He grabbed my arm. "Do you even know that you're touching every tombstone as you walk by it?"

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 magical talent could not be denied access to their magical tools. They were to be treated the same way as crosses, or Stars Of David. The machete had had to go through checked baggage until the Supreme Court put through the exclusion act. Made it all so much more convenient for me.

We were introduced to everyone. I gave a special nod to the court reporter, the only other woman there. I spent a lot of time being the only woman everywhere I went. I'd begun to like having other women around. It made me feel less like a freak. The only girl in the all-boys club had begun to get a little lonely of late.

The lawyers on one side were unhappy with me from the moment they saw me. How relieved they must have been when Rose died quietly of natural causes before he could testify. Now here I was, about to bring him back from the dead so he could testify after all. What's the world coming to when even the dead can testify in federal court?

Arthur Salvia was the head lawyer on the side that wasn't happy to see me. His name sounded vaguely familiar, as if he'd been in the news for something, but I couldn't place it. "Your honor, I must protest again. Mr. Rose died before he could testify in court. The testimony of a dead man is not admissible."

"I get to say what is admissible, Mr. Salvia. You'll get your chance to cross-examine the witness." He frowned and turned to me. "That is correct, Ms. Blake? The zombie will be able to be cross-examined?"

I nodded, realized he might not have the night vision to see it, and said, "Yes, your honor. The zombie will be able to answer questions and respond to cross-examination."

He nodded too, then said, "There, Mr. Salvia. You will get your chance to cross-examine Mr. Rose."

"Mr. Rose is dead, your honor. I renew my objections to this entire proceeding—"

The judge held up his hand. "Heard and noted, Mr. Salvia, but save the rest of your objections for the appeal."

Salvia settled back. He was not happy.

Micah leaned in very close to my ear and whispered, "He smells like fear."

The lawyer for the accused was allowed to be nervous, but fear? That seemed a bit strong. Was he afraid of the graveyard and the whole zombie thing, or was it something else?

There was a wire mesh cage over to one side with a chicken in it. The bird clucked softly to itself, making the sleepy noises chickens make when they're settling down for the night. The chicken wasn't afraid. It didn't know it had been brought to play blood sacrifice. Larry would have needed it. I didn't. I'd discovered that I could use a little bit of my own blood to represent the sacrifice needed to raise the dead by accident. Or necessity, after Marianne, the woman who was helping me learn to control my metaphysical abilities, had gotten grief from her coven.

She hadn't been Wiccan when I first started going to her. She'd just been psychic. Then she got religion, and suddenly she was asking if I could raise the dead without killing an animal. Something about her coven speculating that she, as my teacher, would take on some of my bad karma from doing death magic. So I tried. I could do it. The zombie wasn't always as well put together, or as smart, but it still talked and could answer questions. Good enough for government work, as they say. But constantly having cuts all over my left hand and arm got old. I refused to cut my gun hand. It hurt, and I was beginning to run out of fresh places to cut. I decided that since I ate meat anyway, it wasn't so different from slaughtering a few animals to do my job. But the whole experience had taught me that I could, if I had to, raise the newly dead without killing an animal. Very recently, I'd discovered that I didn't need any blood to raise a zombie sometimes.