When the officiant sucks in his breath, I stiffen more, my automatic threat response kicking in.
“The caterers haven’t showed.”
Shit! The lack of food on tables or service carts. That’s what was giving me “off” vibes. I should’ve realized it right away. Worse, lackingsustenance, some of the guests are starting to act more… vampiric. At least, I assume that’s what all the drool is about.
I release Hanry, turning my full attention to Bulan and the officiant.
“This isn’t my fault, right? Dave and Amanda never asked me to do catering.”
Hanry reaches out to place his hand lightly against my back. It’s a big hand, which actually makes it reassuring. And inappropriately so, under the circumstances.
“I’m sure any hungry guests will go out and search for food on their own,” he says.
“Like a scavenger hunt!” exclaims Bulan. “You may be right, Hanry.”
I allow myself to briefly imagine the vampire horde trolling the unsuspecting countryside, sneaking into farmers’ houses, helping themselves to the old ladies and their cows.
Poor cows.
“Are you sure there isn’t something else we can do?” I ask the group. “Anyone see a blood bank on the way over here?”
“There may have been a chiropractor a few miles back…” says the officiant. At my glowering expression, he says, “What else do you want from me? Ma’am, this isn’t a Wendy’s.”
Who is he callingma’am? Also: “Why are you bringing up fast food?!”
“Because we have a fantastic blood-chili. Off-menu,” the officiant explains. “I told you, I’m not religious. I’m just a manager at the Wendy’s off Lafayette Street.”
While I process this disturbing revelation, the instrumental section of the song ends with a flourish. James taps his mic.
“Thank you, thank you,” he says, beaming at the gathered faces on the dance floor. “We’re the Vampire Weekenders! We’re so happy to be here, playing at the wedding of, uh, Amanda and Dark Dave!” I probably should’ve mentioned that Dark Dave was a private nickname. Oh well. “I’d like to welcome our happy new couple to the stage! In the meantime, allow me to introduce the full band!”
No, no,no.
Grimacing, I get on my tiptoes and perform acut itmotion, drawingmy finger over my neck. The last thing James should do right now, in a room of hungry vampires, is call extra attention to his human self and his band. It just isn’t worth the risk!
But before James gets the chance, a ghost takes his mic.
“Thank you for allowing us to perform for this event. It has been groovy and magical, man.”
The semitranslucent figure throws back his head and sighs rapturously. On cue, he and the ghost bandmates pop out of existence, one after the other.
Remy screams, “I knew it!”
Backing up, he trips over an electrical cord. I’m not sure exactly how this leads to the next thing, but hardware starts dropping everywhere onstage. Maybe the ghosts were holding it up? Or has this old mansion started crumbling around us? It’s hard to tell in this stupid, dark room. Remy isn’t alone in his panic: the guests are wondering what’s going on, clamoring in tones that are harsh and loud. But not so loud that we miss Eric’s devastated cry:
“I think Remy’s dead!”
10CONSEQUENCES, SCHMONSEQUENCES
REMY IS NOT DEAD.
What he does have is a concussion. This might be for the best.
“Did I really see— I could’ve sworn I saw—”
“Shh, shh. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret,” I tell Remy as the officiant uses a broken guitar neck to herd the band, sheeplike, through the reception hall and out the mansion’s back exit. I’ve just gotten my phone back from Bulan, but I hesitate to return James’s. Under the moonlight, James and Eric limp along, expressions devastated, but their bodies otherwise uninjured. At any moment I suspect they might abandon Remy and run back onstage to finish their set. So the instant they’ve packed themselves into the back seat of my rental, I click on Child Lock.
“Erp?” asks James.
