An already shitty day got crappier.
“How far could she have gone? She’s a woman in a fucking wedding dress.” Chris raked his fingers through his hair, not caring if it stood in spikes. He had a more pressing worry.
Living until the morning.
His fucking asshole of a father was giving him hell for not marrying Isobel—because, apparently, it was totally his fault that she ran away.
Rasputin was offering to castrate him—with Marya threatening to pickle said removed body parts—for obviously having done something grievous enough to force Isobel to choose flight.
Why he got blamed for her running he’d yet to understand. Chris was the one still at the church. The one willing to say “I do” and get to the bedding aspect.
People appeared to be forgetting that part. Where was his sympathy? People should feel sorry for him. The poor jilted groom.
His sister Muriel kept telling him not to worry, that things would work themselves out. He wanted to tell her to take her sunny attitude and shove it somewhere cloudy.
His other sister, Bambi, the only truly sane person in his family, uttered the only thing of worth. “Where’s the booze? It’s five o’clock somewhere, and time to get drunk.”
A great plan except the church had nothing but vinegar wine, and his flask was already empty.
The empty container perhaps explained why Chris felt like he should hunt down Isobel and talk with her. Explain his side of things. Maybe even smooth things over.
Once she understood that he was the victim in all this, she’d probably forgive him—and give him head.
Okay, the last part might be wishful thinking, but at this point, it was all he had.
While everyone jumped into cars—Evangeline on her broom because, hey, stuck-up bitches liked hard things between their legs—determined to find the runaway bride, Chris looked to the woods.
“Anyone want to help me search in there?” He pointed.
Isobel’s mother, a woman who literally walked around with her nose in the air and had more airs than a freaking queen, sniffed. “I highly doubt she went traipsing in the woods. She is, after all, a lady.”
“Are we talking about the same girl?” Because the Isobel Chris knew wasn’t afraid to fight off the decaying walking dead and ride a bony dinosaur in a museum uprising.
“How do you expect her to wander the woods in heels and a wedding gown?” Marya curled her lip. “Not too bright, are you?”
Evangeline took one hand off her broom to tap his cheek. “But at least he’s pretty.”
“I’d prefer ugly grandchildren to stupid ones,” Marya remarked. “Plastic surgery can fix most faults.”
“And possession can fix any others,” Lucifer remarked. “Why, I’ve still got that chap Einstein roasting somewhere in Hell. Say the word, and I’ll give him a pass to serve the family. Think of it as a wedding gift.”
“There will be no possession of my children, even if they are dumb as rocks.” Chris wanted to cut out his tongue for even using the term my children.
“I know some rocks that would find that offensive,” Muriel stated. “Golems are really sensitive about those kinds of things.”
“Can you stop talking?” he asked. Because having a sister was annoying.
“No.” Muriel smiled. “Does this mean you’re going to noogie me?”
“Going to what?” He went back to not understanding women as Muriel babbled.
“Noogie.” She held a hand to her head and pretended to rub. “It’s what big brothers do.”
“I don’t want to be your brother. I was supposed to be an only child.” He scowled.
“Just think of how much more fun Christmas will be now that you have family.”
“How can you celebrate Christmas? It’s a religious holiday for the other side.”
Muriel rolled her eyes. “Like, hello, Jesus’s birthday. Uncle God might not talk to us much, but his kid is still our cousin.”
The concept that Jesus was his cousin no longer had the ability to blow his mind. He’d never met the man who walked on water. Probably best Chris didn’t get to know his Heavenly cousin since prophecy on their battle was kind of murky on the outcome.
“If you are all done wasting air, Isobel is missing!” snapped Rasputin.
“Want to wager on how long it takes us to find her?” Lucifer asked, waving a wad of cash.
“I have enough money already. Let’s bet something of value,” Rasputin declared.
“No gambling. That’s what started all of this in the first place,” stated Marya.
“I’ll wager my favorite broom I find her before any of you do.” Evangeline waggled the gleaming wooden handle.
“I’m surrounded by morons,” Chris muttered. “While you idiots figure shit out, I’m going for a walk.”
“In the woods?” Muriel exclaimed, noticing the direction of his steps. She grabbed his arm. “You really shouldn’t. It’s dangerous.”
“Yeah, fresh air and nature and all that.”
“Watch out for dryads. They can be frisky this time of year.”
Frisky as in naked and orally inclined? How was that a bad thing?
Probably because Isobel wouldn’t like it.