“Does it involve fangs, skulls or coffins?” I asked.
“Nope! It involves presents for you,” Venus shrieked and then dove for the pile of bags Dixie had dropped in the corner of the room.
“For me?” I yelled and started hopping around with excitement.
“Yes,” Dixie said with a giggle. “It’s going to get so busy in the next few days we decided to combine the last fitting session with a bridal shower.”
“Wait,” Paris said, putting a halt to the excitement. “Where’s Pam? We can’t have the shower without Pam.”
“I’m here. I’m here. Pull your panties out of your asses,” Pam announced. She marched through the door with a look on her face that dared anyone to comment on the fact that her skin was an alarming shade of pale blue. “That baby boy of ours is a fucking genius. We were coming up with rhymes that rhymed with poo. So I said was feeling a little blue—because blue sounds like poo, as you all know. And next thing I knew I was sporting fucking skin the color of the sky. I look like a goddamned Smurf.”
No one moved. No one blinked an eye. No one in the room who actually had to breathe expelled any air whatsoever.
This was because no one was sure if Pam was happy about her new hue or pissed. A pissed Pam was a very scary thing. A pissed off blue Pam was anyone’s guess.
“He’ll change your skin back if you ask,” I whispered, still not moving an inch and only opening my mouth the necessary amount to be understood.
“I know that, Assbucket,” Pam told me with a cackle and a wink. “But The King finds it sexy. He’s a kinky old bastard. I told him I’d stay blue for a couple more hours, so let’s get this party started! Mamma Smurf needs to get laid!”
And on that unappetizing note and permanently scarring visual we got the party started.
“I ate an entire gallon of black raspberry chip ice cream right before I got here,” Gemma announced as she rolled her sleeve up and beckoned me over. “Time to drink up, bride-to-be!”
Gemma had a gift that we kept very quiet so she wasn’t barraged by Vamps. Whatever my BFF ate could be tasted in her blood. Sooooo, since Vamps didn’t have the ability to eat food, it was an enormous treat to be able to taste our favorite snacks by sucking back a bit of Gemma’s magical O negative.
“O, Queen of the Fairies, I bow at your dainty feet,” I said as I got on my knees and lowering my head. “Did you bring chips and hot salsa too?”
“But of course,” she said whipping out a bag from underneath the couch and plopping it into my hands.
“Oh my God, you guys really planned this out,” I said, moved by the feeling of being loved by my friends.
“Damn right, Assbutt. We can’t let our girl get married without some crotchless underpants,” Pam announced, pulling gaily-wrapped gifts from the shopping bags.
Venus rolled her eyes and laughed. “Yes, and the old blue Angel made me go in the store to get them. I haven’t been in a shop with so many humans in years, but Pam insisted that we go to the damned mall.”
“You all went to the mall?” I asked. I pulled my fangs out of Gemma’s wrist and stared at everyone in astonishment. “All of you?”
“Yep,” Raquel said as she stacked box after box in a pretty arrangement at my feet. “Ironically, none of us had any money or credit cards. Dixie did a little voodoo and we were able to get by.”
“Oh my Hell, you guys stole my crotchless panties?”
“Not exactly,” Dixie cut in quickly knowing I wouldn’t accept stolen goods. “We have a kinda, sorta, payment plan.”
“And that would be?” I asked, handing Gemma the chips and salsa, which she chowed down on with gusto.
“A mind sweep,” Dixie admitted sheepishly.
“You erased the memory of everyone at the entire mall?” I demanded, appalled. Dixie was so sweet I occasionally forgot she was the Devil’s daughter…
“Not the entire mall,” Raquel assured me. “Only the people at Prada, Gucci and La Perla.”
“We have a Prada in Kentucky?” I was flabbergasted. It almost made me forget they’d procured my gifts the same way Satan procured everything.
“Oh my God, no. We transported to Milan,” Venus explained as if that would negate the fact my bridesmaids had gone renegade.
“So that makes it okay?” I asked.
“Um, no?” Dixie asked.
“No,” I stated firmly even though I was now dying to tear into the bags.
“Fine,” she muttered dejectedly. “I’ll make sure they’re paid for with real money.
“Promise?” I asked.
“Yes, but don’t tell my dad. He was so proud of me for shoplifting.”
“I’m about to bust,” Gemma grunted as she patted her tummy and shoved her wrist toward my mouth. “The chips and salsa are served.”
“Shouldn’t you have had the chips and salsa first and the ice cream for dessert afterward?” Paris Hilton asked, pulling a large box of about one hundred rolls of toilet paper out from underneath my bed.
“Um, no. It’s my party and I like dessert first. Can I ask you a question?” I inquired politely.
“Sure,” Paris said as she deposited ten rolls on the couch next to me.
“Seeing as that we don’t have the internal facilities to go to the bathroom since our plumbing doesn’t work, why in the Hell are you handing out toilet paper and why was it under my bed?”
