Archive of Our Own

“Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; 
                                    Come buy, come buy…” 

The voices chattered in Wynonna’s ears as if carried on the wind. She looked around, confused, slowing the truck. There was no one around; she was alone in the car and alone on the road. Not a building in sight, just the empty badlands on the other side of the Ghost River Triangle. There was nothing but desolate fields and depressed-looking trees for miles around.

Except—

“Come buy, come buy…” The voices babbled again, closer this time. She blinked—

A market. There was a… a market here?

Yes, there was a market here.

She pulled the car off to the side of the road, parked in the space beside a gnarling old tree that looked like its branches had twisted into fists raised to the sky, and she stepped out into the fading sun of the early evening. The air was just beginning to chill, but it still held some of the residual heat from the summer day. Even so, she shivered, pulling her leather jacket closer around her, as she stepped off the side of the road and into the market.

It was the most fantastical thing she had ever seen, though when pressed for details later, she wouldn’t be able to recall a single colour she had seen. There were— Blues? Greens? Reds?

Yes, there were reds, certainly; the most tempting of reds, the most deliciously forbidden of reds. There were golds that sparkled in a wonder. There were shades of black that seemed to draw her in as if they were black holes, and she was caught in their gravity. There were—so many colours. They all bled into one another, into a wonderful cacophony of sights and sounds that filled her with such a desire to come buy, come buy…

Later, she wouldn’t be able to pick out which tent she wandered to; she had simply wandered, in a daze, to where the market told her to go. She left the same way, eyes glazed over, swaying from foot to foot. It felt like she was gliding through the grass of the field, so caught up in the shimmering images of tents and trinkets and fruits and berries—come buy, come buy—as they slipped out of her mind like water through a grate.

She blinked, and she was back in her truck, and there was a mug in her hands. It was old, some sort of antique beer stein, made of heavy black porcelain and sculpted with intricate impressions of leaves and vines swirling around it. Dust was inlaid in the designs from disuse, but that was okay. She could wash it.

She smiled, placing the mug on her passenger seat, and started the car again. Pulling back out onto the road, she could hardly remember she stepped off the path at all. As she drove farther away, closer and closer to home, the memories slipped away, until all that was left in her mind was the knowledge that she had a new mug—a special mug. It wasn’t for her. She had bought it for someone else. For… for Nicole. Yes. She had bought it for Nicole, for tomorrow. She didn’t know why, but for some reason that didn’t bother her so much.

She turned up the radio and hummed to herself, picking words out of her head at random to match to the beat of the song: “Come buy,” she sang, “come buy…”

“Stop, stop,” she swatted Nicole’s frantic hands away. Nicole huffed, swatted back, but nevertheless she let her hands drop to her sides, fingers tapping a nervous beat against her thighs as Wynonna fixed the knot on the tie around her neck. “Honestly, Sheriff Haught, who put cocaine in your cereal this morning?”

Nicole glared at her flatly. “Not today, Wy,” she warned, though it wasn’t anger in her voice. It was simply strain: she was just nervous. Scared.

Against her better judgement, Wynonna felt herself soften. “I know,” she said quietly, smoothing down the tie until it lay flat against Nicole’s sternum, and fixing the clip to its middle. “I know, you’re nervous, but there’s no reason to be—Nic, you have been planning this day for how long? Since the day you met my baby sister?”

Nicole blushed, but said nothing.

(No, of course she hadn’t been pathetically planning out their entire wedding since the moment she met Waverly. She wasn’t that much of a useless lesbian. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn't met Waverly and immediately had flashes in her mind of—something. Of a smile, maybe, that was just for her, and a house that was just for them. She’d be lying if she said she met her fiancée and didn’t think immediately that this is a woman I could spend the rest of my life with.)

And Wynonna knew this, of course, though not in so many words. She had figured it out pretty quickly, after they had started dating (or, after she had realized they’d started dating? She never got a clear answer as to how long they had been together before they told her, but that was Waverly’s choice. The gay thing had been a bit of a shock, so Wynonna hadn’t pushed it) that they were both in this thing until the end. Whether that ‘end’ be a loud argument over jealousy or greed or envy or something else that makes love turn sour in one’s throat, or whether that ‘end’ be ‘until death do us part’.

“Nicole,” she said with a sigh, adjusting the collar on Nicole’s pale cream dress shirt. “You love Waverly, and she loves you, so you know what’s gonna happen?”

Nicole looked impatient, but nevertheless she shrugged. “What’s gonna happen?”

“You’re gonna get married today, and then you’re gonna live happily ever after in paradise like some gross gay princess fairytale,” Wynonna said. “And everyone who looks at you is gonna want to hurl from how much you two love each other. Seriously, you’re gonna be that disgusting married couple that literally everyone hates because you’re so much more in love than they ever will be. I mean, you’re that couple already, but now there’s gonna be actual rings involved, which makes it even worse. Everyone is going to hate you, basically, is what’s gonna happen.”

