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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Bobbi Gale,” she said then grinned. “Nice handshake ya got there.”

  Beth released her hand.

  “Officer Gale!”

  At the mouth of the alley stood another officer of the law. Beth did quick calculations of physicality.

  Hispanic descent, mid-thirties, six feet, one hundred ninety pounds, left-handed.

  She couldn't sense his intelligence from the distance, but as he moved toward them, she knew he could handle himself in a fight and almost run her down.

  This, they did not need: complications and questions that could not be answered.

  “Merrick.”

  He was already ahead of her. They exchanged a look with Clyde when Bobbi Gale was distracted by the appearance of her partner.

  Merrick jogged silently to the opposite side of the alley.

  Beth whirled to tail him.

  They ran in sync, her hair a nuisance streaming behind her.

  “Good day,” Clyde said in a low voice, allowing their departure.

  The Reflectives’ hearing was perfect, though they did not turn back to return the goodbye.

  “Stop!” cried the unknown officer.

  “Hey!” Bobbi shouted.

  Merrick slapped his palm into Beth's.

  They simply had no time.

  “Where?” She delivered the single word like a terse slap.

  Running footsteps echoed. Beth heard a weapon clear a holster.

  Beth's assessment of the officer Bobbi Gale had found her to be of keen intelligence.

  The Reflectives’ potential had been gleaned and found to be other. They'd missed their jump and were desperate to remove themselves from the moment.

  Beth's palm began to sweat in Merrick's hand as it swallowed hers.

  “Beth!” he hissed, using her given name for the first time.

  She scanned the parking lot that the alley had opened into.

  One transport was parked alongside the curb; a shattered side mirror poked out like an ear.

  “No,” Merrick said, following her gaze.

  A warning shot fired above their heads, and Beth ducked.

  “I'll shoot!”

  Beth unconsciously analyzed the officer’s voice patterns: Unknown male voice, English as second language, stress detected, follow through likely.

  “He's going to plug us,” Beth said as the sun bled into the horizon.

  A final strangled bit of sunlight cut the parking lot like a knife. The dull blade of gold shimmered, striking the spiderweb of glass in that small mirror that hung off the car like a severed body part.

  The reflection called to Beth like a melodious note that sang for her and her alone.

  Merrick's eyes widened as he wheezed.

  He could have cut away at any time. Instead, he moved closer to Beth's body.

  Trust was the last thing she saw in his eyes as Merrick's arms wrapped her small frame.

  She leapt, tearing into a piece of mirror that was a fractured remnant and an impossible jump.

  Bobbi Gale and the man known as Raul Garcia almost dropped their guns when a blinding flash of light burst like a falling star in front of them. Two entwined bodies, a muscular male and a small female, glittered in a fragmented rainbow, rivaling the bloody tangerine of the sunset as it broke over the curb.

  They became a ribbon of swirling color, slamming into the side mirror of the car.

  They they were gone.

  The pieces of mirror fell like rain onto the curb, splintering into smaller fragments.

  Clyde turned to Bobbi.

  “What in Fuckenstein was that?” Bobbi whispered.

  Clyde made a noise, and she ignored him for the moment.

  Raul met her eyes, holstering his weapon without looking. “I'm not sure, but if I was a betting man—”

  “You're not,” Bobbi said without rancor.

  “Let the man speak,” Clyde said.

  Bobbi folded her arms across her chest in a huff.

  Raul narrowed his gaze on her. “I'd say they were Dimensionals.”

  “Like Randi Chen?”

  “Exactly like.”

  The three stood together in a loose triangle of unease. In the world of paranormals, a new threat was not met with welcome.

  The trouble was: the purpose of the two strangers was uncertain.

  ***

  Jasper could jump through what was nearly untraceable with even Reflective eyesight.

  However, her landings left quite a bit to be desired.

  Jeb instinctively curled around his partner, again stretching out of the familiar because she didn't share his gender.

  He fell hard, his ribs bruising instantly. One cracked as Jasper's weight added to the insult of the rough landing.

  The air left him, and Jasper rolled away.

  Jeb opened his eyes. Without air, he just lay on the ground like a fish stranded out of water.

  He heard Jasper scramble up and could just make out her silhouette in the gloom.

  “What are you doing? Get up, Merrick.”

  Her hands flew to her hips.

  He lay there, his lungs begging for oxygen, rebelling against the pain it would cause his ribs if he filled them.

  Jasper toed him. “Come on. Don't be a pussy.”

  Anger flared through Jeb and he struggled up. And suddenly the movement unlocked him. He took a great, swooping lungful and a harsh cough barked out of him.

  The pain about did him in, his ribs like shards of glass.

  Jeb lurched to his feet and Jasper stepped away, making the look on his face easily with only a dimly lit quarter moon to aid her.

  “I am not. A. Pussy,” Jeb said slowly.

  So much for chivalry.

  Jasper glanced away, and he could almost taste her embarrassment.

  “I do have one cracked rib and several others that are tender.”

  “I suck at landings,” Beth admitted, keeping to the sector's verbiage.

  Jeb put a hand at his side, wincing.

