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ever again, and especially not as a zombie. That’s . . . that’s just . . . disgusting.”
    “Glad we agree on that.”
    She recovered, though I had shocked her; nice to know I could. “Then you will raise Chase from the dead for me?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Why won’t you just do this? If it’s the money, I’ll double your fee.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of money.”
    “I have a lot of money. What I need is my husband back among the living for a few more minutes.”
    I couldn’t tell you what it was that went through her eyes just then, or why I didn’t like it. I’d spent too much time around bad people not to look for it in most faces, and I had my share of clients whose lies had created some really awful nights. I’d even had one client who had me raise a husband that she had killed, and he had done what all murdered zombies do—killed his murderer. Until he throttled the life out of her I couldn’t command him to do a damn thing. Things like that had made me suspicious of the stories that the nice people across my desk told me.
    “What will you do with him for those minutes, Ms. Zell?” I asked.
    She crossed her arms over her thin chest and scowled at me. She wasn’t trying to be pretty anymore, or soft. Her eyes were suddenly more gray than green, and it was a steely gray like a polished gun barrel. “You know, who the fuck talked to you?”
    I shrugged and gave a little smile, letting her pick a name.
    “It was that bastard gardener, wasn’t it? I should have tried to sharpen the axe myself.”
    I kept the vague smile on my face and gave her an encouraging look. It was amazing what people would tell me if I just kept quiet and seemed to know more than I did.
    “I’ll pay your regular fee, plus a million dollars tax-free so that no one knows but you and me.”
    I raised both eyebrows at that. “That is a lot of money.”
    “It’s not about the money; what I want is revenge.”
    I fought my face not to look surprised. I needed her to believe I already knew most of it to keep her talking. “You can’t take revenge on the true dead, Ms. Zell. They’re dead. It doesn’t get much more revengey than that.”
    She leaned forward again, hands out, almost pleading. “But you can make him alive again for me. He’ll believe he’s alive, right?”
    I nodded.
    “You can do that without a human sacrifice, right?”
    “Most animators can’t do it with one,” I said.
    She gave me a look. “Are you that arrogant, or that good?”
    “That wasn’t arrogance, Ms. Zell, just the truth.”
    She looked strangely satisfied. “Then raise him for me. Raise him and let him be alive. He will feel emotions, right?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Fear? Can a zombie feel fear?”
    “One that thinks it’s alive and looks alive will be afraid. Most of them are afraid when they realize they’re in a graveyard. Some of them freak when they see their own tombstone. It’s actually best if you don’t let them see that. It can make them begin to lose focus on your questions or your vengeance.”
    “But he’ll see me, know me, and when I hurt him, he’ll be afraid of me, right?”
    I nodded. “Right . . .”
    “That’s perfect. So, you’ll do it?”
    “Are you honestly going to use an axe on your deceased husband?”
    She nodded, and her face was very firm and sure of itself. Her eyes glinted and the gray seemed to get even darker, like clouds before it storms. “Oh, yes, I am. I’m going to chop the bastard up while he begs me to stop. I want him to think I’m killing him for real.”
    I studied her face and wanted to ask if she was joking, but I knew the answer. “You want the last memory you will ever have of your husband to be you chopping him up?”
    She nodded.
    “How long were you married?”
    “Almost twenty-five years,” she said, which made me put her on the almost-fifty side of forty, though she didn’t look it.
    “A man who you married, lived with, slept with, loved at some