Garnet Lacey - Dead If I Do Part 9

I'd look like a Goth s.h.i.+rley Temple. "I already have all that taken care of, Mom."

She nodded suspiciously. "You are planning on going back to blonde, though, right? It's just that it suits your coloring so much better."

"If I tried to bleach the dye that's already in my hair, G.o.ddess only knows what color I'd end up . . . if all my hair didn't fall out first."

My mother looked stricken.

I thought she might start to cry again, so I blurted out, "Do you think the dress can be s.h.i.+pped and altered in time?"

She brightened. "You'll wear it?"

"If it means that much to you," I said, "of course, I will."

William was shoveling the sidewalk as I came down the block. He had on the cla.s.sic shapeless parka most Midwesterners sported half the year, but he accented it with one of those extra-long tipped elf hats that hung almost to the back of his knees. It was bright yellow with black stripes and a big pompom at the end.

"Who's minding the store?" I asked.

"I called in Slow Bob. I was starting to get worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I should have called. Family crisis." I thrust the picture at him. "My mother wants me to wear this."

He leaned up against the shovel and adjusted his gla.s.ses. "It's . . . uh, it's very nice?" He looked at me, and I shook my head.

"It's beautiful-gorgeous, even, but it's not what I wanted. I'll look ridiculous in that. I spent hundreds of dollars on a trim silver evening dress. It 's modern and stylish, and it took me three months to find it."

"Oh. So, uh, can you say no or something?" He handed the picture back and tucked the shovel into the crook of his arm.

Together we headed for the door.

"I don't know. My only hope is that it's so old it can't really be fitted to me." I sighed. "My mother was hysterical, though. I've never seen her like that. She's usually such a stoic Norwegian, you know?"

William nodded, but I knew he had no idea. He'd told me his family was Irish and typically loud and boisterous.

Slow Bob looked visibly relieved when we walked in. Bob was an excellent employee. Punctual, polite, and often available for short-notice s.h.i.+fts, he was a master alphabetizer, and I swore he read every single t.i.tle we purchased. Slow Bob 's biggest drawback was that he would not be hurried, regardless of how many people might be waiting. I suspected that he became so slow on the register because he really hated that particular aspect of the job, and he seized up with intense shyness whenever he was forced to deal with a customer.

William stepped into the back room to put the shovel away. Slow Bob gave me a little happy wave and retreated to the shelves. I took the spot he vacated behind the counter.

I looked at the photograph again. It wasn't so bad. At least it wasn't pink taffeta, like poor Izzy was going to be wearing if I didn't fix things.

I spent the rest of the day at work dividing my time between my duties to the store and trying to solve various personal crises.

The wedding, however, remained a Gordian knot. I couldn't untangle the damage. I must have called every band and music agency listed in the phone book. Nearly everyone was either already booked or unavailable so close to the Christmas holiday.

There was one called White Wedding, a Billy Idol tribute band, but I couldn't decide if that was better or worse than polka. The vision of my dad and me sharing "Rebel Yell," just didn't quite work for me. For now, we were stuck with "Roll Out the Barrel."

I got my mom on finding a cake. I thought that giving her a job might help distract her and soothe her ruffled feathers. She seemed eager, and even though I told her I'd like to try to find local and organic bakers, I also gave up any reasonable hope she could find what I wanted on such short notice. I told her I'd be happy with anything she could find, and I meant it.

As for the bridesmaid's dresses, I had a thought. After William and I fended off a brief rush of customers buying Solstice cards and G.o.ddess-themed ornaments, I turned to him. "Say, do you still have a lot of friends in the Society for Creative Anachronism?"

He looked a little embarra.s.sed. "Why?"

"I remember that girl you dated. She was an amazing seamstress, and she made that one awesome dress with all the beadwork in, like, two weeks."

"Lady Candice, yeah," he said with a fond smile.

"Are you on speaking terms?"

"Again with the 'why'?" he asked.

"The dresses for the bridesmaids," I said. "The order is all screwed up, remember? I've got the right dresses on back order, but, well, the way things are going, I'd like to have a backup plan."

"I think she's expensive when she does work for non-SCA people, but I'll give you her number."

"That's great, William. Thanks," I said, and then I set out on the Internet to find a possible pattern for the lady to use.

I hummed while I surfed. I felt, briefly, like things might be back on track again.

It was dark by the time we closed up the shop. Since William was coming to the bridal shower/coven meeting, he offered me a ride home.

I was turning the key in the shop's lock when a figure stepped out of the shadows. I almost did my ninja -Lilith thing again before I recognized Parrish. I showed him my keys in my fist, "You're going to have to stop doing that. I'm going to end up killing you."

He smiled devilishly. "Sorry, it's in my nature, dear Garnet. h.e.l.lo, William," he said in a rather predatory tone.

William scratched his neck nervously, and said, "Uh, hi," huskily. I stared at the two of them. It was clear there was history between them I didn't know. William watched the neon marquee light flicker on the snowdrifts without meeting Parrish's eyes; all the while Parrish stared hungrily at him.

"Uh, anyway, I'm glad you're skulking about," I said to Parrish. "I wanted to have a word with you."

"Oh?" Parrish glanced away from William long enough to give me a raised eyebrow. "What about?"

"Tereza. You did a great act the other night, pretending you didn't know her or what she was. I think you turned her."

"Why would I do that? She belongs to Sebastian, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, exactly." That was precisely the sort of thing that would motivate Parrish beyond hard, cold cash: getting one up on Sebastian.

"Uh, we're going to be late," William said quietly.

"Did Matyas pay you to vamp her?"

