White Wedding Nightmares
Cathrine Berlin
“Neither!” I broke free of the trance that held me and ran back up the stairs. I could hear the guys jostling for space behind me—hard to get everyone upstairs when there’s a dragon hogging the width of the steps. I had a short lead on them when I reached the room where Lucien had originally brought us.
I had one goal in mind: the window. I’d spied greenery through the broken glass earlier, so without hesitation, I jumped.
There was enough magic swirling around in the room I just left to confuse the lot of them, at least for a few minutes. That would be enough time for me to get my bearings and find someplace to hide. Of course, it ended up taking me that long to climb down from the tree I’d just landed in.
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I had to count on the gentlemen to detain each other. Otherwise, I was not going to get away, and if I didn’t get someplace where I could think, I’d end up making the wrong choice. Again.
I dove into the woods, made my way to the Black river, and started walking downstream. I was sure to hit a town sooner or later. First things first, I needed to find something less conspicuous to wear. A sort-of-white wedding gown, no matter how dirty and bloody, would still look like a wedding gown.
Lucky for me, the closest town was closer than I’d thought and the third building I shimmied past was a thrift store. I didn’t have any cash, but maybe my engagement ring would get a change of clothes.
I bounced up the wooden steps and onto the porch of the shop, then opened the door. The tiny jingle of a bell that hung from the frame was immediately swallowed by a surge of noise from within.
“My goodness, you’re late! Get in here!” The skinniest old crone I’d ever seen wrapped her bony fingers around my forearm and hauled me to the back of the shop. “Up,” she ordered.
I noticed a short stool and stepped onto it. The crone circled me, giving my dress the stink-eye.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m who you—“
“Not another word. I’ll fix this right up.” With more strength than I’d have guessed she had, she ripped the sleeves and then the bottom of the ragged gown, leaving me in a lace mini-dress and exposing the various knives I had strapped to my thighs and calves.
She didn’t blink an eye.
Oh, wait. She did blink one eye. The other one was glass. Would have been a waste.
“Okay, you gotta get going now or they’ll start without you.” She shoved my shoulders all the way to the back door and I found myself standing on a dirt path. “Go!” She pointed left.
What the hell. I hurried along the path. After a few hundred yards I could hear faint music. I followed the sound.
Strange music. No, I mean Strange Music, the Sinatra tune. That’s the same song that was playing when I met Lucien. Well, after I decided not to kill him. It was “our song”. Weird that it should be playing out in the middle of—Holy—
The path turned a quick bend and suddenly I found myself at the edge of a town square. Lights had been set up to fight the coming darkness and several dozen people—people?—mingled on a make-shift dance floor.
I hesitated in calling them people… it was more like a zombie movie. Everyone wore what could only be called funeral clothes: dark suits, lace gowns. The outfits spanned several generations of fads, from ruffled tuxes of the Seventies to short flapper dresses of the Twenties. The couples also sported garish makeup that made it seem as though they’d been buried and dug up years later. Some weird costume ball, I supposed.
As I stepped onto the platform, a few people raised a hand in salute, but most were focused on their dates. I guessed I must have looked pretty rough by then if I fit in with those guys. Part of me wanted a mirror and part of me was glad I didn’t have access to one. I might have scared myself. For now I was content to blend in and be unseen. I only had so much time before the crowd from the mansion caught up to me.
Perhaps I should just choose whatever one of them found me first. That would take all the pressure off. But then, I knew in my heart who I really wanted.
In the deepening evening, the air chilled, and the wind stirred, blowing past me and lifting my hair from my shoulders. A moment later the music stopped mid-note and the occupants of the dance floor all turned to stare at me. Except for the guy with the fake eyeballs hanging down to his chin. He just sniffed the air.
In one motion, the crowd took a lurching step in my direction. The moans and the emerging drool were my first hints that maybe these were not participants in a costume dance.
Too slowly I moved away from the bulk of the people, and found myself surrounded by a small group of them. As their rotten fingers touched my flesh, I reached into the bodice of my gown for the one thing I knew could save me.
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