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Chapter Ten

T he next five minutes were a flurry of activity and escalating chaos.

Oonagh was running the show with the iron will and creative vision of an evil Martha Stewart.

She arranged and rearranged the silver aisle runner, fussed over flower placement, and checked the lighting.

Linden, meanwhile, kept sneaking peeks at his reflection in the polished cake knife, slicking back his hair with a nervous energy that made me want to see how he’d look bald.

I counted the seconds, waiting for Jocko’s next move.

“If you are going to reprogram me, why not do it before this fiasco of a wedding?” I asked, hoping to give Jocko some time to formulate a new plan.

Linden strolled over to me. “That was my request. I wanted the Mally Jourdain I have known so long to be full aware that you are finally mine.”

Gross. So gross.

“But don’t worry, I will reprogram you as soon as you say, ‘I do,’” Oonagh said sweetly.

“Small blessing, I guess,” I said wryly.

Then I saw Jocko make his move. With the grace of a seasoned saboteur, he scuttled from beneath the credenza, pincers gleaming.

He aimed straight for a decorative flowerpot the size of a toddler and began to wedge himself underneath, preparing to topple the whole thing.

He’d chosen well: if the pot hit the floor, it would roll directly into the path of the cake table, taking down the seven-tier monstrosity in one glorious domino effect.

He got halfway there before Oonagh spotted him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a bolt of magic straight at the flowerpot.

A shimmer enveloped the ceramic, and, to my horror, Jocko was sucked inside.

The entire pot trembled, then stilled, and the only evidence of his presence was the faint clatter of a single, desperate claw tapping against the inside.

“A crawfish familiar?” Oonagh smirked. “How quaint. Reminds me of my own wedding to Silver. That one had a leech for a ring bearer.”

“That seems very appropriate,” I said, glaring at them all.

Silver strong armed me over the the archway, clearly tired of waiting for this wedding to begin.

“No,” I shouted and tried to summon my magic again.

But this time, I didn’t go for the witch power.

I reached deep for the Fue Follet in my blood—the mischievous, will-o’-the-wisp magic I’d inherited from my dad.

It was wilder, less predictable, and almost never worked indoors, but it was all I had left. The others wouldn’t see it.

I pictured blue flames, trickster light, the dizzying pulse of swamp air in August. For a moment, the world shimmered and a thin ribbon of blue fire flickered through my body, unseen to them, but overwhelming to me.

Almost so overwhelming, my knees nearly buckled.

The magic pooled low in my belly—and I realized the fey magic growing in my baby was joining mine, making it more powerful. Amazing.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I heard Silver say.

I just focused on the fey magic more, even as Linden pulled me to face him.

The flowerpot rattled in the corner. Jocko was alive, but going nowhere.

That’s when Linden decided it was the perfect time for another round of mansplaining, which was fine with me. He was giving my more time to call to my father.

“Soon, you’ll forget all about that mongrel husband and the little monsters you called family. You and I—this baby—” He patted my stomach, which made me want to bite him. “We’ll be so much more. Our child will be the most powerful magical being ever born.”

“Funny,” I said, shoving his hand away, “because you seem to think the best way to raise a kid is to murder their personality and gaslight the hell out of their mother. Good luck with that.”

He scowled. “It’s not about you, Mally. It’s about us. Our child will rule?—”

“No. Our child will hate you,” I shot back, “and if you don’t let me go, so will the rest of the magical world. My family will find me. Etienne will find me. And when they do, you won’t even be a greasy spot on the sidewalk.”

Silver snorted, unimpressed. Oonagh turned away, barking last-minute instructions to the musicians who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere—an assemble of what looked like a jazz band made entirely of enchanted skeletons.

Linden knelt beside me, eyes desperate. “Don’t do this. I am giving you a place in history. We could rule the South. You and me—witches married as we should be.”

“You are not a true witch. You are half orc—and everyone knows it” I said, voice gone low and bitter.

