“You three!” I shout. “We’ve had a major change of plans. I need you to communicate this to the rest of the crew. Got it?”
“Got it,” they say, but I’m already speaking over them: “First, we need to pen the antelope and the fox from last night, ASAP. Round up the ushers for me too. I want to go over their duties again, but they need to be clear that theycannot be naked. And when it comes time forthe bridal entry, I know I said human women like to be showered in shoveled dirt and earthworms, but let’s go with something lighter…”
“Helloooo, is that Sabby I hear?”
I’m not totally surprised Dave is still inside his oubliette.
What surprises me is that he sounds far more energetic than usual. At least until he adds mournfully: “Sorry about the blood. I forgot a pen.”
Mollified by this return to his typical way of being, I get to my knees and peer over the edge. About ten feet down, Dave stands with his arms extended to the ceiling, his wrists illuminated by glow-stick bracelets. Also, his mouth drips with blood.
“Dave, I need you out of there. I’m trying to unwind some of the chaos I’ve set up for the wedding, and we don’t have much time to do it.”
“Oh, interesting! Well, good news, bad news, Sabby…” Really? This looks like all bad news. “I found a way to get Gustavo and Jurgis out.”
“They’re not with you?” I call down.
“Of course not!”
“Then what’s the bad news?”
Dave doesn’t answer immediately. Which is how, behind me, I hear flapping. And it doesn’t sound like the feathery, soft, chaotic crow wings I’ve grown accustomed to of late. I think about turning around, but why bother? I have a feeling I know what I’ll see. I close my eyes and take a steadying breath.
“Goddamn vampires,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Dave asks.
Nothing. Just that I hope Jurgis and Gustavo really love the darkness of night and flying as much as they let on last night. Recovering, I call out, “I asked, ‘Why are you still down there, Dave?’?”
“Because it’s very comforting.” I can’t see it, but Dave sniffs so loudly, it echoes up the chamber. “Sabby, myapologiesfor breaking their enchantments.”
“Thanks. Though I’m not the one who deserves your apology.”
After returning to my feet, I back away from the oubliette and turn to face the bats behind me—Gustavo and Jurgis, the newest members of the Community.
“Well, bats. If you’re unenchanted, then I’ll be honest: you have a choice. You could leave now, if you want, but I could stillreallyuse your help with this wedding. You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot in the paranormal world, do you? No. Now, come on. Let’s go downstairs. Stefan, you going to stay with me, or go to Bulan?”
Stefan caw-laughs at me and tosses a crumpled sticky note against my head. Having had its fun, the crow cuts across the corridor and vanishes. With Jurgis, Gustavo, and Dave gliding behind me, I step in the opposite direction, thinking nothing of Stefan’s oddness—
Until, from way down the hall, I hear Mandy’s voice, and Rochester’s.
They’re not talking. They’re doing something… else. Something that would cause a barrage of burps to emanate—and echo—from an enchanted wooden floor. And that might cause moaning. So much loud, unnecessarymoaning.
No wonder Stefan fled so fast.
“Spüktacular Weddings!” I announce as I burst into the royal bridal suite. “Hello, everyone! How are we doing?!”
Shaki is calmly, enchantedly mixing blush beside Queen Mab, primly perched on her settee. Matthew is removing hair balls from his brush. It’s bewilderingly calm. You would never know Mab had just set out with an armed guard to commit murder.
“Oh, Sammy-mandible!” Queen Mab stands, a glass of fairy wine faithfully returned to her clutches. “You played such a funny prank! I was so hoping our old friend Bran had come to visit, but no! What a shame!”
“Ah,” I say. “You’re welcome.”
I could easily imagine my mom seated beside Mab, unintentionallymirroring the entire thing. Why are mothers like this? Drunk, oblivious, fun-oblivious, yet somehow always able to support their grim existence?
The fairy princess May, bedecked in glam diamonds and an over-the-top, antique, and slightly yellowed button-down wedding dress—yikes—spins on her stylist stool and casts me a carefully neutral look.
“Hello, Samantha,” she says.
