Richard walked into the edge of trees that began the woods that bordered the western edge of the family land. He touched a trunk, laid his hands on it, and it was rough and hard, with deep grooves in the bark like tiny tunnels. He laid his face against that roughness, and it was spicy and pungent, and I knew it was sweet gum. He gazed up into the bare branches where the tiny rough balls still hung on to the edges of the tree. He hugged the tree, hugged it so tight that the bark dug into his skin, he rubbed his cheek against the roughness of it, like he was scent marking, then he was off. He was running at an easy lope through the trees, into the woods. He wasn’t hunting. He was running for the joy of it.
He twisted through the underbrush like it wasn’t there. And as I’d felt only once before, it was as if the trees and bushes welcomed him, or turned aside for him, or as if green growth could be water, and he dived through it, running, dodging, twisting, giving himself to the brush of twigs and branches and the feel of the living ground underfoot. There was life that didn’t run or hide, it was all alive, alive in a way that most humans never understand.
Richard ran, and he took me with him, as he had one night long ago. Then he’d held my hand, and I’d struggled to keep up, to understand. Now it was effortless, because I was inside his head, inside him. The night was alive for him in a way that it wasn’t for Jean-Claude, or for me. I was too human, and Jean-Claude’s interest in life was too shallow. Neither of us could feel what Richard’s beast could give him.
Something touched my hand, and I was jerked back to the grave. Requiem was still at my back, dead still, but Graham was on the grave. He looked uncertain, but he was sniffing the air near my skin. “You smell like trees and pack,” he said softly.
Richard looked up at us. “Why is Graham there?”
“Bodyguard. Jean-Claude was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t have someone with me.”
“Tell him he’s supposed to guard you, and he can’t do that on the grave.”
“You’re supposed to guard me, Graham, you can’t do that from here.” The sharp scent of wolf thickened around me as I said it.
Graham reacted to it like he’d been struck. He cringed to the ground, doing the wolf grovel. “I’m sorry, you just smelled so good. I forgot myself.”
“Stop groveling and get back to work.” Richard said it first, and I echoed it for him.
Graham did what he was told. He went back to very serious bodyguard mode, looking out into the dark for whatever might come.
Richard took in a deep breath, and I smelled that thick, sweet scent of deep woods. He’d run miles, effortlessly, not for the same reason that a human will run well, but because the land itself helped him run, gave him strength, welcomed him.
He stood there in the middle of the woods, his feet anchored into the ground. I realized that Richard was my ground, my center, his joy, his heart pumping in his chest from that joyous run. I kept my tie to him open and full of scents and sounds and things faraway from here. I put my hands on the grave, and even with Requiem at my back, touching me, it wasn’t as real as the pounding of Richard’s heart miles away.
“Edwin Alonzo Herman, with will, word, and flesh, I call you from your grave. Come, come now!” It was all wrong, all different from usual, but it was right just the same.
I felt the corpse shift, solidify, piece itself together like a puzzle, and begin to rise up through the earth as if it were water. I’d watched this happen countless times, but I’d never been kneeling on the ground when it happened. The earth buckled and rolled like an earthquake that was trapped in a few feet of ground. The ground flowed under my hands like it was something else, not water, not mud, but something both less and more solid. I don’t know what Requiem thought was happening, but he didn’t try to pull away, he stayed solid at my back. He rode it with me and never made a noise. Brave vampire.
Hands met mine through the shifting earth, cool fingers wrapped around my warmth. Edwin Alonzo Herman’s hands wrapped around mine like a swimmer who’s given up hope and finally touches a rope. The grave threw him upward like a flower springing free of the earth, but the push of it forced me to pull him upward, to find my feet with Requiem steadying me. If the vampire hadn’t been there to hold me standing on the writhing, twisting ground, I would have fallen. But Requiem kept me standing, and I pulled the dead man from his grave, pulled him perfect and whole, until he stood taller than me, with the grave dirt falling away from a perfect black suit that looked as if it had been freshly pressed. His hair was balding with a thick fringe just above the ears and down the collar, and thick sideburns that curved to a walrus thick mustache. He was portly, nearly fat, which had been in style among the rich. When Edwin Alonzo died, only the poor were skinny, only the poor looked starved.
I felt Richard still standing by the edge of that small stream. The air was cooler by that musical run, and his pulse was beginning to slow from the run, the light sweat starting to cool on his skin. He wasn’t afraid, or horrified. He simply stood rooted to the ground, steadying me with the pulse and beat of his body, the thick musk of wolf faint in the autumn air.
I stared up at the zombie, and even to me, it looked like damn good work. With a big enough blood sacrifice I could raise a zombie that looked alive, close at least, but this, this was perfect. His skin looked full and healthy in the starlight. He had a faint smile on his face, and his clothes looked as if he’d just put them on. Even his shoes were near spotless and gleaming with polish. Polish so shiny I noticed by moonlight. The hands that were pressed to mine were cool, but they didn’t feel dead. He wasn’t breathing, but he looked, felt, more alive than dead. It was unnerving. I’d known there was a lot of power tonight, and I’d had to force all of it into this one grave, so I guess it was alright that he looked this good, but for a moment when I looked into that plump, smiling face, I was afraid. Afraid that I’d done more than I’d been paid for, but when I reached his eyes, I let out a sigh of relief. The eyes were thick and full and looked, again, perfect, grayish in the starlight, probably would be blue in the brighter light, but there was no one home in those eyes. They were empty and waiting. I knew what they were waiting for, those empty eyes.
