Death 07 - For the Love of Death

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

Mitch nods reluctantly.

  A tomahawk clatters to the concrete, and blood splatters a half meter from our feet. Regular police show up and begin to clean up the Skopamish.

  We can’t be killing cops. They’re here to serve and protect and all that jazz.

  Plus, I have a soft spot for one in particular.

  Mitch bends his body almost in half over my daughter, shadowing her in the late afternoon light.

  I breathe in the metallic air filled with people’s blood, dead and alive.

  He kisses Deegan’s forehead, a finger trailing down her cheek. Mitch straightens, and his deep blue eyes regard Parker’s hazel flint bits.

  “Take care of her.”

  “I will,” Parker says, then he is moving through the melee. My daughter is in the shadow of his body, and a deep relief fills me.

  Randoms, SPs, and cops come from all sides.

  Pax and I tighten the lasso of our power. Tiff’s does a chaser like a shot glass behind us.

  Birds, bees and all forms of insects descend, blinding our adversaries. They clear a path of escape for my daughter.

  The eyes of the criminally insane watch her go. Several lick their lips, clenching their hands around weapons I’ve never seen in the flesh.

  Just as Parker takes Deegan outside the gate, he turns and waves like a salute.

  Sudden disquiet envelopes me.

  I hate to have her out of my sight. I hate even more for her to be here if she might be physically taken from us.

  So why do I feel so uneasy when Deegan winks away as the lengthening shadows of night overcomes the day?

  *

  Garcia’s pen is poised above the tablet. “You know, Caleb, I was this close to retirement.” He holds his index finger and thumb a hairsbreadth from meeting. “Then the shit had to hit the fan again.”

  “The fan?”

  He waves away my confusion. “Listen, the SPs have a legit complaint here. You have several illegal zombies…” He laughs, running a hand through inky hair threaded with silver like Christmas tinsel. “A posse of undead.”

  “Tell me again what happened, and for the record”—he points an obsolete writing device, whose name escapes me, at my chest—“the only reason you’re still here instead of at the station is your Grandpa’s place is grandfathered.”

  Gramps had put in every piece of paperwork against every contingency he could think of.

  None of our constitution’s amendments past the late 1990s of the twentieth could be used against him.

  Seizure of property? Nope—had that covered.

  So, unfortunately for the SPs and Randoms, his right to defend his property by any means holds.

  But the cops were involved, and there’d been lots o’ murders.

  Lots.

  What’s really cool is watching Tiff walk to each of the undead, repair them, and put them to rest as I stand there.

  Nice follow-through.

  “Fuck this! Those are goddamned witnesses! They can be stationed,” an SP shouts as the cops contain the line of both Random and SP.

  Tiff sticks a stiff arm up in the middle of our corpses, flipping him the bird.

  Gramps snorts a laugh.

  “You’re a class act, girl,” he says with a touch of pride.

  “You know it, Mac.”

  He rocks back on his heels, grinning. Gramps always had a soft spot for Tiff. Hard love for us all, but real.

  Garcia sighs. Given our history, he’s done a lot of sighing. He looks to Bobbi and Clyde.

  “What happened?”

  Bobbi saunters up. A couple of other cops give her a dirty look, and Clyde balls his hands into fists.

  They flick nervous gazes at him.

  Many modern men can’t fight. If they can’t draw their weapons, they’re useless with nothing but their body as defense.

  Gramps watches the interchange in smug silence.

  Clyde’s glittering eyes deliver the message of my thoughts. They know he could beat their asses. Clyde doesn’t abide disrespect, especially where Bobbi is concerned.

  “They want Deegan.”

  “Why?” Garcia hikes his eyebrows.

  Bobbi glances down. When she looks up, her eyes meet mine and I nod.

  Hell, who doesn’t know at this point. Bobbi maintains a level of discretion regardless. She grips his shoulder, stands on tiptoe, and whispers in his ear.

  Garcia’s eyes widen, his face a cascade of emotions.

  She slowly drops to her heels.

  Garcia whistles low in his throat. “That’ll do it.”

