My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding Page 4

  "Room three twenty-five, honey. C'mon up. We got plenty of food."

  "Momma, they only let us go because we had student ID and they drove down the road to check out our story and found our crashed car—which had all the tags, license, insurance, and registration straight, like we'd said. Put Uncle Rupert on the phone!"

  "Baby, now you watch your tone, especially when you call your uncles' and them's room. He ain't in here, and we ain't exactly on speaking terms, neither. Don't start no mess you can't finish. So you tread light, Son."

  "Tread light? Tread light, Momma! I thought I was playing it safe by moving all my wedding and graduation stuff to my boy's apartment—but noooo. Here I'm about to graduate and get married in less than twenty-four hours and a black cat crossed my path, I've been in a car accident with my best man, we've been arrested, he can't find the ring, and I'm now standing in his apartment that's been flooded by a toilet that was in the one above us, and my suit is ruined!"

  "Now that's what family's For, suga'. I know you can borrow a suit from one of your uncles, if need be," his mother soothed. "And—"

  "I'm not wearing nothing from them. Do I sound like I'm crazy, Momma? In the middle of a hoodoo war, wearing their clothes would be like putting a bull's-eye on my forehead!"

  "Well. . . perhaps you have a point, Son." His mother sighed into the receiver.

  "Hugh just threw me his apartment keys and left to go stay with his family in the hotel—the poor man couldn't take no more to­night, even if we are homeboys."

  "Baby, that's such a shame," his mother said quietly. "He'll be all right. His family is prayed up, ain't they? Besides, I don't think your uncles aimed to kill . . . uhmmm, just to deter."

  "I ain't got no shoes, no drawers, no clean shirts, and all the good stores are closed. My best man is four inches shorter than me, so scratch me borrowing a suit from him. His car is totaled; my car bat­tery mysteriously just died; how am I gonna get to the mall? Ain't no buses running out here. Not to mention, I can't get hold of Odelia—since for some reason, my cell phone, and any other phone I touch, won't connect with her number. Now you tell my uncles for me, if they don't wanna see Jeb's son really lose his temper, then they'd better stop throwing whatever it is that they're hurling over the fence toward the Hatfields! Y'all gonna make me lose my mind and conjure myself!"

  "Oh, Lord . . . don't tell 'em that. It'll jus' get their hopes up."

  "Baby girl!"

  Odelia stood stock-still as her father waltzed into the motel lobby with a bag of ice. Reluctantly, she hugged him, hoping he wasn't in­volved in the fray.

  "Just look at my chile, all growed up." "Dad," she said calmly, "what did Auntie Effie do?" "She didn't do nothin'," he protested, peering away sheepishly as he held a dripping bag of ice. "They was out, machine went dead here, so I had to go make a run to get some—" "Daddy . . ." Odelia's hands went to her hips. "Aw, you know Effie. She just got herself a bad case of the hives . . . you know how high-strung she is. Might be shingles. She had them once or twice, and they say it never really goes away. But, uhm, after the food poisoning passed through her and all her sisters, we was all able to get on the road and travel up in a coupla vans with no problem. You get the dress I sent you, suga'?" Her father flashed her the most dashing smile and his thick bicep wrapped around her in a one-armed bear hug.

  "Yes, Daddy," she said calmly, and returned his hug. "It's beautiful."

  "I'ma be a proud man to walk down the aisle with ya looking just like yo' momma . . . even if he is a McCoy."

  She let the dig pass, as well as the sentimental reference to her mother. "You-all don't stop, ain't gonna be no wedding."

  "Now, now, don't git yourself all worked up. We all agreed to a truce," he said, patting her arm as he hoisted up the ice higher.

  "My maid of honor's hair is green. Black beetles attacked her salad. She threw up in public in a restaurant. A crow pooped on her head in the street. The girl is laid out on her sofa, traumatized. Tell Aunt Effie to stop, because whatever she sent toward Jefferson boomeranged, missed me, and hit my best Friend."

  Her Father looped his arm beneath hers and Feigned shock as they began to walk. "Do tell. Now, see, that's why I don't Fool with them tacky establishments. Your girlfriend oughta be more selective—"

  "Dad, I'm serious."

  She watched her Father swallow away a smile.

