Dead Ice (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter) - Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,128

animators who need all the parts to raise a body. It’s one of the reasons they can’t raise older bodies, because too much has turned to dust. They need solid bits to work with; you never have.”

“It never occurred to me: Do any animators need all the parts to put a zombie back in the grave?”

“I’ve known a few who couldn’t lay the zombie to rest if a hand had rotted off and was lost, but I always wondered if it was really a problem, or if they just thought they needed all the parts.”

“You mean they believed they couldn’t do it without the missing part, so they couldn’t?”

He nodded. “I’ve been called in on a few cases where the animators were powerful enough to do it, but they still couldn’t.”

“You think they psyched themselves out,” I said.

“Yes.”

“So, if I don’t worry about the clothes, they aren’t anything to worry about?”

“Exactly.”

I frowned at his logic, but in the end I wanted Warrington below-ground enough to try. He stood on his grave in a T-shirt advertising music that he had probably never heard, and a pair of jeans that whoever had lent them to him would probably miss, but it wasn’t my problem.

Traditional wisdom was that you needed salt, steel, and will. I’d learned that the most important part was sheer force of will, but tonight I went old-schoolish, because I wanted to be sure that this zombie went quietly back to rest.

The blood circle had darkened and was smudged in places. “The circle isn’t intact anymore,” Manny said.

I looked at the ground, and he was right. The blood circle was there, black in the grass, but it was seriously smudged in places, and nowhere near complete.

“I don’t really need it to put him back; it’s only in raising the zombie that the circle matters to me.”

Manny raised eyebrows at me. The look was enough to let me know he did need the circle to lay his zombies back. I forgot sometimes how little we’d worked together over the last few years. Once he took himself out of the vampire execution side of things, he and I had very different dance cards for work.

“Maybe an intact circle for laying the zombie to rest is like the missing body part; you only think you need it,” I said.

He grinned at me, smile bright in the darkness. “The student becomes the teacher.”

I smiled back and shrugged.

“What do you need, then?”

“I’ve done it with just will and word, but tonight—” I lifted a container of salt and the machete still sheathed out of the nice leather bag. Every time I used Jean-Claude’s gift I knew it was just a matter of time before I got something bloody, or worse, on the nice leather, but I’d use it until I ruined it. Sometimes nice things don’t last long, but they’re pretty while they do.

“You don’t need another sacrifice?”

I shook my head.

“I should shadow you one night when you’re on the job. I think you’ve changed a lot of the rituals I taught you.”

I shrugged again. “I’ve streamlined some.”

“It’s all right, Anita. I knew you were a more powerful animator than I was the first week I took you out with me.”

I let him see that he’d surprised me. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t want you to get a big head about it, or put too much pressure on yourself as a new animator. I knew you’d figure out just how powerful you were.”

“It took me a while, but yeah, I guess I did.”

Domino called out, “Anita, you might want to get over here.”

The tone in his voice was enough to make us turn and look toward him, Nicky, and the zombie by the graveside. Warrington was still standing on the grave nice and passive, but something had spooked Domino, and Nicky was standing ready, like he expected to be using the handgun at his side.

I handed the machete and salt to Manny and reached into the back for the shotguns and the AR.

“Why are you getting the big guns?” Manny asked.

“Not sure, but I trust my guys.” I put the AR in its tactical sling over one shoulder and carried a shotgun in each hand, and headed for them. Manny came behind with the salt and steel I’d need to lay the zombie, but right that moment the guns meant more to me.

I heard Warrington say, “I’m so hungry, so hungry.”

I handed one shotgun to Domino, kept one for myself, and tossed the AR