The Death Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy Box Set: (Books 1-3) by Tamara Rose Blodgett Read Free Book Online

did something to the dog?” He raised his eyebrows.
    How to answer without getting my butt in a sling?
    John spoke before I had a chance, “Caleb's a major animal lover.”
    I worked to keep the surprise off my face.
    “That's not what Mr. Smith said. This man claims that he was sure the dog was dead. Then you”—he pointed at me—“touched it, and the dog was suddenly alive again.”
    I thought fast.
    “Can you explain that?” he asked.
    Actually no.
    “John's right. Um… I couldn't help it. That poor dog…” I looked down at my shoes, trying to think of what else to say. “Um… I don't think it was dead, though. I mean… it was just hurt.” I pointed at the dog, who was sitting a few feet away, still staring at me.
    Before the dog, I hadn’t known dying things could also call to me.
    Garcia stared at me for a moment then asked, “You boys live around here?”
    John answered, “Yeah, Caleb lives right there.” He pointed toward the top of the rise. “And I live about half a mile from here.”
    Garcia held his pen poised over the notepad. “Names?”
    “Caleb Hart.”
    Garcia's head jerked up. “The scientist's kid?”
    “Yeah,” I answered unenthusiastically.
    “Now that's a cool relative to have,” he commented with a smile.
    “I guess.” Whatever, he was just my dad to me.
    “John Terran,” John said, effectively getting me off the hook of dealing with the awkward your-parent-is-kinda-famous moment.
    “Okay, you kids get in the police car, and I'll give you a ride home.”
    The dog looked up at me and whined softly.
    “What about the dog?” I asked.
    As if on cue, Animal Control arrived. A ginormous gal poured into an unflattering tan uniform barreled through the crowd accompanied by a skinny partner. The dog immediately went on alert.
    I reached out to pet the dog’s head. Garcia and John both tried to pull me away, while the Animal Control lady cleared an evil-looking baton from her utility belt. The dog eluded the baton, which had an attached noose, and darted behind John and me.
    Garcia pointed at me. “I don't want any trouble, and I already told you boys not to touch that dog.”
    “I thought I could help,” I said. “He seems to like me.”
    “Let Animal Control do their job, son,” Garcia said.
    Ignoring him, I put my hand on the dog. I thought, Sleep.
    “That's it!” Garcia said. He strode over and took John and me by our arms and frog-marched us to his patrol car. I glanced back and saw that the dog was knocked out cold.
    Garcia unceremoniously dumped us into the back seat. “Stay put.”
    We watched him walk away. He talked with Baldy, who kept vigorously nodding his head and casting dirty looks at us. Animal Control got the dog in their van, a pretty easy process since he was asleep. Skinny was the “collector,” and Humongous was “supervising” this process while standing importantly with Garcia.
    The inside of the cop car was pretty gross. Remnants of goop was all over the backs of the seats and door handles. Dried patches of mystery fluids were on the floor. My lunch began to rise into my throat. John hunched over, keeping his arms tucked into his sides so that less of his body touched his surroundings.
    Good luck with that one.
    Garcia jogged back to the patrol car, slid into the front seat, and turned around to look at us. “I am required to take your statements with a parent or guardian present.” 
    My parents were gonna have a turtle when a police car pulled up in front of the house!
    Thoughts swirled in my head: How did I stop that dog from dying? Why didn't I need blood to do it? Was that a coincidence at the cemetery? Or because it was a person and fully dead, had I needed something extra?
    As I put my head between my knees to quell the dizziness that threatened, I decided to read some more about paranormal abilities and Jeffrey Parker. It was time to get up close and personal with AFTD. I needed to rule it, not the other way around.

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