A Gatlin Wedding

by Kami Garcia

  Lena began searching the shelves for another book. “A Circle of Protection.”

  “Here,” Marian said, moving toward the shelves. “In the back. That’s some very old magic.”

  Lena followed her, eyes blazing. “Maybe we can’t Bind Ravenwood to keep it safe. Maybe we’re the Binding. All we can do is what we’ve already done—Bind ourselves to one another.”

  “And the rest of Gatlin?” Ethan asked.

  Lena looked back at him over her shoulder. “We keep them in the circle. Our circle.”

  Link frowned. “So what? We make a kumbaya circle all around the edge of town?”

  “Something like that,” Lena said.

  Liv chewed on her pen thoughtfully. “Maybe something exactly like that.”

  V. With This Ring

  “It should be around here somewhere,” Ethan said. He pushed through the palmetto and swamp grass surrounding Wader’s Creek. Link followed close behind him. “I can’t believe how much the old path has grown over.”

  Everyone else was still with Macon in the Caster Tunnels, preparing for tomorrow. Ethan had one thing he felt like he had to do before then, and Link had offered to come with him. Ethan hadn’t complained; having a quarter Incubus around never hurt anyone, not when it came to the muscle department.

  Especially not when you’re facing Silas Ravenwood around every corner and within every shadow.

  “The path?” Link tried to find it but he couldn’t either—not even with his radically improved Incubus senses. “I guess nobody uses it anymore.” He grinned. “Remember the fort we built out here?”

  “The two hundred bug bites on each leg? The ones we had to smother with clear nail polish?” Ethan sighed. “How could I forget.”

  “I burned mine off with a lighter.” Link shrugged.

  “That explains so much about you.”

  Link grinned, and the two of them kept going.

  “There used to be a whole community out here, remember? It was practically a town.” Ethan shook his head.

  Link looked around at the desolate swamp. “If it was, it isn’t now.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  There was no community without Amma. She was gone, and she’d taken it with her. She had been the heart and soul of everyone and everything she’d surrounded herself with. But she had vanished, because of Ethan—and the rest of Wader’s Creek just seemed to have picked up and vanished right along with her.

  It isn’t fair.

  Ethan frowned. “I think this one was hers.” They were standing in front of a ramshackle house.

  “Amma’s place? You better be sure. We only got one cake.”

  “I’m sure. I’ve been here hundreds of times. Maybe thousands.”

  “Her house?”

  “This was her porch. That one. The yellow one. I’m sure that’s the one.”

  Link looked at the half-destroyed house skeptically. “But are you sure this will work?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Nope.”

  There was nothing more to say.

  Ethan knelt down. He opened his backpack and pulled out half a Tunnel of Fudge cake. They’d lifted it when they’d taken off from the rehearsal dinner, which Ethan knew would still be going on, even now.

  It didn’t matter. Ethan had to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. It was as much for his father as anyone else.

  He considered the cake. It had turned into a brown orb the size of a slightly squished football, but Ethan knew it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the cake. It was about the things that he’d felt when he was making it. The things he’d remembered about her. The things he’d missed about her. Even though it wasn’t her favorite—it was his—he’d made it because he knew if she had been there for his father’s wedding, she would have made it for him. To say you’ll be okay, Ethan Wate. You’ll keep going right on through this Tunnel and find your way out the other side.

  The only way out is through.

  The right thing and the easy thing are never the same.

  She’s not your mother but she doesn’t have to be.

  She’s your family now, because she loves someone you love.

  Link stood over him now like a giant tree. “You want me to like, do something? Is this like a three-way phone call or something?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. Just stay back for a minute.” Ethan closed his eyes.

  Help me.

  I need help.

  “Is it working?” Link sounded anxious.

  Ethan opened one eye. “Could you shut up?”

  He tried again.

  Amma?

  I need your guidance.

  We can’t do this alone.

  I know we’ve come to you before, and I know you probably have a whole lot of things you’d rather be thinking about right now than this.

  Believe me, so do I.

  Ethan waited. Then he tried again.

  Mom?

  I don’t know where else to go—

  If any of you Greats are out there—

  Uncle Abner? I don’t have any Wild Turkey on me. I know that’s your favorite but I bet you’d like this cake if you gave it a shot.

  Aunt Prue? I know you’ve probably got your hands full keeping an eye on Mercy and Grace, but still…

  He heard a rustling sound in the tall grasses around him, and when he opened his eyes, he almost jumped out of his skin.

  It wasn’t Amma or his mother or even Uncle Abner or Aunt Prue who appeared before him.

  It was the bride.

  So that was weird.

  Ethan stood up, looking as confused as he felt. “Excuse me. Mrs. English? Aren’t you supposed to be at the rehearsal dinner right now?”

  Ethan.

  One word.

  That was all it took for Ethan to know exactly what was going on.

  “What’s happening?” Link’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away but Lilian English’s was coming from someplace even farther. When Ethan looked around, he couldn’t see Link anymore, as if he was in the swamp but not in the swamp, dislocated from any one particular place or time.

