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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 166 из 213It may be his, and I wouldn't know. Peter and I had … hadn't seen each other in two years." The guilt in those last words made me wince.
"Fine, we'll go on to the smaller items," Marian said, and smiled as she said it. Nice and cheery, practicing her bedside manner. She so seldom got to practice.
She opened a much smaller bag and spilled the contents gently on the shiny silver surface. A comb, a dime, two pennies, a movie ticket stub, and a voodoo charm. A gris-gris.
It was woven of black and red thread with human teeth worked into the beading. More bones dangled all the way around it. "Are those human finger bones?" I asked.
"Yes," John said, his voice very still. He looked strange as he stood there, as if some new horror were dawning behind his eyes.
It was an evil piece of work, but I didn't understand the strength of his reaction to it.
I leaned over it, poking it with one finger. There was some dried skin woven in the center of it all. And it wasn't just black thread, it was black hair.
"Human hair, teeth, bones, skin," I said softly.
"Yes," John repeated.
"You're more into voodoo than I am," I said. "What does it mean?"
"Someone died to make this charm."
"Are you sure?"
He glared down at me with withering contempt. "Don't you think if it could be anything else I wouldn't say it? Do you think I enjoy learning my brother took part in human sacrifice?"
"Did Peter have to be there? He couldn't have just bought it afterwards?"
"NO!" It was almost a yell. He turned away from us, pacing to the wall. His breathing was loud and ragged.
I gave him a few moments to collect himself, then asked what had to be asked. "What does the gris-gris do?"
He turned a calm enough face to us, but the strain showed around his eyes. "It enables a less powerful necromancer to raise older dead, to borrow the power of some much greater necromancer."
"How borrow?"
He shrugged. "That charm holds some of the power of the most powerful among us. Peter paid dearly for it; so he could raise more and older dead. Peter, God, how could you?"
"How powerful would you need to be to share your power like this?"
"Very powerful," he said.
"Is there any way to trace it back to the person who made it?"
"You don't understand, Anita. That thing is a piece of someone's power. It is one substance to what soul they have left. It must have been a great need or great greed to do it. Peter could never have afforded it. Never.
"Fine, we'll go on to the smaller items," Marian said, and smiled as she said it. Nice and cheery, practicing her bedside manner. She so seldom got to practice.
She opened a much smaller bag and spilled the contents gently on the shiny silver surface. A comb, a dime, two pennies, a movie ticket stub, and a voodoo charm. A gris-gris.
It was woven of black and red thread with human teeth worked into the beading. More bones dangled all the way around it. "Are those human finger bones?" I asked.
"Yes," John said, his voice very still. He looked strange as he stood there, as if some new horror were dawning behind his eyes.
It was an evil piece of work, but I didn't understand the strength of his reaction to it.
I leaned over it, poking it with one finger. There was some dried skin woven in the center of it all. And it wasn't just black thread, it was black hair.
"Human hair, teeth, bones, skin," I said softly.
"Yes," John repeated.
"You're more into voodoo than I am," I said. "What does it mean?"
"Someone died to make this charm."
"Are you sure?"
He glared down at me with withering contempt. "Don't you think if it could be anything else I wouldn't say it? Do you think I enjoy learning my brother took part in human sacrifice?"
"Did Peter have to be there? He couldn't have just bought it afterwards?"
"NO!" It was almost a yell. He turned away from us, pacing to the wall. His breathing was loud and ragged.
I gave him a few moments to collect himself, then asked what had to be asked. "What does the gris-gris do?"
He turned a calm enough face to us, but the strain showed around his eyes. "It enables a less powerful necromancer to raise older dead, to borrow the power of some much greater necromancer."
"How borrow?"
He shrugged. "That charm holds some of the power of the most powerful among us. Peter paid dearly for it; so he could raise more and older dead. Peter, God, how could you?"
"How powerful would you need to be to share your power like this?"
"Very powerful," he said.
"Is there any way to trace it back to the person who made it?"
"You don't understand, Anita. That thing is a piece of someone's power. It is one substance to what soul they have left. It must have been a great need or great greed to do it. Peter could never have afforded it. Never.