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

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Sophie pushed Jonesy off the lounge chair and he got all caught up in the handrail and she fell on top of him with a squeal.

  “See what I'm sayinʼ?” he said from beneath Sophie. “I'm a chick magnet.”

  “Ugh!” Sophie said in a disgusted voice, using more elbow force than necessary as she used Jonesy's torso to leverage up.

  “Hey! That hurt.”

  “What-ev-er!” she hollered back, her curly hair a riot around her head. She shoved it behind her ears violently.

  Gramps was busy wiping the tears that were rolling out from laughing so hard. “I guess maybe not so much warning was needed.” His gales of laughter were breaking off into a random chuckle.

  Sophie settled back into the chair.

  Jonesy got up and brushed off grass and a pebble or two. He pulled up a log (as close as he could get to Sophie) and sat down.

  Gramps started telling funny stories about his childhood and naturally Gran came up.

  “Did Mom ever tell you about Gran and what she said?”

  Gramps got a puzzled expression. “No.”

  Huh, I guess it fell on me. I had forgotten about it until now. “Yeah, before we really knew the full extent, of my abilities.”

  “The Scenic episode?” Tiff interrupted, snapping her gum, and causing Jade to jump.

  I nodded, sounded like a pulse show. “Yeah.”

  Gramps made the circle with his finger, go on.

  “Anyway, she told me to tell you that she was sorry. His face changed and became unreadable. “She said you'd know, Gramps.”

  “Yes, I do,” he responded after a few seconds.

  We waited.

  When it seemed like forever, and there was no explanation coming, I asked, “What was it, Gramps?”

  He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between them.

  “You kids are too young to understand the prejudice against paranormals but, back when I was a boy, if you were ʻspecialʼ you didn't want to announce it.” He stared at the dying fire, poking the glowing coals with an empty marshmallow stick.

  “Now, not to take away from the importance of your dad's discovery Caleb but,” I nodded and Gramps continued, “paranormal phenomenon is not a ʻnewʼ reality. People have been showing flashes of abilities for millennia. All your dad did was validate what we already understood. The pharmaceutical moguls capitalized on it—and here we are.”

  John was frowning, that was his “thinking on it” face. “So, how does this pertain to you?”

  “Not just another pretty face, eh?” Gramps said, his gaze steady on John, who I knew had a blush going in the dark, the firelight obscuring it.

  “When I was a little tyke,” and he swung out his hand to indicate a kid about five, “your gran would walk me to church and we'd pass the quiet neighbors park.”

  “Huh?” Jonesy said.

  “Cemetery,” I said, automatically translating Gramps weird way of talking. His speech wasn't weird to me, but I could tell by the other kidsʼ faces they weren't catching on.

  John got it, his parents were one hundred and five.

  “Anywho, I would catch emotions of the dead. Just little snatches here and there, and naturally, I would tell Gran. All that got me was a swat to my backside.”

  We were all quiet. Seemed really cruel to spank a kid for an ability; totally lame.

  “Don't be too harsh on her, kids,” he said when we all looked pissed for the five-year old he'd been. “It was a different era. Nobody wanted anyone to be different. We all wanted to fit in. After awhile, I stopped saying anything.” Gramps shrugged.

  I understood wanting to be normal even though it wasn't ever gonna happen for me. “So, when I raised Gran, she... ah, figured out that maybe it ʻran in the familyʼ?”

  He nodded. “Suppose so.”

  “Kinda smart for a zombie,” Jonesy said, shuddering.

  “Not as smart as Clyde,” Bry said ominously.

  Gramps gave me a sharp look. “Who's Clyde?”

  I brought Gramps up-to-speed on my main zombie dude.

  “Just a warning, Caleb.” Grampsʼ eyes had never been more serious. “Be careful with this. Something here stinks, and you're working this serial killer shindig.”

  I don't know if I'd call it that.

  “You need to watch out that your power doesn't just get a mind of its own.”

  “What do you mean?” Jade asked, and Sophie nodded.

  “Your power has responded to stress, duress, conflict, et cetera?”

  I nodded, true.

