Stigmata

by L M Adams

  Truth is, I haven’t really pursued her, not tried one bit. It’s not her rejection I’m afraid of – nor is it really fear of having a simple liaison; I think it’s because she’s not the kind of woman you have a fling with. She’s the kind of woman that demands your heart and well mine – it just doesn’t have anything left to give. Valentine hurt more than I wanted to admit, I haven’t been with a woman since her, and I can’t really consider it happenstance with the amount of delectable female flesh offered up to me at Kiss. No, somewhere my heart grew cold to the thought of loving another woman and Izza is the kind of woman you love, or you leave be.

  “Jae, Siddy,” Izza smiles warmly and leans in to give both of us a generous hug.

  “Izza, my dear, you truly are radiant,” my mother lingers in the hug a bit longer than I had – and I can’t be all together positive that my mother isn’t putting in her own bid.

  That’s one thing I really hadn’t considered – dark goddess claim me. Honestly speaking, however, they are closer in age to one another than to me. Maybe they have a certain comradery, coming from the same Kindred generation and can give one another a comfort I can’t offer. With that thought I gently withdraw the bid I never had the courage to put in in the first place.

  Izza leads us to the rear of the building, past the large seating area that’s set up almost like a living room with a large sofa, two chairs, an ottoman and a large flat screen television. At the back, she already has everything set up on three long tables, one table for food tasting, which the men are already at… eating from it like it’s a buffet – well my father and Lucien are treating it like a buffet. Jack is just standing there with his hand covering the side of his face, shoulders slumping, as he admits there’s really no point in trying to explain to them that it’s a tasting – not lunch... the two rough-hewed men have already decided its chow time.

  Izza, my mother, and I go to look at final options for table centerpieces. I really don’t care what they look like – Jack cares, and because I care about making him happy, I pretend I give a shit when I really don’t.

  We peruse the options – all of them are either black, white, or purple – which is my complete color palette for the wedding. The centerpieces vary greatly depending on the flower type; roses, peonies, lilies, orchids, tulips in all different shades of black, white or purple… some of the more exotics even have the colors blended into one fucking flower. The vases and the height of the finished pieces also vary wildly. Some have candle accents, or other little knick-knacks like miniature crystal balls or bits of lace… bows and the such.

  I try not to feel overwhelmed – but I don’t think I’m managing it well.

  “What about this one, Jaevia?” My mother lingers at the black and white long-stemmed lilies. The vase bursting with the flowers.

  “How much?”

  “Three-hundred credits…”

  “Oh, that’s not bad,” I start liking the choice a bit better.

  “… each.”

  I throw up in my mouth a little.

  “That is entirely too much, Ma,” I try not to whine… probably not accomplishing the feat.

  “Jaevia honestly, you are acting like you’re paying for any of it.”

  “Mother, I didn’t agree to you and Da paying for the wedding in the first place!”

  “It’s not up to you, it’s tradition,” she says and moves on to the roses, that I imagine are just as expensive as the lilies.

  “Did you give them a goat as my bride price as well?” I ask a bit flippantly.

  She sighs, “No Jaevia – and they’d be the ones giving us the goats if we’d asked for a bride price – which we didn’t.” She looks at Izza, “Can you give us a moment?”

  “Of course,” Izza smiles and turns to join the men at the tasting table… they’ve moved on to ‘tasting’ the second course.

  I frown as I look back at my mother, ready for a fight, but she just looks at me calmly.

  “I married your father with the jewels from a hundred princes in my pocket – yet not one family member to walk me down the aisle. No mother to help me pick out flowers, no father to put Kendon through the paces. Not one drop of blood to wish me well… or give a damn about me.”

  My heart softens as I nod.

  “Your father and I do not care about these things that cannot pass with us from this life to the next, Jaevia, but I will be damned if you do not have the wedding you deserve – because you are our princess… you are our legacy.”

  “Oh, Momma.”

  “So let us pamper you a bit. What is wrong with a Momma spoiling her princess for her wedding?”

  I sigh and give her a smile, “Nothing.”

  She nods, “Do you like the tulips?” She just moves right along. “Perhaps the orchids – that’s more classic, streamlined like your figure.”

  Okay, fine, I won’t complain about the price – but when my mother starts comparing the flowers to my body type I need to be bailed out. I look over at Jack with a pitiful expression, he lowers his hand and leaves the food to the foodies and comes to save me.

  With a bit of booze, and Jack’s artful way of getting my mother and I to agree to things – we’re actually able to pick out the flowers, centerpieces and chair dressings all in one go.

  But then comes the food… my father and Lucien have managed to massacre most of it… but at least it wasn’t pointless. Izza made the large men behave and check off little boxes about the things they liked as they pigged out. Problem being all of it is checked off as a yes.

  “The coconut shrimp,” Luey points as he pops another into his mouth, “try the coconut shrimp, Jae.”

  I don’t think he’s cared about anything at all to do with the wedding but the food – you’ve got to love him. And I do agree, the coconut shrimp are nice… he left me exactly one to try, so thoughtful.

  “Fine, but no fried chicken,” Jack says sternly.

