The Laughing Corpse

The surprise must have shone on my face, because he said, “I know she talked to you two years back, when I was in the hospital.”

“You almost died,” I said.

“And you had how many broken bones?”

“Rosita made a reasonable request, Ma

“And I’m too old to be slaying vampires.” His voice held irony, and almost bitterness.

“You’ll never be too old,” I said.

“A nice thought.” He drained his coffee mug. “We better go. Don’t want to keep the Seсora waiting.”

“God forbid,” I said.

“Amen,” he said.

I stared at him as he rinsed his mug out in the sink. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

“No,” he said.

I rinsed my own cup, still staring at him. I could feel a suspicious frown between my eyes. “Ma

“Honest Mexican, I don’t know nuthin’.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You know I was vaudun before Rosita converted me to pure Christianity.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Dominga Salvador was not just my priestess. She was my lover.”

I stared at him for a few heartbeats. “You’re kidding?”

His face was very serious as he said, “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

I shrugged. People’s choices of lovers never failed to amaze me. “That’s why you could get me a meeting with her on such short notice.”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you might have tried to sneak over there without me.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

He just stared at me, brown eyes very serious. “Maybe.”

I got my gun from the table and fitted it to the inter-pants holster. Eight bullets. The Browning could hold fourteen. But let’s get real; if I needed more than eight bullets, I was dead. And so was Ma

“Shit,” I whispered.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m going to visit the bogeyman.”

Ma

Great, just freaking, bloody great. Why was I doing this? The image of Benjamin Reynolds’s blood-coated teddy bear flashed into my mind. All right, I knew why I was doing it. If there was even a remote chance that the boy could still be alive, I’d go into hell itself--if I stood a chance of coming back out. I didn’t mention this out loud. I did not want to know if hell was a good analogy, too.

Chapter 5

The neighborhood was older houses; fifties, forties. The lawns were dying to brown for lack of water. No sprinklers here. Flowers struggled to survive in beds close to the houses. Mostly petunias, geraniums, a few rosebushes. The streets were clean, neat, and one block over you could get yourself shot for wearing the wrong color of jacket.

Gang activity stopped at Seсora Salvador’s neighborhood. Even teenagers with automatic pistols fear things you can’t stop with bullets no matter how good a shot you are. Silver plated bullets will harm a vampire, but not kill it. It will kill a lycanthrope, but not a zombie. You can hack the damn things to pieces, and the disco

There are stories of one Hispanic gang that thought it had protection against gris-gris. Some people say that the gang’s ex-leader is still down in Dominga’s basement, obeying an occasional order. He was great show-and-tell to any juvenile delinquents who got out of hand.

Personally, I had never seen her raise a zombie. But then I’d never seen her call the snakes either. I’d just as soon keep it that way.

Seсora Salvador’s two-story house is on about a half acre of land. A nice roomy yard. Bright red geraniums flamed against the whitewashed walls. Red and white, blood and bone. I was sure the symbolism was not lost on casual passersby. It certainly wasn’t lost on me.

Ma

A man stood on the porch behind them. He was wearing a shoulder holster over a sleeveless blue T-shirt. Sort of blatant. All he needed was a flashing neon sign that said “Bad Ass.”

There were chalk markings on the sidewalk. Pastel crosses and unreadable diagrams. It looked like a children’s game, but it wasn’t. Some devoted fans of the Seсora had chalked designs of worship in front of her house. Stubs of candles had melted to lumps around the designs. The girl on the tricycle peddled back and forth over the designs. Normal, right?

I followed Ma

Ma

“Sн, “ Antonio said. His voice was low and sullen. His deeply ta

I used Ma

“You’ve become a strong, handsome man,” Ma

“My grandmother says I must let you in,” Antonio said.

“She is a wise woman,” Ma

Antonio shrugged. “She is the Seсora.” He peered around Ma

“Seсorita Anita Blake.” Ma

Antonio looked down at me. His dark eyes were angry, but that was all. He didn’t have near the gaze of Harold Gaynor’s bodyguards. I smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

He squinted at me suspiciously for a moment, then nodded. I continued to smile at him, and a slow smile spread over his face. He thought I was flirting with him. I let him think it.

He said something in Spanish. All I could do was smile and shake my head. He spoke softly, and there was a look in his dark eyes, a curve to his mouth. I didn’t have to speak the language to know I was being propositioned. Or insulted.

Ma

It was Antonio’s turn to flush. His hand started to go for his gun. I stepped up two steps, touching his wrist as if I didn’t know what was going on. The tension in his arm was like a wire, straining.

I beamed up at him as I held his wrist. His eyes flicked from Ma

Antonio carried a gun, but he was an amateur. Amateurs with guns eventually get themselves killed. I wondered if Dominga Salvador knew that? She may have been a whiz at voodoo but I bet she didn’t know much about guns, and what it took to use one on a regular basis. Whatever it took, Antonio didn’t have it. He’d kill you all right. No sweat. But for the wrong reasons. Amateur’s reasons. Of course, you’ll be just as dead.

He guided me up on the porch beside him, still holding my hand. It was my left hand. He could hold that all day. “I must check you for weapons, Manuel.”

“I understand,” Ma

He made Ma