My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

Spellbound L. A. Banks

Hattie McCoy smoothed the front of her flowing white dress and sat down by an adjacent tree. Her gaze fondly drifted over to the pair of young lovers, and she sighed with contentment.

"Now, Hattie," a warm, familiar voice said before the apparition that came with it appeared. "We ain't supposed to be spying on kin like that, specially when they in delicate situations. Just because we spirits, and can, don't mean that we should."

"I know," Hattie said. She watched her friend of many years fully materialize to sit beside her. "But just look at 'em. So young, and so in love."

Ethel Hatfield smiled. "If them two don't watch out, they gonna make a baby this afternoon, if you ask me."

"I know," Hattie crooned, clasping her hands in joy. "Wouldn't that just be divine?"

Ethel nodded and then frowned. "But that danged celibacy spell both our families cast is gonna get in the way." She glanced up. "Gonna storm, too. Them Hatfields and McCoys is at it again! Don't make sense—always thirteen women aunts conjurin' on one side against them thirteen uncles on the other . . . chile, you know how it goes through the genes on each side, but why can't folks just stop and let sleepin' dogs lie?"

"That's why I came here," Hattie whispered, standing and putting both hands on her disappearing hips. "All these years and our fami­lies are still feudin'? Don't make no kinda sense. Working roots on each other, casting evil spells, dabblin' in hoodoo—humph!"

Ethel floated toward the tree near the two lovers. "Girl, you block that tree limb and try to shoo them off the blanket 'fore it falls. I'll try to whisper some sense into these two lovebirds to try make 'em hold off until we can get this all straightened out."

Hattie covered her mouth and giggled, loving that they'd both been allowed to take on their old girlish forms once they'd crossed over to the other side as ancestors. "Chile, I don't think they'd mind right now if lightning did hit 'em. Gonna be mighty hard to get in between them two."

Ethel laughed. "Not sure that I want to, given how they's rubbing and bumping and grinding all up on each other. Have mercy!"

"Aw, girl, don't act like you don't remember those days. Love is a mighty powerful thing, magic all by itself," Hattie said with a mis­chievous wink.

Both ghosts laughed and danced about in the shards of sunlight, becoming shining pollen motes.

"Oooh, honey!" Ethel exclaimed. "What you think they'll make first—a boy or a girl?"

He pulled out of their kiss like a man drowning. Odelia's sweet breath washed his lips in warm temptation, her mouth so close to his that he could still taste the mint iced tea she'd had only minutes ago. His hands slid down her shoulders, his eyes coveting every inch of her dark, satiny skin, wanting to lower the thin straps of her yellow tank top.

"I know it's hard to wait, but we can't," she whispered. "We shouldn't."

He searched her face, rendered mute for a moment by the plea within her beautiful brown eyes. But the conflict he saw in them, the passion they belied, while her body against his created a hot seal that rivaled the muggy afternoon, it was more than a man could bear.

"But we're gonna be married soon," he said quietly, his thumbs lazily stroking her upper arms. "We're engaged." He swept up her hand and kissed the back of it, then the center of her palm, as his other hand stroked her long, velvety braids.

She hesitated, glanced at the two-karat stone that picked up sun­light and splashed prism-sent color against his cheek while she gen­tly brushed it, and then stared into his eyes. What could she say to this man?

A yearlong whirlwind college romance in their senior year had turned into an engagement. A whole year of trying to abstain, like Minister had said, had been the toughest thing she'd had to endure in her life. A year of them both mysteriously neglecting to inform their families of this new development was torture. She knew why she'd omitted Jeff's existence from her family's purview, and also knew why he'd never taken her home to meet his people.

She could only pray that Jeff's folks weren't still carrying the gen­erational grudge that was legendary between their families, and that they didn't conjure, too. According to her family's crazy view, his folks were wicked spell-casters and so was everyone in his extended family. No. Couldn't be. Jeff seemed so logical, so levelheaded, and so removed from the old superstitious ways, it was impossible that his people were like hers.

As she stared up into Jefferson McCoy's intense brown eyes, she knew there was no way to explain the insanity she'd grown up with. Once married, they'd be his kin, too. Maybe she'd break it to him gently after the wedding. Yet, how did one explain that her daddy was as close to a Dr. Buzzard-root-master as one could get, or that her aunties all worked roots, with serious, inexplicable consequences befalling the unfortunate individuals who'd dared to cross them? She'd escaped to college to get away from all of that backwoods stuff. Intellectual pursuits and the campus church had been a cloak and a shield against the kitchen conjuring her folks could do. If her family spooked this man, she'd die a natural death.

"Jeff," she said quietly, unable to draw her body away from his, "I don't want anything to mess up what we have. I don't want to tempt fate, or draw down The Wrath. If we just get married quickly, pri­vately, me and you . . . I—"

"You want to elope?" he asked in a ragged murmur, bringing his lips to her neck and breathing out the words. The more he thought about it while caressing her, the more her idea had merit. It was stu­pid to think that two weeks before graduation they could just drop this announcement on their families and turn what were initially supposed to be individual graduation parties into a combined, sur­prise wedding. At the time, it had seemed like a reasonable concept; there would already be a cake, food, people gathered, and a minister present—all that would be needed was a license, a few flowers, and a dress. He already had a good suit.

"Okay," Jeff finally choked out, unable to stop kissing her. "I can't stand a long engagement and all the drama of a wedding, anyway."

His ardent attention to her earlobe under the private canopy of trees, where they were just supposed to be having a picnic lunch, was making her forget everything Minister had said, and about the fam­ily dangers of going too far. The way Jeff's hot breath scored her ear sent tiny shivers along her spine. He smelled so good . . . deep, rich, male, and earthy . . . and felt divine; his tall, six-foot frame was like solid oak. Lawd. She couldn't help but allow her lips to taste his Hershey-toned skin, and before she knew it, her fingertips began to tingle as they grazed his short-cropped, thick hair.

"You'd do that for me?" she whispered, as he made her breath hitch with a slow kiss on her shoulder.

"I,d do anything for you," he said into her ear hotly. "Anything. I love you, girl."

It was almost too good to be true. She'd escaped. They might be able to have a life together. He'd be fresh out of law school and prac­ticing at his first big job with his new degree in Seattle. She'd have her master's, could go there as his wife, and could pursue social work, far, far away from home. They could make love day and night, with­out fear of reprisal, because the union would be under the protective cloak of the Almighty; even her folks couldn't mess with that—or could they? she wondered. Maybe her children with Jeff might even be born "normal," and not have the conjurer gene or the proclivity.

When his kiss became more aggressive, she returned it in kind, knowing full well this was foolhardy. All the nights that they'd come close to breaking their vow to wait began to come crashing down on her. The ache he'd produced within her was a fire that hadn't burned out since the day they'd met.

Each near miss had only made it worse. Each chaperoned get-together, dating in a church group from campus, now made her ready to shriek. Each time they'd gone to either his or her apartment, supposedly to watch movies, they had ended up in a passionate tussle of way-too-heavy petting on the sofa, the movie neglected. The past two months, they'd both agreed not to tempt fate by doing that, cit­ing church tenets as the reason—but there was more to it than that. Then he'd messed up and given her a ring during a quiet, unplanned dinner for two. That had almost broken them down. But today . . . she couldn't take it. Her willpower was gone.

"Jefferson, we can't," she gasped, stopping the next kiss and lean­ing her forehead on his chest. She could feel his heart thudding against her skull and connecting to the thud of desire between her legs. His USC T-shirt clung to his hard torso, dampened.

