Cheat the Grave (31 page)

Tekla's nostrils flared and she straightened, her gaze again straight ahead. “Don't make him a scapegoat for all your ills, Joanna.”

Now her imperious manner just pissed me off.

“He sent me to Midheaven knowing it would take something from me! I lost vital pieces of myself over there!”

Tekla turned a cold gaze on me. “And who do you think advised him to do that?”

My mouth fell open, but all that escaped was air. I
touched the gem in my pocket, trying to center myself. “I…you wouldn't…”

She hit the steering wheel so hard the truck rocked. “You're so sensitive about your parentage and past, so hell-bent on making sure we see you for who you are…and that a simple hair color or cosmetic enhancement won't change that. But you never afford us the same luxury. We are Light.
Pure
Light. We fight for one thing only, and that's against the Shadows. Always. Only. Period.
We
are not gray.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “And I've always been that, haven't I?”

She frowned, like she had to work to harden herself to me. But her words said differently. “It is in the stars.”

These people and their fucking stars.

“Thanks for the ride, Tekla.” I got out of the truck and slammed the door shut.

She rolled down the window as she pulled from the curb. “Good luck.”

But she wasn't saying it for me. She was saying it because it would benefit her troop, her cause.

I thought of dream-Olivia saying Tekla was one of the people most directly influencing me now. I guess my T-Rex brain had known it all along.

You're not the only one doing the best you can to survive in a hard world.

“No, bitch,” I answered the dream Seer as I began to walk. “But I'm doing better than you.”

Despite my morning trek across the desert, I was the first in the wedding party to reach Valhalla, arriving so early the casino floor sported more patrons from the night before than those beginning their gambling day. Go ahead, chase your money, I thought, watching a bleary-eyed man battle a slant-topped bandit.
Someone needs to keep my food cheap and my taxes low.
He eyed me back, less interested in what my black roller suitcase contained than in the stretch of my T-shirt and jeans. A predictable response in a predictable environment, and just the annoyance I needed to calm me before attempted patricide. Gotta love Vegas.

But now I was dressed in an Indo-Western sari, an amalgamation of eastern and western influences, with a black sequined halter attached to a pink satin bodice and matching lily embroidery. The bottom of the dress was a soft lavender that lightened into pink and ivory as the body scarf swirled across my middle, ending in a dramatic drape over my left shoulder. It was an elegance that was almost impossible to pull off, even without rusted weapons tucked into every fold.

Meanwhile, Valhalla's pool area, spanning the hotel's center courtyard, had been turned into an outdoor cathedral with velvet chairs rimming the pool and a Plexiglas aisle leading to an equally translucent dais. Suzanne and Arun had worked hard to make sure both Indian and American cultures were well represented. Physically it wasn't much different than a traditional western wedding. Giant floral arrangements in the softest of pastels dwarfed stunted heaters dotting the patio surface, and silk banners threaded the entire area to create an enormous tent, more to shield the ceremony from the curious gazes of guests in the looming hotel rooms than out of any eastern tradition.

Arun's culture would be more fully represented in the ceremony than anywhere else. Prayers and hymns were explained in a wedding program, and garlands and embraces would be exchanged at preordained times. Though Suzanne would enter to the traditional wedding march, an artist would perform it on a sitar rather than a piano.

I sighed, wishing there was no need to plant weapons among the silks and flowers, but ordered the wait staff on a mandatory fifteen-minute break anyway. I had to be safe, though it wouldn't necessarily preclude me from being sorry. I placed the saber within the vase of the floral arrangement closest to the side of the dais where I'd be standing—and the bladed cane along the back of a pillar bolstering one of the soaring silks. The trident was perfectly holstered at the small of my back, one quirley hidden in the depths of my cleavage, and the gun with its bubbling green vials also disappeared beneath my sari's folds. If I had to be in an enclosed area with both the Tulpa and Sleepy Mac, I was damn well going to wear something that would make a more lasting impression than my borrowed tiara.

Yet, as the Tulpa was immune to all paranormal weaponry, and Mackie was both aware of my identity and that I was armed, my greatest weapon was offense. The defensive protectant would only shield me from one blow, but it might buy me enough time to pull the trident from
my back or the cane from the bushes. I didn't anticipate using the quirley, as I'd need time to both pull it out and light it—though the sole candle in the dais's center might prove useful if given the opportunity. And though Io had reinforced the protective coating on my organs, my preference was to avoid even the tiniest of flesh wounds. I scarred now, I hurt now, and as evidenced by Luna's sad demise, I could suffer a worse fate on this side of Mackie's blade than mere death.

