Laurell Hamilton - Flirt

Book 18 in the Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series, 2010

To Carri, who, with this book, saw the process from beginning to end for the very first time. Welcome aboard. Shawn, Semper Fi. I know you both have my back. Pili, thanks for the food and the friendship. To the rest of the crew who are still hanging in there: Mary, Sherry, and Teresa. To Jennie, for all the funny and the hard work. To my writing group: Tom Drennan, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands, Sharon Shinn, and Mark Sumner.

How do I get my ideas? How do I know its enough for a book? How do I work?

I get these questions so often that when the idea for this book, Flirt, came to me, I decided to pay attention to the entire process from initial idea to finished product. You can read the novel and then read the nonfiction piece at the end of this book that tells the real-life event that inspired Flirt.

And once youve read the book and essay, youll get cartoons. No, really-cartoons from Jennie Breeden of The Devils Panties. The comics are her take on the event that inspired it all. If you read the essay or peek at the cartoons you will spoil some of the surprise of the novel. So, no peeking, okay? Think of it as a spoiler alert. You have been warned.

Now turn the page and enjoy spending some quality time with Anita Blake.

I want you to raise my wife from the dead, Ms. Blake, Tony Bennington said, in a voice that matched the expensive suit and the flash of the Rolex on his right wrist. It probably meant he was a lefty. Not that his handedness mattered, but you learn to notice primary hands when people try to kill you on a semiregular basis.

My condolences, I said automatically, because Bennington didnt display any grief. His face was composed, almost blank, so that if he was handsome in that gray-haired, Im-over-fifty-but-keep-in-good-shape way, the lack of expression took all the fun out of it. Maybe the blankness was his way of showing grief, but his gray eyes were steady and cold as they met mine. It was either some steely control of grief, or he didnt feel anything about his wifes death; that would be interesting. Why do you want me to raise your wife from the dead, Mr. Bennington?

At the rates you charge, does it matter? he asked.

I gave him a long blink and crossed my legs, smoothing the skirt over my thighs as automatically as Id said my condolences. I gave him the edge of a smile that I knew didnt reach my eyes. It does, to me.

An emotion filled his eyes then: anger. His voice held barely a hint of the emotion that turned his eyes a darker shade of gray. Maybe it was steely self-control after all. Its personal, and you dont need to know it to raise her as a zombie.

This is my job, Mr. Bennington, not yours. You dont know what I need to raise a zombie.

I did my research, Ms. Blake. My wife wasnt murdered, so she wont rise as a vengeful, flesh-eating monster. She wasnt psychic, or a witch, and had never gone near any other religion that might make her more than a normal zombie. Theres nothing in her background that makes her a bad candidate for the ceremony.

I raised an eyebrow. Im impressed; you did do your research.

He nodded, once, manicured hands smoothing his tailored lapel. Then youll do it?

I shook my head. Not without a reason.

He frowned at me, that flash of anger back in his eyes. What kind of reason do you want?

One good enough to make me disturb the dead.

Im willing to pay your rather exorbitant fee, Ms. Blake; I would think that would inspire you.

Money isnt everything, Mr. Bennington. Why do you want her raised from the dead? What do you hope to gain from it?

Gain, he said. I dont know what you mean by that.

I dont, either, but you keep not answering my original question; I thought maybe if I rephrased it you would.

I dont want to answer either question, he said.

Then I wont raise your wife. There are other animators at Animators Inc. who will be happy to take your money, and they dont charge my rates.

Everyone says you are the best.

I shrugged. I was never sure what to say to things like that, and found silence worked best.

They say you are a true necromancer and have power over all types of undead.

I kept my face blank, which Id gotten better at over the years. He was right, but I didnt think it was commonly known. Youll turn a girls head with talk like that.

You have the highest number of executions of any member of the U.S. Marshals preternatural branch. Most of them were rogue vampires, but some of them were wereanimals.

I shrugged. Thats a matter of record, so yeah, but it has no bearing on what you want from me, Mr. Bennington.

I suppose it has as little to do with my request as your reputation as a sort of female Casanova.

My love life really has nothing to do with my ability to raise the dead.

If you can truly control all manner of undead, then it might explain how you can slay vampires and still date them.

Jean-Claude, one of the vampires in question, was a little iffy on who wore the pants in our relationship sometimes because of my powers; just as I was iffy on how much of our relationship was my idea because of his vampire powers over me. We had a sort of metaphysical detente. Jean-Claude and I were in the papers recently, so that didnt take much research.

One of St. Louis s hottest couples, I believe was mentioned in the article.

I tried not to squirm with embarrassment, and managed it. Jean-Claude is pretty enough that anyone on his arm looks hot.

That much modesty doesnt become a woman, Bennington said.

I blinked at him, frowning. Sorry, I dont know what you mean by that.

He studied my face, then said, You really dont, do you?

I just said that. I felt like I had missed something, and didnt like it. I am sorry for your pain, but youre not winning me over.

I need to know if your reputation is real, or just talk, like so many of the tall tales about you.

Ive earned my reputation, but if you really did your research on me then you also know that I dont raise zombies for kicks, or thrill seekers, or tormented relatives unless they have a plan.

A plan. What kind of plan?

You tell me. Why-do-you-want-your-wife-raised-as-a-zombie?

I understood the question, Ms. Blake; you dont have to say it slowly.

Then answer the question, or this interview is over.

He glared at me, that anger darkening his eyes to a nice storm-cloud gray. His hands made fists on the chair arms, and a muscle in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth in frustration. Iron self-control it was.

I stood up, smoothing my skirt down in back, out of habit. Id been polite because I knew how much money hed paid just to talk to me, and since I was going to refuse I wanted him to feel hed gotten something for his money, but Id had enough.