41

I canceled the rest of the clients for the night. It had been too close for comfort. I would put this zombie back, but that was it until I figured out what the hell was going on. Bert would be pissed. The clients would be pissed. But not half so pissed as they'd be if I raised a shambling army of the dead and terrorized the city. No, that would be more bad press than even Bert could figure out how to cure.

Besides, I'd finally lost enough blood that I wasn't feeling well. It wasn't metaphysics, it was just physical. I was light-headed, vaguely nauseous, cold even with the leather jacket and a blanket from the back of my Jeep. I'd lost enough blood over the years to know the signs. I didn't need like a transfusion or anything, but I didn't need to lose anymore blood tonight, either. In fact, I'd have Graham drive us back to the club, pick up Nathaniel, and beg off on any big sexy scene tonight. Sex called on account of blood loss. Surely he'd accept that as a good enough excuse.

We were all huddled in the backseat of the Jeep. Me, because I felt like shit. Graham and Requiem because I couldn't get warm on my own. A blanket, the leather jacket, and I was still shivering.

"My lady, may I make a bold suggestion?" Requiem asked.

It took me two tries to stop my teeth from chattering long enough to say, "Sure."

"If we do not get you warm, you will be fit for nothing tonight."

"Just say it, stop"--I shook so hard it almost hurt, when the shuddering passed--"stop talking me to death, Requiem."

"Graham under the blanket would double your body heat." He said it very crisp, no wasted words, it was nice to know he could be concise when he needed to be.

If I could have stopped my teeth from chattering I might have argued, but I couldn't, so I didn't. Besides, a little fully clothed cuddling under a blanket seemed pretty tame after what had happened earlier tonight. What could it hurt? Oh, hell, don't answer that.

Graham was still in his serious bodyguard mode, so he eased under the blanket, as if I'd bite. "I can't really be security while trapped under a blanket in the backseat," he said.

It took me three tries to say, "You carrying?"

"You mean a gun?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"If I'm the only one armed, then you ain't my security."

He looked like he'd argue, and Requiem said, "There are many ways to guard someone's body, Graham. If we do not help her warm herself, then I fear we will be going to the emergency room with her. Would you like to explain to Jean-Claude how you let that happen, when you could have prevented it with such a small action on your part?"

"No," Graham said, and eased himself in around my right side. It was as if he were a totally different person from the one that got that taste of orgasm from me earlier. He seemed stiff and uncomfortable. He slid his arm across my shoulders tentatively, awkwardly.

"She will not break, Graham," Requiem said.

"I've forgotten my job twice tonight. I don't want to do it a third time."

I snuggled in against the warmth of his body, burrowing under his leather jacket to find where the heat was trapped between his own body and the leather. He was so warm, so incredibly warm.

"God, she fits under my arm." That arm curled around me, almost reflexively, as if he just couldn't help himself. "She seems so much bigger when she's moving around, or talking, or doing anything." His voice sounded puzzled, and soft. His arm wrapped around me, tucking me close in against the line of his body, and he was right, I did fit. He was around six feet, and I so wasn't. He could have cradled me like a child, and I hated that, but he was so warm, so warm. His body felt almost hot. We were about a week away from full moon, and some lycanthropes' body temperature went up before the change, almost like a fever. Either I was colder than I thought, or Graham was one of the wereanimals that ran hot.

My teeth stopped chattering, and it was as if my muscles began to unclench. I still had small involuntary spasms, but it was better.

"Can I pick you up?" Graham asked, and he sounded like he expected me to say no.

I said, "Why?"

"You'll be warmer," he said.

I thought about it. He was probably right, but it would reinforce that I was tiny enough to sit in his lap and cuddle against his chest like a child. I really hated doing shit like that. But he was probably right, it would be warmer. Damn it.

"Yes," I said, and even to me it didn't sound happy.

"Are you sure?"

"The lady has spoken, Graham, do not make her repeat herself," Requiem said.

