Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (38 page)

She pursed her lips. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I wouldn’t do it for any amount of money.” She sniffed. “Ginger Lavelle insulted me personally and professionally. And she’s a giant pain in the ass. I don’t want to have anything to do with her. She deserves whatever she gets.” She settled her gaze on me, and in a voice that reverberated inside my skull, she said, “Now, go away.”

Fortunately, I was prepared for the psychic smacking, so while her efforts stung a little, they didn’t do a lot of damage. I shook my head. She seemed stunned by my lack of reaction. “That was rude. I came to you in good faith. And Mama Ginger isn’t suffering, her son is. Look, I know she’s a pain in the ass. It’s part of her charm. And if some insulted part of you feels the need to track her
down and hypnotize her into thinking she’s a chicken or a nudist or something, I will be more than willing to look the other way. Hell, I might pay you extra to do it. I’ll consider it a wedding present for a deeply hurt daughter-in-law.”

I backed her against the parlor wall and let my fangs fully extend. “I don’t want to hurt you. But for my friend, I will do anything it takes to get that keyword. You might reconsider—ow!”

She had reached into a side table and pulled out a silver cross large enough to make me break out in hives. “Silly little vampire, I’ve seen inside you. You don’t have the stomach for killing. You can’t even feed on humans without torturing yourself over it. You wouldn’t hurt a little old lady like me.”

Wheezing and scratching the blisters forming on my arms, I spat, “Look, lady, I’ve got twenty-four hours to dewhammy my best friend and get him to the altar. Otherwise, he may never leave his parents’ guest room again. I wouldn’t overestimate the depth of my kindness. And I brought something you didn’t count on.”

“What’s that?”

“Gloves.” I slipped the black Isotoners out of my pocket and slapped the cross out of her hands. “And my big mean sire. Gabriel!”

Gabriel swept into the room, followed by a slightly less sweepy Dick.

“What’s the plan?” Dick asked, rubbing his hands together and checking the room for valuables. “Carnage? Bedlam? Fisticuffs?”

Gabriel smiled solicitously and waved a hand toward Esther. Dick rolled his eyes. “Dang it.”

“What?” I asked as Dick sidled up to the trembling old woman.

Gabriel snickered as he looked over the fading blisters on my arms. “Haven’t you ever wondered about the nature of Dick’s vampiric gift?”

“I figured it was dodging collection agents or slipping out of handcuffs.”

Gabriel grinned as Dick soothingly stroked a resistant Esther’s papery hands and led her to a sofa. He fetched a glass of water and cooed over her as she recovered from the “shock” of having three strange vampires in her home. “Dick can reach the heart of any woman. Through a combination of pheromones, subliminal persuasion, and old-fashioned charm, he can get anything he wants from them—money, favors, certain keywords that will help unlock your best friend’s brain …”

“His special vampire power
is
flirty manipulation? Wait, he’s not doing that to Andrea, is he? Because that’s … icky.”

“No, he rarely uses it. He hates lowering himself to it, really. So, his doing this shows you how much he likes Zeb. Using his gift doesn’t seem sporting to him. And if anything, Dick adores the chase.”

“I don’t know if I can watch this,” I said, shaking my head in disgust as Dick clasped Esther’s hands against his manly chest. She was already making cow eyes at him. “Keep Dick away from my grandma.”

“Now, Esther—I can call you, Esther, can’t I?” Dick chuckled, giving her a saucy, intimate grin. “It seems like such a shame for you to go by any name but that of one of the most famous queens in history.”

As Esther giggled coquettishly, I felt a little ill. “This is not right.”

“But extremely effective,” Gabriel conceded. “And you don’t have the guilt of assaulting a senior citizen hanging over your conscience.”

Dick stroked Esther’s hands as he pleaded his case, his flashing green eyes drawing her closer across the love seat. “Esther, honey, I don’t blame you for being mad at that awful Ginger Lavelle. She’s a horrible woman, and I personally can’t stand the sight of her, but her son is such a nice boy. He doesn’t deserve this kind of hurt. Now, you’ve got a good heart, Esther. Anyone can see that. You don’t want to break up true love, do you? Why don’t you go ahead and give me the keywords?”