I lifted my left hand away from the zombie’s, and he didn’t cling to me, his fingers just opened as I moved. I held my hand at shoulder level, toward the vampire at my back. “Undo my bandage.”
Requiem kept one hand on my shoulder, but used the other hand to peel back the tape on my wrist.
“Take it off,” I said.
He finally ripped the bandage away. I couldn’t stop a small jerk of pain.
Richard called inside my head, “What are you going to do?”
“He needs blood, so he can speak. I didn’t kill an animal. This is all the blood I’ve got.”
He didn’t say anything, but I felt his pulse begin to pick up speed.
I offered my wrist upward to the slightly taller body in front of me. Something slid through those pale eyes, something I’d seen before in the better preserved zombies. It was as if something went through them, something that paused in their eyes, as if there were darker things waiting, waiting for a chance for a body to inhabit. Something, not so much evil, as just very, very not good. But that whiskered face turned toward my wrist, sniffed the air, and the moment it scented the blood, that otherness in its eyes vanished. Driven out by the promise of something that all the dead value, a bit of the living.
The zombie grabbed my arm with both of its hands and smacked its mouth against my wrist like you’d grab a kiss from your dearest lover. Just the impact hurt the wound, made me gasp. But I knew what was coming, because I’d fed zombies off my own blood before. Not often, but often enough. The mouth locked around the wound, and his mouth was wide enough to take it all in, to set his teeth against the torn edges, and grind. I made a small sound, because I couldn’t make no sound. Usually the zombie’s mouth felt less real than this one. Except for how cool the flesh was, I couldn’t tell the difference between the zombie
and a person. It was a very good job, solid all the way through, even in places that only I would feel.
Richard bounded across the stream, hitting the edge of it with one foot, as if he wasn’t quite steady. He began to run up the other bank, began to run with the night and the trees and the smells.
Edwin Alonzo Herman’s mouth locked around my wrist and began to suck. The wound had begun to heal more than I’d realized, because to get to the blood, he had to pull hard and tight on my wrist. It hurt, really hurt. Yeah, I liked teeth in the right situation, but this wasn’t it, and what might feel good during sex just fucking hurts during violence.
Richard was running full out now. I’d thought he was fast before, but he’d just been playing. Now, he ran. He ran so fast that branches slashed at him, that the earth didn’t give to him, and part like water. He was running, running . . . running from himself. I had a bright glimpse inside his head. The sensation of teeth in my wrist, of that forceful mouth on my wound excited him. Excited him as both man and beast. He could have accepted if it was just about food, but it wasn’t. The mixture of human and animal blurred the differences between food and sex. Blurred so many lines. Lines that Richard had never known existed, let alone wanted to cross.
He ran, and slipped in the leaves, and fell and was on his feet and running before his body had time to realize it was down. It was only in that moment that I remembered his injured shoulder, and the thought got me the memory, he’d shapeshifted, briefly, and healed himself. So much more powerful than he wanted to be.
The zombie had fallen to his knees, as if sucking at my wrist was the most exquisite thing it had ever tasted. It cradled my wrist against its mouth, and its tongue explored the wound.
My breath came out in a harsh word, “Shit!”
“Are you hurt?” Requiem asked softly.
I shook my head. It hurt, but I wasn’t hurt. There was a difference, but usually a zombie starts to slow down about now. This one was still sucking hard and fast, as if he were a baby that had been starved. Of course, I’d never raised anyone this long dead without an animal sacrifice. Maybe that was the difference? I hoped so, because anything else would mean that something had gone wrong, really wrong.
He shook his mouth like a dog with a bone, and I swallowed a scream. It wasn’t just that it hurt. That was way too much enthusiasm for a zombie. “Edwin, stop feeding.” My voice was clear, and he ignored me. Shit. I licked suddenly dry lips. “He’s had enough. Help me pry him loose,” I said, voice low. Mustn’t scare the clients. Mustn’t let them know that everything had gone wrong tonight.
Richard fell again, slid in the damp autumn leaves, slid until a tree stopped him, sudden, and abrupt and bruising. He looked up, and I saw those wide brown eyes, saw what he was running from. He wanted to be there on his knees, he wanted to lick my wound, taste my blood, maybe widen that wound with sharp teeth. The thought didn’t just excite him. The thought did it for him, just flat did it for him. What he wanted to do in the deepest, darkest, places in his soul gave a whole new meaning to oral sex.
He waited for me to be horrified, but I wasn’t. If there was anyone who could resist doing the great bad thing, it was Richard. I trusted his control, not always his temper, but his control—that I trusted without doubt or reservation. I whispered, “Just because you want to do something, doesn’t mean you will do it, or even that you have to do it. You’re human, Richard, you have a mind and willpower. You aren’t just your beast.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, and the moment he said it, I knew what he’d done, by accident.
