The Laughing Corpse

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "I searched him for weapons."

  The older man nodded. "She is ready to see you both."

  Antonio stood to one side, taking up his post on the porch once more. He made a kissing noise as I walked past. I felt Manny stiffen, but we made it into the living room without anyone getting shot. We were on a roll.

  The living room was spacious, with a dining-room set taking up the left-hand side. There was a wall piano in the living room. I wondered who played. Antonio? Naw.

  We followed the man through a short hallway into a roomy kitchen. Golden oblongs of sunshine lay heavy on a black and white tiled floor. The floor and kitchen were old, but the appliances were new. One of those deluxe refrigerators with an ice maker and water dispenser took up a hunk of the back wall. All the appliances were done in a pale yellow: Harvest Gold, Autumn Bronze.

  Sitting at the kitchen table was a woman in her early sixties. Her thin brown face was seamed with a lot of smile lines. Pure white hair was done in a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat very straight in her chair, thin-boned hands folded on the tabletop. She looked terribly harmless. A nice old granny. If a quarter of what I'd heard about her was true, it was the greatest camouflage I'd ever seen.

  She smiled and held out her hands. Manny stepped forward and took the offering, brushing his lips on her knuckles. "It is good to see you, Manuel." Her voice was rich, a contralto with the velvet brush of an accent.

  "And you, Dominga." He released her hands and sat across from her.

  Her quick black eyes flicked to me, still standing in the doorway. "So, Anita Blake, you have come to me at last."

  It was a strange thing to say. I glanced at Manny. He gave a shrug with his eyes. He didn't know what she meant either. Great. "I didn't know you were eagerly awaiting me, Senora."

  "I have heard stories of you, chica. Wondrous stories." There was a hint in those black eyes, that smiling face, that was not harmless.

  "Manny?" I asked.

  "It wasn't me."

  "No, Manuel does not talk to me anymore. His little wife forbids it." That last sentence was angry, bitter.

  Oh, God. The most powerful voodoo priestess in the Midwest was acting like a scorned lover. Shit.

  She turned those angry black eyes to me. "All who deal in vaudun come to Senora Salvador eventually."

  "I do not deal in vaudun."

  She laughed at that. All the lines in her face flowed into the laughter. "You raise the dead, the zombie, and you do not deal in vaudun. Oh, chica, that is funny." Her voice sparkled with genuine amusement. So glad I could make her day.

  "Dominga, I told you why we wished this meeting. I made it very clear . . ." Manny said.

  She waved him to silence. "Oh, you were very careful on the phone, Manuel." She leaned towards me. "He made it very clear that you were not here to participate in any of my pagan rituals." The bitterness in her voice was sharp enough to choke on.

  "Come here, chica," she said. She held out one hand to me, not both. Was I supposed to kiss it as Manny had done. I didn't think I'd come to see the pope.

  I realized then that I didn't want to touch her. She had done nothing wrong. Yet, the muscles in my shoulders were screaming with tension. I was afraid, and I didn't know why.

  I stepped forward and took her hand, uncertain what to do with it. Her skin was warm and dry. She sort of lowered me to the chair closest to her, still holding my hand. She said something in her soft, deep voice.

  I shook my head. "I'm sorry I don't understand Spanish."

  She touched my hair with her free hand. "Black hair like the wing of a crow. It does not come from any pale skin."

  "My mother was Mexican."

  "Yet you do not speak her tongue."

  She was still holding my hand, and I wanted it back. "She died when I was young. I was raised by my father's people."

  "I see."

  I pulled my hand free and instantly felt better. She had done nothing to me. Nothing. Why was I so damn jumpy? The man with the streaked hair had taken up a post behind the Senora. I could see him clearly. His hands were in plain sight. I could see the back door and the entrance to the kitchen. No one was sneaking up behind me. But the hair at the base of my skull was standing at attention.

  I glanced at Manny, but he was staring at Dominga. His hands were gripped together on the tabletop so tightly that his knuckles were mottled.