Despite the fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach, Nicole snorted dryly. “Thanks, Wy. Are you going to hate us, too?”

“Oh, of course,” Wynonna scoffed, waving a dismissive hand as she walked to the cupboard above the fridge where they kept the good whiskey. “I’ll hate you the most, in fact, because not only are you happier than me, but you also stole and defiled my baby sister. One more wrong step and I’m challenging you to a duel, Sheriff.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, slumping down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Waverly was getting ready upstairs with Jeremy and Chrissy—they were probably arguing over how to curl her hair, but Nicole knew that anyway they did it, she was going to look like an angel—and she and Wynonna were down here. They had agreed to split up the house like this, to keep up some semblance of tradition. It was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, after all, and there were two brides here, so double the chances of bad luck. It wasn’t that Nicole was particularly superstitious anymore; it was just that she had spent the past two years fighting the literal Hell-sent forces of evil. Sometimes superstition had a point.

“Here,” Wynonna said, planting a bottle of whiskey on the table, next to an old mug Nicole had never noticed before. It was a tall beer stein, made of black porcelain and decorated with patterns of ivy leaves and twirling vines sculpted right into it. The rim of the cup was painted gold and chipping, and the leaves were painted in a forest green that had nearly been rubbed off with age. Nicole picked up the mug, studying it curiously. There was a symbol on the bottom, but she almost couldn’t make it out, it was so faded.

“Where did you get this?” She asked. “I haven’t seen it before.”

Wynonna shrugged, taking the mug from her and filling it with two fingers of whiskey. “I dunno, I found it at an old market or something. The guy selling it said it was supposed to bring eternal happiness to whoever drinks from it. So here,” she slid the mug to Nicole, “liquid luck.”

She held the bottle of whiskey up for Nicole to cheers. Nicole sighed, trying to shake away the nerves still jumping in her veins. Maybe just one drink—maybe that would help. She was terrified, after all.

After everything, they could all use some luck, so why not?

She picked up the mug and tapped it against Wynonna’s bottle. “Liquid luck,” she echoed, and they drank.

Wynonna watched her finish the whiskey in one go—the amount Nicole could drink never ceased to shock and amaze her—and place the mug down again, licking her lips. She sat still for a moment, silent and contemplating. Then she blinked, and looked up to Wynonna, a sloppy smile growing across her face as her eyes glazed over. “Th’ world wen’ spinny, ‘Nonna,” she said after a moment, slurring slightly, her voice noticeably sweeter and noticeably more innocent.

“What?” Wynonna asked, blanching. She knew that look, but—no, no, no, not possible.

Nicole grinned with her teeth, like a kid showing off their new braces. “Spinneeeyyyy,” she sang. “So spin. Oh jeez, my tongue feels weird. Does it look weird?” She pushed her tongue out for Wynonna to see.

Wynonna’s jaw went slack. “Oh fuck,”

Nicole looked crestfallen. “Wha’s wrong with my tongue?” She asked, tears prickling the corners of her eyes, tongue still hanging out of her mouth. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

Wynonna shook her head. “No, no, nothing’s wrong with it,” she assured Nicole quickly. “It’s fine, don’t worry. You’ll be all set for your wedding night.”

“Oh,” Nicole said, retracting her tongue and leaning back in her seat. She slouched down, studying her fingers with interest. “Okay.”

“Hey, Haught?” Wynonna asked hesitantly, after a second, anxiety gnawing at her innards. This was not possible, but—but she had to check. Because if she really was—then fuck, Wynonna was dead.

Nicole perked up at the sound of her name. “Ye?”

Wynonna pointed to something on the counter. “Can you go get that, uh… that apple for me?”

Nicole didn’t even scold her for not saying “please” like she usually would when she was—no, no, not even going to say it, because she is, she definitely is. She simply loped up from the chair, stumbling over her own feet like she didn’t know how to handle them, and made her way to the counter. She picked up the apple carefully, like she was aware that she was inhibited right now, and she knew she had to be very careful with this extremely important task Wynonna had given her. She turned back to the table, and the floor tilted beneath her dangerously, forcing her to grab onto the counter to steady herself. “Oh fuck,” she muttered to herself as the apple slipped from her hands and rolled away. She looked to Wynonna, her lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, ‘Nonna,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, I screwed up, I’m sorry.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Wynonna hissed frantically, darting up from her seat and coming up beside Nicole, wrapping an arm around her waist protectively, letting Nicole lean on her for support. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckkkk! Waverly is going to kill me!”

