“I guess they awarded me the Congressional Medal of Honor.” Irony twists his lips. “Posthumously, of course.”
Our silence is swollen. Empty. Yet full at the same time. After an entire minute has passed, he says, “Got Eddie V. out.”
I bite my lip. Release. “What happened to you, Mitchell?”
“They burnt me alive.” His voice is devoid of emotion.
A sound squeezes out between my lips. Raw nerves on breath. “Mitchell.”
“Shhh, I only felt it a little bit, at the beginning.” He pulls away, a smile softening the line of his lips.
I choke back tears.
Then a river of water pours out of my eyes, and Mitchell brushes what he can from my cheeks.
“Deegan.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.
My body quivers with my anger. “I hate that they hurt you.”
He leans away. “If they hadn't killed me, I wouldn't have found you. But I do have a very important question.”
His eyebrows sweep up, and I laugh. It's an inappropriate response, but everything was so serious, then he does this face.
“Is my death funny?” Mitchell puts his palm to his chest, mock-insulted.
God no. I shake my head vigorously, giggles turning to gales.
“Nice, Deegan. Yuk it up. So compassionate.”
I try to defend my stupidity and can't. Planting my hands on my knees, I take big whoops of air. My chin rises, and I meet his solemn eyes.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. But I—you didn't need to tell me that.” Straightening, I gnaw at my lip again. After a few seconds of searching his face, I see a question in the arrangement of his features. “So ask.”
He dips his chin. “How, with the way I died, can I look like this again? All perfect.”
I shake my head, and small hairs float into my face from the long mess of my braid. “I don't know. If my dad was here, he'd know.” I hate saying the next part, but it might make more sense if I do. “Did they-they…” I stammer. “Burn all of you?” I whisper that last.
He remains unfazed. “No. They cooked me enough to kill me, but parts of me weren't touched. I remember.” He gives the top of his skull a light tap.
I look sharply at him. “Your head?”
He raps on his skull. “Hard-headed, though they tried their damnedest.”
I get excited. “That might be it. No AftD can raise anyone if they don't have brains.”
“Yummy,” Mitchell says instantly.
I roll my eyes.
“What?” his gaze narrows on me.
“Are you telling me you like brains?”
Mitchell snorts as though my question is ridiculous. “Absolutely.”
Zombies. I grin.
He grins back. “Yeah, if that chump Ryan had stuck around long enough, might have gotten after him.” He waggles his brows.
I make a fake gag noise. “Gross!”
“No worries. All those crows were working him over. Have a lot of love for that.” His grin widens. He’s obviously thinking about the possibility of Ryan getting pecked to death.
I shiver.
“Speaking of that guy…” Mitchell paces away from me.
The sun is still high over our heads.
I'm gauging the time of day to be sometime early afternoon. But who knows? I guess Dad would, since he's the only one on the planet who wears a wristwatch. A winder, too.
He snickers. “If he lives through peck heaven”—Mitchell jerks his thumb back from the direction we just ran from—“he might want a little payback.”
I shift wide eyes to his, my chest tightening like a vice.
His gaze sharpens on my features—my fear. “Don't be afraid, Deegan.”
“I am,” I admit immediately. “He said something about how he was born the way he was and my ʻAtomicʼ ability can't zap him.” My lip trembles with the need to break down again, but I can't be a baby every time the wind blows. Only sometimes. My lips quirk instead of pout. I take deep breaths, attempting to settle my feelings.
“Wait. What?” His face hardens. “Atomic? Zap?” Then realization lights his face. “Right. Your black hole thing?”
Yeah, my black hole thingie. That little nothing I can do. That.
I sigh. “Yes. I tried to get him off me, get rid of him.” I cast my eyes to the ground, noting my All Stars sneakers are toast. “Even though I'm not supposed to—”
“Hey!” Mitchell stands before me again. “Survival of the fittest, right?” He winks.
I pierce him with an intense look, my brows meeting. “Gramps always says that.” Because it's true.