  I felt like someone at a foreign film festival without subtitles. I could sort of guess what was going on, but I wasn't sure I was right. The creeping skin on my neck told me some hocus-pocus was going on. Manny's reaction said that just maybe the hocus-pocus was meant for him.

  Manny's shoulders slumped. His hands relaxed their awful tension. It was a visible release of some kind. Dominga smiled, a brilliant flash of teeth. "You could have been so powerful, mi corazon."

  "I did not want the power, Dominga," he said.

  I stared from one to the other, not exactly sure what had just happened. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I was willing to believe that ignorance was bliss. It so often is.

  She turned her quick black eyes to me. "And you, chica, do you want power?" The creeping sensation at the base of my skull spread over my body. It felt like insects marching on my skin. Shit.

  "No." A nice simple answer. Maybe I should try those more often.

  "Perhaps not, but you will."

  I didn't like the way she said that. It was ridiculous to be sitting in a sunny kitchen at 7:28 in the morning, and be scared. But there it was. My gut was twitching with it.

  She stared at me. Her eyes were just eyes. There was none of that seductive power of a vampire. They were just eyes, and yet . . . The hair on my neck tried to crawl down my spine. Goose bumps broke out on my body, a rush of prickling warmth. I licked my lips and stared at Dominga Salvador.

  It was a slap of magic. She was testing me. I'd had it done before. People are so fascinated with what I do. Convinced that I know magic. I don't. I have an affinity with the dead. It's not the same.

  I stared into her nearly black eyes and felt myself sway forward. It was like falling without movement. The world sort of swung for a moment, then steadied. Warmth burst out of my body, like a twisting rope of heat. It went outward to the old woman. It hit her solid, and I felt it like a jolt of electricity.

  I stood up, gasping for air. "Shit!"

  "Anita, are you all right?" Manny was standing now, too. He touched my arm gently.

  "I'm not sure. What the hell did she do to me?"

  "It is what you have done to me, chica," Dominga said. She looked a little pale around the edges. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  The man stood away from the wall, his hands loose and ready. "No," Dominga said, "Enzo, I am all right." Her voice was breathy as if she had been running.

  I stayed standing. I wanted to go home now, please.

  "We did not come here for games, Dominga," Manny said. His voice had deepened with anger and, I think, fear. I agreed with that last emotion.

  "It is not a game, Manuel. Have you forgotten everything I taught you. Everything you were?"

  "I have forgotten nothing, but I did not bring her here to be harmed."

  "Whether she is harmed or not is up to her, mi corazon."

  I didn't much like that last part. "You're not going to help us. You're just going to play cat and mouse. Well, this mouse is leaving." I turned to leave, keeping a watchful eye on Enzo. He wasn't an amateur.

  "Don't you wish to find the little boy that Manny said was taken? Three years old, very young to be in the hands of the bokor."

  It stopped me. She knew it would. Damn her. "What is a bokor?"

  She smiled. "You really don't know, do you?"

  I shook my head.

  The smile widened, all surprised pleasure. "Place your right hand palm up on the table, por favor."

  "If you know something about the boy, just tell me. Please."

  "Endure my little tests, and I will help you."

  "What
sort of tests?" I hoped I sounded as suspicious as I felt.

  Dominga laughed, an abrupt and cheery sound. It went with all the smile lines in her face. Her eyes were practically sparkling with mirth. Why did I feel like she was laughing at me?

  "Come, chica, I will not hurt you," she said.

  "Manny?"

  "If she does anything that may harm you, I will say so."

  Dominga gazed up at me, a sort of puzzled wonder on her face. "I have heard that you can raise three zombies in a night, night after night. Yet, you truly are a novice."

  "Ignorance is bliss," I said.

  "Sit, chica. This will not hurt, I promise."

  This will not hurt. It promised more painful things later. I sat. "Any delay could cost the boy his life." Try to appeal to her good side.

  She leaned towards me. "Do you really think the child is still alive?" Guess she didn't have a good side.

  I leaned back from her. I couldn't help it, and I couldn't lie to her. "No."

  "Then we have time, don't we?"