"Baby, I don't know how much more of this I can take. . . ."

The fact that Odelia had used his full given name made him nervous. That was a no, for sure. Right now, he couldn't hear that word. He didn't care what his momma and her brothers promised would hap­pen if he ever, in his life, hooked up with a Hatfield woman.

"You know there's no sense in us getting ourselves all worked up," she said breathlessly. "That's why I stood up and got off the darned blanket."

"I can't help it," he said, kissing the crown of Odelia's head, pant­ing. "Ain't nobody gonna see us. Won't nobody know. We could fly to Vegas and get married tonight."

"The woods have eyes," she said, resting both hands on his shoulders.

"Then let's go back to your place," he said, hugging her to him hard, still unable to stop touching her. He had to make love to Odelia or heart Failure was probable. It was already nearly impossible to breathe, he wanted her so badly. His Family could conjure all they wanted, but this woman was the one. He refused to let them throw bones and chase her away like all the others before her.

"We can't fly to Vegas ... I know you spent everything you had on this ring."

"Don't worry about it," he murmured as his hands slid down her back and began to caress her bottom.

Just feeling the rise of her firm behind beneath his palms made him shudder and close his eyes when her tight butt muscles clenched to the rhythm of his touch. Who cared if he was two months late in his rent and had used the last of his book money, food money, and student loan living expenses to put a rock on her hand—she was worth it. It didn't matter that he was currently flat busted. The con­dition was temporary, any ole way. She didn't need to worry. When he turned twenty-five in a couple of months, he'd come into a little inheritance money that had been put in trust for him by his dearly departed father. He'd use that to start their lives, buy their first home. Never in a million years would he take that home to plow it into a conjuring business with his uncles. Odelia Hatfield was worth every penny he had to his name.

His better judgment in shreds, his body continued to move against her softness, stoking the ache that swept through his groin and radiated sheer agony through his abdomen. They were not gonna force him to come back home and join the family conjuring busi­ness, in exchange for them lifting the celibacy spell.

Try as he might to forget the threat, the more Odelia moaned and yielded to his affection, the more his mother's words rang in his ears: You're young, baby, and sooner or later you gonna need to get that spell lifted or lose yo' natchel mind. It was your uncles' idea, not mine. Don't shoot the messenger. Your uncles was jus' angling for a compromise, suga'. So, meet 'em halfway; go on to school, and then why don't you jus' stop fighting your birthright and come on back to us after college and work with the family, like family should. Marry a nice girl from down home who understands our ways.

It was extortion, pure and simple.

Jefferson tried to push it all out of his mind as he deepened the tender kisses that Odelia's lush mouth demanded. So what if the clan claimed he was the strongest conjurer that had been born into their Family in generations? How in the world could he bring a soft, gentle creature like her home to his insane kin? She'd bolt for the hills, and he couldn't live without her. Odelia promised a normal, or­dinary life, with normal, happy children. He'd be a big attorney one day and would figure out how to get a restraining order on his en­tire family. He'd sue them for criminal trespass! Paranormal home invasion.

His hands soon found Odelia's face, and he cradled it as he stared into her eyes, speaking in a low, urgent tone and lobbying hard for his cause. "You and me are meant to be, 'Delia. What are the chances that we're both only children? You lost your momma on the same day and year I lost my daddy, we're even born on the same day, July twenty-first, and just so happened to be at the same university at the same time from the same part of the world, graduating the same year, and both feeling things the way we do? We practically breathe the same breath . . . can finish each other's sentences. Girl, we have the same fa­vorite color, sky blue, and like the same music, believe the same things, and both want to be together like nobody's business; what are the odds? Tell me this ain't meant to be." His argument was hard to deny as she stared into his eyes. They had a hypnotic quality to them that she'd seen before but just couldn't place. And the things his touch did to her body just didn't make any kinda sense. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a rush of breath exited where words failed. He pulled that same air into his mouth through his barely parted lips. Just seeing him do that made her nipples sting so sharply that she crushed her breasts against him, forcing him to wince and close his eyes.

"I know," she finally said, swallowing thickly as the ache sent slingshot spasms of desire between her thighs. "We're a perfect match."

He nodded. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Can't nothing break us up."

"My people got Funny ways," she said, practically swooning as his palms slid up her arms until his fingers were able to tease the edge of her tank top. She could barely catch her breath while his fingertips danced beneath the straps and across the swell of breasts, but not dar­ing to go beyond the fabric border.

"Mine do, too," he admitted in a rough whisper. "You wanna go to my place? It's gonna rain."

She could only nod and gently stroke his cheek. He had no idea how serious funny ways could be. Her folks took the meaning to a whole new level. Yet he'd made the statement about the weather without even looking at the sky, just like her daddy always did. Heavy-laden clouds had indeed formed, now pregnant with pending doom. Yes, it was gonna thunder and lightning and rain cats and dogs, and all hell was gonna break loose, once her family found out she was dating a McCoy. But marry one?

Odelia almost cringed at the thought but kept her expression serene as she stared at him with love. They'd put the hoodoo on her Jefferson, would throw every conjure in the mojo book at him, just to get back at his Family For possessing the wrong gene pool and be­cause of an old Hatfield versus McCoy land score unsettled. IF she slept with him, they'd know.

"We can't go back to your place. . . . You know what's likely to happen if we do." It was all a conjangled web of spell versus coun­terspell. Her aunties had cast a conjure that only a legit marriage could shield. They'd promised her that they had from the moment she'd begun to bud with puberty . . . and the insidious roots that had been worked promised that if any boy went too far, he'd fall dead away. It was their insurance policy that she'd return to the fold, bring her dead momma's inheritance with her to add to the Hatfield larder, and work alongside them one day. She believed them; her aunties didn't play. She'd never tested the theory, until Jefferson Mc­Coy made it hard not to. The way he was looking at her now made it next to impossible to hold the line, even For his own safety.

He kissed her again and didn't answer the charge. What could she do but kiss him back? There was no way to explain this nightmare. Determined to get away From all of that Family drama, she'd up and gone to college, hoping that root conjures had distance limits. But her daddy told her he'd redoubled his efforts and gone in with his sisters on that Front—to supposedly protect her virtue. She couldn't chance it, not the way she loved her Jeff.

"We're gonna get wet if we stay out here." Jefferson's voice was a quiet rumble, his gaze penetrating.

"I know," she whispered, already wetter than he could imagine. The slow trail his fingers made along the edge of her tank top was maddening. But she couldn't stop thinking about the few times they'd been alone, had come close, and the mysterious things that would always happen to break the mood and give them pause. A stove popping on—flames on high—a window slamming shut, pic­tures falling off the wall. . . yeah, Jefferson had ultimately come up with plausible explanations to calm her nerves, but to her mind, the virtue spell was in Full effect.

"I love you," she Finally said, and tried to put a bit more distance between their bodies, even while still in his embrace.

For a moment, he didn't answer. The look on his Face was that of a tortured man. She expected the kiss that was coming, but instead he only swept her mouth, bent his neck, and spilled a series of hot, wet kisses along the edge of her tank top until she writhed.

"I love you, too," he said against her breast, and then captured a nipple between his lips and suckled it through her shirt.

He'd never touched her there before, had only held her arms, stroked her back, or caressed her face. No man had ever touched her secret places. The closest they'd gotten to that was hot friction on a sofa, their hands afraid to explore further. The sensation was exqui­site; the gasp that escaped her was immediate. It made her fit herself against the hard length in his jeans and grind against it to staunch the sweet pain, even though her mind screamed for her not to.

