My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

by L. A. Banks

  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 sit-down 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 floor-length 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 guests—though 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 re­leased 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 groomsmen—those 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 Lynley-Chivers 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 Lynley-Chivers 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 Swift-foot (of course that was his pack name—his 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 run-down, a bit seedy. The sidewalks were crowded, even this late at night, with bar-hopping 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 two-natured 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 circle—representing 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 Werewolf-infested bar, she stood a little straighter on her spike heels—which brought her height all the way up to five foot one—held her head proudly, tucked her tiny flat purse under her bare arm, and marched inside, her haughtiest expression fixed on her heart-shaped face.

  A chorus of so-called wolf
whistles met her entrance. Of course, in their wolf forms, these guys couldn't whistle for diddly-squat; 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 full-blooded 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 clean-shaven. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a bit to her surprise, and a tight T-shirt 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 stock-still 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.

  "Oh yeah, and we're supposed to bow and scrape for the little madam?" he said. "You should get that stick out of your ass and be­have more like Taffy. She doesn't act so snooty and superior. After all, what you got on us? We live longer than humans, and we're stronger than humans, and we can do all kinds of things that humans can't do."

  "Excuse me," Dahlia said frigidly. "I am so not interested."

  "I'll show you interested," the huge monster growled, reaching down as if he was actually going to pick Dahlia up and give her a shake. The next instant, he was looking up at her from the floor and his friends had leaped to their feet, their eyes glowing. Snarls issued from several male throats, and one or two female ones.

  "No," called the man from the floor, just as Dahlia prepared to free her hands for fighting by tucking her tiny evening purse into the gartered top of her hose (a process that distracted the males for a few long seconds), "she's in the right, guys."

  "What?" asked a blond man built like a fire hydrant. "You gonna let a vamp get away with putting you on the floor?"

  "Yeah, Richie," said the man, getting up. "She did it fair and square after I provoked her."

  The rest of the Weres seemed disconcerted, but they backed away a foot or two. Dahlia felt a mixture of relief and regret. Her fangs had extended as she readied to fight, and she would have enjoyed re­lieving the tension by ripping off a few limbs.

  "Come on, little highness," Brown Ponytail said. "I'll take you to Taffy."

  She nodded curtly. He turned to lead the way, and she followed right behind him. The crowd parted along the way rather reluctantly.

  "Cold-blooded creep," said one Were woman. She was built like an Amazon, broad shouldered. Dahlia would have loved to flash out a hand and bury it in the Were's abdomen, but ladies didn't do such things—not if they wanted the truce to hold.

  Dahlia was proud of herself when she didn't meet the woman's eyes in challenge. Instead, Dahlia kept her gaze focused forward. Which is no hardship, she had to admit to herself, as she examined the curve of the butt moving in front of her. It certainly was a prime one, packed into the worn Levi's in a most attractive way

  Dahlia winced, realizing that she'd actually caught herself admir­ing a Were.

  Her guide stepped aside, and Dahlia was relieved beyond measure to see Taffy sitting in a padded booth behind a round table with Don cuddling close to her right and another Were to her left. Dahlia barely kept her upper lip from drawing back in distaste. It was like seeing a racehorse cavorting with zebras.

  "Dahlia!" shrieked Taffy. Her auburn curls were piled up on top of her head, and she was wearing a halter top and blue jeans, as far as Dahlia could tell. Oh, really, Dahlia thought, exasperated, remember­ing the care she'd taken to dress correctly. Taffy looks like a real hu­man. Probably trying to blend in. As if she could.

  "Taffy," Dahlia said, thrown seriously off track, "can we have a talk?" She didn't even want to acknowledge Don. He was as red­headed as Taffy, but his hair was short and rough looking, like the coat of a terrier.

  "Hey, beautiful!" Don said expansively.

  Dahlia gave Don a stiff nod of greeting. She was no barbarian.

  Don had a beard, and bright filaments of red stuck out from the neck of his golf shirt. Dahlia shuddered. She was glad to look back at Taffy.

  "You still got that cold bitch thing goin' on," Don observed. "Doesn't she, Todd?"

  "She's got it down pat," agreed her guide. "Didn't even bother to introduce herself." Dahlia realized, with a pang, that the Were was correct. "She's a brave little thing, though," the Were went on. "Knocked me ass-backward."