At the mention of Waverly, Nicole’s lip steadied, and a different sparkle played in her eye that, had it been a night out at Shorty’s, Wynonna would have groaned at. “Wave?” Nicole asked brightly. “Is Wave here? Do I get to see Wave?”

“Not like this, Haught, I’m sorry,” Wynonna said, walking Nicole back to the table and grabbing a clean glass from the cupboard to fill with water. “You gotta sober up first.”

Nicole pouted, but took the glass of water dutifully. “Am I not sober?”

“No, you’re not,” Wynonna said. “Which is weird. Unless you had an entire bottle of tequila before you got here…?”

Nicole paused, halfway through her water, thinking hard. “Nope!” She declared, popping the word out of her lips brightly. “Nope, I only had coffee an’ breakfast before I got here. Breakfast is good. Did you have breakfast, ‘Nonna? S’the most important meal of the day.”

“I know, Haught,” Wynonna clapped her on the shoulder, checking the clock on the wall. “Now come on, drink up. You’re getting married in three hours.”

“I’m getting married?” Nicole asked so suddenly that a little water dribbled down her tie. Wynonna cursed again, immediately loosening the tie and slipping it off, along with the dress shirt, leaving Nicole in just her white tank top underneath. She had been out drinking with Nicole long enough to know how sloppy she could be when it came to drinking water while drunk. Alcohol, she never spilled a drop of. But water? For some reason, water was always the thing she ended up covered in, by the end of the night.

“Yeah, Haught, you’re getting married,” Wynonna said, folding the shirt and tie neatly for later and tossing Nicole a hoodie instead. It was Waverly’s hoodie, and that seemed to make it all the more precious to Nicole. She wrapped herself in it gladly, pulling it tight around her and sniffing the collar with a dopey grin.

“Yay,” she mumbled, smiling to herself in a daze.

Four glasses of water, two cups of coffee, and four slices of toast later, and Nicole was still drunk, and she really needed to pee. “’Nonnaaaaa,” she whined around the rim of her glass. “Stop, I don’ wanna drink anymore. You can’t make me!”

Wynonna narrowed her eyes in frustration. “Oh, like fuck I can’t, you’re gonna sober the fuck up even if it kills me.”

Nicole pouted, eyes big and wet. “But I don’t wan’ you to die! You’re gonna be my sister. I never had a sister.”

Wynonna softened, slumping down in the porch swing beside her. She rubbed Nicole’s shoulder sympathetically, and Nicole swayed along with the motion. “I know you didn’t. Don’t worry, Nic. I’ll be your sister. It’s just a saying.”

Nicole nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

They sat outside now, hoping the fresh air would clear Nicole’s head a bit, but if anything she was getting more drunk. It didn’t make any sense.

Wynonna considered texting her sister—this didn’t make any sense, and it was Purgatory, so maybe this wasn’t just any old drunken day? Maybe this was something… more?

But then she thought of her sister, her baby sister, and she didn’t want to ruin her wedding day. This was her day. Her one day where everything got to be a Disney movie instead of a Lovecraftian nightmare, and where everything would work out perfectly and she’d get a happily ever after by the time the sun went down. She didn’t want to ruin that for Waverly. She had ruined enough in her sister’s life, as it was.

So instead she just leaned back in the seat, swaying them gently as she surveyed the land in front of her.

It had been transformed into the picture-perfect quaint wedding: maybe twenty white wooden chairs set up in rows of five, split in the middle to make an aisle that was lined with pink flowers and dusted with rose petals. The short aisle led to a small dais beneath a wooden arch that Doc had set up, and that was covered in flowers and ivy in a twisting, everlasting pattern that looked like it had come right from a fairytale. White and pink ribbons and lace were strung from the top of the arch and to poles on either side of the dais, making a sort of canopy over it. It was a simple set-up—they had adamantly refused anything complicated or over-the-top—but it was perfect.

The yard was empty, since it was barely noon yet, and the ceremony didn’t start until two, and so the two women sat on the porch side by side: one worried herself sick and the other sang a soft song under her breath about being a butterfly.

“What am I gonna do, Haught?” Wynonna asked her friend, though Nicole wasn’t really listening. She was very engrossed in her song. “God, Waverly is gonna kill me.”

“Why am I gonna kill you?” Waverly’s voice asked from the door behind them. Wynonna yelped, bolting up from her chair, clambering for some kind of excuse—anything, really—to give to her sister.

“I—I…” She stammered, wheeling between her sister, who stood leaned against the back door of the house with a curler held in her hand like a knife, and Nicole, who sat swinging on the bench, gaping widely at Waverly now. Waverly was only half dressed, in nothing but an old hoodie (funnily enough, it was one of Nicole’s Purgatory PD hoodies, like they’d switched) and white dress shorts. Her hair was half done up in curls, makeup half done, and Nicole still looked at her with a slack jaw, like she was the most beautiful sight Nicole had ever seen.

