“She’s my best friend.”
“After what she—”
“Please, Abby?” She pouts, staring pitifully up at me. I already wasn’t going to say no, but I sure as hell can’t now.
With a heavy sigh and a shrug, I nod. “Okay. Fine. She can stay in the wedding, and no one eats her. So long as she keeps it a secret.”
“She’ll do that.”
I hear Sandra gulp. I turn to her and act as if we weren’t discussing murdering her. “Hi, Sandra.” Kidnap any girls lately?
Another gulp and a nervous chuckle. She hesitantly approaches me, taking a half step back before closing the last couple feet. “Hi, Abby. The killing me thing was a joke, right? Please say it was a joke.”
“Of course.” I offer a smile that I’m certain shows off my fangs.
She looks relieved. And scared. “Well, if you’re done with that, we still need to figure out dresses for you two. We already have ours paid for.”
I stare at Liz, looking her up and down. “You’re going to wear a dress? I haven’t seen you in one in ages. I can’t picture it.”
“Well, you’ll get to see it soon enough.” She tugs on my skirt, slipping closer. I still feel so weird wearing one. I wasn’t exactly femme to start with, but she makes me feel pretty in them. “I can’t wait to see you in yours.”
Well, I guess that’s settled. I have to get a wedding dress. I hadn’t even thought about it. “So we’re actually having a big ceremony?”
Her eyes widen. “We don’t have to. I’m fine with the four of us. I just thought it’d be nice. Shit, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m just making all of the decisions for us and jumping into things and making assumptions without bothering to check with you. We’re getting married. I thought I was better now.”
“Do you want a big wedding?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Sandra wants a big wedding.” She drags Sandra in front of her.
“Liz, I’m serious.”
“I want to marry you. If there are a billion people there, that’s fine, and it’s also fine if there’s no one there. What do you want? I’ve made too many decisions without you. You decide.”
I look around, taking in the space. I picture us in front of a crowd of everyone we know, pledging our love to each other. “I would sort of like to be able to invite everyone from my group. I mean, they’re practically family.”
“Well, I don’t want to invite my family, but I’m happy to join yours. So you want people here, then?”
I sigh, hunching my shoulders and in general failing to be any smaller than a giant monster can be. “I think so. It doesn’t need to be huge or anything, maybe twenty people.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“You’re going to say, ‘because you’ll be there,’ aren’t you?”
She blushes. “Of course not. That would be corny.”
“You’d never be corny.” I kiss her cheek. “So, Sandra, and now that I think about it, Ashley, I assume you have a billion dress ideas already? Ashley, don’t lie. I’ve seen your bookmarks.”
We spend a few hours fixing up the chapel and going over wedding ideas. Ashley and Sandra seem set on a particular flower while Liz and I both want a different kind. For some reason, this is a standstill. You’d think our wishes would win out, but they’re so much more passionate about it. It’s flowers. It is literally the least important detail except for the streamers. They also argue about the streamers. Liz drags me aside while they’re bickering, pulling me into a kiss before whispering, “Should we just let them plan it?”
“Is that an option?”
She blows out a breath. “Maybe, but they also might make everything super tacky, over the top, and straight out of a romcom.”
“There are good romcoms.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. So, we’ll let them plan it, then.”
I seriously consider the idea. “It’s our wedding.”
“Do they know that?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Then let’s go remind them.”
We let them keep the streamers but insist on our flowers, and we go back to planning. We have time, but this will take a lot of work if we’re really going as all-out as we seem to be. I was always rather focused on who I was marrying, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that wanted something like this. At the time I was fantasizing about it, I probably wanted the monsters too. Little kid me will be sad that Dracula isn’t coming.
The planning takes so long that Sandra has to call in sick for work. I’ll admit, that does give me a certain satisfaction, though not as much as if she’d gone to work. I’ve still got a bit of a grudge.
There’s plenty more to be done, but we manage to make a good dent, and the venue is looking much more presentable. We have time.
Our wedding is going to be perfect.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth
“You still haven’t seen her dress, right?” Sandra asks, attempting to do something—God knows what—with my hair in my makeshift dressing room that was once a beauty salon. “You are going to love it. Just try not to rip it off her in the middle of the church, okay? That’s kind of frowned upon. Unless that’s normal for fiends. Do fiends have big orgies at their weddings? I guess if I’m not allowed to tell Peter anyway, then he won’t know if I have a little fun.”
“What happened to you thinking being with a fiend is weird?” I ask, gritting my teeth as she tugs at my hair. It’s too short for this. There is nothing fancy she can do. What is she trying?
“I didn’t know how sexy some of them were. Just because you went for the terrifying monster type—”
“I don’t care that it’s in half an hour, I will still uninvite your ass.”
“I’m just saying, that preacher is pretty good-looking. You know if he swings my way?” Her reflection grins. It had taken her so long to clean that mirror enough that we could see anything in it.
“He swings every way, to my knowledge, but he’s celibate.”
“He’s Catholic?”
I shrug, blowing out a puff of air. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” I mean, I’ve heard him mention things he’s done with a few popes. That has to make him at least an honorary Catholic. Though a few of the stories may have canceled it out.