He chuckles, bending down to give me a quick kiss on my cheek. “Smart dude.”
I nod. His comment makes me miss my family all over again.
We're silent for a few seconds.
“I knew Ryan was a soldier because of the way he handled himself. I'm damn glad I can't feel pain—and that I'm stronger than fuck.” He slides a guilty glance my way.
“Forget it.” I laugh softly. “My brother's got the worst trash mouth on the planet.”
“And a big chip on his shoulder.”
I bristle at that a little, though it's the absolute truth. “He's got a lot to deal with.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look quickly at Mitchell. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean you haven't—didn't.” God, I'm so dumb. Technically, I'm not. But when I’m around Mitchell, my IQ seems to drop about fifty points.
“It's okay,” he says softly. “Your bro? He seems okay, just protective. But he's a hothead. I'd know the type a hundred miles off.”
“Miles?” I ask with a lilt. My eyes are probably twinkling at him.
Mitchell crosses his arms, expression speculative. “What do you say?”
“Kilometers.”
“Damn,” he says, lips tweaking. “They finally went metric.” He gives a small shake of his head.
“Yeah, a million years ago.”
His look is bittersweet. “Yeah,” he answers softly, almost to himself.
I grab his hand, and he squeezes mine back. “Ryan will come after us. If he survives ‘The Pecking,’ he'll come.”
“Yes,” I concede, a vague smile planted on my lips. Ryan seemed pretty determined. “He says this world doesn't allow Death Bringers and Atomics.”
“Death Bringer. That's cute.” The corners of his lips curve.
I smirk. “Not really. In fact, it's made me the most ineligible senior ever to grace the United States.”
“You're a senior?” Mitchell drops my hand. “In high school?”
A blush heats my face, and I can only hope that my dusky skin doesn't show it. Truth time. “Actually, I skipped a grade.”
Mitchell backs up another step. “I kissed you.” His voice is pancake flat.
I wince. “Yeah, but—”
Mitchell shakes his head. “No. I don't think so, Deegan. I'm not—I was nearly twenty-one when I was killed. I'm not going after some schoolgirl.”
God! “It's not like that.”
He glares at me. “What's it like then?”
Fine. “I'm of age. In this time, sixteen is the age of automatic emancipation.”
“Are you just telling me that?”
My face bursts into flames. “No,” I say in harsh reply, tossing razor blades with my eyes.
“Fine.” He draws out the word. “But in my time, any girl under eighteen was off limits.”
I fold my arms under my breasts, and his eyes dilate. Hmm. “You didn't seem to be too concerned about that when we were macking earlier!”
I stomp off toward the lake, not caring about where Reflective Ryan might be skulking, my family, or anything. It's all about The Feels.
And mine are pretty pissed off right about now.
Mitchell crashes right after, and I ignore him. He spins me around, gripping my shoulders. “Listen to me, and listen good. You're not some chick to bang and release like a fucking fish, De
egan.”
My eyes widen to bulging at his words. My breath is wedged in my throat like a bloated thorn.
“You're this wonderful, thrilling, life-altering—” He snorts before plowing forward with his diatribe. “Great girl, who’s almost a woman, and I'm not going to queer that by being selfish.”
I look up into his eyes, the most gorgeous blue I've ever beheld, a cerulean ocean without end.
His grip is tight, not bruising like the one Ryan had me in.
My teeth don't rattle in Mitchell's hands; they ache along with my heart, my body.
I lift my hands, and like a starving man, he watches them come.
When I reach his face, I cradle his jaw. The short hairs of his beard tickle the skin of my palms.
“Be selfish,” I whisper. “Be very, very selfish.”
Then I'm rising on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his.
Mitchell resists.
My lips move, molding to his, pecking and dipping.
“Dee—”
My tongue plunges inside his mouth as I wrap my arms around his thick neck.
Mitchell groans, jerking me against him and carding his fingers through my hair.
Selfish has a name now.
Love.