  “Why would it be so out of line for your ability to start cleaning up shop when things get exciting?”

  Like maybe thinking for itself, taking charge of situations ahead of my thought process.

  He was nodding in the firelight, studying my expression that I was definitely connecting the dots.

  “So, my AFTD could just, engage and do what it thought I needed, with or without my—” I began.

  “Consent,” John finished.

  “Bingo.” Gramps pointed John.

  Shit.

  Gramps saw my face and chuckled. “Hang on, son. Don't borrow the worry, I just want you to be aware of the potential.”

  Terrific News.

  So, Gramps was the reason I was digginʼ on the dead. Who knew? It made sense that there was already someone in my ancestry who carried the gene for it.

  After a few minutes of quiet, Jade said, “You know, come to think of it, my grandma had the second sight.”

  Gramps was nodding. “It's safe to say that all of you that are manifesting these abilities may have a relative in your past that had the gene before you.”

  Jonesy said, “Oh yeah! I forgot to say: I get to go to KPH.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

  All the kids started talking at once and Gramps did a shrill whistle, splitting our eardrums.

  Everybody shut up.

  “Nice that you told us, ya doofus,” Tiff said, popping her gum.

  “What are you?” John asked, ever practical.

  He jerked his shoulders up then let them drop. “Don't know. Unclassified.” He shot a sly look at Alex. I sure could have used him during the gang-beating, I thought randomly.

  “I think you guys are losing the focus,” Jade said.

  I looked at her, pressed into my body, her sweet smelling hair up my nose. “Hmm?”

  “He gets to go to KPH, with us!”

  “Well right, but we'd all love to know what he's slinginʼ,” Bry said.

  Christi nodded. “Yeah, what if he has some creeper ability?”

  We all looked at her.

  Don't ask, don't ask.

  Gramps asked, “What does that expression mean?”

  Wonderful.

  Alex pushed up his glasses. “An individual who lurks about with an enigmatic, ʻweirdo, avoid-at-all-costsʼ vibe.”

  Huh, I didn't think that could be quantified.

  Gramps puckered his lips, miffed. “You're a mundane?” he asked Christi.

  She nodded.

  He looked at all of us. “Who else is?”

  “Well, I was before yesterday's AP test,” Jonesy said, shining his knuckles on his chest.

  Sophie groaned.

  Bry raised his hand; that left him and Christi.

  “Does that bug you that you're mundanes?” Gramps asked the pair.

  Bry shrugged. “Only when I feel like I can't use my skills to defend myself.”

  “What skills, gnome-magnet?” Jonesy asked and guffawed.

  “You clearly have a magnet fetish,” Tiff said through a wad of gum.

  “Do not.”

  Bry and Tiff bumped knuckles.

  “Right.” Sophie crosse her arms.

  Jade and I laughed.

  Gramps held his hand up. “The way I see things, there are three types of mundanes: one group would love to be paranormals, the second group is irked because they're not, and the final group hates the paranormal
s because they don't understand. That lack of understanding, in combination with their hate is a powerful force. Which do you two fall under?” He held Christi and Bry's eyes.

  Bry shrugged. “My sis is AFTD so to love her, I gotta accept what she is. She can't help it. Seriously, at this point, it's kinda like having green eyes instead of brown.”

  The kids were nodding.

  Christi didn't nod.

  “What about you, young lady?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know.”

  Gramps tightened the noose. “You just said, ʻcreeper abilitiesʼ. Are there some that are preferable to others?”

  She rolled her pretty (bourbon-colored) eyes up into her head. “Of course! I mean, who'd want to be ʻall aboutʼ the undead?”

  Nice. She really had the IQ of eggplant.

  Gramps had just expounded on his “fun” childhood with the undead-flash-a-thon. Wow. Just wow.

  He laughed. “You're missing the point. There are no ʻcoolʼ abilities. They just are.”

  All the boys looked at Alex, whose small chest swelled with pride.

  Gramps' brows arched.

  John nodded. “Show Mac your skills.”

  Alex ducked his head shyly and stood.

  Gramps stood as well. “Caleb, is this going to make something irrevocable occur?”

