Intertwined

Aden’s adventure continues in the next Intertwined novel UNRAVELLED

For once, sixteen-year-old Aden Stone has

everything he’s ever wanted:

A home.

Friends.

The girl of his dreams.

Too bad he’s going to die …

Because a war is brewing between the creatures of the dark, and Aden is somehow at the centre of it all. But he isn’t about to lie down and accept his destiny without a fight. Not when his new friends have his back, not when his dream girl has risked her own future to be with him, and not when he has a reason to live for the first time in his life …

About the Author

GENA SHOWALTER is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author whose teen novels have been featured on MTV and in Seventeen magazine and have been praised as “unputdownable.” Growing up, she always had her nose buried in a book. When it came time to buckle down and get a job, she knew writing was it for her. Gena lives in Oklahoma with her family and three slobbery English bulldogs. Become her friend on My Space, or a fan on Facebook and visit her at GenaShowalter.com/young-adult.

INTERTWINED

GENA SHOWALTER

www.miraink.co.uk

ONE

A CEMETERY. No. No, no, no! How had he ended up here?

Clearly, wearing his iPod while exploring a new town had been a mistake. Especially since Crossroads, Oklahoma, perhaps garden gnome capital of the world and definitely hell on earth, was so small it was practically nonexistent.

If only he’d left the Nano at the D and M Ranch, a halfway house for “wayward” teens where he now lived. But he hadn’t. He’d wanted peace, just a little peace. And now he would pay the price.

“This sucks,” he muttered, pulling the buds from his ears and shoving the shiny green distraction into his back-pack. He was sixteen years old, but sometimes he felt like he’d been around forever, and every one of those days had been worse than the one before. Sadly, today would be no exception.

Immediately the very people he’d been trying to drown out with so-loud-your-ears-bleed Life of Agony clamored for his attention.

Finally! Julian said from inside his head. I’ve been screaming for you to turn around for, like, ever.

“Well, you should have screamed louder. Starting a war with the undead was not what I wanted to do today.” As he spoke, Haden Stone—known as Aden because, as a kid, he apparently hadn’t been able to pronounce his own name—backtracked, removing his foot from the graveyard’s property line. But it was too late. In the distance, in front of a tomb-stone, the ground was already shaking, cracking.

Don’t blame me, Julian replied. Elijah should have predicted this.

Hey, a second voice said. It, too, came from inside Aden’s head. Don’t blame me, either. Most times, I only know when someone’s gonna die.

Sighing, Aden dropped his backpack, bent down and palmed the daggers he kept anchored in his boots. If he were ever caught with them, he’d be tossed back into juvie, where fights erupted as regularly as lunch was served and making a trustworthy friend was as impossible as escape. Deep down, though, he’d known carrying them was worth the risk. It was always worth the risk.

Fine. This is my fault, Julian grumbled. Not like I can help myself, though.

That was true. The dead had only to sense him to awaken. Which, like now, usually involved Aden accidentally placing his foot on their land. Some sensed him faster than others, but they all eventually rose.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve been in worse situations.” More than leaving the iPod at home, he mused, he should have been paying attention to the world around him. He’d studied a map of the town, after all, and had known what areas to avoid. But as the music had pounded, he’d lost track of his surroundings. He’d been momentarily liberated, seemingly alone.

The tombstone began to rattle.

Julian sighed, the sound an echo of Aden’s. I know we’ve endured worse. But I caused those worse situations, too.

Fabulous. A pity party. This third, frustrated voice belonged to a woman—who also took up prime real estate inside his head. Aden was only surprised his other “guest”—as he sometimes thought of the souls trapped inside him—didn’t pipe up, as well. Peace and quiet were not something any of them understood. Can we save the festivities for later, boys, and kill the zombie before it emerges all the way, gains its bearings and stomps our collective butt?

“Yes, Eve,” Aden, Julian and Elijah said in unison. That was the way of it. He and the other three boys would bicker and Eve would step in, a formidable mother-figure without a finger to point, but a formidable mother-figure all the same.

If only that mothering were enough to fix the situation this time.

“I just need everyone to zip it,” he said. “Okay? Please.”

There was grumbling. And that was as quiet as things were going to get.

He forced himself to focus. Several yards away, the head-stone teetered back and forth before tumbling to the ground and shattering. Rain had fallen this morning, and droplets sprayed in every direction. Handfuls of dirt soon joined them, flying through the air as a disgustingly gray hand poked its way free.

Golden sunlight poured from the sky, highlighting the oozing skin, the rotting muscle … even the worms slithering around the enlarged knuckles.

A fresh one. Great. Aden’s stomach rolled. He might puke when this was over. Or during.

We’re about to smoke that fool! Is it bad that I’m hot right now?

