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

“I still wanna know what happened to the dog.”
    We all frowned at him. Mom wrinkled her nose.
    “ What?” He slurped the last of his milk.
    “I mean, this is good news because my bro here”—he brandished his empty glass in my direction—“saved a dog, but everyone is freaked over it.” For Jonesy, it was a simple affair of right and wrong. He didn't do shades of gray.
    John said, “Yeah, it's cool about the dog, but not everyone is going to think it's cool, Jonesy.”
    Mom said, “I was cleaning out your room, Caleb.”
    I visualized all the crap strewn over the floor. Swell.
    “I found some papers about the Parker boy. Once he was identified with AFTD and the government enacted an amendment against some of his rights as a person, his freedoms were stripped.”
    Mom was gonna rage.
    Garcia gestured with his hand, wait a sec . Mom popped her mouth shut. Huh, she hadn't even Made-Her-Point.
    “Mrs. Hart, let's not panic yet. That was a decade ago. Parker was the first, extreme case that had been seen. You remember the headlines.”
    As I had only been five in 2015 when that first inoculation round had been given, I didn't remember.
    Dad, no intellectual slouch . “You're right. He didn’t just talk to the dead, divine ghosts, or glean how someone died. He was a Cadaver-Manipulator.”
    Not even glancing my way, Garcia said, “Well, isn't it fortunate that Caleb doesn't have to worry about that? Controlling the dead is a whole other ball of wax.”
    “Very fortunate,” Dad agreed, giving me his best, I-will-throw-lab-beakers-at-you-if-you-talk stare. I snapped my mouth shut.
    The Js remained as silent as a tomb.
    I repressed a wild urge to laugh.
    Garcia braced his palms on his knees and stood, smoothing his uniform as he straightened. Dad got up, running a nervous hand through his hair and making it messier than before.
    Garcia fished something out of his perfectly ironed shirt pocket.
    He handed me a business card.
    I told him I'd never seen that area code.
    “Yeah, it was my dad's. He was a cop, too.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “I got it when he retired.”
    Dad harrumphed. “I haven't seen one of those in thirty years.”
    Garcia smiled and told me, “You call me if you need anything. Just thumb my number in your pulse.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Anytime, for whatever.”
    His gaze traveled to the parents, and I was sure he knew there was something more, but he let it go. The twilight edged around him like a halo as he slipped out the door.
    Mom leaned against the closed door, locking the dead bolt.
    “Wasn't that close!”
    Dad nodded. “It's safe to say we're fast running out of time before there will be a contingent of people with a clearer understanding of just what Caleb is capable of.”
    “I think Garcia’s a good man,” Mom said. “But he may not be ready to know that last part. Cadaver manipulator might be a bit much . ”
    Jonesy chanted, “Corpse raiser, corpse raiser, it rocks!” He air-pumped with his fist.
    John smirked. “You didn't think it rocked when you sprinted out of the cemetery, or when Caleb and I had to do the little blood ritual.”
    Mom's mouth unhinged itself from her jaw and Dad looked astounded.
    “Blood ritual?” they asked in unison.
    “You didn't tell us that detail,” Dad said.
    “Is that how you think you did it?” Mom asked with a frown. Probably thinking about all the ways my safety could have been in jeopardy (it was), or some other thing that could have befallen me (it did).
    “Well, kinda,” I said.
    “Caleb, just barf it out,” Jonesy said.
    I fought not to tap my fingers on a surface. “I felt like a tingling... an energy. As soon as I stepped through the gate of that cemetery, I knew there was one voice that was calling me above the others.” I sighed.
    “When I got there, I felt like I was in the middle of a whirlpool, that something was just under the surface, waiting to rise. It was like all the energy in the world