As Jamie guffawed, I ground out, “That when I tell you to take a twenty-mile detour around my parents’ house while moving your stuff, you should do it, even if it sounds silly?”

Gabriel snickered. “What about the time—”

“Oh, my Lord, when will you run out of stories?”

“Never, I hope.” Jamie chortled.

Gabriel feigned offense. “So, you’re saying that I’m like your drunken, senile auntie?”

“Pretty much,” Jamie agreed. “So, tell me some more Jane stories. Is it true that right after she was turned, she ended up dancing naked in the fountain outside the library?”

I grumbled, “I definitely liked it better when you two weren’t on friendly terms.”

14

There are rewards to being a sire: companionship, passing along your knowledge, and keeping up to date with the more modern generation. And the added bonus of having someone who will honestly tell you, “Do not leave the house in that outfit.”

—Siring for the Stupid:

A Beginner’s Guide to Raising Newborn Vampires

With the household’s teen crisis averted and the research into Ray McElray and exorcism at a standstill, I went about trying to solve the wedding-dress problem in a way that did not involve further shopping.

For one thing, I resisted shopping whenever possible. And for another, I didn’t have a car. The reports had been dutifully filed with the insurance company and Ophelia, who, mysteriously, had come to the house to collect them. If she kept up with the visits, I was going to have to buy Jamie a case of that stupid Axe stuff.

Jamie, for his part, was trying to make up for his scampering off by being more helpful around the house. Even his room was less of a pit. And when he heard the faint whisperings of my grandmother’s voice, he either told her off or came to me to tell me what she’d said. Grandma Ruthie was becoming quite the slippery little specter. Neither Jettie nor Mr. Wainwright could seem to catch up to her when she made her appearances in the house. She was always one room away, just a little bit too fast. She was the freaking Hamburglar of the ghost world.

Big Bertha was a total loss. Even Dick’s numerous contacts didn’t have the power to resuscitate a car from the dead. Her carcass was sitting at the Half-Moon Hollow Scrap ‘n’ Salvage waiting to be cubed. Gabriel had offered to let me use his car. Heck, he’d even tried taking me down to an all-night dealership in Murphy to pick out a new one as an early wedding present. But I wasn’t ready for another car yet. And I was sulking a little.

So, Friday night found me in front of the mirror, trying on every dress I had, trying to salvage some sort of wedding outfit that would keep me out of the bridal shops. My choices so far had included a navy-blue church dress with a sailor collar that my mama had purchased for me in high school and a vintage red dress of Aunt Jettie’s that I’d worn to a Christmas party here at River Oaks. There was also a strapless black number that I’d worn to Jolene’s engagement party, only to be found by Zeb’s mother, rumpled and pantiless in a parking-lot clutch with Gabriel.

Wearing the black dress, I stood in front of the mirror, considering the red. It was perfect—fabulous, even. Cinched at the waist with a scarlet sash, the luscious, floaty material fell in a perfect bell around my knees. I even had a pair of sassy pomegranate-dyed pumps to match, thanks to my many turns as a bridesmaid. It was sort of sweet to have something of Jettie’s to wear as my wedding dress. And the idea of a vampire wearing a blood-red dress down the aisle tickled me. But it wasn’t the gray dress.

I sighed. With a couple of quick phone calls, Iris could do away with the whole Austen theme. Hell, she could probably work with this dress and turn the wedding into some mod 1960s masterpiece. I was just going to have to suck it up and make the best of it.

Jolene came into my room, hefting a white garment bag. “Hey!” she sing-songed, laying the bag on my bed and kissing my cheek.

“If that’s your bridesmaid’s dress and you’re here to kick my ass, I will remind you that I asked your aunt to leave off the butt bow this time. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“No, believe it or not, I am not here to avenge myself for the radioactive yellow you picked out,” she taunted. “I am a good friend, you jackass. And I have two surprises for you tonight.”

“Isn’t that what Marley told Scrooge?”

“Jane,” she huffed. “And by the way, it was three ghosts. Yes, I have read that book, so suck it. The first surprise is this. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until it was finished.”

Jolene unzipped the garment bag and whipped it away. She was holding my wedding dress, re-formed. The beading, the color, and the shape of the dress were all the same.

“How?” I asked, hesitantly fingering the water-soft material as if it would evaporate into smoke.

She grinned impishly. “The women of the pack recreated it from a picture of the original dress. I had some shots on my phone from the bridal shop, and Aunt Vonnie still had your measurements from the bridesmaid dress fittings. It turns out my aunts can make clothes that are actually flattering.”

“But your aunts hate me.”

She cringed. “Well, you’re not their favorite person. But my mama doesn’t hate you. And she’s the alpha female, so she told them to pull their heads out of their tails and do something nice for a girl who’s been such a good friend to me.”

My eyes stung, and I felt my nose tingle, a sure sign that I was about to burst into tears. Instead, I threw my arms around her and tackled her into a hug. She lost her footing, and we landed on my bed, my dress fluttering safely to the side as I sobbed.

Andrea came wandering through the door and made an ugly snorting noise. “Please, for the love of God, don’t let Dick see you doing that. He already writes too many imaginary letters to Penthouse without the help of visual aids.”

