He waved me off with a muddy paw. Jeepers. Creepers.
I shoved Squirl ahead of me, turning back in time to see the Jolley brothers blow their assignment.
“Oops!” Roger and Bram grabbed at the shadow that had been Edward but was now a bat winging its way through the uppermost trees.
The rear panel crunched into place, enclosing the monks, and the tank roared away in the direction of the Van Helsing.
“Wait!” I screamed. Why was he taking them to the inn?
Roger turned to Bram. “Can we trust Renfield?”
“He never steered me wrong, but then again, I don’t remember him at all.”
“Where the hell-heck did he get that lead box on wheels?” I asked.
“Carfax Abbey has an annual car auction, silent of course. I’m guessing the tank was up for bids,” Bram said.
I hugged Roger, feeling uneasy at leaving him alone. I had the dark shadow of a premonition. “Next time you see me, I’ll be your bride. But remember you can’t see me before the wedding. We wouldn’t want any bad luck.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The church was deathly quiet. The altar was bathed in shadows despite the large narrow leaded glass windows that ran from the floor to the arched ceiling, stretching three stories into a vault.
Something was amiss near the pulpit. The Book of Names was missing from the pedestal. John and Paul were supposed to have returned it. They’d been gone long enough to return an entire mobile library and they did have blood on their collars.
Squirl clung to me like a toddler being dropped off at daycare. “I don’t want to stay here, alone. I’m afraid.”
I held her by the shoulders and gave her my most stern look. “Big girls don’t cry. This is the safest place for you. Vampires can’t enter churches. It’s the law.”
She shook her head. “I want a restraining order.”
“They don’t work.”
“They do in Vulgaria. They’re called shotguns.”
“Sweetie, you must be brave. Look how courageous I am. I’m getting married again. Have you any idea how much guts that takes?”
I opened my eyes as wide as I could to get a better look at the main altar but nothing stood out. I tiptoed up and down the aisle looking for pew lurkers. If Renfield circled back to the abbey with his tank of monks, he didn’t bring the boys here.
How do you hide thirty-nine men? I sniffed the air. It was musty and moldy but no male sweat.
“Sit here under this crucifix.” I plunked Squirl down in a corner of a front pew under a station of the cross and handed her a prayer book with a faded gold ink cross on the cover. “We’ll come and get you after the ceremony. Now stay put and keep your dang libido under control!”
“But I’m a bridesmaid. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before and I even bought an orange dress with a big bow on the shoulder just in case someone ever asked me.” She whimpered. “It’s back at the inn.”
“Forget the dress. Do not leave the church.” It seemed everyone was excited about the wedding except me.
I patted her head and turned to go. The confessional booth began to shimmy and then switched to a rumba. It rolled and rocked and spit out Edward the nympho-monk. He came at Squirl, flipping his cloak behind him and slurping his lips. “Mine! Mine!”
This dude would be hell in a singles bar.
Squirl went into a trance, her eyes glazing over. I wondered if he’d slipped her a ruffie when I wasn’t looking.
I picked up a brass candleholder about a foot in length and swung it as if our lives depended on it, because they did. It connected with the vampire’s head and took the wind out of him. He fell back into the booth. I slammed the door and grabbed a huge jug of what I hoped was holy water standing next to a baptismal font. I popped the lid and sprinkled the doors of the booth, saturating the wood and the floors.
“That should keep him in place until somebody stakes him.” I sure wasn’t about to be the driving force behind a stake. Maybe Mina would get a kick out of nailing him.
“Change of plans! Come on Squirl,” I grabbed her hand and we dashed through the courtyard and into the residential wing of the monastery. No way could I leave her alone with Edward banging around the box like something from Doctor Who.
Roger was in our room fiddling in his side of the closet. “Thought you were stashing Squirl.”
“New plan. She’s the assistant to the bride. I stashed Edward instead. He’s in the confessional waiting to be heard.”
He scratched his head, again. Had he picked up grave lice? “I thought vampires couldn’t enter churches.”