Graham hesitated for a second, then he scooped me up in his arms, like I weighed nothing. He sat me on his lap, and I found another downside to the thong. He must have been wearing new jeans because they weren't soft. I was so not wearing enough underwear, or enough skirt. But I'd dressed mostly for meeting Jean-Claude and Asher later in the evening. I'd been thinking date, not medical emergencies. Silly me.

He was able to curl most of me underneath his jacket against his chest, the rest of me curled into a small ball in his lap, with just a little leg off to one side. He put one of his arms across that spill of leg, and the other arm held the jacket tight around me. Requiem helped us get the blanket draped around us, and the only thing uncovered was the top of my head. It was dark and warm, and I laid my head against his chest, and the T-shirt was a thin barrier between me and the heat of his skin. I let my body ease into the warmth of his skin, and the scent of leather, and just him. I realized why his scent seemed so comfortable to me. He smelled like pack, that faint scent that all of Richard's wolves had. I was too friendly with too many of them not to equate that faint ruffling musk with safety. I let myself sink into a warm nest of leather, and blanket, and body, and shared warmth, and the distant smell of wolf, and I slept.

The next thing I was aware of was Graham's voice, very soft, as if he didn't really want to wake me. "Anita, Anita, they're done with the zombie."

For a second I couldn't remember where I was, or who was talking to me. Fresh from sleep, to me his body felt more like Richard's than anyone else's. The size and the musculature and the faint scent of musk was all Richard, but the voice didn't match.

"Anita, you are wanted by the graveside." Requiem's British accent.

The last of sleep and whatever wolf-scented dreams I'd had slipped away, and I knew where I was and whose lap I'd fallen asleep in.

Graham stroked my hair, and said softly, "Anita, are you awake?"

I sat up, pushing his arm, his jacket off of me, but we were tangled in the blanket. I pushed at the soft gray material, but it was caught at the edges, wedged under his body. I could punch at it, but I couldn't get free of it. I had one of those moments of claustrophobia that make no sense. I wasn't actually trapped, but there was something about being close to trapped with two people that I knew so little about. If it had been anyone on my list of people that I trusted implicitly, it wouldn't have happened. But I didn't know Graham, not really, and I'd fallen asleep in his arms. I'd fallen asleep with only him and Requiem to watch over me. Careless, terribly careless.

Maybe it was some remnant of an unremembered dream, or maybe there is no excuse, but whatever, I lost it. I panicked. If I'd been thinking clearly, I could have gotten out of a stupid blanket, but I wasn't thinking anymore. My head was screaming, Trapped, trapped, we're trapped!

Graham grabbed my arms, and I shoved an elbow back into him as hard as I could.

He let go and made a satisfying hummph sound. "Shit, you'll crack a rib doing that."

"Don't grab me, okay, just don't grab me." My voice was breathy, but I was a touch calmer. Calm enough not to fight the stupid blanket. Calm enough not to struggle so that Graham thought something was wrong with me. My pulse was still wild in my throat, like I'd choke on it, but I could think again.

Requiem was there on his knees, looming over both of us. The panic flared through me in a cold wash that left my fingertips tingling with static, but I fought it off this time. I tried to relax as he pulled at the edge of the blanket and started to ease us free.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I think I had a bad dream."

"No shit," Graham said, and he sounded slightly offended.

I'd apologized once, he wasn't getting it twice. Truth was I'd gotten claustrophobic from two things, a diving accident years ago, and waking up in a vampire's coffin. Waking up in the tight darkness with a dead body wrapped around you. The stuff of nightmares.

There was a look on Requiem's face that was eloquent. He knew I was lying, and I didn't care. I made it policy not to parade my phobias in front of people. Never let people see what really scares you, they may use it against you later.

When he pulled enough blanket, I scrambled out, and was damn rude getting out of the Jeep. But I felt better as soon as I hit the open air. I took in deep breaths of the cool night air. About the time I got myself calmer, my lower body started to be cold. Shit.

"You're shivering again," Requiem said, from right behind me.

I jumped, because I hadn't heard him slide out of the car. "I'm alright."

"No, you are not."

I frowned at him.

Graham slid out of the backseat. "He's right."

I frowned at them both. "It doesn't matter how I feel. I've got a job to do."

