Лорел Гамильтон - Dead Ice

I didn’t so much lower my shields as just let my necromancy go. It was like opening a fist that you’ve kept tightly closed; suddenly you can spread your fingers and let the tension go. My necromancy flowed out from me like a seeking wind. Once it hadn’t been a real wind; that was just the closest analogy I’d had for it when I searched a cemetery for hot spots, ghosts, ghouls, and such, but it wasn’t a metaphorical wind anymore, and hadn’t been for years.

Manny shivered next to me. He said something in Spanish too fast for me to catch it all, but he called on God in there somewhere. I wasn’t sure if he was asking for help, or afraid of what he was feeling; maybe I didn’t want to know.

That seeking wind touched the grave and the zombie first. It curled around him, knew him, so that Warrington said, “God”; again I wasn’t sure if it was a cry for help or I’d become his god. Again, I didn’t want to know. My magic swirled out just a little farther and found the ghoul sitting on top of Eddie. It stopped snarling and looked at me. Ghouls’ eyes were usually like looking into the eyes of wolves or other wild animals—no one home that we could understand or talk to—but there was more there in this look; not a lot more, but it wasn’t just animal looking back at me. I knew then that it hadn’t been accidental, him jumping on Eddie and compromising the fuel tank. That was a fuckton of reasoning for a ghoul.

I sent my power out wide and fast, searching for whoever was holding this one’s leash. I touched the other ghouls and knew Domino was right; they were trying to outflank us, but like the one at the grave, when my power touched them their energy calmed. I felt them grow quiet under the touch of my necromancy. Whoever was controlling them either was backing off or didn’t have that much control over them after all. Good, great, but I still wanted the necromancer. I sent my power out seeking him, or her. If she could do this, then I needed to find her and make it clear this shit didn’t fly in my territory.

I sent the wind of my power out and out, then finally sought farther than the wind could reach, until Jean-Claude entered my mind and whispered, “ Ma petite , is something wrong?”

“No,” I whispered.

“What?” Zerbrowski asked.

“You fill the night with power like a seeking wind. What do you seek?”

I didn’t try talking again; I just let him see my night, and know what had been happening. “ Ma petite , my love, your night is one of wonder and torment.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said.

“Put what?” Zerbrowski asked.

“She’s talking to her power,” Manny said. I wondered if he understood what he meant by that. Did he know I was talking to Jean-Claude? I’d ask later; maybe.

“Oh, sorry,” Zerbrowski said.

“Is there anything I can do to aid you, ma petite ?”

“No . . . I don’t think so.”

“Then I will say only this: Your power is like a beacon tonight; it may draw things to you beyond the necromancer you seek.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I could see him sitting in the living room, curled up onto one corner of the living room couch. Someone was with him, a man’s hand resting on his thigh. The size of the hand meant it wasn’t Nathaniel or Micah; beyond that I wasn’t sure. It didn’t even have to be a lover; as the other vampires reminded him often, he was far too touchy-feely with his animals. Yeah, that would be the older vamps among the Harlequin that said it.

“Our lesser vampires may find your power irresistible, or even zombies that belong to others.” He made a waffling motion with his hand. “You are heady stuff to the dead tonight, ma petite .”

“I’ll try to tone it down.”

He smiled. A blond head came into view, moving so close to Jean-Claude’s chest that I could see the hair as he moved upward. It was only as he turned his head to sniff along Jean-Claude’s neck that I realized it was Dev.

He smiled and said, “Anita.”

I was all necromancy tonight. I realized that it had closed certain doors inside me, and I wasn’t feeling my connection to my wereanimals as strongly as normal. Sometimes it was hard to find the balance between all the power.

Dev lay back against Jean-Claude’s shoulder and smiled up at my viewpoint as if he were smiling for a camera. He’d seen me inside his head like this before, and for some reason it was always an up view with me looking down, so that we always looked upward into each other’s faces from a distance. There were moments when we could just look in and see what the other was doing, but for anything this interactive the viewpoint was always hovering. None of us knew exactly why it worked the way it did.

Dev’s smile was content like a cat that’s been into the cream. I had a moment to wonder what he and Jean-Claude had been doing to put that smugness on his face, but I knew that it wasn’t sex. If they crossed that boundary there’d be discussion beforehand, at least on Jean-Claude’s part. I’d let Dev be his own person for most of our relationship, so I wasn’t sure on his part. He might consider that Jean-Claude was the king, so . . . I shook the thoughts away. One issue at a time, damn it.

Jean-Claude either read my mind or knew me that well, because he said, “Mephistopheles and I have been talking about his new form and what it might mean for his power level.”

“He seems pretty happy with himself.”

“He is enjoying the thought of being closer to the seat of power.”

It took me a moment to realize it was a double entendre. I trusted Jean-Claude to handle the other man and keep things from getting out of hand before we’d all discussed it among ourselves. An in-depth talk with Asher and Kane was so on the to-do list before we decided what to do with our golden tiger.

“I’ll try not to attract too much undead attention; you guys be good.”

Dev’s smile broadened, and he leaned in against Jean-Claude in a very intimate way. “We’ll be good.”

I hoped he didn’t think he was home free and on Jean-Claude’s list of lovers just because of gaining more power. It was a mistake to underestimate how carefully Jean-Claude orchestrated the people around him. He valued domestic happiness highly; even power wasn’t always enough for him to upset personal issues. Some of the Harlequin saw that as a weakness, but when you can have several hundred years of companionship from someone, being happy with them should be important. I’d actually begun to think that one of the reasons most of the older vamps I met were miserable bastards was that they spent too much time being all Machiavelli in their life, and not enough time being Cupid. It sounded stupid, but love isn’t stupid; it’s necessary for a happy life.

I shook my head and closed the link between us; anything else I said was just going to distract me more. I needed to find the necromancer who had loosed the ghouls from their cemetery. I was almost a hundred percent certain that they hadn’t originated in this graveyard, though it would definitely need a priest to visit soon or they might spread here.

I knew how to search for the undead, or even vampires, but I’d never tried to search just for someone like me. I knew what vampire felt like to my power. I let it “taste” the zombie in its grave. Warrington felt it, because he said, “What would you have of me, Ms. Blake?”

“I’m trying to find other undead, but first I have to ignore your energy, so I won’t keep picking up on zombies.” He probably didn’t understand most of what I’d said, but he replied with, “Let me but feed and I know I can help you.”

“Feed how?” I asked.

“Flesh.”

“You’re craving flesh again?”