“I just said the exact same thing,” I complained. “That’s never going to—oh, come on.” Gabriel smirked as Esther whispered the words “like peas and carrots” into Dick’s ear.

I snorted. “What is your obsession with peas?”

She ignored me as Dick kissed both her palms and her cheeks.

“We’re square, right?” I asked the nonresponsive geriatric psychic. “You’re not going to come back in a year and use some secret word to make him divorce Jolene and join the Krishnas or something. Hello?”

“Aw, Esther wouldn’t do that, now, would you?” Dick cooed.

“Dick, eventually, your thrall will wear out,” I reminded him quietly.

“I looked over her brain. There are no other words. Esther doesn’t much like to put in extra work, do you, sweetheart?” Dick kissed the top of her scarved head.

“No.” Esther giggled. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Jane. Will I see you again, Dick?”

“Maybe you will, maybe not.” Dick smirked.

“Oh, please come by,” she wheedled. “Come back and see me.”

Dick merely grinned and ushered us out the door.

“Well, I learned more about you, which is always disturbing.” I wrapped a purely platonic arm around him. “You are a very bad man, and I hope you’re always on my side.”

Zeb was not the depressive type, so it was disconcerting to see him in full Howard Hughes mode, ensconced in his mother’s guest room, also known as her Precious Moments display area. The walls were lined with shelves where carefully arranged figurines stayed perfectly preserved in their plastic viewing boxes. As far as the eye could see, there were towheaded, large-pupiled children forever frozen while cavorting in adorable pastel rain slickers. Huddled under a pink chenille comforter, Zeb stared blankly at the wall.

“I don’t like this place,” Dick whispered after Floyd had let us into the house and flopped back into his easy
chair without comment. Mama Ginger had taken to her bed. “It’s like all the little eyes follow you around the room. This is a bad place.”

“Well, it wasn’t upsetting before, but it is now.” Gabriel grimaced as he recoiled from the plush Precious Moments angel that recited the Lord’s Prayer when squeezed.

“Zeb,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Zeb, we’re here.”

“Who’s going to do the honors?” Dick asked. “I think unscrambling the groom’s brain is a man-of-honor duty.”

“But I think I should do it,” Gabriel insisted. “I have the most experience sifting through human brains.”

“It sounds gross when you say it like that,” I told him. “And none of us is going to do this. I made a call on the way over.”

We heard Floyd open the front door and grunt. Jolene stepped through the bedroom door. Ignoring the sinister surroundings, her eyes welled up at the sight of her stone-silent fiancé. She curled up against his back and stroked his shoulders, nuzzling the curve of his neck with her nose. “Zeb, honey, it’s me.”

Zeb’s arms trembled, but his gaze stayed fixed on the wall.

“Our friends told me what happened, that what you did wasn’t your fault. I love you, Zeb. And I forgive you. And I want you to snap out of it so we can have our wedding. We’re like peas and carrots, Zeb. We’re different, but we belong together. Did you hear me? Like peas and carrots.”

Like a fairy-tale prince released from a spell, Zeb gingerly flexed his fingers and closed them around Jolene’s hand. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Gabriel’s arm slipped around me as the pair of them sat up in bed and threw their arms around each other.

“Jolene, I’m sorry,” Zeb said, his lips trembling. “It was horrible. I felt like a puppet. My lips were moving, but someone else was talking and I couldn’t stop those things from coming out of my mouth. I didn’t mean any of it. And afterward, I just didn’t want to live without you—”

“Shhh.” She chuckled, kissing his neck. “You can spend the rest of our lives making it up to me. Starting with brushing your teeth.”

“Your family,” he groaned. “They’re going to kill me this time, aren’t they?”

Jolene shook her head. “Mama and Daddy calmed them down for the most part. Vance still wants to kick your ass, but I don’t think that will ever change. They are, however, pretty ticked off at your mama, so she should probably expect a cold shoulder tomorrow night at the reception.”

“You still want to marry me?”

“I’d marry you right now in this bed surrounded by these creepy little dolls, if you asked me to,” she said.

“Please don’t ask her to,” Dick begged. “I’d like to get out of here.”

