Well, if you didn’t believe in ghosts or vampires, Isa supposed that was the next logical explanation.
She smiled at Robert as she walked down the aisle. Not because she was happy to see him, but at how his face darkened when he saw the alterations she’d made to his mother’s wedding dress. The once high-necked collar had been slashed to reveal generous cleavage instead, and the long fitted sleeves had been cut off at the shoulder. It gave Isa far greater range of motion with her arms, plus of course, it also gave the dress a sexiness that was well at odds with the prim virgin-Catholic bride she was supposed to be. Really, it was Robert’s own fault for believing that. Who thought a modern woman would still be chaste at almost thirty?
She reached the dais and Robert held out his hand, glowering at her. Next to her, Agnes, as Isa’s imposed matron of honor, reached for her bouquet so Isa could take Robert’s hand. The older priest gave Isa a prodding look when she just stood there, not moving. Robert’s frown turned menacing.
“Isa…” he said low and dangerously.
She smiled at him. A beautiful smile filled with all the joy over what she was about to do. And then she yanked the flowers off the top of her bouquet to reveal a .357 Magnum.
“Robert, dear, I don’t,” Isa said clearly, pointing the gun at him.
At that moment, the doors to the church burst open and multiple SWAT team members fanned inside. Her brother Frazier appeared behind them, shouting, “Justice Department, nobody move!” even as several of their guests at once attempted to disperse.
Isa only saw that from her peripheral vision, however, because she didn’t take her eyes off Robert. A seething anger filled his gaze as he looked from Frazier back to Isa.
“Your brother’s a fuckin’ pig.”
Isa smiled. “Yep, he’s an undercover officer. Who knew? I just thought all that moving around meant Frazier couldn’t hold a job. Thanks for inviting your mob buddies to our wedding, by the way. Do you know how hard it is to get them all under one roof, apparently?”
Robert’s fist swung toward her, but Isa didn’t flinch. With the blood she’d drunk last night as a precaution from Chance, it seemed like Robert was moving in slow motion. Isa fired, hitting Robert in the thigh. He fell to his knees as Agnes let out a cry.
“Hold fire!” Frazier yelled, but the members of the SWAT team had already been briefed to know Isa was one of the good guys. It was easy to pick her out, after all, being as she was the only one wearing a wedding dress.
“Fuckin’ bitch…I’ll kill you for this,” Robert gasped.
“Ma’am, put the gun down now,” one of the black-clad SWAT members said to Isa as Robert was quickly surrounded.
“You won’t see me again,” Isa said, lowering the gun only after Robert had been handcuffed. “In fact, you’ll never see Paul or Ritchie again either.”
Which had been something Chance refused to negotiate on. Isa already had a hell of a time convincing him that Robert needed to live in order to stand trial for the multiple murders, racketeering, embezzlement, and bribery Frazier had spent three years gathering evidence on. But Ritchie and Paul? Small potatoes.
Or, as Isa surmised right about now, dinner. They’d been assigned to watch the church’s exterior in order to ensure that nothing unexpected happened. Like, oh, a few dozen SWAT team members barging in. But they’d mysteriously disappeared right before Isa entered the chapel. Chance hadn’t wanted to leave Isa’s side during Robert’s takedown at the altar, but Isa flatly insisted. She’d been pushed around by Robert for too long, so he’d know, in the end, exactly who helped put him in jail.
She wondered if Ritchie and Paul knew, in their last moments, that they were merely Chance’s consolation prize. Still, dead was dead, as Chance had once stated. Guess the end result really was more important than the motivation behind it.
Several of the men being handcuffed from the groom’s side of the church gave Isa very cold glares as they were led away. Mentally she shrugged. Frazier told her that she and her grandmother would need to be sequestered by Witness Protection until after all the trials, but Isa had other ideas. Ones that involved the very gorgeous vampire with a lot of friends in grave places. Chance would keep her and her grandmother hidden far more effectively than any government relocation program, and a lot more enjoyably, too. Isa doubted Witness Protection could provide the same kind of extracurricular perks that Chance did.
