Filling one last hurricane vase with charcoal water, I say as lightly as possible, “Well, I definitely won’t be able to complete the wedding arch. Which is the most important job of this whole wedding. I hope no one eats me alive for it. Ha ha.”
“Wedding arch?”
That’s such a boy move, not knowing what a wedding arch is, or why its inexistence seals my doom. I set a bloodred tea light inside the hurricane vase, sprinkle burgundy rose petals around it, and release a sigh.
“Theoretically, I’m supposed to make one for Amanda. As a backdrop for her nuptials.”
“I don’t know what a wedding arch is,” Hanry says, confirming my suspicions, “but I’m a decent hand at woodworking, if you’d like some help.”
He seems to be genuine. If only to spite him for drawing me into this mess in the first place, I say, “Sure, that would be great. You can help me escape with my life here.”
Now, onlynow, Hanry laughs as if I were joking. And he lights up as much as anyone can in a room that’s basically an ink stain. Rather than comment on it, I dump the remaining petals at the end of the table to form a flowery pool of blood. Then I leave Bulan to play fake-Roomba again, sucking stems and scraps from the floor, while I lead Hanry to my rental.
I’ve always had a thing for strong guys. I think it’s like how people get a kick out of hugging redwood trees they can’t reach their arms around. It’s embarrassing, but what can you do? I slyly planned study sessions as close to the NYU fitness center as possible. Once, it resulted in romance—a guy named Marcus and I dated in the spring of junior year. It seemed like it was going somewhere, until it wasn’t.
Hanry has better arms than Marcus anyway.
I try to keep up a normal conversation and not ogle too much as Hanry handily thrusts all five pieces of the wedding arch over his shoulder. This goal is helped, once we return inside, by the branching hallways’ deep, disturbing darkness.
“Do you think the venue coordinator bailed?” I ask conversationally. “Or got drained?”
“Third option,” Hanry says. “They never showed. Knowing Dave and Amanda, those two would’ve forgotten to put down money to secure the venue.”
I nearly drop my phone. Considering that my phone flashlight is all that lights the hallway, that’d be a bad move.
“Shit, Hanry. We’re trespassing?”
“Maybe. But what’s it matter? We’re surrounded by vampires.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feelsafe? Why are you friends with vamps, again?”
Hanry jostles the wood on his shoulder. I think he’s shrugging. “We met at a salsa class. They’re nice, as vampires go.”
Wow. I can’t imagine a more banal explanation for befriending nonhuman beings. But I’m also curious about the dancing.
“I had you pegged as a woodsy person.” Or a criminal. “Not a late-night-dancing person.”
“The term I like is ‘Renaissance man.’ I’m full of surprises. To the point I surprise myself sometimes,” says Hanry. “Hey, do you think this is the ceremony room?”
We pause, having arrived at a pair of monstrous double doors made of glass and iron and begging for rust cleaners and Windex.
“The greenhouse? Should be.”
In spite of the dust, something’s visible beyond the other side of the door. A few moving orbs of green light, reflecting in fractal patterns over the greenhouse’s glassy walls. I work hard to ignore the pit opening in my stomach.
“The bride and groom haven’t arrived yet, have they?” I ask.
“Don’t think so. They’re getting ready off-site before their grand entrance. Wanted to make sure it was dark out before they left for the wedding,” Hanry says, his attention divided between our conversation and the scene beyond the glass. He frowns but otherwise doesn’t move. Because there’s no sense in standing here, dreading whatever I’m going to dread anyway, I push the doors open, scattering dust over our heads.
“Dave!” I call out. “Amanda?”
Coughing, Hanry says, “Sabby, no. Those folks don’t look like Amanda or Dave.”
No. They don’t. Those folks—who are now visible in the center of the greenhouse—look nothing like our soon-to-be-wedded couple. In fact, they aren’t the least bit vampiric.
Or opaque.
That’s because said “folks” aren’t living at all. They’re ghosts… I think? The six beings hovering in the center of the room are distinctly wispier-looking than regular humans. With gloomy expressions, they’re moving in circular patterns as if on a fixed track, à la Disney World’s Haunted Mansion.
