“We can’t always stop death,” Lucas told her, but the words were a reminder the woman shouldn’t need. She’d lost both her parents long ago. She knew what a fickle bitch death could be. At that, Josette’s lashes lifted and her dark eyes met his. “It turns out I can.” The ghost of a smile curved her full lips. “Seems I do have a bit of power after all.” “What did you do?” Sarah asked her, and Piers just stood, watching. “You didn’t . . .” “I wasn’t letting him go!” Josette jumped to her feet, but stayed inside that circle. Sarah rose, too. “He was mine. I tried to get him back. How is that wrong? I tried . . . and he came.” Because little Josette had raised the dead. Oh, she hadn’t made a zombie the way Hollywood portrayed them to be. No mindless monster that had to eat brains. No, the Raised didn’t feed on humans. Didn’t feed on anyone; well, not unless the person who’d raised them gave that order. “You crossed the line, Josette.” He kept his voice firm because to raise the dead, hell, that took some very dark magic.
