Author: Molly Harper

Mama Ginger nodded meekly and stepped out of Jolene’s way.

Jolene blew Zeb a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, honey. I’ll be the one up front wearin’ the white dress.”

“Can I still come to the wedding?” Mama Ginger asked in a sad, humble little voice.

Zeb stood and, for the first time in his life, talked sternly to his mother. “You can come, Mama, but you’re going to be nice. You’re going to be sweet as pie to Jolene and her family.”

“But Zeb—”

“Sweet as pie,” Zeb repeated.

“But I—”

“Ginger, just shut up!” Beer in hand, Floyd stomped into the room and wagged his finger in Mama Ginger’s face. “You’ve talked enough for the both of us over the years. And I’m going to be speaking up a little more often. You’re going to be on your best behavior tomorrow. You’ll tell that girl how nice her dress looks. You’ll say nice things about the food, the decorations, and anything else that catches your eye. You will offer to help in any way you can, even if it means sweeping out the chicken coop. You will apologize to Jolene’s family for how you’ve acted so far, and you will do your damnedest to make up for it over the next couple of years.”

Zeb and I gaped at his father in shock. It was the most words either of us had heard him string together since he dropped a carburetor on his foot in 1989.

“Floyd Lavelle, you’ve never spoken to me like this in your whole life.” Mama Ginger sniffled, her lip trembling. Apparently, her guilt only went so deep.

“Then it’s time that I started,” Floyd said. He strode out of the room after slapping Mama Ginger on the butt. “Now, everybody keep quiet. I’m trying to watch the damn game!”

Zeb grinned. “I’m going to take a shower. I’m getting married tomorrow!”

“I don’t know how to take all this,” Mama Ginger said, wringing a Kleenex around her fingers.

“Well, I would plan on swallowing a big slice of humble pie, Mama Ginger.” I patted her arm and led Dick and Gabriel out of the room. “Maybe two.”

22

A traditional werewolf wedding reception does not include a receiving line. They are unnecessary as 90 percent of the guest list consists of the happy couple’s immediate family members.

—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were

It was a traditional Southern wedding.

The bride was beautiful, of course. The ceremony was held outdoors under the full moon. The spring air was warm and soft. The bridesmaids were dressed like those crocheted dolls people use to disguise toilet-paper rolls.

Jolene had chosen “Nearer My God to Thee” as the processional, because she’d read that was what the band on the Titanic played. As I led the charge of like-dressed puffballs, I took time to look for familiar faces in the crowd.

Mama Ginger was up front, wearing a completely appropriate and demure cornflower-blue mother-of-the-groom’s dress. Her slightly deflated appearance had far more to do with the fact that she’d spent most of the day tying tiny bows around the chocolate anchor favors than any lack of enthusiasm on her part. After a severe dressing down from the alpha couple, most of Jolene’s family were equally meek and made a grand effort to pull together and create Jolene’s dream wedding. By the time the vampire wedding-party members arrived early that evening, the air had a certain “Let’s put on a show!” quality to it. Jolene’s female cousins were using their werewolf agility to hang twinkle lights and hurricane lamps from precarious branches. The uncles cleared the riot debris and set up the altar. Uncle Luke, who was quite repentant, spent the afternoon attaching an outboard motor to the mysterious Styrofoam iceberg. And of course, the aunts did what they did best: cooked a feast. There was a huge spread occupying three full-length picnic tables with every kind of roast animal you could imagine, plus casseroles, grits, and congealed salads.

And in a beautiful gesture of familial unity, Raylene managed to pull together a gorgeous ice-blue four-tier wedding cake with a little fondant Jolene and Zeb atop a fake iceberg topper. And nothing on the cake looked anything like a penis. It was Raylene’s cake masterpiece.

Even over the rather maudlin processional, my vampire superhearing picked up Zeb saying to Gabriel at the altar, “I feel the need to mention that, well, I love you guys. Even if you did vamp out my best friend, Gabriel, you’re a really good guy. And Dick, I really appreciate you hitting on that old lady to unscramble my brain. I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk lately.”

Gabriel slapped Zeb on the back. “I don’t have many friends, Zeb. But you’re certainly the best among them.”

The two men smiled at each other. A moment of silence passed.

Zeb cleared his throat. “And, uh, sorry about slapping Jane on the butt. That won’t happen again.”

Another silent, slightly more uncomfortable moment.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dick muttered.

Zeb nodded. “Yep.”

Gabriel grinned as I passed the end of the aisle and took my spot. True to his word, he was dashing in formal wear, a cutaway tux with old-fashioned four-in-hand tie. I would wonder how long he’d had it, but I think the answer would upset me.

The ceremony was short and to the point, which may have had something to do with werewolves’ generally short attention span and an upcoming meal. There was no mention of “If anyone here present knows of any lawful impediment,” which was in no way unintentional. There were no unity candles and, mercifully, no solos.

The happy couple marched out to “Raise the Titanic,” which was oddly dark considering the proceedings. Zeb and Jolene boarded the iceberg while one of Jolene’s teen cousins manned the tiller. They made a blessedly slow progression across the pond while Zeb stood behind Jolene, stretching out their arms and screaming, “I’m king of the world!”

