How to Kiss an Undead Bride

by Edwards, Hailey

“The matron of honor arranged it.” I could have said no, but I was hungry. “Who am I to question her wisdom? If she believes we should triple—er, double-check our selections, then we’ll double-check our selections.”

  “Your selfless work on this wedding is commendable.”

  “This bride stuff is hard work.” I patted my stomach. “Lethe thinks we should have started planning sooner.”

  “You’ve been planning for two years, and you’ve gone through ten cake tastings and fourteen caterers.”

  Hmm. Maybe he had been paying attention.

  “It took us that many tries to find the right ones. We’ve very thorough.”

  “Perhaps you and Lethe ought to finish what you started together.”

  “You might be right. Lethe won’t share, and as the bride, I need my own portion to really be sure this is the winning combination.”

  We both knew if it wasn’t, it was too late to change vendors now. But I didn’t see the harm in letting Lethe enjoy her MOH duties to their—our should it be our?—fullest extent since we both left rubbing our bellies. I paid for the food and their time, so the vendors weren’t out anything for their work. It was kind of like ordering a private buffet spread for two.

  “You go on up.” He lifted the items left for Eva. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’m setting a timer.” I lifted my phone. “Sixty seconds it is.”

  Despite the threat, I grabbed a shower that lasted a good fifteen minutes then exited the bathroom. Linus was already in bed, dressed in his pajamas as part of his daily routine. A book tented across his abdomen, and I could barely read the title let alone guess at its contents. Woolly flickered the lights once in warning, ushering me under the covers, then turned them off. The soft glow of the nightlight I kept on Linus’s side of the bed illuminated his features and provided more than enough contrast for him to read by until dawn. I curled against his side while he resumed his place, and fell asleep in minutes.

  Eight

  The book had lost Linus’s interest thanks to the woman in his arms. Grier twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him even in sleep. He watched over her for hours, waiting for a sign the dream would enthrall her again, and envisioned the portrait he would paint later.

  The Goddess Sleeps.

  That’s what he would entitle the painting, not that anyone would see it. He kept his art supplies and his work in the attic at the carriage house where Grier wouldn’t have to stumble across the sketches he made of her to purge his mind when it overflowed with a need to express in paint where he failed with words.

  Once her breaths turned long and slow, he eased away from her and left their room to fetch clothes from his old one down the hall. Woolly opened the door for him, used to his daytime wanderings, and he took the opportunity to catch her up to speed.

  “I’m going to meet Gilly and drop off the evidence for processing.”

  The floor register nearest him sighed warm air that curled up his leg.

  “Everything will be fine,” he promised the old house. “We’re on top of this. Grier won’t go anywhere alone, and we’ll put sentinels in charge of package acceptance until the danger has passed.”

  A ticking noise chastised him, warning him not to get too full of himself.

  “We’ve both failed her before, Woolly. You can’t blame yourself for Volkov’s actions.”

  The old house had fallen into disrepair after years of abandonment while Grier was imprisoned, her wards a fraction of their normal strength. Volkov had exploited Woolly to gain access to Grier, but it had never been her fault. She had been victimized every bit as much as Grier.

  “I might stop by the tailor’s while I’m out, but that’s all.”

  The stairs creaked as he took them down, but Woolly fell quiet before she woke Grier.

  “It will be all right,” he assured her as he dialed the car service. “Between us, we’ll keep her safe.”

  Strolling out into the daylight, eyes squinting against the brightness, he went to meet Morrison at the gate. The driver exited the car, trotted around the hood, and opened the door. “Morning, sir.”

  Linus nudged the fence open, slipped out, and made sure it caught behind him. “Good morning.”

  Once Linus was seated and his door shut, Morrison circled the trunk and let himself in. “Where to?”

  “The fountain.” There was no question of which fountain, not in Savannah. Forsyth Park was iconic, and its moss-hung oaks drew tourists eager to walk its paths in droves. “I have a meeting, and then we’ll need to visit the tailor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They encountered little traffic, and it took no time to arrive.

  “Make the loop twice.” Linus gathered his things and opened his own door to avoid congesting traffic, though it appeared to cause Morrison physical pain to allow it. “That ought to give me enough time.”

  Arms loaded with evidence, Linus strolled the tidy path toward the fountain. The robed woman atop its upper tier gripped her staff and held court over the other denizens of the park. Wading birds and rushes lurked beneath the curling lip above which the figure stood. In the basin, swans spouted water over their heads while mermen blasted water from the shell horns lifted to their mouths. And leaning on the wrought-iron fence surrounding it, Gilly waited for him.

  “Scion Lawson,” she greeted him. “You have something for me?”

  “These are the items we discussed.” He handed her the bags. “The clutch and shoes are identical to items Danill Volkov bought Grier. She threw out the originals, so we need to know if these are those items or merely replicas. The ring is in the box too, in a separate bag.”

  “He’s taunting her.” Her lips pinched. “We’ll get these processed and let you know what we find.”

  “I would like to keep Eva out of this if at all possible. The child has been through enough.”

