Flirt

Laurell K. Hamilton

Flirt

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

This one’s for Daven and Wendi, friends who finally taught me

the fine art of flirting. Thanks for the inspiration.

For Jonathon, too, because he was there by my side when

inspiration struck. He has taught me that to be happy with

someone, first they must be my friend. Without that there can be

nothing else.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

– Anaïs Nin

Acknowledgments

To Carri, who, with this book, saw the process from begi

No one has it who isn’t capable of genuinely liking others, at least at the actual moment of meeting and speaking. Charm is always genuine; it may be superficial but it isn’t false.

– P. D. James

Introduction

How do I get my ideas? How do I know it’s 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 you’ve read the book and essay, you’ll get cartoons. No, really-cartoons from Je

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 Be

“My condolences,” I said automatically, because Be

“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 I’d said my condolences. I gave him the edge of a smile that I knew didn’t 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. “It’s personal, and you don’t need to know it to raise her as a zombie.”

“This is my job, Mr. Be

“I did my research, Ms. Blake. My wife wasn’t murdered, so she won’t rise as a vengeful, flesh-eating monster. She wasn’t psychic, or a witch, and had never gone near any other religion that might make her more than a normal zombie. There’s nothing in her background that makes her a bad candidate for the ceremony.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed; you did do your research.”

He nodded, once, manicured hands smoothing his tailored lapel. “Then you’ll 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.”

“I’m willing to pay your rather exorbitant fee, Ms. Blake; I would think that would inspire you.”

“Money isn’t everything, Mr. Be

“Gain,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I don’t, either, but you keep not answering my original question; I thought maybe if I rephrased it you would.”

“I don’t want to answer either question,” he said.

“Then I won’t raise your wife. There are other animators at Animators Inc. who will be happy to take your money, and they don’t 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 I’d gotten better at over the years. He was right, but I didn’t think it was commonly known. “You’ll turn a girl’s 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. “That’s a matter of record, so yeah, but it has no bearing on what you want from me, Mr. Be

“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 ma

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 didn’t 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 doesn’t become a woman,” Be

I blinked at him, frowning. “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean by that.”

He studied my face, then said, “You really don’t, do you?”

“I just said that.” I felt like I had missed something, and didn’t like it. “I am sorry for your pain, but you’re not wi

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