Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [31]
I stood there with his hand on my arm and stared at him. “I’m what?”
“You’re caressing the tops of the tombstones like you’d stroke a hand through flowers in a field.”
I looked at the worry in his face and knew that he wasn’t lying, but . . . “Was I?”
“Yes,” he said, and his grip on my arm was suddenly almost painful.
“You’re hurting me,” I said.
“Does it help?”
I frowned at him, then realized what he meant. The small pain had pushed back the power. I could think about something other than the dead. My first clear thought was fear. “I don’t know what’s wrong tonight. I really don’t. I knew I was gaining abilities from the vampires, but I didn’t think it would bleed over to the zombie stuff. I mean, that’s my magic, not Jean-Claude’s, not Richard’s. Mine. Whatever happens metaphysically, it doesn’t usually mess with my basic talent.”
“Should you cancel tonight?” he asked.
I licked my lips, tasting the fresh lipstick I’d put on after we’d made love. I shook my head, moving into the circle of his arms. I hugged him. “If this is a new power level, then one night won’t make a difference.” I held him, breathing in the warm solidity of him.
“There’s always a learning curve to new abilities, Anita,” he whispered into my hair. “Even if that ability is only a stronger version of something else. Do we really want the learning curve to be on the FBI’s dime?”
He had a point, a good one, but . . . “I’ll be able to raise this zombie, Micah.”
“But what else will you raise?” he asked.
I drew back enough to see his face. “How did you understand that?”
“Isn’t that what you’re afraid of? Not that you can’t raise the dead, but that you’ll raise more than you were paid for?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I shivered and drew away so I could rub my arms. “That’s exactly it.”
“The protective circle is usually to keep things out,” he said. “Right?”
I nodded again.
“Tonight, I think maybe it will be to keep you in.”
“So I don’t spread over more of the graves,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“They should have chickens waiting for me to slaughter. I know Larry would have told them to bring the livestock.”
Fox yelled, “Marshal, Callahan, are you coming?”
“We’ll be there in a minute,” Micah called. He leaned into me, hands on my arms. “Do you really think chicken blood will keep this contained?”
“Not their blood, but their lives, yes,” I said.
“I’m not sure adding fresh death to your magic tonight is a good idea.”
“What choice do I have, Micah? I can make a small cut in my arm or hand and use the blood, but I’m not sure what my blood touching the graveyard will do tonight. So much power tonight, it’s intoxicating.”
“Then use my blood,” he said.
I looked at him. “You’ve never shared blood for a zombie raising.”
“No, but I let Jean-Claude take blood from me. How much different can it be?”
There were many answers to that, but I settled for “A lot different. I can’t cloud your mind to make it not hurt.”
“It’s a little cut, Anita. I’m okay with it.”
I sighed and hugged him again. A lot of men will date you, and some will sleep with you, and a few are content to play second fiddle to your job, but how many will literally open a vein for you? Not many.
I gave him a quick kiss. “Let’s go raise Mr. Rose from the dead.”
He picked up the bag with all the zombie-raising paraphernalia in it. He’d carry it. After all, he was the assistant. He needed to look useful. We finished the walk to the grave hand in hand. Maybe it wasn’t professional, but I didn’t care anymore. Besides, once I cut his arm open with the machete, no one would complain that he wasn’t assisting me enough. No, they’d think he was more than earning his paycheck. The fact that he didn’t get paid to be my assistant would be our little secret.
CHAPTER
10
One of the things in the gym bag that Micah was holding was a machete longer than my forearm. Even with a badge I might have had trouble getting it on the plane, except for the magical artifact law. Magical practitioners who earned their living from their