But she couldn't pull away as his free hand cupped one tender, swollen lobe and then began to roll the distended tip of it between his fingers while his mouth played havoc with her will, wetting her tank top as it attended the other. Before she knew it, her top had been lifted to expose her bare flesh, and the sensation of his mouth against her skin put tears in her eyes. The word "don't" formed and fled on a whimper as he nuzzled the ache within her to fever pitch. Somehow her hand slipped between them on its own volition, touching a part of him she'd dared not before, and the sound that es­caped him nearly buckled her knees.

Harsh kisses pelted her face as rain began to fall. A spell be damned, she couldn't hold out for a minister or a judge, nor could Jeff. They had all they needed—each other, privacy, a blanket, and a vow to marry. The intent was clear; today would be the day. Storm clouds would be their witness. There was no stopping love. She be­gan unfastening his jeans.

A bright flash of lightning, Followed by an instantaneous loud crack and heavy thunder, made them both stop, look at each other, and then jerk their attention toward the huge pine tree a hundred yards away that had been split clean in two.

"Shit . . . ," Jefferson murmured, and stepped back From her.

Odelia nodded, and Fixed her top. "It's a sign."

He nodded. "Baby, listen . . . there's something I need to talk to you about."

"I know," she said, her gaze flitting between him and the angry sky. It had eerily stopped raining, but the overhead threat was still very real. "I've gotta talk to you, too."

"How about if we talk about it in my hoopty on the way home?" he said, gathering up the blanket as she snatched up the basket of abandoned food.

"Ya think?"

Racing to the car, they both jumped into his rusted-out white '87 Ford Tempo jalopy at the same time. They simultaneously turned to look at each other when Jefferson gunned the motor and another bolt of lightning struck the spot under the tree they'd just fled From.

"My family," they both said in unison.

"You First," he said, peeling down the small gravel and dirt road.

"Uh-uh. Not out here," she said, wiping her Face with both palms.

"Yours, too? That's all you gotta say."

She stared at him as he drove. "Yours?"

"Yeah. Mine."

"They . . ."

"Yeah—they do all of that. Baby, I was hoping that all this stuff they always told us was really just a bunch of superstitious hocus-pocus, but now I don't know. . . ."

Odelia glanced up at the sky again with Jefferson as he stepped on the accelerator. The sun had mysteriously come out. Their words were a quiet, unified confirmation embedded in a terrified whisper.

"Family roots."

To Odelia's mind, there was only one solution: call Nana Robinson. Her mother's mother wasn't a Hatfield and was a powerful woman in her own right. She had never accepted her youngest girl marrying a Hatfield and then dying way too young from a mysterious fever that claimed her the night of a horrible storm. Odelia had only been a crib baby then, but the family oral history on the event was cloaked in whispers and murmurs.

Odelia sat in the car outside her apartment and kept a close watch on Jefferson's expression as she told him about her kin. To her sur­prise, the man only rubbed his palms down his Face and sighed, seeming weary, and then confessed the most outrageous set of cir­cumstances, which eerily paralleled her own.

"So what are we gonna do?" she finally asked, relieved that her fi­ance didn't think she was crazy. She'd been fully prepared to slip the engagement ring off her Finger and return it.

"I need to go on ahead and meet your daddy, and do this the way men gotta do."

Odelia sat back in her seat. "Are you nuts? With your last name,

you wanna go into Hatfield territory to meet my daddy before we get married?" She shook her head no.

"It's the only way. Can't stand another minute not being with you, girl. We gonna have to try to reason with our Folks, and you're eventually gonna have to meet my momma, too. That's all there is to it—she ain't no real McCoy, just upholds the traditions on account of the Fact that I got thirteen uncles that ain't to be trifled with."

Odelia closed her eyes and slumped back in the passenger's seat. "Can you see it now, Jefferson? My thirteen angry Hatfield aunts squaring off with your thirteen uncles, and all our cousins by blood at the same wedding? My daddy just goes along with the git along to keep the peace and to probably stay alive. But my aunt Effie ain't no joke."

"My uncle Rupert is the McCoy ringleader on my side. But we'll have all the Robinsons From your momma's side and all the Jones clan From my momma's side as a buffer. They'll all be there, since both me and you are the first ones graduating beyond high school on all Four sides. So, the way I see it, if I can get my momma's momma, Grandma Jo, to help us out—'cause she ain't no McCoy but ain't no slouch, either—maybe we can get through the ceremony. Who knows? Don't worry. My grandma still ain't square with the way my momma, her daughter, ran off to marry my daddy, a McCoy. We still don't know how or why lightning struck a tree that Fell on his car and killed him when I was two. I'm half scared to speculate, girl. Just trust me when I say, though, Grandma Jo got some juice, too."

This was a shaky plan; Odelia could Feel it in her bones. But there was no denying how badly she wanted to be with this man. Despite the Fear, her body still burned For him. It was all over his Face, too. Passion denied was a powerful lure.

"We do this together," he said, pressing his point when she'd taken too long to respond. "We go up to your apartment, and make the heads-up calls... get a temporary truce in effect, so we can safely drive down home together. All right?"

"Okay," she said, hedging, "but how about if we don't drive down there, have them come up here to campus, and throw the grad­uation party-wedding reception right at the church on campus?"

"You got a point, 'Delia," he said, nodding. "Might be prudent to let Reverend Mitchell from down home co-officiate with Pastor Wise From up here, just to be on the safe side."

"Yup. You remember how it was back home: Hatfields on one side of that little church, and McCoys on the other. But if you cut out Reverend Mitchell, who knows how to deal with our kin, then that poor local pastor won't know what hit him."

"See, girl, we're on the same page," Jefferson said, opening his car door.

Odelia got out of the car, glancing around and wondering if she was missing her mind.

"What!" Nana Robinson shouted, Forcing Odelia to briefly remove the telephone receiver from her ear.

"Nana, I love him, and need—"

"Chile, you go on and get that marriage license straightaway and book the church," her grandmother fussed. "You let me deal with one Ezekiel Hatfield, ornery SOB, even if he is yo' daddy. Serves him right; that ain't nuthin' but the Lord setting the record straight. Probably yo' momma up in heaven orchestrating yo' daddy's pay­back. So, don't you fret. Awe's having us a wedding, baby! I'll marshal up Opal Kay, you hear me? My sister can go up against all them Hat­field heifers who think they can conjure. My grandbaby girl done us all proud, gots her education, ain't brung us no babies home, ain't been out in the worl' fornicatin', and snagged herself a lawya—I don't care what his last name is. Humph! Plus, any monies due you by way of your momma's soul going on to glory by rights is supposed to stay with her chile, not them!"

"Thank you, Nana. I love you," was all Odelia could say as she watched Jefferson shift from foot to foot close by.

"I love you, too, baby," her nana said. "Stay strong. I'm calling in reinforcements. Bye-bye."

When the call disconnected, Odelia and Jefferson just stared at each other for a moment.

She handed him the cordless phone. "It's started. Nana just mounted up a war party."

He sighed and accepted the receiver from Odelia and then punched in the number he knew by heart. Growing impatient, he waited for the tenth ring, knowing that his grandmother didn't be­lieve in technology, by way of an answering machine.

"Who dis here?" a surly elderly voice finally said once the call connected.

"Grandma Jo, it's your boy, Jefferson."

"Oh, my Lawd in heaven! Chile, whatchu doing calling this ole lady on the phone out of the blue, my Favorite grandbaby?"