And there was Caleb, voice number four. If he’d had a body of his own, Caleb would have been the guy taking pictures of girls in their locker room while hiding in the shadows.

As Aden watched, waiting for the right moment to strike, a second oozing hand joined the first, both straining to heave the decayed body the rest of the way from the ground. He scanned the area. He stood on a cemented walkway, high on a hill, lush trees helping to form a path and block him from prying eyes. Thankfully, the long span of grass and headstones looked deserted. Beyond was a road where several cars meandered past, their engines humming softly. Even if the drivers were rubberneckers and failed to keep their attention on traffic, they wouldn’t be able to see what happened below.

You can do this, he told himself. You can. You’ve done it before. Besides, girls like scars. He hoped. He had plenty to show off.

“Now or never.” Determined, he strode forward. He would have run, but he wasn’t in a hurry to ring the starting bell. Besides, these encounters always ended the same way, no matter the sequence of events: Aden bruised and broken, sick from the infection the corpses’ tainted saliva caused. He shuddered, already imagining yellowed teeth snapping and biting at him.

Usually the battle lasted only a few minutes. But if anyone decided to visit a loved one during that time … Whatever happened, he couldn’t be seen. People would assume he was a grave robber or a body snatcher. He’d be hauled into whatever detention center this hole-in-the-wall town offered. He’d be forever labeled a no-good delinquent, exactly as he’d been labeled in every other town he’d ever lived in.

Would have been nice if the sky darkened and rain poured again, shielding him, but Aden knew he didn’t have that kind of luck. Never had.

“Yep. I should’ve paid attention to where I was going.” For him, walking past a cemetery was the epitome of stupid. A single step on the property, like today, and something dead would awaken, hungry for human flesh.

All he’d wanted was a private spot to relax. Well, as private as a guy with four people living in his head could get.

Speaking of heads, one peeked through the now-gaping hole, swinging left, right. One eye was rolled back, the white branched with red, while the other was gone, revealing the muscle underneath. Large patches of hair were missing. Its cheeks were sunken, its nose hanging by a few threads.

Bile burned Aden’s stomach, threatening to double him over. His fingers tightened around the hilts of his blades, and he finally quickened his step. Almost … there … That haggard face sniffed the air, obviously liking what it smelled. Toxic black saliva began dripping from its mouth and its struggle for freedom increased. Shoulders appeared. A torso quickly followed.

A jacket and shirt bagged around it, torn and dirty. A male, then. That made what he had to do easier. Sometimes.

One knee shot onto the grass, two.

Closer … closer still … Again, he increased his pace.

Aden reached it just as it stood to full height, a little over six feet, which put them at eye level. His heart slammed in his chest, a frantic drum. Breath blistered his lungs, scalded his throat. More than a year had passed since he’d had to do this, and the last time had been the worst of all. He’d needed eighteen stitches in his side, had worn a cast on his leg for a month, spent a week in detox, and had made an involuntary blood donation to every corpse at Rose Hill Burial Park.

Not this time, he told himself.

A hungry growl burst from the creature’s ruined lips.

“Lookie what I have.” Aden held up the blade, and the silver glinted in the light. “Pretty, isn’t it? How ‘bout a closer look, hmm?” Arm surprisingly steady, he reached back and struck, going for the neck. To kill a corpse—permanently—the head had to be removed. But just before contact, the corpse gained its bearings, as Eve had feared it would, and ducked. Survival instincts were something that never died, apparently. Aden’s knife whizzed through empty air, his momentum spinning him around.

A bony fist pushed him face-first to the ground, and he soon found himself eating dirt. A hard weight immediately pounced on him, crushing his lungs. Fingers encircled his wrists and squeezed, and he lost his hold on the blades. Thankfully—or not—those fingers were disgustingly wet and couldn’t maintain a strong enough grip to keep him still.

No, it was the teeth in his neck that subdued him, chomping toward his artery, wet tongue sucking. For one pained second, he was too dazed to move, burning up, dying, awakening, burning some more. Then he snapped into focus—win, had to win—and used his elbow to crack the fiend’s ribs.

It didn’t budge.

Of course, his companions just had to comment.

Wow. Are you out of practice or what? Caleb said.

Laid low by a toe tag, Julian scoffed. You should be embarrassed.

Do you want to be dinner? Elijah added.

“Guys,” he gritted out, his struggles increasing. He managed to roll to his back. “Please. I’m fighting here.”

I wouldn’t exactly call this fighting, Caleb replied. More like being spanked like a girl.

Hey! I take exception to that.

Sorry, Eve.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Guess we’ll see about that, Elijah said grimly.

