Dead If I Do (11 page)

“His?” Sebastian asked. “You have a reason to think it’s a man?”

Unfortunately, I could think of one likely suspect right away, one that was known to trade his bites for hard, cold cash. It didn’t take long for Sebastian to come to the same conclusion. “If it’s that Daniel Parrish, he’s going to wish he’d stayed dead.”

Fifth Aspect: Semiquintile

KEY WORDS:
Difficult, Blocked

At the curb, I gave my dark and brooding vampire a
quick kiss good-bye. He hardly noticed me for the bloody murder in his eyes. I suspected he was going to spend the morning hunting down people who might know where Parrish slept during the day. My only comfort was that I knew the type that Parrish attracted as ghouls; they tended toward fierce loyalty. Not only that, but I was sure any sort of bullying of another vamp ’s ghouls would get Sebastian in trouble with whatever weird, shadowy organization controlled the Suppliers’ Guild. He wasn’t going to get very far, but he’d be able to let off some steam on a wildgoose chase. As I watched Sebastian drive away without even a wave, I thought he might need it.

I strolled the half a block up to my store. State Street
is a pedestrian mall, so Sebastian had let me off at the nearest cross street. The sky was a brilliant blue. I could see the white marble dome of the Capitol building a few blocks farther up. My breath crystallized into white puffs in the air. The tip of my nose was red by the time I saw my reflection in the door of my store. Flipping on the lights, I went through the routines of getting the store ready for opening. I had the till counted and in place by the time William came in with two large cups of coffee from Holy Grounds.

“Froufrou drink?” he offered.

“Thanks,” I said, and we clinked the tops of our plastic lids in a faux toast to our girly lattes.

“Izzy’s in a bad mood,” William said, sipping his drink. “I think she and Matt had a fight.”

“Matt?”

“So much easier to say than Mátyás. Anyway, I heard her call him that once as a pet name.”

Somehow I couldn’t quite imagine Mátyás as a Matt. That sounded like someone who was the captain of the football team in high school, not some Eurotrash son of a vampire. “Did he like it?”

“He did when she said it. I haven’t quite had the nerve to try it to his face for myself.”

“Wise move,” I said. William followed me as I went to unlock the front door and flip on the neon Open sign in the window.

“What do you think their fight was about?”

“You’re kidding, right? What do
you
think?”

“His mom.”

William nodded. We walked back to the register and the little circular alcove that surrounded it. “Plus, I don’t think Izzy likes being on the business end of you and Sebastian.”

“Did she say that?” I was shocked. I never thought of myself as having a “business end,” though Sebastian could be scary when he was intent on something. Still, if she spent any time at all with Mátyás she must be aware that what he and his father shared didn’t exactly qualify as a functional relationship.

“She didn’t say anything. She was really grouchy.”

That wasn’t much like Izzy. I resolved to go talk to her during my break to see what was going on. Maybe she knew something about the possibility of Parrish’s involvement in the whole Teréza thing . . . or maybe I could convince her to help me try to find out.

A customer came in looking for a good book on magical journaling, and soon I was knee-deep in the usual Saturday business. In no time, it was noon, and I’d missed my break.

I thought I might have lunch over at Holy Grounds and see about chatting with Izzy now. But when I went into the back office to file a few of the bills that had come in with the post, I saw the note I ’d left myself on the calendar. Today was the day I was supposed to go down to the courthouse to pick up the application for our marriage license. I was also supposed to check in with the Unitarian minister who would be officiating our ceremony to arrange getting the programs printed up. Izzy would have to wait.

Changing out of the Converses I kept in my bottom desk drawer, I stomped into my heavy winter boots. I wrapped a fluffy pink and metallic yarn scarf around my neck and shrugged into my down-filled ski jacket. A matching pink hat snuggled in tight over my ears. Pulling my bright orange Tigger gloves on, I was set.

