The blue vampire was no longer blue . . .
They were married two weeks later at Heaven’s End plantation. There had to be some irony in that.
It was a rushed affair because Harek kept fearing that Michael would pull the rug out from under them for engaging in sex before marriage. Lots of sex before marriage.
“We could always go celibate until the wedding,” Camille had suggested.
“Bite your tongue, woman,” Harek had said. “Better yet, let me.”
Camille’s mother almost had a heart attack when she learned her only daughter was getting married in a heated rush. In a run-down plantation once owned by their despicable ancestor? Was she pregnant? No? Why so soon then? Didn’t she want a big lavish church wedding? Actually, no.
In the end, it was only her parents, Alain and Inez, and a few cousins and great-aunts who lived in the region. On Harek’s side, there were his brothers; the spouses of those who had wives; Karl Mortensen, who was still healing but getting better, along with his wife, Faith; and a vangel named Armod who had a fixation on Michael Jackson as evidenced by his attire and constant moon dancing. Only a few of the Coronado contingent had been invited, including Cage and his wife, Emelie, who lived in New Orleans. And Marie and Bobby Jo, who served as her maid of honor and bridesmaid, respectively. There were also Tante Lulu’s bayou family members, headed by the irrepressible old lady, who declared on hearing the news of the impending wedding, “I tol’ ’em the thunderbolt was a-comin’.”
“This is a disaster waiting to happen,” Harek kept saying as the guest list grew larger and larger. “We have to keep our vangelness a secret.”
“Then keep your fangs in your mouth. We are not eloping to Las Vegas.”
The ceremony was performed under an outdoor tent by a priest wearing a pure white cassock with a gold cord belt and a gold crucifix hanging from his neck. Afterward the priest was seen to be conversing intensely with Tante Lulu, something about her favorite saint, St. Jude.
Ivak had hired a band of ex-cons from Angola to play for them. They were really good, playing all kinds of music, including Camille’s favorite blues songs. People were dancing on the flagstones of the side garden. A little uneven on the high heels, but no one seemed to mind.
The men were wearing tuxes. Camille wore a long, cream-colored gown similar to the Pippa Middleton one she’d worn at Alain’s wedding. Harek made a point of telling her he liked the back view, more than once.
When the afternoon was winding down, Michael, who surprised everyone by staying around, walked up to the microphone and said, “I understand the Sigurdsson men do a special dance in my honor.”
There was a lot of groaning that followed as seven sets of Sigurdsson eyes turned to see who had told. Tante Lulu—who was hot to trot that day, by the way, in a red suit, red hat, and red wedgie shoes, with blue—yes, blue—hair—gave a little wave.
The band began to play that Aretha Franklin song “Chains, Chains, Chains,” and the seven studly men did the snake-like dance around the patio that was made famous by John Travolta in the movie Michael. After that, Armod demonstrated his dancing expertise to the song “Thriller.” And the LeDeux men from Tante Lulu’s family, not to be outdone, showed a proficiency in the Cajun two-step with their women to wild zydeco music.
Michael was heard to tell Harek that he was well pleased with his plans for the island. And then he was about to walk off toward the trees where the demon Zebulan was watching the festivities with a sad, yearning expression on his handsome face.
“An angel’s work is never done,” Michael remarked.
“How about a demon vampire’s work?” Harek asked.
“Doubly so. I’m thinking about giving vangels tails, by the by, so they can stop attracting females.”
You could have heard a pin drop at Heaven’s End then.
“Just kidding,” Michael said. Angels sometimes had a warped sense of humor.
At the end of the day, Harek gave Camille a big box of chocolates. She gave him a book of philosophy called Snoopyisms. They gave each other additional gifts that night in the bridal suite of the Royal Hotel in New Orleans. Camille killed all her ghosts that day.
The hotel staff forever after called it the Chocolate Roses suite. No matter what they did, the scent could not be erased. And, actually, brides and grooms of the future claimed it had an aphrodisiac effect.
Go figure.