A Gatlin Wedding Read online

  A GATLIN WEDDING

  Beautiful Creatures: The Untold Stories

  by Kami Garcia & Margaret Stohl

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  Table of Contents

  About the Authors

  Copyright Page

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  Authors’ Note

  We came up with the idea for Beautiful Creatures: The Untold Stories because the two of us wanted a chance to tell our readers all the stories that never made it into the Beautiful Creatures novels. We’ve been writing about the Mortals and Casters in Gatlin for eight years now, and we’re dying to share all their secrets… or at least as many as we can before Ridley finds out what we’re doing.

  These stories are also our opportunity to answer the questions readers ask us most often, like: How did Lila fall in love with Macon? Why did Amma show up at Wate’s Landing to take care of Ethan? What is life like in Gatlin now? Best of all, we’re writing them for our own pleasure as much as for yours.

  The truth is, Ethan and Lena, John and Liv, Macon and Lila, Amma and Marian, Link and Ridley—not to mention the entire Wate, Ravenwood, and Duchannes families—they’re our families, too. Gatlin is our hometown as much as it’s home to our characters and our readers. Thank you for sharing this journey with us, and we hope these stories make parting with Gatlin a little easier. But if you still miss Gatlin and your Caster family, you can always visit them between the pages.

  So read on. You can start with any story in this series without reading the others. However, for our most committed readers (and honorary Casters), if you read all of them, you’ll learn more than a few things you didn’t know about your favorite Mortals and Casters.

  We look forward to sharing the next story with you, and talking about all of them with you online. See you soon in the Gatlin County Library!

  Love,

  Kami & Margie

  “The half-life of love is forever.”

  —Junot Díaz

  I. Fifteen Pies and One Cake

  Fifteen pies sat together on the swaying row of conjoined rectangular folding tables in Ethan Wate’s backyard, proud as Mrs. Asher’s cats, waiting like everyone else for the rehearsal dinner to start. Ethan counted them from where he sat on the splintering steps of the old back porch at Wate’s Landing, just out of the last-minute setup chaos.

  Tonight was serious business; you could tell by the good china. Not a Pyrex or a pie tin on the tables, and the actual wedding wasn’t even until tomorrow. Marian and Lena and Lena’s grandmother and her Aunt Del and everyone else on Team Wedding—even the bride herself, Ethan’s old English teacher and future stepmother, Lilian English—had outdone themselves. Reluctant recruits or not.

  By the time they were through, every half-decent pie maker in town had chipped in. These weren’t pies money could buy, Ethan knew. These pies had to be earned. Raspberry lattice crust. Peach double crust. Apple crimp crust. Blueberry crumble crust. S’mores graham cracker crust. Lemon chess with cream. Chocolate chess with cream. Chocolate silk with chocolate cream. Coconut cream with extra coconut cream. Lemon meringue. Jumbleberry. Wildberry. Blackberry. Blueberry. No-bake strawberry. Even one lopsided Tunnel of Fudge cake, half melted in the evening heat, though it wasn’t a pie at all. Ethan and Lena had made that one themselves, if only for sentimental reasons…

  Around Gatlin, pies meant only one thing—love. At least, that’s what they meant to anyone who had ever known Amma, Ethan’s honorary grandmother (and uncontested number one champion blue-ribbon baker of the Gatlin County Fair Annual Pie Bake-Off). But she was gone now, and it hurt to think about it, so when Ethan got to the end of the pies, he just kept counting.

  Fifteen pies, one cake, seven platters of butterscotch bars, twelve cream-of-casseroles, six rainbow Jell-O salads, six ambrosia fruit salads, two hundred and forty biscuits, six tubs of honey butter, ten pitchers of lemonade, ten more of sweet tea…

  Nearly a hundred upstanding citizens of Gatlin, South Carolina—and more than eight hundred and eighty Jordan almonds. (Ethan’s fingers were raw from wrapping them in netting, which everyone had been doing for days.)

