My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

by L. A. Banks

  My gaze wandered over Will's beloved face as the memories of all we'd shared filtered through my mind. The analogy was more apt than I cared for.

  "You're saying you hid a medicine bag in each of our things to make us fall in love with each other?" I clarified.

  "Yes."

  I forced myself to concentrate, to isolate the kernel of informa­tion that was poking my brain like an annoying thistle in the thumb.

  "We didn't meet you until after we fell in love."

  My hope that this was all a big mistake, an April Fool's trick a few months too late, the Ojibwe idea of a practical joke, died at her shrug. "Time's not the same in the Land of Souls. We aren't on a lin­ear plane."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means," Will interjected, "that she was able to go back to a time before we were in love and plant the talismans."

  "Which makes no sense."

  "You're looking at things with human eyes."

  "That's all I got, Slick."

  "And a human brain."

  "Ditto."

  "The other world follows different rules than this one."

  "I'll take your word for it." I turned my attention to Cora. "How could you make the love charms if you're a ghost?"

  "Who said I was a ghost?"

  "What are you then?"

  "Midewiwin."

  Which was so helpful. Not.

  "She was powerful in life, Jess. In death there's no telling what she can do."

  Cora smiled, and the expression reminded me of a big snake watching a little mouse.

  Terrific.

  Lightning flashed again. Rain began to fall. The flames on the spirit tree hissed and sputtered. Cora glanced to the west as if some­one had called her name. "I have to go."

  "Ke-go-wcty-se-kah," Will murmured.

  At my glare he translated, " 'You are going homeward.' We be­lieve to the west lies the Che-ba-kun-ah, the road of souls."

  AC/DC began to sing "Highway to Hell" inside my head. I sti­fled the music lest Cora could hear it, too. I wouldn't put it past her.

  "One more question," I said. "How do we stop it?"

  "Stop what?"

  "The love spell."

  "You want to make the magic go away?" Her forehead creased. "Isn't love better than hate?"

  "Yes. But truth is better than a lie."

  She tilted her head and contemplated me with a bemused expres­sion. "Maybe I've been too hard on you."

  "You think?"

  Her eyes narrowed as her be-ringed fingers stroked the pocket of the same colorful skirt where she'd once kept that silencing purple powder.

  "Leave well enough alone, would you?" Will muttered.

  I tightened my lips and refrained, barely, from slapping my hands over my mouth for good measure.

  "The choice is yours," Cora said. "If you wish to live in the world the way it would be if I hadn't interfered, all you need do is crush the icons beneath your feet."

  "That's all?" Will asked.

  "That is all."

  Thunder crashed. I blinked, and she was gone. Will stared at the place where she'd been.

  "Did I flip out and see something I shouldn't?"

  "Cora was here," Will said. "Or as here as a dead woman gets."

  Lightning split the sky directly above us. We put our paddles to the water and headed for the shore as warm summer rain tumbled down.

  After turning the canoe over to surfer dude, we climbed into the car. Luckily the seats were leather, because we were both dripping.

  Will slowed to a crawl as we reached the spirit tree; then he stopped completely. We both peered through the windshield.

  No smoke, no blackened limbs, there wasn't a sign of the flames we'd witnessed from the lake. The tree was exactly as it had been when we'd left, except for being as wet as we were.

  I was beginning to doubt everything I'd seen. What else was new?

  "The tree was on fire, right?"

  "Right." Will put the car into gear and drove the rest of the way to the lodge.

  Leigh wasn't in my room. Neither was Edward. There wasn't any note, and no voice mail, either. Apparently, no one had noticed we were gone.

  "You're cold," Will murmured.

  I hadn't realized I was shivering.

  "Why don't you get out of those wet clothes? Take a shower?"

  I opened my mouth to invite him to join me—he was shivering, too—then snapped it shut again. If we shared water, we'd share a lot more. We always did.

  I couldn't bear to make love to him now and find out it had only been sex later. Even if all the love of the past year turned out to be nothing but lust, and maybe not even that much, I wasn't going to compound the pain by adding more of the same.

  "Let's just get this done," I said, and yanked my makeup case from the closet.

  Shiny pink vinyl. I'd torn off the Barbie emblem only last week. I'm not sure why I'd kept the ghastly bag, except it was one of the few things my mother had given me besides an inferiority complex. I remembered very clearly how she'd come home from work one bright summer day when I was twelve and handed me the gift.

