5.12 The Pooka’s Wife
The officiate was a statue. A glance to the left, said that Cara and Sammy had gone into the twilight zone of zombiehood, too. But not Judy and Simone. The latter even winked at me, although they were both in a kneeling position, showing homage to the queen or whatever she was. I felt Timothy breathing heartily. He was awake and aware, but why was I? I wasn’t supernatural. I should be one of the seated frozen. Why wasn’t I a zombie? The woman smiled at me as she turned her head to glance at me again. “You, Penelope, sweetest of human children, are in the becoming,” she said. “You will soon be as Andrew is — and more.” I glanced in Andrew’s direction. Both he and Chef Ben were looking at me. Neither seemed overly alarmed by all this craziness. I guess Andrew had seen a lot of odd stuff in his time. And Chef Ben. Oh, yes, he was Fae. No wonder he was taking it in so calmly. “Yes, Penelope Sweetness. I will make sure of that. The prince deserves a partner fitting to his worth and position, and I am quite pleased with you. Your verbal attack on the Human, and the way you stood up to the prince in spite of his strength and his manly cunning shows me that you not only have a brain, but courage. Yes, you are pleasingly well rounded and suitable.” It was nice to receive compliments, but I still had no idea what was happening and why this strange woman was standing in the middle of the room, delivering her speech. It was supposed to be a wedding event. How had everything gone bonkers? “Cadarone,” she continued, apparently ignoring my thoughts this time, “you will bring your bride to us so we can become better acquainted. I command it. I give you my bond that there will be no attempted seduction on my part or punishment for past offences. So, do not flee from me again. I give you my word now that you and she will be free to come and go. And no, I will not harm a lovely hair on this darling one’s head. I mean her to restore the pooka race. She will bear you many sons. “Meanwhile, you two will prosper in your happiness for three months. Then you will return to us at Beltane. I shall rename her, of course, Cadarone, although I rather like the name Penelope Sweetness.” The woman chuckled to herself, then twirled about, casting sparkles of diamond twinkles and changing the hue of her dress. It darkened from yellow into a lovely shade of pastel green, as if she had noted the colors of my brides maids and wanted to join in. She nodded her head, then continued speaking. “Cadarone, you have waited too long. I can feel your imbalance. Your magic needs recharging. Oh, and bring this one, Andrew Sturns. I have a mate for him, I believe. His loneliness is sending out an atmosphere of disquiet that disturbs my peace. Several of the maidens have begun weeping at random times. I believe that may be his fault.
5.11 The Pooka’s Wife
The woman focused her eyes then on Timothy. “Well met, my young prince. You have chosen well with this young girl for she is sweetness and light. She will be good for you. Mores the pity, because I’d always hoped you’d come around to sharing my bed.” Of course, I gasped at that, but for once I kept my mouth shut. There was something about the woman that told me she was not a person one should argue with. But to say something like that at a wedding! Or, publicly. Or, at all! “Well thought,” the woman said, once more scanning me with her eyes. I supposed she meant the part about my choosing not to argue with her. It certainly couldn’t be my opinion of her statement. (Thankfully, she didn’t react to my view of her openly expressed lust for Timothy. Could she have been joking?) The woman suddenly spun about in a ballerina’s pirouette, which opened up her yellow taffeta dress like an unfurled cape. Silk and fluff enlarged to take twice the space of a moment before, and the dress lengthened and acquired a ballroom appearance. A myriad of diamonds brilliantly sprang into sparkle in a cascade of jewels that practically saturated her whole body. And on her head sat a crown so bespeckled with gems that it almost hurt to look at it. The room where we had gathered was quite without any sunshine, and the lights were dim. What had livened the gown and the crown to star shine? But my thoughts were pummeled by the queenlike figure as she whirled to verbally pounce on Mr. Peterson. “You,” she said, her left arm, outstretched, the fingers level and pointed at Mr. Peterson. “I cannot decide if you have enhanced the entertainment or disordered it. You have surely taken the tedium out of what might have been a dry ritual, yet your accusations are entirely unfounded and ludicrous. The prince is no vampire. Of that you can be assured, but that is neither here nor there. The truth of it is that you have greatly displeased me, Human. My court will tell you that such an attitude always carries retribution.” Jack Peters looked frozen at that point. His eyes stared forward, his limbs appeared rigid and inflexible in their positioning. I think the woman had put him into some kind of stasis. Mr. Vampire Hunter blinked, which showed me that at least he was conscious, although I didn’t think any of the seated guests were. They were closed eyes, slumped over, and frozen in whatever position they’d been at the point of the woman’s bolting upward.