  "Aw right. Your Nana Robinson made us call a truce, like I said, any ole way. Plus I heard that Rev got up a prayer wall, so it musta accidentally slid onto whoever was near ya."

  Odelia stopped walking. "I haven't been able to get in touch with Jefferson all day."

  Her Father patted her arm and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, he'll be all right. He's covered, I reckon."

  "You reckon?"

  "Effie and your other aunties was truly offended by Nana Robin­son's accusations."

  "Where's Nana?"

  "Alive. That old bat is fine."

  "Daddy!"

  Her father sighed. "I don't rightly know. Probably holed up with Reverend Mitchell, and them Jones people. They had the nerve to form an alliance agin' us Hatfields—have you ever heard such? We supposed to be kin, us and the Robinsons!"

  "What happened?" Jefferson said in a near whisper as he looked around the hotel room that all his uncles had packed into for a fam­ily meeting. Were it not for a lift by another buddy, Jefferson wouldn't have been there at all.

  Each one of them had dark red splotches all over their faces and was itching and scratching so badly that it gave Jefferson a nervous tic. His mother stood at his side, arms folded over her big bosom, wig firmly set on her head, her expression a mixture of victory and disgust.

  "Serves 'em all right. I done tol' 'em Grandma Jo meant what she said. But they had to tes' my momma and it done boomeranged on all of 'em. They couldn't even eat dinner at Red Lobster, for every­body getting sick."

  "Boy, tell your grandma to call off the hoodoo hounds so we can all go to your graduation tomorrow," his uncle Rupert begged, scratching his crotch. "There's conjuring, and then there's just plain ole unfair!"

  "Son, I got a suit you can wear; one of us got some shoes," Melville cried, scratched a bald spot in his scalp, and then unbuckled his pants. "Tell that old lady that to make a man itch this bad where the sun don't shine just ain't Christian!"

  "Where's Gran?" Jefferson asked his mother, too done For words.

  "Over at the church, probably with Rev and the Robinson and Jones clan."

  Odelia didn't wait to be told twice. Her mission was to find Nana Robinson—sanctuary. After seeing her thirteen aunts sprawled out on two beds, the floor, and room chairs scratching what looked like quarter-sized mosquito bites, Odelia was out. She lied, telling her fifty cousins who whooped and surrounded her in the hall with glad tidings that she'd be back to eat dinner with them, as soon as she double-checked on her girlfriend. Eat there? Not. She just prayed for all the little kids, too numerous to count, hoping God truly did look after children and fools.

  By the time she reached the church grounds, she was close to tears. Obviously, verbal truces aside, an all-out war had started. If Jef­ferson had been hurt and caught in the cross fire, she vowed to mount her own vendetta—against her own kin. This was absolutely outrageous!

  Odelia double-parked, dashed for the church house, rang Pastor Wise's door, and waited, hugging herself. She could hear loud voices and laughter and could smell the fragrance of good home cooking wafting from the windows. Why couldn't her life just be normal, like this? When the burly man with the big smile and warm eyes came to the door wearing a clerical collar, tears streamed down her face in earnest.

  "Come on in here, darlin'; you got people waiting on you," he said, enfolding Odelia in his arms. "Reverend Mitchell—the bride's here!"

  Odelia buried her face in the pastor's barrel chest and breathed deeply, staving off an all-out crying jag. Another pair of warm, el­derly hands petted her back and guided her away From Pastor Wise and
across the threshold. Nana Robinson was smiling and standing next to a thin, gaunt woman with a kind Face and merry eyes. A roomful of people surrounded the two older matrons, and Reverend Mitchell kept his arm tightly around Odelia's shoulders. But once she saw her nana, it was all over.

  Breaking the reverend's hold, Odelia rushed to the thick, safe arms that had always been there for her as a child.

  "I know, baby. We all heard about it," her nana cooed, stroking Odelia's hair. "Now you go on upstairs with Pastor Wise's wife, get showered, and put your dress on. We sent your cousin to go git it, and a nice security guard from the building let us in, so we could save your momma's dress from the fire ants that decided to invade your apartment. The door was already open, on account of they had to fumigate."

  "Fire ants?" Odelia was slack-jawed.

  "Oh, we got the dress and shook 'em out." her nana reassured her. "We's gonna fetch your daddy, and that boy's momma, and bring jus' them here for a little repast. The rest of them fools got contagion." Her nana chuckled and clucked her tongue as she held Odelia back so she could wink at her. "Brought it on dey-selves . . . don't know how that happened?"