“You can feel what the zombie is doing?” I said.
He hid his face from me and scrambled to his feet, and ran. He ran out of the trees, and hit a paved road, and was across it before the headlights could be sure what they’d seen. Fast, faster, run, run. Run, but what he was running from, he couldn’t outrun, because no matter how fast, or how far, he would still be there. How do you outrun the monster, when you are the monster?
“Richard, make the zombie stop feeding on me.”
“I don’t know how,” and he was gone, crashing through the trees, but it wasn’t friendly now, or joyous.
The zombie bit me, hard, and damn it, it hurt. “Requiem, get him off of me.”
The vampire moved around so he could touch the zombie’s face and hands, but nothing holds on like a zombie. I’d had to help clean up other people’s zombies that had gone wrong, and sometimes you had to cut them apart a finger at a time to get them to let go of someone. Human teeth could still bite deep enough to sever a vein or artery. I wanted him off of me.
Requiem tried to pry him off, but he finally looked up at me. “I can pull him apart in pieces, but I cannot pull him off of you.”
I looked at the very bodyguarding werewolf and called him over. He came, face serious, hands behind his back, as if he didn’t exactly trust himself not to touch me again. Did I smell of wolf and forest, or was it the fresh blood? Don’t ask unless you want to know. I didn’t want to know.
The zombie plunged his tongue into the wound, as if he were trying to get the blood to flow faster. It hurt, and it surprised me, and I screamed, a little scream, but enough that one of the lawyers called, “Are you alright, Ms. Blake?”
“Fine,” I called back, “fine.” Mustn’t let the clients know that the zombie you raised for them is beginning to eat you. Fuck!
Using every ounce of strength he had, Graham was able to pry one finger off of my wrist, but he had to hold on to that finger, or it curled right back into place. “He shouldn’t be this strong.”
“You’ve never tried to fight zombies, have you?” I said.
He gave me wide eyes. “If they’re this strong, I don’t want to.”
“They’re not just strong, they don’t feel pain.”
“Anita, I can tear his fingers off,” Requiem said, “or break his jaw, but other than those extremities, I have no other suggestions.”
The bad part was, neither did I. The zombie bit me harder, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he hit something major. He was digging his teeth in deeper by the tiniest of increments, but eventually it was going to get bad, and I was no longer sure what would happen if a gush of fresh blood hit its mouth. I’d seen what flesh-eating zombies could do to people. I wasn’t exactly human, but I wouldn’t grow back a hand if you ripped it off.
We could burn him up, but he wouldn’t let go, and I’d burn with him. Shit.
Richard was sitting in a clearing under a tangle of naked limbs. “I have to shut the link between us, Anita. I have to. I can’t separate myself from the zombie. I keep feeling what he’s doing. Keep wanting him to find more blood.” He cradled his face in his hands, and he’d lost his shirt somewhere, so that his back was bowed and naked as the trees overhead. “I’m sorry, Anita, I tried, I really tried.”
“It’s okay, Richard, we’ll do what we can from here. Go take care of yourself.”
He looked up, and there were tears shining in the starlight. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“It’s a partnerhsip, Richard, we’re supposed to take turns helping each other.”
He shook his head. “I fucked this up, Anita, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him say fuck when he wasn’t referring to sex.
“Go, Richard, go back to your folks’ house. They’ll be worried.”
The zombie bit hard enough that I screamed, and Richard was suddenly gone. He cut the tie so abruptly that it staggered me, and only Requiem’s and Graham’s hands kept me from falling.
“Anita!” Graham said, and he lost his grip on the zombie, trying to keep me standing. But the hands on my wrists eased.
I looked down at the kneeling zombie, and the eyes were filling up. There was personality there, someone home. I’d been stupid. Richard had accidentally tied the zombie to him, and when he broke the link to me, the zombie was mine again. Good news, but I felt stupid that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. The dead are suppose
d to be my specialty. I wasn’t feeling very special tonight.
The zombie blinked up at me, drawing its mouth back from my wrist. His big mustache was stained with my blood. He frowned up at me. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He let me go and stumbled to his feet, staring at his hands and my bloody wrist, horror showing on his face. “I beg your pardon, miss, I don’t know what I was doing to you. I do apologize most sincerely, it’s monstrous, monstrous.” He was staring at the blood on his hands and wiping at his mouth.
Shit, he didn’t know he was dead. I hated when they didn’t know they were dead. And as if on cue he backed up enough to bump into his own monument. He gazed up at that uncompromising stone angel, and then he had the Ebenezer Scrooge moment. He saw his own name on the tomb, complete with a date. Even by starlight, all the color drained from his face.
“Hear me, Edwin, by right of the blood you have tasted, hear me.”
He turned huge, stricken eyes to me. “Where am I? What’s happened to me?”
“Don’t be afraid, Edwin, be calm.”
The panic began to slide away from his face, his eyes began to fill with that artificial calm, because I willed it, and because I’d been the one to call him from the grave, and it was my blood on his lips. I’d earned the right to order him around.
Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15 Page 92