5.10 The Pooka’s Wife
Mr. Crazy ignoring all that, just kept hobbling forward, his eyes glued to Timothy, not even noticing the lovely draped flowers and the beautifully gowned bridesmaids, (No, I hadn’t made my friends wear the traditionally ugly bride’s maid dresses. I’d asked them to wear whatever dress they wanted to wear, preferably in a shade of green, and they had all done so and looked lovely.) On Timothy’s side of the wedding party, all the men were wearing sharp-looking suits of black. I knew Andrew and Chef Ben, of course, but not the other two handsome males, whom Timothy had said were friends from his businesses. (I wondered if they were married. Cara and Sammy weren’t yet. Maybe I could introduce them. Whoops, of course, they’d already been introduced since the men had walked the ladies down the aisle.) Such strange thoughts were entering my mind when I should be focused on what was happening at the moment in the middle of my wedding, and who was the strange woman gathering eyes like some famous Hollywood movie star? Why was she interfering? Why was everyone bowing to her? Why did my almost husband, a magical pooka, seem humbled by her presence? Jack Peterson’s eyes lifted to the judge who was supposed to be pronouncing us man and wife. The officiate had paused. He wasn’t bowing to the woman in the audience, but he wasn’t frozen either like the people who weren’t giving her homage. “You cannot marry this couple. This man is a vampire,” Jack Peterson, Mr. Crazy, proclaimed. “This poor, innocent young woman has no idea of the danger she’s putting herself in. It would be a crime and a sin to go on with this marriage. I absolutely forbid it.” “You fool,” said the lady standing in the middle of all the seats, surrounded by kneeling people. I was still kneeling, too, because Timothy had jerked me down, but I could see the woman clearly. She could have been Helen of Troy, Aphrodite, or one of her goddess peers, for she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. No movie star, no beauty queen, no top model could ever compete with what the fates had given her. She was perfection. “Thank you,” the woman said, her eyes transferring from the fixed stare at Mr. Crazy to look directly into my eyes. “Penelope, Child, your thoughts are kind, and complements are always lovely.”
5.9 The Pooka’s Wife
“Taking advantage of the guards’ release of his arms, Mr. Peterson advanced into the room, hobbling. Terry handed him back his crutches, so that Peterson could hobble his way forward. The foot and leg injury was probably rating the guy some sympathy from our seated guests, but Timothy’s face was mottled with raging fury. He was stiff from the tension. His shoulders were hunched in, and his neck was tucked down like a prize fighter’s. Timothy gently tried to push me behind him in a protective manner, but I refused to allow that. I figured that Timothy might as well grasp the notion, if he hadn’t done so already, that I had no intention of becoming a passive partner in our relationship. I might be a coward on rollercoasters (and airplanes,) but I was a fighter when it mattered. Instead of being the quivering little woman in the background, I thrust out my chest and took up my karate position. (Yes, I’d been getting lessons most days. Timothy had insisted, and the karate lessons meant I didn’t have to go to the gym at 5:00 am, so all good.) Taking a step, which required me to duck away from Timothy’s second grab, I yelled, “How dare you enter this house and disrupt our wedding. You are nothing but a baboon who sees vampires and demons right and left.” “Let me handle this, my darling,” Timothy said firmly as he once more tried to make me stand behind him. “Handle it? No, this idiot thinks he can . . .” “Enough,” a woman said, with a voice like hard crystal — a clanging, super-charged, discordant demand that not only silenced me, but everyone else who might have decided to talk. She had stood up in the midst of the guests, having blended in as human, but I knew instantly that she wasn’t one of us. I had no idea who she was — or what she was, but she reeked of power. A witch? A vampire? A Fae? Timothy collapsed onto his knees and urged me down. Among the guests, many left their seats and bent to their knees with bowed heads, all showing their respect for the woman in their midst. And every one of the guests on their knees were strangers that I’d never seen before. I wondered if Timothy knew them. Obviously he knew this woman. Jack Peters remained unfazed by what was happening in the rows of chairs: the people kneeling, the tall woman standing, and Timothy and me bowing, while everyone sitting had gone absolutely still and silent.
