Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (37 page)

 

I
t was springtime in Alabama and everything was in bloom, including Beck. She rested her hand on the slight swell of her belly, still marveling at the life inside her. Conall had healed her—in so many ways, though he argued the matter differently. He claimed she’d saved
him,
but she knew better. She’d used the bar as her safe house, walling herself away from her family and the world out of habit and fear of being rejected. Until her shadow warrior had come along and broken through her defenses.

Smashed them down, more like, she thought with a smile.

The day after Thanksgiving, Conall had swept her away to the Hall of Warriors. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a cavernous space with columns marching into blackness and a starry canopy above, and then they were in a library filled with scrolls and books. A frozen waterfall on one wall displayed an ever changing slideshow of strange and wonderful images. When Beck tried to take a closer look, the whirling pictures made her dizzy.

A slim, bespectacled fellow with thinning brown hair and the distracted, studious air of a scholar rose to greet them. To Beck’s surprise, Conall introduced the man in the wrinkled brown robe as Kehvahn, the creator of the Dalvahni. He looked more geek than god.

“You’re not what I expected,” she’d said, without thinking.

Kehvahn turned to regard her. His gaze was penetrating, fathomless. Beck squirmed, feeling stripped bare, like Kehvahn saw her,
really
saw her, all the way through, the good and the bad.

“Neither are you,” he said at last with a nod. “I had my reservations, but I believe that you will do. Yes, I believe you will do quite well.”

His form shifted and swirled like smoke, and he disappeared.

“Where’d he go?” Beck asked, looking around. “I thought we came here to get his permission.”

“We have it,” Conall said. “He approves of you. How could he not?”

Taking her by the hand, he led her over to an enormous leather bound tome and handed her a bronze quill. She looked around for an ink well, but didn’t see one. She pressed the nib of the quill tentatively against the page, jerking her hand back as sparks flew from the end of the pen.

“What the hell?” she said.

“Try again,” Conall said. “You have the right of it.”

Beck shrugged and scratched her name on the parchment with the quill. The letters burst into flame and burned away, leaving her signature shining on the page. Conall took the pen from her and signed his name with a flourish. A bell gonged somewhere in the distance, deep and sonorous. The room dissolved around them and the next thing Beck knew, they were home.

“That’s it?” she had demanded. “I expected a test or a trial by fire. An
argument
at least. Something besides scribbling our names in a stupid guest book.”

“It is not a stupid guest book,” Conall said. “It is our most sacred text. The history of our race lies within those pages, along with the signature of every Dalvahni warrior sworn to service. By signing our names in the Great Book, we are bound together as one.”

“You mean we’re
married
?”

Conall’s lips twitched. “That is the human term for it.”

“I don’t feel married,” Beck said.

“You do not?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. I want a wedding. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, but I want a wedding.”

“Then you shall have it.” Conall took her in his arms and kissed her. “It will be the grandest wedding Hannah has ever seen. You will be reading about yourself in the paper, for once.” Satisfaction and challenge gleamed in his dark eyes. “But make no mistake about it, Rebekah. Wedding or no wedding, you are mine.”

Beck had protested but, secretly, the thought of her picture in the
Hannah Herald
alongside the society muckety mucks tickled her to pieces. And she was determined to make everything perfect.

The wedding plans kept her busy for the next few months. There was so much to do; a date to be decided on, as well as a thousand other details, including the selection of her wedding dress, the bridesmaid dresses, flowers and music—the list went on and on.

Hank had suggested a caterer out of Mobile. Food was
very
important. The captain of the Dalvahni was getting married, and in Dalvahni Land, that was a Really Big Deal. The Dal would be there in numbers, and they were all about the chow.

“But, no chocolate,” Evie had cautioned Beck. “I know it’s traditional for the groom’s cake to be chocolate, but take my advice and choose something else, unless you want a bunch of schnockered super beings at your wedding. The Dalvahni can drink an ocean of beer without getting a buzz, but a handful of M&Ms or a few Raisinettes and the big guys are wasted.”

