The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 2
I had forgotten I was still wearing it. "Yes," I said.
"Are you a policewoman?"
"No." "Kasey Markowitz, you ask too many questions." Her mother herded her past me with a harried smile.
"Sorry about that, Anita."
"I don't mind," I said. Sometime later I was standing on a little raised platform in front of a nearly perfect circle of mirrors. With the matching pink high heels the dress was the right length at least. It also had little puff sleeves and was an off-the-shoulder look. The dress showed almost every scar I had.
The newest scar was still pink and healing on my right forearm. But it was just a knife wound. They're neat, clean things compared to my other scars. My collarbone and left arm have both been broken. A vampire bit through them, tore at me like a dog with a piece of meat. There's also the cross-shaped burn mark on my left forearm. Some inventive human vampire slaves thought it was amusing. I didn't.
I looked like Frankenstein's bride goes to the prom. Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but Mrs. Cassidy thought it was. She thought the scars would distract people from the dress, the wedding party, the bride.
But Catherine, the bride herself, didn't agree. She thought I deserved to be in the wedding, because we were such good friends. I was paying good money to be publicly humiliated. We must be good friends.
Mrs. Cassidy handed me a pair of long pink satin gloves. I pulled them on, wiggling my fingers deep into the tiny holes. I've never liked gloves. They make me feel like I'm touching the world through a curtain.
But the bright pink things did hide my arms. Scars all gone. What a good girl. Right.
The woman fluffed out the satiny skirt, glancing into the mirror. "It will do, I think." She stood, tapping one long, painted fingernail against her lipsticked mouth. "I believe I have come up with something to hide that, uh . . . well . . ." She made vague hand motions towards me.
"My collarbone scar?" I said.
"Yes." She sounded relieved.
It occurred to me for the first time that Mrs. Cassidy had never once said the word "scar." As if it were dirty, or rude. I smiled at myself in the ring of mirrors. Laughter caught at the back of my throat.
Mrs. Cassidy held up something made of pink ribbon and fake orange blossoms. The laughter died.
"What is that?" I asked.
"This," she said, stepping towards me, "is the solution to our problem."
"All right, but what is it?"
"Well, it is a collar, a decoration."
"It goes around my neck?"
"Yes."

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 2
I also wouldn't have chosen the bridal dresses Catherine picked out, but it was my own fault that I hadn't been around when the vote was taken. I worked too much and I hated to shop. So, I ended up plunking down $120 plus tax on a pink taffeta evening gown. It looked like it had run away from a junior high prom.
I walked into the air-conditioned hush of the bridal shop, high heels sinking into a carpet so pale grey it was nearly white. Mrs. Cassidy, the manager, saw me come in. Her smile faltered for just a moment before she got it under control. She smiled at me, brave Mrs. Cassidy.
I smiled back, not looking forward to the next hour.
Mrs. Cassidy was somewhere between forty and fifty, trim figure, red hair so dark it was almost brown.
The hair was tied in a French knot like Grace Kelly used to wear. She pushed her gold wire-framed glasses more securely on her nose and said, "Ms. Blake, here for the final fitting, I see."
"I hope it's the final fitting," I said.
"Well, we have been working on the . . . problem. I think we've come up with something." There was a
small room in back of the desk. It was filled with racks of plastic-covered dresses. Mrs. Cassidy pulled
mine out from between two identical pink dresses.
She led the way to the dressing rooms with the dress draped over her arms. Her spine was very straight.
She was gearing for another battle. I didn't have to gear up, I was always ready for battle. But arguing with Mrs. Cassidy about alterations to a formal beat the heck out of arguing with Tommy and Bruno. It could have gone very badly, but it hadn't. Gaynor had called them off, for today, he had said.
What did that mean exactly? It was probably self-explanatory. I had left Bert at the office still shaken from his close encounter. He didn't deal with the messy end of the business. The violent end. No, I did that, or Manny, or Jamison, or Charles. We, the animators of Animators, Inc, we did the dirty work.
Bert stayed in his nice safe office and sent clients and trouble our way. Until today.
Mrs. Cassidy hung the dress on a hook inside one of the dressing stalls and went away. Before I could
go inside, another stall opened, and Kasey, Catherine's flower girl, stepped out. She was eight, and she
was glowering. Her mother followed behind her, still in her business suit.Elizabeth(call me Elsie)
Markowitz was tall, slender, black-haired, olive skinned, and a lawyer. She worked with Catherine and was also in the wedding.
Kasey looked like a smaller, softer version of her mother.
The child spotted me first and said, "Hi, Anita. Isn't this dress dumb-looking?"
"Now, Kasey," Elsie said, "it's a beautiful dress. All those nice pink ruffles."
The dress looked like a petunia on steroids to me. I stripped off my jacket and started moving into my own dressing room before I had to give my opinion out loud.
"Is that a real gun?" Kasey asked.

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2
The bridal shop was just off 70 West inSt. Peters. It was called The Maiden Voyage. Cute. There was a
pizza place on one side of it and a beauty salon on the other. It was called Full Dark Beauty Salon. The
windows were blacked out, outlined in bloodred neon. You could get your hair and nails done by a vampire, if you wanted to.
Vampirism had only been legal for two years in theUnited States of America. We were still the only country in the world where it was legal. Don't ask me; I didn't vote for it. There was even a movement to give the vamps the vote. Taxation without representation and all that.
Two years ago if a vampire bothered someone I just went out and staked the son of a bitch. Now I had to get a court order of execution. Without it, I was up on murder charges, if I was caught. I longed for the good old days.
There was a blond mannequin in the wedding shop window wearing enough white lace to drown in. I am
not a big fan of lace, or seed pearls, or sequins. Especially not sequins. I had gone out with Catherine twice to help her look for a wedding gown. It didn't take long to realize I was no help. I didn't like any of them.
Catherine was a very good friend or I wouldn't have been here at all. She told me if I ever got married I'd change my mind. Surely being in love doesn't cause you to lose your sense of good taste. If I ever buy a gown with sequins on it, someone just shoot me.

