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I found the dead I needed, and it didn’t work. The power continued to build until I would have screamed if I could have gotten enough air. A step, an ingredient, something was missing.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at both of them. They stared down at me. Jean-Claude’s eyes had gone solid, midnight blue. They both leaned towards me at once. Richard went for my mouth, Jean-Claude went for my neck. Richard’s kiss was almost a burning. I could feel the brush of fangs as Jean-Claude fought not to bite me. Temptation was everywhere. Someone’s hand was under my shirt, and I wasn’t sure whose it was anymore. Then I realized it was both of them.

What was one thing I needed for raising the dead? Blood. I must have said it out loud: “Blood.”

Jean-Claude raised up, staring at me from inches away. His hand was just below my breast. I’d grabbed his wrist without thinking about it. “What, ma petite?”

“Blood to finish it. We need blood.”

Richard raised his face up like a drowning man. “What?”

“I can give you blood, ma petite.” Jean-Claude leaned into me. I stopped him with a hand on his chest, at the same time that Richard put a hand on his shoulder. The power poured over us in a searing wash, and I was seeing white spots.

“You won’t use me to sink fangs into her for the first time,” Richard growled it at him. His anger fed the magic and I screamed.

“Give me blood, or get off me.” I held up my own wrist between them. “I don’t have a knife, someone do it.”

Richard leaned over me. He swept his hair back from one side of his neck. “Here’s your blood.”

Jean-Claude didn’t argue. He leaned into him, lips drawn back. I watched in a sort of slow motion as he bit the side of Richard’s neck. Richard tensed, a hiss of breath as the fangs sank home. Jean-Claude’s mouth sealed over his skin, sucking, throat working.

The power roared through me, raising every hair on my body, creeping through my skin until I thought I’d come apart. I sent it all outward to the dead that I’d found. I filled them up and still there was too much power. I reached outward, outward, and found what I was looking for. The power left us in a cool, burning, rush.

I lay gasping on the floor. Jean-Claude lay on my left, propped on one elbow. Blood stained his lips, trickling down his chin. Richard lay on his stomach to my right, pinning my arm underneath his cheek. His chest rose and fell in great gasps, sweat glistening along his spine.

The world was gold-edged, almost floating. Sound returned slowly, and it was like I was listening down a long tube.

Jean-Claude licked the blood from his lips, wiping a shaking hand across his chin, licking the hand clean. He lay down beside me, one hand across my stomach, his head cradled on my shoulder. His bare chest and stomach lay across my arm. His skin was almost hot, feverish. He’d never felt like that before. His heart pounded against my skin like a captive bird.

His hair fell against my face. It smelled of some exotic shampoo and of him. He gave a shaky laugh and said, “It was glorious for me, was it good for you, ma petite?”

I swallowed, and was too tired to even laugh. “Trust you to know just what to say.”

Richard raised himself up on his elbows. Blood trickled down his neck where two neat fang marks showed. I touched the bite mark, and my fingers came away stained crimson.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not really.” He grabbed my wrist, gently, licking the blood off my fingers, sucking them clean.

Jean-Claude’s strangely warm hand caressed my stomach under my shirt. He undid the button of my pants.

“Don’t even think it,” I said.

“Too late, ma petite.” He bent and kissed me. I could taste the metallic sweetness of Richard’s blood on his tongue. I rose up to meet him, pushing at his mouth. I’d asked for the blood, not either of them. The truth was, we weren’t done with the bloodletting today. Whatever I’d called from the grave had to be put back. That would take blood, fresh blood. The only question was who would donate it and how would it