The other wedding party was assembled downstairs when we descended. Portia’s group would precede Halleigh’s. The two grooms and their groomsmen were already outside if all was going smoothly, because now it was five minutes until liftoff.
Portia Bellefleur and her bridesmaids averaged seven years older than Halleigh’s posse. Portia was the big sister of Andy Bellefleur, Bon Temps police detective and Halleigh’s groom. Portia’s dress was a little over-the-top—it was covered with pearls and so much lace and sequins I thought it could stand by itself—but then, it was Portia’s big day and she could wear whatever she damn well pleased. All Portia’s bridesmaids were wearing gold.
The bridesmaids’ bouquets all matched—white and dark blue and yellow. Coordinated with the dark blue of Halleigh’s bridesmaid selection, the result was very pretty.
The wedding planner, a thin nervous woman with a big cloud of dark curly hair, counted heads almost audibly. When she was satisfied everyone she needed was present and accounted for, she flung open the double doors to the huge brick patio. We could see the crowd, backs to us, seated on the lawn in two sections of white folding chairs, with a strip of red carpet running between the two sides. They were facing the platform where the priest stood at an altar decked in cloth and gleaming candlesticks. To the right of the priest, Portia’s groom, Glen Vick, was waiting, facing the house. And, therefore, us. He looked very, very nervous, but he was smiling. His groomsmen were already in position flanking him.
Portia’s golden bridesmaids stepped out onto the patio, and one by one they began their march down the aisle through the manicured garden. The scent of wedding flowers made the night sweet. And the Belle Rive roses were blooming, even in October.
Finally, to a huge swell of music, Portia crossed the patio to the end of the carpet, the wedding coordinator (with some effort) lifting the train of Portia’s dress so it wouldn’t drag on the bricks.
At the priest’s nod, everyone stood and faced the rear so they could see Portia’s triumphal march. She’d waited years for this.
After Portia’s safe arrival at the altar, it was our party’s turn. Halleigh gave each one of us an air kiss on the cheek as we stepped past her out onto the patio. She even included me, which was sweet of her. The wedding coordinator sent us off one by one, to stand reflecting our designated groomsman up front. Mine was a Bellefleur cousin from Monroe who was quite startled to see me coming instead of Tiffany. I walked at the slow pace Dana had emphasized and held my bouquet in my clasped hands at the desired angle. I’d been watching the other maids like a hawk. I wanted to get this right.
All the faces were turned to me, and I was so nervous I forgot to block. The thoughts of the crowd rushed at me in a gush of unwanted communication. Looks so pretty . . . What happened to Tiffany . . . ? Wow, what a rack. . . . Hurry it up, I need a drink. . . . What the hell am I doing here? She drags me to every dog fight in the parish. . . . I love wedding cake.
A photographer stepped in front of me and took a picture. It was someone I knew, a pretty werewolf named Maria-Star Cooper. She was the assistant of Al Cumberland, a well-known photographer based in Shreveport. I smiled at Maria-Star and she took another shot. I continued down the carpet, held on to my smile, and pushed away all the racket in my head.
After a moment I noticed there were blank spots in the crowd, which signaled the presence of vampires. Glen had requested a night wedding specifically so he could invite some of his more important vampire clients. I’d been sure Portia truly loved him when she agreed to that, because Portia didn’t like bloodsuckers at all. In fact, they gave her the creeps.
I kind of liked vampires in general, because their brains were closed to me. Being in their company was oddly restful. Okay, a strain in other ways, but at least my brain could relax.
Finally, I arrived at my designated spot. I’d watched Portia and Glen’s attendants arrange themselves in an inverted V, with a space at the front for the nuptial couple. Our group was doing the same thing. I’d nailed it, and I exhaled in relief. Since I wasn’t taking the place of the maid of honor, my work was over. All I had to do was stand still and look attentive, and I thought I could do that.
The music swelled to a second crescendo, and the priest gave his signal again. The crowd rose and turned to look at the second bride. Halleigh began moving slowly toward us. She looked absolutely radiant. Halleigh had selected a much simpler dress than Portia’s, and she looked very young and very sweet. She was at least five years younger than Andy, maybe more. Halleigh’s dad, as tanned and fit as his wife, stepped out to take Halleigh’s arm when she drew abreast; since Portia had come down the aisle alone (her father was long dead), it had been decided Halleigh would, too.