  “You can drop the English slang.”

  He peered through the gloom, seeing nothing but a thick wood and mountains beyond.

  He pulled his pulse from his pocket and thanked Principle it had survived their horrible transit. He depressed his thumb.

  Merrick, Jebediah—Sector Three, Quadrant Cascade Range, Greater Quadrant of America.

  Jeb raked a hand through his hair, and his ribs shrieked at the sudden movement. He ignored it, thinking coordinates.

  46.18N by 122.18 W

  He depressed his thumb and hung his head.

  Jeb was unfamiliar with the region, but they were no longer in the Kent Quadrant. Their current location was too rural to find another marker like they’d had in the previous location.

  Jasper was too green to know anything about all of it. She was a superb linguist, as evidenced in their engagement. She also had sector histories down… but coordinates were his area, and even he felt out of his element.

  “So?” Jasper asked, looking around. “How long?”

  “You mean before I can shake off that bludgeoning I just lived through?”

  He let her have a taste of his irritation. After all, his bravery was not in question, and he didn't like Jasper implying it was. If he had not broken her fall, she would have punctured a lung—or worse.

  Jasper kicked a twig on the forest floor. Though it was late summer, as it was in Papilio, the coming of fall bit the air.

  “What do you gauge the elevation?” he asked, letting her off the hook.

  Beth took in a lungful of air and closed her eyes, tasting the subtle difference of air pressure.

  “One thousand.”

  The pain bore down on him as Jeb mimicked her inhalation. “Eight hundred forty-six.”

  “Don't sound so smug, Merrick.”

  He walked into her personal space, his body working to knit the damage, but it was too soon.

  When they didn't return, more Reflectives would be sent.

  R
achett would be notified.

  They would look like imbeciles.

  He could hear it already: “You missed a timed jump for a zombie?”

  Jeb opened his mouth to tell Jasper what she'd cost them. But instinct—or self-preservation; he would never know what—kept his mouth shut.

  Instead, he barked out, “Find the nearest quadrant.”

  After all, she'd gotten them out of one mess and into another that was barely better.

  What do the Three's call it?

  Ah yes… out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Beth went through the motions with her thumb, pulsing to find the nearest quadrant.

  She was ashamed.

  She'd put Merrick through the paces of her novice landing, injured him, then basically called him a coward.

  What is wrong with me? Why did she allow Merrick to get under her skin? And why, for the love of Principle, did she let him boss her around?

  Well, that one was easy. He was her lead. She was the hot-shot jumper who could move through mist.

  The answer floated to the surface of her pulse screen.

  Quadrant—Marblemount, Washington

  Merrick's face was chiseled stone in the shadows made by the canopy of woods.

  “Marblemount,” Beth said.

  “Fine.” Merrick scanned their surroundings. “Let's hike it.”

  “What?” Beth asked, exasperated.

  She was hungry, thirsty and homesick.

  Merrick put his hands on his hips. “You don't see anywhere to jump out here, do you?”

  She knew there wasn't.

  They'd completed their mission by giving the fraudulent fingerprints to the splinter faction that would stop the Zondorae scientists from committing a purely preemptive mass infanticide.

  It would not be enough—for their future intel said it was partially successful—but their action had allowed for a future that was not so bleak. Killing that many of the world's children would leave the Threes without the hope of the future The Cause had seen for them.

  Merrick strode away without waiting for a response. His back was straight, not a trace of injury, though Beth knew he needed more sustenance than they had available.

  Beth hoped the hike would make up for their lack of warm clothing. She'd leapt right into a deeply wooded, vaguely mountainous region that was a breath away from autumn.

  Hypothermia was not out of the question. They would not die, but the compromise would leave them vulnerable to discovery.

  “Direction?” Merrick asked, never breaking stride as he traversed the terrain easily. A Reflective's night vision was superior among inhabitants of all sectors, save One.

  “East,” she said quietly, knowing Merrick would hear her.

  He grunted in response, and Beth wondered how long she would be in the doghouse.

  She trudged after him with a heavy heart.

  *

  Beth's legs were killing her by the time they breached the edge of civilization, where homesteads hugged the forest. As she and Merrick walked out into the open, frogs, crickets, and early birdsong met them. A thin fog had seeped in, undecided if it would be wet and become mist or just hamper their vision enough to be annoying.

  “Can you jump this?”

  Merrick's gaze hit her like a slap. The neutrality of the mist seemed to cause him to float, his gold hair glowing softly in a wavy cap moistened by the humidity, his stark eyes a clear dark gray. Storming.

  “No,” Beth answered. “I'd just bounce back. The fog… it's like a circle of jumps.”

  “Like in between?” he asked.

  Beth shuddered, thinking about jumps that had landed her in a place not unlike this fog-thickened weather.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Jeb turned, surveying large yards containing mainly farm equipment and gardens thick with unharvested corn. Orange pumpkins burst here and there from the confines of vines gone blond with the change of season.

  “Let's keep going.”

  “I… Merrick.”

  He turned, impatience on every line of his body.

  Beth was so hungry she could hardly think.