“I really should have seen that coming,” I told Dick as we paired up at the altar and headed down the aisle.

“I don’t think anyone could have seen that coming,” Dick told me. We were ushered straight to the reception tables as Zeb and Jolene de-berged.

Gabriel’s smile could not be contained as he bent over my hand and kissed it. “You’re a vision.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like the kind you see after a healthy dose of peyote?”

“No, you know, it sort of looks like something some of the more promiscuous girls might have worn in my day,” Gabriel said.

“On what planet is that a compliment?” I demanded as Dick laughed.

After a completely unnecessary number of photos, I pulled the happy couple aside and pulled an envelope out of a pocket in my skirt. (Oh, yeah, the “Ruffles and Dreams” came with pockets.)

“I have something for you,” I said. “It’s not six hundred dollars’ worth of pots and pans, but I think you’ll like it.”

“You’ve already done enough, Janie,” Zeb assured me.

Nonetheless, I handed Jolene an envelope. She raised an eyebrow at the paper contained within. “It’s a deed.”

“To a piece of land about halfway between Gabriel’s place and mine, in the back fifty acres. There’s also a check in there to cover the construction costs of a brand-new house.”

And that, combined with estimated costs of renovating and restocking the shop, would still leave me with quite a bit of money, which was disconcerting. I now felt the need actually to do something for myself but had no idea what that might be. It was like being held hostage by a retirement plan.

“That’s really sweet,” Zeb said. “But we just got out of a situation where we felt obligated—”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift.”

“We would really like to make our own way,” he said.

“Fine. Give me a dollar,” I said.

“What?”

“Just give me a dollar,” I said.

“I didn’t really think of putting my wallet in these pants,” he said.

Dick rolled his eyes and fished out his own wallet, an exact replica of Jules Winnfield’s from Pulp Fiction.

“I’ve never seen you so eager to give away money,” Gabriel told Dick.

“I want in,” Dick said. “All I got them was one of those George Foreman grills.”

Dick handed the bill to Zeb, who handed it over to me. In return, I handed him the envelope. “There, you have just purchased a plot of my land for one dollar.”

“I can’t—”

“Zeb,” I said in a warning tone.

“Fine, but I can’t take the check.”

“Think of it as a gift certificate, a really big gift certificate,” I told him. He began the protest. “Think of it as a gift certificate, or I’ll kick your ass at your own wedding reception.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t take anything you say seriously when you’re dressed like that,” Zeb said.

“I think we should do what she says,” Jolene whispered when I gave him the burning vampire stare of doom.

“Thanks, Jane,” Zeb said, hugging me fiercely.

“I love you guys. Go, mingle,” I told them after kissing Jolene’s cheek.

Andrea sidled up beside me to hand me a plastic champagne flute filled with frothy pink punch. “I think it’s safe. They wouldn’t put meat in here, would they?”

I sipped cautiously. “It appears not. How’s it going?” I asked, nodding toward Dick.

“Eh.” She gave the so-so hand sign. “He’s starting to pressure me, and I don’t appreciate it. Why do men always want the one thing they can’t have?”

“So you guys aren’t … ?”

“What, no, we’re at it like bunnies,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I won’t let him drink from me.”

“Dang it, I do not need those visuals in my head! And don’t think about it when you’re around me, I can tell. Why won’t you let him drink from you?”

“Because it’s too much like work,” she said.

“Kind of like a masseuse who doesn’t want to go home and give back rubs?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly like that Seinfeld episode.”

“I have a limited frame of reference,” I admitted as my cell phone rang from my dress pocket. The caller ID said it was my mother. Andrea was not the least bit offended when I answered it, since Dick had just approached with a tray of nibbles he’d managed to snag from the buffet line using his vampire wiles. I shook my head and giggled as I snapped open the phone. At this point, I was surprised that Dick wasn’t feeding them to her.

“I just wanted to see whether you’d called your sister yet,” Mama said, again dispensing with a greeting.

“No, but I have done an extensive inventory of the household contents at River Oaks and found an alarming number of items missing. The next time you’re over at Jenny’s, could you look for Depression glass, a silver coffee service, and some lace fans? I need to know what to put on the search warrant.”

Mama sighed on the other end of the line. “You aren’t really considering going to the police, are you? Jane, that would be so embarrassing to the family.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to call the cops, Mama. But Jenny and Grandma should consider whatever they’ve taken over the years to be their inheritance. That’s their share of the Early legacy. I don’t want to hear anything more about it. If Jenny wants to keep the lawsuit going, she can go ahead. I can afford a much better lawyer now.”

“Won’t you please—”

“No, I will not,” I said firmly as I stepped away from the circle of light and love and family. Because clearly, that was not the place for this conversation. Also, Mama was not aware that Zeb’s wedding was that night, and I could only imagine the tear storm that would ensue if she found out she hadn’t been invited. “Now, speaking of Grandma, have you heard from her in the last twenty-four hours, or should we assume that Wilbur has married and buried another wife?”