by Raven Snow
The seaweed was on too tight for me to sit up, so I grabbed madly at the patches on my face, ripping one off. It stung like a slap to the face, and I gasped. The seaweed, when pulled, had taken a light layer of skin with it. I carefully pulled off a smaller piece, trying to ignore the burning that was taking over my body. I gasped again, the seaweed coming off like duct tape. I was fairly certain it wasn't supposed to do that.
Oh, joy.
In the end, it took half a dozen attendants working on me to get all the seaweed off. I probably ruined the other spa goers’ days, because my screaming was too loud to miss. It sounded like a torture chamber in there, and I certainly felt like I was in one.
The pain of peeling the seaweed off my face, combined with the burning, was nothing compared to the feeling of those strong ladies ripping off the bigger pieces from areas like my stomach. The bigger the piece of seaweed, the more skin peeled off, and the louder my screams.
About halfway through, Nancy came in, her mud mask only half on. Her jaw gaped when she saw me, but after a moment's hesitation, she came over and held my hand. It was strange—almost strange enough to distract me from the pain. I couldn't remember my own mother ever holding my hand.
The last scrap of seaweed was ripped from me about a half hour later, and I waddled over to the mirror. I took in my red skin with a nod, expecting it. What I hadn't been expecting was the hives that started popping up all over my body just as soon as I got a good look at myself. Nancy gasped, but I took it in stride, too numb to really feel anything at that point.
My numbness was shattered by Aunt Jean, when we met our group in the lounge. Her eyes got all big and wet, like she was about to cry.
"Oh, dear," she said to Nancy. "She looks a bit like a smallpox victim, doesn't she?"
A small giggle escaped through my mouth. And then another. And another. Before I knew it, I was huddled in the corner, laughing uncontrollably with tears running down my stinging face. Nancy was stroking my hair and talking in worried tones to Wyatt on the phone. She sent him a picture of me, and he was Johnny-on-the-spot just ten minutes later.
Impressive, considering the salon was at least a twenty-minute drive from our house.
Nancy drove the other women home while Wyatt situated me in the passenger seat, folding my clothes and putting them in the trunk. I only had a sheet on—courtesy of the salon—because everything felt like fire on my abused skin.
Once in the car, Wyatt opened his mouth to say something. Then, taking another good look at me, seemed to think better of it. I, on the other hand, had no such censorship.
"You're right," I said. "That was relaxing."
______
I told Wyatt I'd meet him and his brothers at a steakhouse just outside of town as soon as I woke up from my nap. He seemed to want to argue, but I knew he recognized the determined look on my face. There would be no reasoning with me. I was a cursed woman with hives on every inch of my body, and anybody who got in my way would be plowed down.
Liam, getting his first glance at me as I headed out the door, choked on a sip of coffee and spewed it all over his nice white shirt. I felt very little sympathy for him.
"Shi—" He caught himself before he swore in front of a lady. Southern men. I'll never understand.
"You look lovely," he said, his eyes wide as he took in every inch of my skin.
My response was to slam the door.
Oliver Belafonte, my best guy friend, pulled up to the curb just as I was approaching it. He took one look at me and started laughing, his dark skin perfect in the fading sunlight. I hated him for it.
"That's why you couldn't drive yourself," he said, his New Orleans accent thick.
"Yes, yes, my hands are too blistered to hold onto the wheel." I cautiously put my butt down on the seat, the pressure going through the soft material of my dress and making me wince. "Just drive."
My grandmother lived in a plantation style house on the hill. She was an ancient witch who liked her privacy and liked to turn her neighbors into toads. It was just as well that when we arrived, there was no one home.
Oliver paused on the threshold, doubtful though we'd broken into a least a dozen houses together before. "Does Julia know we're here?"
I produced a key and opened the front door. "No. And I wouldn't mention it to her. She's touchy about visitors."