  “Right?” I hold my palms out inoffensively.

  His face blanks. Bobbi and I glance at each other.

  “Shit—I’m sorry, Caleb.” Garcia wakes up from his mind-to-pulse com and pulls his weapon. “Where’s Deegan?”

  Holy crow.

  Bobbi backs up. “Raul? What. The. Fuck?”

  Clyde moves behind her. “What’s the meaning of this, Garcia?”

  “The meaning is, they’ve got my family, and there’s a gun to my wife’s head.”

  His eyes hold mine prisoner.

  The breath leaks out of my body like a popped balloon as Jade’s hand falls on my back.

  I don’t have the answer he so badly needs.

  The one filling my brain is that maybe there are worse things than the HC.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Deegan

  Pax! I bellow as Jeffrey Parker drags me behind him.

  Not the Jeffrey Parker of my world.

  No.

  The one who followed us to mine.

  I twist out of his grip and run. He shoves me from behind, and I fly, catching myself with my telekinesis at the last moment. I hover and he kicks me midair. I spin away like a torpedo.

  I grit my teeth, putting myself upright, and face him.

  He grins.

  “You know, I don’t think that little bit of acting would have worked if you hadn’t distracted everyone so beautifully with that lot you raised from the asylum. Nice work, by the way.” His eyes tighten infinitesimally. “Though I’m not a fan of the lack of control.”

  “Screw you!” I scream, the backs of my eyelids burning with frustrated tears.

  He swings a long tapered finger back and forth. “Two can play at that game, Deegan Alicia Hart.”

  Dirt erupts on either side of me, hands grasping mine.

  Skopamish who aren't my dad's take my arms.

  I flex my death muscle and they shake it off. I feel the slide like a cat trying to claw its way up a sheet of oiled metal.

  “Won’t work. The blessing of age, my dear. Your shitty brother might give me a run, and certainly daddy dearest, but you… with your little…” He smacks his lips obscenely. “Level-four affliction?” He spits the word out, shrugging. “Not going to work on my skills.”

  “Fine.” I struggle against Native Americans who were in the prime of their life when death struck. They didn’t do gym time but life. They’re hardened, and I’m just an almost seventeen-year old girl.

  I fight tears. Hating Parker, hating the irony.

  Hating.

  “What do you want, you—you asshole!”

  He strolls over, catching a strand of my hair. I cringe and think the worst. I don’t care if he looks good for fifty or whatever age he is.

  Ew.

  He drops the tendril of hair and studies my expression. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Though I’m happy to watch others partake.” He paces away, hands behind his back.

  I try to toss the Skopamish with my powers, but they don’t budge.

  I bite my lip.

  Brightening, my mind turns over the facts. “Brad Thompson is dead. I don’t matter. You’re a powerful AFTD in the bot world.”

  He snorts at my moniker for his Earth.

  I ignore him, surging forward with words I hope will sway him. “You don’t need someone who can only raise criminals.”

  My stomach drops.

  I realize my mi
stake after the words barf themselves out of my mouth.

  Parker, hands still knotted at his back, whirls and grins at me.

  “Yes, Brad Thompson is dead—in my world.”

  Blood roars in my ears. I can hear my heartbeat like it lives inside my eardrums. My gaze sights on a vehicle slowing above us.

  A black car descends from the sky.

  Brad Thompson opens a car door and steps out.

  It bounces higher as his father climbs out after him.

  My breath catches, ribs singing where Parker took the cheap shot at me.

  They look at me as though I'm for sale.

  I call the dead as if my life depends on it.

  It does.

  I don’t feel an answering tug.

  Both back doors open simultaneously in the unmarked hover car. I feel the cool wash of the Nulls as they evacuate themselves from the vehicle and approach.

  “This is her?” Brad Thompson’s father asks in disbelief.

  Parker nods.

  “And you say there’s another world where my son runs…” He laughs, clearing his throat. “A den of iniquity?”

  “Prostitution? Yes, he did. Lucrative. Legal.”

