The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

nothing, but I did not bring her here to be harmed.”
    â€œWhether she is harmed or not is up to her, mi corazón .”
    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.
    â€œDon’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 .”
    â€œIf you know something about the boy, just tell me. Please.”
    â€œEndure my little tests, and I will help you.”
    â€œWhat 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?
    â€œCome, chica , I will not hurt you,” she said.
    â€œManny?”
    â€œIf 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.”
    â€œIgnorance is bliss,” I said.
    â€œSit, 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.”
    â€œThen we have time, don’t we?”
    â€œTime for what?”
    â€œYour 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 thethick 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.
    â€œDammit, dammit!” I whispered under my breath. I rubbed my hand against my stomach, touching the gun hidden there.