by Eileen Wilks
“I’ m betting on it.” Cynna yanked open the door.
“I thought ghosts couldn’t affect material objects.”
“It’ s really rare. I don't know how I got so lucky.” Cynna stepped out and took a deep breath. Oh, God. She was so scared. “Forget about her. I want to see the look on Cullen's face when he gets a look at this dress.”
Muggy air filled Cynna's lungs as if she'd just stepped out of the shower, but so far the rain was holding off. She thanked God and Mary and anyone else who might be listening as she hurried down the path.
The open area where her guests and her groom waited was just down a short, woodsy trail. Cynna could hear a low buzz of conversation and a few birds calling. The blue of the sky was ten times brighter than her gown, but not a white more lovely. She kept glancing down at the fairy silk.
“Slow down!” Lily called. “I’ d rather not make our entrance at a run.”
“What? Oh, right.” Cynna forced her feet to pause and let Lily catch up. “You look gr eat. Did I tell you that you look great?”
Cynna hadn't gone for bridesmaid gear , which seemed designed for maximum ugly. An annoying little voice had argued against that decision, pointing out that her maid of honor would look prettier than her. Well, Lily always did, so the voice wasn't exactly lying. But however lovely Lily looked in her trim little sundress, she was not wearing fairy silk.
“Thanks. Not that anyone will be looking at me, but it's nice to know. You aren't hyperventilating, are you?”
“Just fizzing.” Lily had caught up, so Cynna started moving again, paying attention this time so her walk didn't turn into a gallop. " You've got the ring?”
Lily patted the pocket of her jacket. “Safe and sound.”
She was going to wear a wedding ring. Cullen was, too. Cullen would probably be the only lupus in the world who wore a wedding ring. Wasn't life weird?
They rounded the last tree and Cynna saw her wedding guests and the priest; Rule, who stood only few feet away, next to a couple of the guests and Cullen . . . who stood over another of the guests. Who lay on the ground, moaning.
“What the—”Lily broke off and hurried forward. " What’s going on?”
“Wedding nerves,” Rule said dryly.
The man slowly pushed up until he was sitting, rubbing his jaw, his expression dazed. One of the other men bent to help him up just as Cynna reached the small knot of people. “Hey, wait,” she said. “Those aren’t our guests. I don't know the other two, but that's Baxter. I didn't invite Baxter. Did you, Cullen?”
“Told you she didn’t invite him,” Cullen said smugly to Rule, then turned to Cynna. “He was being his usual self— stupid and insulting. So I . . . wow.” Cullen's gaze took a slow cruise up Cynna's body, having already taken the trip down. “Nice. Really, really nice.” His kindled eyes reached Cynna's face, hot blue embers in a face suddenly taut. “And mine. ”
“You get a lifetime lease,” Cynna said, “but I’ m still owner and operator.”
Rule made a muffled sound that might have been a cough.
Baxter was on his feet now. He shook off the other guy's hand. “I’ll tell you what happened. He hit me. That damned werewolf walked up and —”
“Uh, uh, uh!” Cullen said cheerfully, wagging his finger. “Remembe r what I told you about being rude at my wedding.”
Baxter turned a nice, waxy shade of pale.
Rule said, “Perhaps you gentlemen would like to enjoy another section of the par k on this lovely summer morning. One a nice, long ways from here. ”His voice was as mild as his words. His face wasn't. After one glance at him, Baxter's two friends decided it was time to leave. They didn't have much trouble persuading Baxter of this change of plans.
Not surprisingly, all of their guests had turned to watch. Cynna scanned the faces she could see, hoping.
The other lupi weren't happy with Cullen's decision. Rule was the only Nokolai lupus present, and that wasn't just because they were so far from Nokolai clanhome. But two lupi from another clan, Mendoza, had accepted the invitation, and after a moment Cynna spotted them.
Good. Her breath eased out. Maybe Cullen wouldn't be completely ostracized.
She hadn't found another face she was looking for, though. “Gan isn’t here?”
“I haven’ t seen her,” Rule said, “and she's hard to miss.”
The former demon had been all excited about attending the wedding, insisting that Edge would be okay without her — and the medallion she wore--if she wasn't gone long.
Someone might have persuaded her otherwise, though. Or she might have gone swimming and lost track of time in the pursuit of fishies.
“We’ll take our places now,” Lily told them firmly.
The plan was for Rule and Lily to precede them down the aisle — which, of course, wasn't an aisle, but a very skilled Wiccan witch had cast a subtle “keep back” spell that discouraged people from lingering in the path the wedding party would take to the front, where Father Michaels waited.
Cullen gave someone a thumbs up — probably Sherri, the witch who would remove the “keep back” spell. Cynna couldn't spot her in the crowd. “Good grief. Did we really invite that many people?”
“Looks like,” Cullen said. He held out his arm.
Cynna linked hers through it. Lily and Rule started for their spot at the back of the crowd, and Cynna and Cullen followed. “So what did you tell Baxter?” Cynna asked.
“To be polite.”
“That's not all you said.”
“I might have added that—”
Cullen didn't stop speaking. He just became hard to hear over the roar.
