Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [1]
Micah understood the problems of the furred, because he was the local Nimir-Raj, their leopard king.
There was a moment of breathing on the message, too fast, frantic. The sound made me sit up in bed, letting the sheets pool into my lap. “Anita, Anita, this is Larry. You there?” He sounded scared.
Nathaniel got the receiver before I did, but he said, “Hey, Larry, she’s here.” He handed me the receiver, his face worried.
Larry Kirkland—fellow federal marshal, animator, and vampire executioner—didn’t panic that easily anymore. He’d grown, or aged, since he’d started working with me.
“Larry, what’s wrong?”
“Anita, thank God.” His voice held more relief than I ever wanted to hear in anyone’s voice. It meant he expected me to do something important for him. Something that would take some awful pressure or problem off their hands.
“What’s wrong, Larry?” I asked, and I couldn’t keep the worry out of my own voice.
He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. “I’m okay, but Tammy isn’t.”
I clutched the receiver. His wife was Detective Tammy Reynolds, member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Squad. My first thought was that she’d been hurt in the line of duty. “What happened to Tammy?”
Micah leaned in against me. Nathaniel had gone very quiet beside me. We’d all been at their wedding. Hell, I’d been at the altar on Larry’s side.
“The baby. Anita, she’s in labor.”
It should have made me feel better, but it didn’t, not by much. “She’s only five months pregnant, Larry.”
“I know, I know. They’re trying to get the labor stopped, but they don’t know . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
Tammy and Larry had been dating for a while when Tammy ended up pregnant. They’d married when she was four months pregnant. Now the baby that had made them both change all their plans might never be born. Or at least not survive. Shit.
“Larry, I’m . . . Jesus, Larry, I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do to help.” I couldn’t think of anything, but whatever he asked, I’d do it. He was my friend, and there was such anguish in his voice. He’d never mastered that empty cop voice.
“I’m due on an eight a.m. flight to raise a witness for the FBI.”
“The federal witness who died before he could testify,” I said.
“Yeah,” Larry said. “They need the animator that brings him back to be one of us who’s also a federal marshal. Me being a federal marshal was one of the reasons the judge agreed to allow the zombie’s testimony.”
“I remember,” I said, but I wasn’t happy. I wouldn’t turn him down or chicken out, not with Tammy in the hospital, but I hated to fly. No, I was afraid to fly. Damn it.
“I know how much you hate to fly,” he said.
That made me smile, that he was trying to make me feel better when his life was about to break apart. “It’s okay, Larry. I’ll see if the flight has some empty seats. If not I’ll get a later flight, but I’ll go.”
“All my files on the case are at Animators, Inc. I’d stopped by the office to get them and load up the briefcase when Tammy called. I think my briefcase is just sitting on the floor in our office. I got all the files in it. The agent in charge is . . .” And he hesitated. “I can’t remember. Oh, hell, Anita, I can’t remember.” He was panicking again.
“It’s okay, Larry. I’ll find it. I’ll call the Feds and tell them there’s been a change of cast.”
“Bert’s going to be pissed,” Larry said. “Your rates are almost four times what mine are for a zombie raising.”
“We can’t change the price in midcontract,” I said.
“No”—and he almost laughed—“but Bert is going to be pissed that we didn’t try.”
I laughed, because he was right. Bert had been our boss, but