Jefferson hesitated. "Grandma, I've got a problem."

Quiet Filled the line.

"Now, baby," the old woman said slowly, "you know Gawd don't put nuthin' more on you than you can bear. Tell Grandma what's wrong."

"I met this girl; she's real nice, real—"

"She pregnant, son?"

"No, no, it ain't like that," Jefferson said in a rush, glancing at Odelia, embarrassed by the charge. "She's real sweet, a church girl I met at college, and I wanna marry her, now that I'm fixin' to gradu­ate, but. . ."

"Then go on and do the right thing by her, boy. Marry that girl; if she passes yo' inspection, I know she'll pass mine. That ain't no problem. You grown, and did mighty right by yo'self. We's all proud of you."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "She's a HatField, Grandma. I Fell in love with her before I actually knew that this spell stuff was real." It wasn't the complete truth, but explaining the whole thing in ex­cruciating detail was just too much to deal with.

Again, silence Filled the line, and Jefferson closed his eyes, waiting.

"Well, that does create a sticky wicket now, don't it?" his grand­mother said, letting out a huff of breath.

"Grandma ... I can't have nothin' happen to her; you know what I'm saying?"

"'Deed I do," his grandmother said angrily. "I can't countenance them McCoys worth a damn! Not that I'm casting aspersions on you, suga', but you know how I Feel about yo' daddy's people. I ain't two-faced about it; they all knows how us Joneses feel, especially yo' momma. She know it—so I ain't talking behind no backs. When you fittin' to marry this chile?"

"I wanted to marry Odelia when everybody came up here for my graduation, to save everybody a double trip and the double ex­pense . . . since we were all gonna be up here at one time. She's graduating that day, too, so—"

"You was trying to kill two birds with one stone, like it would make sense to do. I hear you, chile. You ain't gotta go into no deep explanations for yo' ole grandma. I know how them McCoys act. Figured up in a public setting, they might jus' mind they p's and q's. But I wouldn't count on it." His grandmother sighed and let out a grunt. "We needs insurance."

Jefferson's shoulders slumped and Odelia went to him to hold his hand for support. "Grandma, I can't have nothing crazy happen to her, and I'm trying my best to do the right thing . . . we wanna be together, and every time . . ."

"They still got that mess on you, son, so you can't even half kiss her? No wonder you half crazy and ready to jump the broom like a fugitive," his grandmother practically shouted. "Lack-a-nookie at your age ain't healthy, boy."

"Grandma!" He dropped Odelia's hand, ashamed, and walked across the room.

"Don't you 'grandma' me," the elderly lady said, becoming indig­nant. "I know all about the birds and the bees, and been young once. That don't make no sense. Besides, I heard all about it from your momma, who's been worried sick about it ever since your money-grubbing uncles put it on ya! Now you hear me and hear me good, chile. You go on and get the day booked at the church. We Joneses is coming up there, and we bringing plenty to eat with us. They betta not start. I'ma call Reverend Mitchell and tell him all about it, and how them McCoys is at it again! He'll put up a prayer line round you chil'ren,jus' like he did when you all was jus' babies on the tit. Then I'ma get my sister, I dell, and your uncle Roy on the case. While I don't dabble myself, I know people who gots a powerful conjure to go up against a McCoy root any day. They ain't the only ones who can git into a pot and stir it—and you know I must be mad as a wet hen, ifn' I'ma go there, as your grandma. Fit to be tied, is what I am! Might even call Mrs. Robinson so we Joneses and Robinsons can form an alliance."

"Now, Grandma," Jefferson said, his voice quavering at the thought, "there's no call for an all-out Family—"

"It's settled," his grandmother said flatly. "The dawgs of war have been called, and so help me Jesus, war it is. IF we Jonses stand with the Robinson clan, with the HatFields going up against the McCoys, their numbers will be less than ours. Weaker. Our mojo will prevail, have mercy!"

He stared helplessly at Odelia, as she gestured wildly with her hands for a translation of the part of the conversation she couldn't hear.

"Grandma, please," he said, his voice quiet.

"Naw, baby. I got this. Now you jus' git off the tely-phone, and try your best to reserve yourself From laying a hand on your be­trothed For at least twenty-Four hours. Give Grandma some time to work it all out. . . jus' as a precautionary measure. I ain't dealt with this in a Few years and might be kinda rusty. So, let's stay on the safe side fer now. But we's having us a wedding."

"Thanks, Grandma. I love you." What else was there to say?

"That's right, baby. Now you c'mon and give Grand some suga' through the phone, and I'll be up there directly to git one in person."

Jefferson kissed the receiver and simply shook his head.

"Bye-bye, baby. It'll all work out." Then she was gone.

The couple stood in the middle of the apartment floor, saying nothing as Jefferson clutched the cordless unit in his hand.

"She called out the big guns, didn't she?" Odelia Finally whispered.

He nodded. "Yep. It's on, now. The Joneses are Forming an al­liance with the Robinsons against the HatFields and the McCoys. Grandma is talking strength in numbers, given that the HatFields and McCoys are splintered against each other."

Odelia closed her eyes and held on to the dinette table. "It was a really bad idea to call them, wasn't it?"

"Yep. My bad."

He and Odelia stared at each other For a moment and then burst out laughing.

Ester McCoy stood on her Front porch with her brothers-in-law, Rupert and Melville, watching Reverend Mitchell huff up the walkway. Her momma had put out an all-points Family bulletin, and Ester hadn't seen Pastor look so upset since her late husband had passed away. Somehow she knew her dead husband had to be doing cartwheels in his grave. Her boy was gonna marry a Hatfield? More important, her son hadn't even told her about it himself and her child was now in harm's way? Oh yeah, the die had been cast and the dragon's teeth sown. After it was all said and done, she was a Jones, and would side with real blood over married blood any day of the week.

She cut a withering glance toward her husband's kin. This had all gone too far—now the church was involved? But she pasted on her most mannerly smile as the elderly pastor tipped his hat and pro­ceeded up her porch steps.

"Afternoon, Pastor. What brings you out on this lovely afternoon?"

Reverend Mitchell set his jaw hard. "Ma'am," he said in a tight voice, and looked at her brothers-in-law. "You know I don't have no foolishness up in my church, right?"

Rupert and Melville returned innocent, astonished gazes at the pastor.

"Why, Rev," Rupert said with a sly smile, "we don't know what would make you draw such a conclusion, that—"

"I ain't drew no conclusion!" the reverend said, stomping his foot. "Don't tes' me, Rupert. I'm a man of the cloth, but I know these backwoods like the back of my own hand. Now you leave them children be so they can get married."

"We's all for holy matrimony, Pastor," Melville said sheepishly. "Ain't we, Ester?"

"The rat bastards is trying to root my boy!" Ester wailed, rushing over to Reverend Mitchell and burying her face against his shoulder. Her composure had fractured like a sudden storm. "They conjures is about to backfire, jus' like it took my husband, Jeb! I wanted my son to come home, but all in one piece and alive—which is the onliest reason I didn't come to you before. But if the boy is set on moving away and marrying, I want him to do well, and to give me some grands!"

"Now, see," Reverend Mitchell said, stroking Ester's back while he set his furious gaze on Rupert and Melville. "Y'all needs ta cut it out, 'fore somebody gits hurt. Both sides been going at it for years, all over money and land, but now we got innocent kids in the middle."