"Yes, you have a job to do, but how you feel still matters," Requiem said.

I opened the front door and got my gym bag out of the seat. I didn't leave it graveside because of the machete. The machete might only be magical in my hand, or in another animator's hand, but it was still a damn long blade, and I didn't trust civilians around it.

I shut the door, hit the beeper to lock it, and started walking back to the grave with the bag in hand. I'd gone about four feet into the grass, when I tripped and nearly fell.

Requiem's hand was at my elbow. "You are not well."

I stood there and let him steady me. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Usually raising the dead makes me feel good, better."

"Tonight did not go as planned."

I shook my head. "No, it didn't. Part of that was my fault."

"No," he said.

"Yes," I said, "I got distracted by all that new power and forgot to put up a protective circle. It keeps the zombie in, but it also keeps other things out. A lot of metaphysical shit likes to mess with bodies, if they get the chance. I knew better."

"You were distracted."

"Yeah."

"Can I carry the bag for you?" Graham asked, though I noticed he was staying just out of reach. I wondered how hard I'd hit him in the ribs. I hadn't hurt him, but I was more than human strong now, and I could have hurt him.

"Yeah, thanks," I said.

He took the bag and then stood to one side and let Requiem and me go first. The vampire kept his hand on my elbow, and I let him. I was getting cold again.

"I've lost more blood than this before and not felt this bad," I said, softly. One group of cars had left the cemetery, the group that had brought the suit. The lawyers from the winning side were at graveside, and there was a cheerful murmur of voices, as the descendants got to talk to their patriarch. He had a big booming laugh.

"Have you fed tonight?" Requiem asked. His voice brought me back to the dark and how far we still had to walk. It seemed like a long way, but it wasn't that far, it just wasn't.

"Yeah, I had dinner."

He shook his head. "That is not what I meant."

I thought about it for a second, or two, then said, "You mean like the ardeur?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I fed off of you and Byron."

"No," he said, "you were feeding for Jean-Claude. He got that energy."

"I guess so. But if the ardeur needs feeding it just flares up, and I have to feed." I put my hand on his arm, because my legs were feeling wobbly.

"Perhaps you have gained more control over it?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means you can go without feeding it, until you choose to feed it."

I stopped walking and looked up at him. "What?"

"You have many of the symptoms of a vampire that has not fed enough. The blood lust rules us at first, but once we are masters, then we can go without feeding if we must. We can choose to feed."

"But I feel like shit."

"The choice comes with a price," he said.

"I'm confused," I said.

"I think it took a great deal more energy from you than it should have to raise this zombie and fight what the Ulfric did by accident. I think it took energy to defeat Primo. To feed on Byron and myself. I think that took not just physical energy, but mental, as well. You are not a creature of casual lusts, and I think it cost you more than you will admit to feed your master tonight."

I would have argued the master part, but it was becoming a case of the lady protesting too much. "So what do I do?"

"You need to feed," he said simply.

I gave him a look.

He smiled and raised a hand as if to prove he was innocent. "It does not have to be me, or even Graham. It does not have to be this moment, but it must be soon, Anita. Surely, you feel that."

I just stood there and stared at him. I'd wished for control of the ardeur for so long, and now I had it, sort of. I didn't have to feed unless I wanted to, but if I waited too long, I'd get sick. I shook my head. "I thought control of the ardeur meant you could just skip it and not feed it at all."

"Who told you that?"

I started to say, Jean-Claude, then stopped. What had he said about the ardeur? That I'd gain control of it. That I'd learn how to feed from a distance. Had he ever promised that it would go away? No, he hadn't. I'd just wanted control to mean it would be gone. No one had promised that. No one. Shit.

"No one," I said, "I just heard it that way. I wanted the ardeur to be gone. I wanted it to go away, so I just kept thinking that's what it would mean."

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you that it is not so."

I looked at his face, studied it. "You sound like you know what you're talking about."

"I do not carry the ardeur. To hold the complete ardeur as our dark mistress does is very rare, even among her own bloodline."

"Then how do you know that that's what's happening to me?"

