My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding (27 page)

Oh, sure, it was legal to be a vampire now that the synthetic blood marketed by the Japanese had proven to satisfy the nutritional needs of the undead. But there was more to surviving as a vamp than slugging down TrueBlood or Red Stuff in allnight bars that catered strictly to vamps, like this one. There were pockets of humans who snatched vamps off the streets and drained their blood to sell on the black market.

There were other cults who simply wanted vamps dead because they'd decided vamps were evil bloodsucking fiends.

You had to learn discretion.

Besides various fringe groups of humans, you had to add to the list of vampire haters the Werewolves, whose ongoing feud with the undead occasionally flared into outandout war. Thinking of Weres brought Dahlia back to the subject at hand, her friend Taffy's wedding.

"Taffy and I nested together for a decade in Mexico," Dahlia said. "We were quite close. We went through the War of 1812 together; nothing cements a relationship like going through a war. And we've nested together at Cedric's for the past, oh, twenty years?"

"Where could Taffy have met such a creature?" Glenda asked, fingering the long, long string of pearls that dangled to her waist. Her eyes glinted with relish.

This was as much fun as discussing a previously unencountered sexual perversion.

Dahlia beckoned to the bartender. "Taffy was always . . . adventurous. She lived with a regular human for ten years, once."

Glenda looked pleasurably horrified. "Do you think she'll wear white?" Glenda asked. "And our bridesmaid dresses... I bet we'll have pink ruffles."

"Why would it be pink ruffles?" Dahlia's mouth was suddenly pressed in a grim line. Dahlia took her clothes very, very, seriously.

"You know what they say about bridesmaid dresses!" Glenda laughed out loud.

"I do not," said Dahlia, her voice cold enough to goose an icicle. "I was turned before there was such a thing as a designated attendant for the bride."

"Oh, my goodness!" The younger vampire was shocked. And then delighted at the prospect of introducing her superior friend to the certainty of an unpleasant ordeal. "Then let's go find a church and watch a wedding. Well, maybe not a church," she added nervously. Glenda had been a Christian in life, and churches made her mighty twitchy. "Maybe we'll check out a country club, or find a garden wedding."

Glenda actually had a sensible idea, Dahlia decided. It would help to know the worst. And though all the bridesmaids were due at a party in honor of the happy couple, if she and Glenda hurried, they wouldn't be late.

"The big mansions on the lakeside," she suggested. "It's a June weekend. Isn't that a prime time for weddings in America?" Dahlia had a vague recollection of seeing bridal magazines on the shelves at newspaper kiosks when she'd been buying her monthly copy of
Fang.

"That's a keen idea. Let's go!" Glenda was eager. The worst enemy of a vampire was ennui. Any new diversion was worth its weight in gold.

Since they were both gifted with flight (not all vampires possessed this skill), the two were able to reach the most imposing mansions in the city quickly. Glenda and Dahlia hovered over them to detect an outside celebration that might prove to be a wedding. At the VanTreeve place, they struck nuptial pay dirt. Tiffany VanTreeve was marrying Brendan Blaine Buffington that very night. The two vamps landed unobtrusively behind a tent set up on the grounds.

Dahlia eyed the scene critically, taking mental notes. The vampire sheriff of her area in the city of Rhodes, Cedric Deeming, was worried about giving a proper wedding in such a hurry. Though lazy and lax in many respects, Cedric was a stickler for protocol. He'd urged all the vampires who nested with him to bring home details of modern wedding proceedings.

Dahlia obediently began making mental notes. Close to the house, there were two long tables loaded with food and a huge cake, though the food was discreetly covered with drapes for the moment. There was a cage full of doves, with an attendant in coveralls. Perhaps these were intended for a ritual sacrifice? There were two phalanxes of white chairs on the lawn, arranged facing a large white dais adorned with banks of pink flowers. A long red carpet ran between the two sections of chairs, right up the steps of the dais, where a minister in a sober black robe stood waiting.

Note to self: Find some kind of priest.
Wasn't Harry Oakheart some kind of Druid?

Maybe he knew a ceremony.

A string quartet was playing Handel.
(Note to self: Find musicians)
Not only were all the seats full, but there was a standing crowd at the back.