  "Uhmmm-hmmrn," the thin woman beside her nana said. "The Lord do work in mysterious ways."

  "Now, Grandma Jo, I thought you old girls agreed to leave this mess in the purview of prayer—"

  "We did, Reverend Mitchell," Grandma Jo said, pressing a gnarled hand to her chest in shock. "You know we too ole to be acting like that, and we cooked up some good food that ain't gonna make no­body sick. Got a purty cake for the ceremony . . . lemon butter pound, a real cake, not some sto'-bought mess."

  Odelia looked around, confused. "You're Jefferson's Grandma Jo?"

  "Yes, baby. Welcome to the Family. I'm a Jones. Don't get me con-Fused with being no McCoy."

  Healthy shouts of Amens Filled the room, as Family members From Jefferson's mother's people gathered around Odelia.

  Frantic, Odelia's gaze scanned the house. "Is Jefferson all right?"

  "That nice young man is fine," Pastor Wise's wife said. "He's up­stairs dressing in the suit his Grandma Jo had presence of mind to buy for him as a graduation present, along with some shoes and whatnot."

  "Best to always be prepared," Grandma Jo said, pressing her lips together to stifle a smug smile.

  "Well, they do say, the Lord helps those who he'p theyselves," Nana Robinson said, nodding with Grandma Jo.

  "What happened to Jefferson's suit he was gonna—"

  "There's plenty of time to talk about that later," Pastor Wise's wife said, interrupting Odelia's question. She shot her husband a coy, knowing glance. "I'll take you into my daughter's room so you can get ready For the wedding."

  Odelia Froze. "The wedding? Tonight?" Her voice had come out in a squeak. "We gettin' a jump on 'em, suga'," Nana Robinson said calmly. "By tomorrow, it'll be all over but the shouting; then maybe you two can graduate in peace. I didn't drive all this way For no nonsense."

  "No truer words been said," Grandma Jo concurred. "If you stop crying, hurry up, and get dressed, y'all be married within an hour, then we can Finally eat—I done put my big toe in that macaroni and cheese—and y'all can go on and do what young Folks do. Get you a hotel room and get busy, seeing as how neither one of y'all's apart­ments is fit to live in, right through here. Jus' don't get too love-crazy and fergit to set your clock. Like your nana said, I ain't come all this way to miss my boy's graduation. Hmmph!"

  Odelia opened her mouth and closed it.

  Both Pastor Wise and Reverend Mitchell discreetly chuckled with the rest of the Family as the pastor's wife ushered Odelia through the house toward the stairs, winding a path through widely smiling kinFolk. Her cheeks Felt hot, and Mrs. Wise squeezed her arm when Grandma Jo called out to Nana Robinson, "Girl, you ain't fergit to spice them greens with something to bring great-grands quick, did ya?"

  "You oughts ta know me better than that, Jolene. We Robinson women don't play, when it comes to the kitchen," Nana Robinson Fussed back.

  "Good. 'Cause like I said, I put my Foot in that macaroni and cheese."

  Epilogue

  Odelia wasn't sure if it was something in the greens, the mac and cheese, the fried chicken, or the lemon butter pound wedding cake. None of the elderly chefs were to be trusted; they all believed in big families. Might've been a sleight of hand by the maker of the tuna mac, potato salad, sweet potatoes, or even something slipped into the snap beans, rice, or ham. Anything was fair game to produce more great-grandbabies. On the other hand, trying to remain logical, it very well could've been the yearlong wait for the right partner, or the peach iced tea could have been spiked, knowing their families. Maybe it was simply love—go figure.

  All she was very sure of was, Jefferson McCoy hadn't let her sleep a wink all night and was still sweating like he'd run a marathon this morning. Bottom line, Odelia was married, happy, and it was clear that they were both going to be very late For their graduations.

  * * *

  L..A. BANKS. (a.k.a. Leslie Esdaile Banks) is a native of Philadelphia, a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania Wharton undergraduate program, and holds a Masters in Fine Arts from Temple University's School of Film and Media Arts. After a stellar ten-year career as a cor­porate marketing executive for several Fortune 100 high-tech firms, Banks changed careers in 1991 to pursue a private consulting career—which ultimately led to fiction and film writing. Now, with more than twenty-four novels and ten anthology contributions in an extraordinary breadth of genres, and many awards to her credit, Banks writes full-time, and resides with her husband and children in Philadelphia. Look for her Vampire Huntress Legends series and a full listing of her published works at: www.vampirehuntress.com.