  “Legal?” The elder Thompson shakes his head then grins. “Magnificent.”

  “She killed your son in that world.”

  He turns his frown to me.

  “That must have taken some doing?” Brad moves toward me, surprise on every line of his face and something else as well. The beginnings of revenge.

  “No,” I say before using language so foul my ears burn with it, “you're just as much a pussy there as you are here.”

  He slaps my face, rocking me back into one of the Skopamish warriors who hold me.

  “No beating the female of the tribe.”

  “Pfft,” Brad says derisively. “What are these guys sayin’?”

  My face is on fire where he hit me. “They don’t like you hitting me, idiot.”

  He strikes me again, one of my teeth sinking into my cheek, and I cry out, spitting blood.

  Brad lowers his hand, and the closest Indian captures his wrist.

  “Interesting,” Parker says noncommittally.

  “Do something,” Thompson senior says.

  “Release him,” Parker commands, and I feel his energy even through the wall the Nulls have thrown up.

  The Skopamish grits his teeth, squeezing harder, then releases Brad’s wrist reluctantly.

  “He was slow to respond,” Thompson comments.

  “Yes, he was,” Parker agrees in a thoughtful voice.

  I can tell he doesn’t like it.

  Jerk. I run a tongue over the inside of my cheek and wince from the sting.

  “Different dead next time, Parker.”

  Parker nods.

  Thompson’s eyes are on me. “How does this help us?”

  Parker grins. “She has a wonderful ability.”

  Oh no.

  Thompson raises his brow. “What?”

  “She controls matter.”

  Thompson taps his foot, waiting.

  “She can manufacture black holes out of thin air.”

  Thompson narrows his eyes at me. “Really?” He licks his thick lips, and my stomach rolls in a queasy slide of heat.

  “We'll need Nulls on her every second.”

  Parker rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

  “You came to me”—Thompson thumbs his chest then points at Parker—“not the other way around.”

  Parker hikes his eyebrows. “And? Aren’t you glad I did?”

  Thompson stares at me, really looking. “Yes.”

  “Good, now let’s talk numbers.”

  Thompson flicks his gaze to Parker. “How do I get to this other—place?”

  My heart rate speeds up.

  Pax! I scream.

  One of the Nulls gives me a sharp look.

  His negation steals my cry for help, and I bite my lip to keep from sobbing on the spot.

  Parker’s eyes widen just a touch. His stare pins me. “Who is the mastermind that dimension flips?”

  I don't recognize the term but understand what it means.

  He means blinking.

  Of course, that’s not what the experts would call it if they knew what Pax could do. It’s more than Dimensional travel, different. That’s been identified as thirteen “worlds.” What Pax can do? It numbers infinity. I think of his antique hardcover book analogy.

  I don't answer, thinking furiously instead. Trying to put the how and why into order inside my mind.

  Parker must have hitched a ride with Mia or Bry on Pax's tailwind, and scuttled off like the bug he was, undetected after we crashed back here. It's possible with how disoriented people are after multiverse travel.

  Parker doesn't know Paxton is the one who can blink.

  I search Brad Thompson's eyes. Can he be up to the torture I went through with the other Brad?

  His eyes say yes.

  My palms instantly slick with sweat, my throat going tight.

  Parker gives verbal incentive. “You remember Brad's tender mercies vested upon you, Deegan, eh?”

  I just look at Parker, trying to reconcile this vile repro with the good friend he is to Dad on this world.

  I can’t do it. The two superimpose, and my eyes blur with tears. It’s like a nightmare from which I can’t wake up.

  I don’t bother nodding. He knows I remember it.

  How could I forget?

  “Tell us, or I will let Thompson's progeny have his way with you.”

  Brad's expression becomes anticipatory, his tongue wetting his lips.

  I scream for my brother.

  For Mitchell.

  In the end, I just scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Caleb

  I give a hard gulp. The gun is steady on me, my wife.

  Gramps says, “Garcia. Listen, if they’ve got your wife, and we’re dealing with an entity as cutthroat as the Graysheets?”

