A Very Werewolf Wedding
by T. P. Keating
Have you attended a werewolf
wedding recently? No, me neither, and times have changed, I can tell you. For a start, the person conducting the ceremony
no longer gets chopped into little bits at the end, and eaten by the bride and groom, while the wedding doesn't even have
to take place on a night of the full moon. Can you imagine? Standards aren't what they used to be, that's for sure. But it
isn't all bad news.
Because the bride and groom
are still locked in separate cages the night before the wedding, and the cages are still placed side by side in the honeymoon
suite, ready for the transformation back to human form, when each holds the key to the other's lock. Fortunately, romance
isn't completely dead. But, I hear you ask, what about mixed marriages? Between a female werewolf and a Scotsman, for instance?
In such cases, the old rules remain intact, I'm pleased to say.
The human half signs the legally
binding agreement, to absolve their werewolf intended of all responsibility for wounds and bruises and whatever, inflicted
during the marriage. Malcolm signed that document a month ago, and our wedding will be on Thursday. Don't forget, I'll collect
you from JFK tomorrow evening.
The cubs will make the sweetest
bridesmaids, don't you think? It was a great idea of yours, to “allow” Jojo to wear his gaming headset and headphones,
so he'll never know what's actually going on. Well-done, virtual reality! Joanne, Jodene and Jolene have kept the secret so
well that Jojo's already tried on his bridesmaid's outfit, without realizing it. The theme will be tartan and fur.
In case you're wondering,
Malcolm won me over when we visited his castle in Scotland. Wow, how 6 months can fly by. Though when you first introduced
us, in your Regent Street office, we were both aware of a special moment. Now, I can hardly imagine myself as Lady Fairfax,
let along being jointly responsible for the Fairfax organic biscuit range. Maybe I'll get to go foxhunting with Madonna, like
you did? (That was what you mentioned, wasn't it? Or did you say you'd been morris dancing with Madonna?).
However, before you arrive,
I simply must tell you what happened this morning. My ex, Colby, turned up on my doorstep, with his eyebrows weirdly singed.
Yep, the same Colby who'd cheated on me with that trailer trash Opal. Turns out she'd dropped him for some big shot Hollywood
producer, and he wanted a place to stay. Tough. “No dice,” I shouted, threatening to call the cops. That got rid
of his sorry ass. Or so I thought.
An hour later, I answered
the doorbell again, to find him clutching an enormous bouquet of red roses. He instantly yakked on and on about how I'd been
his one true love. “Then why did you run away with Opal?” I asked.
“Okay, I get it, we're
finished. But listen, Jo-Beth, Opal threatened to expose the cubs as werewolves.”
That got my attention. “What
does she know, exactly?”
“Not on the stoop.”
He glanced from side to side. Rather theatrical, but I took his point and ushered him inside. Big mistake. In the kitchen,
I put the bouquet on a counter and fixed us coffee.
Colby continued to look agitated,
but pressed on. “One night, our car broke down near Bakersfield, and a passing ranch hand directed us to Main Street,
where we rented a room at the saloon. Pretty soon, Opal was knocking back cheap liquor, which loosened her tongue. She boasted
that she'd learned about the cubs while practicing the violin - as you've heard, she has perfect pitch. That evening, a nearby
atonal howling ruined her concentration. She traced the noise across the block to our apartment, and close observation over
subsequent lunar cycles confirmed her suspicion.”
“And you decided to
help by absconding with her?” He nodded, eagerly. What a piece of work that Colby is. “Does she intend to act
on her knowledge?”
“Does it matter? It's
only on TV shows that the supernatural makes people hysterical. In real life, they'll dismiss you as a nut, more or less harmless.”
“Hmmm. Fair point.”
I grew annoyed. “Then why did you make a big deal about it a few minutes ago?”
“Give me one more chance,
I slung him out. The cheek
of the man.
Would you believe it, not
half an hour after that, the doorbell went again. Opal didn't wait for my reaction, she just barged in and flopped down on
“Jo-Beth, I'm here on
a matter of life and death.”
I grew cold. “The cubs?”
“What? No. Why is it
always the cubs with you people? Colby got drunk in Bakersfield and rambled on, calling them werewolves. Was I ever glad to
kiss goodbye to that weirdo. No offence.”
“Werewolves? As if.
The point is, I think Colby is a killer.”
“I've seen what I've
seen, heard what I've heard. When he got drunk, he named a victim - you.”
“He's aiming to be made
custodian of the cubs' trust fund. Do they have one?”
“From their maternal
“From what I can gather,
he's a homemade explosives man. Learnt it all on the Internet. Whatever you do, don't accept any gifts from him.”
“Oh my what?”
“Flowers. In the kitchen.”
We raced to the kitchen. On the counter, a thin plume of black smoke was rising from the roses. Just then the front door opened
and the cubs rushed in. While I agitated myself, Opal calmly took off her jacket and threw it over the flowers. I expected
it to catch fire. But Opal picked it up seconds later, to reveal that it wasn't even singed, while the flowers lay in a charred
“It's a flame-resistant
material I invented,” she explained. “Well, must go. I've sold my story to a Hollywood producer, and I need to
generate more material for the screenwriters.”
What a weird morning! Weirder
than a female werewolf marrying a Scotsman, or vice versa? We can discuss that when you get here. Meanwhile, if only Colby
could officiate at the wedding.
P. Keating 2008