He came out from the back of the church, shouldering though the throngs of people and flashing the special ID Frazier had given him. His face looked more flushed than usual, and when he reached Isa’s side and kissed her, his lips were almost warm.
Oh yeah. Bye bye, Paul and Ritchie.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly.
Isa nodded. “Big, fussy weddings were never my style, anyway.”
Chance laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Frazier came up to them then. “Isa, you’re going to have to come back with us and give a statement. Plus, uh, I’m sure nothing will happen because it was self-defense, but you’re going to have to be booked for shooting Robert.”
“Right,” Chance snorted. “Come here for a moment…”
He put an arm around Frazier in a friendly way, ignoring her brother’s stammering about procedure. Then when Chance had him mostly concealed by the tall cross behind the altar, Isa saw his eyes go green. A moment later when they walked back out, Frazier had stopped talking.
“We have five minutes before he snaps out of it,” Chance said to Isa with a wicked grin. “I didn’t think I should leave your brother mentally asleep for longer, considering his current circumstances.”
“How are we supposed to get past all,” Isa’s hand swept out to encompass the multitude of SWAT team members, FBI, and police officers, “this?”
“Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a vampire, darling,” Chance murmured. Then he led her quickly to the nearby confessional box, squeezing them both inside.
The panel slid open at once on the priest’s side, and a pale blonde head appeared next to the privacy grill.
“What are your sins, my child?” a smoothly accented English voice asked.
Chance laughed. “Too many to list, Bones, and so are yours. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add to them.”
“Indeed. Desecration of the confessional, coming up straightaway.”
There was a tear of metal, and then the grille separating them was gone. Bones—this was the vampire her grandmother spoke about?—gave a hard tap at the wall behind him and it fell away, revealing an exit had been recently cut but then dry-walled back into place.
“The rectory,” Bones supplied, crawling through. “Let’s not dawdle.”
Chance and Isa climbed through the space as well. With all the commotion, there should have been sufficient sound coverage to muffle their escape, but soon people would notice that the gun-toting bride was nowhere to be seen.
Once inside the rectory, Bones gestured to the window. “Your car’s across the street. I’ll stay here and delay anyone who might have a mind to come after you. Best get moving, or Greta may take off without you.”
“You let a hundred and twenty-six-year-old woman drive my Camaro?” Chance asked in disbelief.
Bones laughed. “You’re older than she is, who are you to throw stones?”
“How old are you?” Isa gasped. Okay, so she hadn’t gotten around to asking some things.
“One hundred and forty-three,” Chance supplied, giving her a quick kiss. “But don’t worry, darling. I don’t feel a day over the century mark.”
“Nice meeting you, luv,” Bones called out as Chance swept Isa in his arms. He vaulted through the open rectory window at full speed, making everyone they passed look like no more than a haze of colors.
Across the street, Greta revved the engine of the Camaro. Chance dove in the open passenger door and Greta took off without waiting for him to close it, swinging the car into the street with a squeal of tires.
>
“Where are we going?” Isa asked, her head firmly clasped to Chance’s chest. He had the seat reclined to avoid them being spotted—or so she guessed.
“Anywhere you want,” he replied. “We have time.”
Isa looked over at her grandmother, who was wheeling the muscle car around, and she smiled. Following your heart is always the right decision, Greta had said, and Isa agreed. That’s what she was doing, so it didn’t really matter where they went. Besides, Chance was right. They had time. All the time in the world, if she wanted.
“Surprise me,” Isa said, and kissed him.
About Jeaniene Frost
JEANIENE FROST lives with her husband and their very spoiled dog in Florida. Although not a vampire herself, she confesses to having pale skin, wearing a lot of black, and sleeping in late whenever possible. And while she can’t see ghosts, she loves to walk through old cemeteries. Jeaniene also loves poetry and animals, but fears children and hates to cook. She is currently at work on her next paranormal novel.