  I hear the shrug in Gramps voice and internally praise the man’s deep poise. I don’t have it—never will.

  Gramps moves up beside me.

  “I’ll pulse it, Mac. I have to live with certain things. And I can live with your death on my hands before my wife’s.”

  He noses the tip of the gun a touch higher.

  “Understood. I'm just sayinʼ—they're not gonna just let her go, pal.”

  Garcia's face edges with grief before my eyes. “I know,” he admits softly.

  “They’re going to kill her as sure as I’m standing here. I’m sorry. Threatening us to get to Deedie isn’t going to end well.”

  For you, I think.

  Just then, Parker shows up again, wearing a different outfit and sans Deegan.

  What the insane hell is happening here?

  Mitch’s gaze moves to mine, ignoring the threat of the gun, Garcia, all of it. He vocalizes my worst fear.

  “Where is Deegan?”

  My answer is just as bad.

  “I don't know.”

  Garcia drops the gun, swiping at his eyes.

  “God, Raul...”

  His gaze lands on Bobbi. “What would you do? Huh?”

  Bobbi’s face flushes. “A lot.”

  “ʼKay,” Pax says, “no judging.” He looks toward the gate as Parker strides to us with purpose.

  “What are you doing back here?” I ask, my guts tight with anxiety.

  He lifts his eyebrows in a surprise so real fear bursts over me. I don’t know why that’s my instinctive reaction, but I’ve learned to trust that little bit of precog I have. It passes pretty well for intuition from time to time. Like now.

  “You’re broadcasting like a siren’s wail.” He looks at me, moves to Pax with a small nod, then rests his gaze on Tiff. The corner of his mouth turns up. “They called you in?”

  “Yeah.” Tiff folds her arms.

  Jeff puts his hands on his hips. I take in the scene again as he does.

 
; Looks pretty messy.

  Where’s my daughter?

  “Where’s Deegan?” Mitch asks as I open my mouth for the same question.

  Parker draws his brows together.

  I feel a beat of energy run through Mitch. He doesn’t move, flinch, or react.

  Parker jerks his chin back, and his sharp face lights with questions. “Deegan?” he asks.

  “Yes. Where is she, Jeff?” I ask.

  He slowly turns to me. “How would I know? I felt your use of power from Black Diamond. I got here as fast as I could.”

  My stomach drops.

  Jade shudders from my internal reaction.

  “Jeff, where is my baby?” she asks.

  He retreats a step. My parents come out of the house and make their way down the steps to stand beside Gramps.

  “You guys keep looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost. I don’t know where Deegan is.”

  Mitch stands in front of him. He looks like a giant. “I know what you are. You were here. You took Deegan for safekeeping. You said you would take care of her.”

  Confusion washes Parker’s features. “I swear, I’ve just arrived.”

  Mia claps her hand over her mouth, eyes like golf balls.

  “What?” I nearly scream at her.

  “Caleb!” Bry says, and I dial it down. The effort is horrible to manage.

  Mia slowly lowers her hand. “I don’t have my sweater.”

  Bry turns to her, looking into her upturned face. Her lips tremble. “What does a missing sweater have to do with anything, baby?” His voice is soft.

  I let her husband get the answers I want to shake out of her.

  “Because I remember when we traveled with Randi, she’d have us grab each other sometimes.”

  Bry's eyes meet mine, realization parked there like an old semi-truck. “That ass clown followed us here.”

  He jerks his thumb at Parker. “He's the real Parker. That other nimrod is the Parker from the bot world.”

  Parker throws up his hands. “Whoa—guys. What in the hell is going on?”

  I give him the Reader's Digest condensed version.

  Parker’s face is unreadable. He palms his chin as he listens. His hand falls from his face when I finish.

  “This is bad.”

  “Yeah,” I say, like no shit.

  Garcia looks between the two of us. “So this other Parker…” He laughs but not as if it’s funny. But as if he wants to throw up in his mouth a little bit. After all, he held Deegan after she was born. “…has impersonated you”—he points at our Parker—“and taken Deegan?”