Free The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

zombies were still staring at me. There was something in their eyes. It was fear, and something worse—hope. Shit. Zombies didn’t have hope. They didn’t have anything. They were dead. These weren’t dead. I had to know. Here’s hoping that curiosity didn’t kill the animator.
    I stepped around Dominga carefully, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Enzo stayed behind blocking the path between the verve. He looked big and solid standing there, but I could get past him, if I wanted it bad enough. Bad enough to kill him. I hoped I wouldn’t want it that bad.
    The decayed zombie stared down at me. She was tall, almost six feet. Skeletal feet peeked out from underneath the red gown. A tall, slender woman, probably beautiful, once. Bulging eyes rolled in the nearly bare sockets. A wet, sucking sound accompanied the movements.
    I’d thrown up the first time I heard that sound. The sound of eyeballs rolling in rotting sockets. But that was four years ago, when I was new at this. Decaying flesh didn’t make me flinch anymore or throw up. As a general rule.
    The eyes were pale brown with a lot of green in them. The smell of some expensive perfume floated around her. Powdery and fine, like talcum powder in your nose, sweet, flowery. Underneath was the stink of rotting flesh. It wrinkled my nose, caught at the back of my throat. The next time I smelled this delicate, expensive perfume, I would think of rotting flesh. Oh, well, it smelled too expensive to buy, anyway.
    She was staring at me. She, not it, she. There was the force of personality in her eyes. I call most zombies “it” because it fits. They may come from the grave very alive-looking, but it doesn’t last. They rot. Personality and intelligence goes first, then the body. It’s always thatorder. God is not cruel enough to force anyone to be aware while their body decays around them. Something had gone very wrong with this one.
    I stepped around Dominga Salvador. For no reason that I could name, I stayed out of reach. She had no weapon, I was almost sure of that. The danger she represented had nothing to do with knives or guns. I simply didn’t want her to touch me, not even by accident.
    The zombie on the left was perfect. Not a sign of decay. The look in her eyes was alert, alive. God help us. She could have gone anywhere and passed for human. How had I known she wasn’t alive? I wasn’t even sure. None of the usual signs were there, but I knew dead when I felt it. Yet . . . I stared up at the second woman. Her lovely, dark face stared back. Fear screamed out of her eyes.
    Whatever power let me raise the dead told me this was a zombie, but my eyes couldn’t tell. It was amazing. If Dominga could raise zombies like this, she had me beat hands down.
    I have to wait three days before I raise a corpse. It gives the soul time to leave the area. Souls usually hover around for a while. Three days is average. I can’t call shit from the grave if the soul’s still present. It has been theorized that if an animator could keep the soul intact while raising the body, we’d get resurrection. You know, resurrection, the real thing, like in Jesus and Lazarus. I didn’t believe that. Or maybe I just know my limitations.
    I stared up at this zombie and knew what was different. The soul was still there. The soul was still inside both bodies. How? How in Jesus’ name did she do it?
    â€œThe souls. The souls are still in the bodies.” My voice held the distaste I felt. Why bother to hide it?
    â€œVery good, chica .”
    I went to stand to her left, keeping Enzo in sight. “How did you do it?”
    â€œThe soul was captured at the moment it took flight from the body.”
    I shook my head. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
    â€œDon’t you know how to capture souls in a bottle?”
    Souls in a bottle? Was she kidding? No, she wasn’t. “No, I