  And one Wheel of Fate, he thought.

  That’s what had brought them all here, to this day and to these pies and to this backyard.

  Of that, he had no doubt.

  Because that was what Ethan Wate saw in his backyard the night of his father’s rehearsal dinner, more than anything else. Even if he couldn’t see the Wheel exactly, he could feel it, and it would take more than fifteen pies to distract him from that. Especially when those pies weren’t even baked by the one person whose pies he’d grown up eating.

  It all just felt wrong.

  Like the final destination of a forking road that never should have been taken, all those years ago.

  One that led somewhere no Mortal was ever meant to go.

  It wasn’t exactly the most celebratory thought for the day before his father’s wedding, but that didn’t mean Ethan could stop himself from thinking it.

  Because the Wheel of Fate has a way of wrecking everything it ever rolls past. And now we’re all just left to sort out the pieces, to pretend this is how it was always supposed to be.

  Ethan could feel his one wrinkled white oxford dress shirt growing damp and sticky in the warm twilight air.

  I hate Fate.

  Ethan looked out over the circle-topped, white tablecloth-covered card tables that had been borrowed from the church and set up in his backyard for tonight’s party. An orchard basket full of peaches and daisies sat in the center of each one, surrounded by little tea lights in mason jars and a stack of Mrs. English’s favorite books, including all the ones she had taught Ethan and Lena. Ethan could see Marian’s meticulous handiwork in everything, which made sense, because Marian, along with Lena’s Gramma Emmaline, had taken over the wedding itself.

  Everyone was certainly trying to make this a party. The cracked driveway had been glued back together with asphalt, and flowers had been replanted with new black dirt along its border. The patchy rectangle of backyard lawn was filling up with his Georgia cousins, not to mention half of Gatlin. They’d all turned out in their Sunday best on a Friday night to begin the weekend of festivities that meant Mitchell Wate was marrying their English teacher. If that wasn’t a scandal, it was at least something to talk about.

  Hallelujah.

  Ethan watched as the crowd began to flow into the backyard. The length of the receiving line was a testament to just how long Lilian English had been teaching. It was snaking down the Wate driveway, longer than the endless jasmine that Ethan’s mother had slowly coaxed into a vine along the driveway wall, so many years ago.

  In line were the Snows and the Ashers, both mothers and daughters in matching blowouts from the Snip ’n’ Curl. (Longtime best friends Savannah and Emily also had matching spray tans from the new Island Glow over in Summerville.) The Chases were there, without the perpetually chubby Charlotte, who was now scrawny as a baguette and living in Paris in a study abroad program, a fact that her parents managed to work into just about every other sentence. The Westerlys had brought Eden, but she looked like she was about six months pregnant and not too happy to be at a wedding, seeing as she’d sort of skipped that part herself. (Her parents didn’t talk about that at all.)

  The guys from the team were all there, or at least their fa
milies were. The Pettys had showed up without Earl, who was still playing for State. Emory was there, though; he had never made it past the first Thanksgiving at college, and now worked at the gas station where Ethan and Link and the guys used to buy car magazines, by the Stop & Steal. Life outside of Gatlin was just too much to handle, for some people. Emory’s parents shoved him through the line, looking about as happy as the Westerlys about it.

  Who else?

  Ethan studied the crowd.

  The Wixes, the Wattses, and the Birches had also come to pay their respects.

  So had the Richmans, the Honeycutts, and the Ebitts. Principal Harper was getting punch for Mrs. Abernathy, who never changed a bit. Miss Hester from the attendance office was showing off her perfect purple manicure to Mr. Lee, the world’s worst history teacher. Mr. Hollenback stood behind Coach Cross and her husband. Even Mr. Hollingsworth, from the school board, was standing behind them.

  It was like some kind of weird casserole of Ethan’s whole life, he thought, all baked in the backyard heat until it congealed into leftovers that he could shove into a ball of aluminum foil and hide in his backpack. Something he could take with him back to Massachusetts and beyond.