“Any second thoughts?” I asked the bride once I'd returned to her…probably because I was having so many. I did my best not to sound hopeful. We were ensconced in the elevated bridal chamber, as scented, soothing, and relaxing as the city's finest spa, and with a panoramic view of the pool area.

“A little late for that, don't you think?” Suzanne replied from in front of the vanity. Twenty minutes from showtime, and she looked like a living goddess. Her dress was a strapless lengha with a full underskirt of tulle, and done entirely in gold silk and threaded appliqués. Her veil, also gold, was more of a headdress encompassing the full of her forehead. Diamonds lined the sharp arch of her brows, the sparkle warring with the yellow gold earrings and glossed, flecked lips.

“Forever's a long time,” I answered, still considering a forever spent with a consciousness encased in never-healing flesh. I shivered, causing Suzanne to laugh.

She folded ornately hennaed hands in front of her. “If you're lucky, you find the one who makes you feel like forever isn't long enough.”

“If you're lucky, you don't puke when someone says something like that.” Cher entered the room with a necklace so large I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a breastplate. Now that she mentioned it, I did feel a little queasy. However, Suzanne's responding squeal helped take my mind off the crowd gathering like a storm outside, and I held up her veil as Cher fastened the gold clasp around her neck.

“You young women are so impossibly jaded,” Suzanne said in a breathy sigh. “But I choose to be eternally optimistic. That's why I'm getting married on Valentine's Day. That's why red, representing the heart, and gold, representing my faith in love, are my wedding colors. That's why the little cupids, poised with bows and arrows, are featured in all my centerpieces. I wish this sort of love for everyone who witnesses mine.”

Her words would have increased my nausea if they weren't so sincere. I bit my lip and privately swore not to let my red-blooded heart mess up her gold dress…though I wished even more that
I
were armed with a bow and arrow. Little cupid bastards.

But Suzanne wasn't done rhapsodizing. I supposed it was allowed on one's wedding day, though it did nothing to assuage my guilt over compromising her ceremony. Even if Arun was a freak. “Yes, I believe love's the greatest motivator of all. It's the reason the sun and moon chase each other across the sky. It's vital to the breath of the stars.”

I huffed. Too bad nobody ever told that to Solange.

Cher, tilting her head, considered her stepmother. “You know, you should have gotten a boob job for the wedding.”

Suzanne stopped cold, straightening like an affronted peacock. “Really?”

“Yeah, you're totally bossier than your boobies right now.” Cher shook her head, eyes angled down.

“Well, shit.” Suzanne looked down too. She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe we can stuff 'em with toilet paper.”

“Oh, I'll go get some,” Cher volunteered. “You didn't hear that, Ms. Board of Directors…”

“Didn't hear a thing,” I said, pretending to cover my ears as she sailed from the room.

“I wish she would have told me this sooner,” Suzanne muttered, bending over like she was flexing her pecs. It created a little channel in the front of her dress. From the way her eyes widened it must have looked to her like the Lincoln tunnel.

“You're gorgeous,” I reassured, momentarily putting my life/death issues aside, and my hand on her arm. “Really. I didn't even notice your boobs—” I broke off, immediately realizing that was the wrong thing to say. “And it's the most beautiful wedding gown I've ever seen.”

Suzanne relaxed enough to fluff her skirt, and twirled to face the full-length mirror. “Did you know white is the color of death in India? It's true,” she said, not bothering to wait for my reply. “The women primarily get married in red over there, head to toe. Even their bindis. Arun and I compromised on gold, but I could tell it bothered him. Do you think it's bad luck? Am I going to be unlucky in love if I wear something on my wedding day that is only a shade away from a color some believe signifies death?”

“No,” I lied, earning myself an uneasy smile. “Hey, aren't you the one who told me no gossip or naysayers were going to keep you from love? That's all superstition is. Gossip, but on a global scale.”

After a long moment her expression cleared. “Darned tootin'.” She nodded once, took a long, shaky breath, and slumped. “Then again…there's the whole
death
thing to consider.”

“Ah, but you also said true love never dies.” She'd also once said the reporter who uncovered the identity of Demi Moore's plastic surgeon should receive a Pulitzer, but I didn't bring that up. “Remember?”

“Even when love's gone, its memory keeps you safe.” She closed her gold-dusted eyes, and after a moment opened them again and smiled. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“You mean thank you for the toilet paper!” Cher declared, holding two rolls aloft. “Boy, they don't skimp on the quality here at Valhalla, do they? Open your shirt, Momma. This shit's four-ply!”

