My proposed maid-of-honor dress was royal purple, a color that looks really good on me. It was cut low enough to make the most of my figure and the slit up the side was high enough to give a glimpse of the ivy tattoo I’d gotten years ago, to honor my deceased sister, Ivy. The dress was much more conservative than the ones at the other shop, but I was still a little worried about showing all that skin. There’s a big conservative contingent in Rusland. What would they think of the foreign bride’s attendants looking so downright sexy?
Then I saw Adriana’s reflection, smiling at me, and figured if she was happy, that was all that mattered. That, and the fact that I looked really good in that dress.
I figured we were good to go. Right up until the bridal consultant told me, “I’ve found the perfect beauty enhancement spell for you.”
“Excuse me?” I tried to make it sound as if I wasn’t insulted, and failed miserably.
“Well, obviously, for any wedding you want to look your best, and for a royal wedding, televised around the world, you’ll definitely need to hide those scars and your fangs.” She gave a delicate little shudder as she said the word.
Lopaka’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Without another word, she rose, which sent everyone else scrambling to their feet. You do not sit when the queen is standing. “We are finished here. Thank you for your time.”
Holy crap.
My cousin gave a brief nod of agreement and the other bridesmaids hustled into the dressing rooms to strip as if they’d been given a telepathic message. They probably had. The queen, after all, was the best telepath in the world. Even if Natasha and Olga had basic anti-siren charms, Lopaka’s mental voice could easily overcome them. And it was highly unlikely that Adriana’s bridesmaids had been given charms made from Lopaka’s hair—I was betting that the queen was very, very careful about who got near her hairbrush.
The consultant flushed, and her face set in grim lines, but I could see the panic in her eyes. Not only was she about to see what was likely a six-figure sale, once shoes and accessories were figured in, walk out the door, the design house’s reputation would be ruined—everyone would know that her faux pas cost her a royal wedding. Worse, we still wouldn’t have dresses. I could only imagine how hard people had worked to set up the appointments with the two salons we’d visited that day and how difficult it would be to make room in Adriana’s and Lopaka’s schedules for any additional shopping, especially considering that the wedding was only weeks away and the dresses needed to be purchased, fitted, and finished as soon as possible. All because of a little insult to me. I looked at my aunt and concentrated. I appreciate the thought, but …
Lopaka didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were only on the consultant and flashed with anger. But nothing. Celia, I appreciate your humility, but you underestimate your position. Right now, you are the most famous siren on the planet. Your heroics have been splashed across the media worldwide and have given us much prestige. You have set right some of our worst sins and the public consider us honorable at last. To allow this insult to stand would be to allow our entire nation and culture to be insulted. And that I will not tolerate.
That took me aback. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
Seriously, I’m not all that humble. Yeah, I know that technically I’m a siren princess. My grandfather had been Lopaka’s beloved brother, but we hadn’t known that until after the vampire bit me and my siren powers started wreaking havoc. I’d grown up poor, with a pretty dysfunctional family. And right at this moment, my mom was in jail, my grandmother wasn’t talking to me, and my sister was (still) dead—and I hadn’t seen her ghost in a while, either. So I just don’t think of myself as a princess. As I told one of my friends when I found out, “That’s just so … Disney.”
Now, the queen had made up her mind, and while I was family, I was also a subject. I ducked into the nearest dressing room, got out of that lovely purple dress, and pulled on my street clothes, half listening as the clerk tried to talk her way out of the pit she’d dug for herself.
The others finished dressing long before I did; of course, none of them had to arm themselves. Most of the weaponry I was carrying, including the holster with my 1911 Colt, was concealed by the spells put on my tailored black blazer. Even with the armament, you couldn’t have faulted my fashion statement. I wore a red silk shell and new black jeans under the jacket; the Colt’s black leather holster perfectly matched my short black boots, one of which had a built-in holster for my derringer.
When I was finally ready, Queen Lopaka and her security detail led the bride and her bridesmaids out of the store, leaving the attendant spluttering in our wake. A black stretch limo pulled up to the curb as we flowed out of the building.
Adriana and I were the last to exit the shop, and I stopped abruptly when my boots hit the sidewalk. Something was wrong. I couldn’t have said what exactly was bothering me, but it didn’t matter.
“Down! Everybody down!” I screamed, swinging my arm out and snagging Adriana around the waist. I shoved her behind me, almost throwing her to the pavement, as I put myself between her and the roadway.
For a fraction of an instant, time seemed to slow drastically. More guards appeared, seeming to hover in midair as the queen’s eyes went wide. The back windows of the limo rolled down. Rifle barrels appeared. Natasha and Olga froze as members of the security team reached for them. The bridesmaids looked like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—stunned and blank. Guns roared. Men and women screamed, glass shattered, and car doors slammed.
I got all this in fragments; I was busy trying to wrestle Adriana into the limited safety of the bridal shop when what she wanted was to rush to her mother’s side. I heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires as a second limo tore off into traffic. In the silence that fell I realized that Lopaka, Natasha, and Olga had been driven away, leaving me and my cousin alone with the gunmen. It’s not the way I would have done it, but I suppose it made sense—I was a bodyguard, and Adriana was my responsibility. It was actually sort of flattering that the Siren Secret Service presumed I’d get her to safety.
I tried to get her to calm down, saying, “They’re fine. I don’t smell blood behind me.” But Adriana kept struggling with me. I suspected she didn’t believe me—and she was right not to, because I was lying.
Finally I lost all patience and just slugged her in the jaw, then picked her up bodily and dragged her into the store. More gunshots sounded as the guards fought the gunmen.
Lopaka’s voice rang in my mind, telling me to do what I was already doing. Celia, get her out of there. Keep her safe.
I kept my body between Adriana and any open space. The two remaining bodyguards seemed to be giving me some cover with their Kevlar-covered bodies. We passed the bloody form of the dying bridal consultant, her body riddled with bullets and shards of glass.
My cousin began to come back to her senses, which meant she was no longer dead weight, but it was still hard to move her. “Damn it, Adriana, come on.” I was shouting, but since my ears were ringing from the gunfire, I assumed Adriana was similarly affected. I didn’t remember pulling a weapon, but there was a gun in my left hand. I dragged her past a pair of circular racks filled with a rainbow selection of floor-length gowns, toward the back door.