  “It’s you,” Ethan said.

  He knew the voice—he’d never be able to forget it, even if he hadn’t heard it in a long time now.

  The being in front of him wasn’t his old English teacher.

  It only spoke through her.

  She might as well have been a cell phone.

  In fact, this wasn’t Lilian English at all; it was her infamous alter ego, the Lilum. A powerful ancient Demon, the one who had almost destroyed the world when Lena had Claimed herself for both Light and Dark, and ruptured the whole Order of Things.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to hear me,” Ethan said.

  The creature-who-was-not-Lilian-English stared at him blankly. When she spoke, her mouth never moved. It was like Kelting, only somehow not at all. Ethan still spoke out loud—he didn’t want to even try to get inside a Demon’s head.

  I have watched you. Since we first met.

  You were brave. I was surprised.

  “Thank you, I guess?” Ethan didn’t know what to say, exactly.

  You worry about your friend now.

  “That’s right.”

  You want to keep him from the pain you experienced.

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” It certainly wasn’t an experience Ethan would have wished on anyone, especially not his best friend.

  You will do what you always do.

  You will fight.

  “What if—what if something goes wrong?”

  If your friend is to die, then your friend is to die. All men die.

  You too will die again, someday. It is the Mortal way.

  “That,” Ethan said, “is the world’s lousiest pep talk.”

  The creature stepped forward and touched his hand, lifting it to his face. He could see the Binding Ring on his finger, right in front of him.

  Build the circle, but when t
he time comes, give me the Ring.

  “You mean, you? Or Mrs. English?”

  Yes. The Mortal.

  “So, Mrs. English.”

  Yes. You must give her the Ring.

  It is hers to take and yours to lose.

  The Ring will do what it must.

  You don’t need to be afraid.

  She moved her hand to his shoulder. He could barely feel the pressure of her cool touch.

  Every battle you have fought is with you still.

  Every enemy you have defeated stands behind you.

  You are Bound as you have always been Bound, to those who came before and those who will come after.

  To those you loved and those you hated.

  You are stronger than you think.

  He hoped she was right.

  VI. The Vow

  The wedding day unfolded like any other.

  The sky was blue. The day was warm. There were birds where there were supposed to be birds, making the noises birds were supposed to make. The string quartet had showed up with only three people, so it was now a string trio. One surreptitious wave of Lena’s hand, and they had never sounded so good, even without a cello.

  The morning went off without a hitch, or at least, without any Supernatural ones.

  The site where Mitchell and Lilian were to be married was really just the meadow at Greenbrier, where the Duchannes family had been buried for generations. It was as much a park as it was a memorial site, and the wildflowers made it one of the most beautiful places of all the Ravenwood properties.

  But where days before there had been nothing, now there was almost a cathedral made entirely of tree branches and wild grasses and wildflowers. Blossoms and sunlight and boughs of white birch.

  Everything looked like it had been shot through a hazy golden filter.

  Lena’s grandmother and Marian had outdone themselves.

  Ethan didn’t know if it was magic or just incredibly good gardening; Lena’s family, and Marian’s family, were known for both, in different circles.

  All Ethan knew was that the bride’s gown looked like it was made of snowflakes and sunshine, as goofy as that sounded. Lilian English was radiant. And his father looked like he was going to throw up, which seemed about right, too.

  This wasn’t just a Southern wedding, but a Southern Caster wedding, which meant, as Link said, double the frosting and three times the bacon.

  Gatlin’s favorite pastime—pulling out all the stops. That was what Ethan’s mom would have said about a day like this one.

  Full stop.

  Nothing about the day would be small.

  Not even if an army of Blood Incubus super soldiers (that was how Ethan thought of them) was trying to kill Ethan’s best friend, or maybe all of them along the way.

  And that was how the day continued: not small. The wedding processional was practically a parade. That was Gatlin’s own little twist on the formalities of a Southern wedding; you lined up every kid you could find, decorated them with some form of flowers and netting, jammed their hands into sweaty white gloves, and sent them marching down the aisle ahead of the bride and groom.

  That part was fine.

  The terrifying part had come before, when Ethan was waiting for his dad to take his place beneath the makeshift bower of branches that was the church at Greenbrier.

  Ethan and his father had been standing off to the side, behind the crypt.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Dad?” Ethan heard himself say the words, and for a moment it was like another person was saying them.

  Still, he had to ask. It was the question he’d been wondering for months now.

  His dad straightened his tie. “Let’s see. Twelve across. S.U.R.E.T.U.D.I.N.O.U.S.”

  “Really? Suretudinous? Is that the best you can do?”

  “Yeah, well. You can’t blame a guy for trying. And I always was terrible at crossword puzzles.” Mitchell sighed. Then he looked at his son. “You know this isn’t going to change anything between the two of us, right?”

  “I know,” Ethan said.

  “And you know I love you, right?”

  “I do,” Ethan said.

  Mitchell nodded. “Well then, I guess that covers it. Let’s go do this thing.”

  “Dad? I don’t think Mom minds.”

  “What?”