In addition to planning the wedding, Beck and Conall had set the paperwork in motion to adopt Annie.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” the harried social worker at DHR had told them at her office. “It’s a slow process, and the court system is backlogged.”

Beck wasn’t worried. She and Annie had a very determined demon hunter on their side.

Toby had been right about Beck’s. There was nothing left but a few charred beams and a half melted
Budweiser
sign, but the insurance company had coughed up the money. The day of the fire, Bill, the sound guy from
Beelzebubba,
had stopped by Beck’s to check on some equipment, and he’d seen Earl sneaking out a back window. A phone call that his wife was in labor sent Bill scurrying to the hospital in Paulsberg, but he’d told the police about the break-in. Earl, of course, was never found for questioning.

Construction was scheduled to begin on the restaurant the week after the wedding. To Beck’s delight, Hank had agreed to be their chef. He suggested they call the new place Fleuve Magie, but Toby had set up a howl.

“Floove may-gee?” Toby said. “What kind of fancy ass lah-dee-dah name is that?”

Hank scowled. “It’s French. It means river magic.”

“Huh,” Toby said. “If you’re so all-fired set on naming the place after the river, why not call it Devil’s Food, and be done with it?”

That nearly sent Hank packing, and it had taken both Beck and Verbena to soothe the bear’s ruffled fur. After much discussion, they’d settled on Chez Beck’s, a name elegant enough for Hank and Junior and not too difficult for Toby to pronounce—in theory, at least. He managed to mangle the name on a regular basis, mostly to annoy Hank, Beck suspected.

Junior had moved back to the Episcopal church for the time being, taking a certain Dalmatian with him, but not without leaving detailed instructions about the kind of piano he wanted for the bar at Chez Beck’s. As for Meredith, she appeared to have shuffled off this mortal coil.

“I hope she found her door to the Beyond, and took it,” Evie confided to Beck one day with a shudder. “I know it’s mean of me, but she’s
so
unpleasant.”

Unpleasant? Meredith was a world class pain. Beck doubted she was gone for good. Meredith was somewhere in an ectoplasmic snit, biding her time. She’d show up when least expected, and spew ugly all over the place.

But not today, Beck thought, checking her reflection in the oval, full length mirror. Nothing and no one would spoil her wedding day.

She was waiting inside a specially built gazebo for the ceremony to start. In the distance, she heard the low murmur of the wedding guests. Trees surrounded the little building on three sides, offering Beck and her attendants, Evie, Latrisse, and Verbena, privacy and seclusion. A gentle breeze stirred the bright green leaves outside the pavilion and the sultry perfume of the river mingled with the scent of the climbing roses outside their shelter.

It was late afternoon, Beck’s favorite time of day, that magical time known as the gloaming, when the veils between the worlds thin and anything seems possible.

Even true love, Beck thought with a surge of happiness. The stern, unforgiving captain of the Dalvahni had fallen in love with a tough, prickly demonoid be-yotch, and she loved him right back, something fierce.

The world was a strange and wonderful place.

Latrisse placed a flower in Beck’s hair, a pale peach rose to match her sherbet tulle ball bridal gown. The bodice of the dress was pleated silk satin organza with a sweetheart neckline, secured at the waist with a floral jewel encrusted band. A chapel train embellished the full skirt. It was an over-the-top romantic, girly-girl gown, and Beck loved it. It more than made up for a childhood and adolescence of missed parties, spend-the-nights, playing dress-up, dances, and proms.

She glanced in the mirror at Latrisse, who was standing behind her. Latrisse was stunning in a pear green silk taffeta bridesmaid gown with an asymmetrically pleated sweetheart bodice and a banded, jeweled waist.

Latrisse gave the rose a final twitch and stepped back. “There,” she said. “You’re perfect.”

Verbena hugged herself. “Oh, Becky, you look purtier ’n any princess.”

Happiness and Hank’s cooking had filled out Verbena’s too skinny frame. She was still slender but much healthier looking.

“Don’t forget Tommy,” Annie said, hovering anxiously at the edge of Beck’s circular skirt.