“Umm…there seems to be a variance. I haven’t figured it out yet,” I said. “Any word from the Vaticopter?”
“Nada. Bram should be told about Edward in the box.”
“Where is Bram?”
“He’s at the wedding pavilion preparing for the service. There’s some trick to it as we have to comply with the Vulgarian traditions or the mayor won’t sign our marriage certificate.”
“I just want a plain “I do… We do ceremony.”
“When in Vulgaria…”
I cut him off with my special I-told-you-so look.
“Mina’s on her way here to make your hat or whatever it is you’re wearing.”
That was sweet of her.
I felt like a seasoned French fry, all crispy and gritty. “I need to sponge bathe and fix my hair. Give me some privacy,” I said slipping into the bathroom.
The water closet was a simple affair containing a sink with no faucets and no drain, a small wooden table, and a tiny chip of a mirror suspended by one nail over the bowl. All is vanity.
A half-full pitcher sat on the table. There was just enough well water to dab my face with a dampened corner of the only towel and peel off the schmutz.
One tired looking mama-to-be gazed back at me from the sliver of glass.
It bummed me out to see the gap in my mouth. I was not a gap girl.
“Squirl, hand me a biscuit,” I called.
She popped in the door beaming. “You like them! You really like them?”
“Can’t go another day without one.”
I took the biscuit Squirl handed me and closed the bathroom door. Necessity is the mother of a dentist. I dipped the rock-hard corner of the biscuit in the sink drips and broke off a piece, shaping it into a Chiclet.
It hurt like the dickens but I wedged the biscuit Chiclet into my empty tooth socket. Good. Not much blood. I sucked air in and out over the dough until it hardened, then looked at myself in the mirror and groaned.
I stripped out of my maternity slacks and tunic and sponged with the re-dipped end of the towel. Not the cleanest of brides but my intentions were pure. Well, not one-hundred-percent pure.
With the soggy-tipped towel wrapped around my body, I opened the bathroom door and called to Roger. No answer. Coast was clear for me to peek at myself in the floor-length mirror nailed to the inside of the closet door.
I unhung my lovely wedding dress as a flood of emotions sloshed over me.
This was for real. Once again, I was gambling my current state of happiness on a man. But this time it was different. I was sober and I was marrying one of the nicest guys on earth. Roger had the heart of a lion and the nerves of a meerkat. I loved him with all my being and most of my patience. I was more than ready to get our vows vowed and get the heck out of Vulgaria.
Carefully, I slipped on the hand-made red-bow shoes. I was tickled with how sweet they looked. It was temporarily easy to forget we were surrounded by the undead and by garlic swilling Louts. This was my wedding day and I would be happy even if I had to stake half the town.
I slipped my wedding gown from the hanger and gently worked the neckline open. The dress was a loose shift style. I wiggled it over my head. It fell from my shoulders in soft layers of chiffon and lace and eased over my baby bump. It had a short train, not enough to trip over, but just enough to highlight the shoes peeking from the hemline. Now a
ll I needed was the wreath of flowers for my hair and my bouquet.
“Spider!” Squirl jumped out from behind the closet door causing me to catch my breath.
“Where?” I swished the dress and tapped my feet in a frenzied stomp.
“Here,” she put a small black spider on my dress and tucked it into the folds.
“What the hell-heck?”
“Finding a spider in the folds of a wedding dress is very good luck. Vulgarian tradition.”
These people have more traditions than the mafia.
“Take the spider off my dress. Do not squash it. Just make it go away!”
Squirl pouted. “These are the things a bridesmaid must do to ensure a happy marriage for the bride.” She wrangled the spider and set him on the windowsill where he made good his escape.
“Got any more of those Vulgarian superstitions? Let ‘em out now.”
“Well… the bride should cry before her wedding so she will be happy in marriage. And it’s a good sign if a relative sneezes before the ceremony.”
“Anymore?”
“To drop the wedding rings means death.”
“Done?”