CHAPTER SIX
Pax
“What are you called in your world?” Jasper asks, small hands knotted behind her back.
I flick a sidelong glance at her. Good thing Beth Jasper handed me my ass—confirming I'm still a Body in this world. It's not that she's strong and big. She's skilled.
It was uncanny as fuck that Jasper seemed to anticipate my every move. Of course, I thought I'd just subdue her. Gramps says assuming makes an ass out of you—and me.
Yeah, that was about it.
I didn't want to hurt a girl, even if the chick brought it. Then it became just about surviving her.
Now Jasper studies me as she propels her body forward. Her movements are timed, smooth. There's a smoldering grace to her gait; Merrick steps gamely beside her with that same perfect rhythm.
She frowns, clearly growing impatient without an answer.
Merrick scowls, his body tense.
Answering's good. “I—well, there used to be these people called Dimensionals on my Earth.”
Jasper nods, waiting for me to continue.
Sure taking the news about world flippers well. I suck a rough inhale then let it out. “Anyways, there aren't any more Dimensionals. And my ability is uncatalogued.”
“Let's not spill our guts, Pax,” Gramps says, cagey style coming onpulse.
I smile. He never trusts. Never. “I think it's okay, Gramps. They're like me.”
“Remember where we started from,” Dad comments, eyeing the two Reflectives.
Merrick sends a sharp look Dad's way. “We were responding to your force. Our directives disallow harming you unless you engage us first.”
Jasper sighs and recites, “The sixth: Take life only in defense of another.”
Merrick gives a curt nod of agreement, and a look passes between the two.
Strange rangers, these guys. “Okay, yeah. What I was saying is—I can go to parallel dimensions.”
Jasper and Merrick stop walking; the town is just below us. This close, I can make out that a boatload of Roman-looking architecture. Marble with apricot veining glitters like sherbet in cream.
Dad, Mom, Uncle John, Tiff, Jonesy, and Sophie bring up the rear. Gramps is beside me.
The horde follows at a safe distance. I’m not sure what to do about them, and Jonesy seems unbothered. As usual.
“You say that you travel to the thirteen sectors?”
Hell, it's like infinity sectors. I frown. “My family calls it blinking.”
“Show us,” Merrick commands.
“Is this where I roll over, play dead, and get my ass patted like a good dog?”
Dad groans, and Gramps snorts.
I shrug. “Come on, Dad.” Merrick's a cockbite. Plain and simple.
Merrick's hands fist.
“Jeb,” Jasper says in a low voice, and her hand touches his forearm lightly, “he's a youngling.”
See? Cock. Bite. And what's the youngling bullshittery?
Merrick grits his teeth.
“I will switch to your diction,” Jasper says, one eye on her partner.
My what?
“What does your government call people who can Reflect?”
Instantly, the formal speech drops, and she sounds like she's from my hometown. Not a fan. “I don't know what this ʻreflectʼ thing is, but I don't need glass or mirrors or whatever. And I don't know about the thirteen world thing. I can move”—my palm swings to the left than right between the two Reflectives and me—“into many worlds.” I hold my pointer finger and thumb barely apart, trying to show them the space between worlds is as thin as a pane of glass.
Merrick's jaw locks. “He is not Reflective.”
I've been trying to say. This guy's like a funeral director. Fucking humorless. I cross my arms, rocking back on my heels.
“How many worlds?” Jasper asks in a slightly awestruck voice.
I hesitate, not sure if my answer will be braggy or what.
“Go ahead, Pax,” Mom says in her ultra-encouraging voice.
I smirk. Here goes. “All of them.” A heavy dose of duh is in my answer.
The Reflectives exchange a glance so full, I can't decipher it. “What?”
They step closer. “You are dangerous, Pax of Three,” Merrick comments.
I retreat the step they gained. “That's why I'm not alerting the media back in my world, guys.”
“Can you do this blinking here?”
I jerk my chin back. “Yeah.”
Jasper puts her hand on Merrick's arm again, taking the verbal reins. “Would you demonstrate?”
