memory with effort. “Sorry, got lost for a second there.”

  “Way to instill the faith, Merrick.”

  “Okay,” Jeb nodded at Jasper, and she withdrew the sphere, placing it on the pedestal.

  They were in the jumping room. Jeb had always found the title humorous, as if the room were bouncing around rather than being the location the jumpers leapt from.

  The small sphere stood dead center in a niche perfectly formed to accept the locator.

  Its deep-pewter luster shone under their gazes.

  The scientists of Papilio had studied the senses of the Reflectives and found them fifty times more acute than non-Reflectives’.

  Their sharpened eyesight allowed the partners to narrow their vision on the sphere, tuned to Sector Three by their guidance.

  There was windows of non-reflective glass that bordered every wall and the moon slanted inside, white-washing the ancient floors to a pure carpet of low sparkles like ice.

  “Ladies first,” Jeb mocked, knowing it would get a rise out of Jasper.

  Beth raised her middle finger, so ladylike and violent at the same time Jeb chuckled.

  He had never really analyzed her jumps.

  She folded her hands like a high diver on a cliff above a deep pool of water.

  Jasper dove, and a riptide of energy tore at Jeb.

  He had jumped many times, and each Reflective's “signature” was distinctive.

  Beth’s feminine energy was a kaleidoscope of meshed color that ripped through the room, fracturing the moonlight into shards of shining rainbows.

  Jeb almost missed his cue.

  He went from a standstill to a sprint, the last of her departing ribbon snapping out of existence just as he leapt after it.

  Then he was hurtling into the nothingness of the pathway the Reflectives traveled.

  *

  Principle—what the Hades is that damn word?

  Ah yes! Déjà vu.

  “Beth!” Jeb hollered hoarsely. He possessed just enough wherewithal not to lose his diction on Three and slip into Latin.

  Jeb didn't believe that it was spoken in Sector Three, except for in some religious temples. As least they were not in Thirteen again, though Principle knew, jumping with Beth felt like a do-over. That odd sense of doubling swept through him again, then she answered him.

  “I'm right here. Stop braying like a sheep.”

  Relief poured through him when he heard her trademark sarcasm.

  Beth studied his expression and frowned. “What is that face for?”

  He needed to be more careful to school his expression around her. The information about her father was not to be shared with anyone, especially her.

  It was in her nature to be curious.

  Jasper would be better off being curious about things that wouldn't get her killed.

  “Rough landing.” He shrugged, sliding his eyes away.

  Beth looked at him a heartbeat longer. “Seemed smooth to me, but whatever.”

  She was already using Three lingo. He needed to shake off his archaic speech. Jeb had adopted some Three vernacular, but it wasn't where his talents lay.

  Beth slid her pulse out of her tight denims and swiped it with her thumb to initialize. Her first and last names appeared. But instead of her home world of Papilio, it read:

  Quadrant: Kent, Washington—Greater Quadrant, America—Year 2030.

  Jeb switched dialects, moving smoothly into English.

  “How are we doing?”

  Beth rolled her eyes at him. “We hit the target quadrant and year.”

  He frowned. “Okay, so why are you making faces?”

  “You're using British English. We're trying to blend, doofus.”

  “I am?” Jeb asked.

  Beth nodded. “Snap out of it. We're way west, pal. You'll stand out like a turd in a punchbowl with that Greater Quadrant upper-crust lingo you got going on.”

  Jeb began to grin. “You've really studied this?”

  She put on her familiar bored, I'm-superior look.

  “Ah-duh. We're here to recon, and we can't do it with that stick-up-your-ass Brit accent.”

  Jeb was offended. He felt—and thought he sounded—smooth.

  “I mean”—Beth put her hands on her hips—“that's fine if you want to stay here and listen to yourself talk, which might please the hell out of you.”

  Jeb laughed.

  “But we do have an objective.” Beth raised her eyebrows.

  “Principle, you're a bossy thing.”

  “Stop using Principle… it's God here.”

  Jeb frowned.

  In the most recent past, Jeb had been partnered with an adept linguist. Allowing him to speak for the pair had been easier. Jeb had always taken over with the physical work.

  Jeb threw his hands in the air. “I give up. You do the talking.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, leveling a fist by her hip and popping it straight up into the air.

  “What the Hades is that move?”

  “Victory.”

  Jeb made a non-committal noise, which sounded suspiciously like a grunt, and followed Beth.

  “The targets?” she asked.

  Jeb had his pulse at the ready. “Gary and Joe Zondorae.”

  “The geneticists?”

  “Yeah.”

  Beth threw a glance over her shoulder. “Better.”

  “Yup.”

  She grinned.

  Sector Three was easy. Reflective surfaces abounded. Jeb was unaware of any other jumpers, so the two of them bounced from one surface to the next, Jeb leading with one leap and she the next.

