delicate china cup. The dresses ranged from something Cinderella would find too ruffly to
something better suited to the wedding night than the glare of the spotlight. I mean, I'm daring,
but I'm not that daring.
In the middle of the parade, a model who bore a striking resemblance to Heidi Klum (couldn't
really be Heidi Klum, could she?) entered, and for a second, I just stared, shocked. I shot Cherise
a look; her mouth was curved in a triumphant smile. She'd requested that one specially, I could
immediately see that.
And she was right. It was The Dress. The one that I'd bought, the one that had been ripped apart
in the Sentinels' last public attack on me.
Maybe-Heidi-Klum swept to a graceful stop in front of me, and the silk fluttered to perfect
layers, slightly angled and draping to that gorgeous, dramatic train in the back. When she turned,
the corseted back displayed the deep V of skin that had so entranced me the first time. Sexy, yet
demure. Sophisticated, yet still startlingly innocent.
Hopeful.
''Yes,'' I said. Bridal Shop Team Number Three– I'd forgotten the names; Cherise had been
keeping track-high-fived one another. Maybe-Klum gave me a cool smile and rustled out, back
straight, chin high. If I could look half that good in the thing . . .
Well, that took care of the dress.
Cherise did all the work, reassuring the runners-up that we still liked them and would mention
them fondly. She signed a just-in-case-of-damage credit card slip, discreetly proffered by the
winning team, and slipped the copy into a black leather binder.
''How much?'' I asked. She shook her head sadly.
''Really, you don't want to be asking that today,'' she said. ''Just go with it. Besides, we can
return it unless, you know. Now. You go take a shower. We've got the stylist coming in forty-
five minutes.''
Stylists made house calls. I was learning a lot today.
I cried in the shower, where it didn't show. I cried about all the doubt, all the craziness. Cherise
was doing a good job of keeping me moving, but this was like standing on the train tracks,
watching the Heart-break Express rocket toward you. I was in the crosshairs, and I'd given up
my safety to other people. Worse, I'd given up Rahel's life to the gods of chance and fate.
I arrived on time for the stylist, who was a temperamental, gorgeous young woman with not one
but two assistants, one of whom took charge of my nails while the others waded into the misery
that was my hair. I closed my eyes and focused on the weather, moving in slow, peaceful waves
outside the thick window. The aetheric was almost artificially calm; the Wardens were keeping
their heads down, and the Ma'at had done a fantastic job of smoothing out the ups and downs of
the day.
Whatever problems came about, they wouldn't be rain-related.
I'll skip the rest of the rituals. By four o'clock, I was laced into the dress, staring at myself in the
floor-length mirror of the Palms penthouse, balanced on shoes rushed to us from one of the most
exclusive boutiques.
I was seeing a stranger. My hair was up, piled in loose, sexy, complicated layers, secured with
diamond pins and a veil as soft as fog. My face was my own, only perfected with expert
cosmetics. The dress was, as I'd thought, exactly right.
My eyes were the only things that gave the lie to the whole illusion. They were wide, dark blue,
starkly terrified.
Cherise squeezed my hand and stood next to me, sharing mirror time. She looked absolutely,
deliciously adorable. ''You should see Lewis,'' she said. ''That man was born for formal wear.
I'd totally be all over him, except he's way too tall. I have a fear of heights.''
''Thank you,'' I said.
''For complimenting Lewis? Trust me, that's a freebie.''
''No, for-for all this. For keeping me sane. I couldn't-'' My hands were shaking again. I
closed my eyes and concentrated on calm. ''Whatever happens, thank you. I couldn't ask for a
better friend. I love you.''
''Love you too, sweetie, but I'm not marrying you.'' Cherise cocked a perfect eyebrow. ''You
notice I didn't mention what David looked like.''
No, she hadn't. That wasn't exactly like her.
''You'll see,'' she said smugly.
There was a discreet knock on the door, and one of the incredibly intimidating security
gentlemen stuck his head in to nod at Cherise.
Time to go.
''I don't think we should do this,'' I said.
But I let her lead me out, anyway.
I was taken through deserted hallways, feeling more and more isolated and surreal with every
moment. Was this how most brides felt, or only those with targets painted on their chests? Hard
to say. I just tried to swallow the growing, acrid lump of dread in my throat, and followed the
confident shimmy of Cherise's stride.
Holding open doors, hotel staff smiled at me as I passed. I had no idea where we were going, so
it was a surprise when the last set of doors opened on blinding sunlight. The strains of a highly
accomplished string quartet-good enough to overcome the barrier of surf noise, conversation,
and humidity's effect on wood and strings-hung luminously in the air. It was an absolutely
perfect day. The sky was a breathtaking ceramic blue, washed clean of all imperfections.
I felt so much dread that I was afraid my knees would collapse underneath me. They'll hit us.
They can't not hit us. And there were so many people to protect. So many people I couldn't
swear wouldn't be hurt in this.
Cherise squeezed my hand one last time and said, ''Stay fierce, Jo. We'll get through this.'' And
then she moved through the rose-covered archway, taking the arm of a tall, elegant man who I
only after the fact realized was Lewis. A drastically different Lewis. Smoking hot, in fact. She
was right: He was made for formal wear. The severe black-and-white tailoring made him look
extraordinary.
I fidgeted slightly, clutching the small, perfect bouquet of ivory roses that Cherise had handed
me, and the security men on either side of me scanned the perimeters for any threats. I spotted
Wardens, Wardens everywhere, waiting. If the Sentinels were coming, they were coming into the
teeth of the buzz saw.
If the Wardens watching me aren't undercover Sentinels . . . I had to leave that terrifying thought
behind. It was too much.
I knew mere security wouldn't stop Bad Bob, or the thing that was wearing his face. The bigger
the clash, the bigger the boom; he'd love to smash us here, in this most public of settings.
The string quartet shifted into the traditional bridal march, and the security man offered me his
arm. He looked good in a tux, too. A little beefy, but you really wanted that in a quality
bodyguard.
We passed under the arch and began the long, long walk down the rose-petal-strewn path to the
graceful, arched gazebo.
For some reason, I hadn't thought about who'd be here. Mostly Wardens, of course, mostly
friends. Cherise had even managed to get some of our old TV station colleagues here at the last
minute, including some of the crew, who were looking highly uncomfortable in their suits and
jackets, but were beaming at me in universal accord.
In the front row was my sister. Sarah looked elegant, perfectly coiffed, and terribly pissed off.
She was glaring hard at Cherise, and if looks could kill, there would have been a warrant out for
her arrest. In fact, now that I thought about it, I was a little surprised there wasn't a warrant out
for Sarah. She'd scammed a lot of money, and if her old boyfriend (psycho but strangely honest)