Like a towel snapped by a playful boy, Mika's great, ruby-scaled body shot up, wings spreading, tail stretched for ballast as the dragon stretched forty feet of body into the air .He flung his head back, jaws gaping in a second roar.
There were only a couple screams from the crowd, maybe because a number of the guests were trained law officers. Maybe because some were frozen and others were too busy running like hell to yell about it.
“Goddammit.”Cullen stepped forward. “No guns! Put your guns away, you idiots!”
Shit, yes. Cynna saw that several of those trained law officers were packing, which was kind of rude at a wedding, and had automatically drawn their weapons.
Which was not too bright. Bullets would annoy Mika, and he was already pissed.
Ruben's voice rose from the front of the crowd, calm as always. “Holster your weapons.”
“Mika.” Cullen faced the angry dragon, head tipped back to scowl up at him. Way, way up. " What the hell are you screaming about? I'm trying to get married here.”
Mika's head swung towards Cullen, jaws gaping, eyes slitted. He looked ready to rip, rend and tear, not chat.
“Remove yourself,” ordered a clear, disapproving female voice. “You are in my way.” A tiny, erect figure emerged from what was left of the crowd. She wore crimson silk, lavishly embroidered and very Chinese. And she headed straight for Mika.
“Shit!”Cynna took a step towards her. “Madame Yu—”
Lily stopped her with a hand on her arm. “It's okay. She knows what she's doing.” But Cynna caught what she added under her breath. “I hope.”
Lily's grandmother crossed the empty grass between the guests and the dragon, stopping well within gobbling distance. “You will behave yourself,” she said sternly, then, after a pause: “Oh, no, you will not. Not me.” She added something in Chinese before returning to English. “Settle yourself. Are you just hatched? Your dam would be shamed by your lack of control.”
The mental voice was shockingly strong, roiled by fury, nothing like the cold crystal Cynna had “heard” from dragons before: She has my dust!
Madame Yu's head turned as if Mika had pointed at something. Cynna looked that way, too . . . . “Holy Mother of God,” she whispered.
A small Styrofoam container hovered in the air over the trees that separated this area from the dragon'
s lair.
Madame Yu stared up at Mika a few moments more. Slowly he descended, but his tail lashed once, knocking a small tree into a serious tilt. Lily's grandmother turned to face them. “Mika is overwrought. He is not making sense. Someone has his gold dust, and I see it floating, but he does not say who takes it. He says that Cynna must make ‘ her' give it back, but does not say who.”
Cynna groaned. “The ghost. That damned ghost is playing games with dragon gold.” She raised her voice to scream at the air. “I forgive you, all right? I forgive you, you twice-damned bitch! Now put down that gold and go away!”
In the silence that followed Cullen murmured, “The ghost- bitch may have found that less that sincere.”
From somewhere behind them a woman said, “Perhaps I can help.”
Cynna turned. A plain, pleasant-face woman in a wrinkled green dress was approaching them on the path to the parking lot. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, maybe a little older. Her dishwater blond hair was cut very short. “I'm afraid I'm late,” she said apologetically. “Traffic was difficult, and my taxi driver didn’t speak English, and we went all the way to . . . but never mind all that. You say there's a ghost causing trouble?”
Cynna nodded, puzzled. The face was familiar, but she couldn't place the woman. “Yeah, Mrs. Ryerson. She used to be my next-door neighbour, but that was over twenty years ago. I have no idea when she died, or why she suddenly turned up to make my life hell, except that she wants me to forgive her. Ah . . . I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.”
It was Cullen who answered, so quietly she barely heard him. " You've met her, but you weren't given her name. We don't use their names.”
Cynna looked at him, her mouth suddenly dry. She knew of only two types of women whom the lupi didn't refer to by name. One was a goddess and unlikely to show up at their wedding. The other . . . well, she would have thought that almost as unlikely.
“She’ s a Rhej?”
Cullen stared at the quiet, brown-haired woman as if she were the ghost. “Yes. The Etorri Rhej.”
Cullen couldn't make himself move or speak. This woman hadn't been Rhej when he was kicked out of Etorri. That Rhej had withered her way into death over twenty years ago; she'd been followed by the woman who had trained the one in front of him now.
Cynna took his hand. That helped, somehow, but when he finally found his tongue he might as well have stayed silent, considering how little he had to say. “You’ve cut your hair.”
“I got tired of messing with it.” She smiled at both of them. “I was happy to receive your invitation.”
Cynna started to speak. Cullen squeezed her hand before she could blurt out that they hadn't sent her one. Of course they hadn't. It never occurred to him that any of the Rhejes, keepers of the memories and traditions, would be willing to attend the tradition-busting occasion of his wedding.
Yet here she was. And she wasn't just any Rhej. She was Etorri. What she did mattered — not just to him, but to all the clans. Her presence wouldn't bring universal acceptance of his marriage, but it would make a difference.
Cullen had to swallow first, but this time he knew what to say. “We are happy to have you.”
“Thank you. Now, about that ghost--?”