  "Try being a girl," she'd ordered.

  I'd tried, but I'd never been very good at it. After one pathetic at­tempt to use the powders and potions inside, I'd picked up my pellet gun and gone squirrel hunting. Gotta stick with your strengths.

  "That's awful small," Will observed. "How could you have missed seeing a medicine bag in there?"

  "I never open the thing. I only brought it along because . . ."

  I shrugged, not wanting to admit I'd planned to dazzle him on our wedding day. A dress, jewelry, makeup, and a hairdo. He wouldn't have known what hit him. He probably wouldn't have known me.

  I yanked on the zipper and upended the bag on the bed. Two lip­sticks, one blush, mascara, and a trial tube of base tumbled out along with a second medicine bag. Inside were figurines that matched the others, the same herbs, similar seeds, and a tiny swatch of stone-washed denim.

  Will fingered the cloth. "I wondered how I put a hole in those pants."

  "Ready?" I asked.

  Grim determination came over his face, and he gave a sharp nod. I stuffed the figurines, cloth, and other items into the bag, then tossed it onto the floor and lifted my foot.

  "Wait."

  Will dropped his talisman next to mine, then grabbed me around the waist. His lips were soft, his hands hard, and as always, when he touched me I could think of nothing but him.

  From the beginning we'd felt more for each other than two people should so quickly. I'd shoved aside the unease, convincing myself we'd been under stress, fighting for our lives. We'd almost died. Of course what we felt was intense beyond all reason.

  Once the danger was over—or as over as it got for Jager-Suckers— I'd continued to delude myself, rationalizing that we were lucky to have found each other, thereby avoiding the whisper in my head that insisted I was the lucky one. I shouldn't question or probe because Will might come to his senses and see that he could do so much bet­ter than me.

  In a few minutes he would come to his senses, and while I couldn't bring myself to get naked with him one last time, I also couldn't deny myself one last kiss.

  He lifted his head, brushed his thumb across my cheek. He was so beautiful he made my eyes ache. What had he ever seen in me? Nothing that hadn't been put there by magic.

  "We'll destroy the talismans," he murmured. "But I'll still feel the same."

  I smiled softly and took his hand, then touched my lips to his knuckles. "I doubt that, Will."

  His eyes flickered. I so rarely used his first name. When I did, life was about to get serious.

  I moved toward the talismans. He held on tight. "Let's throw them in the lake."

  "What?"

  "I love you. You love me. Cora was right. Love is stronger than hate. We're better together than apart. I don't want to lose you, Jess."

  "You don't want to be with someone you don't really love
." I took a deep breath. "I know I don't."

  "We'll love each other even without the magic."

  "Then it won't hurt to destroy the talismans."

  Silence fell between us as he considered my statement.

  "Okay," he said at last. "If that's what you want."

  What I wanted was him and me together forever. I saw that clearly now; I couldn't believe I'd doubted it before. Why do we al­ways have to lose something to know how much it means to us?

  Oh yeah, human nature.

  I took another deep breath. "It's what I want."

  "All right," he said. "On three. One, two—"

  We lifted our feet.

  "Three."

  And brought them down on the medicine bags. The little wooden people crunched beneath the sole of my hiking boot. I winced at the sound, like tiny bones breaking.

  The earth rumbled, lightning flickered, and a chill wind swept through the room, ruffling my hair, making Will's earring twirl.

  I glanced at the window. Not only was it shut, but the sun was shining. I waited for a sense that something had changed inside of me.

  Our gazes met, and I realized that something had. I loved him even more.

  I held my breath, terrified Cora had wreaked her last vengeance, leaving me to desperately love a man who couldn't abide the sight of me.

  "Jess," Will said, and in his voice I heard everything I'd ever dreamed of.

  Or at least I thought I did. Being me, I had to make sure.

  "How's the heart, Slick? Any changes in it?"

  "Not a one."

  Was that good or bad? My confusion must have shown on my face, because he tugged me into his arms and held on. His lips brushed my temple. I hate to admit it, but I clung.

  My eyes were drawn to the window again as a shaft of sunlight beat down on the spirit tree, turning the arching dark limbs a bur­nished gold.

  "Look," I whispered.

