Home > How to Kiss an Undead Bride (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy #7)(17)

How to Kiss an Undead Bride (The Beginner's Guide to Necromancy #7)(17)
Author: Hailey Edwards

The order had been placed months ago, but that didn’t stop Lethe from adding to it each time. Maybe I should have hired magical cooks and bakers to make their lives easier with a matron of honorzilla on the loose.

“We’ll post sentinels in the bakery and in the caterer’s kitchen. We have too many high-profile guests to risk them coming to harm from whoever is targeting you.”

A sad thought occurred to me, that I might end up issuing sigils to guests as they entered the garden for the ceremony. I hoped it didn’t come to that, but I would rather be safe than sorry. We could protect the guests from poisoning, but the risk was too high for me to employ the impervious sigil. That many people would talk, and they would bring it home with them as a souvenir too. It was far too dangerous to chance it falling into the wrong hands.

As much as I wished our wedding was a family-and-friends-only event, we had checked off all the boxes his mother gave us to ensure the event was politically airtight. Expectations came with the title of Dame Woolworth and Scion Lawson, as well as my newest title of potentate. We had to get the mix just right to avoid calls of favoritism. We were already battling that, given my pardon and release from Atramentous, plus my elevation to potentate of a city who had never required one. The Woolworth/Lawson alliance, and yes, that’s how the Society viewed our impending nuptials, made a lot of people nervous.

“Are you going to join us this time?” The groom had excused himself from all tastings, leaving food in the hands of the experts. “The filet mignon melts in your mouth, and the garlic mashed potatoes are insane. Don’t get me started on the pillowy deliciousness of the yeast rolls. And the honey butter to dip them in? Yum.”

“You sound sold on the caterer. Are you certain you need another tasting?”

This made our third time around, actually. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t counting.

“The matron of honor arranged it.” I could have said no, but I was hungry. “Who am I to question her wisdom? If she believes we should triple—er, double-check our selections, then we’ll double-check our selections.”

“Your selfless work on this wedding is commendable.”

“This bride stuff is hard work.” I patted my stomach. “Lethe thinks we should have started planning sooner.”

“You’ve been planning for two years, and you’ve gone through ten cake tastings and fourteen caterers.”

Hmm. Maybe he had been paying attention.

“It took us that many tries to find the right ones. We’ve very thorough.”

“Perhaps you and Lethe ought to finish what you started together.”

“You might be right. Lethe won’t share, and as the bride, I need my own portion to really be sure this is the winning combination.”

We both knew if it wasn’t, it was too late to change vendors now. But I didn’t see the harm in letting Lethe enjoy her MOH duties to their—our should it be our?—fullest extent since we both left rubbing our bellies. I paid for the food and their time, so the vendors weren’t out anything for their work. It was kind of like ordering a private buffet spread for two.

“You go on up.” He lifted the items left for Eva. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m setting a timer.” I lifted my phone. “Sixty seconds it is.”

Despite the threat, I grabbed a shower that lasted a good fifteen minutes then exited the bathroom. Linus was already in bed, dressed in his pajamas as part of his daily routine. A book tented across his abdomen, and I could barely read the title let alone guess at its contents. Woolly flickered the lights once in warning, ushering me under the covers, then turned them off. The soft glow of the nightlight I kept on Linus’s side of the bed illuminated his features and provided more than enough contrast for him to read by until dawn. I curled against his side while he resumed his place, and fell asleep in minutes.

Eight

The book had lost Linus’s interest thanks to the woman in his arms. Grier twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him even in sleep. He watched over her for hours, waiting for a sign the dream would enthrall her again, and envisioned the portrait he would paint later.

The Goddess Sleeps.

That’s what he would entitle the painting, not that anyone would see it. He kept his art supplies and his work in the attic at the carriage house where Grier wouldn’t have to stumble across the sketches he made of her to purge his mind when it overflowed with a need to express in paint where he failed with words.

Once her breaths turned long and slow, he eased away from her and left their room to fetch clothes from his old one down the hall. Woolly opened the door for him, used to his daytime wanderings, and he took the opportunity to catch her up to speed.

“I’m going to meet Gilly and drop off the evidence for processing.”

