Free The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

looked like cement had been put over—doors. Paint had been smoothed over the cement, but there had been doors, rooms, at regular intervals. Why wall them up? Why cover the doors in cement? What was behind them?
    I rubbed fingertips across the rough cement. The surface was bumpy and cool. The paint wasn’t very old. It would have flaked in this dampness. It hadn’t. What was behind this blocked up door?
    The skin just between my shoulder blades started to itch. I fought an urge to glance back at Enzo. I was betting he was behaving himself. I was betting that being shot was the least of my worries.
    The air was cool and damp. A very basement of a basement. There were three doors, two to the right, one to the left that were just doors.One door had a shiny new padlock on it. As we walked past it, I heard the door sigh as if something large had leaned against it.
    I stopped. “What’s in there?”
    Enzo had stopped when I stopped. Dominga and Manny had rounded a corner, and we were alone. I touched the door. The wood creaked, rattling against its hinges. Like some giant cat had rubbed against the door. A smell rolled out from under the door. I gagged and backed away. The stench clung to my mouth and throat. I swallowed convulsively and tasted it all the way down.
    The thing behind the door made a mewling sound. I couldn’t tell if it was human or animal. It was bigger than a person, whatever it was. And it was dead. Very, very dead.
    I covered my nose and mouth with my left hand. The right was free just in case. In case that thing should come crashing out. Bullets against the walking dead. I knew better, but the gun was still a comfort. In a pinch I could shoot Enzo. But somehow I knew that if the thing rattling the door got out, Enzo would be in as much danger as I was.
    â€œWe must go on, now,” he said.
    I couldn’t tell anything from his face. We might have been walking down the street to the corner store. He seemed impervious, and I hated him for it. If I’m terrified, by God, everyone else should be, too.
    I eyed the supposedly unlocked door to my left. I had to know. I yanked it open. The room was maybe eight by four, like a cell. The cement floor and whitewashed walls were clean, empty. It looked like a cell waiting for its next occupant. Enzo slammed the door shut. I didn’t fight him. It wasn’t worth it. If I was going to go one on one with someone who outweighed me by over a hundred pounds, I was going to be picky about where I drew the line. An empty room wasn’t worth it.
    Enzo leaned against the door. Sweat glimmered across his face in the harsh light. “Do not try any other doors, señorita. It could be very bad.”
    I nodded. “Sure, no problem.” An empty room and he was sweating. Nice to know something frightened him. But why this room and not the one with the mewling stench behind it? I didn’t have a clue.
    â€œWe must catch up with the Señora.” He made a gracious motionlike a maître d’ showing me to a chair. I went where he pointed. Where else was I going to go?
    The hallway fed into a large rectangular chamber. It was painted the same startling white as the cell had been. The whitewashed floor was covered in brilliant red and black designs. Verve it was called. Symbols drawn in the voodoo sanctuary to summon the lao, the gods of vaudun.
    The symbols acted as walls bordering a path. They led to the altar. If you stepped off the path you messed up all those carefully formed symbols. I didn’t know if that would be good or bad. Rule number three hundred sixty-nine when dealing with unfamiliar magic: when in doubt, leave it alone.
    I left it alone.
    The end of the room gleamed with candles. The warm, rich light flickered and filled the white walls with heat and light. Dominga stood in the midst of that light, that whiteness, and gleamed with evil. There was no other word for it. She wasn’t just bad, she was evil.