  “She’d want you to be happy.”

  Mitchell stared at his son for a good long time before he spoke. “Your mom loved us both, Ethan. But she never belonged to either one of us. A person like your mom, she just didn’t belong to people.” He shook his head. “All the same, I wish she could see you now. What you’re like. Who you grew up to be. She’d be so proud.”

  Ethan didn’t know what he could say. He only knew he couldn’t say the truth.

  What he knew about his mother.

  How she’d really died.

  Who she’d really loved.

  When he’d last seen her.

  “I believe,” Ethan said slowly, “that you two were meant to have what you had. You were meant to find each other, and you were meant to have me as your son.”

  “Of course we were. It was Fate.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I don’t want to think about it like that. Not anymore.” He tried to find the words that came next, but it was hard. “Maybe you were meant to have her, but you were also meant to let her go.”

  Mitchell nodded.

  “All anyone wants is for you to be happy, Dad. Even me. I’m glad you found someone you care about. I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like anything else.”

  His father hugged him.

  It was all either one of them needed to say.

  The meadow was full of white wooden chairs that miraculously held everyone who had ever loved Ethan and his dad.

  Almost everyone.

  Ethan stood next to his father and the Reverend, under a cascade of flowering branches. Fog now floated in the grassy field, blowing into the clearing with the arrival of every new guest, just gradually enough so that the Mortals could think it was natural. It never dissolved, though, and Ethan knew it was far from accidental.

  The same way he knew the Incubuses were there in the woods surrounding the meadow.

  The fog was their doing. It was meant for cover.

  Silas, Ethan thought.

  They’re here, he Kelted.

  Lena looked up from the back row of the chairs.

  Ethan felt the prick of his hairs standing up, goose bumps spreading across every inch of his bare skin.

  They were here.

  He felt them in the birds abandoning the trees. The clouds rolling across the sun.

  The insects stopping their buzzy noise.

  Do you feel that, L?

  Of course I do, Ethan.

  Link looked around, spooked.

  Then John.

  Liv watched them both, her hand on her pen.

  It was in the air around them.

  The presence of Silas, of his twisted shadow creatures, of something that seemed like almost pure evil, Ethan thought.

  We can’t stop it, L.

  We just can’t let him hurt anyone.

  She nodded at him from the other side of the clearing. Then she looked worriedly at the sea of Gatlin folks between them—even Ethan’s own father, who didn’t seem to notice a thing aside from the face of his bride.

  We won’t, Lena Kelted.

  I swear it on my own father’s grave, Ethan.

  “Dearly beloved,” the Reverend began. “As I… as we…”

  He stumbled, shuffling the notecards in his hands, but the gray-white fog was turning darker, and it was becoming difficult to see.

  Come on, Ethan thought.

  The fog was so thick now it was getting hard to make out Lena’s face where she stood.

  The Reverend finally sighed—gave up on the cards—and smiled out at the crowd. “This is the part where I do my song and dance about the bonds of holy matrimony and the importance of commitment
, folks.”

  The crowd laughed, and even Mitchell and Lillian smiled.

  Speed it up, Reverend. Ethan shook his head.

  “About friends and family and the power of the standing up for the people you love in this crazy world we live in. Thing is, I’ve known Mitchell Wate all my life, and so I also know he could give that lecture himself.”

  So let’s get on with it, Ethan thought.

  Or maybe Kelted—

  Because almost instantly, he saw the Casting breeze curling through the silhouette of Lena’s hair. She held up one hand and her fingers began to flutter.

  “So let’s get on with it,” the Reverend said, quickly.

  Ethan felt a burst of relief—and Lena’s reassuring warmth at the edge of his conscious mind.

  The Reverend kept going. “We’re here to witness the sacred bond of this man and this woman in the eyes of their community—”

  “Even the good Lord knows Gatlin has eyes,” Mitchell added dryly.

  More laughter.

  Zip it, Dad.

  Ethan watched as the shadows now loomed higher than trees.

  “… In the eyes of their family, and those who love them, and the eyes of God…”

  Ethan watched his father as he spoke the words that would Bind him to Lilian English. He would love her and respect her and remember her and honor her.

  Moments later, she was doing the same.

  She held out her hand.

  Mitchell fumbled in his pocket.

  Finally.

  Ethan stepped forward, pulling the ring from inside his own jacket. “I’ve got it, Dad.” Mitchell took it, looking relieved.

  He was so relieved, in fact, that he didn’t notice it wasn’t the wedding band he’d picked out on King Street, in Charleston.

  It was Ethan’s own Binding Ring.

  The one he had worn on his own hand for more than a year now.

  A tidal surge of ink-black night pulled toward Mitchell Wate from all sides as he slid it onto Lilian’s ring finger—

  It hit Ethan with such force it almost knocked the wind out of him—

  Lilian’s ring pulsed with light, almost as if it had caught fire—

  And time froze.

  Everything.

  Stopped.

  The Gatlin folks in their folding chairs might as well have been cardboard cutouts, and the Reverend himself could have been one of those wax museum dummies.