All Together Dead

parish’s most notorious bachelor shackled to a wild young woman, a bit of curiosity about the odd Hotshot ritual. Hotshot was a byword in the parish—“as weird as a guy from Hotshot” had been a saying for years, and Hotshot kids who attended the Bon Temps school often had a hard time of it until after the first few playground fights.
    “I’ll keep my promises,” Jason said, his voice hoarse.
    “I’ll keep mine,” Crystal said.
    The difference between the two was this: Jason was sincere, though I doubted his ability to stick to his word. Crystal had the ability, but she wasn’t sincere.
    “You don’t mean it,” I said to her.
    “The hell you say,” she retorted.
    “I don’t usually say one way or another,” I said, making the effort to keep my voice low. “But this is too serious to keep silent. I can see inside your head, Crystal. Don’t you ever forget I can.”
    “I ain’t forgetting nothing,” she said, making sure each word had weight. “And I’m marrying Jason tonight.”
    I looked at Calvin. He was troubled, but in the end, he shrugged. “We can’t stop this,” he said. For a second, I was tempted to struggle with his pronouncement. Why not? I thought. If I hauled off and slapped her, maybe that would be enough disruption to stall the whole thing. Then I reconsidered. They were both grown-ups, at least theoretically. They would get married if they chose, either here and now or somewhere else on some other night. I bowed my head and sucked up my misgivings.
    “Of course,” I said, raising my face and smiling that bright smile I got when I was really anxious. “Let’s get on with the ceremony.” I caught a glimpse of Quinn’s face in the crowd. He was looking at me, concerned by the low-voiced argument. Amelia, on the other hand, was happily chatting with Catfish, whom she’d met at the bar. Hoyt was by himself right under one of the portable lights rigged up for the occasion. He had his hands thrust in his pockets, and he looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. There was something strange about the sight, and after a second I figured out why.
    It was one of the few times I’d ever seen Hoyt alone.
    I took my brother’s arm, and Calvin again gripped Crystal’s. The priest stepped into the center of the circle, and the ceremony began. Though I tried hard to look happy for Jason, I had a difficult time holding back my tears while my brother became the bridegroom of a wild and willful girl who had been dangerous from birth.
    There was dancing afterward, and a wedding cake, and lots of alcohol. There was food galore, and consequently there were huge trash cans that filled up with paper plates, cans, and crumpled paper napkins. Some of the men had brought cases of beer and wine, and some had hard liquor, too. No one could say that Hotshot couldn’t throw a party.
    While a zydeco band from Monroe played, the crowd danced in the street. The music echoed across the fields in an eerie way. I shivered and wondered what was watching from the dark.
    “They’re good, aren’t they?” Jason asked. “The band?”
    “Yeah,” I said. He was flushed with happiness. His bride was dancing with one of her cousins.
    “That’s why we hurried this wedding up,” he said. “She found out she was pregnant, and we decided to go on and do it—just do it. And her favorite band was free for tonight.”
    I shook my head at my brother’s impulsiveness. Then I reminded myself to keep visible signs of disapproval at a minimum. The bride’s family might take issue.
    Quinn was a good dancer, though I had to show him some of the Cajun steps. All the Hotshot belles wanted a dance with Quinn, too, so I had a turn with Calvin, and Hoyt, and Catfish. Quinn was having a good time, I could tell, and on one level I was, too. But around two thirty a.m., we gave each other a little nod. He had to leave the next day, and I wanted to be alone with him. Plus, I was tired of smiling.
    As Quinn thanked Calvin for the wonderful evening, I watched Jason and Crystal dancing together, both apparently delighted with each other. I knew right from Jason’s brain that he was infatuated with the shifter girl, with the subculture that had formed her, with the newness of being a supernatural. I knew from Crystal’s brain that she was exultant. She’d been determined to marry someone that hadn’t grown up in Hotshot, someone who was exciting in bed, someone able to stand up to not only her but her extended