“Wy,” Waverly asked in a dangerous tone that made Wynonna cower. “What happened?”

Wynonna gave her a look of forced disbelief. “Psssssh. What do you mean? Nothing happened. Why would you think something happened?”

Waverly gave her an unamused glare. “Because you’re sitting out here looking like you killed someone, Nicole isn’t dressed, and you just said I’m going to kill you.” A thought occurred to her, then, belatedly. “Wait, did you kill someone?”

“What?” Wynonna gaped. “No, no, of course not. What the fuck?”

Waverly rolled her eyes, holding her hands up in surrender. “Then what? Because something is wrong, I can tell—”

“Preeeeetty,” Nicole cooed from the bench. Wynonna squeezed her eyes shut tight. God, not now.

Waverly blinked in surprise, looking at her fiancée. Her eyes softened a bit when she took in Nicole, slumped over in the bench and looking like she might fall off at any moment. Nicole grinned at her happily, showing her teeth again. “Nic?”

“You’re reeeeeally pretty an’ I reeeeeally like you,” Nicole slurred.

Waverly’s cheeks coloured bright red. She looked at her sister. “Wynonna, why the fuck is my fiancée drunk?”

Play dumb, Wynonna’s mind prompted. “What?” She asked incredulously in a too-high, too-tight voice as Nicole swung too fast and slipped off the bench, landing on her back with a thud and a mumbled ‘ouchie’. “Why would you think she’s drunk? She’s fine.”

Nicole scrambled up, swaying on her feet and having to lean heavily on the porch railing behind her. She grinned. “Fine as wine, Wavey-babe,” she echoed.

Wynonna cringed. “See?” She said tightly.

Waverly glared at her, moving over to Nicole, who looked down at her with that same dopey grin that she always had when she was too drunk to be able to control herself around Waverly. Waverly always made her this much of a puppy. It was sickeningly sweet, really. Waverly surveyed her fiancée up and down with a worried look. “How much did you have to drink, Nic?” She asked.

Nicole thought hard, tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration. “Jus’ one, I think.”

Waverly balked. “What?”

Nicole held up a single finger proudly. “Jus’ one!”

Waverly whirled on her sister. “What the fuck did you give her, pure ethanol?”

Wynonna shook her head seriously. “No, I gave her whiskey. An hour ago. One single shot of whiskey an hour ago, on a full stomach. And I’ve practically been funnelling water down her throat directly from the tap, and—nothing!”

Waverly looked at Nicole again, hands fretting around Nicole’s face with worry, her mind reeling through the possibilities. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck,” she muttered, so like her sister. “Was there anything different about it? Any special bottle, or—or special symbols on it, or—”

“Nothing,” Wynonna assured her. “Absolutely nothing. It was the bottle of Collingwood in the cupboard, that we keep for special occasions. Not even a new bottle. I got the bottle out and—” She faltered, her jaw falling, face paling as she remembered something. “And… and there was this mug…”

Something hazy slipped into her mind—a whir of colours that bled from one to the next like a cacophony of noise turned into chromatic images. A tune echoed in her ear, and she could almost, almost hear the words on the wind again. “Come buy, come buy…”

“Mug?” Waverly demanded. “Show me.”

Wynonna led her inside, a ringing in her ears that hadn’t been there before. She waved to the mug, still on the kitchen table, still stained with a bit of Nicole’s lipstick around the rim. Waverly picked it up carefully, as if she’d become just like Nicole simply by holding it. She turned it over in her hands slowly, studying it carefully. “This—fuck,” she shook her head, putting the mug back down and disappearing from the room.

She returned a moment later with one of her endless books that made up the haphazard stacks in the living room, this one a dirty old tome with a deep green cloth cover that was fraying around the edges. She opened the book to a page that was bookmarked with a plastic spoon and held the book up beside the mug. Wynonna leaned down to see, and Nicole leaned down as well, though her main goal was to wrap Waverly in a hug. Waverly leaned back into her on instinct, but her focus was still on the pages in front of them.

“See the emblem on the mug?” She pointed to a faded silver marking on the bottom of the mug where a manufacturer’s logo would normally go. It looked like a circle with a thick outer rim and an owl perched on top. “That’s a rebus—it’s basically a symbol that someone would use to spell out their name with a pun. This, right here,” she pointed to the circle, “that’s a mirror, you can tell by the hatching on the inner part that makes it look like light is being refracted off of it, and in old High German that translates to Spiegel. And that—well, that’s an owl, obviously, which translates to Eule, so—”

“Wave,” her sister interrupted impatiently. “English? Like, literally?”

