“A bit of the wedding jitters?”
“I guess,” said Nia, watching the only constant in her world—the moon—and even it changed night to night. Maybe nothing was constant.
“It’s normal. Don’t fret.”
“I am fretting, if that’s what you want to call it, Bruce. You have me locked in this room in this unknown location with nothing, but what?—this odd circular window to glare out, and I just don’t really get what in the exact heavens in going on. I have to just walk down the aisle in front of a bunch of bloodsucking strangers?”
“Yes,” said Bruce. He had redressed in an all-black, Dupioni silk tux.
“You are one of them too. I didn’t notice before, but I do now in this awful, quiet room. You just fed too . . . while I was getting ready, right? Who was it? Some innocent?”
Bruce raised one serious-bushy, silver brow. “You are going to walk down that aisle. You know you want to.” He winked. “You’ve always known. You just don’t remember.”
“See, now you are playing games, messing with my mind. None of this is happening.” Nia closed her surly eyes, folded her arms, and leaned her head on the window glass. Her mind felt just as tight as her gothic hairdo—just one black strand left to escape over her ivory cheek. Still holding the emerald ring, she exhaled over the prison of the laced-up corset.
The iron door swung open.
“It’s time. Bring her.”
Surprised, Nia stared at the woman standing in the doorway. She had long, sleek, white-blonde hair that just barely touched the black-marble floor and wore a tight, black-crystal gown that hid all of her skin except her bursting décolletage. Nia’s dark heart sank at the sight of this stunning creature, remembering what she had done to Florence . . . and God knows what else.
The woman smiled at her warmly like she already knew Nia’s thoughts. “I am Emelle. I am your maid of honor. Bruce is the best man, if you hadn’t already figured that out.”
“I am Nia, if you haven’t already figured that out.” Nia dropped her hands on her hips
“Ah ah ahhhh . . .” Emelle chastised Nia, waving a long, black nail at her, then she snuck up behind Bruce and pressed her chest into his back. “We have a biter here. She’ll fit right in, won’t she, Bruce?” He took a step forward and away from Emelle, whose arms dropped to match the melancholy of her pouted, purple lips and sad, purple eyes. “He’s waiting. They are all waiting. We can make bosom acquaintances later, yes?”
Nia didn’t answer, but felt a sense of urgency which stuck her straight in the chest. “Let’s do this.”
The three stood in the doorway, Nia in the center, the other two holding her arms. The room ahead was long, narrow, and dark. Green swirls of light danced along the walls like the aurora borealis, and the original Pachelbel’s Canon D sang through theirs, into their hearts, pulling at all the empty, black souls who packed the rows. If it was only for a minute the crowd felt what it was to be human again, touched by violin and harpsichord kisses.
A single tear ran down Nia’s cheek when she saw Johnny in his all-emerald tux, standing front and center before the ebony, happy cherubs and calla-lilied alter. She knew right there and then in that single moment that she knew Johnny; she’d always known him. She still didn’t know why . . . just that this was the right thing to do—to walk down that aisle into the arms of the only man she’d ever loved.
My Nia.
His eyes flashed her that passionate green, and the ring warmed in her hand as if it had a mind of its own.
Come home to me, Nia. Marry me, my Nia. It’s always been you, for all eternity. As the stars grace the sky and the moon sings, join me now, my Nia. Sing with me forever. Walk with me this glorious night—a night of nights where two dark hearts join as one and escape the sun!
My Nia.
“Yes,” she whispered, splitting the crowd in her emerald gown, her train spraying behind her like a comet’s tail.
As the three reached the altar, the green swirl of lights moved to highlight the bride and groom, as if stuck in their own little galaxy.
A shadowed man stood before them—the red glow of some face hidden under a black, hooded cloak. His words boomed loud and clear as the music eased away, “Dearly departed, we are gathered here today under this Emerald Night. Even love and death lasts the ages. It doesn’t just abandon after mere mortal love. Love is timeless. It binds us all as we walk through this valley in the shadow of death. Answer me, fallen angels.”
Johnny and Nia held hands, gripping the magic ring between them.
“Johnny, do you take Nia to be your wedded wife, to flourish together after His ordinance in unholy matrimony? Do you promise to love her, to honor and cherish her, in joy and in sorrow, under the night and in death, and to be to her in all things a good husband as long as you both shall exist?”