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drawing, a silhouette…something!”
    “Are you one of those people who need physical proof to know something exists?” Charles’ voice sounded as if it were across the room now. “I would think a person who wrote for a living would have a little more of an open mind.”
    “Shut up, Charles.” The man sitting next to Michelle peered over the top of his laptop at her. He frowned, then moved in his chair so that he was no longer facing her way. “Sorry, I’m just a little upset over something I’m reading.”
    Her neighbor’s frown deepened before he gave her the true cold shoulder, turning so that his back was to her, his own laptop perched on the arm of his chair.
    Michelle grimaced as she flipped through a few more pages. It was hard to focus on what she was reading when all she could think about was a man named Sebastian Maddox disappearing in 1823.
    If his father had been correct, and he had been a victim of voodoo, did that mean he was a—she swallowed hard as the word zombie pushed into her mind and grabbed hold.
    She closed her eyes and could almost feel Sebastian’s fingers on her clit, his mouth on her nipple. “No, zombies don’t kiss and provide orgasms, or at least I hope they don’t.”
    The man who had turned his back to her wheeled around and pierced Michelle with a cold stare. “You are in a library, young lady. I suggest you behave.”
    He grabbed his computer and stomped off, probably to report her to the librarians. Michelle couldn’t stop thinking about zombies, the undead shell of a person that did the bidding of its master, a voodoo follower that had brought it back to life. Or at least that’s what the movies always showed.
    Truthfully, where real voodoo was concerned, Michelle had absolutely no idea how a zombie was made, or if it were even possible. But if they all looked like Sebastian, then she’d order up an army of them to take home with her: one for each day of the year.
    Michelle held back a giggle, then clicked over to her email program. Sandra still hadn’t responded, and that usually meant she wouldn’t for a while. She closed down her laptop and gathered her things. A check of her watch showed it was almost six. That meant she would probably be facing the tail end of rush hour.
    Still, maybe she could get home fairly quickly. But at the house she had no access to Internet.
    As the idea of a team of sexy zombies serving her every whim still continued to fill her mind, she went back to her car and drove until she found a used bookstore. Inside, she asked the clerk for books on
Florida
history and voodoo. She left the store with six new purchases, the thrill of research running through her veins as she headed back toward Kate's house.

Chapter Four
     
     
    The table was set with laptop, lantern, books, and, just to be on the safe side, some garlic she’d found in the kitchen, a tree limb she’d whittled to a stake, and a crucifix taken from the hallway outside her door. She wasn’t exactly sure what tools one needed to vanquish a zombie, and had found no information so far in the books she’d read.
    Not that she’d had that much time. She’d arrived at the house just before seven to find an empty kitchen with a note from Marta saying that dinner was “keeping warm in the oven.”
    Michelle wasn’t exactly sure what Marta was the guardian of, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the meatloaf, carrots and potatoes she found wrapped in foil.
    “It’s almost as if she’s avoiding me,” Michelle had whispered to herself before she sat down alone and wolfed down the food as if it were the last thing she’d ever get to eat. Then she’d gone upstairs to take a nap. A natural night owl, she usually took naps in the afternoon, ensuring she would be refreshed and ready to write when the mood stuck her, usually around
midnight
.
    But since she’d been in town she’d had to forgo her afternoon sleeping habit. She woke at
one a.m.
, took a shower and dressed in a gauzy