Bad Blood: The Immortal Firewalkers, #2

By Cadence Denton

My vision fractured into shards of light. Stars joined the little birds as Janie slammed my head onto the floor several times. Stunned, I felt her climb off me, kneeing me in the stomach in the process. 
"You know what I wish, little sister?" 
"That I'd die?" My voice sounded sulky in my own ears. 
She snorted, her lips curved into a sneer. "Nothing quite so simple. No, I wish you were an Amber Alert. That someone would kidnap you and you'd disappear." She snapped her fingers open wide like a magician completing a trick. "Now, that would turn my frown upside down." 
I gaped at her, unable to speak as her words rolled over me in a tidal wave of hatred. I'd never truly understood the depth of her loathing. It was the knockout punch that left no outward mark. 
The room was still. The entire house was quiet, as though the violence of her words had made it catch its breath. 
The silence was broken by a woman's scream of terror. My mother's, I later learned. It was the first scream. It wouldn't be the last. 
I didn't know it at the time, but neither did I know Janie's wish would come true. 
           Julie McIntyre

Crazy and suspenseful short story. Makes me want to read the series. 
    Review by Misha Estrada
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cardwell & Dale Press
• Release date: Feb 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524251703

Cadence Denton

Cadence Denton hears voices. When it gets too bad, she writes it down. The results are three series with another two in the works. Not content to write one genre, Cadence writes three--dark paranormal romantic suspense, paranormal culinary cozy, and gritty romantic espionage thrillers. When she isn't having conversations with the voices in her head, she can be found hunkering over her laptop or catering to the whims of her five rescue dachshunds.

Book preview

Bad Blood

An Immortal Firewalkers Short

Cadence Denton

Bad Blood by Cadence Denton

Cover Art by Telltale Book cover Designs

Copyright 2014 by Cardwell & Dale Press

ISBN:978-0-9903949-4-5

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

GIRLS, KEEP UP, MY mother called over her shoulder,

borderline pissed.

I recognized the signs—the huffing, the set jaw, the flared nostrils, knuckles gone white as she gripped the strap of her cross body bag. I’d seen them all before on numerous occasions, and could gauge to the cubic millimeter just how much farther she could be pushed until she went Chernobyl.

Seeing the mushroom cloud forming on the horizon, I sighed and turned away from the mannequin dressed in frothy pink lace and barely-there satin straps in the Victoria Secret display window to trudge obediently after her—and nearly fell on my face.

I stumbled forward, my arms wind milling, my flip-flops slapping on the polished tile floor causing an obscenely loud echo afforded by the mall’s cathedral height ceiling as I fought for and found (thank you, God) my balance.

Heat swept up my chest to crest at the crown of my head.  Hair that I’d spent at least an hour beating into submission with my mother’s wide barrel curling iron chose that moment to take revenge and flopped into my eyes blinding me. Like some spazzie sixth grader, I lurched in front of a mall filled with high school jocks, cliques, popular kids, and black-garbed Goth outsiders.  

Did it matter that I was one of the insiders? Or that I wore my National Cheerleading All Star tee shirt I’d earned at cheer camp like it was my cool kid membership card? Nope. That only made my clumsiness more of an embarrassment. The worst part was the fact that it wasn’t even my fault.

I was deliberately, purposefully, and with malice aforethought tripped.

My head swiveled, ears zeroing in on a voice I knew as well as I knew my own.  The sound of her laughter drew my attention as the moon pulls the oceans, and like the rising tide, my twin, Janie, swung into my sights flanked by her best friend and my vilest enemy, Kylee Bigelow. They hung onto each other with heads thrown back and arms draped over the other’s shoulders, braying like laughing donkeys.

My sister’s treachery surprised me. No matter how many times it happened, I never seemed to get used to it, much less understand it. That she would intentionally trip me hurt.

She was my sister, my identical twin. We had the same DNA, as in matching, as in indistinguishable (at least that’s what Dr. Lee, our family doctor, said). She was the closest human being in the entire world, in the entire universe, to me. Janie’s betrayal left me breathless. Because of it, I literally could not sip a teaspoon of oxygen

I don’t know when I lost the fight for my sister’s love. I was clueless about what I had done to cause the schism in our relationship. Looking back now, I can see the signs—not blatant clues really, just little checks, odd stops and starts that weren’t there one moment and in the next, were. They added up, built walls strong, thick, and impenetrable with the mortar of resentment.

With my head bowed, I continued through the busy mall slowing to stop beside a kiosk selling cell phone covers only because I ran into the back of my mother.

Careful, Julie, she sniffed.

Mom looked good for her age. She went to the gym and was in the El Dorado women’s tennis league. Determined to keep her size two figure, she was a fanatic about eating healthy. Janie and I got our blonde hair and blue eyes from her. Most people thought we