My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding (25 page)

I took a few quick steps back to plant a quick kiss on Dimitri’s lips. “See you at the wedding, hot stuff.”

He smiled as he buttoned his shirt. “Gird your loins.”

Pirate showed me across the hall. Because I needed a dog to find my way.
 

Inside the ready room, I found mom, Creely and Grandma. I was glad they appeared healthy, and so far, untouched, but part of me longed to see a few of my friends from Atlanta. Of course, we’d told everyone to stay away.
 

I fought back a wave of regret. It’s not like I’d taken time out to visit in the past year anyway.
 

Geez, what was I doing? This was a ceremony, nothing more.

“We have something for you,” my mom trilled. She led me over to the bed, with an intricate wedding dress draped over it. “It’s antique,” she said, lifting it carefully.

“It’s a ‘beaut,” Grandma agreed.

The gown was constructed of ivory silk. It had aged perfectly, saved for a sepia tone to the formerly white gown. The bodice featured a lace overlay, woven into a tiny rose pattern. The floor length cut draped longer in the back, creating a beautiful silk train.

“See?” Grandma nudged Creely. “That was worth breaking into the steamer trunk.”

Creely shrugged. “I told you I could have gotten the combination if you’d have given me another minute.”
 

“Here, let me,” mom said, taking it from me so I could step back and see the intricately cut sleeves, and touch my fingers to the tapered waist and the boned silk collar.

The realization slammed down on me and I yanked my hands back like the fricking thing was on fire. “That’s the dead bride’s dress.”

“Who?” Everyone said, except for Creely.
 

She merely nodded. “I thought of that,” she said, far too flippantly for my taste. “But you know who probably made it,” she reached for the collar of the dress, “the girls’ mother, maybe her grandmother as well. If she was still around.” She turned the seam out. “Look. Hand stitched. Somebody put a lot of time and love into this.”

Great. A family heirloom. It didn’t change the fact that she was strangled in it.
Mom moved in close to me, as did Grandma.

“Feel it,” Creely said, inviting me to run my fingers over the delicate seams. She coaxed the entire dress into my arms. “It doesn’t bite.”

It was lighter than I expected, and it resonated with a crystal clear energy that wound up my arms and into my chest. Incredible.

“See?” Creely asked, reading the expression on my face. “It was constructed well. It has power. This was made with love and hope from the family of that poor girl who died.”

My mom’s hand fluttered at her throat. “Who died?”

Creely explained while I ran my fingers over the intricately woven fabric. Maybe I could go with this. I opened up my demon slayer senses.

The dress was definitely touched by love. And something else. Tragedy. I could sense the faint burn of it. She had definitely died in this dress. But the love was stronger.
 

It made me wonder. “This could be how the grave dirt powered up the emerald,” I said to myself, “It was a place where the family’s love and prayers were concentrated.” This girl’s household may not have been rich, but they had been strong and deeply tied to each other. “Maybe I could use some of that power to release her ghost.”
 

We could certainly use all the help we could get.

“First things first,” my mom said, retreating to the bathroom. “You need to dry your hair.”
 

Whoops.
 

She gave a long-suffering sigh, which was in this case, justified. “Lizzie, I swear, the wedding is in forty-five minutes,” she said, expecting me to follow.

Okay. I would. First I had to get one thing straight. “Why are you not downstairs with a clipboard?”

She shrugged. “I let your father take over. Sure, he’s quiet, but he’s watched me enough times. And the seating instructions were clear enough.” She leaned in to me, as if she were sharing a secret. “He has no idea we didn’t even rehearse.”

That’s right. Perhaps my mom really had turned over a new leaf.
 

I glanced to Grandma and Creely, who were taking turns holding up the antique gown in front of them and looking in the mirror. “Why are you not freaking out over that? Or over the dead bride’s wedding dress?”

“I’m starting to learn I can’t control everything,” Mom said, directing me to lean over as she plugged in her curling iron and started up the blow dryer.