I watched them through the mirror, these two mortals who had ended up in my life by default, and knew this was why I'd brought the weapons today. I didn't expect to survive, not really. Mackie would attack me no matter where
I was, and the only chance of surviving was to gain the aureole by killing the Tulpa. And since I believed Arun was somehow abetting the Shadows in his quest to marry Suzanne—or at least advancing some sort of personal, paranormal agenda—compromising this ceremony was my best chance to stop them all.

Yet I also believed the agents of Light would show up and do the right thing—help me battle Mackie and protect these mortals. I might die at someone's hands today, be it Mackie or the Tulpa, but at some point on the trip here I'd become resigned to that.

But Suzanne and Cher would
live
. These women had done nothing more wicked in their lives than dream of love, and I swore—as toilet paper and giggles streamed across the room—that Suzanne's worries over bad luck weren't going to touch her. It might hit me with the force of a natural disaster, but it wouldn't strike her.

The whispered promise calmed me somewhat. I even laughed, watching Cher stuff the wedding gown of a woman with hopes of being an honest-to-goodness princess within the hour. I frowned when they tried to do the same to me.

And then it was time.

 

“The candles,” I whispered to the nearest attendant. “You forgot to light the candles.”

He hissed and rushed off, and I bit my lip as I canvassed the pool deck. It was full noon and a gorgeous winter day, the slim bite in the air negated by the heaters and bodies now packed around the giant pool. There were stanchions to keep guests from falling in, and as I scanned the pool area one last time, mentally marking all the places I'd planted the weapons, safety was definitely my greatest concern. How was I going to keep all these people safe?

The fact was, I couldn't. But the agents of Light could, if they chose. And so could the rogues…though I didn't see Carlos or any of the other grays anywhere. I wondered
if they'd yet to leave the compound or had trouble entering Valhalla, but it was too late for me to check on either of those things. The sitar player was already in place, and I heard from the walkie-talkies that the groom was on his way out. Showtime.

Glancing up, I frowned at the looming hotel. Its size made the pool area resemble a lion's pit, and Shadow agents and Mackie could easily jump from the rooftop, yet there was nothing I could do about that. I only hoped the Zodiac's paranoia about avoiding human attention would keep them from trying. Unless Mackie showed his face. Then it would turn into a free-for-all. Meanwhile, I was the only armed person in the room.

“It's good to be queen,” I muttered, with a small, private smile.

As the head of Archer Enterprises, Valhalla's COO, and an esteemed member of this wedding party, I'd ordered a metal detector and a small phalanx of security guards to check every bag and body entering the enclosed pool area. It was a precaution easily explained away by the august guest list, along with the groom's wealth and world prominence. Any agent wishing to enter would have to disarm, and most would not. The Shadows weren't even on guard because the Tulpa had no idea what was to happen here. And while there could have been some turnover in that troop in the weeks since I'd been expelled, only one agent I knew was patrolling the hotel's halls, and it was his usual post.

As for the Light? Well, that was answered once Warren sidled up behind me.

“It's official,” he whispered in my ear. “Someone is going to die this afternoon.”

I whirled, but he grabbed my arm before we could speak, forcing me into an alcove normally used to stock towels.

We faced off and his top lip lifted in a snarl. “Perhaps we can share a dance after the festivities, dear.”

I pulled away, rubbing at my wrist. “So last night you
were a homeless man living off buffet scraps, and today you're a South Asian livery boy.” I looked at his uniform, liveried for the occasion, stolen for the same. He was in white, distinguishing him from the guests, and his hair had been shorn overnight, shorter and cleaner than I'd ever seen it.

“Last night you were carrying a weapon you shouldn't even be allowed to touch, and today you're dressed like a South Asian Barbie. Also a dichotomy.”

Like my entire life
wasn't
? “Well, you know. It's important to keep up appearances.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, slouching as he stared at me. Most unliverylike. “You're making life very difficult on me.”

“God forbid,” I said, echoing his flat tone. What did he want, an apology? Nothing I said could make me any more of an outcast than I already was—or less.

He turned his head, squinting out over the crowd, eyes lingering on the sitar player as the first song began. I'd have to go soon. “The rogue agents can't be trusted. They're using you, and as soon as they get what they want from you, they'll either kill you or abandon you. Most likely the first.”

“They took me in when I had nothing and no one. You introduced me to a world that wanted me dead, then practically ensured the fate by turning your back on me. They saved me from Mackie. Where the fuck were you?”