  Of course, he must be far worse.

  Instead of telling him the obvious, she asked, “Do you have the Three currency?”

  He jerked his chin back. “Of course.”

  “Where?”

  Merrick unbuttoned the pocket that ran the length of his shin. He worked the denim with stiff fingers gone cold without gloves.

  They usually took only what was needed for their particular mission: currency from the appropriate sector and era-appropriate clothing and weapons.

  Even if they carried nothing else, they brought weapons. However, their mission had not been considered dangerous enough to require stabilizers.

  Beth had transported the weaponry, and Merrick had been responsible for the currency and light jackets they wore. Merrick called them “zip-ups,” but she knew they were called hoodies in this region. Hers was barely adequate, even with her body warm and loose from the trek.

  Merrick's hoodie hugged his lean, muscular form as though it had been made for him. Beth's was ridiculously large.

  No one had bothered to get a jacket that fit her, and she'd had to make due with a small male's.

  All those little slights added up—all those jackets that didn't fit, all those things made life so much harder for her. Many would have loved to see Beth fail because the Reflectives didn't see her as a compatriot, but someone they needed to excise, like a disease.

  “Hey.”

  Beth started.

  “It's right here.” Jeb held up the envelope Christopher had given him.

  She breathed easier. They had needed to get out of there so quickly that Beth hadn't kept track of the currency.

  “Satisfied?” Merrick asked, as bright as a new Sector Three penny.

  In contrast, Beth felt worn out.

  “Look sharp. We'll be entering another quadrant, and it might not be exactly like Kent.”

  Beth said nothing as she followed Merrick. When they got to a narrow bridge that crossed a large river, her nose picked up a delicious aroma.

  “The morning meal,” Merrick said appreciatively.

  Beth tucked her hair behind her ears, hating the curtain it made around her. She reminded herself of the need to blend in. The females of this region did not braid their hair in the way she did. She and Merrick already stood out a little because they could never quite eradicate their differences.

  Most of the Threes couldn't tell, but she had run across a few who had sighted them immediately

  Those Threes were known as Sensitives. They were not abundant but were plentiful enough that blending in was a Reflective's first priority. Of course, there was nothing they could have done during their most recent debacle.

  Beth thought of the zombie, Clyde, and his smart associates who policed his world. That had been unfortunate. Thank Principle Three was riddled with paranormals. Beth and Jeb’s disappearance would be noted, but not as noteworthy as it would have been on somewhere like Sector Seven, where humanoids could shift into different animal forms, vampires roamed unregulated, and a sub-species of human beings ruled through blood alone. Sector Seven was home to the Blood Singers, or Singers as the Reflectives had nicknamed them long ago.

  And there was the matter of the fey, who were as ancient as the Papiliones. That issue remained unaddressed. They were a secret people, and their very nature made them less of an issue. But if the fey chose to “out” themselves, then the Reflective would need to manage their reveal.

  Like many cultures that grew too powerful or advanced too quickly, no failsafe to provide a check and balance had been built into their culture structure.

  The Reflective would intervene before they ran amuck.

  Beth and Merrick followed their noses toward the food. Beth daydreamed of her butterflies, and Merrick kept his thoughts to himself.

 
Beth didn't even care what he was thinking; she was sleepwalking and starving.

  Anything would do.

  *

  The bell tinkled as they entered, and Merrick excused himself to use the restroom. Dead on her feet from no rest and the all-night hike, Beth was desperate to splash a little water on her face. But she knew Merrick would be separating the money.

  They couldn't just run into an eatery and suppose Threes wouldn't notice a bundle in excess of ten thousand in Three currency.

  Beth stepped forward, and a young female smiled, giving Beth a slow perusal.

  “Table for two,” Beth said in a commanding way, breaking the young woman's curiosity with a neat hammer-to-glass method.

  The girl looked startled.

  “Right, this way.”

  She turned and led Beth to a table near the window.

  “This okay?” The girl named… Bethany asked.

  Suddenly sad, Beth's eyes went to the hostess. The girl knew who her real parents were and where she came from. She even had an entire name.

  Beth studied her and was startled to realize they were roughly the same age, even though it was clear that their lives were not parallel.

  “Hello?” she asked Beth.

  She scanned the inside of the food establishment. Merrick would want something with his back to the wall, where he could keep his eyes locked on the exits.

  There were three, Beth noted.

  “I need something over there…” She pointed to a semi-circle booth.

  The hostess rolled her eyes.

  Beth noticed her blond roots and rainbow-dyed hair.

  Is this beauty in Sector Three? Beth didn't know. It was ugly to her. Of course, she wasn't considered beautiful in Papilio, where pale hair and eyes were coveted. This one had covered her naturally pale hair with unnatural, multicolored hues—a confounding practice.

  Beth sat in the center of a semi-circle booth.

  Merrick came out of the restroom like an elegant panther from the rumored jungles of this sector's extreme southern greater quadrant.

  His nostrils flared and his head turned in Beth's direction.

  Beth's face flamed. He could probably smell her because she was as rank as Hades.

  What I'd give for a cleansing. Ugh.