  Home.

  At least, that’s what this was supposed to be, wasn’t it?

  But no matter how many folks from Ethan’s past showed up, it still didn’t make this weekend feel right.

  He’d expected weird. His whole life had been nothing else.

  But.

  But this feels really wrong.

  What is it?

  And am I the only one who feels it?

  Ethan’s dad was marrying his old teacher, who had also once been body swapped for the most powerful demon in a few universes. Was that it? He had tried not to let it bother him—after all, his dad seemed happy to be getting married—but now that the big day was tomorrow, Ethan was having more trouble with it than he wanted to admit.

  How had they all gotten to this crazy place?

  Ethan studied Mrs.—Lilian—with her no-nonsense pale peach skirt suit, sensible shoes, and glass eye, tilting her head to try to hear everyone in the reception line. (Which was impossible; her family had run the local shooting range, out by the county line, and as the years went on she heard almost less than she saw.) Lilian English and Lila Evers Wate—Ethan’s future stepmother and his deceased mother, respectively—were as different as any two people could be. Not only would Lila Evers never be caught dead in a peach-colored skirt suit, but by now she probably would have kicked off her own shoes. Tomorrow Lilian English would be walking down the aisle in her wedding cake of a dress, fluffy veil, and yes, shoes and all, and Ethan didn’t know how he could face it.

  Seriously. Is this how my life was supposed to go?

  Any of our lives?

  Is this the hand of Destiny? The Wheel of Fate?

  If so, then who’s behind that Wheel, and what kind of idiot is doing the driving around here?

  Ethan tried to stop thinking about it, but it was hard to stop.

  If Amma hadn’t met with the bokor in New Orleans to trade her life for mine, would she still be here? And would I be in the Otherworld?

  Ethan kept his eyes on the stream of Gatlin neighbors appearing in his yard.

  No.

  No more.

  I have to stop thinking like this.

  Now Liv appeared in the driveway in a slim cream-colored shift, holding a shiny black bag that said HARRODS. She’d chopped off all of her platinum hair at the chin; with every year, she looked more serious and more like a Keeper. John stood next to her, hovering protectively, as always. It looked like he had slept on the plane in the shirt he was wearing, which had yet to be tucked in. They were probably jet-lagged, as Liv was still studying at Oxford, and their flight had gotten in from DC—and before that, London—only the day before. Liv had insisted they travel like Mortals instead of Incubuses, if only to get the mountain of wedding-related luggage here in one piece. At least, that was what she had said. Ethan wondered if there was more to it than that. With Liv, who tracked the science behind the Caster world more closely than anyone in either the Mortal or Supernatural realm, you never knew. More often than not, she was preparing for a storm you didn’t even see on the horizon.

  Ethan watched his friends skip the line and walk past his father. Liv made a beeline for Marian, who was guarding the pies by the punch bowl. He wanted to go talk to them, but he couldn’t bring himself to go down into the crowd yet.

  Instead, the thoughts just kept coming.

  But really.

  If a lovesick Incubus hadn’t followed my mother out of a rare books library, would she have become a Caster Librarian?

  Would Marian have ever told my mom she was a Keeper?

  Would she still have married my dad?

  Would I have even been born?

  Jeez.

  Now Link walked into the yard, rattling with random rocker chains and head-to-toe black despite the heat. He picked up his sticker name tag—Mrs. English had also insisted on name tags, on account of the Georgia cousins—and slapped it on the back of an unsuspecting Principal Harper, who was busy congratulating the happy couple. Then Link ducked a tree branch and went to join Liv and John by Marian’s side. Marian kissed him hello and went back to fussing with the pies, just as Amma would have done.

  Ethan’s heart caught in his throat, and the questions returned.

  And if all that hadn’t been in the cards, would Fate have shown the same spread to a young Seer from Wader’s Creek?