I shake my head. “I don't have enough practice. I screwed up, couldn't get anyone to a specific place if I tried.”
“Not true, dude. You got us to psycho-bot world twice.” Jonesy grins. The zombies crowd him. “Hey, Team Dead, back off. Ya smell like bad ground beef.”
God. Jonesy makes a shitty AftD.
And going to bot world worked out so well. Of course, the bot world did cure Gram's cancer. Trying to look for the good shit in this mess. Not seeing it.
“Psycho-bot world?” Merrick's brows draw together.
He's a fucking downer. “Yeah. Cyborg's and shit. Only Organics allowed.”
Merrick's jaw slides back and forth.
“Healers?” Jasper asks, clearly puzzled.
I nod. “Yeah, same thing as Organics. But these bot things tried to kill us on sight.”
Murmurs of assent spring up around me.
“I do not know this world.”
Jasper looks to Merrick. “If he is a parallel… Reflective—”
Merrick opens his mouth.
Jasper swings a warding palm between them before finishing her thought. “Of sorts, then he is a Three native…”
Merrick picks up her train of thinking. “And would instinctively shift to parallels of his own world.”
An exhale eases out of Jasper, and she nods once. “Yes.”
“So what?” I ask. This is so not important. I want to get the hell out of Reflect-o world, escape the crazy-ass Parker, and find Dee. That's all the shits I give.
“What is it?” Jasper asks Merrick, and we stare at him.
“From my experience on the other sectors, there are abilities that will not drop, no matter where the humanoid travels.”
“Huh?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and pace away, hiding my expression.
Dad sees it and sighs, drawing Mom close.
“What he's saying is”—she surveys our group, eyes narrowing on the rotting zombies—“is that there are primary abilities. There's a short list.”
Now she's speaking my language.
“There's the rare Atomic, as well as a Parallel and three others. No matter where said humanoid would go, th
ose abilities would remain innate.”
I shoot my parents a loaded glance when Jasper says Atomic. Kinda like she said bomb. That's all we need is Dee in the eye of this shitstorm.
Uncle John asks, “Humanoid?”
Nice. Like turkeys who talk or what?
Merrick hikes his chin. “There are many other species who assume a basic humanoid body but do not fall strictly within human norms.”
Okay.
“Don't care too much,” Jonesy comments, hiking his chin at the nearest zombie. His eyeball sort of plops out, falling into the grass with a stealthy rustling sound.
Uncle John slaps his forehead.
Jonesy glares. “Hey, Terran, cool your jets, man. Just trying to figure a way outta here.”
Uncle John glances at the dozen corpses busy melting like human gore candles and silently dies of embarrassment.
“Not without Deegan, Jonesy,” Mom says, sounding vaguely insulted.
“Deegan?” the Reflectives chime together.
Tiff cracks another loud bubble, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like “twins.”
Merrick levels a hard glance at her.
She grins. “Don't get intimidated easily. And I'm as sober as I've never wanted to be, so there's that.”
John dips his chin, practicing deep breathing and looking at the ground.
I figured adulting would be easier. Seems like my parentsʼ friends are having a helluva time.
“Deegan's my sister. Dee.” A tight knot forms in my chest.
“Ah.” Jasper kicks her chin up. “Why is she not with you?”
Good question. Because I dropped her during a blink. Like some of the others. Maybe that big mouth-breather Mitchell is still with her. He goes hard; he won't let anything happen.
I hope. The knot in my chest tightens unbearably.
“Is she a youngling, as well?” Merrick asks.
“I'm a man,” I correct.
Merrick's slow burning perusal sweeps from my head to my toes. “You have the body of a man and the mouth of a boy. Youngling.”
Gramps makes a noise, and I pivot, staring at him.
“Sorry, son. He has a way with words.”
Yeah, a shitty one. “She's younger than me.”
“What is her gift?” Jasper asks.
What is her ability? I translate.
Death Series 08 - Death Blinks Page 5
