Eileen Wilks: Cyncerely Yours

As a result of the magical gift, Cynna would never have to bleach her hair again.

“Cullen’ s jazzed about it,” she said, unstopping the little vial. “Both the above part and the below. He hated the way the bleach made the hair on my head smell, and he says the spell puts a sexy little glow on my —”

“TMI, Cynna.”

She grinned. " Nether regions? Private parts? Hey, you've got sisters. You can't tell me you never talked about stuff with them.”

“With Beth, sometimes. But Susan? She calls it a pudendum. You can't talk about stuff with a big sister who calls it a pudendum.”

“Jesus. Really? I know she's a doctor and all, but . . . ” Cynna shook her head.

“Takes all kinds, I guess.” She closed her eyes, took a cleansing breath, and dabbed sea water on the dandelion fluff, a.k.a. her base chakra. Then she anointed the sacral chakra just below her belly button, and continued on up.

The ceremony itself would be Catholic, but they'd decided to include some other rituals, too. This cleansing mixed Wiccan with Eastern rites. Cullen had taught it to her.

At first Cynna hadn't wanted any ceremony. Why couldn't they could just go to the courthouse and do the deed? Cullen wouldn't hear of it. " You know the importance of ritual,” he'd said.

She'd pointed out that they were getting married, not casting a spell.

He'd raised an eyebrow. " You don't think marriage requires a touch of magic? Besides, you want to be married in the Catholic Church.”

She did, though she hadn't expected him to like the idea. Probably she needed to get over expecting things because she was usually wrong. Hadn't she expected to have trouble getting married in the Church? Not that Catholics didn't marry outside the faith sometimes, but she didn't know of any who'd married outside their species.

Turned out that wasn't a major hurdle. Father Michaels even speeded things up for them since they weren't planning to remain in DC much longer, asking for only three counseling sessions — one with her, one with Cullen, and one with the two of them together.

Getting married here at the park was a bigger problem. The Church wanted people to marry at the church, in the building itself, and Father Michaels couldn't agree to waive that on his own. He needed dispensation from his bishop. Now, Bishop Kearns might be a fine fellow in some ways — Cynna was trying to reserve judgment — but he wasn't exactly flexible. He didn't think allowing a dragon to attend the ceremony was a good reason to buck tradition.

Fortunately, she and Cullen knew someone with ecclesiastical clout. Archbishop Brown was on the Presidential Task Force as well as being on their guest list, and he'd agreed to speak to his brother bishop. They'd received their dispensation.

Then the assholes at the courthouse proved to be more hidebound than the Catholic Church. Them and their damned form DHS 366.

The law required blood tests. That was fine unless one of the people being tested was a lupus — an issue that, admittedly, hadn't arisen before. Everyone knew lupi didn't get venereal diseases, but common knowledge cut no ice with bureaucracy. Cullen had to be tested for syphilis and that test had to be certified as negative before the license bureau would issue a marriage license.

It still shouldn't have been a big deal. The test checked for antibodies produced by a body infected by syphilis, and the lab agreed that they hadn't found any such antibodies in Cullen's blood. They still refused to certify their results because the blood came from a lupus. Separated from its organizing principle, the magic in a lupus's blood turned random, which made a mess of lab tests. Everyone knew that, too, but this time common knowledge trumped common sense.

In the end, it took a call from a certain presidential assistant to persuade the lab to fill out form DHS 366 appropriately. Marilyn Wright had pointed out that the lab was not being asked whether the test could reasonably be expected to find the antibodies in question — only if such antibodies had been found.

Cynna touched the sea water to her crown chakra and stood quietly. It was hard to concentrate on cleansing when her insides were fizzing like a bottle of shaken soda pop. “Okay,” she said, her eyes snapping open. She reached for the thong undies that were all she could wear beneath her wedding dress. " I need the dress now.”

Lily had it ready. " I can't wait to see it on you.”

And this was second gift the Rohen liege had given Cynna, the material one: a length of fabric. Lily had found a tailor to make the fabric into a gown, a simple design called a slip dress that looked more like lingerie than a wedding dress to Cynna. On the hanger the dress was plain, a long length of what looked like blue-gray silk. But it was not the kind of silk spun by little worms. This had been spun by fairies. Real ones, with wings and everything. Fairies from Faerie.

Normally, only the fairies themselves and their larger kin, the sidhe, were allowed to wear enessi, or fairy silk. Cynna tried not to think about how much the material was worth as she slid the gown over her head .It was like slipping into liquid sin. She sleeked it down her hips, giving a little wiggle to help it fall in place.

Lily gasped. " Oh, my . . . . ”

“Is that a good oh my or a bad one?” Cynna demanded. “Dammit, there’ s no full-length mirror here. What was I thinking? I need a mirror.”

“It’ s good,” Lily assured her. “It’ s incredible. I knew the fabric was supposed to respond to the wearer's body, but I had no idea . . . look.” Gently she turned Cynna towards the small mirror over the sink.

Cynna's breath caught. A sunrise sky flowed over her breasts in a thousand shades of blue, from twilight to shimmery ice. Blue that rippled here and there into white, pink, yellow tinged with orange . . . colors so clear and soft they looked like air itself smiling at the approach of day.

Colors, she saw as she took a step back, that moved when she did. " Wow.”

“I’ve never — what the hell?”

The glass vial that had held the seawater floated straight up from the ledge where Cynna had set it — then dropped, smashing on the concrete floor.

“Shit!”She’ d been hoping — but no, she couldn't be that lucky, could she? Cynna put her hands on her hips. " That is not the way to go about getting yourself forgiven, woman!”

“Uh . . . Cynna? You talking to me?”

“Of course not. Mrs. Ryerson.” Cynna glowered at the broken bottle. " I don't have anything to sweep up that mess with.” She bent so she could pick up the biggest pieces of glass.

Lily knelt and pushed her hand away. “Move. The bride can't be bleeding when she walks down the aisle. Ah . . . about this Mrs. Ryerson. She levitates things?”

“She’ s haunting me. Started about two weeks ago.” Cynna shook her head.

“Never mind her. Come on, you can't get all that up by hand. Let's go.”

“Shoes,” Lily said, dropping the shards she’ d collected in the trash. “You’ re forgetting your shoes. I take it Mrs. Ryerson is dead?”

Cynna pulled her new ballet flats out of the tote. “Long dead.”

“Who is she?”

“She was a neighbour about a zillion years ago.” She stepped into the shoes and wiggled her toes. Pity she couldn't wear boots with the dress, but these didn't feel bad.

“Nosy type, always thought us kids were up to something. For some reason she picked me as her favourite target, but that was so long ago . . . I don't know why she suddenly showed up. Doesn't make sense, does it?” She glanced at the mirror and smiled in spite of everything. This was one killer dress. " Come on. I'm getting married today no matter how many temper fits that stupid ghost throws.”