5.8 The Pooka’s Wife
I somehow heard the scattered “ahs” from the people seated, but their responses weren’t the important ones, not at that moment. It was only Timothy that I wanted to hear from. He was the one who needed to know that I was 100% committed to him. I accepted his being a pooka, his being rich, and everything else that had stood between us. He needed to know that I would do whatever was required to stay together no matter what . . . and no matter where we had to go when our time in San Jose was over. My soon-to-be-husband nodded that he understood my meanings, and I knew that he was reading my emotions as well, because besides the words, I was also sending him all my love with the full force of my thoughts. Timothy squeezed my hand and leaned forward to meet his lips to mine. Then, as if it were practiced, the two of us simultaneously turned to face the wedding officiate, our individual promises now given. The yellow-clothed Santa took his cue from that, cleared his voice, and went on with the ceremony. “I have to ask this question. Sorry, Penelope and Timothy. But does anyone have a reason why these two should not be legally wed? If so, you must step forward and speak now or henceforth hold your peace.” Silence throughout the room assured us that no one would dispute our wedding. The officiate took in a breath, and said, “As there are no objections . . .” “Wait!” came a voice from the back of the room. “I object.” The disruption came from even further than that . . . from the outer door, the one where Terry and Bob were standing guard. And from the sound of that voice, Timothy and I both knew who had caused the commotion: Jack Peterson had somehow found us again and had come to halt the proceedings. The officiate stopped. Timothy and I turned to face the door, as did every seated guest. Heads were spinning. Whispers were rampant. Several people stood up and allowed their heads to swing back and forth. Bob and Terry latched onto the man. In seconds they were trying to bolt Peterson’s hands behind his back, only it wasn’t easy because the man was hurt and could barely stand. We could see that Peterson’s right foot and leg were covered in a big white cast, and his crutches, once knocked from his arms, were dropping to the floor. It was too late to stop the man’s interference. The wedding had been paused as efficiently as Peterson had desired. Timothy waved the guards to bring the jerk of a vampire hunter into the house. I guessed that it was wisest to get the man’s objections over as quickly as possible. But what could Peterson say? Would he call Timothy a vampire again?
5.7 The Pooka’s Wife
The living room full of guests were all laughing, apparently, thoroughly enjoying the story. That surprised me. I’d never captured an audience before. I’d never been a public speaker. For a moment I panicked, wanting to shut down the story, to retreat back into silence, but this was important. I couldn’t leave the speech where I’d left it. There was more to explain, and I had to lead the Timothy/Penelope drama to its conclusion, so I took in a deep breath of air and continued. “But by the end of that evening, Timothy had wormed himself into my heart. Five hours, that was all it took to fall in love. Who could have predicted that? It took no more than a week before I realized that I couldn’t live without Timothy. I didn’t want to live without him. He had become my everything.” I know I cheated a little, stealing Timothy’s line, but the wording felt right, describing what had happened perfectly. A truth laid out in its own shiny reflection. I turned to face Timothy. His lips were curved in a gentle smile. His eyes cast golden highlights. Somehow, I could read them in that moment. Read them enough to know that he loved hearing my confession, this public broadcast of my inner thoughts and memories. Yet, I worried that he might not have appreciated my telling everyone about how rude he’d been that day. “Sorry about revealing that moment when we first met.” I said, squeezing his hand. “I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned how you acted then, but, Timothy, since then, I’ve grown to trust you and to see you through the eyes of deep affection, friendship, and love. You have given me the confidence to laugh, to try new things, like riding a horse, and that awful airplane ride . . .” I chuckled and shook my head, wondering if I should have confessed my cowardice about plane rides. But it was a day for acknowledgements, a day for truth-letting. “Timothy, you’ve transformed me into someone I wanted to be but never was, and I thank you for that.” I’d become long-winded. It was time to stop, yet, I still wasn’t finished, couldn’t stop yet. Another big breath, a scan of the audience, then a slight posture movement so that I was facing Timothy. “You are my inspiration and my guiding light to happiness. I want us to be together always, and no matter what life brings us. I promise to remain at your side, faithful, adoring, and supportive, because I love you, Timothy, with all my heart.”
