every room, so I was set on the meal front.
After brushing my teeth, I did the makeup and hair thing, and added last minute supplies to my little hot pink, wheeled suitcase. Snowball protested being shooed off the closed luggage lid, but better white cat fur on the luggage than on my clothing.
I snapped the mermaid receiver around my neck and would give Maggie her necklace before we left. Not that we needed to wear them for the drive, but we might as well. I didn’t think I’d need the amulet on my person, either, but it fit nicely in a pocket of the khaki cargo shorts I’d paired with a seahorse-print tank top. Maybe I could use the disk’s magick to zoom our way through Friday afternoon Jacksonville traffic. Couldn’t hurt, and if that was a sign the amulet’s power was already corrupting me, I would deal with it.
We left for Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island at a quarter of three, and maybe the amulet did clear a path in traffic because we arrived at our beachfront hotel at four. My room had an odd layout with the queen bed right inside the door, but that meant I’d be shaded from the morning light. The heavy drapes would protect me from the sun, too. No need to wear my industrial-strength sunscreen to bed.
As part of the special package deal I’d negotiated, the hotel had prepared refreshments of cheese, crackers, fruit, and assorted cold drinks set up in the lobby. Which came in as a handy way to break the ice as each wave of our party checked in.
Not that all seven ladies were bridesmaids. Sherry, who had known Maggie since childhood, would be Maggie’s only other attendant. The others had been invited because they were good friends. Susan, Evelyn, and Carole were college buds of Maggie’s, and Rhianna and Tiffany were longtime interior design associates. Fireball Jessica was Neil’s younger sister. Her husband John, a college buddy of Neil’s, would serve as his groomsman, but Jessica had declined being in the official wedding party because she was expecting twins.
“No way am I paying for a preggers bridesmaid dress,” she’d said. “I’ll be the cake attendant so I’ll have something to hide behind in the photos.”
The ladies snacked and sipped and chatted like they’d known each other—and even me—for years. Yes, I was a tiny bit surprised each woman so readily accepted a vampire in their midst, but my expectations for a successful weekend soared. Especially when, to a woman, they loved and immediately donned their mermaid charms.
Would’ve been darned difficult to insist that seven independent women wear trackers. But hearing distinct tones for each lady bolstered my confidence that I could keep everyone safe, and tucking the amulet in the pocket of the aqua capris of my dinner outfit didn’t hurt, either.
With Jessica driving her SUV and me driving Neil’s, the party headed to the Florida House Inn in high spirits.
Whereas old St. Augustine reflects its Spanish colonial heritage, downtown Fernandina Beach is dotted with Victorian buildings. We passed book and clothing stores, gift and antique shops, restaurants, and even a club housed in the old buildings en route to the side street where the Florida House took up most of the block. Laughter rang in our private room that overlooked the back garden, and the restaurant surpassed its reputation for fabulous food.
At eight thirty, after the wine had flowed during dinner, the wild wedding women insisted we go clubbing. Yep, the ladies had shucked the shackles of their real lives and slapped on their party-girl hats.
We walked the two blocks to the Painted Lady Saloon. The building had started life as a bank built in the Victorian style, but the interior was now sleekly modern. Large and small cocktail tables ringed a sunken dance floor with a little karaoke stage. Music throbbed, the bass so intense that it altered my heartbeat. Was the noise bad for Jessica’s babies on board? I had no idea, but she led the charge to move three
After brushing my teeth, I did the makeup and hair thing, and added last minute supplies to my little hot pink, wheeled suitcase. Snowball protested being shooed off the closed luggage lid, but better white cat fur on the luggage than on my clothing.
I snapped the mermaid receiver around my neck and would give Maggie her necklace before we left. Not that we needed to wear them for the drive, but we might as well. I didn’t think I’d need the amulet on my person, either, but it fit nicely in a pocket of the khaki cargo shorts I’d paired with a seahorse-print tank top. Maybe I could use the disk’s magick to zoom our way through Friday afternoon Jacksonville traffic. Couldn’t hurt, and if that was a sign the amulet’s power was already corrupting me, I would deal with it.
We left for Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island at a quarter of three, and maybe the amulet did clear a path in traffic because we arrived at our beachfront hotel at four. My room had an odd layout with the queen bed right inside the door, but that meant I’d be shaded from the morning light. The heavy drapes would protect me from the sun, too. No need to wear my industrial-strength sunscreen to bed.
As part of the special package deal I’d negotiated, the hotel had prepared refreshments of cheese, crackers, fruit, and assorted cold drinks set up in the lobby. Which came in as a handy way to break the ice as each wave of our party checked in.
Not that all seven ladies were bridesmaids. Sherry, who had known Maggie since childhood, would be Maggie’s only other attendant. The others had been invited because they were good friends. Susan, Evelyn, and Carole were college buds of Maggie’s, and Rhianna and Tiffany were longtime interior design associates. Fireball Jessica was Neil’s younger sister. Her husband John, a college buddy of Neil’s, would serve as his groomsman, but Jessica had declined being in the official wedding party because she was expecting twins.
“No way am I paying for a preggers bridesmaid dress,” she’d said. “I’ll be the cake attendant so I’ll have something to hide behind in the photos.”
The ladies snacked and sipped and chatted like they’d known each other—and even me—for years. Yes, I was a tiny bit surprised each woman so readily accepted a vampire in their midst, but my expectations for a successful weekend soared. Especially when, to a woman, they loved and immediately donned their mermaid charms.
Would’ve been darned difficult to insist that seven independent women wear trackers. But hearing distinct tones for each lady bolstered my confidence that I could keep everyone safe, and tucking the amulet in the pocket of the aqua capris of my dinner outfit didn’t hurt, either.
With Jessica driving her SUV and me driving Neil’s, the party headed to the Florida House Inn in high spirits.
Whereas old St. Augustine reflects its Spanish colonial heritage, downtown Fernandina Beach is dotted with Victorian buildings. We passed book and clothing stores, gift and antique shops, restaurants, and even a club housed in the old buildings en route to the side street where the Florida House took up most of the block. Laughter rang in our private room that overlooked the back garden, and the restaurant surpassed its reputation for fabulous food.
At eight thirty, after the wine had flowed during dinner, the wild wedding women insisted we go clubbing. Yep, the ladies had shucked the shackles of their real lives and slapped on their party-girl hats.
We walked the two blocks to the Painted Lady Saloon. The building had started life as a bank built in the Victorian style, but the interior was now sleekly modern. Large and small cocktail tables ringed a sunken dance floor with a little karaoke stage. Music throbbed, the bass so intense that it altered my heartbeat. Was the noise bad for Jessica’s babies on board? I had no idea, but she led the charge to move three
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