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 1
I nodded. "We have no proof. You didn't even tell us who you wanted raised from the dead, or why."
"It would be your word against mine," he said.
"And I'm sure you have friends in high places." I smiled when I said it.
His smile widened, dimpling his fat little cheeks. "Of course."
I turned my back on Tommy and his gun. Bert followed. We walked outside into the blistering summer heat. Bert looked a little shaken. I felt almost friendly towards him. It was nice to know that Bert had limits, something he wouldn't do, even for a million dollars.
"Would they really have shot us?" he asked. His voice sounded matter-of-fact, firmer than the slightly
glassy look in his eyes. Tough Bert. He unlocked the trunk without being asked.
"With Harold Gaynor's name in our appointment book and in the computer?" I got my gun out and slipped on the holster rig. "Not knowing who we'd mentioned this trip to?" I shook my head. "Too risky."
"Then why did you pretend to have a gun?" He looked me straight in the eyes as he asked, and for the first time I saw uncertainty in his face. Ol' money bags needed a comforting word, but I was fresh out.
"Because, Bert, I could have been wrong."

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 1
"I'm not an assassin, Gaynor," I said.
"That ain't what I heard," Tommy of the blond hair said.
I glanced at him. His eyes were still as empty as a doll's. "I don't kill people for money."
"You kill vampires for money," he said.
"Legal execution, and I don't do it for the money," I said.
Tommy shook his head and moved away from the wall. "I hear you like staking vampires. And you aren't too careful about who you have to kill to get to 'em."
"My informants tell me you have killed humans before, Ms. Blake," Gaynor said.
"Only in self-defense, Gaynor. I don't do murder."
Bert was standing now. "I think it is time to leave."
Bruno stood in one fluid movement, big dark hands loose and half-cupped at his sides. I was betting on some kind of martial arts.
Tommy was standing away from the wall. His sport jacket was pushed back to expose his gun, like an old-time gunfighter. It was a .357 Magnum. It would make a very big hole.
I just stood there, staring at them. What else could I do? I might be able to do something with Bruno,
but Tommy had a gun. I didn't. It sort of ended the argument.
They were treating me like I was a very dangerous person. At five-three I am not imposing. Raise the dead, kill a few vampires, and people start considering you one of the monsters. Sometimes it hurt. But now . . . it had possibilities. "Do you really think I came in here unarmed?" I asked. My voice sounded very matter-of-fact. Bruno looked at Tommy. He sort of shrugged. "I didn't pat her down." Bruno snorted.
"She ain't wearing a gun, though," Tommy said.
"Want to bet your life on it?" I said. I smiled when I said it, and slid my hand, very slowly, towards my
back. Make them think I had a hip holster at the small of my back. Tommy shifted, flexing his hand near his gun. If he went for it, we were going to die. I was going to come back and haunt Bert.
Gaynor said, "No. No need for anyone to die here today, Ms. Blake."
"No," I said, "no need at all." I swallowed my pulse back into my throat and eased my hand away from my imaginary gun. Tommy eased away from his real one. Goody for us.
Gaynor smiled again, like a pleasant beardless Santa. "You of course understand that telling the police would be useless."

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 1
Bert grabbed my arm. "Anita, sit down, please."
I stared at his hand until he let go of me. His charming mask slipped, showing me the anger underneath,
then he was all pleasant business again. "Anita. It is a generous payment."
"The white goat is a euphemism, Bert. It means a human sacrifice."
My boss glanced at Gaynor, then back to me. He knew me well enough to believe me, but he didn't want to. "I don't understand," he said.
"The older the zombie the bigger the death needed to raise it. After a few centuries the only death 'big
enough' is a human sacrifice," I said.
Gaynor wasn't smiling anymore. He was watching me out of dark eyes. Cicely was still looking pleasant,
almost smiling. Was there anyone home behind those so blue eyes? "Do you really want to talk about murder in front of Cicely?" I asked.
Gaynor beamed at me, always a bad sign. "She can't understand a word we say. Cicely's deaf."
I stared at him, and he nodded. She looked at me with pleasant eyes. We were talking of human
sacrifice and she didn't even know it. If she could read lips, she was hiding it very well. I guess even the handicapped, um, physically challenged, can fall into bad company, but it seemed wrong.

The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

Chapter 1
She was tall, leggy, blond, with cornflower-blue eyes. The dress, if it was a dress, was rose-colored and
silky. It clung to her body the way it was supposed to, hiding what decency demanded, but leaving very
little to the imagination. Long pale legs were stuffed into pink spike heels, no hose. She stalked across the
carpet, and every man in the room watched her. And she knew it.
She threw back her head and laughed, but no sound came out. Her face brightened, her lips moved,
eyes sparkled, but in absolute silence, like someone had turned the sound off. She leaned one hip against
Harold Gaynor, one hand on his shoulder. He encircled her waist, and the movement raised the already
short dress another inch.
Could she sit down in the dress without flashing the room? Naw.
"This is Cicely," he said. She smiled brilliantly at Bert, that little soundless laugh making her eyes sparkle.
She looked at me and her eyes faltered, the smile slipped. For a second uncertainty filled her eyes.
Gaynor patted her hip. The smile flamed back into place. She nodded graciously to both of us.