Cheat the Grave (33 page)

Suzanne let out a great sigh, turning her head to the vaulted, gold-brushed ceiling, then closed her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, though she was shaking her head.

The paramedics worked quickly, stabilizing Cher and picking her up when she refused a stretcher. It would make too much of a scene, she said. Yet even leaving via the back doors couldn't prevent that. The yells of reporters, the click of cameramen, and the surprised gasps of onlookers swelled as they realized it was the bride's stepdaughter being carried from the room. Then the door clicked shut, the security guard stoically planted himself in front of it, and a sniffle sounded behind me.

“Maybe wearing a color only once removed from white wasn't such a good idea.”

I turned and grasped Suzanne by the shoulders. No, I didn't want her marrying Arun Brahma. But with both the Tulpa and Warren in the house, and Mackie surely on the way, it was the lesser of all present evils. It was also my best opportunity to rid myself of half that paranormal foursome.

“Nonsense,” I said, squeezing until she looked me in the eye. “That accident had nothing to do with some eastern superstition. Besides, you'll have a weeklong Indian wedding next month, and Cher will be well enough to attend that. Right now, you're on American soil. White
is
lucky, but gold is divine. Now. Let's go back upstairs, touch up your mascara, and tuck in your toilet paper.”

Suzanne turned and I placed one hand on her waist supportively, the other on the gun at my back.

“Oh God,” she sniffled again. “Please don't let anything else go wrong.”

I didn't say there were other wannabe deities involved in this disaster. She could pray all she wanted for nothing else to go wrong, but she'd be lucky if, from this point on, anything else went right.

I'd been thinking about weapons and fighting and blood, about chaos and death and battles that never seemed to end, about what it meant to be mortal and what it meant to be super, and how strange that all these forces were gathering during a ceremony of “this man joining this woman.” Something both so ordinary and celebratory. Irony had such a dark sense of humor.

So when I stepped back onto the giant pool patio, with its white and gold runner draped over the floating Plexiglas aisle and dock, I blinked up at a blue, temperate sky with a sense of amazement. The air was utterly still, every color and object sharp, as if outlined in charcoal. Glancing at the front of this small arena, where the priests and Arun stood side by side, I saw that the candles signifying two people being joined as one were now lit, burning straight up as though lifted by strings. The still, perfect setting made me wonder if Arun controlled the weather in addition to a good portion of the Asian world.

The sitar player let the last haunting notes fade, and the full string orchestra used my appearance as a cue to begin the first song of the ceremony. Eight hundred of Suzanne's
closest friends—and two of my greatest enemies—turned to watch me make my way down the floating Plexiglas aisle.

The longest fucking aisle of my life.

I plastered what I hoped was a pleasantly expectant look on my face and tried to keep my eyes off the water reflected through the clear plastic at my feet. It was a beautiful touch, light refracting against the undulating water, but it combined with my nerves to nauseate me, so I lifted my eyes, looked straight ahead, and steadied my breath.

I was also overly conscious of the trident at my back and the gun at my thigh, and kept my movements small so the sari stayed put, revealing neither. When I made it to my position at the western priest's left without being attacked, decapitated, or injured in any way, I gave both him and Arun a nervous smile. The priest nodded back, but Arun barely glanced at me before returning an anticipatory gaze to the aisle. A second later the wedding march started up, and the rest of the guests did the same.

The dress appeared first, full, but with the odd effect of making Suzanne look taller. Or maybe it was pure bliss doing that, because she beamed as brightly as the winter sun, beginning that fateful walk down the center aisle, acknowledging the oohs and ahhs with a slight inclination of her head. She was beautiful for a woman of any age, but the years had somehow come together on this day to make her more solid somehow. She moved like a gift, wrapped in all that jewel-encrusted gold. It was probably just the reflection off the walkway, but her glowing skin was bested only by her eyes, dewy with emotion.

Arun, in turn, was thunderstruck. She reached his side, unable to look away from him as well, blindly offering me her bouquet before holding her hands out to him. He took them almost by rote, staring into her face like he was trying to adjust his eyes to some new phosphorescent light.

Oh yeah, this guy was
totally
going down.

I'd have found that more amusing if I wasn't preoccu
pied with stopping the wedding, Warren's hard attention, the Tulpa's paranoid edginess, and the small task of staying alive.

With all those concerns buzzing around my head, I barely listened as the western priest began to speak, the words unexceptional despite the bridal pair's status, the guest list, and the opulent setting. Even the eastern priest's melodious Hindi rang familiar. In the end, a wedding was a wedding. But at this one I kept my attention divided; half on a gently swaying Arun, half on the violent stare-down between Warren and the Tulpa.