  The clash of misery and embarrassment across her features when Lethe punished her was etched into his memory. Adults had been easier for him to relate to as a child as well, but he wanted better for her. Life was hard on the outliers, and she had already endured so much for one so young.

  “We can identify species. That’s close enough to eliminate any tissue Eva might have left behind.”

  The shoes were stiff, the silver decorations sharp. There would be skin, perhaps blood as well, since she ran across the property to reach Woolly.

  “You’re much more personable and flexible than most cleaners.” He watched her for a reaction, and he got a smile that prompted him to proceed. “What did you do prior to recruitment?”

  “I was a marshal down in Wink, Texas. I was barely fae enough for the job, so when the offer to become a cleaner and relocate hit my desk, I decided I was ready for a change of scenery.”

  “Have you considered freelancing?”

  “I’m happy with my team.” She rolled a shoulder, jostling the box. “This job feeds my brain, and I get to help people. It’s a win/win.” Studying him, she asked, “Why? You look like you have something in mind.”

  “An offer.” Taking Grier’s earlier comment about spreading her workload as permission, he pressed on. “Grier will be building a team in Savannah to act as attachés to the Office of the Potentate. Membership will be exclusive, and no one, not even Grier, will know your identity.”

  “But you will.” She shifted her weight. “That’s a risk. I’ve got people who depend on me.”

  “I’m aware.” He researched everyone in Grier’s orbit. He could no longer afford to neglect due diligence. “The monetary compensation will be generous, but the job is dangerous. I will do my best to protect you, and your family, should a threat arise. You’ll have support from the Atlanta team as well if you need it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Let me know what you decide when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

  With that business done, she and Linus parted ways, and he returned to the curb to wait for Morri
son.

  Three horse-drawn carriages laden with awestruck tourists congested the square. Maneuvering around them tested Morrison’s patience. Linus could tell from a glance at the chauffeur’s grip on the wheel. His mood didn’t improve when Linus let himself in before the car fully stopped in order to avoid adding to the traffic.

  A silver flash caught his eye as a warning prickle stung his nape. He reached for Cletus on reflex, but the wraith required shadows to manifest. To investigate, he would have to go himself. He scanned the park before ducking in the car, but it was daylight, and mirrors caused such reflections in addition to sunlight glinting off bikes and other metals.

  “Everything all right, sir?”

  “Yes.” He settled in for the ride. “I’ll make this next stop quick, but you ought to allot me an hour.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  During the ride, Linus checked in with Bishop, but he had no news.

  Next, he touched base with Midas to ask when he and his mother were expected to arrive.

  We’ll be there at dusk. Mom caught wind of the threat to Grier and moved up her plans.

  You mean she heard her granddaughter was directly involved in two of the incidents.

  Two?

  Linus cursed under his breath then explained the box with its sinister gifts.

  I don’t like this. Midas kept typing. Volkov is…

  The message ended there. Even now, with Lacroix dead, Midas remained limited in his vocabulary thanks to the magic binding his tongue.

  Midas, Hood, and Lethe had all worked for Gaspard Lacroix at one point, which meant they had crossed paths with Volkov. Between the three of them, they contained a wealth of knowledge on both vampires, but they had each signed a magically enforced NDA before accepting the position. It was common practice, so they hadn’t batted an eye at the terms.

  With Lacroix dead, there was no way to release them from their vows, and no way to use their knowledge. Unlike Hood and Lethe, Midas wouldn’t so much as hint Volkov was likely the person responsible. Then again, Midas was the one hit the hardest, bound the tightest.

  I’m sorry our troubles keep spilling over onto Lethe. Linus hated bringing more conflict to their door. He regretted Eva’s involvement even more. We’re doing our best to prevent another incident. We’re still not sure how someone got near the den—twice—without their patrol noticing.

  We’ll get to the bottom of it.

  Of that, Linus had no doubt. Three days left until the wedding.

  Odds are good if we don’t find the unsub and stop him before then, he’ll show himself at the ceremony.

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Grier had worked so hard to give them the perfect wedding day, and all their efforts to prevent further escalation might force the unknown subject to take their chances blending in with the guests. He didn’t want that for her. Her official line was that she offered to take over the planning for his sake, but her schedule was no less harried than his, leading him to believe the truth was all the time she had spent among humans, particularly during her school years, had steeped their bride-centric traditions into her subconscious.

  She was enjoying herself. She thought of him when making her decisions, yes, but she was equally invested. It was one of the reasons why he had leashed his mother’s enthusiasm. If he gave an inch, she would take a mile, and Grier would have her plans snatched out of her hands, revised, redrafted, and reimagined until she no longer recognized her vision for their ceremony.

  Linus had prevented his mother from spoiling Grier’s fun, and he would do everything in his power to prevent Volkov from wrecking the day Linus had dreamed of for what seemed a lifetime. He might not have embraced his role as High Society groom fully, and that had earned him raised eyebrows from his mother’s contemporaries, who felt a fiancé’s place was shackled to a wedding planner for the duration, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t every bit as excited for the moment Grier became his for the rest of her life. Perhaps then the ever-present doubt haunting him would be banished, once and for all.

