My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding by Charlaine Harris, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Caine, Esther M. Friesner, Susan Krinard, Lori Handeland, L. A. Banks Page B

pirates. It was the sky.
    Stars spilled thick and diamondhard overhead, veiled here and there by a silver net of mistmore stars than she'd ever seen in her life. The moon was a breathtaking, pure crescent of silverwhite, so bright it burned. And the sea a vast, mesmerizing net of glints and sparks and liquid silver. Cold and beautiful.
    "You locked us in," she said. She meant it to be accusatory, but there was something so beautiful about the night that she couldn't even begin to be angry.
    "Ah, well, I'd prefer to define it as 'kept you out of my way,'" Lockhart said. She couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not. "The sea's a treacherous bitch, but she's a looker when she's in the mood." His low, darkhoney voice turned unexpectedly rough. "Like most women, I'd suppose. Best move on now. Don't keep your true love waiting."
    A whole audience had assembled the whole crew, maybe, or as many as could be sparedand she edged past the men nervously and considered the issue of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. Not a problem in pants. Big problem in skirts.
    Ian, resplendent as a lost prince in his finery, struck a bold pose at the top of the ladder. Wind billowed his frock coat and feathered the lace at his throat, and his hair spilled out like a silk flag. Very romantic.
    He didn't offer to help her up.
    She climbed fast, trying to keep her skirts as tight around her legs as possible.
    She settled herself breathlessly, and Ian moved away after a perfunctory peck on the cheek.
    A hand closed over hers as she lurched for balance. Not Ian's big, strong handthis one was darker, sinewy, rougher, and had never seen a manicure in its entire existence. She looked up into Captain Lockhart's face, and for a second she saw something odd there. A kind of searching regret, something that brought him into real focus for the first time not as a parody or an archetype in tattered clothing but a man. He placed her hand over his arm, in an oldworld gentlemanly way, and walked her to her husbandtobe.
    The comparison was inevitable. Ian had a carefully sculpted body, courtesy of personal trainers. A tan delivered weekly at the best salon in the city. Fine, gorgeous hair that required more maintenance than Cecilia's entire (mostly nonexistent) beauty regimen. He was polished and buffed and engineered into every woman's fantasy, and as he smiled at Cecilia she felt the doubts that had been growing in her mind spread like an oil slick to her heart.
    Lockhart placed her chilled fingers in Ian's and then held out his right hand.
    Argyle hastily stepped forward and put his small book into it. Lockhart opened it, squinted at the pages, turned it around, and made a show of flipping until he found the appropriate passage.
    "Right," he said, and cleared his throat. "Ian Taylor, do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife, et cetera?"
    " 'Et cetera'?" Ian repeated blankly, and then, "Er, yes. Sure. I do."
    Lockhart was already moving on before the last syllable was out of Ian's mouth.
    "Right. Cecilia Welles, think you carefully: Do you take this man, Ian Taylor, as your lawfully wedded husband, giving him power and authority over your worldly goods as well as your earthly body, until death do you part?"
    She was no expert, but she was pretty sure that most marriage ceremonies weren't that sinister. Lockhart's dark eyes seemed to see everythingall the doubt, the fear, the horrible lack of selfconfidence that had led her to this terrible, unhappy moment.
    I hate oceans. I hate boats. I hate pirates.
    I hate Ian.
    I hate myself. That's the real problem.
    "I do," she heard herself whisper.
    Lockhart's eyes widened just a fraction, but then his face went entirely still. "Ah.
    Then ye be a wedded woman, Mistress Taylor," he said, and tossed the book over his shoulder at Mr. Argyle. "God preserve you."
    Argyle fumbled the book out of the air, tsked over a bent page, and carefully stowed the book in a pocket of his coat. Lockhart threw his arms wide for