It had taken her less time than it had me.

Then again, maybe not. Precisely forty-four minutes later, I looked like a bride.
 

“Oh, Lizzie.” Mom stood behind me to fluff a curl that I knew would never move because Hillary would never allow it. Her eyes filled with tears. “You look perfect.”

I had to admit, she’d done a great job. I even let her plunk a tiara on my head.

The heavy footfalls of guests sounded in the hallway as everyone headed down to the wedding. My stomach fluttered. It was time.
 

Yes, Dimitri and I had already had our real wedding, but still. This was a moment I may never repeat.
 

I stripped out of my clothes and held up my hands as mom and Grandma eased the borrowed dress over my head. It smelled faintly of cedar and lavender.
 

It was hard to stay sentimental, though, knowing that this would be the perfect time for Zatar to attack. I would have all of my loved ones, present and assembled in one spot. If I were a power sucking, soul-destroying demon, this would be my time to strike.

She kissed me on the cheek as I gazed at myself in the stand-up mirror by the door. I looked like a Victorian bride.
 

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

I gave her a small hug. “Thanks, mom.”
 

She handed me an artfully arranged bouquet of peonies and baby roses. Tears welled up in her eyes and she hurriedly wiped them away. “I don’t cry,” she said, voice wavering.

“I don’t either,” Grandma said, slapping me on the back. “Are we ready?”
 

“Sure,” I said, trying to get my bearings. “Hold on a minute.” I’d left my switch star belt across the hall in Dimitri’s room.
 

Creely, of all people, anticipated where I was going and blocked me. “He can’t see you!” she grimaced.

“Truly?” I asked her.
 

She knocked on Dimitri’s door while mom and Grandma shushed me back into the ready room. Less than a minute later, Creely walked in carrying my switch star belt. “Your man looks hot,” she grinned.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, accepting the belt from her and winding it around my waist. The construction of the dress was perfect for weapons carrying. The fit was also tight enough so I could fire easily.

“What are you doing?” My mom asked, her voice clipped.

“This belt holds my weapons,” I said, fastening the crystal buckle. “
You
can’t see them, but believe me, they work.”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You are not seriously going to wear a black leather spiked belt with a wedding dress.”

“I think it looks nice,” Creely said, nudging mom.
 

The wrinkles on Grandma’s forehead deepened. “Your mom could be right on this one. Let us protect you.”
 

“Come on, Gertie, you know she has powers we don’t,” Creely said, as I modeled my new biker witch bridal look.

My mom opened her mouth to speak, then decided to close it.
 

“Cheer up,” I told her. “At least I’m not sneaking in the back entrance anymore.” I’d come full circle.

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”
 

At least she’d stopped crying.
 

She sighed as we headed out into the hall. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll start a new fashion. I can tell my friends it’s couture.”

“They’ll have to admit it’s one-of-a-kind,” Grandma agreed.

I only wished I still had my emerald.
 

I was surprised to see my adoptive father, Cliff, waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He could have come up. Most likely, he was scared off by all of the estrogen.

He had classic good looks and thick, flawlessly styled silver hair. He winked at me as we approached. “Nice belt.”

“Don’t ask,” Hillary said, taking her clipboard from him.
 

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he said to me. Then to Hillary, “The guests are all seated. Dimitri came down a minute ago. He should be out there.” He glanced at me. “I strapped a ring pillow to your dog,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d done that.
 

It had been their only concession to me. A dog laden with fake jewelry. Well, before mom found out I was a demon slayer.

I briefly wondered how she’d break it to dad, or if she’d want me to do it. This was the woman who took two days to tell dad she’d scratched his Mercedes.

“It’s your big day,” Dad said fondly.

If he only knew.

I opened up my demon slayer senses to detect any sort of irregularity. There were energies bouncing around this place like crazy. I tried to hone in on the worst of them, the most lethal. But nothing was standing out.

Not yet, at least.

