Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [76]
I stumbled through the crooked gate. A wind had finally come down out of the trees. Another scream sounded from behind the hedges. I ran, and I didn’t look back.
29
I SLIPPED ON the damp grass. Hose are not made for running in. I sat there, breathing, trying not to think. I had raised a zombie to save another human being, who wasn’t a human being. Now the zombie I had raised was being tortured by vampires. Shit. The night wasn’t even half-over. I whispered, “What next?”
A voice answered, light as music. “Greetings, animator. You seem to be having a full night.”
Nikolaos was standing in the shadows of the trees. Willie McCoy was with her, a little to one side, not quite beside her, like a bodyguard or a servant. I was betting on servant.
“You seem agitated. What ever is the matter?” Her voice rose in a lilting sing-song. The dangerous little girl had returned.
“Zachary raised the zombie. You can’t use that as an excuse to kill him.” I laughed then, and it sounded abrupt and harsh even to me. He was already dead. I didn’t think she knew. She couldn’t read minds, only force the truth from them. I bet Nikolaos had never thought to ask, “Are you alive, Zachary, or a walking corpse?” I laughed and couldn’t seem to stop.
“Anita, you all right?” Willie’s voice was like his voice had always been.
I nodded, trying to catch my breath. “I’m fine.”
“I do not see the humor in the situation, animator.” The child voice was slipping, like a mask sliding down. “You helped Zachary raise the zombie.” She made it sound like an accusation.
“Yes.”
I heard movement over the grass. Willie’s footsteps, and nothing else. I glanced up and saw Nikolaos moving towards me, noiseless as a cat. She was smiling, a cute, harmless, model, beautiful child. No. Her face was a little long. The perfect child bride wasn’t perfect anymore. The closer she came, the more flaws I could pick out. Was I seeing her the way she really looked? Was I?
“You are staring at me, animator.” She laughed, high and wild, wind chimes in a storm. “As if you’d seen a ghost.” She knelt, smoothing her slacks over her knees, as if they were a skirt. “Have you seen a ghost, animator? Have you seen something that frightened you? Or is it something else?” Her face was only an arm’s length away.
I was holding my breath, fingers digging into the ground. Fear washed over me like a cool second skin. The face was so pleasant, smiling, encouraging. She really needed a dimple to go with it all. My voice was hoarse, and I had to cough to clear it. “I raised the zombie. I don’t want it hurt.”
“But it is only a zombie, animator. They have no real minds.”
I just stared at that thin, pleasant face, afraid to look away from her, afraid to look at her. My chest was tight with the urge to run. “It was a human being. I don’t want it tortured.”
“They won’t hurt it much. My little vampires will be disappointed. The dead cannot feed off the dead.”
“Ghouls can. They feed off the dead.”
“But what is a ghoul, animator? Is it truly dead?”
“Yes.”
“Am I dead?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” She had a small scar near her upper lip. She must have gotten it before she died.
“I’m sure,” I said.
She laughed then, a sound to bring a smile to your face and a song to your heart. My stomach jerked at the noise. I might never enjoy Shirley Temple movies again.
“I don’t think you are sure in the least.” She stood, one smooth motion. A thousand years of practice makes perfect.
“I want the zombie put back, now, tonight,” I said.
“You are not in a position to want anything.” The voice was cold, very adult. Children didn’t know how to strip skin with their voice.
“I raised it. I don’t want it tortured.”
“Isn’t that too bad?”
What else could I say? “Please.”
She stared down at me. “Why is it so important to you?”
I didn’t think I could explain it to her. “It just is.”
“How important?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What would you be willing to endure for your zombie?”
Fear settled into a cold lump in the pit of my gut. “I don’t know