To know more about Jeaniene, please visit her website at
www.JeanieneFrost.com.
GHOULS NIGHT OUT
Terri Garey
Chapter 1
“I look like a giant pineapple,” I muttered. “Put a bowl of fruit on my head and I could give Carmen Miranda a run for her money.”
How many ruffles did one dress need? Ruffles from waist to ankle—in shiny yellow taffeta, no less.
“I’m Chiquita Banana and I’m here to say, bananas need to ripen in a certain way…”
If I craned my neck just right, I could see in the mirror how the giant bow on my butt made my ass look at least four sizes bigger. The waist was too big, and the flat bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves squashed my boobs down to nothing.
Not like they were big to begin with, but they were usually something.
And this particular shade of yellow was so not my color—it didn’t go with the pink streaks in my hair.
“How are you doing? Need help with the zipper?”
I whipped the curtain to my dressing room back with a rattle.
“Oh,” the saleslady smiled, clearly blowing smoke up my newly huge ass. “You look lovely.”
“Are you sure this is the dress Debbie picked out?” I asked hopefully. “She said she was going to keep it simple.” The stiff tulle of my underskirt rustled as I stepped forward—walking in this thing would be a nightmare, and I was going to have to do it in front of witnesses, with a smile pasted on my face.
The woman actually looked disappointed. “Don’t you like it? All the other bridesmaids loved it.”
That’s because they’re all morons, I thought to myself. Redneck morons.
Though to be fair, only half of the Hathaway clan were morons, the rest were idiots. Debbie and her three sisters would welcome the chance to dress up like a Brazilian bombshell in pineapple season, particularly if there were hats or ribbons involved.
Cousins on my mom’s side, the Hathaway sisters made me glad I was adopted. But I knew my mom would’ve wanted me to do the right thing, and when Debbie called me out of the blue and begged me to be in her wedding, it had been Emily Styx’s voice I’d heard in my head. “Family is everything, Nicki,” she’d have said. Besides, as cousins go, Debbie had always been my favorite—I couldn’t erase the mental image of the little tow-headed girl who used to follow me around at family reunions.
Which is why I’d driven an hour into the middle of nowhere to be fitted with one of the ugliest bridesmaid dresses I’d ever seen.
Taking my silence for consent, I suppose, the grimly cheerful saleslady ushered me up onto a pedestal in front of a wall of mirrors. I stared at myself in dismayed silence as she fluffed a few ruffles and tugged at the sleeves.
“And here’s a lovely hat to complete the ensemble,” she said, fake smile firmly in place.
I watched in horror as she held out a floppy yellow concoction, dripping with ribbon.
“You’re not serious,” I said, unable to muster even a pretense of politeness.
“Oh, but I am, dear,” she answered, nodding. “It’s your cousin’s day, after all, isn’t it?”
Her day. Her beautiful, precious, I’m-getting-married-and-you’re-not day.
“No bride in the world is going to let a bridesmaid outshine them on their wedding day, dear,” the woman said, not unkindly. “Now put your hat on and stand up straight. Time to break out the measuring tape if we’re to have this dress ready by Saturday.”
Ten minutes later I was still standing there, waiting impatiently while the hem was pinned; it was going to have to come up at least an inch and the ruffles made the pinning difficult. The shop door opened, and a woman came in. She was in her early twenties, dark hair in a messy ponytail, and stopped short when she saw me standing in front of the mirrors.
“That’s my dress,” she said, clearly surprised to see me in it.
The seamstress, whose name I’d learned was Bebe, looked up. “I have to get that door fixed,” she said absently. “It keeps blowing open.”
“Who are you?” the dark-haired girl asked me, “and why are you wearing my dress?”
Bebe ignored her, rising to her feet with a relieved sigh. “That’s it,” she said to me. “Be careful of the pins when you take it off.”