"You needs ta go tell the Hatfields to lay low. My brother died 'cause them Hatfields sent a lightning bolt at him, then claimed it was only supposed to be a warning shot over the bow," Melville protested. "Zeek Hatfield lied on my brother. Theys the ones who started it up again."

"And Zeek Hatfield's wife just so happened to die of fever that same night," the reverend argued, "when the way I recollect it, the woman had come out in the rain on a mission of peace!"

"That's right, she died, caught a cold, but we didn't have nuthin' to do with that, contrary to pop'lar opinions," Rupert said with a tight smile. "And ole lady Jones needs to stay out of family bizness and stop spreading mistruths."

"Now you calling my momma a liar?" Ester pulled away from the reverend's protective hug and squared her shoulders.

"Don't start with me, Ester," Rupert warned. "You don't want none-a this."

"You talking ill of my momma and put my boy in harm's way— whatchu think I got for your old ass, huh! If ya hadn't a went up to Zeek at the store and tried to rub his nose in it about his wife, which was a lie, then he wouldn't have tol' his sisters the rumor you-all had started to get his goat! Don't you Forget, I'm a Jones, and—"

"I ain't scairt of no Idell and Roy!" Rupert yelled, even though Melville had backed up a step. "Wasn't our fault that Zeek took things that far."

"It was his wife. Whatchu think the man was gonna do? Stand around and let her have an affair with my Jeb?"

"Now, listen to me, all of y'all!" Reverend Mitchell shouted. "We's gonna have us a wedding that might just, For once in history, bring both of these Families tagetha. And y'all needs to know this— I done called out the old prayer warriors in the church to put a hard line around anybody conjuring, spell-casting, or dabbling in hoodoo over these young folks. If ya send so much as a chicken foot to each other, it'll jump up and backfire on the sender. Oh, we's vigilant on this one. Grandma Jones and Nana Robinson done tol' on both sides!"

With that, the reverend straightened his lapels, tipped his hat, turned on his heels, and walked back down the front steps to the dusty yard path.

Someone was pounding on his door so hard that he and his sister, Effie, thought it was the police. Ezekiel HatField rushed with his sis­ter through the small clapboard house and did a double take when he spied Nana Robinson through the screen.

"I know that cow ain't on our porch," Effie grumbled under her breath as Ezekiel opened the door.

He stared at the rotund old woman who had her fleshy arms Folded over her huge breasts and who had come out in such a rush that she still had on pink bedroom slippers and a flower-printed housecoat, with her hair tied up in a sheer scarf. Mostly, that wasn't Nana Robinson's style. Under normal conditions, even he had to admit that the old bat wore a very fine church hat and was dressed accordingly, which was the only time he ever saw her. Worry creased his brow. The one and only thing that could have brought old lady Robinson to his door had to be something related to his baby girl.

With that in mind, Ezekiel shushed his sister. "Nana Robinson, you at my Front door For a good reason?"

"You know I am, Zeek. So, I ain't gonna mince no words. Your daughter's in trouble. Powerful trouble. And it's in your hands now."

He felt his body slump against the door frame as his sister's palm slid to his shoulder in support.

"My daughter Maylene, rest her soul in heaven, must be spinnin' in her grave."

"What happened to my baby girl?" Ezekiel whispered. "Just tell me, Nana. Please." Before the elderly woman could answer, he spun on his sister. "I thought you said you-all had something to keep that girl from getting knocked up, so she could get her education?"

"We did," Effie said, wringing her hands. "Aw, Lawd . . . who's the daddy? We can strike his ass dead, if—"

"She gittin' married, and the girl ain't done all-a that."

"Married?" both Hatfield siblings said at once, incredulous.

"When?" Effie asked, putting both hands on her hips.

"More important—to who? Ain't nobody ask me could they steal my baby," Ezekiel said, his voice becoming loud as he walked out onto the porch.

Nana Robinson smiled. "Ester McCoy's boy, who's just about to graduate From law school in two weeks."

"Aw, hell no!" Ezekiel roared, walking in a circle.

"That ain't gonna happen," Effie spat, and stepped out onto the porch, letting the door slam loudly shut behind her.

"It's outta your hands," Nana Robinson warned. "I done called both Reverend and Opal Kay—Rev will be by here directly, after he breaks the news to Ester . . . but Opal Kay gots somethin' fer ya, if y'all HatFields start some mess."

"Opal Kay ain't got nothin' to do with this," Effie yelled as she hurried back into the house and closed the screen door behind her and then glared at Nana Robinson through the flimsy divide.

"My baby ain't marrying no McCoy!" Ezekiel raged. "Over my dead body."

"That's a promise," Nana Robinson said, pointing a crocked fin­ger at him. "That's my grandbaby, too—don't you fergit it. Just 'cause I got arthuritis don't mean I'm rusty. Plus, we done formed an alliance—Joneses stand with Robinsons!"

"You threatening me, old lady?"

He leaned down in her face but backed up as her eyes narrowed.

"I ain't threatening you; I'm tellin' ya what Jesus knows." Before Ezekiel could step back farther, Nana Robinson whipped out a little black satchel from her ample cleavage. "This from both alliance clans," she said with a tight smile.

"Uhmmm-hmmm, ain't ready is ya, caught ya by surprise attack," the old woman said, triumphant. "So, don't make me drop this on your porch, fool, because we can do this the old-fashioned way, or keep some civilities. But ya best tell your sister and all the rest of them Hatfield heifers, they done come up against the entire Robinson-Jones coclans—plus we gots Ester McCoy standing with us, and one in the grave, my daughter, who will help us for her daughter—she one-a ours. All the mothers, dead or alive, is united. Don't you fergit how this all works and be dumb enough to let in­surance money make y'all stupid. Speak now, or forever hold your peace. We's having a wedding."

"Them McCoys sent fever over to my wife, your daughter. How you gonna let that go?" Although Ezekiel Hatfield's tone was angry, his voice had lowered a bit in fearful respect.

"I ain't forgot. But that was only 'cause your sisters started up the feud again by sending a lightning bolt over there to kill Ester's hus­band, thinking my daughter was low-life enough to be runnin' on you, Zeek. She wasn't messin' with Jeb, and you know it. Then you was all weeping and a-wailing up in church at my child's funeral, when ya found out the girl had only gone over there to try to strike a peace bond, given both families had little babies and it was time for the nonsense to stop. Them kids was a matched pair since birth; ev'y-body knows it. So, I'll blame you for listening to rumors, and for your false accusations, as well as your sisters for that misjudgment, till the end of time!" The old woman walked in a hot circle, tears rising in her cataract-stricken eyes. "Enough is enough! Why . . . you know I oughta jus' drop this bag any ole way, and—"

"Naw, naw, naw, now, Nana Robinson, we all remember full well how thangs got outta hand before."

"Uhmmm-hmmm," Nana muttered, and begrudgingly stashed her bag back between her breasts in a huff. "Ester's son is jus' a baby, like our Odelia. They's kids in love, so you-all best quit it. Don't test me."

"What hurts so bad is that my baby girl didn't come to her daddy with the news, first. I shouldn'ta found out like this."

"Well, if you-all wasn't acting such a fool, mayhaps the girl woulda came home and told you to your face, rather than called her nana crying her eyes out on the phone. She's scairt something gonna happen to that boy, and rightly so, 'cause she knows how y'all do. Call a truce, Zeek—right here and right now. She been a good girl, and ought'na have to have a heavy heart while she's about to gradu­ate from college like that. If her momma was still alive, she'd have someone to help her buy her dress, and all the things a bride is sup­posed to have. Really, you should go on and send that girl her momma's old dress, just out of kindness. But you're as ornery as an old rattlesnake, and even with that, your daughter wants your bless­ing." Nana Robinson stomped her feet as her hands went to her wide hips. "I cannot believe you'd do your own child this way; even for you, Ezekiel Hatfield, this is above and beyond."