He slapped me. Not hard, but with enough force to leave a sting. The pain cleared the fog in my brain and brought my vision into sudden, painful focus.

“You’re not a victim here,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m doing you are favor. You’re the one holding up progress.”

“Go to hell, Linden.” I spat in his face.

He wiped his cheek, trembling, and then nodded to Silver, who seized me by the arm and held me in place.

The flowerpot was still rattling, harder now. I caught Jocko’s eye as I passed, and he flashed his claws in a tiny, defiant salute.

I blinked, willing my tired brain to focus. The glow inside me intensified, blossoming into an inferno. Then I saw it. A bouncing light in the corner of the room.

My heart stuttered. Papa?

The Fue Follet flame wobbled, then stabilized, I could see him, my tiny dad in his magical ball of light. His eyes burned bright with concern and love.

“Ma petite,” he whispered, the words floating on a breathless current only I could hear. “I found you. Etienne comes. You must endure a little more. You are never alone.”

A tremor ran through me, the shock of hope so fierce, it nearly undid my carefully constructed wall of outward rage.

I was distracted from the small ball of light to the pastor who had just appeared like the jazz ensemble. The pastor was a skeleton, too, in full robes.

“Hurry,” I whispered back, feeling the tears prick at the edges of my vision.

The blue fire winked, a gentle parental nudge. “We are closer than you think. Be brave, my darling.”

Before I could reply, the apparition blinked out, leaving only the faint smell of burnt sugar and the echo of his voice warming my soul.

Oonagh, busy spritzing perfume around the suite like it was a bug bomb, did not notice my brief emotional breakdown. But someone else had.

Linden studied me, his face pale and tight. He fixed me with a look somewhere between suspicion and anger. “Who were you talking to?”

I met his gaze, all bravado. “Just telling myself this is the worst wedding I’ve ever been to.”

He scowled, but before he could press the point, Oonagh seized the moment. “Everything is ready! Places, everyone!”

The next five minutes blurred into a nightmare montage.

Silver dragging me down a silver-carpeted hallway.

Oonagh arranging the train of my skirt, her hands sharp and impersonal.

Linden gliding down the aisle to stand beneath the wedding arch, every inch the deranged prince.

The skeleton jazz band struck up a tune so off-key and mournful I almost felt bad for the dead. Almost.

The altar was set at the far end of a ballroom, its walls draped with more silver tulle, the ceiling a mess of mirrored globes and chandeliers.

As I approached the altar, I caught sight of the flowerpot in the corner. It was rattling so violently it threatened to roll off its pedestal. Jocko’s desperate attempts at freedom were growing wilder by the second.

I willed him to hold on, just a little longer.

They positioned me beside Linden, and I nearly collapsed. Only Silver’s vice grip kept me upright.

The bony pastor began the ceremony, his voice monotone and gravelly, “We are gathered here to unite Mally Jourdain and Linden Lowell?—”

“That’s not my name anymore,” I said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s Dubois.”

The pastor ignored me and continued, “—in the sight of all magical beings, for the betterment of our kind.”

The words stung, not because I cared about the ceremony, but because for the first time, I realized just how much I missed my own weird, dysfunctional, loving family. I pictured Etienne’s face—angry, desperate, beautiful—and my resolve solidified into something diamond-hard.

Linden squeezed my hand, hard, as if he could force the future into being through sheer willpower. I returned the favor, digging my nails into his palm until I felt the skin break.

He yelped, but Oonagh gestured for the pastor to plow on. “Do you, Linden Lowell, take Mally to be your?—”

A crash sounded from the flowerpot. A long, blue flame exploded out, rocketing straight up to the chandelier and ricocheting around the room like a drunken firework. In the confusion, Silver let go of my arm, casting his hands toward the flowerpot.

I seized my chance.

Fueled by the last dregs of adrenaline and whatever hope my fey father had left me, I lunged for the cake knife. The world tilted, time slowed, and for a split second, I thought I might just make it.