Zeb smiled up at us as Jolene cuddled his neck. “Thanks, guys.”

I grinned. “What are the man of honor and the best maid for?”

Mama Ginger appeared in the doorway, her eyes puffy and red. Tired, timid, and contrite, she was wearing her old blue housecoat, a bundle of wet Kleenex pouched in the pocket.

Jolene got to her feet and crossed to her with deliberate steps. “It’s goin’ to take a long, long … really long time for me to totally forgive you for this. We’re not goin’ to have the kind of relationship the two of us would have wanted. You’ll have to earn your way into being welcome at our house. But I love your son, and I’m goin’ to spend the rest of my life trying to make him happy. If that means the two of us being civil to each other, that’s what we’re goin’ to do. Got it?”

Mama Ginger nodded meekly and stepped out of Jolene’s way.

Jolene blew Zeb a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, honey. I’ll be the one up front wearin’ the white dress.”

“Can I still come to the wedding?” Mama Ginger asked in a sad, humble little voice.

Zeb stood and, for the first time in his life, talked sternly to his mother. “You can come, Mama, but you’re going to be nice. You’re going to be sweet as pie to Jolene and her family.”

“But Zeb—”

“Sweet as pie,” Zeb repeated.

“But I—”

“Ginger, just shut up!” Beer in hand, Floyd stomped into the room and wagged his finger in Mama Ginger’s
face. “You’ve talked enough for the both of us over the years. And I’m going to be speaking up a little more often. You’re going to be on your best behavior tomorrow. You’ll tell that girl how nice her dress looks. You’ll say nice things about the food, the decorations, and anything else that catches your eye. You will offer to help in any way you can, even if it means sweeping out the chicken coop. You will apologize to Jolene’s family for how you’ve acted so far, and you will do your damnedest to make up for it over the next couple of years.”

Zeb and I gaped at his father in shock. It was the most words either of us had heard him string together since he dropped a carburetor on his foot in 1989.

“Floyd Lavelle, you’ve never spoken to me like this in your whole life.” Mama Ginger sniffled, her lip trembling. Apparently, her guilt only went so deep.

“Then it’s time that I started,” Floyd said. He strode out of the room after slapping Mama Ginger on the butt. “Now, everybody keep quiet. I’m trying to watch the damn game!”

Zeb grinned. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m getting married tomorrow!”

“I don’t know how to take all this,” Mama Ginger said, wringing a Kleenex around her fingers.

“Well, I would plan on swallowing a big slice of humble pie, Mama Ginger.” I patted her arm and led Dick and Gabriel out of the room. “Maybe two.”

A traditional werewolf wedding reception does not include a receiving line. They are unnecessary as 90 percent of the guest list consists of the happy couple’s immediate family members
.

—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

It was a traditional Southern wedding.

The bride was beautiful, of course. The ceremony was held outdoors under the full moon. The spring air was warm and soft. The bridesmaids were dressed like those crocheted dolls people use to disguise toilet-paper rolls.

Jolene had chosen “Nearer My God to Thee” as the processional, because she’d read that was what the band on the
Titanic
played. As I led the charge of like-dressed puffballs, I took time to look for familiar faces in the crowd.

Mama Ginger was up front, wearing a completely appropriate and demure cornflower-blue mother-of-the-groom’s dress. Her slightly deflated appearance had far more to do with the fact that she’d spent most of the day tying tiny bows around the chocolate anchor favors than
any lack of enthusiasm on her part. After a severe dressing down from the alpha couple, most of Jolene’s family were equally meek and made a grand effort to pull together and create Jolene’s dream wedding. By the time the vampire wedding-party members arrived early that evening, the air had a certain “Let’s put on a show!” quality to it. Jolene’s female cousins were using their werewolf agility to hang twinkle lights and hurricane lamps from precarious branches. The uncles cleared the riot debris and set up the altar. Uncle Luke, who was quite repentant, spent the afternoon attaching an outboard motor to the mysterious Styrofoam iceberg. And of course, the aunts did what they did best: cooked a feast. There was a huge spread occupying three full-length picnic tables with every kind of roast animal you could imagine, plus casseroles, grits, and congealed salads.