  "Time for what?"

  "Your hand, chica, por favor, then I will answer your questions."

  I took a deep breath and placed my right hand on the table, palm up. She was being mysterious. I hated people who were mysterious.

  She brought a small black bag from under the table, as if it had been sitting in her lap the whole time. Like she'd planned this.

  Manny was staring at the bag like something noisome was about to crawl out. Close. Dominga Salvador pulled something noisome out of it.

  It was a charm, a gris-gris made of black feathers, bits of bone, a mummified bird's foot. I thought at first it was a chicken until I saw the thick black talons. There was a hawk or eagle out there somewhere with a peg leg.

  I had visions of her digging the talons into my flesh, and was all tensed to pull away. But she simply placed the gris-gris on my open palm. Feathers, bits of bone, the dried hawk foot. It wasn't slimy. It didn't hurt. In fact, I felt a little silly.

  Then I felt it, warmth. The thing was warm, sitting there in my hand. It hadn't been warm a second ago. "What are you doing to it?"

  Dominga didn't answer. I glanced up at her, but her eyes were staring at my hand, intent. Like a cat about to pounce.

  I glanced back down. The talons flexed, then spread, then flexed. It was moving in my hand. "Shiiit!" I wanted to stand up. To fling the vile thing to the floor. But I didn't. I sat there with every hair on my body tingling, my pulse thudding in my throat, and let the thing move in my hand. "All right," my voice sounded breathy, "I've passed your little test. Now get this thing the hell out of my hand."

  Dominga lifted the claw gently from my hand. She was careful not to touch my skin. I didn't know why, but it was a noticeable effort.

  "Dammit, dammit!" I whispered under my breath. I rubbed my hand against my stomach, touching the gun hidden there. It was comforting to know that if worse came to worst, I could just shoot her. Before she scared me to death. "Can we get down to business now?" My voice sounded almost steady. Bully for me.

  Dominga was cradling the claw in her hands. "You made the claw move. You were frightened, but not surprised. Why?"

  What could I say? Nothing I wanted her to know. "I have an affinity with the dead. It responds to me like some people can read thoughts."

  She smiled. "Do you really believe that your ability to raise the dead is like mind reading? Parlor tricks?"

  Dominga had obviously never met a really good telepath. If she had, she wouldn't have been scornful. In their own way, they were just as scary as she was.

  "I raise the dead, Senora. It is just a job."

  "You do not believe that any more than I do."

  "I try real hard," I said.

  "You've been tested before by someone." She made it a statement.

  "My grandmother on my mother's side tested me, but not with that." I pointed to the still flexing foot. It looked like one of those fake hands that you can buy at Spencer's. Now that I wasn't holding it, I could pretend it just had tiny little batteries in it somewhere. Right.

  "She was vaudun?"

  I nodded.

  "Why did you not study with her?"

  "I have an inborn gift for raising the dead. That doesn't dictate my religious preferences."

  "You are Christian." She made the word sound like something bad.

  "That's it." I stood. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but it hasn't."

  "Ask your questions, chica."

  "What?" The change of subject was too fast for me.

  "Ask whatever you came here to ask," she said.

  I glanced at Manny. "If she says she will answer, she will answer." He didn't look completely happy about it.

  I sat down, again. The next insult and I'm outta here. But if she could really help . . . oh, hell, she was dangling that thin little thread of hope. And after what I'd seen at the Reynolds house, I was grabbing for it.

  I had planned to be as polite as possible on the wording of the question, now I didn't give a shit. "Have you raised a zombie in the last few weeks?"

  "Some," she said.

  Okay. I hesitated over the next question. The feel of that thing moving in my hand flashed back on me. I rubbed my hand against my pants leg as if I could rub the sensation away. What was the worst she could do to me if I offended her? Don't ask. "Have you sent any zombies out on errands . . . of revenge?" There; that was polite, amazing.

  "None."

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  She smiled. "I'd remember if I loosed murderers from the grave."

  "Killer zombies don't have to be murderers," I said.