  "I think that's an omen," Will murmured. "Don't you?"

  I'd always known that the love of my life was Will, but I hadn't truly believed the opposite was true. I did now.

  "Yes," I answered.

  From his smile he understood I was saying yes to more than just that question.

  "How do you feel about kids?" he asked.

  I choked.

  Ah, hell. Kids were not an option. Not in a world where anyone could turn into a monster at any time and everyone we loved was considered wolf bait. Will could take care of himself, but a child—

  I couldn't do it.

  "If you want kids, Slick, you're gonna need a bigger charm."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  "You don't want children?"

  "Not in our world, Jess. I wanted to make sure you didn't."

  "Can you see me as a mother?"

  "Actually I can, or I wouldn't have asked.''

  I shook my head, amazed. "You always think more of me than I could ever be."

  "No, I don't."

  Another reason I loved him.

  He tugged on my hair. "We can skip the wedding if you like."

  "I thought you were set on making an honest woman of me."

  "You're the most honest woman I know."

  A definite compliment from an Indian. They'd been lied to enough.

  "Besides," he continued, "for the Ojibwe, living together for a year is as good as a marriage license."

  My eyes narrowed in mock fury. "You couldn't tell me this before I bought a thousand-dollar gown?"

  He shrugged sheepishly. "We don't need the wedding. In my heart we've been married from the first day we met."

  "You are so full of it."

  "I know." He took my hand again. "But I only want this if you do."

  "A hundred werewolves couldn't keep me away," I whispered.

  I put on the dress, the shoes, even the makeup. I let a stranger do something froufrou with my hair; then I walked out of the lodge and into the sunlight.

  I let an ancient wolf hunter walk me down a gravel-strewn path to the spirit tree, and put my hand into the hand of an Ojibwe wolf clan member. Hard to believe, but then most things in my life were.

  "You will take care of her," Edward said.

  "I can take care of myself," I snapped.

  "Then what are you marrying him for?"

  I stared into Will's eyes. "I can't help myself-"

  Edward snorted and joined the others—hunters all. My wedding looked like an armory had exploded, weapons, weapons everywhere, and silver bullets, too. The justice of the peace we'd hired from Duluth appeared ner­vous in the midst of all the guns and ammo, but he managed. "I now pronounce you man and wife." Funny, that didn't sound right. "We're weedjiwagan," I said. And Will answered, "Partners in the path of life."

  * * *

  LORI Handeland is the author of the bestselling Nightcreature novels. The first in the series. Blue Moon, won the RITA Award from the Romance Writers of America for Best Paranormal of 2004. Lori lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two teenage sons, and a yellow lab named Elwood. She can be reached through her Web site: www. lorihandeland.com.

  Tacky

  Charlaine Harris

  I'm going because I can't believe I've lived to see it," Dahlia said. "Also, I'm a bridesmaid, which is an honor. I have an obligation." She widened her eyes at her companion, to em­phasize the point. She had big green eyes, so it was a vivid effect.

  Glenda Shore choked on her sip of synthetic blood. "You're kid­ding," she said faintly. "You think this is an honor? Well, bite me. Being a bridesmaid means we have to mingle with the nasty things. Like that party tonight, at the Were bar. Taffy called me specially, but I put her off. I won't do it! It's bad enough, all the teasing I've got­ten. Maisie called me 'Fur Lover'; Thomas Pickens gives wolf howls whenever he sees me. It's just humiliating."

  Dahlia gave her head a practiced toss to flip her long wavy black hair back over her shoulders. She glanced down to make sure her strapless burgundy cocktail dress was still in place. There was a line between being adorably provocative and simply tacky. Dahlia was an expert at treading that line.

  "I've known Taffy for maybe a couple hundred years," Dahlia said quietly. "I feel that I have to go through with this." She kept her voice casual; she didn't want to sound smugly superior. Glenda hadn't even been alive that long—or dead, rather. Neither had the other two females Taffy had asked to act as bridesmaids.

  Glenda was a very young vampire, a flat-chested flapper who'd been turned during the Al Capone era in Chicago. To Dahlia's dis­taste, Glenda still liked wearing clothes reminiscent of the ones she'd worn while she was living. Tonight she was wearing a cloche hat. Conspicuous.

  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 all-night 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 blood-sucking 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 out-and-out 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.