The two combatants stared at each other.

"Truce," Ezekiel finally said, looking away, his tone a contrite grumble.

"Truce? Truce! You crazy, Zeekie?" Effie screeched from where she stood inside the screen door. "There ain't no way—"

"My baby girl's involved," Ezekiel said, coming between both women. "Might git her or a grandbaby hurt. We call off the dogs, Effie."

"Like I said," Nana Robinson stated as she gave Effie the evil eye and then turned on the porch ready to leave. "We's having a wed­ding, pure and simple, and y'all are gonna act right."

Jefferson and Odelia stayed together, wide-eyed, nervous, and under extremely platonic circumstances, practically joined at the hip, each half-afraid to let the other go to the bathroom alone. Every errand that needed to be run was done in partnership, because who knew what could befall one of them if he or she even went to the store independently? The trip to the courthouse to file for a marriage li­cense was viewed as a dangerous mission.

Both parents had called that first night, their voices distraught. Jefferson's mother had broken down and openly wept. Any libido Jefferson and Odelia had was killed. Her Father's voice was strained and punctuated with long, disappointed silences, but word that a truce had been activated, slowly, let Odelia and Jefferson breathe.

"You think it's all right if we sleep together on your couch?" Jef-Ferson asked, still jumpy, after she hung up the telephone.

"As long as we don't get into anything, I think we might be all right," she said, sounding unsure.

"Tell you what," he offered. "How about if I sleep in the chair, you take the couch, but at least that way, we can both stay in the same room?"

"Yo, man—you getting married and you wanna bring your fiancee to the bachelor party? Have you lost your mind?" His best friend laughed hard.

Jefferson steadied himself as he held his cell phone close to his ear. "Man, listen, it's complicated. I can't go into it right now."

"She's still at your apartment? Or you still over at hers? Ever since you dropped the rock on a sister, you've been in prison. All the cam­pus parties, you been there with her . . . And dude, for real, like, this might be your last hoorah as a free man."

"Hugh, you're supposed to be my best man. The one who's gonna keep me straight until I—"

"That's what I'm trying to do, partner. A few hours away won't hurt none."

Jefferson watched Odelia as she buzzed around the kitchen in his tiny apartment. A sense of claustrophobia had him in its grip. Two weeks of being together, Finding ways to entertain themselves with­out kissing too much or laying a hand on each other, was driving him nuts. "My Folks are coming in later tonight For everything. I can't be going out, getting tore up, plus that goes against everything Minister said, and—"

"C'mon, man. We'll have you back at a decent hour. You know me, right?"

"Yeah, I know you. That's what I'm worried about."

"But ain't it bad luck to be with or see the bride the night before the wedding?"

Jefferson paused. His homeboy did have a point. "Yeah. . . ,"

"Well, how about if we take a brother out For a Few, and deliver you to the Motel 6 where your people will be, and then you can hang out with your uncles till it's time to put on your cap and gown over your suit. Then, you lose the robes, I pin on your boutonniere, and we roll over to the church so you can get hitched—then we all eat, party . . . everything will be copasetic."

"That might be able to work," Jefferson said. "But I gotta talk to 'Delia about that, First."

"Awww, maaaan. Do you hear yourself? What did the girl do, works roots on your ass, or something?"

Odelia looked up From the stove and met Jefferson's eyes.

"That ain't Funny, brother. Don't even joke like that."

It was the first real argument they'd had since the day they met. She couldn't fathom how men could be so stupid! Carlah had been right. Maybe it was better that she got away from Jefferson for a few hours to connect with her girls, to do what she had to do, namely, get her hair beat, feet did, nails did, and spend quality female time without a male appendage.

Carlah was waiting for her on the front steps of her apartment building holding a FedEx box when Jefferson dropped her off. The sly smile on her best girlfriend's Face made Odelia smile, despite her Foul mood.

"Yo, my sister, my sister—you finally broke free!" Carlah laughed and rushed up to Odelia to hug her the moment Jefferson's car pulled away. "Dayum. I know the brother put a rock on your hand, and I can appreciate being in a love jones with a fine man like that, but ya gotta come up for air, baby."

"It wasn't like that," Odelia said laughing.

"Oh, pullease," Carlah fussed, grabbing Odelia's hand and hold­ing it up to the sunlight. "The man puts two cold karats on you, practically locks you away in y'all's apartments for two weeks, and you want me to believe he slept on the couch?" Carlah thrust the FedEx box at Odelia. "Give up the tapes. Details. Is he worth mar­rying, doing the till-death-do-you-part thing?"

"He's worth marrying," Odelia said, shaking her head and chuckling as she snatched the box from her friend, but refusing to say more.

"Hot-damn, I knew it. I'm too jealous, but it's all good. Tomor­row, we turn our tassels, throw our hats, and then you go out in white."

The statement ran through Odelia like ice water—the part about going out in white. Rather than focus on that as a possibility, she tore open the box and stood very still.

"What is it?" Carlah peered over the edge of the box as Odelia carefully extracted white fabric wrapped in plastic.

She would know her father's scrawl anywhere, and as soon as she saw white and not feathers, she knew he'd finally given his blessing. As gingerly as possible, she pulled the dress out and held it to her body, while Carlah snatched away the box and rooted within it for a note that didn't exist.

"Whoa . . . ," Carlah said, amazed. "Your dai sent your mom's dress?"

"Yeah," Odelia whispered, gazing at the dress. The fabric sud­denly became blurry as she smoothed the plastic-ensconced gown against her body. "Something really crazy had to go down."

"Girl," Carlah said, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "You're so paranoid. Just put it upstairs, we go eat, and go get ourselves beauti­ful for tomorrow. What could go wrong?"

Odelia simply nodded and took out her keys, too afraid to hazard a guess.

"Oh, shit!" Hugh hollered, and kicked his tire. "Brand-new truck jacked, right before graduation? Man, how am I gonna tell my people about this?"

Jefferson kept trying his cell phone that oddly didn't work.

"A black cat runs outta nowhere, I swerve, and now my beautiful candy red baby has no Front end? Look at her, man! I shoulda run over that Freaking thing and made it road pizza!"

True enough; the Front of Hugh's new ride was Folded in on itself like an accordion, radiator smoking.

"We're lucky to be alive, man. Let's Focus on that. Your cell phone working? I can't get reception."

Hugh sighed and flipped open his cellular. "Damn. I can't get none either."

"All right, so we walk till we can find a store or something, and then call For a tow."

"Are you crazy?" Carlah screamed, making all heads in the salon turn in unison. "My hair is green! I'm graduating tomorrow! I'm in a wedding! My maid-of-honor dress is sky blue! This won't work!" Odelia flung the dryer hood back and stood up. Her girlfriend, who was normally a sandy almond brunette, looked like a punk rocker. "They can fix it; they can fix it," she said, rushing over to Carlah to try to console her as shrieks gave way to sobs. Oh, Lord, it was starting.

"Tell me again why we are sitting in the back of a police car? I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this, man," Hugh said quietly.

"Because you decided to go up to a house, against my warning, and the old lady in there thought it was about to be a home inva­sion," Jefferson replied evenly while he stared out the window.

"My hair is now hideous, doo-doo brown," Carlah said picking at her salad, her eyes puffy "With my complexion, dog poop brown does not work."

