Micah - By Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,37

another tactic to rush these proceedings," Salvia said.

"As you're trying to delay them?" Laban said. Never good when the lawyers start sniping at each other.

"Enough," the judge said, and then he looked at me. "Marshal Blake, why is it so important that you get your protective circle up?"

"The dead feel my power, your honor. They are, even now, trying to..." I sought a word that wouldn't be too much. If I said, talk, they might ask what the dead were saying, and it wasn't like that.

Micah answered for me. "The circle isn't to protect the zombie, your honor. In this case it's to protect Anita, Marshal Blake. She let her psychic shields down when we entered the cemetery, and she's being overwhelmed by the dead."

Fox said, "Shit," as if he understood more about that whole shielding thing than most people did.

"Was that wise, Marshal Blake, to let down your protection so early?"

I answered, "This is a very old cemetery, your honor. Since I replaced Marshal Kirkland at the last minute, I didn't realize how old. There is a remote chance in a place this old that there might be problems that would affect the raising. It's standard practice to drop shields and let my power search the cemetery when I'm this unfamiliar with the area." What I was saying was half-true. I was not going to admit that my shields had been ripped away by my own growing abilities.

"Search for what?" the judge asked.

"Sometimes very old cemeteries, especially those that haven't been used in a while, like this one, can become unconsecrated. It's like they need to be re-blessed before they qualify as consecrated ground again."

"And that would affect the zombie how?"

Micah's arms relaxed minutely, so that we were still holding each other but not pressed so fiercely against each other. He was right--we were going to be here awhile. I relaxed into his arms.

"Well, it could mean there were ghouls in the cemetery, and they're attracted to the freshly dead. They would have burrowed into the new grave and eaten Mr. Rose by now. There might, or might not, have been left enough of him for him to be able talk to you."

"Ghouls, really?" He started to ask something else, but I think it was only curiosity and not the case, because he shook his head and frowned. "Did you sense any ghouls?"

"No, your honor." The fact that I'd actually dropped shields more by accident than design would be our little secret. I'd told the truth about the ghouls, but they hadn't been why my power danced out over the graves.

"All very interesting, Marshal," Salvia said, "but your shields being down doesn't change that you are trying to rush these proceedings."

I turned in Micah's arms enough to give Salvia the look he deserved. He must have had bad night vision, because he didn't flinch. Franklin did, and it wasn't even directed at him.

"And what do you hope to gain by delaying things, Salvia?" I asked. "What difference does it make to your clients whether Rose rises now or two hours from now? It's still going to happen tonight."

Micah leaned his face against my ear and spoke just barely above a breath. I don't think he wanted to risk anyone else hearing. "His fear spiked. He is delaying for a reason."

I turned and breathed against his ear, "What could he hope to gain by an hour delay?"

Micah nuzzled my ear and whispered, "I don't know."

"Are we interrupting the two of you?" Laban this time.

One of the agents muttered, "Get a room."

Great, we were going to piss everyone off. If I'd been working with police that I knew, I might have told them that the shapeshifter with me knew Salvia was lying and delaying with purpose, but over-sharing with the police--any flavor--isn't always wise. Besides, Fox had no reason to believe us, and even if he did, what good would it do us? Maybe Salvia didn't like cemeteries or zombies. A lot of people didn't. Maybe he was only delaying the moment when the walking dead rose from the grave. Maybe.

"Your honor," I said, turning only enough to give them my face but keeping most of me in Micah's arms. The warmth and pulse of him helped me think. The whispers of the dead couldn't push past the life of him. He had become my shield. "Your honor, I would love it if you would stop the arguing and let me raise Mr. Rose from the dead. But if that isn't