I let William know that I might be a little long at lunch and then braved the outside. The temperature had warmed up to a comfortable thirty degrees, but the sky had gone gray and overcast. I could smell the promise of snow in the air, and the breeze that touched my face was heavy with moisture. Nervous flocks of house sparrows pecked at the sand and salt pebbles along the edges of the sidewalks.

The bus to the courthouse was overheated with stale, claustrophobic air, but the ride was mercifully short. I phoned Sebastian from the front steps and reminded him to meet me at the church. Getting the application involved navigating a maze of government offices and prying information out of overworked and underpaid bureaucrats. Even though the whole affair took less than a half hour, it seemed to last forever. I felt drained by the time I found myself waiting for the bus to take me to the church. I checked my watch. Either the bus was late, or I’d just missed it. I phoned Sebastian and told him just to get started with the minister and that I’d be there as soon as I could. He offered to pick me up, but I was sure the bus was coming any minute. He snorted. “I sure hope someone buys you a car as a wedding present. If you’re not careful, it’s going to be me.”

“How’d it go?” I asked him. “Did you find out whether Parrish turned Teréza or not?” I stepped out into the street to see if I could see the bus.

I heard Sebastian sigh. “No one is talking, but the less people say, the more suspicious I am.”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything.”

“Would you call the coven about tonight? Maybe pick up some munchies and beer so we can have a bit of a party?” After all the hassle at the courthouse, I really wanted to have some fun.

“Leave it to me, darling.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He must have heard the tension leave my body slightly, because he added, “Look, why don’t you go back to the store. I can handle this program thing on my own. I know how it’s all supposed to go. We’ve talked about all the readings and hymns a million times. Besides, if I’m unsure of anything, I can always give you a ring.”

I chewed on my lip. I wasn’t sure whether it would make me more or less stressed
not
to be there. Sebastian was right, though. We’d gone over the events of the day a thousand times. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “I haven’t had lunch yet.”

I left the bus stop and considered the options for places that might have decent vegetarian fare. As I settled into a window booth at a Chipotle, I watched the bus roll by. Ah, well. Munching on a burrito full of beans and rice and all the works, I pulled a pen from my jacket. On a napkin, I started trying to salvage my upcoming wedding plans. I reconstructed my timeline of all the people I needed to check in with—catering staff, bartenders, ushers, church musicians, outfitters—and a baker for that damn cake!—anyone I could think of, and I started a list of ways to fix what had already gone wrong. When I left the restaurant, I was feeling pretty confident that I had things in hand. I was going to get through this. That, of course, is when my mother called. She was in tears.

“It has to be your grandmother’s dress,” she sobbed. “It just wouldn’t be right if you didn’t have your grandmother’s dress. I’ve always dreamed of seeing my baby in the dress I wore. My little baby girl,” she sniffed. Oh great Goddess. I’d had no idea. Never in my life had she ever told me about this dress. I ’d seen her wedding photos, of course, but she’d never made a big deal of it then. “Mom? Where are you? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I want you to wear the dress.” She was hysterical. It sounded like she’d been holding on to this emotion for the past few days, and it was all finally bursting out. “Say you’ll wear the dress!”

“I’m on my way over to your hotel, okay?” My folks were staying at the Concourse, which was just off State Street, only a few blocks from my work. I said good-bye, told her I loved her, and hung up. I started booking for the bus. Just what I didn’t need: a Mom meltdown!

The black-and-white photo was grainy, and it was dif
ficult to really see the details, especially since it had been folded several times to fit in her wallet. In the picture my mother looked happy in a very, very old -fashioned dress— Victorian, even. It was high-necked, long-sleeved, beaded, with a veil and everything. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed. My mom leaned against me, arm around my shoulder. My dad sat at the desk, his stocking feet propped up on a foot-stool. He gave me a little I-don’t-get-thisgirl-stuff shrug when I gave him an appealing glance.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, though it was totally not my style.

My mom rubbed my shoulders. “Oh, honey. You’d look so lovely.” She stopped and stared at my head. I had sticky, sweaty, hat head. My mother tsked her tongue and touched the frayed tips of my hair. “If we did something with your hair, of course.”

