My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

“Frieda!” Grandma closed her hand over Frieda’s arm and the blonde witch scattered sandwiches across the table. “The Fifth Level Demons,” she said quickly, “are a—”

“Rock band,” Ant Eater interjected, pointing her sandwich at Hillary.

Mom had that plastered smile on her face again. Not good.

I took a sip of tea, letting it scald all the way down to my stomach. It didn’t help. I considered taking an English shortbread cookie, if only to have something to do. Creely solved that problem by walking past in her long skirt and knocking most of them onto the floor.

Two witches joined her in picking them up, eating as they went.

I willed Hillary not to look at them, and saw that she was too busy watching Frieda, Grandma and Ant Eater, as if she couldn’t figure out exactly why they were at her party—or in my life.

Relax. I could do this. It’s not like I’d expected them to become best friends. Still, with everyone trying, it would be nice if we could find some sort of common ground.

“I’ll see to some more refreshments,” Hillary said, standing too quickly. She practically sprinted from the room.

Once I was sure she was gone completely, I leaned forward and fought the urge to throttle Frieda. “What are you doing, telling her about demons?” I hissed.

She was wide-eyed. “It’s common knowledge!” She whispered, too loudly for my taste. “Besides,” she said, rubbing at her middle, smearing clotted cream as she did, “I can barely keep down my lunch. My girdle is about to cut me in half.”

Oh, come on. “Then take it off.”

“Here?” She brightened.

“No.” I snapped. “Grandma?” She’d side with me on this.

Grandma rolled her eyes. “She’s got you there, Frieda. This isn’t an underwear on the chandelier party.” I smirked, until Grandma gave me a stern look. “Still, it’s not Frieda’s fault you’re lying to Hillary.”

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t telling Hillary the whole truth, but, “What am I supposed to say to the woman? Hello, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in close to a year, but you should know that I’m now a demon slayer, I ride with biker witches, the Earl of Hell has it out for me, and by the way—there’s a dragon outside your window.”

Frieda shrugged. “It’s a start.”

Grandma leaned close, elbows on her knees. “Try to be honest with her,” she said, glancing at a frowning Ant Eater, “she might surprise you.”

I doubted it.

“In the mean time,” Ant Eater said, stealing a finger swipe of the clotted cream from along the side of the bowl, “we’ll do our part and try to get along with spider monkey.”

Hells bells. “What are you talking about now?” They’d better not have brought any monkeys.

“That’s our nickname for your mom,” Ant Eater said, sliding the five remaining finger sandwiches off the platter and onto her lap. She resisted my death glare. “What? She said she’s bringing more.”

“Do not call my mom a spider monkey,” I said. “She’s a nice person.” She was. It was a matter of getting to know her.

“Twitchy,” Ant Eater said between bites.

“Skinny as all get out,” Frieda added, stealing a sandwich off Ant Eater’s lap.

As if she was one to talk.

Grandma nodded. “Screeches like a banshee when she gets mad.”

“What did you do to upset her?” It couldn’t have been worse than what I did.

Grandma shared a glance with Ant Eater. “There was a little trouble with our stuff when we got here. We sorted it out.”

“Hey, at least we’re all getting to know each other, right?” Creely said. I looked up to find the engineering witch, of all people, pouring more water into my cup. She gave everyone refills.

I tried to see past her full-on Laura Ingalls Wilder dress. “What happened to the caterer?”

Creely grinned. “Out in the garden having a giggle fit.”

I caught her by her frilly, laced wrist, feeling the biker bracelets underneath. “You said you’d behave.”

Creely shrugged. “Those kids needed a laugh. Besides, I can do her job even better.”

Grandma took a sip of her tea and grinned. “Yes, you can!”

I didn’t like it. “What did you do?” I reached for my cup and about choked on a sip of pure Jack Daniels. “You spiked the water?” I hissed as Hillary entered the room, tray in hand.

“It’s got a tea bag,” Frieda reasoned.

I reached for the pot and lifted the lid. It looked like water. It smelled like water. But a little green spell floated on top. I reached for it, the hot water stinging my fingers as the spell skirted away.

“Lizzie!” My mother scolded. She’d stopped and was holding the tray of sandwiches, watching me like I’d gone off my rocker.

It wasn’t hard to do around here.

“I was trying to get something out of the pot,” I said, as Frieda began to giggle. “Stop it.” I pointed to her. There was nothing funny about this.

Hillary placed a new plate of sandwiches as far away from Ant Eater as she could manage. Then I watched helplessly as mom refreshed her tea.

“You might not want to drink that,” I told her.

“Nonsense,” Hillary said. She raised the cup to her lips. “Where are my caterers?”

“On break,” Frieda said as Hillary took a sip of her tea.

Mom jerked back, and then took another sip. “Champagne?”

“Say what?” I asked, watching, waiting for the inevitable shriek.

“Gina must have added even more specialty blends than I thought,” Hillary said, voice warming. She broke into an incredulous smile. “My tea tastes like Dom Perignon Rose.”

“Takes the edge off, right?” Creely said, slapping her on the back.

Frieda slammed a second cup. “Mine tastes like a Shamrock Shake, spiked with Baileys.” She leaned forward on her elbows, legs spread as wide as her tapered suit skirt would allow. “Now how come McDonalds only makes Shamrock Shakes in March?”

“You’re going to scald yourself,” I warned as my mom drank her whole cup.

“It’s actually the perfect temperature,” she said, holding her cup out for a refill.

Ant Eater chuckled and even my mom started giggling.

“How fast does this stuff work?” I asked Creely, as my mom started downing a second helping. “Hey. Whoa.” I tried to get a hand on mom’s cup.

“It’s just tea,” Hillary said, maneuvering out of my reach, gripping it like a three-year-old with a toy.

Evidently Creely’s spell worked very fast. Hillary was grinning like a mad woman. I’d never even seen my mom buzzed and now—

“Down the hatch,” Ant Eater declared as everyone did a shot of tea.

“Fix this,” I pleaded with Grandma, who at least had the decency to look guilty—as she poured another cup.

“At least everybody’s having fun now,” she said to me under her breath.

“Because you’re getting them drunk,” I said, as an impromptu game of Up and Down the River broke out at the next table.

Meanwhile, my mom had squeezed in next to Frieda on an already crowded couch. She had her legs crossed toward the witches and was leaning in like a co-conspirator. “So,” she said, gesturing with her teacup, “you like it here, right? I was worried you wouldn’t like it here. But I said, ‘I can do this.’ I said, ‘Hillary, you don’t need this whole shebang to be perfect. You only need it to look perfect.’”

Frieda nodded, her expression solemn. “I say the same thing when I make squirrel soup.”

“Want to play a fun game?” Ant Eater asked, leaning over Frieda. “Drink every time Lizzie gives us that bug-eyed look. See?”

They all three swiveled at me, and burst into giggles, raised their cups and drank.

“I’ve got a better one,” Frieda said, pouring more water into her cup. “You guys want to play I