“Hell-ooo,” said the girl, obviously exasperated. “Cat got your tongue? I know you can see me. You’re looking right at me.”
My heart sank to the level of my newly pinned hem.
Not another one.
I glanced at Bebe again, hoping against hope that the seamstress saw the dark-haired girl, too.
Bebe gave me a quizzical look. “You okay, hon? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ghosts, spirits, phantoms, spooks—call them what you like, just don’t call them too loudly.
They might hear you.
Trust me. I know what I’m saying.
My life had changed in an instant a few months ago; one minute I’d been lying on the couch with what I thought was heartburn, the next minute I’d woken up in the hospital after being declared legally dead. In between I’d been to the Other Side—Heaven, Nirvana, or whatever it was. I thought of it simply as the “Light.” The incredibly beautiful, amazingly wonderful Light, where I’d known everything, seen everything, and understood everything.
Until I’d regained consciousness.
And unfortunately, I’d brought a little extra something back from the Light with me: lifetime instructions to “do unto others as I would have them do unto me,” and the ability to occasionally see and hear spirits.
And boy, did they wanna be heard.
“Yoo-hoo,” said the dark-haired girl sarcastically, waving her arms in the air. “What the hell is going on? I’ve been in here three times today and every time she’s acted like I’m invisible. If this is Debbie’s idea of a joke, it’s really getting old.”
I shook my head, numbly, but didn’t answer her. Instead, I spoke to Bebe. “Um, was someone else supposed to wear this dress?”
Bebe’s eyebrows rose. “Well, yes…I thought you knew. In fact,” she gestured vaguely toward the main counter, “when she was here for her fitting the other day, she left her cellphone in the dressing room. I don’t suppose you know how to get hold of her? The only number she left me was the cell.”
“Aha!” said the dark-haired girl. “So that’s where my cellphone is. And I told you it was my dress!”
Bebe was beginning to look vaguely uncomfortable. “Your cousin Debbie called me that same afternoon and said Michelle had pulled out of the wedding. She said you’d be coming by, and asked me to refit the dress for you.”
Great. Being a replacement bridesmaid made looking like a pineapple in public even more appealing.
Particularly when the girl I was replacing was dead.
And apparently, she didn’t even know it.
The dark-haired girl must’ve read something in my eyes, because hers went wide.
&nb
sp; “What the hell is she talking about? I never pulled out of the wedding. I just talked to Debbie a couple of days ago, right before I—” She stopped, brow furrowing. “Right before I—” Her image wavered, began to fade. “Oh, shit,” was the last I heard, before she disappeared completely.
“You look a little pale, dear,” Bebe said, touching my arm. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“I just need to get out of this dress,” I said faintly, and let her steer me toward the dressing room. As soon as the curtain closed behind me, I buried my face in my hands, knowing Debbie’s upcoming wedding was going to be a wedding from hell, in more ways than one.
“How did I let myself get sucked into this?” I wailed into the phone. “I’m a replacement bridesmaid, and the dress is hideous! It makes me look like a giant fruit salad. With a hat.” I deliberately didn’t tell Evan that the bridesmaid I was replacing was dead. My best friend and business partner, Evan lived for fashion, and I knew it was easier for him to talk about that than my dubious “gift” of being able to see and talk to the dead.
“What did you expect, Nicki?” Evan wasn’t the least bit surprised about the ugly dress. “You’re lucky Debbie didn’t stick you with a tube top and Daisy Duke shorts.”
I sighed. “Yeah. At least there were no sequined flip-flops.”
“Don’t be in the wedding if you don’t want to do it—come down with something contagious or something.”
“I have to do it,” I said glumly, finding myself, once again, in the position of having to explain why I was doing something I didn’t want to do, for someone I didn’t want to do it for. Do unto others, Nicki, as you would have them do unto you. “Debbie needs four bridesmaids to balance out the groomsmen, and she’s only got three sisters.” Darlene, Diane, and Donna. Or as I privately thought of them: Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest.
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