Chapter 9 And Now I’m Dancing with Devils. I Guess This Is My Life Now
MY AFOREMENTIONED STIFF, CONFUSED BODY is not good at dancing on a regular occasion.
And there’s nothing regular about being pulled into a horde of paranormal beings.
I would rather be anywhere else on the planet than this dance floor.
Yet my traitorous, fluttery stomach also says I’d rather be nowhere else than with Hanry.
The net of this is that I have indigestion.
“You’re sneaky,” I manage eventually. “And foolish. I’m a bad dancer.”
“Let’s see about that.”
“Nope. It’s nonnegotiable, and I don’t appreciate your deceptive tactics.”
Hanry laughs. “All you have to do is follow my steps.”
Hmm. That’s probably why I’m not talented at dancing: the whole “following” bit. No surprise that when Hanry tries to push me into a waltzy thing, I end up lurching.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says, pulling me close.
His eyes flick to the creatures swarming around us, decked out in peacock plumage and ostrich feathers and worse.
“We were invited to this wedding. That puts us under Dave and Amanda’s protection.
No matter how delicious-smelling our blood, we should be fine. ”
“I’m not worried about that. I have a crap diet,” I say. “My blood smells mediocre, at best.”
“I have a feeling there isn’t anything mediocre about you,” says Hanry.
I rearrange my hand around Hanry’s bicep. He doesn’t seem to mind my giving it a subtle squeeze. In spite of how he’s befriended vampires and misjudged me as eccentric, I can’t help noticing that Hanry is kind and hot and maybe flirting with me: a potentially flammable combination.
“I didn’t have a chance to thank you earlier,” I say. “So, thanks. There’s no way I could’ve pulled off the florals without you.”
“You seemed like you were in a bind.” Hanry grins. Until I step on his foot. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“For what it’s worth, I thought your concept was solid. And in the end, the decorations got finished on time. The ceremony happened with minimal issues. I’d call that a win.”
“You pieced the arch together well.”
Hanry leads me in a swoopy, broccoli-armed move. “Why do you sound surprised? Ha. I have a thing for woodworking. And I like using foraged materials.”
Does he, now? Am I really supposed to believe he was collecting pine cones in the graveyard that night? Breathlessly, I say: “Salsa. Foraging. Woodworking. You have too many hobbies.”
“I do. But I don’t own my own wedding planning company,” he points out. Apparently, the next step in this broccoli dance entails me being dipped into ranch dressing. “That’s impressive.”
“Am I?” I ask the dark, mildew-stained ceiling. “Do I?”
“All right, Miss False Humility. Time for a loop-de-loop.”
“A what?”
Hanry smiles down at me right before leading me in yet another cruciferous contortion.
Miraculously, I don’t smash into anyone.
I’ve never lasted this long through a dance in my life.
I failed PE in eighth grade because Coach Bradley thought I was intentionally trying to hurt people during our dance sessions.
I bet that wouldn’t have happened to Hanry.
He may be built like a tree, but he’s more willow than oak.
He was trained to dance from an early age; I’d bet someone else’s money on it.
“Have you thought of taking on an assistant?” he asks. “For your wedding business?”
I snort. “Absolutely not.”
“It could be a good idea. I might not be able to show up and save the day every time.”
Oh, please, like he saved the day by standing there, holding a hammer.
Well. I mean fine, he sort of did. It was a onetime thing, though, just like this—my first and only foray into the wedding industry.
I don’t belong here, in a haunted room full of extravagantly weird paranormal beings who might be tempted to eat me.
But why does the otherwise wonderful Hanry?
“Question for you,” I say as the song winds down. “How long did it take before you figured out Dave and Amanda were vampires, and why didn’t it freak you out?”
“I, uh. Guess it didn’t come as a surprise. Dave’s pretty obvious. And unthreatening.”
“Like… a vegan?” I ask.
“Excuse me,” a voice wedges in from the side. It belongs to the officiant, carrying Bulan.
“We have a problem,” says Bulan.
I hadn’t realized how much Hanry had loosened me up. But looking at these two and their paired expressions of poorly reined-in worry, I feel like I’m smacking into a wall of bricks. If I were in a car, my airbags would have exploded, and I’d be batting the puff-bags vainly out of my face.
“What is it?” I ask.
When the officiant sucks in his breath, I stiffen more, my automatic threat response kicking in.
“The caterers haven’t showed.”
Shit! The lack of food on tables or service carts. That’s what was giving me “off” vibes. I should’ve realized it right away. Worse, lacking sustenance, some of the guests are starting to act more… vampiric. At least, I assume that’s what all the drool is about.
I release Hanry, turning my full attention to Bulan and the officiant.
“This isn’t my fault, right? Dave and Amanda never asked me to do catering.”
Hanry reaches out to place his hand lightly against my back. It’s a big hand, which actually makes it reassuring. And inappropriately so, under the circumstances.
“I’m sure any hungry guests will go out and search for food on their own,” he says.
“Like a scavenger hunt!” exclaims Bulan. “You may be right, Hanry.”
I allow myself to briefly imagine the vampire horde trolling the unsuspecting countryside, sneaking into farmers’ houses, helping themselves to the old ladies and their cows.
Poor cows.
“Are you sure there isn’t something else we can do?” I ask the group. “Anyone see a blood bank on the way over here?”
“There may have been a chiropractor a few miles back…” says the officiant. At my glowering expression, he says, “What else do you want from me? Ma’am, this isn’t a Wendy’s.”
Who is he calling ma’am? Also: “Why are you bringing up fast food?!”
“Because we have a fantastic blood-chili. Off-menu,” the officiant explains. “I told you, I’m not religious. I’m just a manager at the Wendy’s off Lafayette Street.”
While I process this disturbing revelation, the instrumental section of the song ends with a flourish. James taps his mic.
“Thank you, thank you,” he says, beaming at the gathered faces on the dance floor.
“We’re the Vampire Weekenders! We’re so happy to be here, playing at the wedding of, uh, Amanda and Dark Dave!
” I probably should’ve mentioned that Dark Dave was a private nickname.
Oh well. “I’d like to welcome our happy new couple to the stage!
In the meantime, allow me to introduce the full band! ”
No, no, no.
Grimacing, I get on my tiptoes and perform a cut it motion, drawing my finger over my neck. The last thing James should do right now, in a room of hungry vampires, is call extra attention to his human self and his band. It just isn’t worth the risk!
But before James gets the chance, a ghost takes his mic.
“Thank you for allowing us to perform for this event. It has been groovy and magical, man.”
The semitranslucent figure throws back his head and sighs rapturously. On cue, he and the ghost bandmates pop out of existence, one after the other.
Remy screams, “I knew it!”
Backing up, he trips over an electrical cord.
I’m not sure exactly how this leads to the next thing, but hardware starts dropping everywhere onstage.
Maybe the ghosts were holding it up? Or has this old mansion started crumbling around us?
It’s hard to tell in this stupid, dark room.
Remy isn’t alone in his panic: the guests are wondering what’s going on, clamoring in tones that are harsh and loud.
But not so loud that we miss Eric’s devastated cry:
“I think Remy’s dead!”