Blood Sisters

by Paula Guran

  Todd said, “Good night, dead lady.”

  “Good night, hairball,” she said. But just before the door closed behind her, she turned to smile at him.

  The day of the wedding closed clear and warm, ideal for the outside ceremony. Acting uneasily in tandem, the Were and vamp security teams had admitted the catering staff, scanning their ID cards quickly. The teams paid more careful attention to the invitations presented by their own kind.

  When Dahlia checked out the garden, the fountain of synthetic blood was flowing beautifully, champagne glasses arranged in a tier on a table beside it. It was a pretty touch, and Dahlia was proud she’d arranged it with the caterer, along with a groaning buffet for the Weres and a bar with drinks both alcoholic and nonalcoholic. Dahlia walked down the buffet, checking the stainless-steel eating utensils and the napkins and heated containers full of food. It seemed sufficient, though Dahlia was not much of a judge. The two servers stood stiffly behind the buffet, eyeing her passage with unhappy eyes.

  Every human on the catering staff was tense. They’ve never served vampires, she thought, and maybe the Weres are giving off some kind of vibration, too.

  She wasn’t a bit surprised to encounter Todd, who was making a circuit of the high brick wall that guarded the large backyard of the mansion.

  “Where’s your dress?” he asked. “I’m panting to see it.” Dahlia was in a black robe, modestly tied at her waist. Todd was already in his tuxedo. Dahlia had to blink.

  “You look good,” she said, her voice almost as calm as usual, though her fangs were sliding out. “Good” was a definite understatement. “Like a life-size Ken doll.”

  “I can’t believe you even know what a Ken doll is,” he said, laughing. “If I’m a big Ken, you’re a miniature vampire Barbie.” She’d been called worse things. She’d always admired Barbie’s wardrobe and fashion sense.

  “See you in a few minutes,” she said, and went to get dressed.

  Hanging over the door to the closet in Dahlia’s little room was the bridesmaid dress. After a prolonged struggle with Taffy, Dahlia had talked her out of ordering pale pink with ruffles or pale blue with artificial roses sewn across the bodice. And no big bow on the butt. And no hat with veil. In fact, her nest-mate Fortunata came in just as Dahlia shimmied into the gown. Fortunata smiled at Dahlia’s cautious look down the length of her body.

  Taffy, despite her strange lack of judgment about this marriage, had finally had the sense to realize vampires would look ridiculous in innocent ruffles, girlish flounces, and insipid colors. The bridesmaids, four of them, were wearing dark blue square-necked long dresses that were form-fitting but not sleazily tight, and the spaghetti straps ensured that no one would lose whatever modesty she might possess.

  There were a few glittery sequins strewn across the chest to give the dress a little sparkle, and they were all wearing black high heels and carrying bouquets of pale pink and creamy white roses. Fortunata had just come from adding a little extra item to the bouquets, at Dahlia’s request.

  “Mission accomplished. Now I’m ready to fix your hair,” Fortunata said, finding Dahlia’s brush in the clutter on the dressing table.

  Fortunata had had a way with hair for centuries, and she brushed and pulled and twisted until Dahlia’s black tresses were a model of sophisticated simplicity, with a couple of ringlets trailing here and there carelessly, to add just that touch of sensuous abandon.

  “Not too shabby,” was Fortunata’s verdict when she and Dahlia stood side by side, and Dahlia had to agree. She felt a pleasurable tingle when she thought of Todd seeing her in the complete ensemble, and she hurriedly suppressed the reaction. Every time she viewed herself in a mirror, she felt a thrill of pleasure that the old canard about vamps having no reflection simply wasn’t true.

  The two bridesmaids united with the rest of the bride’s side of the wedding party in the large common room at the back of the mansion. Taffy was in full wedding regalia, a pale redhead dripping in ivory lace. “She looks like a big white cake covered in icing,” Fortunata muttered, and Dahlia, who actually agreed, said, “Hush. She looks beautiful.” The long sleeves, the lace, the veil, the coronet of pearls … “We’re lucky we’re bridesmaids,” Dahlia muttered. She drifted across the enormous, opulent room to gaze out the French doors at the scene outside. The French doors led out onto the flagstoned terrace, and from the terrace down onto the lawn. The scene looked very familiar, with white chairs in two groups of orderly lines, with a red carpet bisecting the groups. Either the catering company Cedric had hired was the same one that had had the concession at the wedding Dahlia attended a couple of weeks before or the arrangement was standard operating procedure. Dahlia had dispensed with the doves, fearing some of the Weres would eat the birds before they could be released.