“I believe I am.”
I pirouetted in the mirror to get the full effect of the dress. I smiled at my reflection and held back the tears. My hair was limp and dirty. My smile exposed one gummy wad of a fake tooth that wouldn’t fool Mr. Magoo in the dark.
A baby can feel when his mama is sad. I wasn’t about to have Little Roger upset just cause I looked like a lady wrestler after the last round. “Yay for me,” I said in false bravado.
“What’s wrong?” Roger asked sneaking up behind me and admiring his reflection over my shoulder.
“Perfect! Now you’ve jinxed our wedding. You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony. It’s bad luck.”
“Nah… Our stock is on the rise. I’ve found my brother, we’re expecting a son, and we’re about to start the rest of our life together. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Will you stop tempting fate? You might as well have walked under a ladder carrying a black cat and wearing a kick-me sign.”
He leaned closer to the mirror adjusting a caramel-colored silk ascot.
What? I can’t let him out of my sight. An ascot? He looked like a dandy out of Jane Austen.
He preened.
I wanted to pop him.
“You look ridiculous with that a..s..s..s..cot.” The ‘s’ sound forced the biscuit tooth from my jaw. It flopped on my lower lip.
Roger gasped.
“I look like an idiot, don’t I?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he jammed his foot in his mouth. “Darcy has great teeth. When we get back to the States, I’ll get you the name of her dentist,” he said.
The world famous archaeologist came within inches of exploring moon craters. On what planet did he think he could mention his siliconed ex-girlfriend and not get a rise out of me? For a brilliant scientist he was a knucklehead where women were concerned.
“I thought we left her ashes in Cleopatra’s tomb?”
“Don’t let another woman between you and the mirror!” Squirl squealed from across the room.
“Another Vulgarian superstition?”
She scrambled to my side coaxing me closer to the mirror. “If another woman comes between you and your reflection in your wedding dress, that woman will someday take your husband.”
“Does mentioning her name count?”
Squirl shrugged and backed off. “Maybe?”
Roger’s dark brown eyes took on all the wonderment of a child at Disney. “You can’t still be jealous of her? I’m marrying you.”
Each time he spoke, Roger dug himself a deeper hole.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Did Roger think he was doing me a favor? I was the party who had to be coerced into marriage. I shot him my best glare. “I was perfectly happy single. Then you stepped into my living room with your brown eyes and brown hair and brown briefcase and ugly brown shoes. Next thing I know I’m getting married to a guy in a brown tuxedo. You know there are other colors.”
He smirked. I loved his smirk. It made him look like a little boy who thinks he’s pulled one over on mom. I hope Little Roger has that same smirk.
“You seduced me. You ravaged me and then left me to return to selling Miami real estate,” he said.
I swallowed a giggle. “You were the seducer. I was the seducee. How many women are forced to run off with an Egyptian antiquity?”
“Dunno. Ask Omar Sharif.”
I clocked him in the shoulder catching him off guard. He fell down rubbing his arm. Roger sprawled on the floor faking an injury when Kit walked in carrying a basket of wild flowers, his blue gown flittering as he strode across the room, his long legs encased in glitter hose, his feet in satin pumps. He set the basket of flowers on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“I heard you two lovebirds from down the hall. You don’t want to give the wrong impression about married life. Mina and Bram are talking about committing the ultimate act.” He touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “You just might have a brother and sister-in-law.”
I smacked my palm on my forehead. “A mixed marriage?”
“Stop this Tyson-Holyfield routine and shape up. Mina will be here any minute to weave your crown of flowers. Can you get a bit more romantic? Fake it.”
I held out my hand and helped Roger to his feet. He was such a good sport.
My little satin drawstring bride’s bag hung around the hanger. I slipped it off and loaded it with Squirl’s cross, lip balm, and my waxed dental floss. Knowing our wedding feast would be mostly nuts and berries, I anticipated an evening of flossing.
I planned to avoid any Loutish casseroles just in case there was skullduggery on the menu.