Odelia hadn't touched her meal; all she could do was look at Car-lah's once gorgeous tresses that were now redyed to a garish color that made her very pale cafe au lait skin seem cadaverous. The green­ish tinge beneath the layered-on color was still very noticeable in the light. "It'll be all right, sweetie," Odelia said, guilt lacerating her. "It just has to—"

"I'm suing them. I promise you. Feel the texture of it; they turned it into straw with overprocessing." New tears filled Carlah's eyes and fell into her salad.

Odelia handed Carlah a tissue and grasped her hand. "As soon as I can get ahold of Jeff, we'll figure out what you have to do to sue them, all right."

"I don't feel good," Carlah said. "I need to go lie down."

"Okay, okay, we can do that," Odelia said quickly, and tried to hail a very slow-coming waitress.

But before Odelia could get their server's attention, Carlah was out of her chair, screaming. All heads turned in the restaurant, and several waiters rushed over. To everyone's horror, beneath the top lettuce leaves, fat, black beetles had begun to emerge from Carlah's plate. Odelia almost fell over her chair in the scramble to get away from the toxic table. Her girlfriend dry-heaved and then lost her lunch in the middle of an aisle. Nearby patrons shrieked and stood. Odelia crossed herself and ran to her friend's side, hurrying her from the establishment so she could get air, ignoring the apologies and the commotion that ensued behind them. When a crow flew by and crapped on Carlah's head, Odelia just hustled her shrieking girlfriend to the car.

It was all she could do to get Carlah settled down enough to drive her back to campus. Once she and Carlah's sorority sister, Gwen, had gotten Carlah to lie down with a cold wet compress over her face, Odelia headed for the Red Roof Inn, where her people were holed up. The only way she'd been able to get Carlah to let go of her hand was to promise to call the media and get Jefferson to make both the offending salon and the filthy restaurant his first legal cases.

During the entire short drive to the motel, Odelia could feel rage strangling her. By the time she made it to the lobby, she could barely speak into the house phone.

"Aunt Effie," she demanded, "where's—"

"Hi, baby! Congratulations! We all so proud, and just—"

"Where's Daddy? What room are y'all in?"

"Room three twenty-five, honey. C'mon up. We got plenty of food."

"Momma, they only let us go because we had student ID and they drove down the road to check out our story and found our crashed car—which had all the tags, license, insurance, and registration straight, like we'd said. Put Uncle Rupert on the phone!"

"Baby, now you watch your tone, especially when you call your uncles' and them's room. He ain't in here, and we ain't exactly on speaking terms, neither. Don't start no mess you can't finish. So you tread light, Son."

"Tread light? Tread light, Momma! I thought I was playing it safe by moving all my wedding and graduation stuff to my boy's apartment—but noooo. Here I'm about to graduate and get married in less than twenty-four hours and a black cat crossed my path, I've been in a car accident with my best man, we've been arrested, he can't find the ring, and I'm now standing in his apartment that's been flooded by a toilet that was in the one above us, and my suit is ruined!"

"Now that's what family's For, suga'. I know you can borrow a suit from one of your uncles, if need be," his mother soothed. "And—"

"I'm not wearing nothing from them. Do I sound like I'm crazy, Momma? In the middle of a hoodoo war, wearing their clothes would be like putting a bull's-eye on my forehead!"

"Well. . . perhaps you have a point, Son." His mother sighed into the receiver.

"Hugh just threw me his apartment keys and left to go stay with his family in the hotel—the poor man couldn't take no more to­night, even if we are homeboys."

"Baby, that's such a shame," his mother said quietly. "He'll be all right. His family is prayed up, ain't they? Besides, I don't think your uncles aimed to kill . . . uhmmm, just to deter."

"I ain't got no shoes, no drawers, no clean shirts, and all the good stores are closed. My best man is four inches shorter than me, so scratch me borrowing a suit from him. His car is totaled; my car bat­tery mysteriously just died; how am I gonna get to the mall? Ain't no buses running out here. Not to mention, I can't get hold of Odelia—since for some reason, my cell phone, and any other phone I touch, won't connect with her number. Now you tell my uncles for me, if they don't wanna see Jeb's son really lose his temper, then they'd better stop throwing whatever it is that they're hurling over the fence toward the Hatfields! Y'all gonna make me lose my mind and conjure myself!"

"Oh, Lord . . . don't tell 'em that. It'll jus' get their hopes up."

"Baby girl!"

Odelia stood stock-still as her father waltzed into the motel lobby with a bag of ice. Reluctantly, she hugged him, hoping he wasn't in­volved in the fray.

"Just look at my chile, all growed up." "Dad," she said calmly, "what did Auntie Effie do?" "She didn't do nothin'," he protested, peering away sheepishly as he held a dripping bag of ice. "They was out, machine went dead here, so I had to go make a run to get some—" "Daddy . . ." Odelia's hands went to her hips. "Aw, you know Effie. She just got herself a bad case of the hives . . . you know how high-strung she is. Might be shingles. She had them once or twice, and they say it never really goes away. But, uhm, after the food poisoning passed through her and all her sisters, we was all able to get on the road and travel up in a coupla vans with no problem. You get the dress I sent you, suga'?" Her father flashed her the most dashing smile and his thick bicep wrapped around her in a one-armed bear hug.

"Yes, Daddy," she said calmly, and returned his hug. "It's beautiful."

"I'ma be a proud man to walk down the aisle with ya looking just like yo' momma . . . even if he is a McCoy."

She let the dig pass, as well as the sentimental reference to her mother. "You-all don't stop, ain't gonna be no wedding."

"Now, now, don't git yourself all worked up. We all agreed to a truce," he said, patting her arm as he hoisted up the ice higher.

"My maid of honor's hair is green. Black beetles attacked her salad. She threw up in public in a restaurant. A crow pooped on her head in the street. The girl is laid out on her sofa, traumatized. Tell Aunt Effie to stop, because whatever she sent toward Jefferson boomeranged, missed me, and hit my best Friend."

Her Father looped his arm beneath hers and Feigned shock as they began to walk. "Do tell. Now, see, that's why I don't Fool with them tacky establishments. Your girlfriend oughta be more selective—"

"Dad, I'm serious."

She watched her Father swallow away a smile.

"Aw right. Your Nana Robinson made us call a truce, like I said, any ole way. Plus I heard that Rev got up a prayer wall, so it musta accidentally slid onto whoever was near ya."

Odelia stopped walking. "I haven't been able to get in touch with Jefferson all day."

Her Father patted her arm and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, he'll be all right. He's covered, I reckon."

"You reckon?"

"Effie and your other aunties was truly offended by Nana Robin­son's accusations."

"Where's Nana?"

"Alive. That old bat is fine."

"Daddy!"

Her father sighed. "I don't rightly know. Probably holed up with Reverend Mitchell, and them Jones people. They had the nerve to form an alliance agin' us Hatfields—have you ever heard such? We supposed to be kin, us and the Robinsons!"

"What happened?" Jefferson said in a near whisper as he looked around the hotel room that all his uncles had packed into for a fam­ily meeting. Were it not for a lift by another buddy, Jefferson wouldn't have been there at all.

Each one of them had dark red splotches all over their faces and was itching and scratching so badly that it gave Jefferson a nervous tic. His mother stood at his side, arms folded over her big bosom, wig firmly set on her head, her expression a mixture of victory and disgust.