Shuddering, but following me anyway, Oliver shut the door behind us. He was probably safe, anyhow. For some reason, Gran liked Oliver. So much so that she had put the warlock in charge of running her magic shop. It meant Gran didn't have to venture out into town much. Come to think of it, it was strange she wasn't here.
"What are we looking for?" Oliver asked, avoiding touching anything by standing stock straight in the middle of the room.
"A cure for these—aha!" I lunged forward, grabbing an ancient book before it could slither further behind the coach. This text wasn't like most books in the way that it was practically alive. It served as a familiar for Gran, amplifying her power. Just like my fluffy, orange cat, Whale, did for me.
"Harper Beck," the book said, its tone judgmental as only a book can be. "You have landed yourself in trouble again."
I grinned at Oliver. "See? The book knows something's up. I told you I was cursed."
Oliver pursed his lips, and I figured he wasn't ready to admit defeat. Turning back to the book, I placed it on the coffee table, and said, "Tell me what I need to know."
Expecting it to turn to a skin regiment, I was disappointed when the book flipped open to a page about changelings. Oliver and I moved closer, bending over and looking at the pictures of ugly fairy-like things.
"What's a changeling?" I asked.
"Magical creature." Oliver tugged on the magenta cape he wore. "They take the form of people and cause a whole lot of trouble. It's supposed to be impossible to tell the changeling from the person they've become–looks, personality, it's all the same. I thought they were only in Europe."
There wasn't any more time for conjecture, though, because at that moment, the house started shaking. Curiously, nothing fell from shelves. In fact, nothing in the house was damaged but us.
Oliver and I were thrown around like a couple of rag dolls, bumping into things–hard and sharp things. My skin was screaming, and then, we were launched out the front door, flying across the lawn and landing hard in the ditch at the edge of the property.
When the air returned to my lungs, I said, "Huh. That must have been those security measures Gran's always talking about."
"You're a horrible individual."
Oliver, whose cape was ripped, dropped me off at the steakhouse and drove off in a huff. I wasn't too worried. I'd gotten us into way worse situations, and he always came crawling back. I'd have to bum a ride home off of Wyatt though.
The three Bennett men had already gotten a table, and they stood when I walked over, some of them a little reluctantly. Their suits were nicely pressed and didn't have any grass stains on them, which was more than I could say for my dress.
But Wyatt's gaze when he looked at me was warm and appreciating. If the gleam in his eye was any indication, he didn't care about the skin or the dress. Warmth spread through my insides, and I took a seat next to him.
I'd interrupted whatever they'd been talking about, and after a brief greeting, they got back to it. Brain a little scrambled–for multiple reasons–it took me a moment to catch on. The topic of discussion was Tom's recent trip to the UK for the Air Force.
The thought occurred to me that all three of my brother-in-laws had been to Europe in the last month. And, as far as I knew, they were the only guests at the wedding to have done so. My mind was whirling in uncomfortable circling, and I didn't like the conclusion I was reaching.
Gran's book had a bad attitude, to be sure, but it had never been wrong before. It was foolishly hopeful of me to think it would start now. That left the almost certainty that my wedding was not cursed.
It was hardly good news, though, because i
f my wedding wasn't cursed, it was infested by changelings.
Chewing my steak with ferocity, I watched each of my future brother-in-laws chat and eat.
Liam's purple hair shone brightly in the candlelight, and he smiled at me when he caught me staring. It was a friendly sort of smile. I so wished I could strike him off the list, but he'd been in Europe and in the garage right before I'd found the flowers dead.
Tom was also still on my list, though I didn't have any evidence against him except that his job took him overseas. It was hard to imagine him getting his head out of the clouds long enough to ruin my wedding, but if he was a changeling, he wasn't really Tom, was he?
Charles was the obvious favorite to be a changeling, I thought, as he shot me a suspicious glance when no one was watching. He was rude, didn't like me, and he was making me more stressed than most of the wedding planning put together. God, it'd be great if it was him. Maybe I'd be justified in killing the changeling in an interesting way.
