Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [37]
“I will remind you, Marshal, that this is still a court of law. I can hold you in contempt.”
Micah turned me to him and drew me into a hug. His breath was warm against my face. “Anita, what’s wrong?”
I felt movement at my back a moment before Fox asked quietly, “Are you all right, Blake?”
I leaned into Micah. His arms held me, tight and almost fierce, as if he would press me out the other side of his body. He whispered against my face, “What is wrong, Anita? What is it?”
I grabbed on to him and pressed as much of him against me as I could, so that we were plastered against each other, as close as we could get with clothes on. I buried my face against the side of his neck, drawing in the warm, sweet scent of his skin. Soap, the slight sweetness of his cologne, and underneath that the scent of his skin. The scent of Micah. And underneath that, that faint, neck-ruffling scent of leopard. The moment I smelled it, I felt better. That musky, almost-sharp scent of leopard helped chase back the almost-voices of the dead.
“Do you want me to hold you in contempt, Marshal Blake?” The judge’s voice dragged me back from Micah’s skin, pulled me away from falling into the warmth and life of him.
I barely turned my head to look at the judge, but it felt like some huge physical wrenching. The moment I couldn’t bury my face in Micah’s skin, the voices were back. The dead were trying to talk to me. They shouldn’t have been doing that. Ghosts would sometimes do that if they couldn’t find a medium to speak with, but once you were in a grave, you weren’t supposed to be this lively.
I looked at the judge and tried to explain what was happening without giving Salvia more ammunition to delay things. “Your honor—” And I had to clear my throat to make my voice reach him only a few yards away. I tried again, pressing Micah’s body against mine. Even with everything that was going wrong, I could feel his body beginning to respond to my nearness. We had that effect on each other. It didn’t bring on the ardeur or distract me. Feeling his body respond helped me think, helped me feel alive.
“Your honor, I need my protective circle up sooner rather than later.”
“Why?”
“This is another tactic to rush these proceedings,” Salvia said.
“As you’re trying to delay them?” Laban said. Never good when the lawyers start sniping at each other.
“Enough,” the judge said, and then he looked at me. “Marshal Blake, why is it so important that you get your protective circle up?”
“The dead feel my power, your honor. They are, even now, trying to. . .” I sought a word that wouldn’t be too much. If I said, talk, they might ask what the dead were saying, and it wasn’t like that.
Micah answered for me. “The circle isn’t to protect the zombie, your honor. In this case it’s to protect Anita, Marshal Blake. She let her psychic shields down when we entered the cemetery, and she’s being overwhelmed by the dead.”
Fox said, “Shit,” as if he understood more about that whole shielding thing than most people did.
“Was that wise, Marshal Blake, to let down your protection so early?”
I answered, “This is a very old cemetery, your honor. Since I replaced Marshal Kirkland at the last minute, I didn’t realize how old. There is a remote chance in a place this old that there might be problems that would affect the raising. It’s standard practice to drop shields and let my power search the cemetery when I’m this unfamiliar with the area.” What I was saying was half-true. I was not going to admit that my shields had been ripped away by my own growing