  A fairy or two mingled with the crowd, carefully staying over on the groom’s side. Fairies were notoriously delicious to vampires, and though everyone was sure to be on his or her best behavior, not every vamp had the same threshold of self-control. Dahlia recognized a goblin or two that Cedric did business with and assorted shape-shifters, including one dark exotic who changed into a cobra. (That had been a memorable sight on a memorable night. Dahlia smiled reminiscently.)

  Just then, a chorus of howls outside announced the arrival of the groomsmen, all decked out in their tuxes. Dahlia could distinguish Todd even at a distance. His burnished head was shining in the torches that had been set at intervals up and down the lawn. His glasses glinted. Dahlia sighed.

  The music, provided by a Were rock band that was a favorite of the groom’s, was surprisingly pleasant. The lead singer had a wonderfully tender voice that wrapped itself around love songs in an affecting way. He began to sing a number that she knew was called simply “The Wedding Song,” because Taffy had dragged her along when she picked out the music.

  Of course, the words weren’t altogether pertinent since the subjects getting married weren’t human. Don wasn’t going to leave his mother, and Taffy wasn’t going to leave her home. Taffy’s home had slid into the ocean a couple of centuries before, and Don’s mother was now pregnant by another member of the pack. But the sentiment, that the two would cleave together, was timely.

  Just as Dahlia’s eyes began to feel a little watery, Cedric appeared to give Taffy away. This was his right as sheriff, and Dahlia was proud that Cedric had stirred himself enough to be fitted for a traditional tuxedo. (He’d threatened to appear in an elaboration of his court costume from the time of Henry VIII.) The scene outside seemed to be boiling with activity, lots of the caterer’s minions milling around. They needed to be more unobtrusive, Dahlia thought, and frowned.

  The music changed, and Dahlia recognized the signal. She snapped her fingers. The bridesmaids grew still, and Taffy stared around her, looking as though she was going to panic. Cedric was searching around in his pocket for a handkerchief, since he was prone to tears at weddings, he’d said. Though he was perhaps a foot shorter than Taffy, he looked quite dapper in his black-and-white. His gleaming skin and dark Van Dyke beard and mustache made him appear quite distinguished, and if it hadn’t been for a few niggling worries, Dahlia would have been very satisfied with the showing the vampires were providing. Cedric might not be a ball of energy, but he was handsome and had a polished turn of phrase that would come in handy at the wedding banquet.

  “What’s happening out there?” Taffy asked. “Do I look all right?”

  “Don has come to stand by his friend the minister,” Dahlia reported. She had to stand on her tiptoes, even though she was at a slight elevation, to see what was happening. Don’s friend, who’d been chosen over Harry the Druid, was a mail-order minister who happened to have a wonderfully solemn voice and an appropriate black robe. The marriage wouldn’t exactly be legal anyway, so appearance was more important than religious preference. “He’s looking toward the house, waiting for you!” Dahlia tried her best to sound excited, and the other bridesmaids twittered obligingly.

&nb
sp; “Here’s Todd, coming for me,” she said, making sure she sounded quite emotionless. This was the way they’d agreed to do it, each bridesmaid going down the aisle paired with a Were, echoing the bridal couple.

  “That sucks,” Glenda had said frankly, but Dahlia had given the other bridesmaids her big-eyed gaze, and they’d buckled.

  Dahlia held her bouquet in the correct grip, and as Fortunata opened the door, Dahlia stepped out to meet the approaching Todd, who offered his arm at the right moment. The assembled guests gasped and murmured in a gratifying way at Dahlia’s beauty, but Dahlia wanted to record only one reaction. Todd’s eyes flared wide in the response Dahlia had long recognized as signaling sure attraction. Dahlia suppressed a grin and tried her best to look sweet and demure as she reached up to take Todd’s brawny arm.

