Part 3 (1/2)

”Uh, yeah, of course,” I said. My mother raised her eyebrows. ”I see,” she said icily.

That'll teach me not to pay attention. My mind started racing: Was I supposed to have shopped for it with her? Did she have an heirloom dress in the attic? Had she hoped to sew it for me? Oh G.o.d, this was worse than the idea of Tereza bursting through the door with a foaming mouth and a butcher knife. I didn't know what to say. Should I offer to throw mine out? Start over? ”Uh,” I started. ”Er.”

Unknowingly, my dad came to my rescue. ”Are you getting married in a church? What religion are you, anyway?” he asked Sebastian.

”Catholic,” Sebastian said.

”Really?” My dad was astonished. I'm sure he was expecting Sebastian to also be Wiccan or maybe something even more oddball. Although my dad was enough of an antiestablishment sort to be a little skeptical of organized religions, I think he might have preferred me to find a nice secular humanist or atheist to settle down with. ”Like, Roman Catholic?”

”Well . . .” Now it was Sebastian's turn to be in the corner. When Sebastian was born there really was only one version of Catholicism, but shortly after his ”death,” the church split, and Eastern Orthodoxy and its various regional expressions was born.

Politics and religion s.h.i.+fted over time, but Sebastian always stayed true to what he 'd been raised, even though there was no church that existed today that held his precise beliefs. ”Not exactly.”

Because everything was going badly tonight, my dad misinterpreted. ”Are you with one of those ultraconservative groups?”

Why did he go there? ”Do you think he'd be marrying me if he was?”

”Will you be wearing white?” My mother interjected, clearly still obsessed with the dress.

”No, Mom,” I said. Was this the issue with the dress? Did she have dreams of me in white? ”Uh, that's not really fas.h.i.+onable anymore.”

My mother gasped. ”Please tell me you're not wearing black.”

”Cream,” I insisted. Then I wondered, was I supposed to still be a virgin? Was that the deal?

My mom and I never really had the birds-and-bees conversation. When I got close to p.u.b.erty, I found a book on my bed stand with all sorts of clinical terms for various body parts. Luckily, thanks to my mother 's book obsession, I also had access to Our Bodies, Our Selves, which had much cooler pictures and a lot more modern language, if you considered anything written in the seventies ”modern”-although it was definitely ”mod.”

So maybe she thought I should wear white? ”Uh . . .” I started, but didn't really know where I was going.

Barney barfed up the souffle batter on my dad's shoes. I'd never been more grateful for my cat's sensitive stomach.

After cleaning up the mess, Sebastian and I managed to steer the conversation back to safer and more mundane topics. The smell of cinnamon and baking bread almost made me cough.

At last the meal was over. My dad pushed back his plate and folded his hands over his stomach. He looked full, satisfied, and ready to settle in for a long after-dinner nap. My mom too seemed sated. At some point during the meal, she'd kicked her shoes off. Her stocking feet stretched out under the table. Barney twined around my legs, hopeful for another handout or two.

The window rattled. I jumped, my eyes seeking out Sebastian nervously.

”Sounds like a storm is coming in,” Sebastian said. ”You should probably head back to your hotel before it gets bad.”

There was enough residue glamour in the air that my mother quickly got the hint. ”I'm sorry we can't stay,” my mother said.

”But I think that storm is really picking up.”

My dad, who must have been slightly more impervious to Sebastian's magic, sighed. ”What about dessert?”

”It's been a long night. We should let these kids get some rest,” my mother said. She winked at me. ”We can order something from room service.”

”Seriously?” my dad said. My mother ordering room service was a rare extravagance. ”Well,” my dad said, making a show of looking at his pocket watch. ”If that's the time, you're probably right. Let's get on the road.” We herded them into the living room to gather coats and boots and such. Sebastian whispered in my ear that he was going to send Benjamin along to guard them until they were safely off the property. So he made an excuse to duck back into the kitchen for a few moments.

”He's all right after all, isn't he?” Mom said, wrapping her pumps in a used plastic bag that she'd had in her coat pocket. She stepped into her tall, faux-fur lined boots.

”I'm rather fond of him,” I agreed.

My mother smiled. ”You know, honey, you're going to need a lot of help with the wedding planning and organizing. Maybe your father and I should stay in town.”

”But that's two weeks!” I protested. Besides, the idea of my mother's help made my blood run cold. I looked to my dad for a.s.sistance. He was busy lacing up his boots.

”I think it's a good idea,” my mother said, ”don't you, Glen?”

My dad looked up. ”Yeah, you bet.”

”Good, then it's settled.” My mother looked genuinely cheerful, the happiest she had all night. I tried to smile back.

When Sebastian returned to the room, the proper good-byes began again in earnest. He caught my eye and nodded, letting me know my folks would be protected by our house ghost.

Being Minnesotan, however, my parents had to repeat the good-bye ritual several more times before they actually made it out the door. Mom had to first make a few more complimentary comments about Sebastian 's library. Dad had to discuss the advantages of using firewood for heat. I made sure my folks could make their way back to the city and their hotel. Sebastian drew them a map on a sticky note.

All the while, I bit my lip and tried not to shoo them out. Twenty minutes later the door finally closed behind them.

I looked to Sebastian. ”Now what?”

He was already putting on his coat. ”Now I go out there and face her.”

”You think she's still there?” I asked. I peered out into the lightly falling snow, ostensibly to wave a last good-bye to my folks, but their car was already around the bend and on the county highway. I glanced in the direction of the graveyard. At first, I thought Tereza had gone, but then I saw her sitting in the snow with her back resting against a crumbling marble marker. She looked like a child, huddled there. If you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't know she was there. At least I wouldn't have to try to explain that to my folks. ”What are you going to do?”

Sebastian had told me time and time again that even though there were moments when it would be easier to ”let Tereza go” and destroy her body, he hadn't been able to do it. He'd loved her once, and she was the mother of his only son. More than that, he felt so much guilt about her current condition. He wanted to make things right. His voice was almost a whisper. ”I don't know.”

”I'm coming with you,” I said, taking his hand.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Snow creaked under our feet as we made our way across the lawn to the cemetery. The moment the door of the house opened, Tereza stood up expectantly. I held tightly to Sebastian's hand, but his eyes focused on the ragged, swaying form that hovered among the gravestones.

Something icy touched the back of my neck. The wind whispered in my ear, ”I'm here.” Sensing a presence beside me, I turned. Even though I saw nothing but an added set of footprints in the snow, I knew Benjamin had joined us. Although I made a mental note to have that relations.h.i.+p chat with him sooner rather than later, I was glad to know we had supernatural backup.

We were getting closer to Tereza. Dark circles ringed her manically glittering eyes. The icy wind reddened her cheeks and pulled the skin of her face into a taut, gaunt smile. Brittle-looking clumps of jet black hair swirled around her face.

Her eyes darted back and forth between Sebastian and me as we approached. Sebastian's face was grim, and she seemed frightened by it. My heart pounded in my throat. She raised a skeletal, clawlike hand to ward us off.

My stomach got all queasy again.

Lilith perked up, as if she sensed trouble. I could feel her fire just under the surface, ready. Then my cell phone rang. The ring tone was Ricky Martin's ”Livin' La Vida Loca.”

Everyone, even Tereza with her bugged-out eyes, stared at my coat pocket. The phone continued to ring. I reached for it automatically.