  Would those cards still have sent Amma to keep her eagle eye on my dad?

  Would the Darkest Caster of all time still have murdered my mom?

  “You’re a mess, aren’t you?” Lena finally sat down next to Ethan.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  She smiled. Her gauzy sundress was the color of a ripe Gatlin peach, just as the bride had requested. The tablecloths, the flowers, the napkins, even the netting around the Jordan almonds were all the peachiest peach possible. (Except, of course, the actual peaches in the ambrosia fruit salad, because ironically, they were white—Marshmallow Fluff being the key ingredient.)

  Shake it off. It’s just a wedding. You’re just spooked, Ethan thought.

  Maybe the Wheel of Fate has already rolled enough, all over all of us. Maybe from here on out, everything will be fine…

  “It’s pretty obvious. You okay?” Lena threaded her arm through his.

  Ethan smiled at her. “Yeah. Of course.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Liar.”

  “Could you hear me?” Ethan sighed.

  Freaking out about the Wheel of Fate? Of course I can, Ethan.

  Of course you can, L.

  He hadn’t realized he was Kelting—the unspoken Caster language of communicating through mind and heart alone—but Lena had felt every word he was saying, as usual.

  “You might as well have been shouting,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “So I ditched kitchen duty. I thought I’d check in on the crazy.”

  He gave up trying to pretend otherwise. “I’m trying not to go there, honestly. I’m just off my game today.” Ethan looked up at the sky. Clouds were rolling in over each other in great strokes and waves and puffs, but nothing was too out of the ordinary for a Gatlin summer night.

  “Are you going dark on me?” She said the words lightly but they weren’t light. Going dark had been Amma’s words for the moods—Supernatural or otherwise—that could overtake a person when their defenses—Supernatural or otherwise—were down. Lena raised an eyebrow and Ethan knew he wasn’t going to be able to get out of answering.

  “Sort of.” He leaned back against the steps. “It’s like… I can feel a storm about to break, or the rain coming… only for no reason.”

  “No reason?” Lena asked, not quite innocently.

  “I keep looking up at the sky but there’s nothing there, and I don’t even know what I’m expecting to see.”

  “Y
ou don’t?” She looked like she was trying not to laugh.

  “Something terrible, whatever it is. Something I’m dreading.”

  “Oh yeah. You’re going dark,” Lena mused, moving her hand up to the back of Ethan’s neck. The touch of her warm fingers calmed him—which they always did, now that something didn’t catch fire every time they made contact, like it used to. “What could be the reason? Let’s see. I don’t know, maybe it’s that your dad’s getting married tomorrow?”

  “Don’t remind me.” Ethan smiled sheepishly.

  “Give yourself a break. I don’t know what I’d do if Macon even went on a date.” Lena shuddered. Macon had been given a free pass on the wedding festivities, seeing as most of the town believed he was dead. He was threatening to show up tomorrow for the ceremony, but nobody believed him. Macon lived his life up at Ravenwood Manor in almost perfect solitude these days.

  Lucky dog.

  “It’s not just that,” Ethan said. “Though I do feel like a jerk, because I know I should just be happy for him.”

  “You should,” Lena agreed.

  “And this is probably the hard part, right? The wedding weekend itself?”

  She took in his gloomy expression before answering. “Probably.”

  Ethan drew a deep breath. “So I’ve got this.”

  “You really do.” Lena smiled again.

  She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, and he slid his arms down to her waist. He was about to scoop her up onto his lap, despite his Georgia cousins watching, when she broke off the kiss—pulling back.

  “Look.” She pointed at her hair.

  She froze, as if a bee had landed on her head.

  Ethan realized her curls were twisting, as if in the wind. It was the Caster breeze, which meant Lena was working some kind of Cast of her own.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan asked.

  “I don’t think it’s me,” she said. “I think it’s someone else—or something. Something powerful.”

  The hair pricked along the back of Ethan’s neck.