Delilah pressed her lips together, but a tear began to trickle down from one eye. Shade caught sight of it, and he gently wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead.
Camille slipped over to kneel at Delilah’s feet. She reached up and took Kitten’s hands. “I know this is frightening. I guess . . . we never thought about this day coming. We never thought about when we’d be . . . truly grown up, I guess.” Hanging her head, she murmured, “I’m nervous, too. And I wish we could all just live here together, forever. But I don’t think the Hags of Fate have that in store for us, you know? I think we’re all bound for bigger things.”
Delilah sniffled, and Nerissa handed her a box of tissues.
“But who’s going to live here? This is our home. We can’t just all wander off and leave it.” Delilah glanced around. “So much has happened here.”
“So much will continue to happen here. You and Shade can stay here, as long as the Autumn Lord doesn’t mind. Iris and Bruce will still be living here. Rozurial—you’ll be around, right?” I gave him a look that basically said, Say yes even if you don’t mean it.
“Of course I will. I don’t plan on going anywhere. And with Vanzir out at Talamh Lonrach Oll, being busy being a daddy, I’m going to need someone to pal around with.” Roz shot me a wink.
Kitten let out another soft sigh and wiped her eyes. “I guess I’m just trying to take in everything that’s happened over the past months. When Elqaneve fell, it feels like the entire world went to hell.” She paused, then said, “At least we took care of Telazhar. I’m grateful for that. And even if things change, we’ll all still be Earthside. I miss being home, but I guess . . . I guess this has become our home, hasn’t it?”
Camille kissed Delilah’s hand and then returned to where she had been cuddling with Morio. “I think we have truly become Windwalkers, in a positive sense. We have two homes. We’ll always be torn between the two. Earthside and Otherworld both gave us our roots. But isn’t that better than having only one place where you feel at home? Like having an extended family, kind of.”
The doorbell rang, saving us from any more arguing about Nerissa’s and my impending nuptials. I was closest, so I answered. It was a driver, and I caught a glimpse of a limousine out in the driveway.
“Yes?”
“Lord Roman sent me.” He handed me a vellum envelope. “I’ll be waiting at the car.”
Curious, I turned the envelope over. Sure enough, it was sealed with wax and Roman’s signature impression. I opened the letter and withdrew a stiff card, and the next moment burst into laughter. Hurrying back to the others, I poked Nerissa in the arm.
“Get up. We need to change clothes, and then we’re off on a shopping trip.”
She cocked her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Roman just sent us a note, and there’s a limo and driver out front. We—and Camille and Delilah—are to head down to Down the Aisle boutique, where he’s arranged for it to open specifically for us. We’re all to pick out suitable gowns, because we need wedding dresses suitable for a court wedding, and he indicates that he assumes Delilah and Camille will be our bridesmaids. He notes they should wear black, and we’re to wear red.” I handed her the note card.
Nerissa snorted. “He assumes a lot, but what the hell. He’s paying for the dresses, so we might as well take advantage of it. Besides, I have a feeling that—because this is a political marriage, in a way—we don’t have a lot of say in the décor. Which is fine with me. It makes our own wedding that much more special.” She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s go.”
Camille and Delilah glanced at each other, then shrugged.
“A new dress is a new dress, but they’d better not have poufy sleeves.” Camille laughed. “You two change. Come on, Kitten. Let’s grab our jackets and head out.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Morio stood. “We can go along.”
“Listen, if Roman sent the limo, you know the driver will be armed to the teeth. And he’ll most likely be a vampire himself. I think we’ll be just as safe as if we drove there ourselves. Probably safer.” And with that, Nerissa and I headed downstairs to change.
*
The store was upscale, so much so that the saleswomen looked like models and the clothing was in the back, with only a few high-end pieces leisurely draped over the mannequins that looked way too lifelike. The salon—it was far too pricey to be called a simple store—had overstuffed sofas and chairs for its patrons, and the salesclerk offered Nerissa and the others champagne, and a goblet of blood for me. We all turned her down, and I think she was relieved. The thought of spilling blood on a dress that was obviously costing Roman thousands of dollars made me queasy.