Shitty Ritchie had pulled Mr. Jackson aside to give himthe marriage talk. I had no freaking clue what Shitty Ritchie knew about marriage. Probably nothing. However, Gramps was a terrific sport and humored the little weirdo. I couldn’t wait for a recap of the conversation.
Gram had been thrilled that I was now calling Mr. Jackson, “Gramps.” It made her cry happy tears. The dead didn’t have bodily fluids, but I got the gist. Candy Vargo was put out that she wasn’t asked to call Mr. Jackson, Gramps, too. She punched three holes in the wall before Gramps insisted that all of the crew should call him Gramps. It was a tremendous relief. My house was thankful too.
The guard Demons stayed close to their charges. They even threw in a few recommendations about music and flowers. Kogzin, the Demon who’d doubted the new Higher Power upon arrival, was on Alana Catherine’s crew. He was actually an interesting guy—good sense of humor and very aware of his surroundings. He took his job very seriously, and it made me like him more. The man watched everything. He was so in tune with us and our habits that he made the genius proposal to model the reception after a game show, with Gram and Mr. Jackson winning all the prizes as wedding gifts. Dude was moving up the food chain fast. Gram about lost her ever-loving mind at the suggestion. It was a win-win double win.
“Y’all,” Gram lamented as she flew around the great room like a mini tornado. “I ain’t gonna be able to wear a weddin’ dress.”
She was correct. The dead were forever dressed in the outfit they passed away in. Fortunately, she was wearing a nice dress. It was faded and gray since she was deceased, but it was better than the track suits she used to favor.
“Do the dead show up on film?” Tim questioned out loud.
I had no clue. I’d never tried to photograph my dead friends. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Well, I was thinking that if we could get a not so blurry photo of the happy couple, I could do a little photoshop and dress them appropriately for the day. It would be a wonderful way to have a memorable wedding portrait.”
“Holy shit,” I yelled. “I have the smartest friends.”
“Not so fast,” Tim cautioned. “Counting chickens before the eggs hatch is bad luck. We don’t know if Gram and Gramps will show up on film.”
“Ohhhhhhh!” Gram squealed. “That just dills my pickles, Timmy. Let’s give it a shot! PUN INTENDED!”
I giggled and crossed my fingers that it would work. And that if it did, they didn’t look like puffs of dissipating smoke.
Gramps was wildly relieved to get away from the conversation with Shitty Ritchie. He appeared slightly traumatized. Not surprising. Shitty Ritchie was a lot. We posed the happy couple on the couch and hung a nice, solid dark-blue bedsheet behind them. Since they were transparent, having the couch and throw pillows show through them might be difficult to edit.
We all pulled out our phones and snapped away. My shots looked like fading wisps of fog over a navy background. They were bad. Heather’s photo was a little better, but not by much. June’s was a total bust. It looked like nothing was there. Candywas an idiot and ended up with pictures of her feet. No one commented. Tim’s was the best, but it was still blurry and off.
Gram and Gramps were bummed.
“Ittttttsha oookaaaay,” he said, patting my back. “Noooooooooah woorrrrieeeeesah.”
“Mr. Jackson is right,” Gram said, keeping her chin up even though it was clear she was disappointed. “We don’t need pictures. We’ll have the memories. Those are better anyway!”
“May I suggest a solve?” Kogzin inquired from his spot across the room, where he could keep an eye on everything.
“Hell to the yes you can,” I said. “You came up with the game show reception theme. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the freaking wedding planner at this point.”
The Demon gave me the barest hint of a smile. He was definitely warming up to us. Maybe he would accept a job once the repayment of the debt he owed Gideon was cleared. The Trinity would always need protection. I’d have a word with my guy about that soon.
The handsome Demon spoke. “Jegguthiz is an excellent artist, specializing in portraits. He’s also illustrated several award-winning children’s books.” He pointed to the enormous man guarding Jennifer. “For the right price, I’m quite sure he’d paint a wedding portrait of the happy couple.”
My gaze immediately went to Jegguthiz. He was the most menacing-looking of the Trinity’s guards. He’d barely spoken a word since he’d gotten here, and if he had, I’d missed it. I had a hard time reconciling that the mean-looking dude illustrated books for kids. But stranger things had been true.
It was worth a shot.
“Jegguthiz,” I said, giving the Demon a smile that he didn’t return. “Would you be willing, and what would you charge to paint a wedding portrait?”
I didn’t care about the price. I’d pay it. I wasn’t rich, but Gideon was as wealthy as all get out. I’d never touched a penny of his money other than for our daughter. It didn’t feel right. For Gram, I’d ask Gideon for a loan. He’d laugh his ass off at theloanpart. He’d been abundantly clear that what was his was mine. I wasn’t comfortable with that. I’d pay him back no matter how long it took.
Jegguthiz silently contemplated my request. He took so long I wondered if he was even able to speak. He was. And his price was nothing that I could have imagined.
“I will paint the portrait because I find the ghosts quite endearing. The one called Gram is particularly charming. Reminds me of my own mother.” He walked over and stood in front of me. The Demon was at least seven feet tall and kind of scary.
I gulped. “And the price?”
“My price is the freedom to stay and continue to guard the overly-Botoxed, wine guzzling and oft-divorced Higher Power who goes by Jennifer.”
My mouth hung open in shock. This was the best outcome possible.