  * * *

  The tailor, after years of patronage, was no longer surprised when Linus appeared in the middle of the day or the night. He kept flexible hours for his necromancer and human clientele, safe within his sunproof store, and his vampiric nature meant he required less sleep than his contemporaries.

  However, he usually called out a greeting or sent one of his staff to do it for him.

  A cloying scent tickled Linus’s nostrils, and the darkness in him began to pulse with the beat of his heart.

  When Javier still failed to materialize, Linus searched for him through the rolling racks of shirts, suits, and tuxes that kept him afloat between bespoke jobs. He located the tailor seated at his sewing machine, Linus’s tux pants under the needle, and crimson blossoming across the back of his white dress shirt.

  The smell was stronger here, richer, and the whirl of voices that screamed in the background of his mind reached a piercing crescendo before he leashed them again.

  Pulling out his phone, he dialed Gilly. “Javier Escobar is dead. I found him at his shop.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I wish that were the case, but no.” He didn’t touch the body, but he circled around front to discover Javier had died, as expected, from a stake to the heart. “Do you want me to wait for you or lock up and leave it?”

  “Lock and leave.” She huffed across the receiver. “The risk is too high this time of day. We can’t have a human stumbling across him. Those are headlines we don’t want, not so soon after the Siege.”

  The authority in her tone and her willingness to get her hands dirty made more sense to him now that he knew she was a former marshal. She was used to dancing the jig of interdepartmental cooperation, the complicated steps too complex for most cleaners, who preferred their own company and labs to people.

  “All right.” He was happy to oblige. “Call me with the results.”

  “Sure thing.” She sounded amused. Callbacks weren’t a service the cleaners offered. “I’ll do that.”

  Once he got off the phone, he took careful pictures of the scene and performed a thorough search of the shop for clues. Nothing worth tampering with evidence jumped out at him. He would have to wait for the cleaners to do their job before he did his and discovered who had murdered Javier.

  After locking up behind him, he called Morrison since his visit had been cut short. This time, when a glint tagged his periphery, he feigned casual interest in a street artist selling flowers made from weaving palm fronds and strolled in its direction. He made it two or three feet before a slender man several yards away jumped up and ran.

  Linus gave chase, plowing through pedestrians and ruining his suit when he leapt onto a greenspace and landed in a crouch. The man was too far ahead, and there were too many humans between them. Linus couldn’t catch him, not in full sun, but the hunt sang in his blood, and he refused to surrender the chase.

  A truck screeched to a stop, almost taking out the man, who jumped into the bed and flattened himself.

  The magic in Linus coiled, and he reached for Cletus only to have the wraith slip through his fingers. Had it been dark, he could have sent Cletus to tail them or at least bring him the license plate number, but it was broad daylight, and humans were staring at him.

  Lifting his phone, he finished dialing Morrison and requested a pickup before the police got called. That was one confrontation he hoped to avoid, considering there were photos of a recently dead man on his phone. He could get himself off the hook, but it would take time, and it made him a person of interest when he preferred to be as unremarkable as possible as long as Detective Russo called the SPD home.

  Morrison didn’t require long to arrive, and Linus let himself in without pausing to appreciate the man’s harangue of distaste at being thwarted from performing his duties yet again.

  To add insult to injury, he didn’t wait for the question but provided the answer. �
�Take us home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Javier’s death, and the article of clothing he last worked on, were symbolic. He felt responsibility for that loss keenly. The fact someone had been following him, during the day no less, sat wrong as well.

  The informant must have been using a camera with a telescoping lens. That would explain the glint. Chances were that he was human. Vampires seldom trafficked with other species, a holdover from their necromantic origins, for their daytime needs. Still, he would text Lethe an update and ask her to send a packmate to the area to sniff for clues. The number of people active near the shops would make it difficult for them to parse scents, but it was worth a try.

  Done with that, he touched base with Neely, braced for the fallout. “I seem to have a bit of a problem.”

  “Oh, lawd.”

  “Javier is dead.”

  “Please tell me he was hit by a car on his way to deliver your new tux. No, after he delivered your new tux.”

  “He was murdered at his sewing machine.”

  A moment passed before Neely recovered his usual panache. “You need me to find you a new tailor.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can do that.” He repeated I can do it, I can do it, I can do it under his breath a few times. “I have your most recent measurements in my database. I’ll pull that information and start making calls.”

  “Thank you.”

  “This is why I get paid the big bucks.”

  “Yes.” Linus cracked a smile for the only person able to guilt, bribe, or threaten Grier into formalwear. “It is.”

  He ended the call as Morrison parked in front of the gate at Woolworth House. Not to be thwarted, the driver rushed around to open Linus’s door before he beat him to it. With the expected nod, Linus headed up to his old room, patting Woolly on the wall as he climbed the stairs, and muted his phone before tossing it on the bed. He was done with the outside world for a few hours. After he showered off the day, he returned to the room he shared with Grier to find Oscar curled against her hip. Careful not to jostle them, he resigned himself to a leg hanging off the bed until dusk. Reclined against his pillows, he picked up his book, thumbing to where he left off before he began reading.