"Logic," he said, "and just because I do not carry it, does not mean I have not seen one who did."

"Who?'

"Ligeia." He turned away as he said the name so I couldn't see his face.

"I don't know the name, at least not as a vamp."

"It does not matter, for she is dead."

I touched his face. "What happened?" I asked.

He looked at me, but his face held that distance that the old ones have when they don't want you to know what they're thinking. "Belle Morte killed her."

"Why do I feel like I should say I'm sorry for asking?"

He gave me the smallest of smiles. "Because you are not insensitive."

That one comment let me know that Ligeia's death meant a lot more to him than just another cruel death. She'd meant something to him, and it was none of my business.

"The customers are getting restless," Graham called back to us. He was standing a little ahead of us with my bag in his hands. He'd given us privacy like a good bodyguard.

I looked past him and saw one of the lawyers waving at us. Restless indeed.

"Even if I was willing, I don't think they'd wait while we went back to the car to feed the ardeur."

He gave me a real smile this time, with enough humor to drive out the blankness in his eyes. "I fear you are right."

"Then we muscle through this, and you guys can drive me back to the club."

"Where your pomme de sang waits," he said.

"Yeah." I wondered if I was going to get back in time to see any of Nathaniel's dance. I suddenly saw Nathaniel in front of a mirror. He was putting eyeliner around his lavender eyes. He stopped in the middle of it and said, "Anita?"--a question like he wasn't sure.

Requiem had both my arms now. I'd have gone to my knees, if he hadn't caught me. "Anita, what happened?"

"I thought about my pomme de sang, and I could see him. He's getting ready to go on." I was dizzy, and when Requiem cradled me against him, I didn't complain. "I've had mind-to-mind communication with Richard and Jean-Claude. It's never been this draining."

Requiem picked me up, and again I was wishing I'd worn a longer skirt. God knew what he was flashing the graveside with. But I couldn't stand, the world was swimming. "Jean-Claude is the master of your triumvirate with the Ulfric, but you are the master of Nathaniel and Damian. It is your power that makes this partnership move, and that, too, uses energy."

"Does everyone know what happened between the three of us?"

"No, he told only Asher and myself, among his vampires. Perhaps his own pomme de sang, Jason. He keeps little from him."

I frowned at him, as the world stopped spinning. "Why you?"

"I am his third, after Asher."

News to me, though of the vamps I'd met, I couldn't think of anyone I'd have preferred for the job. The night was solid again. "I think I can walk."

He looked doubtful.

"Let me try," I said.

He lowered me to the ground, but kept an arm around me like he expected me to collapse at any minute. I guess I couldn't blame him, but it bugged me anyway. I didn't collapse. Great. In fact, I felt pretty good, considering. I kept a hand through his arm, so it looked like he was escorting me the last little bit of the way. Only he and I, and maybe Graham, knew just how shaky I was feeling.

Edwin Alonzo Herman was regaling his audience with a story of how he'd tricked someone into signing away a small fortune. In these modern times it would have been considered swindling, but not back in the late 1800s or even early 1900s. Many of the laws on the books about money and how you can legally acquire it stem from the old robber baron days when almost anything was fair game. Most of the ways that the first millionaires in this country won their fortunes would be illegal today. But Herman had them laughing. He looked positively rosy-cheeked, and very much the center of attention of the group of lawyers and descendants. Everyone was willing to be happy, they'd won, and the man telling the story had helped them win. If someone had saved me millions of dollars, I'd like them, too, I guess.

He finished his story to laughter, and shining faces. "I'm ready to complete the contract gentleman, and ladies," I said.

Some of them had to shake my hand.

"Splendid job, Ms. Blake, splendid job."

"Wow, I mean, like wow."

"Honestly, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen you do it."

Apparently, I was included in the good feelings. Most people get a little uncomfortable when it's time to put the zombie back, if he looks alive enough.

Requiem stopped the compliments. "Ms. Blake has had a difficult night, gentlemen, if you could allow her to finish her work, then she can rest."

"Oh, terribly sorry... We didn't know. Thank you... worth every penny." And they began to drift away.