“It’s a shower game. Ethan helped me hide everything yesterday,” Paris explained with a wide grin. “He loves you so much that he didn’t even flinch at the toilet paper. He simply pressed the bridge of his nose and told me to be quick about it.”
“Sooo, um, we’re gonna pretend to go to the bathroom a bunch of times?” I asked trying to be grateful that Paris had gone to all the trouble of buying and hiding a massive amount of toilet paper—however misguided her judgment of a fun game was.
“No, Assgump,” Pam bellowed, prancing around the room wearing a roll of potty paper on her head. “We are not gonna wipe our butts. We’re gonna make wedding dresses!”
“Seriously?” I asked with a laugh. With her blue skin and the roll of tissue on her head she looked ridiculous.
“Very seriously,” Venus shot back with a smirk as she began to swath her body in Charmin.
“Presents after dresses?” I asked. I eyed the paper with trepidation.
“Yes!” Paris squealed. “Every woman for herself. On your mark. Get Set. Go!”
And we did.
Toilet paper flew everywhere as we draped ourselves and laughed hysterically. I was fairly certain Gemma pilfered a few of my rolls because my dress ended up being a mini. Pam, on the other hand, definitely used magic when our heads were turned. She looked like Queen Smurf ready for her royal nuptials. Dixie was a hot mess with shreds hanging all over her body and Venus wasn’t much better. Raquel actually created something that she could leave the room in—all of her important parts were covered. It didn’t exactly look like a wedding dress, but it didn’t look like she was covered in toilet paper either. Paris used the cardboard tubes for bracelets and shoes and looked silly. It was too bad most of us in the room had no reflections or I would have been snapping pictures like a fool…or maybe not. I looked like a paper marshmallow from Hell.
“Your hoohoo is exposed,” Pam pointed out. She sat down carefully so her masterpiece didn’t unravel.
“Whoops, it is.” I laughed as I pulled some of Dixie’s dress off of her and covered myself. At least we were wearing our clothes underneath our heinous creations. Otherwise it would have been seriously obscene.
“That rocked,” Raquel said, gingerly removing her creation and began shoving all the shredded paper back into the big box. “You ready for presents?”
“I am always ready for presents,” I said. I yanked excitedly at my paper dress and settled myself on the floor.
There were ten pairs of crotchless panties—compliments of Pam. Three exquisite nightgowns with matching robes—or peignoir sets, as I learne
d from my very knowledgeable bridesmaids. Four gallons of assorted massage oils, all with obscene names; edible underwear—from Pam of course. A scented candle, fuzzy pink handcuffs—again…Pam. A few very sexy bustiers, a French maid outfit…Pam. And last but not least a pair of assless leather chaps—a gag gift in honor of Martha and Jane.
My party was the best party ever, but all good things must come to an end and reality sets back in, whether you want it to or not.
Shit.
Chapter 12
“Krumecaca,” The Kev yelled with delight, striking a pose next to Ethan’s brand spanking new desk as I gaped at his latest disguise.
We were alone in the office and I was grateful to get to spend a little quality time with one of my favorite people. The mold was broken after The Kev was created. He was a two thousand year old Fairy and one of the deadliest and sweetest beings alive.
My dear friend was so blindingly beautiful in his natural Fairy form it was impossible for people to look at him, so he took on the outer shell of whomever amused him. He’d outdone himself today.
“Seriously The Kev? Kenny G?” I asked with a snicker.
“For the love of everything holy, I am not Kenny G,” The Kev said, clearly insulted.
“Um…Weird Al Yankovic?” I guessed.
“Absolutely not,” The Kev huffed with a large put upon sigh as he dropped his head full of long kinky hair into his hands.
“Oookay,” I said, realizing my handle on obscure performers was seriously lacking. “Are you Gallagher?”
The look he gave me made me want to take cover, but I was not a weenie. I was going to figure out who in the Hell he was or I was going to die trying.
“Give me a hint, but don’t tell me. I want to guess.”
The Kev sighed again dramatically and shrugged. “Fine,” he muttered. “Um… Nicolette Sheridan.”
“Who the Hell is that?” I asked, bewildered.
“Oh. My. God,” The Kev blustered, clearly displeased I didn’t know who he was—or who Nicolette Sheridan was. “Cheesy love songs.” He tried another hint.
“That could be almost everyone on the radio now,” I told him. “You have to do better than that.”
“He’s actually Jewish, but Americanized his name when he sang with a heavy metal band and opened for Ozzy Osborne.”
“You lost me,” I said staring hard at him, still clueless.
“It was kind of a random hint,” The Kev agreed.
“Give me the initials,” I demanded. “I know I can get it if you give me the initials.”
“M.B,” he said. He sat down at Ethan’s desk and tucked his long locks behind his ears.