  "Oh?" Her pale eyebrows raised. "Are you so very familiar with raising 'killer' zombies?"

  I fought the urge to squirm like a schoolchild caught at a lie. "Only one."

  "Tell me."

  "No." My voice was very firm. "No, that is a private matter." A private nightmare that I was not going to share with the voodoo lady.

  I decided to change the subject just a little. "I've raised murderers before. They weren't more violent than regular undead."

  "How many dead have you called from the grave?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Give me an"--she seemed to be groping for a word--"estimation."

  "I can't. It must have been hundreds."

  "A thousand?" she asked.

  "Maybe, I haven't kept count," I said.

  "Has your boss at Animators, Incorporated, kept count?"

  "I would assume that all my clients are on file, yes," I said.

  She smiled. "I would be interested in knowing the exact number."

  What could it hurt? "I'll find out if I can."

  "Such an obedient girl." She stood. "I did not raise this 'killer' zombie of yours. If that is what is eating citizens." She smiled, almost laughed, as if it were funny. "But I know people that would never speak to you. People that could do this horrible deed. I will question them, and they will answer me. I will have truth from them, and I will pass this truth on to you, Anita."

  She said my name like it was meant to be said, Ahneetah. Made it sound exotic.

  "Thank you very much, Senora Salvador."

  "But there is one favor I will ask in return for this information," she said.

  Something unpleasant was about to be said, I'd have bet on it. "What would that favor be, Senora?"

  "I want you to pass one more test for me."

  I stared at her, waiting for her to go on, but she didn't. "What sort of test?" I asked.

  "Come downstairs, and I will show you." Her voice was mild as honey.

  "No, Dominga," Manny said. He was standing now. "Anita, nothing the Senora could tell you would be worth what she wants."

  "I can talk to people and things that will not talk to you, either of you. Good Christians that you are."

  "Come on, Anita, we don't need her help." He had started for the door. I didn't follow him. Manny hadn't seen the slaughtere
d family. He hadn't dreamed about blood-coated teddy bears last night. I had. I couldn't leave if she could help me. Whether Benjamin Reynolds was dead or not wasn't the point. The thing, whatever it was, would kill again. And I was betting it had something to do with voodoo. It wasn't my area. I needed help, and I needed it fast.

  "Anita, come on." He touched my arm, pulling me a little towards the door.

  "Tell me about the test."

  Dominga smiled triumphantly. She knew she had me. She knew I wasn't leaving until I had her promised help. Damn.

  "Let us retire to the basement. I will explain the test there."

  Manny's grip on my arm tightened. "Anita, you don't know what you're doing."

  He was right, but . . . "Just stay with me, Manny, back me up. Don't let me do anything that will really hurt. Okay?"

  "Anita, anything she wants you to do down there will hurt. Maybe not physically, but it will hurt."

  "I have to do this, Manny." I patted his hand and smiled. "It'll be all right."

  "No," he said, "it won't be."

  I didn't know what to say to that, except that he was probably right. But it didn't matter. I was going to do it. Whatever she asked, within reason, if it would stop the killings. If it would fix it so that I never had to see another half-eaten body.

  Dominga smiled. "Let us go downstairs."

  "May I speak with Anita alone, Senora, por favor," Manny said. His hand was still on my arm. I could feel the tension in his hand.

  "You will have the rest of this beautiful day to talk to her, Manuel. But I have only this short time. If she does this test for me now, I promise to aid her in any way I can to catch this killer."

  It was a powerful offer. A lot of people would talk to her just out of pure terror. The police can't inspire that. All they can do is arrest you. It wasn't enough of a deterrent. Having the undead crawl through your window . . . that was a deterrent.

  Four, maybe five people were already dead. It was a bad way to die. "I've already said I'd do it. Let's go."

  She walked around the table and took Manny's arm. He jumped like she'd struck him. She pulled him away from me. "No harm will come to her, Manuel. I swear."

  "I do not trust you, Dominga."

  She laughed. "But it is her choice, Manuel. I have not forced her."

  "You have blackmailed her, Dominga. Blackmailed her with the safety of others."