I giggled, sniffing as I helped Jolene up. I held the hanger up for her inspection. “It’s my dress!”

“I know,” Andrea said, grinning. “I helped with some of the basting.”

“You knew?”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up, just in case it didn’t come out.”

“Can I try it on now?”

“Actually, my mama’s going to do a fitting with you on Monday. In fact, Zeb is taking the dress to a safe, undisclosed location across town, so certain scissor-happy ghosts don’t get their bitchy mitts all over it.” Jolene yelled the last bit, just in case Grandma Ruthie was listening. “We’ve already called Iris to tell her to call off the dress search.”

“Does everyone know my wedding planner’s cell number?” I wondered.

“I think she sees you as a special case,” Jolene told me. “She needs all the help she can get.”

“What’s the second surprise?” I asked. “Did you get ‘N Sync back together so they could play the reception?”

“No, I think we can agree that it’s for the greater good that they stay separated,” Andrea retorted, patting my head. “The surprise is that we’re going out tonight. It’s your bachelorette party. We are going to distract you from the chaos of your everyday life by dragging you to several bars, getting you blind, stinking drunk, and making a public spectacle of you. There may also be an obscene lollipop bouquet involved.”

“You’re going to take me to the Meat Market, aren’t you?” I groaned, thinking of the only all-male, nearly nude revue in the tristate area, where we’d subjected Jolene to similar premarital humiliation. Once again, this confirmed my theory that bachelorette parties were less about celebrating the end of a girl’s single days and more about friends getting revenge for what the bride put them through during the planning process.

Jolene threw her head back and laughed. “And Jenny’s waitin’ downstairs. Surprise.”

I went to the mirror to give my hair a quick brush and slap on a little lip gloss. “Is my mama downstairs, too? Because that would really ramp up the yikes factor.”

Andrea shook her head. “No. I thought about it, but I’d like to be able to look your mama in the eye again.”

This was my own fault, really. I’d insisted on having the bachelorette party long before the wedding. Because I’d gone on girls’ nights with Jolene and Andrea before, and I didn’t want to start my married life feeling like something recently scraped off Lindsay Lohan’s shoe. Gabriel was not happy with the idea of us going out alone. In fact, he’d done his best to talk Andrea and Jolene out of any bachelorette shenanigans. But they’d convinced him that it was wrong to stop living our lives, just because some crazy redneck had turned my car into barbecue. They wanted to give me the full bridal experience, they said, which made me think that they were still holding grudges about their own bachelorette soirees. I have to learn to practice restraint when it comes to bachelorette accessories. Making Andrea wear the penis tiara all over town was probably going a bit too far, but she had made me tie perfectly square bows on more than fifty lawn chairs for her outdoor ceremony. It felt justified at the time.

I sighed and slipped on some black kitten heels. “Let my bachelorette quote-unquote fun begin.”

“Aren’t you going to change?” Andrea asked.

I looked down at the little black dress I was wearing. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Jane, you are not wearing that dress,” Andrea told me. “You do not make good decisions in that dress. Remember Jolene’s first girls’ night out after the babies? You tried to get a tattoo, but your skin kept healing up.”

“That tattoo would have been really cute,” I insisted.

“It was a full back piece composed of flaming skulls!” Andrea exclaimed.

“Which is why I don’t drink tequila anymore.”

Thank God she didn’t know that this dress was also a contributing factor in the engagement-party parking-lot incident.

“A little help here?” Andrea begged Jolene.

“Don’t look at me,” Jolene said. “I love that dress. Bad Decision Jane is a hoot.”

“You suck,” Andrea countered.

“Well, you’re the vampire, so that means you suck.”

“I’m leaving now,” I told them, grabbing my purse.

Andrea and Jolene bickered as we descended the stairs to find Zeb and Dick helping Jamie set up some sort of Call of Duty mega-tournament.

True to Jolene’s word, Jenny was waiting downstairs in the living room. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a slinky red beaded top, a far cry from her usual twin sets. As I rounded the corner into the living room, I could see her twisting her hands in her lap, a clear Jenny sign of discomfort. Jamie was on the end of the couch, fiddling with a controller and chugging a Faux Type O. Jenny was sitting as far away from him as possible, eyeing him warily. Gabriel was sitting close by, pretending to read the newspaper but keeping a close watch on our charge for signs of bloodlust.

“Ready to go, Jen?”

“Yep!” she cried, her voice cracking as she sprang to her feet and practically ran across the room. I rolled my eyes as she fluffed my hair. “You look nice. Doesn’t she look nice, Gabriel?” Jenny tittered in a high, panicked pitch.

Gabriel put his paper down. “Yes, I love that dress. I have very fond memories attached to that dress.”

Jolene whispered, “I told you so,” and realization dawned on Gabriel’s face.

“I don’t think I want you wearing that if I’m not going with you,” he said.

“It will be fine,” I told him.

“Do you need a cardigan?” he asked. “Those bars can get rather chilly. Maybe a parka or a snow suit?”

“Aw, come on, Gabe, she looks hot,” Jamie protested.




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