Edwin Alonzo Herman looked down at me, and it wasn't a friendly look. "I understand that I am supposed to be dead and only your magic gave me life again."

I shrugged and asked Graham to please get the machete and the salt from the bag.

"I've also been told that vampires have rights and are considered citizens. Am I not merely another kind of vampire? If I were declared alive, I would be a very, very wealthy man. I would be willing to share that wealth, Miss Blake."

I clung to Requiem's arm and looked up at the zombie, so self-assured. "You know, Mr. Herman, you're one of the few old ones that I've ever raised that have grasped the possibilities so quickly. You must have been something special in your day."

"Thank you for the compliment, and may I return one? This must be a unique gift that you have. Together we could turn it into an empire."

I smiled. "I have a business manager, but thanks anyway." I let go of Requiem and found I could stand without falling. Good to know. I was actually feeling a little better just standing on the grave by the zombie, because no matter how good he looked, that's what he was. I took the jar of salt from Graham's hand.

"Miss Blake, if I am only another type of walking dead, then is it fair to deny me the same chance that this vampire has gotten?"

"You're not a vampire," I said.

"And how great could the difference be between what I am, and what he is?"

I did something that Marianne had tried to teach me, and I just had been too stubborn to try before. I wasn't sure I had enough energy left to walk the circle, so I just pictured it in my mind, like a glowing circle around the grave, around the great stone angel, around all of us. It closed with the same neck-ruffling power rush that it did when I walked it with steel and blood. Good, very good.

"You want a difference, try and walk away from the grave."

He frowned at me. "I don't understand."

"Just walk to the road, where you answered their questions."

"I don't see what it will prove."

"It will prove the difference between what you are and what he is."

Herman frowned at me, then took a deep settling breath and strode off of his grave, toward the road. He hesitated, then slowed, then stopped. "I seem unable to move forward. I don't know why. I just simply don't seem able to go farther." He turned back to me. "Why? Why can I not go where I just stood?"

"Requiem, walk outside the circle."

He looked at me, then he walked past the man. He hesitated for a moment, and I worried that I'd done too good a job on the circle, but it should have only kept in the zombie, and out other things. The vampire shouldn't have been affected by it. Requiem pushed through, and the circle flared. It did recognize him as a type of undead, but not the one tied to this grave. I realized that with a little tweaking I might be able to throw up a circle that bound a vampire to its grave, or coffin, or a room. It couldn't be kept up forever, but for awhile. I filed it away. It would be a sort of desperation measure, but I'd been desperate before.

Herman pushed against the circle, or rather pushed against his own unwillingness to cross it. Requiem glided back through it, and out again, and in again.

"Enough," I said, "I think we've made the point."

"Why can I not cross this point, and he can?"

"Because this is your grave, Mr. Herman, your body knows this ground, and it knows you. It holds you to it, now that I've made it do so. Now come back and stand on the grave like a nice zombie."

"I am not a zombie."

"I said, stand on the grave."

He took a step toward me, before he stopped, and fought me. He fought his body, as he'd fought to cross the circle, now he fought not to come to me. I'd never had one that could fight me when I gave it a direct order, especially not one that had tasted my blood. I watched that well-made body, that so-alive person, struggle not to move closer.

I threw power into the next command, "Edwin Alonzo Herman come and stand on your grave, now."

He walked toward me, slowly, jerkily, like a badly made robot. He had to come now, but he was still fighting me. He should not have been able to do that. Even when he stood on the grave, facing us, his body jerked and spasmed, because still he fought my control.

I had the jar of salt open. I handed it to Requiem. "Just hold it."

Graham handed me the machete, and suddenly the zombie's eyes went wide. "What are you going to do with that great knife?" He sounded uncertain, not afraid, he was made of tougher stuff than that.

"It's not for you," I said. I'd already pushed the sleeves of the leather jacket up above my wrists. Now, I started to lay the machete tip against my arm, but Requiem's hand was suddenly wrapped around the hand holding the machete.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I need blood to bind him to his grave. I'd rather do a smaller fresh wound than reopen my left wrist."