  Ah, I didn't think so. But things did have a way of getting out of hand sometimes. I shook my head.

  Gramps looked unconvinced. Smart dude.

  Alex looked down at his trunks that were just barely dry, his tee not offering an ounce of warmth. It was good the night was sultry, we had true Indian summer weather without a breath wind.

  He eyed Grampsʼ boat in the water.

  And yeah, it was completely illegal. It was a million years old and had huge actual fuel jets, which he had retrofitted for natural gas. The chrome of the pipes gleamed in the firelight.

  Alex waded into the water until it came to mid-thigh, the boat a bulky shadow behind him.

  “Ah, Caleb, I'm wanting to know what's going to happen to my baby,” Gramps said.

  “Just watch, Gramps.”

  “You're gonna shit a brick on this,” Jonesy said.

  “Language, young man,” Gramps said automatically, not removing his gaze from his boat.

  Jonesy sighed. Foiled again.

  John smiled because Jonesy was fearless. Jonesy would have said the same thing in front of the President.

  Alex scooped the side of the boat to him and untethered the ropes from the front and back cleats. He leaned forward, his torso just skimming the cold lake water. Sliding his arm completely under the back end of the boat, only his shoulder showing, he lifted the back end totally out of the water, the drips cascading to his body and running down his head, then neck, soaking the tee he wore. He slid the rest of his body under the boat.

  Gramps came on board. “Hey, hey, that's not safe—”

  Alex grinned, swinging his opposite arm to the front end and stood, balancing the boat while he stood underneath it in the middle, the sound of lake water splashing like rain all around him.

  “Holy shit,” Gramps whispered.

  Jonesy was nodding. “See, what did I tell ya?”

  We knew that Alex had the super-human strength but... holy crow.

  “Damn,” Bry said. “That's impressive as hell!”

  “I think maybe Bry just joined group one,” Tiff commented dryly.

  I agreed, looking at the ridiculously undersized, nerdy Alex. The boat levitating above him was an absolute unreal sight.

  “Okay,” Gramps said, “Put her down, nice and gentle, sir.”

  Alex lowered the boat until he was underwater, then swam out from underneath it, his tee plastered to his skin, his ribs in stark relief.

  Bry waited until Alex was out of the water, and gave him the damn great to know ya guy clap. Alex looked like he'd won the lottery.

  Gramps grinned. “Now that was...”

  “Righteous,” Jonesy said, pumping his fist.

  “Exceptional,” Gramps finished, smiling slightly at the J-Man.

  Alex's teeth started chattering, and Gramps physically pushed him over to the fire. “Use your head, boy, I know you've got more than rocks rollinʼ around in that noggin.”

  Alex was still glowing from having an arguably cool ability. Lots of guys would kill for that.

  Gramps stretched, reaching around to put a palm on his lower back. “About time to turn in, I think.”

  John looked at him. “You didn't do too bad with Hamilton today, Mac.”

  Gramps waggled his brows. “Yup, his brand of logic wasn't going to work on my property.”

  “Where would it work?” Bry asked.

  Gramps folded his arms across his chest, palming his chin. Finally, after a full minute he said, “Nowhere.”

  We laughed.

  Gramps put dirt over the fire, squelching the flame into ash, the night's blackness edging in around us like ink.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I had a fat weekend at Gramps and my ass had dragged down my stairs to the kitchen table then out the door to school. Onyx gave me the cold shoulder cuz I hadn't towed him along to Grampsʼ.

  Onyx didn't even stand by the window like usual.

  I sighed. It was damn Monday all day long and into the night.

  Of course, I had AFTD class first period and no one I knew except Tiff was in there. She was studiously decimating her nails as Smith droned on about the dead.

  Ceci Cline was staring at me which was creeping me out. I wondered if she knew that Carson and the goons had planned on jumping me. I was so lucky Clyde had showed up. At least their whole group had a little vacation from school.

  That rocked.

  Suspension forever for all I gave a shit. Jerkwads.

  “Now,” Smith lectured, “I heard there was an incident of violence perpetuated against you this weekend, Caleb.”