But Silver tackled me, sending both of us tumbling into the wedding cake. The tiers collapsed in a slow-motion avalanche of fondant and sugar, burying me up to my neck in edible rubble.

For a moment, the only sound was the jazz band, valiantly playing on.

Then the ballroom windows shattered. A torrent of glass and fur and the earthy smell of bayou water flooded the room, carrying with it the unmistakable howl of my husband.

Etienne.

They’d come.

I laughed, spluttering out frosting. “Told you,” I said to nobody and everybody at once. “My family always finds me.”

The cake tasted like victory.

The chaos that ensued was a total blur. The room was filled with huge and angry Rougarous—Etienne, his brothers and some of the guards, huge and in full wolf form.

Joined by the darting and irritating swirl of Fue Follet in their balls of lights, creating more commotion, all set to the sound of the fairies’ favorite soundtrack, 90s club tunes.

It might be a strange rescue squad, but it was more than enough to unnerve the ill-prepared Oonagh, Silver and Linden.

I noticed that Etienne focused his giant Rougarou rage on the now blubbering Linden.

Etienne lifted the screaming, crying warlock up into the air, Etienne’s deadly claws clutching the lapels of his Linden’s tuxedo lapels.

My actual husband growled menacing right my pathetic wannabe husband’s face, bearing all his pointed teeth.

I almost felt bad as I saw the warlock soil himself in fear. Almost, but not really.

But the whole attack slowed to a halt as soon as the room exploded with glitter and confetti. The Fue Follet’s 90’s hits shifted to 80’s music as soon as Baba Yaga and her minions crashed through the ceiling of Ooonagh’s house and into the room.

The Rougarous stepped back to let Baba Yaga approach the villainous witch and warlocks. Etienne even dropped Linden, who fell heavily in his damp butt.

“Well, isn’t this a sad little group,” Baba Yaga said, casting a disapproving stare to each of them. “Did you really believe this ridiculous plan would work?”

Oonagh had the good grace to look ashamed, but for once she said nothing.

“You do know this will not go unpunished,” Baba Yaga said, brushing glitter off her tutu skirt and casually straightening her dozens of jelly bracelets.

That prompted the very guilty threesome to start defending themselves, all talking over each other with feeble attempts to give excuses and blame each other.

Baba Yaga snapped her fingers, and they all fell silent.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she stated, pinning them with a furious scowl. They were silent again. In fact, the only sound in the room was Boy George’s plaintive crooning of “do you really want to hurt me?”

I’d like to say I was better than that, but yes, I did kind of want to hurt them.

“I don’t want to hear it, but the witch council absolutely will.

Off to the witch pokey, with you all,” Baba Yaga said, and before the threesome could react, she snapped her fingers again, and they disappeared.

The Fue Follet bounced merrily around the room, changing the music to Celebration by Kool and the Gang.

Baba Yaga’s minions instantly bobbled their heads to the beat.

Etienne moved to me, pulling against him, dwarfing me with his Rougarou form, but being so gentle with his monster strength and careful with his vicious claws.

“I knew you’d come,” I said against his furry chest.

He growled deep in his chest.

“We are fine,” I assured him. “The baby and I are just fine.”

He howled, a sound of relieved joy.

We parted and I took in the scene around me.

Baba Yaga had rescued Jocko and he was perched on her padded shoulder as they danced with the skeleton musicians that Oonagh had materialized.

The Fue Follet created their usual light show and excellent tunes.

Even the Rougarous shuffled around to the beat.

Well, mainly Guy, who was always up for a good party.

A few moments later, my side of the family dashed into the room, stumbling to a halt at the sight of a destroyed wedding, dancing skeletons, 80s music, and rainbow glitter everywhere.

I laughed and ran a hand over my belly. I smiled up at my giant wolf of a husband.

“This baby is about to be born into the craziest family ever.”

Etienne howled again, this time joined by the other wolves. My family saw I was safe and sound and with my husband, so they joined in on the dancing.

I shook my head, feeling utterly loved and utterly happy. I started dancing too.