After I’d had my fill of Halleigh’s smile, I looked over the crowd who’d rotated to follow the bride’s progress.
There were so many familiar faces: teachers from the elementary school where Halleigh taught, members of the police department where Andy worked, the friends of old Mrs. Caroline Bellefleur who were still alive and tottering, Portia’s fellow lawyers and other people who worked in the justice system, and Glen Vick’s clients and other accountants. Almost every chair was occupied.
There were a few black faces to be seen, and a few brown faces, but most of the wedding guests were middle-class Caucasians. The palest faces in the crowd were the vampires’, of course. One of them I knew well. Bill Compton, my neighbor and former lover, was sitting about halfway back, wearing a tuxedo and looking very handsome. Bill managed to seem at home in whatever he chose to wear. Beside him sat his human girlfriend, Selah Pumphrey, a real estate agent from Clarice. She was wearing a burgundy gown that set off her dark hair. There were perhaps five vamps I didn’t recognize. I assumed they were clients of Glen’s. Though Glen didn’t know it, there were several other attendees who were more (and less) than human.
My boss, Sam, was a rare true shapeshifter who could become any animal. The photographer was a werewolf like his assistant. To all the regular wedding guests, he looked like a well-rounded, rather short African-American male wearing a nice suit and carrying a big camera. But Al turned into a wolf at the full moon just like Maria-Star. There were a few other Weres in the crowd, though only one I knew—Amanda, a red-haired woman in her late thirties who owned a bar in Shreveport called the Hair of the Dog. Maybe Glen’s firm handled the bar’s books.
And there was one werepanther, Calvin Norris. Calvin had brought a date, I was glad to see, though I was less than thrilled after I identified her as Tanya Grissom. Blech. What was she doing back in town? And why had Calvin been on the guest list? I liked him, but I couldn’t figure out the connection.
While I’d been scanning the crowd for familiar faces, Halleigh had assumed her position by Andy, and now all the bridesmaids and groomsmen had to face forward to listen to the service.
Since I didn’t have a big emotional investment in this proceeding, I found myself mentally wandering while Father Kempton Littrell, the Episcopal priest who ordinarily came to the little Bon Temps church once every two weeks, conducted the service. The lights that had been set up to illuminate the garden glinted off Father Littrell’s glasses and bleached some of the color out of his face. He looked almost like a vampire.
Things proceeded pretty much on the standard plan. Boy, it was lucky I was used to standing up at the bar, because this was a lot of standing, and in high heels, too. I seldom wore heels, much less three-inch ones. It felt strange being five foot nine. I tried not to shift around, possessed my soul with patience.
Now Glen was putting the ring on Portia’s finger, and Portia looked almost pretty as she looked down at their clasped hands. She’d never be one of my favorite people—nor I hers—but I wished her well. Glen was bony and had darkish receding hair and major glasses. If you called central casting and ordered an “accountant type,” they’d send you Glen. But I could tell directly from his brain that he loved Portia, and she loved him.
I let myself shift a bi
t, put my weight a little more on my right leg.
Then Father Littrell started all over again on Halleigh and Andy. I kept my smile pasted to my face (no problem there; I did it all the time at the bar) and watched Halleigh become Mrs. Andrew Bellefleur. I was lucky. Episcopalian weddings can be long, but the two couples had opted for having the shorter form of the service.
At last the music swelled to triumphant strains, and the newlyweds exited to the house. The wedding party trailed after them in reverse order. On my way down the aisle, I felt genuinely happy and a weensy bit proud. I’d helped Halleigh in her time of need . . . and very soon I was going to get to take these shoes off.
From his chair, Bill caught my eye and silently put his hand over his heart. It was a romantic and totally unexpected gesture, and for a moment I softened toward him. I very nearly smiled, though Selah was right there by his side. Just in time, I reminded myself that Bill was a no-good rat bastard, and I swept on my painful way. Sam was standing a couple of yards past the last row of chairs, wearing a white tux shirt like the one I’d had on and black dress pants. Relaxed and at ease, that was Sam. Even his tangled halo of strawberry blond hair somehow fit in.
