Part 9 (2/2)
William tugged my sleeve. I nodded that I knew we needed to be going, but I just wanted a few more seconds with Parrish.
”Did you? Did you turn Tereza?”
Parrish shook his head. ”You'll have to look for another scapegoat. If I had, do you think I would have let the vambie do this?”
He held up his injured hand. It looked better, though still a bit puffy. He 'd removed the bandage, and the swelling was down. I thought the color looked better, but it was hard to really tell much in the harsh electric light.
”Vambie?” William asked.
”Vampire zombie,” Parrish supplied. ”I rather like the term. Likewise, zompire.”
”I don't know,” said William. ”Vambie sounds like something starring Jane Fonda, you know?”
”Like Barbarella?” Parrish laughed. For a second, the boys seemed to bond, but then William got all scared-like and stepped back.
”We're late,” he reminded me.
”We'll talk later,” I said to Parrish, and I let William drag me off to his parked car.
William's car didn't start right away. The below-zero temperature made the battery sluggish. It took three tries, but the engine finally caught.
”So . . . ?” I asked after William stopped complaining about Wisconsin winters.
”So what?”
”What's with the tension between you and Parrish?”
”Nothing,” he said too quickly.
This was the moment where I had to decide if I really wanted to know the details or if finding out would push this conversation into that gray area of ”too much information.”
I was pretty sure I understood what transpired, anyway. After discovering that vampires were real, William had gone through a Goth phase of his own, complete with lots of black clothes and eyeliner and fingernail polish. At that time Parrish had been hanging around the university crowd, doing a little blood fetish work for hire. It wasn 't impossible to imagine the two of them hooking up.
Uh, except for the actual imagining part . . . William and Parrish naked together? My brain hurt.
”Did Sebastian tell you what the coven is planning on doing tonight when he called you? ” I asked, allowing the subject to change. ”Not really. It was a short conversation. He said something about a hex-breaking spell, though. Is that against Tereza? Are you still convinced she's cursed you?”
I shrugged. ”There are just too many things going wrong. I mean, I know every wedding has its disasters, but these just don't seem to stop.” I ticked off the list on my fingers. ”The dresses, the band, the cake, my mother . . . okay, that last one was probably inevitable, but-oh! Where's the application?”
I dug around frantically in the pockets of my coat.
William, who almost pathologically never took his eyes from the road, glanced nervously at me. ”What did you lose?”
”The application for our marriage license, and I spent all afternoon going to get it too, ” I said, and despite myself, my voice caught a little. ”Maybe I left it at work or at my parents' hotel room.”
”Should I turn around?”
”No,” I said, although part of me wanted him to. ”It'll be okay.”
I just had to keep convincing myself of that. Besides, the sooner we got to the coven meeting, the sooner I could put an end to this d.a.m.n curse. Or whatever it was.
There was a line of cars in the driveway when we pulled up. I saw Griffin's beat-up station wagon with guitar cases piled in the back and Xylia's stylish yellow VW bug covered in leftist political b.u.mper stickers. I recognized some of the others as well.
When we stepped in, I smelled chili and cornbread. My mouth watered. People sat on the couches. Xylia came over from where she'd been perched by the staircase and gave me a hug. ”Congratulations.”
”Really?” I was kind of surprised to hear her say that. She was totally the type to call traditional weddings ”giving in to the patriarchy.” Xylia had a flattop and, despite the chill, she wore a muscle s.h.i.+rt that showed off fairly sculpted arms and a tattoo of a gecko.
”Yeah,” she said with a smile. ”I'm looking forward to the wedding. I love weddings.”
”You do?”
”She'll probably cry,” Griffin said, throwing an arm around Xylia's narrow shoulders. Griffin had cla.s.sic metalhead, Norse G.o.d looks. Long, slightly straggly blond hair framed a stubble-studded square jaw. He pretended to dab his eyes. ”I'll probably cry too.”
”You guys,” I said with a shake of my head.
They laughed. ”I do like weddings, though,” Xylia said with a little shy smile that made her nose stud glitter. ”There's a little traditional in me, I guess.”
I nodded. I could understand. All the things I wanted when I was a dreamy tween became so important when I started planning the wedding.
”Not me,” Griffin said, letting his arm drop from Xylia. ”It's going to be a simple handfast in the woods for me.”
”If anyone will have you,” Xylia said with a poke.
”Ha. Hey, William,” Griffin said. ”What about you? What's your dream wedding?”
”I don't know. Don't I have to keep a girlfriend longer than six months first?”
Sebastian came out with a stack of bowls. He leaned in and said, ”It's a must.”
”Oh! Does that mean chili is ready?” Xylia asked, reaching for a bowl.
We all descended on the kitchen. Sebastian had whipped up both vegetarian and meat versions of his fantastic chili. There was also homemade cornbread. He'd set out all sorts of munchies as well: carrot slices, broccoli florets, sliced radishes. There were potato chips, popcorn, and pretzels in bowls all around the house. Enough food to feed an army, which was good, since I doubted there would be a crumb left after everyone was satisfied.
”So what's the plan of action?” Blythe asked after we'd licked the last of the chili from our lips. Blythe was a leggy, model - gorgeous comparative religions major at UW. She was a British national, and Sebastian found her cosmopolitan and charming. I spent a lot of time and energy trying not to hate her. After months of working with her in the coven, however, I had to grudgingly admit she made a good addition to the crew.
”I think I might have gotten cursed by Matyas's mother,” I said.
”She was dead, but she got better,” William muttered next to me. Our elbows touched, and I gave him a little heynow-none-of- that nudge in the ribs.
”So you want to turn the hex?” Blythe asked.
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