Intertwined. Gena Showalter

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      Finally, the head detached from the body and fell to the ground with a thud. The bones and tattered clothing, however, collapsed on top of him. Grimacing, he swiped them off and scrambled to a clean patch of grass.

      “There. Proven.” He, too, crumpled.

      That’s our boy, Caleb said proudly.

      Yes, but now isn’t the time for rest, Eve added, and she was right.

      “I know.” He had to clean up the mess or someone would stumble upon the desecrated remains. News stations would swarm the place like flies, begging the entire town to help locate the evil, twisted person responsible. Plus, others were going to rise whether he stayed here or not. He needed to be ready for them. But as he lay there, squinting up at the sky, hurting, the sun glared down at him, draining what little energy he had left.

      By the end of the day, the saliva’s poison would have worked through his system and he’d be hunched over a toilet, his cornflakes nothing but a fond memory. He’d sweat profusely from fever, shake uncontrollably and pray for death. Here, now, though, he had a moment’s respite. It was what he’d been searching for all day.

      Up and at ‘em, sweetheart, Eve urged.

      “I will, I promise. In a minute.” Aden didn’t know his real mother, his parents having signed him over to the state at the age of three, so he liked—sometimes—that Eve tried to fill the role. Actually, he loved her for it. He did. He loved all four of the souls, in fact. Even Julian, the corpse whisperer. But every other kid in the world could walk away from their families for a little “me” time. They could do things other sixteen-year-old boys were doing. Things like … well, things. They could date and attend school and play sports. Have fun.

      Not Aden. Never Aden.

      Whatever he did, wherever he went, he had an audience. An audience that liked to comment and critique and offer suggestions. Next time do this. Next time do that. Idiot, you shouldn’t have done that.

      They meant well, he knew they did, but Aden hadn’t even kissed a girl yet. And no, the beautiful brunette from Elijah’s visions didn’t count. No matter how real those visions felt. But God, when was she going to arrive? Would she?

      Only yesterday, he’d had another vision of her. They had been standing in a forest, the moon high and golden. She’d thrown her arms around him and hugged him tight, her warm breath stroking his neck.

      “I’ll protect you,” she’d said. “I’ll always protect you.”

      From what? he’d wondered ever since. Not corpses, obviously.

      He drew in a breath, then grimaced. Hello, stinky. The scent of rot seemed glued to the inside of his nose. Probably was. He’d have to scrub himself with a Brillo pad from head to toe.

      He released the dagger he still held and wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving streaks of that poisonous goo. “What a life, huh?”

      If you want to get technical, this really isn’t our fault, Julian said, obviously no longer willing to shoulder the blame. You’re the one who absorbed us into that fat skull of yours.

      Aden ground his teeth. It seemed like he received a similar reminder a thousand times a day. “I’ve told you. I didn’t absorb you.”

       You did something, ‘cause we sure didn’t get bodies of our own. Nooo. We got stuck with yours. And no control button!

      “FYI, I was born with you already swimming in my mind.” He thought so, at least. They’d always been with him. “It’s not like I could stop what happened. Whatever happened. Even you don’t know.”

      Just once he’d like a flash of total peace. No voices in his head, no dead rising to eat him—or any of the other unnatural things he had to deal with on a daily basis.

      Things like Julian waking the dead and Elijah predicting the death of anyone who passed him. Things like Eve whisking him to the past, into a younger version of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, and he would change his future. Not always for the better. Things like Caleb forcing him to possess someone else’s body with only a touch.

      Just one of those abilities would have set him apart. But all four? He was in a different stratosphere. Something no one, especially the boys at the ranch, let him forget.

      But despite the fact that he didn’t get along with them, he wasn’t ready to be sent away so soon.

      Dan Reeves, the guy who ran the D and M, wasn’t too bad a guy. He was a former pro-football player who had given up the game because of a back injury, but he hadn’t given up the disciplined, by-the-book way of life. Aden liked Dan, even though Dan didn’t understand what it was like to have voices chattering inside his head and vying for attention he couldn’t hope to give. Even though Dan thought Aden needed to spend his time reading, interacting with others or pondering his future rather than “rocking out and roaming.” If he only knew.

      Uh, Aden? Julian said, bringing him back to the present.

      “What?” he snapped. His good mood must have died with the corpse. He was tired, sore, and knew things were only going to get worse.

      Just another day in the life of Aden Stone, he thought with a bitter laugh.

      Hate to be the one to tell you this, but … there’s more.

      “What?” Even as he spoke, he heard the shattering of another tombstone. Then another.

      Others were indeed rising.

      He pried his eyelids apart. For a moment, only a moment, he didn’t breathe. Just pretended he was an ordinary guy whose only concern was what to buy his girlfriend for her birthday.

      Where was the brunette? he wondered. When was her birthday?

      Aden, honey, Eve said. You still with us?

      “Still here.” For him, concentrating was the equivalent of counting to infinity, and Eve knew that. “I hate this. I’m at the edge, and I’m either going to jump myself or kick someone in the—”

      Language, Aden, Eve said with a tsk.

      He sighed. “Kick someone in the butt and force them to fall,” he finished properly.

      I’d leave you if I could, but I’m stuck, Julian said, solemn.

      “I know.” His stomach protested and his neck wounds burned from strain as he pulled himself to a crouch. The pain didn’t slow him; it, too, angered him and that anger gave him strength. He saw four sets of hands breaking through the dirt, uprooting grass and the colorful bouquets left by loved ones.

      He swiped up one of his daggers. The other was still embedded in the first corpse’s neck, and he had to jimmy it free. He might have been hesitant to battle in the beginning, but he was mad enough now to sprint in swinging this time.

      Besides, there was only one way to handle four at a time … Eyes narrowing, he dashed to the corpse closest to him. The top of its head had just emerged. It was completely bald, no skin remaining. A living skeleton, the kind of thing nightmares СКАЧАТЬ