My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon by Jim Butcher, Kelley Armstrong, P. N. Elrod, Katie MacAlister, Rachel Caine, Marjorie M. Liu, Lilith Saintcrow, Caitlin Kittredge, Ronda Thompson
Authors: Jim Butcher, Kelley Armstrong, P. N. Elrod, Katie MacAlister, Rachel Caine, Marjorie M. Liu, Lilith Saintcrow, Caitlin Kittredge, Ronda Thompson
Tags: sf_fantasy_city
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open the door to the captain's cabin, and dumped her inside. "You've caused enough trouble already."
She fell to her hands and knees, twisted around, and glared back at him. He was a smallish man, compact and muscular, with wild dark hair and slightly mad eyes, arcane-looking tattoos crawling in a blue ring around his throat and down his chest.
In other words, scary.
"Stay here, witch," he ordered, and slammed the door on her. She tried the handle as soon as she heard his footsteps thump away, but of course, it was locked.
Perfect. Just
perfect
.
In the corner of the room, Cecilia spotted her blue suitcases—delivered ahead of time, thankfully—and charged for them. She skipped past the lovely going-away outfit and went for the blue jeans and comfortable white shirt at the bottom of the stack of clothing. She'd brought her own boots this time, and found a thick pirate-style belt in one of Liam's chests to finish out the ensemble.
Taking off the cute wedding lingerie would take too long. She left the white lacy underthings and topped it with more practical clothing, including the boots and belt, and began investigating the room for weapons. She'd found a dagger and was considering a cutlass when she heard the approach of a mob in full roar, noise that dumped a chill like cold water down her spine. It was coming down the hall.
The door rattled, then banged open, and Liam and Argyle charged inside. Mr. Argyle—a small, neat man with a Napoleonic haircut and Ben Franklin-style spectacles, primly dressed in a lobster-red eighteenth-century coat, white shirt, and black trousers, all sparkling new and clean—bobbed his head apologetically toward her as he shot the bolts on the door. "Ma'am," he said. "Felicitations on the happy day. Apologies for the general disaster."
Liam was ransacking the sea chests and coming up with weapons. A deadly looking double-edged knife. A six-shot revolver. A semiautomatic pistol, brand new. Liam caught the look she sent him, and shrugged half-apologetically. "Always be prepared."
"That's the Boy Scouts, not the pirates!" she said.
"Where do you think they got it from, lass?"
The roaring was loud now, right outside. Hammering started on the door. Argyle backed away from it toward them, his eyes cool and focused behind the spectacles as he held a pistol at the ready.
"Mr. Argyle," Liam said.
"Sir."
"What the sodding
devil
is going on?"
"Aye, well—"Argyle sent him a brief apologetic look. "I think the pink floral tablecloths were the last straw. But they've been muttering for months now, about how you've been bewitched again, about how devil-ridden this modern world is. I can't even convince most that the television box isn't some demonic spirit—"
A particularly loud
bang
on the door. Cecilia saw the wood shiver.
"Shortened version, Mr. Argyle, if you please," Liam said without a trace of alarm. Cecilia picked up another dagger from the pile Liam had amassed and jammed it firmly against her side, at an easy angle for a draw. "I don't think the door will hold for the epic tale."
Mr. Argyle nodded. "Mutiny, Captain. They're determined to take the ship out now, without delay."
"Well, it's not the first time that's happened," Liam said coolly. He ejected the magazine on the automatic he held, checked it, and slipped it back in with smooth efficiency.
"Respects, sir, it's the first time that we risk more than a temporary inconvenience," Argyle said. "Being mortal and all now." He sighed. "At least I convinced them to put the caterers and party staff safely on the docks. But they're taking the ship out, like it or not. I think the reception's off."
"There was no call for any of this. I'd have listened to them. I always listen."
Argyle looked briefly chagrined. "Aye. But—you must admit, sir, you've been a changed man, these last few months. And I've been no help to you. I admit, this modern world is a fair shiny place to my eyes; I failed to see how bad their morale was getting.
She fell to her hands and knees, twisted around, and glared back at him. He was a smallish man, compact and muscular, with wild dark hair and slightly mad eyes, arcane-looking tattoos crawling in a blue ring around his throat and down his chest.
In other words, scary.
"Stay here, witch," he ordered, and slammed the door on her. She tried the handle as soon as she heard his footsteps thump away, but of course, it was locked.
Perfect. Just
perfect
.
In the corner of the room, Cecilia spotted her blue suitcases—delivered ahead of time, thankfully—and charged for them. She skipped past the lovely going-away outfit and went for the blue jeans and comfortable white shirt at the bottom of the stack of clothing. She'd brought her own boots this time, and found a thick pirate-style belt in one of Liam's chests to finish out the ensemble.
Taking off the cute wedding lingerie would take too long. She left the white lacy underthings and topped it with more practical clothing, including the boots and belt, and began investigating the room for weapons. She'd found a dagger and was considering a cutlass when she heard the approach of a mob in full roar, noise that dumped a chill like cold water down her spine. It was coming down the hall.
The door rattled, then banged open, and Liam and Argyle charged inside. Mr. Argyle—a small, neat man with a Napoleonic haircut and Ben Franklin-style spectacles, primly dressed in a lobster-red eighteenth-century coat, white shirt, and black trousers, all sparkling new and clean—bobbed his head apologetically toward her as he shot the bolts on the door. "Ma'am," he said. "Felicitations on the happy day. Apologies for the general disaster."
Liam was ransacking the sea chests and coming up with weapons. A deadly looking double-edged knife. A six-shot revolver. A semiautomatic pistol, brand new. Liam caught the look she sent him, and shrugged half-apologetically. "Always be prepared."
"That's the Boy Scouts, not the pirates!" she said.
"Where do you think they got it from, lass?"
The roaring was loud now, right outside. Hammering started on the door. Argyle backed away from it toward them, his eyes cool and focused behind the spectacles as he held a pistol at the ready.
"Mr. Argyle," Liam said.
"Sir."
"What the sodding
devil
is going on?"
"Aye, well—"Argyle sent him a brief apologetic look. "I think the pink floral tablecloths were the last straw. But they've been muttering for months now, about how you've been bewitched again, about how devil-ridden this modern world is. I can't even convince most that the television box isn't some demonic spirit—"
A particularly loud
bang
on the door. Cecilia saw the wood shiver.
"Shortened version, Mr. Argyle, if you please," Liam said without a trace of alarm. Cecilia picked up another dagger from the pile Liam had amassed and jammed it firmly against her side, at an easy angle for a draw. "I don't think the door will hold for the epic tale."
Mr. Argyle nodded. "Mutiny, Captain. They're determined to take the ship out now, without delay."
"Well, it's not the first time that's happened," Liam said coolly. He ejected the magazine on the automatic he held, checked it, and slipped it back in with smooth efficiency.
"Respects, sir, it's the first time that we risk more than a temporary inconvenience," Argyle said. "Being mortal and all now." He sighed. "At least I convinced them to put the caterers and party staff safely on the docks. But they're taking the ship out, like it or not. I think the reception's off."
"There was no call for any of this. I'd have listened to them. I always listen."
Argyle looked briefly chagrined. "Aye. But—you must admit, sir, you've been a changed man, these last few months. And I've been no help to you. I admit, this modern world is a fair shiny place to my eyes; I failed to see how bad their morale was getting.
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