  Finally, they came to their meeting point.

  Thank Principle this world was rife with humans of paranormal ability. That made it easier for them to seemingly pop out of thin air and have the ones they would meet barely bat an eye.

  The weird had become an everyday occurrence.

  Beth tumbled in behind him at their destination

  Across town from their permanent locator. Pioneer Reflectives of exploration had established unobtrusive markers in every sector, across many different quadrants. Those permanent place markers were a clean jumping point back and forth between worlds. Jumping across the small Kent Quadrant had been simple because of the abundance of surfaces.

  Jeb smiled to himself; the place was so dreary that it was littered with mud puddles that reflected the gray clouds roiling continuously above them. He understood it was the region, not the sector and made a mental note to stay in his quadrant forever.

  Jeb caught Beth's wary eyes. Plenty of puddles for jumps, large trees for cover, and markers for graves. Remote, quiet and a good point for fast escape.

  Beth pulled a face.

  “What's the problem?”

&
nbsp; “Not a fan of corpse gardens.”

  Jeb shrugged. It didn't matter to him, fewer people were better in his opinion. This world had overpopulated, and disease had taken them down like flies.

  His empathy for Three was at an all-time low.

  “They have AftDs here.”

  Jeb's mind rolled through the paranormals found here, and he didn't immediately remember the acronym. Oh yes—Affinity for the Dead. Corpse animators.

  “So?”

  The Pyros, Telekinetics, and Manipulators were the real problem.

  He told her that.

  She nodded.

  “True, but do you want to see their dead walk around, scratch their ass, and shake your hand?”

  Jasper had a point.

  “Look.” Jeb jerked his chin in the direction of a man and woman who appeared from behind the stand of trees then walked toward them.

  Stealthy, Jeb thought, bracing himself.

  The female spoke first. “I'm Amanda, and this is Chris.”

  Jeb and Chris assessed each other as males do.

  Jeb knew who would win a bare-handed fight.

  Chris turned his attention to Jasper. “Who's she?”

  Jasper's face tightened. Her offense at his dismissal was obvious.

  “My colleague,” Jeb replied, and he heard the breath leak out of her, but not her anger.

  Chris's eyes flicked to Jeb. “You talk funny.”

  Damn.

  Beth took over, smoothly shifting gears, but not before giving him a look.

  Jeb's teeth came together with a snap.

  “We have the product,” Beth said.

  “I wanna see,” Chris strode forward, and Jeb folded his arms, legs planted, as the first fat drop of rain landed on his forehead. It chilled instantly against his skin.

  Beth pulled the coded, self-eroding fingerprint strips out of a small slim reticule specially designed for jumps.

  She began to pull it open to extract the paper-thin counterfeit pads when Chris snatched it away.

  Jeb smiled.

  Beth moved with the surety of practice. She slid her palm out in a slap that was aimed at his inner forearm. It was delivered with hard precision, and it did what she expected it to.

  It flung Chris’s arm wide, and she made a grab for the bag.

  Beth gracefully plucked it out of his hand.

  She tossed it to Jeb. Males of the sector, especially the Greater Quadrant of America, were known for their aggression, and Chris charged Jasper as Amanda and Jeb watched.

  It was fine entertainment.

  Chris moved toward her like a bull after a red flag, all momentum and some skill. Jasper stood still, letting his own weight and speed ruin his attempt.

  He reached out, and she grabbed his forearm with both hands then swung out her foot as she let his continue right by.

  Chris tumbled to the ground sans bag, having lost the fight to a woman he outweighed by one hundred pounds.

  He glared at Beth.

  Jeb completely understood the smear of rage across his face.

  Could he take her?

  “I'm going to kick your ass.”

  “Chris, we don't have time for this bullshit.”

  His eyes flicked to Amanda then away. “Shut up.”

  Chris got up, his desire to see through force, what he'd buy on the black market was gone.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are, girl?”

  Beth smiled, her calculating eyes running up his body like a freight train. She brought her loose fists up beside her jaw, her knees slightly bent, her weight balanced.

  “I'm the girl that will make you bleed.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beth shifted her eyes to the woman then right back on her opponent. He was only a Sector Three male, but he might get in a lucky strike. It was in Beth's nature to be wary.

  Chris seemed to have thought something through and come to a decision. He straightened, and suddenly, the short fuse of the moment burnt out.

  He shook his head at Amanda and snorted.

  “Wouldn't want to arm wrestle her.”

  If he wanted to use humor to diffuse the situation, that was fine by her. Beth backed away, hands loose by her sides.

  “Done posturing?” Merrick asked, and Beth smirked.

  “Thanks for the backup, stud,” Beth said, and Merrick frowned at her phrasing.

  “You didn't need my assistance.”

  “Where are ya from?” Amanda asked.

  “That's not important,” Merrick said.

