The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton Page A

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.”
    â€œMy mother was Mexican.”
    â€œYet 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.”
    â€œI 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 Señora. 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 corazón .”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œNo.” A nice simple answer. Maybe I should try those more often.
    â€œPerhaps 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!”
    â€œAnita, are you all right?” Manny was standing now, too. He touched my arm gently.
    â€œI’m not sure. What the hell did she do to me?”
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œIt is not a game, Manuel. Have you forgotten everything I taught you. Everything you were?”
    â€œI have forgotten