Wyatt, trying to bring me into the conversation, mentioned something my grandmother had told him last week while he was mowing her law. It was quick, but I saw a flash in Tom’s eyes when my grandmother was mentioned. I couldn’t decipher it, but the expression had been intense.
Most people didn’t like Gran. Hell, half the time I didn’t like Gran. Tom had grown up in Waresville, so maybe he accidentally threw a baseball through Gran’s window. The resulting carnage could have caused that look.
I wouldn’t have pegged Tom for the hotheaded type or one to hold grudges, so the look was still confusing to me. I shrugged it off as one of the many things I didn’t understand about my new brother-in-laws. They were a mystery.
But one thing was for certain. One of them was a changeling out to ruin my wedding and drive me bonkers. And I was going to find out which one if it killed me. I took a sip from my wine glass, leveling each one of them with a foreboding stare.
It was on.
Chapter Four
Wyatt woke me up early to drag me to some kind of "rehearsal." There apparently hadn't been time for tea, so I wasn't fully awake and understanding as he drove us over to the church. It was the same church we'd almost died in a month or so ago, but try telling that to Nancy the Impaler.
"We're meeting with the priest to make sure we like his style," Wyatt told me as he helped me out of the car. My skin was still blood red and irritated, but at least it was no longer too painful to sit. Unfortunately, I still looked like something out of a cheap horror movie.
My disco shorts got a look of contempt from Nancy, but then she was reminded of my skin situation, and her gaze was kind again. She took my hand carefully and pulled me up to the front of the church, asking about which colors I thought would work best.
Wyatt pulled me away from her before I could do any real damage. For some reason, Nancy’s eyes got misty and she stepped back, leaving us alone. It was only then that I realized Wyatt and I were at the front of the church together, standing side by side.
If I’d been wearing a dress, we would’ve been picturesque. Wyatt was in a suit and stoically handsome—annoyingly so. The church was beautiful in that moment, tall ceilings looking graceful and otherworldly. The sun was shining in through the stained glass windows and colorful reflections danced along the floor, bouncing off our skin.
It was that moment that little girls dream about, standing up in front of your family and saying “I do” to the love of your life. I wasn’t even thinking about my blistered skin or the dark circles under my eyes.
But I was thinking about the eyes on me. The ones that were on me just then and the ones that would be on me on my wedding day. Wyatt’s whole family would be watching me. Me, Harper Beck, the woman with the green afro and the beaten up roller blades. I was destined to be the black, scruffy sheep in every family. And that sheep was going to have walk through a church filled with white while wearing her whole dirty history just beneath the skin.
It’d be impossible to hide anything in those moments.
My fiancé’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I ran.
To Wyatt’s credit, he didn’t run after me. No, he followed me with a calm, slow walk, ignoring the people that were staring. He caught up to me in a janitorial closet in the basement of the church behind a couple of industrial-sized barrels of cleaner.
Banging my head back against the wall, I looked away in shame as he slid down next to me. Now that my breathing and heart rate were returning to normal, the thoughts were returning to my head. I was such an idiot.
"Do you want to marry me?" he asked me quietly.
I could see a million ghosts in his eyes, over half of them from the damn war he survived. Despite how many times I told him I loved him, Wyatt still had a hard time believing I could. We were too different. To me, it was crazy that he would want to marry me, arrest record and all. I guess I was giving him a reason to doubt me right then.
"I'd marry you right now in this closet," I told him, honesty ringing like a bell through my words. "But out there…I don’t know. It’s just—there’s so much seating out there.”
When the words escaped my mouth, I winced. I wasn’t going to have to worry about walking down the aisle, because Wyatt was going to think I was a crazy person. It wasn’t the seating, but the people that would be in those pews. From Aunt Jean to Liam, everyone in Wyatt’s family was so pure and nice. I almost wished they’d treat me like crap. That would’ve been familiar territory, at least.