Aden tried to squeeze the creature’s neck but it kept moving, kept pulling from his grip. “Be still,” he commanded as he punched it in the cheek with so much force that what was left of its brains rattled—but that didn’t weaken it. Actually, the action might have strengthened it. Aden had to anchor both of his hands against its jaw to prevent it from swooping in for another bite.

“You, more than anyone, know this isn’t the way I’m going to die.” The words were broken with the force of his panting breaths.

About six months ago, Elijah had predicted his death. They didn’t know when it would happen, only that it would. And it wouldn’t be in a cemetery and his killer wouldn’t be a corpse. No, he would die on a deserted street, a knife in his heart, the tip cutting the organ every time it beat, until life slipped from him completely.

The dire prediction had come the same day he was told he was being sent to the D and M Ranch just as soon as there was an opening. Maybe that should have deterred him from moving here. But …

At the same time, he’d begun having visions of a dark-haired girl. Of talking and laughing with her … of kissing her. Never before had Elijah foretold anything other than a death, so Aden had been shocked to know—or rather, hope—the girl would one day enter his life. Shocked but excited. He wanted to meet her for real. Was desperate to meet her, actually. Even if that meant coming to the city of his death.

A death that would happen all too soon, he knew. In the vision, he hadn’t looked much older than he was now. He’d had time to mourn his own passing, though, and had even had time to accept his fate. Sometimes, like now, part of him even looked forward to it. That didn’t mean he’d roll over and take whatever the undead wanted to dish.

Something stung his cheek and he blinked into focus. Unable to get its yellowed teeth within range, the corpse was now clawing at him, nails cutting deep. That’s what he got for allowing another distraction.

You’ve got this? Really? Well, prove it, Julian said, the challenge probably meant to strengthen him.

Roaring, Aden reached for one of his fallen blades. Just as the corpse broke free from his hold, he slashed forward. The blade slid through bone … and caught. Useless.

There was no time to panic. Hungry and oblivious to pain, his opponent made another play for his throat.

Aden threw another punch. There was a growl, another baring of teeth, and a stream of that thick, black saliva seeped from the corpse’s mouth onto his cheek, causing his skin to sizzle. He struggled, gagging at the fetid smell.

When a long, wet tongue emerged, inching toward Aden’s face, he once again grabbed the corpse by the jaw, fending it off while reaching for his other knife. Mere seconds after his fingers curled around the hilt, he began sawing at its neck.

Crack.

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 were made of.

You can do it, Eve cheered.

Arm up … back … waiting … waiting … Finally, its shoulders came into sight, giving Aden the canvas he needed to work his magic. He struck, in one fluid motion rendering the dead … dead. Again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Not that it could hear him. Made him feel better to say it, though.

One down, Julian said.

Aden was already running to the next grave. He didn’t slow when he reached it, just raised his arm and slashed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again as this newest corpse fell, head one way, body the other, its bones separating on impact.

That’s the way, Elijah praised.

Instinct was finally kicking in. His hands were soaked, sweat pouring from his face and chest, and as he hurried to the third, battered grave, pride blended with his guilt and sadness. Feral red eyes watched him.

We should be paid for this stuff, Caleb said, every word dripping with excitement. Clearly, he was hot. Again.

A growl sounded behind Aden a split second before a skeletal weight landed on his back and sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, ripping through shirt and skin and hitting muscle. Stupid, stupid! He’d missed one.

He groaned, propelled to the ground. Another bite, more poison. Later, more pain.

He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the fiend by the clavicle and jerked. Rather than tug the carcass off him, his hand wrenched away with a piece of lace and bone. A woman this time. Don’t think about that. He’d hesitate, and that hesitation would cost him.

Those sharp teeth latched onto his ear, drawing blood.

He pressed his lips together to cut off his shout. God, that hurt. Reaching back once more, he managed to grip its neck this time. But just before he jerked, the corpse fell to the ground, motionless, and all four voices inside his head began screaming as if in pain, then fading … fading … silent.

Frowning in confusion, Aden quickly shimmied out from under the lifeless body and jackknifed to his feet. His neck, shoulder and ear throbbed and burned as he whirled around and looked down.

The corpse didn’t move. Its head was still attached, but it didn’t freaking move.

He spun in a circle, gaze roving, cataloging, searching. The other corpse, the one he’d been racing for, had fallen, too, despite the fact that it, too, still possessed its head, and now remained immobile. Even the light in its eyes had died.

O-kay. What the hell had just happened?

Oddly, none of his companions had a smart-ass comment.

“Guys?” he said.

Still no response.

“Why were you—” His words trailed off. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of a young girl and forgot about everything else. She was dressed in a white T-shirt streaked with dirt, faded jeans and tennis shoes, strolling just in front of the cemetery. She was tall and thin with straight brown hair anchored in a ponytail, tanned skin and a pretty—very pretty—face. She had earbuds in her ears and seemed to be singing.