5.6 The Pooka’s Wife
The yellow Santa Claus guy began his speech. “We are here today to celebrate the joining of Timothy Caldwell and Penelope Casey. I’ve been told that their love has the depth of ancient soul mates. I can see the wisdom in their eyes as they look at each other with devotion, and I can feel the warmth of their emotion. It is a positive force that binds them fast. “Do either of you, Penelope or Timothy, wish to share words with the group assembled here to witness your wedding?” Timothy glanced at me, then nodded. “Yes.” Keeping my hand in his, he turned us to face the guests. “I have waited a lifetime for the wondrous gift of Penelope. She wears a pure heart, a loving nature, and an intellect that is keen and bursting with enthusiasm for the joy of learning. She is my everything, and I am delighted that she has agreed to join her life with mine.” He looked away then from the crowd and stared deeply into my eyes. “I will never betray you, Penelope, in any way. I will stand by your side no matter what hardships we face. I will love you more each day, each month, each year, and into forever.” He let go of my hand and bent down to his knee. Then taking both of my hands in his, he said. “I pledge my troth to you, my darling and beloved Penelope. Will you accept me?” I think my heart melted a new into some kind of ecstatic splender. I nodded and then cried out, “YES!” As I’d said, we had not discussed the ceremony, nor practiced it. I guess I’d thought the officiant would just say some silly words, and we’d be married. But Timothy’s tribute was so unexpected, I felt tongue-tied, yet I knew I had to reciprocate. I couldn’t leave him with only my half-way yelled Yes. “Timothy,” I said, then tried to pull him up, but he shook his head. “I kneel before you my gentle bride. I want you to know that. I am yours,” he said, “Good, then stand up,” I ordered, pulling a chuckle from the crowd. “I can’t say that it was love at first sight,” I told the guests, most of whom I’d never seen before, but they were there, so I figured they must care and were thus worthy of hearing how I felt. “Timothy was really quite rude the first time we met. It was at one of those dinners that Judy plans so well. She and her husband, Ed, had invited me to what I thought would be a big group event. Not so. It was only Timothy who’d been invited, discourteous, Timothy.
5.5 The Pooka’s Wife
The man who had caused all this stress was waiting for me, and I suddenly remembered that I wanted to do this, go through with this ceremony so he and I could be merged, the way marriage ceremonies were supposed to do that subtle magic. I took a step forward, aware of Mr. Simons holding out his arm and me clinging to his fancy silk jacket sleeve. He looked down and gave me an encouraging smile. Behind me I felt the presence of the four ladies following, each escorted by a handsome groomsman. There were no flower girls. As I’d wished, the wedding was supposed to be simple. I was unconsciously doing the sedate slow-step march. Had such a pattern once been utilized to give the bride lots of time to question this grandiose decision? Did brides often reach the altar and then cry out “no” just before they ran off into the night? Or was the slowness of the movement only for drama, allowing all those seated in the aisle time to analyze the bride’s dress and hair? Timothy was smiling broadly, his smile so big, his mouth must be stretched to breaking. When I’d almost reached him, I turned to hand my bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath to Simone, who was indicating that I should pass them to her. Then I turned back to accept Timothy’s outstretched hand. His was warm and only slightly sweaty. Did that mean that he, too, felt intimidated by all this? “It’s not too late to back out, Penelope, if . . .” he whispered into my ear. I lifted the fingers of my other hand and placed them over his mouth to stop his words. “I love you, Timothy. No second thoughts.” I was pretty sure that my words were firm and honest. I wanted Timothy, there was no question about that. Hand and hand, the two of us turned to face the officiant. The man, a complete stranger to me, nodded at us, then gave a kindly smile. Looking into the man’s face, I almost burst out laughing. He was like Santa Claus without the red suit and bag of toys: a whitish beard and hair, blue eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day, ears the slightest bit flappy, and a rotund belly only partially covered by a yellow three piece silk suit. His tie was vibrant in shades of green and yellow. He seemed like a caricature, a buffoon of a marriage officiant, but since Simone had chosen him, I was sure he was authentic.