  Huh? Oh, yeah. “Ah, yeah, some jerks tried to beat the crap out of me.”

  Smith's eyes got wide at my blunt description and Ceci looked down at her shoes.

  Hell yeah, she'd known, the bitch. Tiff had put it together and was giving her the Tiff Look. Of course the merit of Tiff was—as a girl—she could hand Ceci her ass, and I could watch.

  A smile spread over my face as I fantasized.

  “Mr. Hart?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  I gave him a blank face.

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which reminded me of my dad, all the ends sticking up wildly.

  “I was saying we could learn much about your zombie showing up.”

  I shrugged. “I have nothing to tell. I mean—Clyde just showed up, I hadn't ʻcalledʼ him or anything—he was just there. Corpse on the spot.” I laughed.

  Smith didn't, beginning to pace instead. Reminded me of the crazy Biology nut I'd had last year. What was his name? He'd been obsessed over bees.

  “In theory, a Cadaver-Manipulator who also possesses Life-Transference,” Smith looked at me for confirmation and I nodded, “would have a leakage problem with their gift.”

  We all looked at him, Ceci jerking up her chin defiantly.

  “In layman's terms, the dead would begin to think autonomously of the host.”

  Well that cleared it right up, thanks.

  Tiff went back to her intense fingernail exam and Ceci's eyes dropped to her desktop.

  He was losing us with the jargon.

  “Okay,” he paused, scrubbing his face, “we've got a zombie.”

  We nodded, gotcha.

  “And said-zombie is connected to a powerful AFTD, say, a five-point.”

  All eyes turned to me, granted, there was only a handful, but it still was awkward. “The host, in theory, should not need to consciously communicate to the zombie. The zombie should have a thought process that is interdependent.”

  “Okay,” Tiff said, snapping gum. “So Caleb raised Clyde.”


  “Is that the name of the zombie in question?” Smith asked.

  I nodded.

  She continued, “And he knows what needs doinʼ, even if Caleb doesn't ʻcallʼ or ʻaskʼ?”

  “Exactly.” Smith's features smoothed.

  “Caleb didn't consciously ʻcallʼ Clyde. But, due to physical proximity, coupled with extreme duress,” in my periphery vision I saw Ceci squirm around, “he had enough ʻthought processʼ of his own, to respond to the threat to the host.”

  “The host being Caleb,” a boy in the back of the class called out.

  Smith nodded. “If the host had ill intent and was also powerful, well, the result of everything could have been much different.”

  The class grew quiet, chewing on that lovely factoid.

  “There's no way to control it then? I mean, I could do like—a sleepwalk-with-the-dead parade?”

  Tiff laughed. “Nice, Caleb.”

  “Not so funny, Tiffany,” Smith responded solemnly.

  “It's Tiff, Mr. Smith.”

  Smith ignored her. “The pharmaceutical giants are even now fashioning a suppression drug that would be a broad depressant. It would negate abilities from manifesting say, in the middle of sleep.”

  I thought of how Clyde had been skulking around the garbage separator. Huh.

  Tiff flipped up the hood on her standard hoodie, effectively hiding her expression, which looked kinda like, screw you and the horse you rode in on.

  I stifled a laugh, hiding it in my hand like a cough. She was truly great.

  The bell shrilled and Tiff grabbed her backpack and pulse, her thumb on it and mine vibrated:

  I'm gonna commit suicide if Smith is flappinʼ his gums the whole year about this profanity-block. -TW

  Should I be offended that you don't give a ripe profanity-block about my subconscious raising an armyʼo dead.-CH

  Profanity-block-no! Who cares? I mean, seriously, if you were gonna do gnome genocide on everyone, wouldn't you have done it by now? -TW

  laughs I guess. Ya know, you were talking about magnet fetishes with Jonesy.-CH

  Cut the crap, Hart. Jones is totally dumb, not that I don't think he's a player. -TW

  Tell me what you really think! You gotta a problem with gnomes.-CH

  Everyone knows that they're never in the same place in the yard in the morning.-TW

  What the profanity-block! -CH