"What a swell spread," Glenda whispered, eyeing the buffet tables. "I guess the wolves'l1 need food. Looks like we're expected to feed them. The sheriff won't like that. You know what a tightwad he is. At least Cedric won't have to provide food for half the guests." She winked at Dahlia, as if it were very funny that vampires didn't eat food. "And we'll need liquor for the Weres, and we'll need a big stock of blood. Maybe we could nip off the guests?"

Dahlia looked daggers at Glenda. "Don't even say it as a joke," she told the younger vampire. "You know what'll happen if we even suggest that to a breather.

Follow the rules. Only from a willing adult!"

"Spoilsport," Glenda muttered.

"Cedric has already hired a caterer, a man who says he can do the whole thing, flowers and all. Cedric is so cheap, he took the lowest bid. No sitdown dinner, just. . . finger food." Even Dahlia could not suppress her smile at the term, and Glenda laughed out loud. A few of the guests turned to see who was so being so boisterous, and Dahlia slammed Glenda in the ribs with a sharp elbow. Everyone else present was being properly solemn. "But we have to do it properly," Dahlia said, in a whisper inaudible to the humans around her. "We can't be found wanting.

It would shame Taffy, and the nest."

Glenda gave it as her opinion that the Weres should be grateful they were even being allowed in Cedric's mansion. "I'm surprised Cedric will acknowledge the wedding," she said.

The music gave a final flourish, and the guests rustled expectantly.

The two vampires watched the ceremony unfold: Glenda with a sentimental tear or two (tinged red) and Dahlia with fascinated horror. The groom, looking as though he'd been hit over the head with something large, took his place in front of the minister and stared down the strip of red carpet rolling between the two fields of white chairs. His groomsmen lined up on his side of the dais. At a signal that was invisible to Dahlia, who was stretching up on her tiptoes to see, the traditional music began.

"Here's the most interesting part," Glenda whispered.

One by one, the bridesmaids emerged from the white tent. Some were tall and some were small; some were buxom and some were slim as reeds. But the seven girls were all united in costume. Dahlia, the most elegant and particular of women, closed her eyes in appalled horror.

All the bridesmaids were wearing matching floorlength lime green silk sheaths.

If you could strip the dress down to its basic essentials, it wouldn't be too bad,
Dahlia thought. But the dresses were accessorized with lace gloves and tiny veiled hats pinned to each lacquered head. Worst of all, there was a gigantic bow perched atop each girlish butt. The waggle of each passing lime green rear end made Dahlia feel like weeping, too, along with some of the female gueststhough Dahlia assumed they were crying for a different reason.

Glenda gave an audible snigger, and Dahlia despaired of ever teaching the girl manners. Dahlia herself was maintaining an appropriately pleasant wedding guest face despite the dreadful possibility that she'd have to wear such a monstrous ensemble. Though the prospect was a blow, Dahlia conscientiously remained to note the entire procedure. She was disappointed when the doves were simply re

leased into the sky at the climax of the ceremony.

Long after Glenda had lost interest, Dahlia traced all the events of the wedding back to their human director, who was hovering at the rear of the gathering.

Though the poor wedding planner was quite busy, Dahlia was ruthless (in a charming way) in getting the answers to several astute questions. She garnered information that made her feel that (if it had been beating at all) her heart would now burst.

"The groomsmenthose men up there on the husband's side they'll be from among the groom's friends," Dahlia said, her hand gripping Glenda's shoulder.

"Well, sure, Dally," Glenda said. "Really, you! Didn't you know that?"

Dahlia shook her raven head back and forth. "Werewolves," she moaned.

"They'll all be Werewolves."

"Ewww," said Glenda. "We'll have to let one
touch
us, Dally. Did you see that each bridesmaid took the arm of a groomsman on their way out of the . . . the . . .

designated wedding area?"

And for the first time in her long, long life, Dahlia LynleyChivers said,

"Ewww."

To cover her shame, she added quickly, "If you call me Dally again, I'll tear your throat out."

When Dahlia said something like that, it was smart to assume she meant it.

Glenda said, "Well, I'm sure not going to any stupid Were party with you
now."

Dahlia had to back down, something she was unused to doing. "Glenda," she said stiffly, "neither Cassie nor Fortunata will go, and I was relying on you. It's your duty as a bridesmaid to attend this party. Taffy said so."