His hand stayed around my wrist. "You do not need to lose more blood tonight, Anita."

"I need blood to finish this," I said.

"Does it have to be yours?" he asked.

"Normally, it's animal blood, but I'm not going to slaughter a chicken just to lay a zombie. The chickens have survived this far. If I spill a little more blood, they can make it through the night."

"Would my blood do?" he asked.

I frowned at him. "You're seriously not going to let me do this without an argument, are you?"

"No," he said.

I sighed, and relaxed my arm just a little to save muscle cramp. He kept his grip on the arm with the machete. "I've used vampire blood by accident, but it went a little... odd. I don't need more odd tonight, Requiem."

"Will his do?" He pointed at Graham.

"Will my what do?" Graham asked.

"Your blood," Requiem said, as if it was an everyday request.

"How much blood?" Graham asked, as if it wasn't the first time he'd been asked.

"Just enough to touch the face, sprinkle or smear."

"Okay," Graham said, "I agree that you don't need to lose more blood tonight. If mine will do, then okay. Where will you make the cut?"

"Lower arm, but above the wrist, less risk of hitting something that'll bleed too freely. Also a wound in the wrist hurts more, because of all the movement that goes through it."

He stripped out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground behind him.

I looked up into his face, searched it for some sign that he felt used, or abused. I didn't see that. He looked like he said he was, okay with it.

"The look on your face," he said. "Really, it's okay. It's not like I don't donate blood on a regular basis."

"Your neck and arms are clean," I said, "no bite marks."

"There are other places to donate from, Anita, you should know that."

I blushed, which was bad, since I didn't have enough blood to spare. There were other places to donate from, most of them intimate. "You someone's pomme de sang?" I asked.

"No, not yet."

"What does not yet mean?"

"It means that some of my brethren are hesitant to commit themselves to a single wolf, when your Ulfric has suddenly decided to share such bounty," Requiem said.

"He asked for volunteers," I said.

"Oh, I'm willing," Graham said, "I just don't like going around advertising the fact. Besides," he said, and he put his hands on his hips, palms flat, "it is a wild," he smoothed his hands down his jeans, "ride," until his hands touched either side of his groin, "when they feed," and his hands formed a frame of fingers and thumbs around the bulge in his pants, "down low."

My gaze had followed his hands the whole way, like I was mesmerized. I think I was just tired. I blinked and tried to concentrate on what we needed to do. I was not going to feel well until I'd fed, but I also wasn't feeding on anyone standing here. Nathaniel was waiting back at the club, and so was Jean-Claude. I had people who were willing, now that I could say no to the ardeur until I chose, I didn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers.

"Fine, hold out an arm. I'd recommend it be your nondominant arm." I had the machete in my hand. I'd made small cuts in the arms of other animators when we shared power so we could raise a bigger or older zombie. I choked up my hold on the hilt and held out my other hand for his arm. He tried to give me his hand, and I had to say, "No, I'll hold your wrist to help steady us both."

"Have it your way," he said, and he let me grip his wrist in my left hand. Normally this was quick, but my hands were shaking tonight. It's not good to be cutting on people when your hands are shaking. I blew out all the breath in my body, as if I were aiming down the barrel of a gun, and pressed the edge of the tip against his arm. I had to take a breath and did the down-stroke as I breathed out. I was slower than I would have been if I'd felt steadier. I was working on not going too deep, rather than not causing pain.

He hissed, "Shit," under his breath.

Blood welled out, almost black in the starlight. Not a lot of blood, just a trickle along the edge of the cut. The blood began to glide out of the wound, and I rubbed my fingers through it. I turned with my fingers stained with Graham's blood, turned to the zombie still waiting on the grave.

"Don't touch me with that," he said, and he recoiled away from me.

"Stand still, very still," I said, and he froze in place, unable to move, or back away. Only his eyes showed, wide and frightened.

I had to stand on tiptoe to touch his face, and Requiem was at my arm, as I wobbled. "With blood I bind you to your grave," I said.

Herman's eyes didn't get one bit less frightened.