Mom and Grandma had gone ahead, leaving Dad and me in the kitchen.
 

“Pretty day,” he mused.

I wasn’t sure what kind of conversation to make, so I peeked out the back door. The late morning sun shone warmly over the grounds. Hillary had set up chairs and a pretty archway overlooking the herb garden. It seemed she hadn’t quite had the time to make the rose beds as wedding-ready as she would have liked.

Welcome to my world.

Don’t let anything eat you.

The thought sobered me immediately because, around here, things would.

“You always were curious,” Dad remarked.
 

Little had I known.

I watched as Mr. Rodgerson walked my mom down the aisle. Strange how I’d never missed the absence of close family until I’d met the biker witches. Then again, my parents had their friends, which I supposed was nice. If this was any other wedding.

The catering staff had set up to the left of the herb garden, far enough back that I could see the roof of the tent on the other side of a small arbor. Pretty.

Dad squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. Your mom said you had a busy a week.”

“It was something,” I agreed.
 

I admit I got a little misty eyed when Pirate trotted out last. He had a ring pillow on his back and little tux cuffs above each of his four paws. I saw my mom’s handiwork all over it, and I loved her for it.

He greeted several of the biker witches he passed, and stopped for a few pets from the Greeks and even one society lady. Bless her.

Everyone was gathered here for me. The emotion of it struck me in a raw, tense sort of way. I’d never liked to be the center of attention. And this?

It felt so surreal. It felt
off
. Maybe it was because I’d never been about to walk down the aisle before.
 

I realized I
was
nervous. Had some strange, hidden part of me wanted the show? Or was this simply because I knew Zatar could strike at any time? I tugged my right hand out of dad’s and let my fingers rest on my switch stars.

“You’ll do fine,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

I was a nervous wreck.

Once my mom had been seated, Dimitri emerged from the gardens to the left. He wore a classic black tux that set off his handsome, exotic features and made him look like a Greek James Bond. He was so going to wear that again for me.
 

The groom’s side to the right of the aisle let out whoops and cheers, startling the bride’s side. Well, the society part at least. Grandma and the witches joined in the hollering. Aunt Ophelia practically yodeled. When the racket died down, the crowd waited expectantly.
 

Dad took my arm in his, and I felt the emotion of the moment well up in me.
 

Before I could let it get too out of hand, I slid out of his grip and moved to his right side.
 

“Lizzie,” he tried to maneuver around me, “you’re doing it backward.”

Yes, well, I needed my switch star arm free. “It’s an old horseback riding injury,” I lied, knowing he’d never paid attention enough to know the difference.
 

“It won’t look good,” he warned, when I refused to let go of his right arm.
 

Neither would a raging demon. I didn’t have time to argue. I couldn’t shake the sense that we were walking into a trap. I still had no idea who the demon was using. There was nothing to do except try to determine where the attack would come from.

“Help me,” I murmured to the ghost whose dress I wore.
 

A form shimmered at the edge of the aisle, between the porch and the back row. It was her! We wore matching wedding gowns. She became more solid, and I saw she was worn and tired. Heavy chains bound her wrists. Another chain wrapped around her neck and wrapped around her body. The chains at her wrists sliced her skin, drawing blood. They tortured her, bent her shoulders.
 

My mouth went dry. The connection was tangible between us, so much stronger than before. It was as if an invisible cord linked me to her.

“What do I need to see?” I whispered.
Show me the evil.

Her expression was stark, her face haunted. A trickled of blood ran from the corner of her mouth as she opened it to speak. “I will show you.”

Holy frick. She’d spoken.
 

I hated to do this to her, but,
can you speed it up?
I channeled to her, as my father led me out onto the porch and down the steps toward the white aisle runner.

The dull thud in my stomach turned into a knot.

“Come on, sweetie.” Dad nudged me toward her.
 

I couldn’t even look at dad. I was focused on
her
. It almost looked like she wanted to tell me something else, only she couldn’t form the words.