“Damn. He’s really cute. What a waste.”
“I think Peter would disagree.”
She yanks on some hair wrapped around her brush far harder than she has any need to. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
What she’d said earlier finally hits me. “Wait. You saw Abby in her dress. Does she look amazing? Oh, I can’t wait to see it. I mean, I know she can wear anything, and I’d still think that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, but just the thought of her dressed up all fancy, in my arms as we dance, kissing me after we say our vows. Holy shit, Sandra. I think I might be gay.”
The brushing stops as she erupts into laughter and takes a good long while to collect herself. “I did not see that coming.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I hope it doesn’t make things weird between us.”
“I think I’ll live. As long as you don’t try anything in the next”—she checks her phone—“twenty-eight minutes before you’re a married woman.”
“I think I can keep my hands to myself.”
“Good. And yes, I saw her dress. Ashley needed my help with something. Now there’s a credit to her species. I didn’t know they came as sweet and genuine as her.” Of course they like each other. It’s like looking in a mirror. “I mean, I’m not into fiends or women, but even I felt something seeing her in that dress.”
“Ashley or Abby?”
She blushes. Both? Sputtering, she replies, “I already said I’m not into fiends, but I meant Abby. That dress really suits her. I wish you could’ve seen the old her in it.”
“I don’t need the old her. I love this her just fine. I’m still sad about all
the time we lost, but she’s not a different person no matter how different she may look. She’s the same woman I’ve always loved. And you already said you were into fiends, like, not even two minutes ago.”
Grumbling, she returns her focus to my hair. “Well, I’m not into girl fiends.”
“Aww, but it’d be cute. You and Ashley could straight at each other. That’s how it works, right? When two straight girls develop a crush on each other? I mean, it’s totally natural.”
I see her rolling her eyes in the mirror. “She and I both have boyfriends, and if I was ever going to experiment, it sure as hell wouldn’t be with her.”
“Speciesist.”
Another eye roll. “So if you don’t still wish she was the old her, why do you keep buying her things the color of her old eyes?”
I attempt to face her to chew her out, but my hair stays where it is and yanks me back into place. “Because I know she still wishes it. I suggested that she paint our pictures as we both are now, but she wasn’t willing, the same way she hates having a mirror.”
“I can hardly blame her. I sure wouldn’t.”
“I love how she looks. She’s perfect. Until she can see the same, I thought it’d be nice for her to have a reminder of who she was. I know sometimes she’s scared that she’s just a monster, fiend…” I am not having Sandra be the one to correct me. “That she just has the memories of the girl whose body it was, and she’s only possessing it. Sometimes, I think she’s scared that even that’s not true, and that this is all she’s ever been. I hear how much she frets in her dreams, how she shakes. I know they’re not all hunting dreams. I won’t let her forget that she’s still a person.”
“Is she, though?”
I glare at her reflection, not wanting a repeat of last time. “Of course she is.”
“A person who never ages, is unkillable, looks like a giant zombie, and has a constant craving for human flesh?”
“Yes.” She turns away from the mirror, letting go of my hair. “She is. Should I be looking for a new maid of honor last minute? If you still can’t support us, I don’t want you here.”
She turns back, her eyes wide. Even in the reflection, I can make out tears. “No, Liz. I’m sorry. I’m still having some trouble getting used to the whole thing. All I’ve ever wanted for you two was, well, this.” She gestures at my dress, the chapel next door, and all around. “I want your happily ever after. You both deserve it.”
“Then why do you keep doing this?”
She sighs, squeezing a few strands of my hair. “It’s scary. I don’t know how you take it. I lived my whole life knowing full well that all of this was make-believe, and now my best friend is marrying a wendigo. Even if that wendigo is the love of her life, for a normal person, it’s a pretty terrifying prospect. Every movie I’ve ever seen has taught me that the monster trying to take away the girl has to be stopped, not that they need help picking out a wedding dress. Which I did, and it turned out perfect. I’m managing. I’m sorry. And before you say it, I know it’s fiend. I messed up.”
I allow a faint smile. She is learning. “Do you promise you haven’t reported this place or our wedding to some Men in Black sort of agency that’s going to break in and hunt everyone down?” I don’t think it’s realistic, but she’s been a bit of a bigot, and I’m still having a lot of trouble shaking the fear. Though no one here will tell me if such an organization exists. It would be really nice to know.
“Are there really men in black?”
I shrug. “No one will tell me.”
“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t know how to contact them.”
“And wouldn’t do it?” I gesture for her to keep going.
“And I would never do anything that could ruin my only chance at being maid of honor. Come on. I would at least wait.”
She has a point. “All right. Fine. I believe you. Just don’t do it in the future, either.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay. Back to torturing me, then.”
She tugs at my hair, attempting to wrangle it. “Why do you do this to your hair?”
“What?”
“I don’t understand how it can be both this short and knotted, but you don’t even condition it. What do you expect me to do with this?” Her hands jab at my lifeless hair, emphasizing the fruitlessness of her endeavors.
“I didn’t ask you to do anything. This was all your idea.”
