Cyncerely Yours (3 page)

Cullen had to swallow first, but this time he knew what to say. “We are happy to have you.”

“Thank you. Now, about that ghost--?”

“Rhejes deal with ghosts?” Cynna asked, dubious. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, but—” He almost forgot and used her name. “She’ s a medium.”

Interesting. She is very young, yet she knows her true name. So few humans do.

Mika advanced with the sinuous sway common to dragons. Several of the guests scattered to give him room. He stopped and stared at the Rhej. What is a medium? Ah, I
see. You will make the dead woman give back my dust.

The Etorri Rhej's eyes widened slightly, but her nod was polite, her voice matter-of-fact. “I'll do my best. Where . . . ” She glanced around, her gaze fixing on the floating container. “ Oh, there she is. What did you say her name is?”

Cynna supplied it. “Mrs. Ryerson. Don't you need candles and stuff?”

“No. Mrs. Ryerson, you are causing a great deal of trouble. You must have a strong reason.”

“But—” Cynna began.

Cullen squeezed her hand, urging silence. The Etorri Rhej was a very strong medium . . . and, it seemed, Mrs. Ryerson was a very strong ghost. The usual trappings for communication with the dead weren't needed.

“I see,” the Rhej said solemnly. “That isn’t all of it, though, is it? I think you'd better tell me the rest.” A long silence followed, with the Rhej apparently listening closely. Twice she nodded; once she made an understanding sound. At last she looked at Cynna. “I see why you were confused, but Ada isn’t trying to obtain forgiveness f or herself. She wants you to forgive your mother.”

“My . . . she what?” Cynna stiffened. “What business is it of hers? Besides, I have forgiven her. Mostly.”

“Ada owes your mother a debt of guilt,” the Rhej said gently. “I believe we’ll skip the details about what that debt involves, but it is real and serious. She can't release until she feels she's atoned. Since your mother has already moved on, she can't atone directly, so she's trying to do something that will benefit you.”

Cynna stared in disbelief. “Inciting a dragon to riot? Ruining my wedding? Yeah, she's been tons of help.”

“Her methods are muddled, but those trapped between are often muddled. Her goal is for you to forgive, however, and that will certainly help you.”

“Okay. I forgive my mother.”

Nothing happened.

“You can’ t lie to a ghost, dear ,” the Rhej said. “I’ m not sure how, but they always know.”

“I’ m not lying, I just — she--I can't forgive on command!” Cynna's voice rose. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“Perhaps I can help.” Father Michaels — who hadn't run away, or screamed, or pulled a gun when Mika roared — made his way towards them. He was a short, husky man just into middle age with dark hair and eyes. “Forgiveness does rather fall into my province. Cynna?” He held out his hands. “Will you step aside a moment and speak with me?”

She looked at Cullen first. He gave her hand another squeeze, feeling helpless and disliking that. But forgiveness was definitely not his best thing. He let go of her hand.

The priest took her aside and spoke quietly. The others probably couldn't hear him. Cullen could. First Father Michaels asked if she knew whether Mrs. Ryerson had belonged to the Church, then he made a suggestion. Cynna said yes to the first, and nodded reluctantly to the second.

“All right.” Cynna faced the Rhej. “Tell her—“

“She can hear you, dear.”

“I f eel funny talking to the air,” Cynna muttered, but turned to face that small, floating ice chest. “Here’ s the first part of the deal, Mrs. Ryerson. I've promised Father Michaels that I'll pray for my mother every day for a month.” She glanced briefly at the priest. “He says it’ s almost impossible to stay bitter at someone you keep praying for. You were Catholic. You know about promising a priest something.”

The Rhej smiled. “She chuckled over that.”

“Right.” Cynna nodded, resolute. “The rest of the deal is that you agree to let Father Michaels give you the Last Rites— well, he can't do the whole deal because you can't take the Eucharist, but he says it won't matter. You let him do that, then you'll be prepared for forgiveness yourself and can, uh, go on.”

The Rhej tilted her head, then smiled slowly. " She agrees. And she' s very happy about your offer, Father.”

Father Michaels withdrew with the Rhej, who would respond aloud for Mrs. Ryerson. While they were busy, Rule and Lily went in search of the missing wedding guests, hoping to bring a few, at least, back to the ceremony now that Mika was calm again. Cynna waited in the circle of Cullen's arm. “This has to be the weirdest wedding on record.”

“We wouldn’t want to be accused of the ordinary.” He tucked a hand below her chin, tilting her face towards him. “Are you all right with what you agreed to?”

She nodded slowly. “Praying can't hurt. And, well, I like to believe I never think of my mom, but I do. I just push it aside, you know? So now I'll have to think about her, but maybe that's good.” Her hand crept to the hard lump of her stomach that used to be flat. “Maybe this is a good time to let go of some stuff .”

“Good, then. That's good. And our wedding isn't ruined,” he informed her. “Altered a bit, that’ s all. Not ruined.”

She saw the trace of anxiety hiding in those brilliant blue eyes and smiled. “No. Not ruined at all.”

My dust! Mika “shouted” and leaped into the air , his wings unfurling quick as a thought. He threw himself aloft — and dived, catching the Styrofoam chest in his jaws as it fell.

With Mrs. Ryerson gone, the rest of the wedding may have seemed anticlimactic to their guests, most of whom did return for the ceremony. Not to Cynna. Ghosts and angry dragons were nowhere near as scary as the point when Father Michaels finished his homily, turned to Cullen, and asked him the “till death do you part” question.

They were holding hands, facing each other. Cullen smiled slowly and said simply, vehemently, “Yes.”

Not “I do.” Just “yes.” That nearly sent her into giggles, but then it was her turn.

“Do you, Cynna Weaver— ack!” Father Michaels jumped back.

A short, bald orange female in a fuchsia robe, turquoise tights, and a yellow belt studded with emeralds had popped into existence beside the priest. “Am I late?” Gan asked anxiously. “Did I miss anything?”

Cynna couldn't hold back her laughter. “Nothing important,” she managed. “We’ re just getting to the good part.” Which was true in so many ways.

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