Waverly looked at her sister in exasperation. “Owl-mirror translates literally to Eulenspiegel, as in Till Eulenspiegel. This is his mark, and by the looks of it, I’m guessing this is also his mug.”

“Okay?” Wynonna waited for her point. There was one, based on the serious look on Waverly’s face. “So?”

Waverly sighed. “Till Eulenspiegel was an old German folktale character from the fourteenth century; he was a trickster. He would play pranks on, like, everyone. One of his favourite jokes was to get people to eat his shit.”

“Ugh, okay, gross,” Wynonna interjected. “I sincerely hope this has nothing to do with shit. The guy who sold me the mug said it would bring eternal happiness to whoever drank from it. I don’t think even this Eulen guy would equate happiness with shit.”

Waverly rolled her eyes. “No, but he was German in the fourteenth century. Happiness for them lasted about as long as a mug of beer.” She looked down at the mug in her hands, studying the delicate designs with care.

The thought clicked for both of them at the same time. “Oh shit,” Wynonna gasped as Waverly groaned, planting her face in her hands.

“Eternally happy…” she seethed.

“…Eternally drunk.” Wynonna finished.

Behind them, Nicole played with her fiancée’s hair. “So pretty,” she muttered happily. She seemed to be the only one not disturbed by the fact that she might never be sober again.

Waverly sighed impatiently. “Okay. Fine. Get your coat. Take me to the shop where you got this mug. We’re fixing this. Now.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them (because Nicole refused to leave Waverly, on pain of tears if she went too far) were sat silently in the truck. Waverly seethed quietly in the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over her chest and jaw clenched. Wynonna glanced at her uneasily every now and then, out of the corner of her eye from the driver’s seat. She drummed her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, trying to make sense of the haze in her mind when she thought of where she had bought the mug. Where was it, exactly? It was in a field, in the badlands. It was… blurry. Who had she bought it from? Would she recognize them again, if she saw them?

Nicole was the only one who seemed unperturbed by the tension in the car. She sat happily in the backseat, singing along to the radio softly under her breath, messing up every other word.

Finally, Wynonna slowed the car to a stop, beside a tree that looked like it held a thousand indignant fists to the sky. This—this looked familiar. It felt familiar. But then… where was the market?

The field beyond the tree was empty for miles. There was nothing in sight.

The market was gone.

They stepped out of the car onto dead grass, looking around. “Where is it?” Waverly asked with taut impatience.

“I…” Wynonna looked around, at a loss. “It… it was here last night, I…”

Waverly looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure it was here?”

“Yes,” Wynonna insisted. “Yes, but it just…”

She turned in a circle around the area, surveying the ground. It didn’t look like anyone had been here in months. There were no disturbances in the ground, where tent posts could have been dug in, no footsteps, no old food wrappers, no garbage—just… nothing. It was just a field.

Ten feet away, Waverly stood staring at a spot in the ground (with Nicole next to her, swinging their hands happily. She was looking worried, because they looked worried, but Wynonna wasn’t sure she had been paying enough attention to know what exactly was happening). “Hey, Wy?” She called.

Wynonna walked over to her. She pointed to the tree under which they had parked. “What kind of tree do you think that is?”

“Um…” Wynonna looked at it. “It’s an oak. Why?”

“Because oaks don’t have berries,” she said, pointing down at their feet, to the small red berries littered all around. Wynonna hadn’t noticed them. But then again, that was why Waverly was the smart one. “And even if they did, there’s no way the berries could get all the way over here.”

“Huh,” Wynonna said as she bent down, picking a bright red berry up to study between her fingertips. “And this doesn’t look like any berry we’d get around here, anyway.”

Waverly ran a hand through her careful curls, swearing colourfully under her breath. “What time did you say you went to this market?” She asked, scrubbing at her face. Her makeup was going to be ruined, anyway, and probably her whole wedding, if the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach was right.

Wynonna shrugged, standing back up and tossing the berry aside. “Around sunset last night, I think.”

Waverly stilled, hand over her eyes, trying to breathe in and out very calmly. Anger will be of no help right now, she tried to tell herself. “And you don’t remember anything about the market? No faces of the sellers, or what they were selling?” She asked without taking the hand away from her eyes. Nicole beside her looked concerned, and held her hand tighter, rubbing a soothing thumb over her palm. It helped quell the anger a bit. She always helped, at least as much as she could. That thought eased Waverly’s panic just a bit.

“Nope,” Wynonna said, thinking back to the haze in her mind that was like someone had pulled a smokescreen over last night. “Nothing. It’s just… a blur.”