  He bent down to tell her something confidential, and she waited with the faintest of smiles as they walked slowly down the red carpet.

  “The caterers,” he whispered. “There are too many of them.”

  “I wondered,” she said, keeping her face arranged in a smile with some effort. “How’d they get in?”

  “The caterer’s in on it. They all had ID cards.”

  “This may be more fun that we’d counted on,” she said, looking up at him for the first time.

  He caught his breath. “Woman, you stir my blood,” he said sincerely.

  She put her own feelings into her eyes and felt his pulse quicken in response. She murmured, “Armed?”

  “Don’t think we need to be,” he said. “Tomorrow night’s the full moon. We can change tonight, if we throw ourselves into it.”

  “When do you think it’ll happen?”

  “When the bride comes out,” he said.

  “Of course.” The fanatics would want Taffy most of all. What a triumph for them if they could destroy the dead thing that wanted to marry a living man!

  “If you change … there can’t be any survivors,” she observed, her soft voice audible only to his sharp ears.

  He smiled down at her. “Not a problem.”

  They’d reached the front of the assemblage now. Dahlia was close enough to notice that the waiting groom was trembling with nerves, though Todd’s arm under her hand felt rock-steady. They were due to split up here, Dahlia going to the bride’s side and Todd to the groom’s. “Don’t separate,” she said at the last minute, and they turned to face the guests together, but no longer arm in arm. The pair following in their wake, Fortunata and the stubby blond Were named Richie, were quick enough on the uptake to follow suit, as did the other two couples.

  Now they formed a wall in front of the groom, and all Dahlia’s hopes for her friend’s safety depended on Taffy getting down the aisle and gaining safety behind the phalanx formed by the wedding party.

  The men and women in white jackets—who’d been setting up tables and ferrying food from the kitchen and setting up the blood bar and the alcohol bar were now trying to subtly position themselves in a loose circle around the guests and the wedding party.

  All Dahlia’s suspicions were confirmed.

  It didn’t take the crowd long to smell something odd. A confused murmur had just begun to spread through the guests when an apparently unsuspecting Taffy stepped out of the French doors. Cedric followed right behind her, giving her room to emerge in her full bridal splendor.

  The caterers drew their weapons from under their white jackets and opened fire. Lots of the bullets were aimed at the bride.

  But Taffy wasn’t there. She had jumped five feet up in the air, and she was hurling her bridal bouquet at the nearest shooter hard enough to knock him down. Her eyes were blazing. Her red hair came loose from its elaborate arrangement, and she looked magnificent, every inch a vampire: a vampire totally pissed off that her wedding plans were being ruined.

  Dahlia was proud enough to burst. But there wasn’t any time to revel in her pleasure, because just as Todd bent to the ground and began to turn furry, Richie’s chest exploded in a spray of red and Fortunata gasped with pain as a shot penetrated her arm.

  From her own bouquet Dahlia extracted the wicked dagger she’d gotten Fortunata to conceal in its center, and with a bloodcurdling battle yell, she laid into the nearest server, a pie-faced young woman who hadn’t mastered the art of close combat.

  Dahlia and the other vamps mowed through the white-coated gun-slingers like scythes, and the huge bronze wolf by her side was just as effective.

  Though they may have been heavily briefed on the evil and vicious nature of vampires, the attackers certainly hadn’t counted on such an instantaneous and drastic counterattack. And they didn’t know anything about Werewolves. The shock value of seeing many of the guests turn into animals rendered some of the gun toters simply paralytic with astonishment, during which moment the wolves rendered them—well, literally rendered them.

  One fanatical young man faced Dahlia’s approach and held open his arms to either side, proclaiming, “I am ready to die for my faith!”

  “Good,” Dahlia said, somewhat startled that he was being so obliging. She separated him from his head with a quick swipe of the knife.

  When the fighting was over, Dahlia and Todd found themselves back-to-back on a pile of rather objectionable corpses, looking around for any further opposition. But the only live people around them were those of their own kind. Dahlia turned to her companion.

  “It appears there are no more objections to the marriage,” she said.