I flashed him a genuine smile, and he grinned back. He gave me a thumbs-up, and though shifter brains are hard to read, I could tell he approved of the way I looked and the way I’d conducted myself. His bright blue eyes never left me. He’s been my boss for five years, and we’ve gotten along great for the most part. He’d been pretty upset when I’d started dating a vampire, but he’d gotten over it.
I needed to get to work, and pronto. I caught up with Dana. “When can we change?” I asked.
“Oh, we have pictures to do yet,” Dana said cheerfully. Her husband had come up to put his arm around her. He was holding their baby, a tiny thing swaddled in sex-neutral yellow.
“Surely I won’t be needed for those,” I said. “You-all took a lot of pictures earlier, right? Before what’s-her-name got sick.”
“Tiffany. Yes, but there’ll be more.”
I seriously doubted the family would want me in them, though my absence would unbalance the symmetry in the group pictures. I found Al Cumberland.
“Yes,” he said, snapping away at the brides and grooms as they beamed at each other. “I do need some shots. You got to stay in costume.”
“Crap,” I said, because my feet hurt.
“Listen, Sookie, the best I can do is to shoot your group first. Andy, Halleigh! That is . . . Mrs. Bellefleur! If you-all will come this way, let’s get your pictures done.”
Portia Bellefleur Vick looked a little astonished that her group wasn’t going first, but she had way too many people to greet to really get riled. While Maria-Star snapped away at the touching scene, a distant relative wheeled old Miss Caroline up to Portia, and Portia bent to kiss her grandmother. Portia and Andy had lived with Miss Caroline for years, after their own parents had passed away. Miss Caroline’s poor health had delayed the weddings at least twice. The original plan had been for last spring, and it had been a rush job because Miss Caroline was failing. She’d had a heart attack and then recovered. After that, she’d broken her hip. I had to say, for someone who’d survived two major health disasters, Miss Caroline looked . . . Well, to tell the truth, she looked just like a very old lady who’d had a heart attack and a broken hip. She was all dressed up in a beige silk suit. She even had on some makeup, and her snow-white hair was arranged à la Lauren Bacall. She’d been a beauty in her day, an autocrat her entire life, and a famous cook until the recent past.
Caroline Bellefleur was in her seventh heaven this night. She’d married off both her grandchildren, she was getting plenty of tribute, and Belle Rive was looking spectacular, thanks to the vampire who was staring at her with an absolutely unreadable face.
Bill Compton had discovered he was the Bellefleurs’ ancestor, and he had anonymously given Miss Caroline a whacking big bunch of money. She’d enjoyed spending it so much, and she had had no idea it had come from a vampire. She’d thought it a legacy from a distant relative. I thought it was kind of ironic that the Bellefleurs would just as soon have spit on Bill as thanked him. But he was part of the family, and I was glad he’d found a way to attend.
I took a deep breath, banished Bill’s dark gaze from my consciousness, and smiled at the camera. I occupied my designated space in the pictures to balance out the wedding party, dodged the googly-eyed cousin, and finally hotfooted it up the stairs to change into my bartender’s rig.
There was no one up here, and it was a relief to be in the room by myself.
I shimmied out of the dress, hung it up, and sat on a stool to unbuckle the straps of the painful shoes.
There was a little sound at the door, and I looked up, startled. Bill was standing just inside the room, his hands in his pockets, his skin glowing gently. His fangs were out.
“Trying to change here,” I said tartly. No point in making a big show of modesty. He’d seen every inch of me.
“You didn’t tell them,” he said.
“Huh?” Then my brain caught up. Bill meant that I hadn’t told the Bellefleurs that he was their ancestor. “No, of course not,” I said. “You asked me not to.”
“I thought, in your anger, you might give them the information.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “No, some of us actually have honor,” I said. He looked away for a minute. “By the way, your face healed real well.”
During the Fellowship of the Sun bombing in Rhodes, Bill’s face had been exposed to the sun with really stomach-churning results.