Glancing back at the American priest, I tried to mentally nudge things along, but like Judge Ito, he was milking his moment for all it was worth. He was also beginning to sweat despite the coolness of the day, his eyes shut as if his words about love being the foundation of a marriage were a heartfelt prayer.

And his weren't the only eyes shut. The Tulpa had willfully broken the staring contest, and now he faced forward, a look of intent concentration petrifying his features. Well, why not? I thought, swallowing hard. His archenemy wasn't going to make a move with all these people about. Yet something about this panicked Warren, and his restless gaze darted between the Tulpa and me.

Then a muffled argument broke out at the back door. That confirmed it; the Tulpa was using his mental energy to call for backup. Fortunately, due to my preemptive security measures, the Shadows couldn't enter the room in the middle of the ceremony without an invitation, and—most importantly—without making a scene. Thus, at a particularly loud shout, the Tulpa's brows furrowed and he cracked an eye in the direction of the door. Suzanne, and most of the guests in the back row, glanced over as well.

Poor Suzanne.

However, the American priest only grew louder, speaking passionately about this most sacred personal union. Arun still stood starstruck next to his bride. That pulled
her attention back to the ceremony, but the continued banging and shouts unnerving the crowd were working their way across the pool deck. Even the water below us seemed choppier, and though the Tulpa had to notice, he was the only truly still form alongside this sudden makeshift sea.

Well, I thought, breath catching. Not quite the only one.

The head was a black, unmoving abyss in the restless crowd, though the depth of that darkness lessened when Mackie lifted his empty gaze and threw off his stillness. He'd been slumped, lost in the crowd of hundreds, which was why I hadn't made him out before. Yet he straightened now, deeming whatever was happening outside those doors as his cue to move. He rose, knocking into the guests hemming him in, and edged his way to the center aisle.

I gasped, holding back a scream only because Suzanne stiffened and I needed time to inch my hands down to weapons at thigh and back. If I brought attention to my defenses before I could get to them—never mind draw them—Mackie's knife would open my aorta before you could say “Kiss the bride.” Besides, was it too much to hope the Tulpa would wake the fuck up and intercept?

A giant pause in the priest's diatribe caught my attention, and I angled my eyes over to find him staring mutely as Mackie drew closer. Suzanne whimpered, distressed by the minister's loss in concentration, and I slowly tucked my hand in the hidden hem of my sari.

Where was Carlos? I wondered, heart pounding. Where were the grays? And why wasn't anyone in the audience screaming at the sight of a walking skeleton?

Because they can't see his face, I realized, gaze shifting again to his. Sure, they passed along quizzical looks after he'd passed, but he was walking so stiffly it was almost like he was a part of the ceremony—which was probably how he saw it. He only inched closer, drawing the moments out, a familiar low whine starting to whirr in his throat as he reached one bony hand beneath his dusty bowler hat. I found the trident at my back.

But why wasn't the Light moving against him? I wondered, sliding my bouquet hand down my leg. I risked taking my eyes off Mackie long enough to locate Warren, and found him leaning against the pillar again, face hard, eyes shuttered.

Damn him, he was going to let this happen!

The noise from inside the hotel increased, and a sharp bang made everyone, save Mackie, jump. That was when the Tulpa finally opened his eyes. His brows furrowed as he found me, no doubt unnaturally white and wide-eyed, and he finally turned to stare Mackie fully in the face.

There was no other way to describe what Mackie did next. Still believing the Tulpa was my protector, his head snapped so far forward it was as if he possessed an extra row of vertebrae. His beef jerky skin stretched over his neck and he hissed.

The guests around him gasped. The Tulpa stood, rising like a plank, free of his chair, and more horrified gasps sounded as the two faced each other across half an Olympic-sized pool.

Warren remained where he was, content to let the Tulpa and Mackie take one another out.

Suzanne's restless movement let me know it was time. I pulled out my gun as she turned toward the ruckus. Poor Suzanne, I thought, aiming at Mackie. She just wasn't meant to have the wedding of her dreams.

Someone screamed. Mackie tested the Tulpa, whose eyes were still locked on him, by taking another step toward me. The Tulpa responded by baring a mouth full of fangs, which only made Mackie yank out his soul blade, eliciting real screams.

Suzanne growled in frustration and yanked at her voluminous gold skirts.

“That's it!” To my utter surprise she reached behind her, pulled a sawed-off shotgun from a Velcro holster hidden somehow at her back, and aimed the barrel down the aisle. “You guys are fucking up my wedding!”

And she shot Mackie straight through the chest.