5.4 The Pooka’s Wife
The quartet downstairs was starting up. Pachelbel’s Canon would be the piece that drove us down the stairs. This selection sounded more like Debussy. “Okay. You’ve all cheered me up,” I said, turning to face the four ladies. “You’re right, Judy. I’m among friends and about to marry the most incredible man in the world. And, thanks to you all, this wedding is absolutely perfect! So, should we get this show on the road?” The four of them laughed. Then Sammy got all serious. “Do you have something blue and something new . . . “And something borrowed?” Cara added. I nodded. Judy had lent me a blue sapphire bracelet that I was wearing over the long sleeves of my satin gown. It was both borrowed and blue. The something new was, of course, my wedding gown. I refused to put a six pence in my shoes, even if I had one. Cara giggled. “And what about the garter?” I shook my head. “There’s no way I’d participate in that. Timothy knows it, too.” “Here. The final touch,” Simone said, attaching the veil, then draping it down over my face. “I’m not crazy about this part. I guess it improves the way I look if I cover my face,” I joked, but Simone wagged her finger at me. “You make a beautiful bride. None of that, Penelope, even in jest.” And then we heard the Pachelbel start to play. That was our signal. Judy handed me my bouquet, and the others gathered up theirs. We opened the door where Mr. Simons was waiting. I placed my hand on his arm, and we descended down Timothy’s fancy staircase. We were saving the formal two-step wedding march for the flat ground in the fancy living room, the largest of Timothy’s chamber, which had been cleared especially to embrace folding chairs on each side of the required aisle. All too soon, I was standing in the entryway, where I was to begin the slow-step rhythm that would march me up to the place where Timothy awaited me. Earlier, we’d figured that this room would be sufficiently roomy for the small number of people we’d invited, but as I reached the threshold and scanned the room, I let out a small gasp: one part amazement and one part dismay. Each row of chairs was filled with people. Every seat had somebody in it, and some guests had even been forced to stand on the sides. Where had all these guests come from? I didn’t know this many people. Had Timothy invited them all? I had a flash of timidity and a stray thought brushed my mind: Turn around, leave, and return to my bedroom. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t do that, not to my friends, our guests, or to Timothy. Down at the end of the aisle, I saw his face. He was reading my thoughts. A flash of worry streaked across his face. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he closed his lips and smiled warmly. Then he lifted his right arm, turned his hand with the palm-side up, and beckoned me.
5.3 The Pooka’s Wife
I had no parents or grandmother to joyfully watch such an affair, so, even the idea of having a marriage ceremony made me sad. Wasn’t a wedding ceremony supposed to be more than a celebration of love, but also the joining of families? Timothy was more or less family-less, as was I, so . . . “You have us here,” Sammy quickly said when I wiped a tear over such thoughts. She threw her arms around me, and Cara also participated our impromptu love fest of hugs. Simone didn’t join in, nor did Judy. They’d both just walked back into my bedroom for last minute bridal preparations that they felt might be needed. Apparently, they heard my words. “Shame on you, Penelope,” Judy lectured me. “You are the luckiest girl in the world. You’re marrying Timothy who is absolutely made for you. You have your friends here to cheer you on, and Ed is going to walk you down the aisle. This is a day for celebration, not for sadness.” “She feels too much,” Simone said, giving her input in the matter. “That’s what Timothy told me once.” She frowned, then shook her head at me. “But I agree with Judy and your two charming roommates. You are starting your future today here, Penelope. Everything will change now — for the better. You must believe that, Penelope. And looking into the future, I see a family, a baby. No two, and maybe more. That part is hazy and unformed. But I can see happiness clearly.” I gasped. “Really?” There was something in Simone’s eyes that told me she knew things that couldn’t be shared. She wasn’t making this up. She was serious. Judy beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, I see it, too,” she said, giggling like a young girl. My two best friends began to giggle, too, but they let go of me, not wishing to crinkle my dress. I was pretty sure that wedding dress wrinkles wouldn’t be possible. Simone knew how to prevent such things. Perhaps, it was in the material she chose. Or maybe it was like with Chef Stevens — Ben, he’d told me to call him. Ben could touch a cup and heat it up. Maybe Simone could uncrinkle material with her touch? I knew she was magical in some way. Was she Fae . . . or something else? I didn’t really think that being Fae was her route into the supernatural world. I was leaning toward believing that Simone might be a vampire. That would explain why Timothy suggested our wedding ceremony take place after dark so Simone could attend. But, she had none of the characteristics that I’d read about: no cold hands, no super pale skin, no fangs, I couldn’t be sure. Whatever Simone was, I knew that both she and Judy were super naturals of some kind. That was one thing I was certain about. Thank goodness that Jack Peterson hadn’t been around lately with his inaccurate knowledge of vampires and with all those dark and ominous predictions. I’d heard that the drug dealers he’d investigated before had finally caught up with him. Jack wasn’t dead, but the mobsters had sent him to the hospital. At least, that’s what Andrew had told me when I’d tapped him for information about Peterson, the plague of San Diego.