“Well, still. Look at what you’ve done to your poor hair, girl. Do you know how much work it takes for me to get this? Weaves aren’t cheap or easy, and your hair was naturally perfect, but you had to chop it all off and destroy it with shitty hair dye.”
I shrug. “I don’t worry that much about it. That’s why I keep it short in the first place.”
With a dramatic sigh, she grabs some hair spray and a comb. “Well, then, I’m at least going to style it.”
“You are not making me look like a frat boy.”
“But it’s your wedding day. I have to do something with it.”
“You have hair. Do something with your own hair. I’ve humored you for long enough.”
Her reflection glares at me. “You are impossible.”
“I don’t want to look like a douche at my own wedding. I also don’t want to be late.”
“You have plenty of time.” She checks her phone again. “You have twenty-three minutes, and you’re already dressed. I wanted to make you look extra pretty.”
“If I agree to let you do my makeup, will you give it a rest?”
She pauses, staring at the mirror, then with another dramatic sigh, she sets the tools down and grabs a small bag from her purse. “Fine. I am going to make you look beautiful whether you like it or not.”
“As long as Abby likes it, I’m fine.” She spins me around, pinching my chin between her thumb and forefinger as she examines my face. My new nocturnal schedule has left me a good bit paler than I used to be, so I don’t have anything we could use. I’m doubting any of her makeup will match me, but whatever. It’s a special day; she can have her fun. I’ll have my own fun tonight. “Will you get it over with?”
“Don’t rush an artist.” She hisses, a fleck of spit hitting my cheek. “I will accept nothing less than perfection on this day. I am so glad I found a good match for your skin tone.” So she actually bought some. Why am I surprised?
“Well, ‘this day’ starts in twenty minutes, and I’ve seen you take over an hour to do your makeup. I still don’t understand how that’s remotely possible. Will you please just make a decision and get to work? I don’t have the patience for this.”
“Fine.” She draws a few tools from the bag and begins her arduous process. I sit still, cooperate, and do my absolute best to tolerate her.
Okay. Maybe it was worth it. My reflection looks like a whole new woman. Gone are the bags and flaws. I’d expected that—even I can manage that—but I have a new shine, almost as if I’ve been brought back to life. I’m not sure Abby will be able to wait until the end to kiss me. I wouldn’t mind messing up the service for that. I am already tempted to pull her into my arms the second we reach the altar.
* * *
It’s time. I take a deep breath, staring at my reflection. Wow, I am not used to seeing myself with makeup. I can barely believe that’s me. I give Sandra a tight hug. I don’t know why I’m scared. I guess since I’ve spent the last six years avoiding commitment, no matter how badly I want it now, there’s still a part of me that’s terrified.
I think of Abby, of her smile, the coolness of her touch, her soft fur, and her eyes that could almost burn a hole in me. I love her. I’m ready for this. There are just a lot of people here, and it’s such a big thing. Another breath, a gulp, and a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder from Sandra, and I find my feet moving almost on their own. Toward the chapel, toward Abby. I’m ready.
We agreed not to do any “Here Comes the Bride” nonsense. James walked us through everything a few weeks before the rehearsal. We’re not t
wo houses joining together—this isn’t some arranged marriage—we’re two people who love each other and already share every aspect of our lives and just want to make it official. We’ll stand there, together, in front of everyone, before the ceremony even begins.
James did want us to have a flower girl and ring bearer to lash so that their scars would be a permanent record of our wedding, but we decided to just go with the paperwork. He’s old fashioned, I get it; it’s just a little creepy.
Oh. Holy fucking shit. I enter the chapel, approaching the altar, and find Abby in her gown, waiting for me, and I forget to breathe. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. It’s a more archaic, Victorian design than mine with frills and lace, long sleeves all the way down her massive arms, a hoop skirt that puts mine to shame and pools at her feet, a corset, and a veil. I know I don’t want to encourage her hiding her body so much, but she looks so beautiful. I did not know she was going to have a veil. So much for my kissing her in the middle of the wedding.
The guests are still filing in. I have time. I take a step toward her, reaching for her veil. She could stop me, but she doesn’t. The veil lifts, revealing the face I’m going to be looking at for the rest of my life. “I love you,” I whisper, placing my hand on the back of her neck and pulling her to me for a quick kiss.
She smirks as she pulls away, raising to her full height as if to make sure we don’t do that again. “I love you too.”
James rolls his eyes. “Can you two seriously not wait the few minutes until I tell you to kiss the brides?”
“Nope,” we both say.
He lets out a low groan. “I manage to hold off just fine. I believe in you. Keep it in your pants for a little longer.”
I suppose rubbing it in the face of a celibate incubus is a little mean. We both keep our mouths shut and off each other, waiting for the rest of the audience to find their seats.
Ashley snickers. Her dress matches Sandra’s. I guess they coordinated. As a massive being with wings finds his spot, he waves to her, and she blushes, waving back. That must be the guy she mentioned. I feel a little bad for Sandra not getting to bring her boyfriend, but I’m already hesitant enough to let her be here after everything she’s done. He doesn’t get any leeway.
My Date with a Wendigo Page 21