  Lucien goes wide eyed, “But the chicken is good.”

  Jack sighs, “You like all of it, we can’t serve all of it.”

  Lucien looks to Izza, “We cannot?”

  “Well…” she leads, trying to be diplomatic, “we’ve never tried that before.”

  My father huffs, “It does not mean it cannot be done… we shall take all of it.” He nods to a very pleased looking Lucien.

  “We cannot serve a three hundred course meal!” Jack snaps.

  Lucien gestures at the table, “This is not three hundred courses… forty at best…”

  “No one is going to eat forty courses!”

  Lucien huffs, “Challenge accepted.”

  “That wasn’t a challenge!”

  Lucien shrugs. Jack stares at me, I look to my mother to work some of her magic… she and Izza are standing together with tears in their eyes and hands covering their mouths trying not to laugh and my father has moved on to the cake like everything with the food has been decided… this entire thing is a fucking debacle.

  “How about a buffet?” Izza asks as she finally pulls herself together, “We could offer almost everything.”

  Jack sighs staring at the now almost empty table, “I really didn’t want a buffet wedding, but I’m willing to compromise.”

  Lucien looks at Jack for a moment, “No buffet.”

  Jack looks up in shock.

  “I wish your happiness in all things,” Lucien vows deeply.

  Jack looks away shyly, “Maybe we could do smaller portions with more variations?”

  “With the double baked, baked potatoes?”

  “Can we do mashed with all the extras instead?”

  Lucien nods, “This is an acceptable compromise.”

  And some sort of awkward way… Lucien and Jack finally chisel out something they both can live with. Two meats, four veggies, three starches and five different hor d'oeuvres... including the coconut shrimp on little sword shaped skewers – which Lucien absolutely adores.

  But I lay down the law when it comes to the cake. We’ve
already come to an agreement on the design – it’s the flavor that is causing the problem.

  “We’ve all compromised, Jaevia.”

  “Don’t care,” I shrug.

  “Everyone isn’t going to want chocolate.”

  “Still don’t care.”

  “You like vanilla!”

  Izza steps between Jack and I, “We could tier the cake, two chocolate the other vanilla.”

  “I want the gooey chocolate to spill out the center when we cut it open… on all levels,” I cut my eyes at Jack.

  “Buttercream frosting and red velvet cupcakes on the side.”

  “Done.”

  “Good.”

  He leaves to go over and sit with my father and Lucien who have wandered over to the living room area with their plates of cake to sit down and enjoy them while probably talking about weapons, or the easiest way to decapitate someone as they nibble on red velvet buttercream.

  I look back across the tables and the path of destruction they’ve left behind them… not a single morsel of food remains.

  “Sorry about this,” I mutter to Izza gently.

  “Oh, please don’t apologize – I don’t think I have ever had a better time picking out a menu,” her brown eyes are light with laughter.

  “I’ll work out the nitty gritty,” my mother comes to get Izza, “you three need to select music.” She nods towards the living room area.

  Dark Goddess give me strength.

  26

  Jaevia

  “They sound like angels coming to bless our union,” Lucien whispers a bit whimsically – Lucien isn’t exactly a whimsical kind of guy.

  Jack takes a deep breath. “The Catholic All Boys Youth Choir isn’t something we can dance to – not to mention I doubt they’ll show up.”

  Lucien huffs, “I can dance to the music of angels.”

  I roll my eyes at him and begin ticking off all of his horrible decisions thus far, “No to the singing prayer monks, no to the Chinese water harp and wind chimes and no on the Catholic All Boys Youth Choir… they’re not even options on the menu, Luey!” I gesture towards the T.V.

  Lucien grunts, “I found them on the internet.”

  My father nods approvingly, “The internet has much information – why can he not have what is on the internet?”

  Dark Goddess give me grace… “Izza gave us recordings with samples of music that can be played from any of these DJs… stick to the menu.”

  Lucien sighs and picks up the remote to flip through the names on the screen.

  “What about T3ch66 A.D. – he looks like he knows how to have fun.”

  The young man in question has a multicolored mohawk and a million piercings in his face. Not that I’m one to judge on looks, but I doubt this guy will really do well at a wedding.

  “He specializes in techno…” I whine, finally losing my patience and being defeated all at once.

  He looks to my Da, “What is tech-no?”

  My father shrugs, “We can find out on the internet… yes?” and looks back at me… I snatch the remote from Luey and hit the play button for educational purposes.

  Of course Lucien likes it.

  “Enough!” Jack snaps and gets up taking the remote from me, he flips through the menu until I guess he finds what he’s looking for.

  “It’s basic, but I’m done,” he pulls up a DJ who specializes in weddings and has a nice mix on his menu of music from Terra’s 80s and 90s - most of it being Rhythm & Blues, and a few Pop hits.

  Lucien and I agree before he lops off our heads – he’s getting that pissed. Neither of us really care about the music.

  I groan low… “Please tell me we’re done.”

  “I will take care of the rest, later,” Jack takes a deep calming breath, “right now we need to get to Margo for the rings.”