“M.B.?” I asked at a loss. Who in the heck had the initials M.B. that desperately needed a hot oil treatment, a haircut, some looser pants, and a few less gold chains? The thinning on the top thing and the rat’s nest flowing down the back was so 90’s…
“Marlon Brando?” I asked knowing that was a very long shot, but he was the first M.B. that came to mind. I was pretty sure he never sang in a heavy metal band, but I had to start somewhere.
“No.”
“Well, you’re not Mel Brooks or Michael Bublé and you’re definitely not Mavis Beacon.”
“Who in the world is Mavis Beacon?” The Kev asked, getting more confused than I was.
“She’s that mean woman on the internet that teaches you how to type. She made me start over so many times because my fingering was incorrect that I hurled my laptop across the room, which sucked wads because throwing electronics is not a good example to set for my son—not to mention I created about seventeen and a half new swear words while dealing with that horrible woman. But I was so sick and tired of everyone telling me my fingering was wrong that I paid a gazillion dollars for the stupid fucking program and then the hag made fun of me.”
“A computer program made fun of you?” The Kev asked, trying to follow my story.
“Well, no, but it felt like it. Because she was so evil, I drew a beard and mustache on her face with a Sharpie, which ruined the computer screen. Then I got so mad because she made me do that, I drop kicked the laptop out of the window after I put a large dent in my wall with it.”
“Was this in college?” he asked.
“No. It was about a month ago,” I replied, trying to remember the point of my tale and what we were talking about in the first place.
“Why were you learning to type?” The Kev inquired with interest.
“Because I was going to write a romance novel. I figured with all the time I had on my hands being immortal and all, I needed to find a hobby that didn’t involve blood or maiming people. It didn’t really work out too well.”
“I see,” he said with a sympathetic nod of understanding. “What was it about?”
“What was what about?”
“The romance novel?” he reminded me.
“Oh, it was kind of autobiographical because I read on Facebook that you should write what you know. Paranormal romance is very hot right now, what with Twilight and True Blood. But when I wrote it down on paper it was so fucking far-fetched I didn’t think anyone would buy it. I mean who in their right mind would want to read about a half-Vampyre half-Demon who got turned by a fucked up Vampyre who ended up being her koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs sister? And all this nonsense because she tried to quit smoking?”
“I can see how that might be a tough sell,” he agreed.
“Right. I did learn that just because you read some bullshit on Facebook doesn’t mean it’s true. I decided I was a lot better at kicking ass and shopping so I’m sticking to that.”
“Good plan,” The Kev concurred.
“Anyhoo,” I said, taking a long pause and sucking my bottom lip into my mouth. “What were we talking about?”
The Kev squinted and shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“It’ll come back to us in a minute,” I told him. “This always happens to me. Did you know Gemma went to Milan with the girls and stole crotchless panties for me for my bridal shower?”
“Um, no,” he replied, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“I’m making them go back and pay for them. I mean, would you wear stolen crotchless panties?”
“Um, no.”
“Exactly,” I said and then slapped myself in the head. “Oh my Hell, you’re Michael Bolton!”
“I am?” he asked.
“Aren’t you?”
The Kev paused and thought hard for a moment. “Yes! Yes, my Krumecaca, I am Michael Bolton. You had me so confused with the Mavis Beacon computer throwing romance novel episode, I couldn’t remember my own name.”
“God. I’m so glad I guessed who you are. It would have driven me nuts if I didn’t get it.”
“Do you think other people will be confused?” he asked, worried.
“I’m not sure,” I told him truthfully. “Michael Bolton is a little obscure.”
“Would Weird Al be better?”
“No. Weird Al would not be better.”
“Roger that,” he replied and then rounded the desk and gave me a perfect “The Kev” hug. “We need to discuss a few things before the meeting, Krumecaca.”
“I hear Ethan coming. Let’s wait for him. That way you only have to relay it once.”
“As you wish.”
I adored The Kev. He’d taught me how to fight and had my back like no one else I knew other than Ethan. He’d risked his life to help us save Samuel from his own people and he treated my BFF with so much love and respect it made me feel all happy-squishy.
It made me sick they had to go back to Xanthia soon so Gemma could take her rightful place as the Queen of the Fairies, but life sucked that way sometimes. I’d learned first hand that Fairies were not like the ones from childhood stories. Nope. They were a deadly bunch and I didn’t envy my BFF her new job. However, I knew with The Kev by her side, they would make it and hopefully bring some peace to the Fairy world.
“Do you have news on the portals?” Ethan asked, as he
briskly entered his office followed by Gareth, Venus, Spike, Trista, Francisco and Gemma.
The Kev nodded and took his place beside Gemma who glanced covertly at him with total adoration. The powerful Fairy seemed slightly surprised at the unfamiliar group of people in the office, but covered it quickly. Of course he knew Venus and Gareth, but the others were new to him.
The Vampyres took their seats and Ethan walked behind his desk and waited for The Kev to speak. I was relieved no one commented on Michael Bolton. Maybe they had no clue who he was either.
Fashionably Dead and Wed Book 7 Page 13