The crowd exploded into action, everyone running for the single set of doors like rats escaping a maze. Everyone, that was, but those who knew what was going on. Or, I thought, ears and mind buzzing, those suddenly finding out. I blinked as guests fell into the pool, swimming toward the other side to avoid the corpse now sprawled on the center aisle. I saw Warren straighten from the corner of my eye, but my gaze winged back to the Tulpa as the screams escalated.

“Hello, boys.” Suzanne reached behind her without looking, and again I was surprised when she pulled out the saber I'd planted, the one I thought no one knew about. I replaced my gun at the small of my back as she handed me the shotgun, though kept my eyes on her. Everyone did. A smile like flint glittered on her gold-painted face. “Miss me?”

Warren and the Tulpa both froze, and their shocked expressions spoke volumes.

Warren found his voice first. “Zoe?”

“Fucking Zoe…” the Tulpa's voice rasped.

“Suzanne?” I shook my head. I seemed to be having the hardest time coming around to this. I shook it again.
“M-Mom?”

The Tulpa's gaze rocketed my way.

Pivoting, we both turned our weapons on him, suddenly back-to-back on the floating dais.

“Get behind me or get out,” she told me, her voice so wooden it didn't sound familiar at all. Warmth rose in my belly, an anger only there when my mother tried to tell me what to do. It felt foreign, strange, upsetting…and fucking good.

“Kinda bossy for a mortal, aren't you?” I said, resighting on Mackie as he tried to push into a sitting position.

“Must be the boobies.” And we fired at the same time. I plugged Mackie through his chest again twice. She pulled the trigger on the saber's sidearm, sight steady on the Tulpa.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire and Mackie's grace
less cannonball into the middle of the pool caused further panic, though the Tulpa caught the bullet in his hand. Zoe had actually aimed a bit high, not wanting to strike any of the still-fleeing guests. Meanwhile, Warren still had yet to move.
Nice time to go into shock, you asshat.

The Tulpa began levitating. “Put the weapon down, or I'll kill every mortal here.”

Zoe hesitated, then slowly lowered the saber to the floor. While there, she reached beneath the mounds of gold tulle and pulled out a paranormal bazooka.

I looked down at my puny shotgun. “I see you saved the best for yourself.”

“Always hold a little bit back, Joanna,” she said, jerking back on a loading lever. “I did.”

Which, I guessed, was how she could touch the conduits now.

The Tulpa wasn't interested in chitchat. He floated even higher, edging over the pool surface. “I'm warning—”

“Fuck yourself,
babe.
”

He stilled, floating but frozen. “Everybody underwater,” he said coolly. “And stay there.”

The chaos instantly calmed. Those already in the pool simply sunk to the bottom, those near the seats or platform—and there were still at least three hundred—slipped over the sides like a school of brightly colored, well-mannered fish. Silence descended, and when Arun made to follow the priest into the water, Zoe pulled him back with one arm, never taking her eyes from the Tulpa.

Warren finally found his voice, running forward, but was helpless to stop the mass drowning. “No!”

The Tulpa ignored him completely. “Give yourself over to me,” he said, floating closer. “Or I'll kill your groom too. No prince, no happily ever after.”

I licked my lips, and though the Tulpa spared me a glance, I was all but forgotten. It was Zoe he wanted; Zoe he'd always wanted. He hated her more than he loved life. More, even, than he loved death.

Zoe yanked Arun in front of us both.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused, but the Tulpa whipped his arm around so fast the bullet Zoe had shot returned our way with twice the speed, and Arun's chest exploded like a Catherine Wheel on the Fourth of July.

Cringing, and covered in a thick layer of gelatinous goop, I shivered at the icy substance, wiped at my face, and looked over to find Zoe also masked in the see-through substance. She shook her head as she looked down. “Shit. I was almost done too.”

“A doppelgänger?” I asked in disbelief. “You were making another one?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “It gets easier with practice, but no. I picked this one up off an old shaman in Bali. The transfer from his mind to mine laid me up for weeks, but it was worth it.” She stared at the ooze, now edging into the pool, that had nearly been a life-form. “Well, almost worth it.”

“Y-You were going to marry a tulpa?” Warren asked, just as shocked. All three of us turned his way. He sounded like a prejudiced nineteenth-century southerner.

Apparently Zoe thought so too. “Why it's every girl's dream, Warren. Who wouldn't want a man they could control?”

I couldn't help it. I snorted.

The Tulpa growled, floating closer, nearly to the center aisleway now. Bodies upon bodies were trapped beneath it, faces pressed against the transparent bottom like a macabre windowpane. “Why would someone just give you their doppelgänger?”