  Today is our drop-dead date – literally. If we don’t get the designs and engravings finalized by today, we’ll be using shoestring for our wedding bands. Neither Lucien nor Jack is the problem, it’s all me. The jeweler, a witch named Margo, is using our own heart’s desire and power to bind the rings together. So we always have a real and actual piece of one another wherever we may go.

  My future hubbies were able to bind their rings with intent easily, but when it was my turn to form a ring for each of them – nothing happened.

  I’m not sure anything will be different this time around, but even if they aren’t magical rings – the guys need a ring from me for us to get married. Neither of them seems overly concerned with my inability to devote myself to them as they so easily devoted themselves to me. They’re completely fine with having simple bands. I’m sure they’re just conditioned to deal with my failures to them as their future wife and there’s no other way for me to slice it.

  “Izza! Izza!” One of her employees, with a very hurried walk calls out. I can feel the worry pouring off of the young man.

  His anxiety prickles my senses and I can feel myself open up to the surrounding energies. My eyes searching for danger… but it’s my ears that find it. And it’s not danger at all.

  “Demoness! Devil’s Vixen!” I stand up as I begin hearing with clarity voices ringing out… it’s coming from the front of the building, but muffled.

  I turn to look and see a small mob has formed out front… the only thing keeping them from making it inside is Frank and Harper.

  “Lock the doors!” Izza yells out running to the front of the building.

  I turn to look as a hand grabs me, its Jack.

  “Out the back,” he whispers.

  I set my jaw, “I am not afraid of them!”

  “Jaevia, I know that you are fearless. But what are you going to do? Kill them?”

  I glance over to my father and Lucien and know that I could say yes, and they would fully support me and even go to help me kill the people saying nasty things about their Queen, and it would prove those people right… in every way.

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  My loyal guards can protect me from everything… except public opinion.

  Izza rushes back to me, eyes wide and expression frantic with worry. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I whisper and look around.

  My father and Lucien have moved towards the front of the building, ready to intervene if necessary. Frank and Harper are managing to keep the people out, using their bodies as a barricade. But they’re being pounded by picket signs.

  The crowd of people came armed with ugly words scribbled in beautiful color... and those words are creative DEATH TO THE WHORE OF BABYLON, GO BACK TO HELL YOU EVIL WITCH – that one even has a hand drawn picture of a green skinned witch burning in flames… I’m not anything remotely like a witch.

  Lucien growls low and turns to look at me, his eyes are burning with rage. If I second those thoughts, those feelings... it will push him over the edge. Lucien loves who I love, hates who I hate and he will burn this world to the ground before a single person ever puts their hands on me again without permission. But when the fires of his rage settled and there was nothing but ash and death... he wouldn’t be able to live with what he did; he’s just too honorable. Inflaming Lucien’s curse would be the beginning to the end of this entire world – to doubt it is to dance with insanity.

  For him, for Lucien – I take a calming breath, “Let’s just go.”

  My mother steps up beside me, “Can you manage a glamour Kendon?”

  My father grunts with a nod.

  We decide to split up, Jack and I will go to the back alley. Lucien will get to his truck and swing around to get us. My father and mother will glamour into Jack and I and walk out with Luey… it will look like Luey leaves Jack and I to fend for ourselves against the mob. These people don’t know enough about Lucien to know that would never happen.

  It really won’t take much to get my mother to look like me, the biggest change will be to the hair. I close my eyes so I can see the final product.

  Glamour is a
delicate and beautiful magic, only daemons can call on it without the aid of gems or potions. It is one of the very few race trait powers that belong to us and only us. We are made up of all the things that walk the earths; and we can become those things when needed.

  It’s actually a Kindred requirement to master glamour before a daemon is allowed to come to the human’s earth. I’d struggled with it for years until a young Ly Erg named Rentali helped me learn. Now I’m one of the best at it. Most daemons can’t glamour anything other than their own appearances, I can glamour others, even objects and places – not for long, but I can do it.

  Glamour is nothing but a lie – a trick of light, it’s using the light around you to refract in different ways a mirror image of what you want rather than what is.

  The only problem being that the brain doesn’t like seeing that kind of change. If you see a glamour happen, your brain will get stuck on the old image and reject the new.

  You can see a glamour fall apart, but not built – as if the brain searches for the truth even when we don’t realize it.

  I open my eyes to a mirrored image of me. Down to the horns and the petulant upturning of my lip as I look out at the crowd.

  It’s disconcerting to say the least.

  “You’re pretty good, Ma,” I say with a bit of awe.

  “I hope you didn’t think I was a one-trick pony, Jaevia,” she winks at me.

  I groan thinking of her ‘other tricks.’

  My father has glamoured as well, into a pretty good approximation of Jack. The height is off… it’s hard to glamour a height difference, but if you don’t see my father and Jack standing side by side, I don’t think anyone would realize Jack is about an inch shorter.

  All in all my Da is okay, but not great. He just doesn’t have the same bearing as Jack. My Da is a soldier, not a suave monster. The mannerisms are off, the set of his jaw, how he holds his shoulders. It all just grates against my skin as wrong. But it will do to fool a few humans.