JК
The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 194 из 213The thing was leprously pale like all zombies,but this one had a dozen eyes. A man's face was centered where the neck would have been. Its eyes dark and seeing, and empty of everything sane. A dog's head was growing out of the shoulder. The dog's decaying mouth snapped at me. A woman's leg grew out of the center of the mess, complete with black high-heeled shoe.
The thing shambled towards me. Pulling with three of a dozen arms, dragging itself forward. It left a trail behind it like a snail.
Dominga Salvador stepped around the corner. "Buenas noches, chica.»
The monster scared me, but the sight of Dominga grinning at me scared me just a little bit more.
The thing had stopped moving forward. It squatted in the hallway, kneeling on its inadequate legs. Its dozens of mouths panted as if it couldn't get enough air.
Or maybe the thing didn't like the way it smelled. I certainly didn't. Covering my mouth and nose with my arm didn't block out much of the smell. The hallway suddenly smelled like bad meat.
Gaynor and his wounded bodyguards had stayed at the end of the hall. Maybe they didn't like being near Dominga's little pet. I know it didn't do much for me. Whatever the reason we were isolated. It was just her and me and the monster.
"How did you get out of jail?" Better to deal with more mundane problems first. The mind-melting ones could wait for later.
"I made my bail," she said.
"This quickly on a murder involving witchcraft?"
"Voodoo is not witchcraft," she said.
"The law sees it as the same thing when it comes to murder."
She shrugged, then smiled beatifically. She was the Mexican grandmother of my nightmares.
"You've got a judge in your pocket," I said.
"Many people fear me, chica. You should be one of them."
"You helped Peter Burke raise the zombie for Gaynor."
She just smiled.
"Why didn't you just raise it yourself?" I asked.
"I didn't want someone as unscrupulous as Gaynor to witness me murdering someone. He might use it for blackmail."
"And he didn't realize that you had to kill someone for Peter's gris-gris?"
"Correct," she said.
"You hid all your horrors here?"
"Not all. You forced me to destroy much of my work, but this I saved. You can see why." She caressed a hand down the slimy hide.
I shuddered. Just the thought of touching that monstrosity was enough to make my skin cold. And yet …
"How did you make it?" I had to know. It was so obviously a creation of our shared art that I had to know.
The thing shambled towards me. Pulling with three of a dozen arms, dragging itself forward. It left a trail behind it like a snail.
Dominga Salvador stepped around the corner. "Buenas noches, chica.»
The monster scared me, but the sight of Dominga grinning at me scared me just a little bit more.
The thing had stopped moving forward. It squatted in the hallway, kneeling on its inadequate legs. Its dozens of mouths panted as if it couldn't get enough air.
Or maybe the thing didn't like the way it smelled. I certainly didn't. Covering my mouth and nose with my arm didn't block out much of the smell. The hallway suddenly smelled like bad meat.
Gaynor and his wounded bodyguards had stayed at the end of the hall. Maybe they didn't like being near Dominga's little pet. I know it didn't do much for me. Whatever the reason we were isolated. It was just her and me and the monster.
"How did you get out of jail?" Better to deal with more mundane problems first. The mind-melting ones could wait for later.
"I made my bail," she said.
"This quickly on a murder involving witchcraft?"
"Voodoo is not witchcraft," she said.
"The law sees it as the same thing when it comes to murder."
She shrugged, then smiled beatifically. She was the Mexican grandmother of my nightmares.
"You've got a judge in your pocket," I said.
"Many people fear me, chica. You should be one of them."
"You helped Peter Burke raise the zombie for Gaynor."
She just smiled.
"Why didn't you just raise it yourself?" I asked.
"I didn't want someone as unscrupulous as Gaynor to witness me murdering someone. He might use it for blackmail."
"And he didn't realize that you had to kill someone for Peter's gris-gris?"
"Correct," she said.
"You hid all your horrors here?"
"Not all. You forced me to destroy much of my work, but this I saved. You can see why." She caressed a hand down the slimy hide.
I shuddered. Just the thought of touching that monstrosity was enough to make my skin cold. And yet …
"How did you make it?" I had to know. It was so obviously a creation of our shared art that I had to know.