My fear of walking down the aisle shamed me, but being here with them only highlighted what I still felt in that dark little corner of my soul—I wasn't good enough. I'd never be good enough for Wyatt.
But since he hadn't caught on to that fact, I figured I'd snatch him up before he had the chance to reconsider.
Not missing a beat, Wyatt said, "Okay. Let's get married in this closet. I'm sure the priest could be persuaded." His smile was beautiful with a dash of humor. "It's a holy closet, after all."
I was shaking my head before he was even finished, though I wanted to agree with him for multiple reasons. It wasn't often Wyatt cracked a joke at the establishment's expense, and he should be rewarded for such.
"That's cheating," I said, gripping his hand in the darkness. "I need to stand up there in front of everyone and start our lives together. I want to."
"And here I thought we started them a year ago."
"You’re just in a funny kind of mood, aren't you?"
Rising to his feet, he pulled me up beside him. I felt right being there.
"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked. "I'm practice-marrying the woman of my dreams in a few moments."
We walked out to Nancy who was in tears, and I figured that was just my luck. A moment into her sobs, I realized she wasn't upset about me running off. It was a half hour past the time when we were supposed to start rehearsing the spiel, and the priest was nowhere to be found.
A traitorous giggle escaped my lips. The laugh broke the spell over Nancy. Looking up with fire in her eyes, she glared at me.
"I'm so glad you're amused, Harper. You know, some of us have been busting our butts to make this wedding happen and–"
"Mom." Wyatt shook his head, though it was too late. I already felt like a jerk.
Nancy was gone, off to look for the wayward priest, before I could apologize. Aunt Jean came over in her stead, blowing her nose into a damp hanky. I winced at the trumpet sound it made, backing away in case whatever feeling she had was catchy.
Wyatt, being the sucker that he was, tried to console her. "He'll turn up. And if not, I'm sure there's another priest in town that would do the job."
She sent an accusing glance my way. "Father Donovan was the only one who would go near this ceremony. Without him..." Bursting into a puddle of hysterics, she blew harder into the tissue.
I shuffled uneasily beside Wyatt, aware that Charles' and Tom's eyes were on me. Even in a town run by witches, the church wasn't fond of witchcraft and those who practi
ced it. Besides that, Gran was a famous burner of churches. I was surprised anyone had the balls to marry me.
Suddenly, I felt a little sick. If we had to postpone the wedding until we found the priest, what was I gonna do? I wasn't sure I could take much more of the stress–supernatural or otherwise.
"Easy," Wyatt said into my ear, placing a steadying arm around me. "It'll all work out. I promise."
______
Not keeping in line with his promise, Wyatt woke me up at the crack of dawn the next morning. I shoved him away from the bed, burrowing under the comforter until he pulled the covers away. Shrieking as the cold hit my bare body, I cursed him and the horse his ancestors rode in on. In response, he threw some clothes at me and told me he'd be in the kitchen if I wanted to make good on my idle threats.
Shoving myself into the clothes, I almost tripped over my skates in my haste to get down to my tea. I needed caffeine, and I needed it now. I ran smack dab into Cooper in the hallway, who stumbled back as I growled at him.
Unfortunately, Charles was right behind him.
Pulling Cooper away, he asked him, "Does she always talk to you like that?"
"Don't be silly," I said, cruising down the stairs. "Most of the time I just let my fists do the talking."
There was a certain freedom that came with not caring what people thought of you. I usually only achieved this freedom in the cranky moments between waking up and sipping the brew of the gods. It was a nice moment nonetheless.
A couple minutes after I finished my breakfast, Nancy pulled up, honking at me when I ran back inside to get my purse. When I returned, all the seats in the car were occupied. Wyatt grinned widely, patting his lap. I almost took him up on it, but one look at Charles made me think better of it. I'd had my tea, and I didn't want any trouble.
"Scram, kid," I told Cooper, pulling him out of his seat and plopping him down.
"What? I can't go anymore?" he asked, pouting.
My answering smile was brilliant. "Oh, you can go."