“I slept for six days,” he said. “When I finally got up, it was mostly healed. And as for your dig about my failing in honor, I haven’t any defense . . . except that when Sophie-Anne told me to pursue you . . . I was reluctant, Sookie. At first, I didn’t want to even pretend to have a permanent relationship with a human woman. I thought it degraded me. I only came into the bar to identify you when I couldn’t put it off any longer. And that evening didn’t turn out like I’d planned. I went outside with the drainers, and things happened. When you were the one who came to my aid, I decided it was fate. I did what I had been told to do by my queen. In so doing, I fell into a trap I couldn’t escape. I still can’t.”
The trap of LUUUUVVVV, I thought sarcastically. But he was too serious, too calm, to mock. I was simply defending my own heart with the weapon of bitchiness.
“You got you a girlfriend,” I said. “You go on back to Selah.” I looked down to make sure I’d gotten the little strap on the second sandal unlatched. I worked the shoe off. When I glanced back up, Bill’s dark eyes were fixed on me.
“I would give anything to lie with you again,” he said.
I froze, my hands in the act of rolling the thigh-high hose off my left leg.
Okay, that pretty much stunned me on several different levels. First, the biblical “lie with.” Second, my astonishment that he considered me such a memorable bed partner.
Maybe he only remembered the virgins.
“I don’t want to fool with you tonight, and Sam’s waiting on me down there to help him tend bar,” I said roughly. “You go on.” I stood and turned my back to him while I pulled on my pants and my shirt, tucking the shirt in. Then it was time for the black running shoes. After a quick check in the mirror to make sure I still had on some lipstick, I faced the doorway.
He was gone.
I went down the wide stairs and out the patio doors into the garden, relieved to be resuming my more accustomed place behind a bar. My feet still hurt. So did the sore spot in my heart labeled Bill Compton.
Sam gave me a smiling glance as I scurried into place. Miss Caroline had vetoed our request to leave a tip jar out, but bar patrons had already stuffed a few bills into an empty highball glass, and I intended to let that stay in position.
“You looked real pretty in the dress,” Sam said as he mixed a rum and Coke. I handed a beer across the bar and smiled at the older man who’d come to fetch it.
He gave me a huge tip, and I glanced down to see that in my hurry to get downstairs I’d skipped a button. I was showing a little extra cleavage. I was momentarily embarrassed, but it wasn’t a slutty button, just a “Hey, I’ve got boobs” button. So I let it be.
“Thanks,” I said, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed this quick evaluation. “I hope I did everything right.”
“Of course you did,” Sam said, as if the possibility of me blowing my new role had never crossed his mind. This is why he’s the greatest boss I’ve ever had.
“Well, good evening,” said a slightly nasal voice, and I looked up from the wine I was pouring to see that Tanya Grissom was taking up space and breathing air that could be better used by almost anyone else. Her escort, Calvin, was nowhere in sight.
“Hey, Tanya,” Sam said. “How you doing? It’s been a while.”
“Well, I had to tie up some loose ends in Mississippi,” Tanya said. “But I’m back here visiting, and I wondered if you needed any part-time help, Sam.”
I pressed my mouth shut and kept my hands busy. Tanya stepped to the side nearest Sam when an elderly lady asked me for some tonic water with a wedge of lime. I handed it to her so quickly she looked astonished, and then I took care of Sam’s next customer. I could hear from Sam’s brain that he was pleased to see Tanya. Men can be idiots, right? To be fair, I did know some things about her that Sam didn’t.
Selah Pumphrey was next in line, and I could only be amazed at my luck. However, Bill’s girlfriend just asked for a rum and Coke.
“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound relieved, and began putting the drink together.
“I heard him,” Selah said very quietly.
“Heard who?” I asked, distracted by my effort to listen to what Tanya and Sam were saying—either with my ears or with my brain.
“I heard Bill when he was talking to you earlier.” When I didn’t speak, she continued, “I snuck up the stairs after him.”
“Then he knows you were there,” I said absently, and handed her the drink. Her eyes flared wide at me for a second—alarmed, angry? She stalked off. If wishes could kill, I would be lifeless on the ground.
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