Dark Light by Randy Wayne White

cup.
    â€œProbably not every woman’s dream of a wedding reception,” Fontana said, studying the scene.
    â€œIt was very nice of my friends to throw a party for us,” she said, immediately defensive.
    Fontana nodded, surprising her. “Yes, it was.”
    Elvis chose that moment to float past at eye level. Rezzed up on the coffee and cake that he had been sucking down all evening, he was clearly enjoying himself.
    â€œGot a feeling I’m going to be investing heavily in balloons from now on,” Sierra said.
    â€œLooks like the bunny was born to fly,” Fontana agreed.
    Shortly after the second round of cheap wine, Mitch and Phil had hit upon the bright idea of getting Elvis airborne. The plan had involved a light cardboard tray designed to carry paper coffee cups and several of the helium-filled balloons that Kay had brought in to help decorate the newsroom.
    The contraption had proved airworthy. Elvis had hopped into the makeshift basket, chortling in delight. With his small weight the miniature airship levitated gently to a height of about six feet off the floor. Delighted with the view from his new vantage point, he had spent most of the evening floating regally among the revelers.
    Elvis chortled. Fontana obligingly sent him sailing off in a new direction. Elvis was practically beside himself with glee.
    â€œSomething tells me no one is going to miss the bride and groom if we leave,” Fontana said.
    â€œI think you’re right.” Sierra got to her feet. “It’s been a long day. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised you hung around as long as you did tonight. It was very nice of you.”
    His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed faintly in response to her polite thanks.
    â€œIt’s my wedding, too, remember?” he said.
    She felt the heat rise in her face. “Well, yes, but since it’s not a real wedding, I guess I just assumed you’d leave earlier. This can’t be a Guild boss’s idea of a good time.”
    â€œShows how much you know about my private life.” He straightened from the desk. “I’ll get your coat.”
    â€œI’ll get Elvis.”
    Elvis allowed himself to be plucked from the balloon’s basket and tucked under her arm. When she turned, she saw Fontana waiting at the door with her coat. She thought they might make it out into the hall without anyone noticing, but luck ran out. A shout went up just as Fontana’s hand curved around the doorknob.
    â€œThey’re leaving,” Matt announced in a loud voice. “Anyone got rice?”
    â€œNo rice,” Simon said, “but no worries. We hunters use a different kind of send-off on occasions like this. Isn’t that right, guys?”
    â€œDamn right,” Jeff declared, the words a little slurred. “This is a Guild wedding. Tradition must be followed.”
    Andy came to a halt on the dance floor, the blonde cuddled in one arm. “Wouldn’t be right if we didn’t follow hunter tradition.”
    Alarm galvanized Sierra. Hunters were very big on tradition, and a lot of those old traditions—dueling, came to mind—were appallingly macho and lamentably archaic. Any hunter tradition dealing with wedding nights could not be good.
    â€œNo, that’s okay,” she said hastily. She raised her free hand in a warding-off gesture. “This is just an MC.”
    She could have sworn she saw Fontana’s jaw twitch.
    Jeff leered. “Nobody ever said MCs weren’t real weddings.” He turned to the crowd. “What do you say, folks? Did the wedding look real to you?”
    There was a roar of agreement from the crowd.
    â€œThat settles it,” Simon announced. “It was a real wedding, all legal and everything. That means we gotta follow tradition. Stand aside, Sierra.”
    â€œWhy?” she asked, deeply suspicious.
    â€œJust do what the man says,” Fontana advised.
    Gently he pushed