I raised the machete up, and he made small protesting sounds, because I'd told him not to move and he couldn't scream. I tapped him with the flat of the machete. "With steel I bind you to your grave."

I spoke to Requiem, "The salt now."

He turned and got the open jar that he'd laid down by the foot of the grave. He held it out toward me. I took a handful of salt, and I'd used the wrong hand and gotten blood in the white crystals. All the salt would have to be dumped. Damn it.

I turned to the frightened zombie and threw the salt on him. "With salt I bind you to your grave." I waited for what should happen next, and prayed that this part, at least, would go like normal.

The fear, and fierce personality in those pale eyes began to fade, to leak away, until he stood open-eyed, but empty. His eyes were the eyes of the dead.

Relief poured through me, because if his eyes hadn't gone dead, then we'd have had more problems on our hands than I wanted for tonight. But he was just a zombie, a really good, well-made zombie, but just a zombie. Yeah, he'd fought me, but he was just dead clay, like all the others.

"With blood, steel, and salt, I bind you to your grave, Edwin Alonzo Herman, go, rest, and walk no more."

He lay down on the ground like it was a bed, and then he simply sank into the ground. I moved us off the grave, so that that heaving, shifting earth settled around him, without us having to go along for the ride. When it was over, the ground was undisturbed. It looked as it had when we'd first walked up, like an old grave in an old cemetery.

"Wow," Graham said into the silence, "wow."

"Wow, indeed," Requiem said, "you are very good at this."

"Thanks. There are aloe baby wipes in the Jeep for cleaning up. First aid kit for Graham, then get me back to the club."

"As my lady commands, so shall it be done."

I looked at the tall vampire and frowned at him. "There's going to come a time between us when I'm going to ask you to do something and you won't say that."

"How can you be certain of that?" he asked, and offered me his arm for the walk back to the Jeep. Graham was already packing everything up, except the machete, which I had cleaned with a rag for that purpose, and was oiling down with a cloth that I'd bought for the occasion. The two rags lived in the same bag, until one got bloody. Then it went in the trash. Organization is the key.

"Because, eventually, everyone says no."

"You are terribly young to be so cynical," he said.

"It's a gift," I said and put the machete back in its sheath, and that went on top of the bag that Graham had waiting. He was awfully efficient for a werewolf.

"No," Requiem said, "it is not. It is something learned through harsh experience."

Speaking of harsh experience, I had to check something. I knelt on the now pristine grave. I laid a hand on the hard ground.

"What are you doing, Anita?" Requiem asked.

"This zombie fought me more than most. It seemed more... real. I'm just checking to make sure that it is back to being bones and rags."

"Why, what happens if he isn't?" Graham asked.

I closed my eyes and opened just a little of that metaphysical hand that I'd had to squeeze back into a fist. "Then the zombie would be trapped down there, thinking, aware, but imprisoned. He won't rot. He can't die." I thrust my power into that cold ground. It was quiet down there, peaceful again. Bones and rags were all that lay underneath. Good.

"Could you really trap someone like that?" Graham asked.

"I don't know for sure, but I don't want to take the chance. I wouldn't want to leave anyone down there like that." I dusted my hands off.

"Is it okay?" Graham asked.

"Yeah, just bones."

"Vampires do not die when buried, either," Requiem said. "There have been accidents where new vampires were buried too deep, or those that were appointed to retrieve them failed."

Graham shuddered. "That's just creepy."

I stood and I almost fell. Requiem caught me, steadied me. "Is that buried alive stuff what they tell bad little vampires?"

He looked at me, and there were suddenly centuries of pain in those eyes. "I, too, have learned from harsh experience."

"Just get me to Guilty Pleasures, and we'll try to avoid adding tonight to the harsh list."

"As my lady commands," he said, smiling, and offering his arm. I took his arm and let him walk me to the Jeep, because I wasn't sure I could have walked that far without falling over. I didn't feel well enough to mark Nathaniel in public. I felt weak and ill, and didn't want to be part of the show, but I also needed to feed, and he'd be furry after the show. Choices, choices, too many damn choices, and not enough options.