  Don grinned approvingly. "People should do that more often, Todd. It seems to soften you up."

  While Dahlia tried to estimate how long it would take her to kill them all, Taffy was extricating herself from the booth, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary brushing against Don, with wriggling and kisses strewn in for good measure. This was the source of many teasing comments and much laughter from the assembled Weres.

  I seem to be the only one who's in a had mood, Dahlia thought, and then without meaning to, her eyes met the tall Were's again. Nope, Todd was less than happy, too. Dahlia wondered whether it was the engagement between Don and Taffy or her own intrusion that had triggered Todd's irritation.

  "This is my friend Dahlia Lynley-Chivers," Taffy announced to the crowd of Weres. "She's my maid of honor."

  There was a smattering of polite response. Dahlia inclined her head civilly. She couldn't force a smile.

  "Snotty-nose bitch," muttered the other Were sitting in the booth. He had dark curly hair and a pugnacious attitude. "Having one in the bar at a time is enough."

  Dahlia's tiny hand darted out and dug into the Were's throat.

  He gagged, his eyes going wide with shock and fear, and the at­mosphere of the bar went into high gear.

  "Dahlia!" said Taffy. "He didn't know what he was saying, Dahlia. Please, for me."

  Dahlia released the dark-haired Were, and he collapsed against the wood of the booth, breathing heavily. There was an uneasy stirring among the denizens of the crowded bar.

  "Thanks, honey," Taffy murmured. "Let's take this out on the sidewalk, okay?"

  Her back as straight and her head as high as ever, Dahlia followed Taffy out of the bar, looking neither to the right nor to the left, ig­noring the growing chorus of growls that surged in her wake.

  "Smooth move, Dahlia," Taffy said, the words bursting out as soon as they were on the sidewalk.

  "You were the one who invited me! If you weren't the one en­gaged to that. . . that dog man ... do you think I'd go inside such a place?"

  "Where are the others?" Taffy lost her anger and looked a bit lost. Maybe she hadn't been quite as comfortable as she'd seemed, being the only vamp in a crowd of Weres.

  "Ah, they couldn't make it." Dahlia couldn't think of any way to cushion the rudeness of Taffy's other bridesmaids and her sheriff, Cedric.

  Taffy sighed. "I didn't think it was too much to ask, coming to a party i
n our honor to wish me well." Dahlia's cheeks would have flushed if they could have; she was embarrassed at the poor manners of her sisters. "I guess it's a measure of our friendship that you came inside to see me," Taffy admitted. "I know we're buddies. Please, help me get through this wedding with peace between our people. I want you there on my wedding day, and I want my other friends there, too, and the last thing I want is a bloodbath between the two tribes, us and the Weres, right there in Cedric's garden."

  Cedric had offered the garden of his mansion as the locale for the wedding, to everyone's surprise. Cedric had told Dahlia, in his lan­guid way, that he had been sure Taffy would cry off before the day actually arrived. Now that the wedding was fast approaching and still a reality, the notably lazy Cedric was scrambling to get the grounds ready and also calling in markers in an effort to assemble some of the more levelheaded vamps to act as security for the big night, which was shaping up to be the scandalous social event of the season in the supernatural world.

  Ignoring the Weres who were peering out of the bar, Dahlia and Taffy began to stroll down the street, arm in arm, an old-fashioned habit that drew a few stares.

  "Taffy, I'm worried."

  "What about, Dahlia?" Taffy asked gently.

  "You know that Cedric's mansion is in a turmoil of preparation," Dahlia began, trying to think of the best way to voice her concerns without sounding like a complete alarmist.

  "I heard." Taffy laughed, her throat tilted back. "That old bastard! Serves Cedric right for making a promise he had no intention of keeping."

  "Taffy, you've been with the Weres too much. Don't disrespect the sheriff so boldly."

  "You're right," Taffy said, sobering quickly enough to satisfy even the worried Dahlia. "So, Cedric's in an uproar. What of it?"

  "The Weres and the vampires aren't the only ones who may have heard of this wedding," Dahlia said. She was voicing something she'd not told anyone else, and her voice wasn't completely steady. "Since the Weres haven't come out yet, to the world it must look as though you're illegally marrying a human."