"If you think we'll be greeted with open arms by a bunch of stupid Weres, you can think again, Miss Perfect. Open
jaws
is what they'll have." Glenda disappeared behind the tent to conceal her liftoff, and Dahlia watched her companion disappear.

No doubt, Glenda would describe the bridesmaid dresses to any vamp who would listen.

With her little jaw set grimly, Dahlia LynleyChivers made her way to a part of Rhodes she seldom visited. This time, she took a cab. Humans became very upset when they saw her fly, and she was determined to do her best by her friend Taffy.

Taffy had been born Taphronia, daughter of Leonidas, centuries ago. She'd been calling herself Taffy for the past forty years. Taffy and her fiance, Don Swiftfoot (of course that was his pack namehis human name was Don Swinton), were celebrating their forthcoming nuptials at a bar in the Werewolf part of town. The whole wedding party would be there; at least, the whole wedding party was supposed to be there. Since the other bridesmaids had dropped the baton, Dahlia feared she'd be the only vampire in attendance. She had a wide range of curses at her disposal since she'd lived so long, and she voiced a few of them on the drive through the city. Luckily, the cabdriver spoke none of the languages she used.

Dahlia got out of the cab a block away from the bar. This area of Rhodes was a bit rundown, a bit seedy. The sidewalks were crowded, even this late at night, with barhopping humans, who didn't realize they were just on the safe side of the moon cycle. Of course, no one who lived in Rhodes realized they were partying in an area that had a high concentration of Werewolves. Humans didn't know about Werewolves yet. The twonatured had to retain their human faces on their nights out.

The bar, called Moonshine, was practically buzzing with energy and magic. Any humans who wandered in uninvited developed severe headaches, and went home early, as a rule. Moonshine was closed three nights out of the month.

Dahlia made sure her cocktail dress was smooth over her hips. Since she was representing her nest, she put on a little lipstick and brushed her rippling hair before she entered the bar. It was marked by a blinking neon sign formed in a white circlerepresenting the moon, if you had a lot of imagination.

"Tacky," Dahlia muttered. She read the notice taped to the door:
Closed tonight
for private party.
Because she was a little anxious about entering a Werewolfinfested bar, she stood a little straighter on her spike heelswhich brought her height all the way up to five foot oneheld her head proudly, tucked her tiny flat purse under her bare arm, and marched inside, her haughtiest expression fixed on her heartshaped face.

A chorus of socalled wolf whistles met her entrance. Of course, in their wolf forms, these guys couldn't whistle for diddlysquat; but they managed just fine in their human guise. Dahlia pretended to be deaf as she scanned the tiny bar for Taffy.

Really, you can't expect any better,
she told herself. After all, true Weres were generally guys and gals with a keen interest in motorcycles and monster trucks. All the Weres in this bar were pure Weres, with two fullblooded parents. (Even Taffy wouldn't expose her friends to mongrels.)

Dahlia couldn't spy Taffy among the people, mostly male, crowding the bar, so she began to make her way to the only doorway not marked:
Restroom.

A very tall and very athletically built male stepped in front of her. "Sorry, lady, this bar is closed tonight for a private party."

"Yes, I read the sign on the door."

"Then you're pretty slow taking a hint."

Dahlia looked up (and up) at the bright blue eyes in the broad face. This Were had thick, curling brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he was cleanshaven.

He was wearing goldrimmed glasses, a bit to her surprise, and a tight Tshirt and jeans . . . the jeans, now that she came to take a look, were pretty damn tight, too.

And boots. He had on big boots.

Dahlia shook herself (mentally, of course). The rude jerk was waiting for her reply. "I am here seeking my friend Taffy," she said coldly, meeting his eyes squarely.

They stood stockstill for a long minute.

"A
vamp,"
he said, loathing replacing the admiration in his voice. "Damn, I knew we shoulda put some new lightbulbs in this place. Then I woulda noticed how pale you are. What do you want with Taff? You gonna try to talk her out of marrying Don, too?"

If it was possible to get any stiffer, Dahlia did. "I am going to . . . actually, what I want with Taffy is none of your business, Were. I require an audience with her."

Dahlia was so rattled by the Were's anger that she became colder and stiffer and caught herself reverting to former speech patterns.