He’s not wrong. The sound leaking into the hallway is unexpectedly harmonic. I’m not sure how that’s possible. I didn’t recommend James’s band for their vocal abilities.
I crack the door open, discovering thisisthe ballroom. But Hanry and Bulan are nowhere in sight. More importantly, the ghosts haven’t decamped. Instead, they’ve taken positions onstage around the Vampire Weekenders—some at microphones, several with guitars they’ve pretend-plugged into amps. One ghost has a bongo strapped to its chest. Surprisingly, James, Eric, and Remy sport wide-ass smiles on their faces.
James greets me in his typically bright-eyed fashion. “We’ve decided to play together,” he says. “They bring a sort of—I don’t know.Dimensionto our sound.”
“A je ne sais quoi,” says Eric, styling James’s fauxhawk distractedly.
“Great,” I say. “Just don’t touch them.”
“What?” Remy rubs down his arms with a shiver.
Since there’s no time to explain, and frankly, I doubt it would help anyway, I take James’s phone, leave them to their practice, and whisk the officiant to the greenhouse.
It’s a glorious sight: lit up by Bulan, who’s holding a flashlight in his mouth, Hanry puts away power tools. Behind him is a towering, masterfully nailed-together Gothic black arch.
“What do you think?” Hanry calls out.
My gratitude hits so hard, I can’t help being honest. “It looks great.”
“Thanks!” say Hanry and Bulan in unison.
“I’m going to put up as many flowers as I can. Hanry, can you set up chairs? Rev, you can do your… priesty things.”
“Got it!” says Hanry.
“I’m actually not religious,” the officiant says. “Be that as it may, I’ll search for Amanda and ensure she has her vows ready. If there are any problems, I’ll return. Good luck, all!”
I stride into the room and begin decorating the arch. Standing on an upside-down bucket, I drape wilted and dry, brittle vines over the black-stained wood, attaching a spray of bloodred rose blooms on the left side. This is a nod to the only color Dark Dave can probably stand. Admittedly, I’m going for a less-dense design than I’d originally planned, since easily half my dried flowers shook off their petals in transit—but “light and airy” is totally a look. Also, it’s a good thing I’m not overly invested, because while I carry out the last of the buckets of unused stems and Hanry places down the final row of chairs, the first wedding guests arrive.
They flood into the greenhouse, dragging feather boas, lacy parasols, and more questionably bad fashion decisions to their seats. How many of them are vampires, I can’t say. At least one appears to be a lion. When the beast crushes two chairs in the process of settling into his row, Hanry cautiously re-seats himself farther away. Can’t blame him.
“Sabby,” Bulan whispers from beneath my arm. “I think you’re supposed to go back outside.”
“I like this little corner,” I retort. It is, in fact, less of a corner and more of an open tool closet with a small seat. “Why do I need to go anywhere?”
“Because you’re the wedding planner.”
“In name only. And I’ve finished my planning.”
“Suit yourself.”
The ceremony begins with music outside my hearing range. Said music is provided courtesy of a flock of bats. I’m unclear on whether they’re regular bats or vampire bats, but the guests’ head-nods and rapturous sighs tell me it doesn’t really matter and I’m missing out on some goddamned glorious Bat-hoven.
After that, the quiet continues. Long enough that the guests start muttering aloud. They seem to be wondering what’s going on. At the end of the aisle, where he waits beneath the now-magnificent arch, the officiant raises his eyebrows in my direction—like he’s prompting me to do something.
And now he’s adding a little pleading into the crinkle of his eyes. Oh, come on.
“The groom’s supposed to enter ahead of the bridal procession, right?” Bulan whispers at me,again. “I think Dave needs direction. One a wedding planner might provide.”
What I’m realizing he needed was a rehearsal. And I hadn’t pushed it, because I’mnotan expert at this wedding business; I’m a human pretending to be a potted plant in a tool closet.
But since I’m on the hook, I allow myself one last resigned sigh before I dash for the hallway. Past the greenhouse’s double doors, a few barely visible, hissing male vampires creep about. I catch some staring at the walls, some defying the laws of gravity by walking on said walls, and a few fluttering their hands uselessly. I don’t distinguish Dave among them.
“Where’s our groom?” I ask the closest, best-dressed figure.
With a flash of fangs and bubble gum, he hisses, “In the back.”
“Back of where? I need him up front, stat.”