  Something Borrowed

  Jim Butcher

  Steel pierced my leg and my body went rigid with pain, but I could not allow myself to move. "Billy," I growled through my teeth. "Kill him."

  Billy the Werewolf squinted up at me from his seat and said, "That might be a little extreme."

  "This is torture," I said.

  "Oh, for crying out loud, Dresden," Billy said, his tone amused. "He's just fitting the tux."

  Yanof the tailor, a squat, sturdy little guy who had recently immi­grated to Chicago from Outer Sloboviakastan or somewhere, glared up at me, with another dozen pins clutched between his lips and re­sentment in his eyes. I'm better than six and a half feet tall. It can't be fun to be told that you've got to fit a tux to someone my height only a few hours before the wedding.

  "It ought to be Kirby standing here," I said.

  "Yeah. But it would be harder to fit the tux around the body cast and all those traction cables."

  "I keep telling you guys," I said. "Werewolves or not, you've got to be more careful."

  Ordinarily, I would not have mentioned Billy's talent for shapeshifting into a wolf in front of a stranger, but Yanof didn't speak a word of English. Evidently, his skills with needle and thread were such that he had no pressing need to learn. As Chicago's resident wizard, I'd worked with Billy on several occasions, and we were friends.

  His bachelor party the night before had gotten interesting on the walk back to Billy's place, when we happened across a ghoul terror­izing an old woman in a parking lot.

  It hadn't been a pretty fight. Mostly because we'd all had too many stripper-induced Jell-O shots.

  Billy's injuries had all been bruises and all to the body. They wouldn't spoil the wedding. Alex had a nasty set of gashes on his throat From the ghoul's clawlike nails but could probably pass them off as particularly enthusiastic hickeys. Mitchell had broken two teeth when he'd charged the ghoul but hit a wall instead. He was go­ing to be a dedicated disciple of Anbesol until he got to the dentist.

  All I had to remember the evening by was a splitting headache, and not from the fight. Jell-O shots are far more dangerous, if you ask me.

  Billy's best man, Kirby, had gotten unlucky. The ghoul slammed him into a brick wall so hard that it bro
ke both his legs and cracked a vertebra.

  "We handled him, didn't we?" Billy asked.

  "Let's ask Kirby," I said. "Look, there isn't always going to be a broken metal fence post sticking up out of the ground like that, Billy. We got lucky."

  Billy's eyes went flat and he abruptly stood up. "All right," he said, voice hard. "I've had just about enough of you telling me what I should and should not do, Harry. You aren't my father."

  "No," I said. "But—"

  "In fact," he continued, "if I remember correctly, the other Alphas and I have saved your life twice now."

  "Yes," I said. "But—"

  His face turned red with anger. Billy wasn't tall, but he was built like an armored truck. "But what? You don't want to share the spot­light with any of us mere one-trick wonders? Don't you dare belittle what Kirby did, what the others have done and sacrificed."

  I am a trained investigator. Instincts honed by years of observation warned me that Billy might be angry. "Great hostility I sense in you," I said in a Muppety voice.

  Billy's glower continued for a few more steady seconds, and then it broke. He shook his head and looked away. "I'm sorry. For my tone."

  Yanof jabbed me again, but I ignored it. "You didn't sleep last night."

  He shook his head again. "No excuse. But between the fight and Kirby and . . ." He waved a vague hand. "Today. I mean, today."

  "Ah," I said. "Cold feet?"

  Billy took a deep breath. "Well. It's a big step, isn't it." He shook his head. "And after next year, most of the Alphas are going to be done with school. Getting jobs." He paused. "Splitting up."

  "And that's where you met Georgia," I said.

  "Yeah." He shook his head. "What if we don't have anything else in common? I mean, good grief. Have you seen her family's place? And I'm going to be in debt for seven or eight years just paying off the student loans. How do you know if you're ready to get married?"

  Yanof stood up, gestured at my pants, and said something that sounded like, "Hahklha ah lafala krepata khem."