  From the expression on his muzzle Dahlia could tell that she’d never looked so beautiful to the big Were—even covered in blood, her dress ruined. Todd changed from a wolf into an equally blood-dappled man wearing no clothes at all. “Oh,” Dahlia said, happily. “Oh, bravo!”

  Dahlia had paused to take some gulps of the real thing (to hell with the synthetic blood fountain) during the slaughter, and now she was rosy cheeked and feeling quite invigorated.

  “The knives were your idea, weren’t they?” Todd said admiringly.

  Dahlia nodded, trying to look shy.

  “It’s a human tradition that the best man and the maid of honor have a fling at the wedding,” Todd said.

  “Is that right?” Dahlia looked up at him. “But you know, there hasn’t been a wedding yet.”

  They looked around them as they made their way to the terrace.

  Cedric and Glenda were sipping from cups they’d filled with blood that wasn’t synthetic at all. Ever the gracious host, Cedric had uncorked some champagne and offered the bottle to Don. Taffy, hanging on to Don’s bare arm, was laughing breathlessly. Her pearl coronet was still straight, but her dress was ripped in several places.

  She didn’t seem to care.

  Richie, the sole serious casualty on the supernatural side, was being tended ably by a little doctor who looked suspiciously like a hobbit.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife!” called the Were friend who’d been the “minister” at the ceremony. He was as naked as Todd. He had his arms wrapped around the Amazonian Were woman, who was equally bereft of clothing. They seemed quite happy, but not as happy as Don and Taffy as they kissed each other.

  The wedding was pronounced a great success. In fact, though it had been termed scandalous before it occurred, Taffy and Don’s wedding turned out to be the social event of the Rhodes summer season, in certain supernatural circles.

  The disappearance of the Lucky Caterer’s entire staff was a nine-day wonder in Rhodes law enforcement circles. Luckily for the vampires and the Weres, owner Lucky Jones had kept the wedding off the books because she expected the humans would kill all the guests.

  And it’s true that, as Dahlia had told Glenda, going through a war together breeds comradeship; less than a year later, the same Were minister was officiating at Todd and Dahlia’s nuptials.

  The couple wisely opted to have a less formal wedding—in fact, a potluck. Dahlia had decided that, contrary to all social indicators, caterers were simply tacky.

  NEEDLES

 
; Elizabeth Bear

  Elizabeth Bear was born on the same day as Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, but in a different year. When coupled with a childhood tendency to read the dictionary for fun, this led her inevitably to penury, intransigence, and the writing of speculative fiction. She is the Hugo, Sturgeon, Locus, and Campbell Award winning author of more than twenty-five novels—the most recent is Karen Memory, from Tor—and almost a hundred short stories. Her dog lives in Massachusetts; her partner, writer Scott Lynch, lives in Wisconsin. (She spends a lot of time on planes.)

  When Bear dabbles in the vampiric, you can always expect a fresh twist. Her collection of linked supernatural mystery stories, New Amsterdam (2007), and its sequel novellas The White City (2010) and Ad Eternum (2012) feature Don Sebastien de Ulloa, a thousand-year-old wampyr, in an alternative history/steampunkish setting. In her novel One-Eyed Jack, a pivotal character is a vampire named Tribute, who bears a striking resemblance to a certain long-lost icon of popular music. Bear’s short story “Needles” mixes standard vampire themes and Mesopotamian mythology for a darkly memorable story …

  The vampires rolled into Needles about three hours before dawn on a Tuesday in April, when the nights still chilled between each scorching day. They sat as far apart from each other as they could get, jammed up against the doors of a ’67 Impala hardtop the color of dried blood, which made for acres of bench seat between them. Billy, immune to irony, rested his fingertips on the steering wheel, the other bad boy arm draped out the open window. Mahasti let her right hand trail in the slipstream behind a passenger mirror like a cherub’s stunted wing.

  Mahasti had driven until the sun set. After that, she’d let Billy out of the trunk and they had burned highway all night south from Vegas through CalNevAri, over the California border until they passed from the Mojave Desert to the Mohave Valley. Somewhere in there the 95 blurred into cohabitation with Interstate 40 and then they found themselves cruising the Mother Road.