From Dead to Worse

other ways, but at least my brain could relax.
    Finally, I arrived at my designated spot. I’d watched Portia and Glen’s attendants arrange themselves in an inverted V, with a space at the front for the nuptial couple. Our group was doing the same thing. I’d nailed it, and I exhaled in relief. Since I wasn’t taking the place of the maid of honor, my work was over. All I had to do was stand still and look attentive, and I thought I could do that.
    The music swelled to a second crescendo, and the priest gave his signal again. The crowd rose and turned to look at the second bride. Halleigh began moving slowly toward us. She looked absolutely radiant. Halleigh had selected a much simpler dress than Portia’s, and she looked very young and very sweet. She was at least five years younger than Andy, maybe more. Halleigh’s dad, as tanned and fit as his wife, stepped out to take Halleigh’s arm when she drew abreast; since Portia had come down the aisle alone (her father was long dead), it had been decided Halleigh would, too.
    After I’d had my fill of Halleigh’s smile, I looked over the crowd who’d rotated to follow the bride’s progress.
    There were so many familiar faces: teachers from the elementary school where Halleigh taught, members of the police department where Andy worked, the friends of old Mrs. Caroline Bellefleur who were still alive and tottering, Portia’s fellow lawyers and other people who worked in the justice system, and Glen Vick’s clients and other accountants. Almost every chair was occupied.
    There were a few black faces to be seen, and a few brown faces, but most of the wedding guests were middle-class Caucasians. The palest faces in the crowd were the vampires’, of course. One of them I knew well. Bill Compton, my neighbor and former lover, was sitting about halfway back, wearing a tuxedo and looking very handsome. Bill managed to seem at home in whatever he chose to wear. Beside him sat his human girlfriend, Selah Pumphrey, a real estate agent from Clarice. She was wearing a burgundy gown that set off her dark hair. There were perhaps five vamps I didn’t recognize. I assumed they were clients of Glen’s. Though Glen didn’t know it, there were several other attendees who were more (and less) than human.
    My boss, Sam, was a rare true shapeshifter who could become any animal. The photographer was a werewolf like his assistant. To all the regular wedding guests, he looked like a well-rounded, rather short African-American male wearing a nice suit and carrying a big camera. But Al turned into a wolf at the full moon just like Maria-Star. There were a few other Weres in the crowd, though only one I knew—Amanda, a red-haired woman in her late thirties who owned a bar in Shreveport called the Hair of the Dog. Maybe Glen’s firm handled the bar’s books.
    And there was one werepanther, Calvin Norris. Calvin had brought a date, I was glad to see, though I was less than thrilled after I identified her as Tanya Grissom. Blech. What was she doing back in town? And why had Calvin been on the guest list? I liked him, but I couldn’t figure out the connection.
    While I’d been scanning the crowd for familiar faces, Halleigh had assumed her position by Andy, and now all the bridesmaids and groomsmen had to face forward to listen to the service.
    Since I didn’t have a big emotional investment in this proceeding, I found myself mentally wandering while Father Kempton Littrell, the Episcopal priest who ordinarily came to the little Bon Temps church once every two weeks, conducted the service. The lights that had been set up to illuminate the garden glinted off Father Littrell’s glasses and bleached some of the color out of his face. He looked almost like a vampire.
    Things proceeded pretty much on the standard plan. Boy, it was lucky I was used to standing up at the bar, because this was a lot of standing, and in high heels, too. I seldom wore heels, much less three-inch ones. It felt strange being five foot nine. I tried not to shift around, possessed my soul with patience.
    Now Glen was putting the ring on Portia’s finger, and Portia looked almost pretty as she looked down at their clasped hands. She’d never be one of my favorite people—nor I hers—but I wished her well. Glen was bony and had darkish receding hair and major glasses. If you called central casting and ordered an “accountant type,” they’d send you Glen. But I could tell directly from his brain that he