Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [64]
“Or strangle it,” said Max.
“It’s a whole buffet of choices,” said Jeff.
“You shouldn’t let that salmon go to waste,” I said. “It looks good.” After the things I had experienced lately, I didn’t see any point getting squeamish over methods of killing a body that was already dead.
Jeff said to me, “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” I took a bite of the fish. It was tasty, so I lifted the filet onto my plate. “I have a question, Max. I was alone in the dark with Darius last night. If he’s a zombie, then why didn’t he try to eat my brains or something? Isn’t that what zombies do?”
Biko gave me a wan look, and paused in his eating.
“Oh, not at all!” said Puma. “People just get that idea from the movies.”
“Sure, blame the entertainment industry,” Jeff muttered. “It’s all some actor’s fault that Esther’s wondering why no one has ripped open her skull and consumed her brains.”
Biko sighed and pushed his plate away.
“Zombies aren’t villains,” Puma said emphatically. “They’re victims.”
“But they can be dangerous,” Max interjected.
“Yes, that’s true,” Puma agreed. “More mashed potatoes, Dr. Zadok?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. Just a small amount, please.”
“Zombies don’t eat brains,” Puma said. “They don’t eat at all. They’re not human anymore.”
“Ah. I get it.” I nodded. “Which is why they also don’t bleed, sweat, cry, and so on. But even if Darius wasn’t, er, hungry last night, why didn’t he attack me? Was it just because he was disoriented and weak after being attacked?”
“He would only have attacked you if commanded to do so. Which clearly was not the case,” Max said. “Zombies aren’t evil, they’re just the living dead. They can, of course, be used for evil purposes by their master, but they are inherently neither good nor bad. They are just tools and have no will of their own.”
“And that’s why someone raises the dead,” Puma said to Jeff. “To have a docile, obedient slave.”
“A person no one will search for,” Max added, “because they’re not missing. They are no longer part of this life.”
Puma explained to me, “A zombie is not a demon or monster, it’s a dead body whose soul the bokor steals and whose body the bokor reanimates with black magic.”
“After exhuming it from the grave?” I said, finishing Jeff’s salmon.
“Robbing the grave is more like it,” said Biko.
“Ah, and that suggests a possible answer to Jeffrey’s question of why Mr. Phelps was chosen as a victim,” Max said, looking pleased with the realization. “Darius’ death was recent, and a bokor needs a fresh corpse when he raises a zombie from the grave.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Puma said. “A zombie should be raised within a few days of burial. After all, decomposition would make it so . . . messy. Body parts dropping off, teeth falling out, skin rotting away. And the stench of decay would be hard to conceal.”
I suddenly felt very full.
“I suppose you could wait longer if the body was embalmed,” Puma added doubtfully. “But a bokor’s rituals are bound to be based on rural Haitian practices, where most buried bodies rot and start being consumed by parasites quickly.”
“I think I’m done eating,” I said faintly, feeling a tad queasy.
“Are you sure?” Jeff said to me. “Because we can always go out and sacrifice a goat for you, if you’re still feeling a bit peckish. The night is young.”
I laid down my fork and pushed my plate away as a strong memory assailed me.
“Are you all right?” Puma asked me. “You suddenly look a little . . . green.”
“Darius smelled funny,” I blurted.
Jeff made a sound. “That’s a little too much information, Esther. I don’t really want sensory detail on the experience.”
“He was dead at the time,” Biko said charitably. “He didn’t have a body odor problem in life.”
“Hmm. Yes, even with a relatively prompt post-burial exhumation, thus allowing very little time for decomposition before the bokor’s magic would halt—or substantially decelerate—nature’s progress . . .” Max nodded with a thoughtful expression. “Yes, I think a certain amount of odor should be expected, even so. The zombie is no longer a living being,