“Rhejes deal with ghosts?” Cynna asked, dubious. “I didn’t know that.”
“No, but—” He almost forgot and used her name. “She’ s a medium.”
Interesting. She is very young, yet she knows her true name. So few humans do.
Mika advanced with the sinuous sway common to dragons. Several of the guests scattered to give him room. He stopped and stared at the Rhej. What is a medium? Ah, I see. You will make the dead woman give back my dust.
The Etorri Rhej's eyes widened slightly, but her nod was polite, her voice matter-of-fact. “I'll do my best. Where . . . ” She glanced around, her gaze fixing on the floating container. “ Oh, there she is. What did you say her name is?”
Cynna supplied it. “Mrs. Ryerson. Don't you need candles and stuff?”
“No. Mrs. Ryerson, you are causing a great deal of trouble. You must have a strong reason.”
“But—” Cynna began.
Cullen squeezed her hand, urging silence. The Etorri Rhej was a very strong medium . . . and, it seemed, Mrs. Ryerson was a very strong ghost. The usual trappings for communication with the dead weren't needed.
“I see,” the Rhej said solemnly. “That isn’t all of it, though, is it? I think you'd better tell me the rest.” A long silence followed, with the Rhej apparently listening closely. Twice she nodded; once she made an understanding sound. At last she looked at Cynna. “I see why you were confused, but Ada isn’t trying to obtain forgiveness f or herself. She wants you to forgive your mother.”
“My . . . she what?” Cynna stiffened. “What business is it of hers? Besides, I have forgiven her. Mostly.”
“Ada owes your mother a debt of guilt,” the Rhej said gently. “I believe we’ll skip the details about what that debt involves, but it is real and serious. She can't release until she feels she's atoned. Since your mother has already moved on, she can't atone directly, so she's trying to do something that will benefit you.”
Cynna stared in disbelief. “Inciting a dragon to riot? Ruining my wedding? Yeah, she's been tons of help.”
“Her methods are muddled, but those trapped between are often muddled. Her goal is for you to forgive, however, and that will certainly help you.”
“Okay. I forgive my mother.”
Nothing happened.
“You can’ t lie to a ghost, dear ,” the Rhej said. “I’ m not sure how, but they always know.”
“I’ m not lying, I just — she--I can't forgive on command!” Cynna's voice rose. “It doesn’t work like that!”
“Perhaps I can help.” Father Michaels — who hadn't run away, or screamed, or pulled a gun when Mika roared — made his way towards them. He was a short, husky man just into middle age with dark hair and eyes. “Forgiveness does rather fall into my province. Cynna?” He held out his hands. “Will you step aside a moment and speak with me?”
She looked at Cullen first. He gave her hand another squeeze, feeling helpless and disliking that. But forgiveness was definitely not his best thing. He let go of her hand.
The priest took her aside and spoke quietly. The others probably couldn't hear him. Cullen could. First Father Michaels asked if she knew whether Mrs. Ryerson had belonged to the Church, then he made a suggestion. Cynna said yes to the first, and nodded reluctantly to the second.
“All right.” Cynna faced the Rhej. “Tell her—“
“She can hear you, dear.”
“I f eel funny talking to the air,” Cynna muttered, but turned to face that small, floating ice chest. “Here’ s the first part of the deal, Mrs. Ryerson. I've promised Father Michaels that I'll pray for my mother every day for a month.” She glanced briefly at the priest. “He says it’ s almost impossible to stay bitter at someone you keep praying for. You were Catholic. You know about promising a priest something.”
The Rhej smiled. “She chuckled over that.”
“Right.” Cynna nodded, resolute. “The rest of the deal is that you agree to let Father Michaels give you the Last Rites— well, he can't do the whole deal because you can't take the Eucharist, but he says it won't matter. You let him do that, then you'll be prepared for forgiveness yourself and can, uh, go on.”
The Rhej tilted her head, then smiled slowly. " She agrees. And she' s very happy about your offer, Father.”
Father Michaels withdrew with the Rhej, who would respond aloud for Mrs. Ryerson. While they were busy, Rule and Lily went in search of the missing wedding guests, hoping to bring a few, at least, back to the ceremony now that Mika was calm again. Cynna waited in the circle of Cullen's arm. “This has to be the weirdest wedding on record.”
“We wouldn’t want to be accused of the ordinary.” He tucked a hand below her chin, tilting her face towards him. “Are you all right with
what you agreed to?”
She nodded slowly. “Praying can't hurt. And, well, I like to believe I never think of my mom, but I do. I just push it aside, you know? So now I'll have to think about her, but maybe that's good.” Her hand crept to the hard lump of her stomach that used to be flat. “Maybe this is a good time to let go of some stuff .”
“Good, then. That's good. And our wedding isn't ruined,” he informed her. “Altered a bit, that’ s all. Not ruined.”
She saw the trace of anxiety hiding in those brilliant blue eyes and smiled. “No. Not ruined at all.”
My dust! Mika “shouted” and leaped into the air , his wings unfurling quick as a thought. He threw himself aloft — and dived, catching the Styrofoam chest in his jaws as it fell.