Parrish tried to look offended. "You think I'd sell the Dark Gift?"

"Yes," I said with a smile. "You'd sell your own grandmother if the price was right."

Parrish laughed. "You know me well, indeed."

William tugged my sleeve. I nodded that I knew we needed to be going, but I just wanted a few more seconds with Parrish.

"Did you? Did you turn Tereza?"

Parrish shook his head. "You'll have to look for another scapegoat. If I had, do you think I would have let the vambie do this?"

He held up his injured hand. It looked better, though still a bit puffy. He 'd removed the bandage, and the swelling was down. I thought the color looked better, but it was hard to really tell much in the harsh electric light.

"Vambie?" William asked.

"Vampire zombie," Parrish supplied. "I rather like the term. Likewise, zompire."

"I don't know," said William. "Vambie sounds like something starring Jane Fonda, you know?"

"Like Barbarella?" Parrish laughed. For a second, the boys seemed to bond, but then William got all scared-like and stepped back.

"We're late," he reminded me.

"We'll talk later," I said to Parrish, and I let William drag me off to his parked car.

William's car didn't start right away. The below-zero temperature made the battery sluggish. It took three tries, but the engine finally caught.

"So . . . ?" I asked after William stopped complaining about Wisconsin winters.

"So what?"

"What's with the tension between you and Parrish?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly.

This was the moment where I had to decide if I really wanted to know the details or if finding out would push this conversation into that gray area of "too much information."

I was pretty sure I understood what transpired, anyway. After discovering that vampires were real, William had gone through a Goth phase of his own, complete with lots of black clothes and eyeliner and fingernail polish. At that time Parrish had been hanging around the university crowd, doing a little blood fetish work for hire. It wasn 't impossible to imagine the two of them hooking up.

Uh, except for the actual imagining part . . . William and Parrish naked together? My brain hurt.

"Did Sebastian tell you what the coven is planning on doing tonight when he called you? " I asked, allowing the subject to change. "Not really. It was a short conversation. He said something about a hex-breaking spell, though. Is that against Tereza? Are you still convinced she's cursed you?"

I shrugged. "There are just too many things going wrong. I mean, I know every wedding has its disasters, but these just don't seem to stop." I ticked off the list on my fingers. "The dresses, the band, the cake, my mother . . . okay, that last one was probably inevitable, but-oh! Where's the application?"

I dug around frantically in the pockets of my coat.

William, who almost pathologically never took his eyes from the road, glanced nervously at me. "What did you lose?"

"The application for our marriage license, and I spent all afternoon going to get it too, " I said, and despite myself, my voice caught a little. "Maybe I left it at work or at my parents' hotel room."

"Should I turn around?"

"No," I said, although part of me wanted him to. "It'll be okay."

I just had to keep convincing myself of that. Besides, the sooner we got to the coven meeting, the sooner I could put an end to this d.a.m.n curse. Or whatever it was.

There was a line of cars in the driveway when we pulled up. I saw Griffin's beat-up station wagon with guitar cases piled in the back and Xylia's stylish yellow VW bug covered in leftist political b.u.mper stickers. I recognized some of the others as well.

When we stepped in, I smelled chili and cornbread. My mouth watered. People sat on the couches. Xylia came over from where she'd been perched by the staircase and gave me a hug. "Congratulations."

"Really?" I was kind of surprised to hear her say that. She was totally the type to call traditional weddings "giving in to the patriarchy." Xylia had a flattop and, despite the chill, she wore a muscle s.h.i.+rt that showed off fairly sculpted arms and a tattoo of a gecko.

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "I'm looking forward to the wedding. I love weddings."

"You do?"

"She'll probably cry," Griffin said, throwing an arm around Xylia's narrow shoulders. Griffin had cla.s.sic metalhead, Norse G.o.d looks. Long, slightly straggly blond hair framed a stubble-studded square jaw. He pretended to dab his eyes. "I'll probably cry too."

"You guys," I said with a shake of my head.

They laughed. "I do like weddings, though," Xylia said with a little shy smile that made her nose stud glitter. "There's a little traditional in me, I guess."

I nodded. I could understand. All the things I wanted when I was a dreamy tween became so important when I started planning the wedding.

"Not me," Griffin said, letting his arm drop from Xylia. "It's going to be a simple handfast in the woods for me."

"If anyone will have you," Xylia said with a poke.

"Ha. Hey, William," Griffin said. "What about you? What's your dream wedding?"

"I don't know. Don't I have to keep a girlfriend longer than six months first?"

Sebastian came out with a stack of bowls. He leaned in and said, "It's a must."

"Oh! Does that mean chili is ready?" Xylia asked, reaching for a bowl.

We all descended on the kitchen. Sebastian had whipped up both vegetarian and meat versions of his fantastic chili. There was also homemade cornbread. He'd set out all sorts of munchies as well: carrot slices, broccoli florets, sliced radishes. There were potato chips, popcorn, and pretzels in bowls all around the house. Enough food to feed an army, which was good, since I doubted there would be a crumb left after everyone was satisfied.

"So what's the plan of action?" Blythe asked after we'd licked the last of the chili from our lips. Blythe was a leggy, model - gorgeous comparative religions major at UW. She was a British national, and Sebastian found her cosmopolitan and charming. I spent a lot of time and energy trying not to hate her. After months of working with her in the coven, however, I had to grudgingly admit she made a good addition to the crew.

"I think I might have gotten cursed by Matyas's mother," I said.

"She was dead, but she got better," William muttered next to me. Our elbows touched, and I gave him a little heynow-none-of- that nudge in the ribs.

"So you want to turn the hex?" Blythe asked.