I was about to tell her that I had all that arranged. My guy, Paul, had blocked the whole morning for me and my bridesmaids.

“I called around. Your aunt Edith knows someone here in town who can get your hair back to its natural color. Then maybe we could add some curls—a nice, light perm. What do you think, dear?” She asked my dad.

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally. He’d picked up a copy of the tourist magazine and was leafing through it. “Sounds nice.”

I’d look like a Goth Shirley Temple. “I already have all that taken care of, Mom.”

She nodded suspiciously. “You are planning on going back to blonde, though, right? It’s just that it suits your coloring so much better.”

“If I tried to bleach the dye that’s already in my hair, Goddess only knows what color I’d end up . . . if all my hair didn’t fall out first.”

My mother looked stricken.

I thought she might start to cry again, so I blurted out, “Do you think the dress can be shipped and altered in time?”

She brightened. “You’ll wear it?”

“If it means that much to you,” I said, “of course, I will.”

William was shoveling the sidewalk as I came down
the block. He had on the classic shapeless parka most Midwesterners sported half the year, but he accented it with one of those extra-long tipped elf hats that hung almost to the back of his knees. It was bright yellow with black stripes and a big pompom at the end.

“Who’s minding the store?” I asked.

“I called in Slow Bob. I was starting to get worried about you.”

“I’m sorry. I should have called. Family crisis.” I thrust the picture at him. “My mother wants me to wear this.”

He leaned up against the shovel and adjusted his glasses. “It’s . . . uh, it’s very nice?” He looked at me, and I shook my head.

“It’s beautiful—gorgeous, even, but it’s not what I wanted.

I’ll look ridiculous in that. I spent hundreds of dollars on a trim silver evening dress. It ’s modern and stylish, and it took me three months to find it.”

“Oh. So, uh, can you say no or something?” He handed the picture back and tucked the shovel into the crook of his arm. Together we headed for the door.

“I don’t know. My only hope is that it’s so old it can’t really be fitted to me.” I sighed. “My mother was hysterical, though. I’ve never seen her like that. She’s usually such a stoic Norwegian, you know?”

William nodded, but I knew he had no idea. He’d told me his family was Irish and typically loud and boisterous. Slow Bob looked visibly relieved when we walked in. Bob was an excellent employee. Punctual, polite, and often available for short-notice shifts, he was a master alphabetizer, and I swore he read every single title we purchased. Slow Bob ’s biggest drawback was that he would not be hurried, regardless of how many people might be waiting. I suspected that he became so slow on the register because he really hated that particular aspect of the job, and he seized up with intense shyness whenever he was forced to deal with a customer.

William stepped into the back room to put the shovel away. Slow Bob gave me a little happy wave and retreated to the shelves. I took the spot he vacated behind the counter.

I looked at the photograph again. It wasn’t so bad. At least it wasn’t pink taffeta, like poor Izzy was going to be wearing if I didn’t fix things.

I spent the rest of the day at work dividing my time between my duties to the store and trying to solve various personal crises. The wedding, however, remained a Gordian knot. I couldn’t untangle the damage. I must have called every band and music agency listed in the phone book. Nearly everyone was either already booked or unavailable so close to the Christmas holiday. There was one called White Wedding, a Billy Idol tribute band, but I couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than polka. The vision of my dad and me sharing “Rebel Yell,” just didn’t quite work for me. For now, we were stuck with “Roll Out the Barrel.”

I got my mom on finding a cake. I thought that giving her a job might help distract her and soothe her ruffled feathers. She seemed eager, and even though I told her I’d like to try to find local and organic bakers, I also gave up any reasonable hope she could find what I wanted on such short notice. I told her I’d be happy with anything she could find, and I meant it. As for the bridesmaid’s dresses, I had a thought. After William and I fended off a brief rush of customers buying Solstice cards and Goddess-themed ornaments, I turned to him. “Say, do you still have a lot of friends in the Society for Creative Anachronism?”