Finally, Waverly had to seethe, entwining her fingers with Nicole’s and squeezing them tight so that she wouldn’t punch her sister in the nose. “Jesus fucking Christ, Wy,” she said with barely contained rage, hand that wasn’t holding her fiancée’s waving frantically in the air to illustrate her anger. “You went to a fucking Goblin Market, you dumbfuck!”

Wynonna shrank back at her sister’s ire. “What?”

“A fucking Goblin Market,” Waverly practically shrieked. “Don’t you fucking think? Ever? Momma told us that story over and over again when we were kids. ‘We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry thirsty roots?’”

It felt like the ground was tilting beneath her, and she struggled for words. “Wave—I—I—”

“No,” Waverly held up a hand, finger pointed to the sky in warning. “Don’t. Just. Don’t. I don’t have time for your excuses. I have to call Jeremy and find out where the fucking goblins live.” Sliding the phone out of her pocket, she scrolled through her contacts as she muttered to herself, “Just one day. I just wanted one day where nothing went wrong, but nooo. The supernatural bullshit has to come and ruin my fucking wedding day—hey, Jeremy! Quick favour to ask.”

One quick phone call to a very confused Jeremy later, and the three of them were in the truck again, the radio deafeningly loud in the silence of the cab. Jeremy had said that the goblins of the Triangle had, according to recent surveys, taken up residence in an old cave system in the forest about ten minutes from the market site. Wynonna drove while Waverly stewed in anger in the front seat and Nicole braided flowers into her hair from the back seat that she had picked at the field. Waverly didn’t have the heart to ask her to stop, because every time she tried, Nicole would look at her with those soft doe eyes and those insufferably cute dimples, and Waverly couldn’t take those away. She was just too sweet when she was drunk off her ass. It was like she forgot everything except her most basic instinct, her natural state of being: loving Waverly Earp.

Ten minutes later, the three of them stood in front of the entrance to the caves. Jeremy had texted Waverly a map of the caves according to the last geological survey that had been done of the area in 1976. The survey said the caves began here, in the center of the forest, and sprawled out all beneath it in a labyrinth of corridors that criss-crossed and turned all about itself far underground.

Panic rose up in Waverly as she looked down the yawning mouth of the dark cave in front of them. Something that felt like insects itched the back of her head, and she scratched at their phantom presence as a nervous habit. She tried not to let her mind go back to the Garden of Eden—to the darkness she had found there. To the bugs that had crawled all over her skin like moss growing over a fallen tree. To the feeling of ever-present dampness in the air that made her lungs feel heavy, like the air was just a bit too thick to breathe comfortably. It had felt like suffocation and starvation and—

Nicole squeezed her hand gently, smiling down at her in reassurance. “You okay?” She whispered. “You don’ have to go in if you don’ wanna—I can get the goblin men myself.”

Waverly smiled appreciatively, and the itchiness on her skin receded. “No, thank you, love,” she said, and she really meant it. Nicole had reservations about the dark, too; they all did. The dark had taken so much from them. Nicole still had nights where she woke in a cold sweat, crying, shaking, clinging to Waverly as tightly as she could, whispering over and over and over again, “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” and Waverly knew she was talking to herself about Waverly. She knew Nicole’s nightmares had become Waverly being dragged off—into the Garden, or into Hell, or into the Revenant camp, or anywhere else Nicole couldn’t follow. She knew Nicole’s fear of the dark had become a fear of losing her family. So she squeezed Nicole’s hand back tightly, and said, “No, we’ll go in together, okay?”

Nicole smiled weakly and nodded. “Okie dokie, Annie Oakley.”

Waverly snorted. “You’re such a dork.”

“Tha’s why you’re marryin’ me.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Beside them, Wynonna cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Shall, uh…” she jabbed a thumb to the cave. “Shall we?”

Nicole answered for them, nodding with overconfident gusto. “We shall!”

She led the march into the cave, out of the sunlight, with Waverly trailing behind, keeping their hands linked as the walked into what might just be the belly of a beast.

Twenty minutes later, they were lost.

“No, Wy, I swear to God we passed that rock like five minutes ago,” Waverly argued, pointing to a very distinct rock that looked like Gillian Anderson.

“What? No, not possible,” Wynonna said with an adamant shake of the head. “Jeremy’s map said that this is the way to the center—we are not lost!”

Nicole looked at the rock in consideration, taking in its features in the light of her phone’s flashlight. “No, Wave is right, ‘Nonna. That is def’nitely Gillian Anderson, and we have def’nitely passed it before.”

Wynonna scoffed. “Of course you’d take her side.”

Nicole looked at her very seriously. “I take no sides except for the side of Gillian.”

“Oh, and you’re the Gillian Anderson expert now?”

“I used to stare at her face every day, ‘Nonna. I had an X-Files poster pinned up on my ceiling above my bed. I know Gillian Anderson.”