  Beth replied, “Around.”

  Now that was not meant literally, Beth thought.

  Chris checked them out and said, “Doesn't matter. Let’s take a look-see at the pulse thumbstrips and get the fuck outta here. We have stuff to do.”

  Yes, we do.

  Beth gave Merrick a meaningful glance as she opened the bag, pulling out a small strip. One side had a removable barrier.

  “Just pull this end away.” Beth mimed tearing one side off. “Then”—she turned and pretended to place it on her pulse dock pad then depress it with her thumb—“voilà! You have a false pulse print.”

  “Seems easy,” Chris said.

  Merrick shrugged. “Should be. It's got the only set of prints you require.”

  Chris's eyes slid to Merrick.

  “Three infiltrations’ worth, right?” Amanda asked. She was obviously the brains of the operation.

  Principle, help them.

  Beth nodded.

  “Okay, let's roll,” Chris said, taking an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

  He handed it to Merrick, and Beth's lips tilted. The big bad male was afraid of her.

  “Count it,” she said, and Merrick did.

  “It's all there.”

  As the couple walked away, Chris stole a glance at Beth before they disappeared from view.

  “You put the fear of Principle into him.”

  “God, Merrick.”

  He shook his head, palming his chin.

  “I can't get used to another deity. It seems wrong somehow.”

  It did to Beth, too. But they were in Sector Three. When in Rome… Beth smiled at the colloquialism from this sector. It fit well with their circumstance.

  “When it's just us, let's talk about things that matter to us.”

  If that's the way he thinks. “Let's go to the cathedral then.”

  It wasn't a good sign that she was already homesick for Papilio when it was her first official jump.

  Merrick's perfect golden eyebrows arched on his sculpted face and a sigh almost escaped.

  It must be nice to be the poster child for the Reflective.

  Merrick stood at well over six feet of well-honed muscle. Long dark-blond hair curled slightly above his ears, as was the style in this sector. His eyes were his best feature, a pale gray surrounded by soot-colored lashes.

  Beth had always thought they should match his hair. Instead, they edged those unusual eyes like black lace.

  He was so handsome that it hurt to look at him.

  Then he spoke, and her admiration for his fine looks wafted away like the ashes of a lost memory.

  “Jasper, you and your sentiment.”

  “You've heard, have you?” she said in a disgusted tone. “I'll go myself then. You can find your own entertainment.”

  She felt his hand on her shoulder and wanted to tear it off.

  All of Merrick’s life, everything had been given to him. He'd never known a moment's strife. He'd been raised in the Barringer Quadrant, for Principle's sake.

  He turned her and searched her face.

  “Jasper, I don't put you down for having sentiment, only what kind it is.”

  Their guarded expressions collided.

  Merrick asked, “Don't you understand that sentiment is different to the individual?”

  She flung his palm off and began walking.

  “Have you ever heard a sermon?” she asked.

  His expression told her he
hadn’t.

  ***

  Jeb watched Jasper kneel before the deity of this sector and thought the man hanging on the cross was a gruesome depiction of violence. Jasper understood their customs, and Jeb allowed the indulgence.

  She was younger than he was, and she had been through a trying time, with too many close calls too near to one another. It was time that Jeb showed a little compassion.

  Except for the sculpture of the tortured man of the cross, the building had an artistic beauty that reminded him of the architecture of Papilio. Great arches of white marble with subtle pink thread rose from the ground to meet at the ceiling, where an almost upside-down fleur-de-lis shape knotted the intersections. Tall stained and leaded glass windows captured jewel tones, bearing Sector Three's saints—men without sin.

  Merrick struggled to stifled his disdain.

  Jasper took a seat, and he measured the time by the sun filtering through the colored glass. Oh four hundred.

  His stomach was empty, and that told him it was oh time to eat.

  Jeb leaned against the back wall as people filed in and sat in long wooden pews. It was not unlike the temple for Principle in his world, minus the beaten figure on the cross.

  His thoughts scattered when a regal man in a white robe came out and began to speak.

  Jeb stood up straighter.

  The man was speaking Latin.

  Jeb understood every word, sinking into the music of what came out of his mouth like taking his next breath.

  *

  As he and Jasper walked out of the cathedral, Jeb found he was slightly melancholy.

  “That was strange,” he commented.

  “It is, but wonderful, too.”

  Neither said what the other was thinking—that they would have to return. Each jump never lasted longer than twenty-four hours. And time did not move identically between sectors. Some planets could be as much as a season off.

  During a very bad jump to Sector One, Jeb had lost an entire year.

  Jeb had a case of wanderlust. It was always that way. Every Reflective had that special other half out there, waiting. He gave Jasper a speculative look.

  A male half for her. It was an odd consideration.

  “Ice cream,” Jeb said suddenly, and Jasper laughed.