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“Let me test my understanding here,” I said in my best executive trainee voice. “You put the soul into the body and it didn’t rot. Then you took the soul out of the body, making it an ordinary zombie, and it did rot.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Then you put the soul back in the rotted corpse, and the zombie was aware and alive again. Did the rotting stop when the soul went back in?”

“Yes.”

Shit. “So you could keep the zombie over there rotted just that much forever?”

“Yes.”

Double shit. “And this one?” I pointed this time, like I was doing a lecture.

“Many people would pay dearly for her.”

“Wait a minute, you mean sell her as a sex slave?”

“Perhaps.”

“But . . .” The idea was too horrible. She was a zombie, which meant she didn’t need to eat or sleep or anything. You could keep her in a closet and take her out like a toy. A perfectly obedient slave.

“Are they as obedient as normal zombies, or does the soul give them free will?”

“They seem to be very obedient.”

“Maybe they’re just scared of you,” I said.

She smiled. “Perhaps.”

“You can’t just keep the soul imprisoned forever.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“The soul needs to go on.”

“To your Christian heaven or hell?”

“Yes,” I said.

“These were wicked women, chica. Their own families gave them to me. Paid me to punish them.”

“You took money for this?”

“It is illegal to tamper with dead bodies without permission of the family,” she said.

I don’t know if she had planned to horrify me. Maybe not. But with that one sentence she let me know that what she was doing was perfectly legal. The dead had no rights. This was the reason we needed some laws to protect zombies. Shit.

“No one deserves to spend eternity locked in a corpse,” I said.

“We could do this to criminals on death row, chica. They could be made to serve society after death.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s wrong.”

“I have created a nonrotting zombie, chica. Animators, I believe you call yourselves, have been searching for the secret for years. I have it, and people will pay for it.”

“It’s wrong. I may not know much about voodoo, but even among your own people, it’s wrong. How can you keep the souls prisoner and not allow them to go on and join with the lao?”

She shrugged and sighed. She suddenly looked tired. “I was hoping, chica, that you would help me. With two of us working, we could create more zombies much faster. We could be wealthy beyond our dreams.”

“You’ve asked the wrong girl.”

“I see that now. I had hoped that since you were not vaudun, you would not see it as wrong.”

“Christian, Buddhist, Moslem, you name it, Dominga, no one’s going to think it’s all right.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It does not hurt to ask.”

I glanced at the rotted zombie. “At least put your first experiment out of its misery.”

Dominga glanced at the zombie. “She makes a powerful demonstration, does she not?”

“You’ve created a nonrotting zombie, great. Don’t be sadistic.”

“You think I am being cruel?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Manuel, am I being cruel?”

Manny stared at me while he answered. His eyes were trying to tell me something. I couldn’t tell what. “Yes, Señora, you are being cruel.”

She glanced over at him then, surprise in the movement of her body, her face. “Do you really think I am cruel, Manuel? Your beloved amante?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“You were not so quick to judge a few years back, Manuel. You slew the white goat for me, more than once.”

I turned towards Manny. It was like that moment in a movie where the main character has a revelation about someone. There should be music and camera angles when you learn one of your best friends participated in human sacrifice. More than once she had said. More than once.

“Manny?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. This, for me, was worse than the zombies. The hell with strangers. This was Manny, and it couldn’t be true.

“Manny?” I said it again. He wouldn’t look at me. Bad sign.

“You didn’t know, chica? Didn’t your Manny tell you of his past?”

“Shut up,” I said.

“He was