Wynonna snorted. “Of course you were an Agent Scully gay.”

Nicole shrugged, like it was obvious. “So?”

Waverly chuckled, kissing her fiancée’s cheek quickly before turning back to the map on her phone. “Okay, I think those two junctions right in front of us mean we’re somewhere here,” she pointed to a place on the map, “and if we want to get to the center we have to go to the right.”

Wynonna sighed. “Sure. Fine. We can try it, but I still think we have to go left.

“Yeah, well, you also thought it was a good idea to go to a Goblin Market, so we’re no longer accepting ideas from you,” Waverly replied acidly. She was being mean, she knew, but in her defence, this was her wedding day and she was traipsing through caves trying to find a pack of goblins. She had earned the right to be mean.

Wynonna said nothing in return. 

Down the right corridor, they found twenty feet in front of them, a crack of light in the ceiling. It shone down on something that looked like a stone table that had been cut out of the rock of the cave. The stone shone with dew and moss, looking aged and battered, but it clearly wasn’t a natural formation. Its corners were too precise, too sharp to be natural.

Waverly itched the back of her head nervously as something spoke in the back of her mind like a ghost. “Come buy, come buy…”

They didn’t see them at first—the little creatures crawled along the walls silently, converging all around the three humans (or, the 2.5 humans, technically) without anyone noticing. Waverly could just hear the scrape of nails on the stone walls around them and it sounded like the tip of knife blades being dragged across the floor. She held onto Nicole tighter, pulling her closer for comfort.

“Strange company,” the voices chattered in their minds. “Such oddity. Three of thee, each of different realms. One of Heaven, one of Earth, one brandishing Hades’ helm. Strange company, indeed.”

They stepped into a large cavern room, circular, blinking up at the fissure of light leaking through from a crack in the ground above them. Shadows moved all around them, but the shadows were made of goblins hissing and gnashing their teeth.

They stood in the center of the room, by the table, watching the shadows pulse and swirl. Goblins weren’t too fond of the light.

Waverly sighed, the beginnings of a migraine pulsing behind her eyes. She was already so done with today. “Cut the shit,” she snapped at the babbling voices. “Just give us the goblin who sold my sister Till Eulenspiegel’s mug.”

“Impatience, impatience from the Nephilim, impatience so loud it is deafening…”

“That barely even rhymes.”

“Insult us, you do try. Come buy, come buy…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. I don’t have time for this—I just want the goblin who sold my sister the mug. Can you give us that? We need to break the spell it cast.”

“Does the Angel come with currency?”

Her jaw twitched. “Ask your price.”

The shadows cackled with glee. “A game! A game is all we ask! Three riddles is the task, can ye handle that? A game is all we seek, for one cannot break the curse if one’s mind is weak.”

Waverly looked to her sister. Wynonna shrugged. “Your call, baby girl. God knows your mind is the strongest of all of us.”

Waverly looked to the table in front of them. “Fine. Give us the riddles.”

“The first of three is the easiest, you shall see: Which creature has one voice and yet becomes four-footed and two-footed and three?”

Waverly didn’t even have to think about it. “Man.”

“Of course, of course, the Angel is aware of the Theban court.” The shadows shifted again. “The second is more challenging, will ye three succumb to the haggling?”

Wynonna scowled. “Just give us the second riddle, okay, we’re kind of on a clock.”

The shadows seemed displeased. These humans were not very fun to play with. “Two of three, then, if impatience runs in the blood of thee: If I am thrown out of a window, you are left a grieving wife. If I am left in the middle of a door, you might just save a life. What am I?”

Waverly faltered, chewing her lip nervously. She ran the words over and over in her mind, but the letters of them were jumbled, spotty. The words had no double meanings, no historical basis, no puns. It must be the spelling. Was it the spelling? She cursed. Spelling wasn’t her strong suit. Dyslexia was like that. She looked to her sister, at a loss.

“N!” Nicole proclaimed loudly, then, beaming wide at her fiancée. Waverly looked at her, confused. “It’s the letter N, isn’ it? Did I do that right, Wave?”

“I…” Waverly couldn’t even begin to think if it was right, but the shadows babbled, displeased.

“Because if you spell ‘window’ without an N, it’s a ‘widow’, an’ if you spell ‘donor’ without an N, it’s a ‘door’.” She explained.

“The mortal works her words carefully, so clever is she,” the goblins jabbered. “But even so, you all still have one riddle left to go…”

“Fine,” said Wynonna. “Just give us the god damn riddle so we can be on our way.”

The shadows were excited now, pulsing with impish glee. “The final riddle provides that which you seek: A solution, an answer, if your mind is not weak. I am that which makes you fly. I am that which makes you misplace your brain. I am that which begins life, and I am your life’s bane. I am that which makes you laugh and makes you cry. What am I?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Waverly muttered, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t think even Jesus could get that shit,” Wynonna said.