"Serves 'em all right. I done tol' 'em Grandma Jo meant what she said. But they had to tes' my momma and it done boomeranged on all of 'em. They couldn't even eat dinner at Red Lobster, for every­body getting sick."

"Boy, tell your grandma to call off the hoodoo hounds so we can all go to your graduation tomorrow," his uncle Rupert begged, scratching his crotch. "There's conjuring, and then there's just plain ole unfair!"

"Son, I got a suit you can wear; one of us got some shoes," Melville cried, scratched a bald spot in his scalp, and then unbuckled his pants. "Tell that old lady that to make a man itch this bad where the sun don't shine just ain't Christian!"

"Where's Gran?" Jefferson asked his mother, too done For words.

"Over at the church, probably with Rev and the Robinson and Jones clan."

Odelia didn't wait to be told twice. Her mission was to find Nana Robinson—sanctuary. After seeing her thirteen aunts sprawled out on two beds, the floor, and room chairs scratching what looked like quarter-sized mosquito bites, Odelia was out. She lied, telling her fifty cousins who whooped and surrounded her in the hall with glad tidings that she'd be back to eat dinner with them, as soon as she double-checked on her girlfriend. Eat there? Not. She just prayed for all the little kids, too numerous to count, hoping God truly did look after children and fools.

By the time she reached the church grounds, she was close to tears. Obviously, verbal truces aside, an all-out war had started. If Jef­ferson had been hurt and caught in the cross fire, she vowed to mount her own vendetta—against her own kin. This was absolutely outrageous!

Odelia double-parked, dashed for the church house, rang Pastor Wise's door, and waited, hugging herself. She could hear loud voices and laughter and could smell the fragrance of good home cooking wafting from the windows. Why couldn't her life just be normal, like this? When the burly man with the big smile and warm eyes came to the door wearing a clerical collar, tears streamed down her face in earnest.

"Come on in here, darlin'; you got people waiting on you," he said, enfolding Odelia in his arms. "Reverend Mitchell—the bride's here!"

Odelia buried her face in the pastor's barrel chest and breathed deeply, staving off an all-out crying jag. Another pair of warm, el­derly hands petted her back and guided her away From Pastor Wise and across the threshold. Nana Robinson was smiling and standing next to a thin, gaunt woman with a kind Face and merry eyes. A roomful of people surrounded the two older matrons, and Reverend Mitchell kept his arm tightly around Odelia's shoulders. But once she saw her nana, it was all over.

Breaking the reverend's hold, Odelia rushed to the thick, safe arms that had always been there for her as a child.

"I know, baby. We all heard about it," her nana cooed, stroking Odelia's hair. "Now you go on upstairs with Pastor Wise's wife, get showered, and put your dress on. We sent your cousin to go git it, and a nice security guard from the building let us in, so we could save your momma's dress from the fire ants that decided to invade your apartment. The door was already open, on account of they had to fumigate."

"Fire ants?" Odelia was slack-jawed.

"Oh, we got the dress and shook 'em out." her nana reassured her. "We's gonna fetch your daddy, and that boy's momma, and bring jus' them here for a little repast. The rest of them fools got contagion." Her nana chuckled and clucked her tongue as she held Odelia back so she could wink at her. "Brought it on dey-selves . . . don't know how that happened?"

"Uhmmm-hmmrn," the thin woman beside her nana said. "The Lord do work in mysterious ways."

"Now, Grandma Jo, I thought you old girls agreed to leave this mess in the purview of prayer—"

"We did, Reverend Mitchell," Grandma Jo said, pressing a gnarled hand to her chest in shock. "You know we too ole to be acting like that, and we cooked up some good food that ain't gonna make no­body sick. Got a purty cake for the ceremony . . . lemon butter pound, a real cake, not some sto'-bought mess."

Odelia looked around, confused. "You're Jefferson's Grandma Jo?"

"Yes, baby. Welcome to the Family. I'm a Jones. Don't get me con-Fused with being no McCoy."

Healthy shouts of Amens Filled the room, as Family members From Jefferson's mother's people gathered around Odelia.

Frantic, Odelia's gaze scanned the house. "Is Jefferson all right?"

"That nice young man is fine," Pastor Wise's wife said. "He's up­stairs dressing in the suit his Grandma Jo had presence of mind to buy for him as a graduation present, along with some shoes and whatnot."

"Best to always be prepared," Grandma Jo said, pressing her lips together to stifle a smug smile.

"Well, they do say, the Lord helps those who he'p theyselves," Nana Robinson said, nodding with Grandma Jo.

"What happened to Jefferson's suit he was gonna—"

"There's plenty of time to talk about that later," Pastor Wise's wife said, interrupting Odelia's question. She shot her husband a coy, knowing glance. "I'll take you into my daughter's room so you can get ready For the wedding."

Odelia Froze. "The wedding? Tonight?" Her voice had come out in a squeak. "We gettin' a jump on 'em, suga'," Nana Robinson said calmly. "By tomorrow, it'll be all over but the shouting; then maybe you two can graduate in peace. I didn't drive all this way For no nonsense."

"No truer words been said," Grandma Jo concurred. "If you stop crying, hurry up, and get dressed, y'all be married within an hour, then we can Finally eat—I done put my big toe in that macaroni and cheese—and y'all can go on and do what young Folks do. Get you a hotel room and get busy, seeing as how neither one of y'all's apart­ments is fit to live in, right through here. Jus' don't get too love-crazy and fergit to set your clock. Like your nana said, I ain't come all this way to miss my boy's graduation. Hmmph!"

Odelia opened her mouth and closed it.

Both Pastor Wise and Reverend Mitchell discreetly chuckled with the rest of the Family as the pastor's wife ushered Odelia through the house toward the stairs, winding a path through widely smiling kinFolk. Her cheeks Felt hot, and Mrs. Wise squeezed her arm when Grandma Jo called out to Nana Robinson, "Girl, you ain't fergit to spice them greens with something to bring great-grands quick, did ya?"

"You oughts ta know me better than that, Jolene. We Robinson women don't play, when it comes to the kitchen," Nana Robinson Fussed back.

"Good. 'Cause like I said, I put my Foot in that macaroni and cheese."

Odelia wasn't sure if it was something in the greens, the mac and cheese, the fried chicken, or the lemon butter pound wedding cake. None of the elderly chefs were to be trusted; they all believed in big families. Might've been a sleight of hand by the maker of the tuna mac, potato salad, sweet potatoes, or even something slipped into the snap beans, rice, or ham. Anything was fair game to produce more great-grandbabies. On the other hand, trying to remain logical, it very well could've been the yearlong wait for the right partner, or the peach iced tea could have been spiked, knowing their families. Maybe it was simply love—go figure.

All she was very sure of was, Jefferson McCoy hadn't let her sleep a wink all night and was still sweating like he'd run a marathon this morning. Bottom line, Odelia was married, happy, and it was clear that they were both going to be very late For their graduations.

L..A. BANKS. (a.k.a. Leslie Esdaile Banks) is a native of Philadelphia, a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania Wharton undergraduate program, and holds a Masters in Fine Arts from Temple University's School of Film and Media Arts. After a stellar ten-year career as a cor­porate marketing executive for several Fortune 100 high-tech firms, Banks changed careers in 1991 to pursue a private consulting career—which ultimately led to fiction and film writing. Now, with more than twenty-four novels and ten anthology contributions in an extraordinary breadth of genres, and many awards to her credit, Banks writes full-time, and resides with her husband and children in Philadelphia. Look for her Vampire Huntress Legends series and a full listing of her published works at: www.vampirehuntress.com.