Beck held up her arm to show Annie the rhinestone bracelet on her wrist. “I wouldn’t dream of it. He’s my something borrowed and my something blue.”

Thanks to Conall’s woo woo and Sheriff Whitsun’s connections in law enforcement, Tommy’s body had been identified and safely returned to New Orleans for burial. Beck had waited a few weeks before sending Tommy’s mother a condolence card, concocting a story about meeting Tommy in a cooking class in the city. She’d expressed her fondness for Tommy and her deep sadness at learning of his death, and left it at that. To her surprise and delight, Tommy’s mother had written back, and they’d struck up a regular correspondence. When Mrs. Henderson learned of Beck’s wedding plans, she’d sent the bracelet along with a note:

Tommy would be with her on her special day, but not Evan. She hadn’t seen or heard from her brother since that day in the park. It seemed he really had left town. Wherever he was, she hoped he was happy and doing well. She’d gotten her new beginning. Evan should get one, too.

Evie entered the gazebo with Darlene, distracting Beck from her thoughts of Evan. “The music’s started,” Evie said, her eyes alight. “It’s showtime.”

“It’s time to go, it’s time to go,” Darlene sang, dancing around the gazebo in excitement.

Beck kissed Annie on the cheek and gave her a gentle shove toward the door. “See you in a minute, love.”

Evie and Latrisse hugged Beck and left with the little girls.

Verbena hung back. “Oh, Beck,” she said, throwing her arms around her. “I’m so happy for you I could bust wide open.”

Blushing, she scurried out the door, leaving Beck alone in the pavilion. But not for long; a moment later, her daddy appeared at the entrance, looking uncomfortable in his formal wedding duds.

He held out his arm. “Ready, Becky?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She walked down the steps and into the lush garden where Beck’s had once stood. This had been Ora Mae’s wedding gift to her, this magnificent floral wonderland, raised from the ashes of her former life. Ora Mae could grow anything, anywhere, and grow it bigger and better; that was her talent. The overgrown patch where the bar had once stood had been cleared, and now burst with roses, spring flowers and shrubs, all abloom. A wide carpet of grass sparkled like a brilliant green jewel in the late afternoon sun. On one side of the lawn, huge tents and cloth covered tables had been set up for the reception. The wedding guests, norms and supers alike, sat in covered chairs lined up in neat rows. The norms were clueless, unaware that the neighbor, friend, or relative sitting next to them might be something other than they appeared. For once, the norms were in the minority, with the inclusion of the kith and Conall’s men. The Dalvahni were here to see their captain married; some two hundred strong.

Beck paused at the top of a gentle slope, her hand on Jason’s arm. A white fabric ribbon strewn with rose petals wound between the seated guests to the river where Conall waited on a floating dock, resplendent in a black tuxedo, white shirt and black tie. Jay stood beside him, a proud groomsman in a miniature black tux. They were surrounded by a sea of Conall’s brothers in formal attire. The Dal turned to face her as one, in a show of respect. Their hair and skin color varied, but there wasn’t an ugly one in the bunch. Beck hardly saw them. Her attention was riveted on Conall, her dark haired, dangerous love.

A wiry, gray-haired man stepped forward to meet Jason and Beck. It was Toby, looking dapper and ten years younger in his black tux.

“You look beautiful, Becky,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Course, you’ve always been beautiful to me.”

“You look beautiful too, Tobes.”

“Horse feathers,” Toby said with a growl.

Everyone was looking at them, warriors and guests, as they stood there at the top of the hill. Beck felt Conall’s gaze upon her, too, hot and possessive and full of love. She shivered in anticipation.

“They’re waiting,” Daddy said. Stepping aside, he shook Toby’s hand. “Your turn, you old dog, and rightly so. You raised her right.”

Beck gave Jason a quick hug. “Thank you, Daddy.”

She turned to Toby and took his hands in hers, blinking back happy tears. “This is it, Tobias. Take me the rest of the way?”

His odd colored eyes were bright. “I’d like to see somebody try and stop me.”

He walked her down the aisle, stiff and proud, to the platform on the river where Conall stood.