At my command, an onyx-black coffin is moshed forward and nearly strikes me in the head. I’m not sure how exactly it’s levitating. Or how it got to the venue. What’s more important is, I’m positive it contains Dave. Meaning he’s been with us in the hallway this whole damn time. I’ve no idea why his groom-vamps didn’t bring him into the ceremony yet. Maybe they thought Dave crawled inside of his deathbed to escape the light? Poor Dark Dave! He’s surrounded himself with the worst problem-solvers this side of the Berkshires.
“All right, groomsmen, let’s get ready to carry Dave in!” I tell the group, waving James’s phone above my head like an aircraft marshal with glowy orange sticks. “Gather up single file and stand next to Dave’s coffin in a line. On the… right.” I wiggle my arm to clarify which side “right” is. “You, in the moth-eaten cravat. Tell the bats to make more music.”
“You smell good, but your voice is fearsome,” the vampire says to me.
“No one put on our boutonnieres,” another whines.
Since at this point I have no idea where my boutonnieres went, I scrounge up a few leftover roses from a bucket in the hallway, pull a pincushion from my apron pocket, and work quickly on a backup solution.When I finish, Dave’s coffin is jostled forward, and the groomsmen parade into the greenhouse, flaunting their little skewed roses on their lapels and hissing with delight.
The next to process in ought to be Amanda and her gang, but naturally they are nowhere to be found. Since the officiant never told me he’d had problems finding Amanda, I assume she’s in the haunted house somewhere. Sure enough, I discover the undead bridesmaids in the bathroom, toying with a mousetrap, while a coffin lays abandoned in the adjacent powder room. Sensing these vamps need instruction too, I arm them with bouquets, push them over to the greenhouse, and in the end, they too send Amanda and her coffin down the aisle with only a minor delay.
At last, the big reveal: at the front of the room, beneath the surprisingly aesthetic black arch, the relieved officiant says a few words. The coffins wiggle and creak. Then the lids pop open. Dave and Amanda emerge, rising into the air through a shower of dust and feathers. Amanda’s corseted, mildew-gray wedding dress hangs off her like an old lady’s tablecloth. Her hands are clasped around her dead-and-dying bouquet. A swan-feather boa-noose trails ruthlessly down to the floor. As they meet midair, Amanda smiles. Dave gazes back into her pale-as-a-moon, necrotic face with a dour expression. He seems almost pleased. They both do. Because they’re in love.
My god. I’ve done it—I’ve pulled off the wedding.
Once the couple returns earthside, their toes tapping down, the officiant intones blessings. I gather there won’t be any praying, kneeling, or singing during the ceremony. Floored and flummoxed and out of breath, I watch the whole thing from the door. At last, Dave and Amanda are pronounced married, till second death do they part. Sharing kisses, the couple traipses back down the aisle, this time with their coffins following behind like obedient, floating dogs. As they pass me, the audience claps and hisses politely. Bulan rolls into my heels.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What areyoudoing?”
“Wondering why you’re still standing here when there’s work to be done.”
I groan. Of course there’s more. “Let me guess. I’m supposed to go to the reception hall?”
Bulan nods. And you know what, fine. It’d be good to check on James anyway.
I pop Bulan onto my shoulder and carry him to the ballroom. As if my entrance is the signal, James leaps into motion and kicks off his patchwork band.
Letting guests trickle in, I sink into the shadows and survey the scene. The ghosts jamming, the curtains drooping, the floral arrangements holding artful poses on the shabby-not-chic tablecloths. Yet, I think something’s wrong. Something is… missing, only I can’t put my finger on the problem as easily as I could during the wedding ceremony. I’m going to have to guess.
I glance at Bulan, my acting shoulder angel. Mostly I’m looking at his bright orange hair, but that’s not the point. I need to surreptitiously draw his attention to the dance floor.
“Is it bad etiquette for couples to start dancing before the bride and groom enter?” I ask.
Bulan’s reply comes uncertainly. “Maybe,” he says. “Amanda and Dave didn’t tell us when they wanted to have their first dance.”
“True. So if you and I get blamed for breaking the wedding code, we have plausible deniability.” At least one would hope. “Do you think the dancing’s what’s wrong, or something else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sabby!”
The new voice belongs to Hanry. If James and his band have allowed a treacherous deviance from wedding etiquette, Hanry seems unaware. In fact, he’s smiling so winsomely, I let him lift Bulan from my shoulder, put him on the ground, and take my hand.
“I need to show you something,” he says, tugging me out of the shadows. “Quick!”
I brace myself. I knew it, I knew something was wrong. “What? Show me what?”
“That I’m a good dancer,” he says, and drags my stiff, confused body in among the couples and breakdancing circles.
9AND NOW I’M DANCING WITH DEVILS. I GUESS THIS IS MY LIFE NOW
MY AFOREMENTIONED STIFF, CONFUSED BODYis not good at dancing on a regular occasion. And there’s nothing regular about being pulled into a horde of paranormal beings. I would rather be anywhere else on the planet than this dance floor. Yet my traitorous, fluttery stomach also says I’d rather be nowhere else than with Hanry. The net of this is that I have indigestion.
“You’re sneaky,” I manage eventually. “And foolish. I’m a bad dancer.”
“Let’s see about that.”