Mina floated into the room and plopped down on to the floor. There was something so Zen about her. New love is like smelling a baby. It has a soft powdery feel that tranquilizes all who come in contact with it.
Kit placed the basket of flowers next to Mina. The blooms fell in a tumble around her. She laughed and the sound was like fairies at play. Not that I’d heard many fairies laugh.
Mina began to pull the baby’s breath and daisies weaving their stems together quickly forming a lovely tiara of flowers.
I’d given up on hiding my gown from Roger or anyone else. Come on in world. See my gown before the wedding.
John and Paul glided silently into the room. Dribbles of blood stained their collars.
I stepped behind Roger, fingering for my cross.
Bram seemed not to notice their stained collars. “Did you return the Book of Names?”
They nodded.
Lying postulants.
“The Book is not in the church,” I said.
I tugged on Roger’s sleeve and whispered in his ear. “Blood on their collars.”
His knees buckled, I caught him under the arms.
A rumble of carts and the clatter of horses’ hoofs caused us to turn as one to the windows temporarily forgetting the errant postulants. A parade of covered casseroles and more potato salad than Wolfie’s Deli dished in all its years in Miami cut along the path between the cemetery and the walled courtyard headed for the pavilion.
How could the Louts not notice the open graves?
I peered further out the window. Mina was barely distinguishable in the dark trees. She leaned forward and grinned at me. The light shifted and I could see the little vamp had filled in forty graves. Good thinking. I gave her a thumbs-up.
When I turned back, John and Paul were gone.
I grabbed Kit and pulled on his décolleté, “They didn’t get you, did they?”
“Who?”
“The postulants are vampires. Avoid flirting at all costs.”
He shivered.
Bram clutched his throat when I told him about his trainees.
“Did they get you?” I asked. My heart dropped to my red-bow shoes. Please don’t let Roge
r lose his brother now.
He pulled his collar from his neck. “Any bites?”
I sighed. “You’re clean.”
I turned to the group. “Red alert! We have three unfriendlies. The postulants Paul and John are now bloodsuckers. They may attempt to free Edward from the confessional box in the church where he is imprisoned. How do we stand on holy water?”
“Real carefully?” Squirl said.
“No. I mean do we have any?”
“It’s all down in the church,” Kit said.
“The church is off limits because of Edward,” I said. “Let’s head out to the festivities before the Louts get suspicious.”
I positioned my crown of daisies and pinched my cheeks for color. The bouquet was a perfect riot of colorful native Vulgarian blossoms. I slipped the bride’s purse over my left wrist and held the bouquet in my hand.
“Where’s Mina?” Bram asked.
“She’s able to float in the shadows of the cemetery. She should be able to see the service from there.”
A year ago, we were on the trail of Cleopatra’s grave, now we were being bombarded with potato salad and surrounded by semi-vampires. Life is good if you keep your sense of humor.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I had proceeded to the wedding pavilion admiring the tables with checkered cloths that lined the hillside. It was like a giant garage sale about to set. Huge bowls of potato salad extended the length of half a football field. Crispy fried potato pancakes added a spot of golden color. And dozens of casserole dishes with family names taped on them dotted the table-scape. If no one remembered the Spam we were good to go.
Peter Cushion’s political signs had popped up in the grass like mushrooms after a summer rain. He was taking full advantage of our private wedding and captive audience. Politicians!
The skinny politico stood on a wooden crate labeled ‘cabbage’ with his mouth in full gear and his balding head reflecting the setting sun in an oily pattern of pinks and blues. His voice sounded like an old-fashioned phonograph record, scratchy and broken. He waved an unlit torch in his left hand.
“Carfax Abbey has been known for the practice of dark arts for centuries. It has been brought to my attention that the Lugosi Comet is controlled from the abbey. How much longer will the good people of Loutish allow this abomination? Once I am re-elected we will file a petition to burn the abbey to the ground and throw the ashes into the sea.”
Claws of Doom Page 31