The floor register nearest him sighed warm air that curled up his leg.

“Everything will be fine,” he promised the old house. “We’re on top of this. Grier won’t go anywhere alone, and we’ll put sentinels in charge of package acceptance until the danger has passed.”

A ticking noise chastised him, warning him not to get too full of himself.

“We’ve both failed her before, Woolly. You can’t blame yourself for Volkov’s actions.”

The old house had fallen into disrepair after years of abandonment while Grier was imprisoned, her wards a fraction of their normal strength. Volkov had exploited Woolly to gain access to Grier, but it had never been her fault. She had been victimized every bit as much as Grier.

“I might stop by the tailor’s while I’m out, but that’s all.”

The stairs creaked as he took them down, but Woolly fell quiet before she woke Grier.

“It will be all right,” he assured her as he dialed the car service. “Between us, we’ll keep her safe.”

Strolling out into the daylight, eyes squinting against the brightness, he went to meet Morrison at the gate. The driver exited the car, trotted around the hood, and opened the door. “Morning, sir.”

Linus nudged the fence open, slipped out, and made sure it caught behind him. “Good morning.”

Once Linus was seated and his door shut, Morrison circled the trunk and let himself in. “Where to?”

“The fountain.” There was no question of which fountain, not in Savannah. Forsyth Park was iconic, and its moss-hung oaks drew tourists eager to walk its paths in droves. “I have a meeting, and then we’ll need to visit the tailor.”

“Yes, sir.”

They encountered little traffic, and it took no time to arrive.

“Make the loop twice.” Linus gathered his things and opened his own door to avoid congesting traffic, though it appeared to cause Morrison physical pain to allow it. “That ought to give me enough time.”

Arms loaded with evidence, Linus strolled the tidy path toward the fountain. The robed woman atop its upper tier gripped her staff and held court over the other denizens of the park. Wading birds and rushes lurked beneath the curling lip above which the figure stood. In the basin, swans spouted water over their heads while mermen blasted water from the shell horns lifted to their mouths. And leaning on the wrought-iron fence surrounding it, Gilly waited for him.

“Scion Lawson,” she greeted him. “You have something for me?”

“These are the items we discussed.” He handed her the bags. “The clutch and shoes are identical to items Danill Volkov bought Grier. She threw out the originals, so we need to know if these are those items or merely replicas. The ring is in the box too, in a separate bag.”

“He’s taunting her.” Her lips pinched. “We’ll get these processed and let you know what we find.”

“I would like to keep Eva out of this if at all possible. The child has been through enough.”

The clash of misery and embarrassment across her features when Lethe punished her was etched into his memory. Adults had been easier for him to relate to as a child as well, but he wanted better for her. Life was hard on the outliers, and she had already endured so much for one so young.

“We can identify species. That’s close enough to eliminate any tissue Eva might have left behind.”

The shoes were stiff, the silver decorations sharp. There would be skin, perhaps blood as well, since she ran across the property to reach Woolly.

“You’re much more personable and flexible than most cleaners.” He watched her for a reaction, and he got a smile that prompted him to proceed. “What did you do prior to recruitment?”

“I was a marshal down in Wink, Texas. I was barely fae enough for the job, so when the offer to become a cleaner and relocate hit my desk, I decided I was ready for a change of scenery.”

“Have you considered freelancing?”

“I’m happy with my team.” She rolled a shoulder, jostling the box. “This job feeds my brain, and I get to help people. It’s a win/win.” Studying him, she asked, “Why? You look like you have something in mind.”

“An offer.” Taking Grier’s earlier comment about spreading her workload as permission, he pressed on. “Grier will be building a team in Savannah to act as attachés to the Office of the Potentate. Membership will be exclusive, and no one, not even Grier, will know your identity.”

“But you will.” She shifted her weight. “That’s a risk. I’ve got people who depend on me.”

“I’m aware.” He researched everyone in Grier’s orbit. He could no longer afford to neglect due diligence. “The monetary compensation will be generous, but the job is dangerous. I will do my best to protect you, and your family, should a threat arise. You’ll have support from the Atlanta team as well if you need it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know what you decide when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

With that business done, she and Linus parted ways, and he returned to the curb to wait for Morrison.

   
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