L. Banks - My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

"Uhmmm-hmmrn," the thin woman beside her nana said. "The Lord do work in mysterious ways."

"Now, Grandma Jo, I thought you old girls agreed to leave this mess in the purview of prayer—"

"We did, Reverend Mitchell," Grandma Jo said, pressing a gnarled hand to her chest in shock. "You know we too ole to be acting like that, and we cooked up some good food that ain't gonna make no­body sick. Got a purty cake for the ceremony . . . lemon butter pound, a real cake, not some sto'-bought mess."

Odelia looked around, confused. "You're Jefferson's Grandma Jo?"

"Yes, baby. Welcome to the Family. I'm a Jones. Don't get me con-Fused with being no McCoy."

Healthy shouts of Amens Filled the room, as Family members From Jefferson's mother's people gathered around Odelia.

Frantic, Odelia's gaze scanned the house. "Is Jefferson all right?"

"That nice young man is fine," Pastor Wise's wife said. "He's up­stairs dressing in the suit his Grandma Jo had presence of mind to buy for him as a graduation present, along with some shoes and whatnot."

"Best to always be prepared," Grandma Jo said, pressing her lips together to stifle a smug smile.

"Well, they do say, the Lord helps those who he'p theyselves," Nana Robinson said, nodding with Grandma Jo.

"What happened to Jefferson's suit he was gonna—"

"There's plenty of time to talk about that later," Pastor Wise's wife said, interrupting Odelia's question. She shot her husband a coy, knowing glance. "I'll take you into my daughter's room so you can get ready For the wedding."

Odelia Froze. "The wedding? Tonight?" Her voice had come out in a squeak. "We gettin' a jump on 'em, suga'," Nana Robinson said calmly. "By tomorrow, it'll be all over but the shouting; then maybe you two can graduate in peace. I didn't drive all this way For no nonsense."

"No truer words been said," Grandma Jo concurred. "If you stop crying, hurry up, and get dressed, y'all be married within an hour, then we can Finally eat—I done put my big toe in that macaroni and cheese—and y'all can go on and do what young Folks do. Get you a hotel room and get busy, seeing as how neither one of y'all's apart­ments is fit to live in, right through here. Jus' don't get too love-crazy and fergit to set your clock. Like your nana said, I ain't come all this way to miss my boy's graduation. Hmmph!"

Odelia opened her mouth and closed it.

Both Pastor Wise and Reverend Mitchell discreetly chuckled with the rest of the Family as the pastor's wife ushered Odelia through the house toward the stairs, winding a path through widely smiling kinFolk. Her cheeks Felt hot, and Mrs. Wise squeezed her arm when Grandma Jo called out to Nana Robinson, "Girl, you ain't fergit to spice them greens with something to bring great-grands quick, did ya?"

"You oughts ta know me better than that, Jolene. We Robinson women don't play, when it comes to the kitchen," Nana Robinson Fussed back.

"Good. 'Cause like I said, I put my Foot in that macaroni and cheese."

Odelia wasn't sure if it was something in the greens, the mac and cheese, the fried chicken, or the lemon butter pound wedding cake. None of the elderly chefs were to be trusted; they all believed in big families. Might've been a sleight of hand by the maker of the tuna mac, potato salad, sweet potatoes, or even something slipped into the snap beans, rice, or ham. Anything was fair game to produce more great-grandbabies. On the other hand, trying to remain logical, it very well could've been the yearlong wait for the right partner, or the peach iced tea could have been spiked, knowing their families. Maybe it was simply love—go figure.

All she was very sure of was, Jefferson McCoy hadn't let her sleep a wink all night and was still sweating like he'd run a marathon this morning. Bottom line, Odelia was married, happy, and it was clear that they were both going to be very late For their graduations.

L..A. BANKS. (a.k.a. Leslie Esdaile Banks) is a native of Philadelphia, a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania Wharton undergraduate program, and holds a Masters in Fine Arts from Temple University's School of Film and Media Arts. After a stellar ten-year career as a cor­porate marketing executive for several Fortune 100 high-tech firms, Banks changed careers in 1991 to pursue a private consulting career—which ultimately led to fiction and film writing. Now, with more than twenty-four novels and ten anthology contributions in an extraordinary breadth of genres, and many awards to her credit, Banks writes full-time, and resides with her husband and children in Philadelphia. Look for her Vampire Huntress Legends series and a full listing of her published works at: www.vampirehuntress.com.

Steel pierced my leg and my body went rigid with pain, but I could not allow myself to move. "Billy," I growled through my teeth. "Kill him."

Billy the Werewolf squinted up at me from his seat and said, "That might be a little extreme."

"This is torture," I said.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Dresden," Billy said, his tone amused. "He's just fitting the tux."

Yanof the tailor, a squat, sturdy little guy who had recently immi­grated to Chicago from Outer Sloboviakastan or somewhere, glared up at me, with another dozen pins clutched between his lips and re­sentment in his eyes. I'm better than six and a half feet tall. It can't be fun to be told that you've got to fit a tux to someone my height only a few hours before the wedding.

"It ought to be Kirby standing here," I said.

"Yeah. But it would be harder to fit the tux around the body cast and all those traction cables."

"I keep telling you guys," I said. "Werewolves or not, you've got to be more careful."

Ordinarily, I would not have mentioned Billy's talent for shapeshifting into a wolf in front of a stranger, but Yanof didn't speak a word of English. Evidently, his skills with needle and thread were such that he had no pressing need to learn. As Chicago's resident wizard, I'd worked with Billy on several occasions, and we were friends.

His bachelor party the night before had gotten interesting on the walk back to Billy's place, when we happened across a ghoul terror­izing an old woman in a parking lot.

It hadn't been a pretty fight. Mostly because we'd all had too many stripper-induced Jell-O shots.

Billy's injuries had all been bruises and all to the body. They wouldn't spoil the wedding. Alex had a nasty set of gashes on his throat From the ghoul's clawlike nails but could probably pass them off as particularly enthusiastic hickeys. Mitchell had broken two teeth when he'd charged the ghoul but hit a wall instead. He was go­ing to be a dedicated disciple of Anbesol until he got to the dentist.

All I had to remember the evening by was a splitting headache, and not from the fight. Jell-O shots are far more dangerous, if you ask me.

Billy's best man, Kirby, had gotten unlucky. The ghoul slammed him into a brick wall so hard that it broke both his legs and cracked a vertebra.

"We handled him, didn't we?" Billy asked.

"Let's ask Kirby," I said. "Look, there isn't always going to be a broken metal fence post sticking up out of the ground like that, Billy. We got lucky."

Billy's eyes went flat and he abruptly stood up. "All right," he said, voice hard. "I've had just about enough of you telling me what I should and should not do, Harry. You aren't my father."

"No," I said. "But—"

"In fact," he continued, "if I remember correctly, the other Alphas and I have saved your life twice now."

"Yes," I said. "But—"

His face turned red with anger. Billy wasn't tall, but he was built like an armored truck. "But what? You don't want to share the spot­light with any of us mere one-trick wonders? Don't you dare belittle what Kirby did, what the others have done and sacrificed."