“Fuck, even a Magic Eight ball would be more useful than you right now,” Waverly said. Wynonna gave her a dour snarl.

“Okay, cut the shit,” she snapped. “I know I’m not the smartest, but I’m trying to help! I just wanted you to be happy, Waves. I know I fucked up, but I’m trying.”

Waverly narrowed her eyes at her sister, dropping Nicole’s hand to turn to her fully. In the background, Nicole slunk back, muttering a small, “Uh oh, spaghettio,” under her breath at the look of outright murder on Waverly’s face. Neither Earp paid her any mind, though. “I’m sorry?” Waverly asked. “You wanted to make sure I’m happy? What, did you think Nicole wasn’t going to make me happy without your intervention?”

Wynonna sighed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Baby girl, you know that’s not what I meant. I have ears, and our house has real thin walls. I can hear how ‘happy’ she makes you every other damn night.” Waverly blushed deep red, but only scowled further. “I trust her to make you happy, Waves. I just don’t trust this world with letting you keep that happiness. This world is shit and none of us deserve you. I just… I wanted to protect you.”

The tight knot of anger eased in the pit of Waverly’s stomach, just slightly. “Wy…” She began, struggling for the right words to say. What could she say, to this? “Wy, I can protect myself. I’m stronger than you think.”

Wynonna chuckled, looking at her feet dejectedly. “I know,” she said, resignation in her voice. “I know you are, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Wynonna looked up, and Waverly could see—guilt. Ten years of guilt in her sister’s face. Ten years of ripping herself to shreds inside for something she blamed herself for. It twisted Waverly’s stomach clenched at her throat. “Because,” Wynonna said, her voice cracking, “you had to get strong because I left. I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, like… like Momma did. Like Daddy and Willa and everyone else—I’m so sorry, Waves.”

Waverly didn’t even realize she had moved until she had her arms wrapped tightly around her sister’s neck, hugging her tightly. “You did do that,” she sniffled into her sister’s neck. “But you also came back. No one else did that.”

Wynonna chuckled, wrapping her arms tightly around her little sister. She had the strangest sense of déjà vu—she remembered Waverly being a child, maybe three or four, and hugging Wynonna just like this, standing on her tip toes and wearing a dress with pink polka dots on it. It was her favourite dress. She wore it every day that she could. Wynonna had been nine or ten, and she had saved Waverly from some bullies on the playground. Waverly had bounded up to her and hugged her tightly, had thanked her, had given her a wet, slobbery kiss on the cheek. She wasn’t that little girl anymore, not quite, but she was still her little sister. “Of course I came back,” she said. “I love you.”

Waverly paused, muscles tensing. She pulled out of the hug and stared at her sister, wide-eyed. “Wy, you’re a genius!”

“I am?”

Waverly grinned. “You are,” she said. “Now look away, I’m about to break the curse.”

Wynonna had no time to process that before Waverly whirled around to Nicole, pulling her fiancée in and bending her down at the neck in one fluid motion, rising up on tip toes to kiss her with their bodies pressed flush together. Nicole complied without hesitation, melting into Waverly’s hands tangling in her hair, wrapping her arms tight around her waist to keep Waverly close—always close, always here, never lost again. “I love you,” every muscle and fibre of her body sighed at once, as if she had been trapped within herself and Waverly had finally set her free.

They broke apart after a moment, leaning their foreheads together. She looked down at Waverly through her eyelashes, smiling shyly, but the expression crumbled a moment later as she sagged underneath the weight of her own body. She stumbled, suddenly feeling so, so tired. Waverly caught her around the waist, propping her up, lifting her up by the chin. “Nicole?” She asked tentatively.

Nicole looked up at her, blinking as if for the first time. She looked up at the light leaking through the cracks in the ceiling. She groaned. “Too bright,” she muttered, turning her face to bury it in Waverly’s hair. “What happened?”

Waverly chuckled, twisting her head to kiss her temple. “It’s a long story, baby. How are you feeling?”

“Hungover,” Nicole grumbled.

“So she’s back to normal?” Wynonna asked, looking around at the darkness warily. They had receded, pulling back into normal shadows cast by light. They had stopped moving, stopped speaking, and no longer were there dozens of eerily yellow eyes peeking out at them, watching their every move, searching for any misstep.

Waverly looked her fiancée up and down. “She may need some water and an Advil, but overall I think the curse is broken.”

“Great. True love’s kiss prevails again,” Wynonna said. “Now we gotta go. You’re getting married in…” she looked at her phone. “Forty minutes, give or take.”

Waverly paled. “Will we get back on time?”

Wynonna scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, baby girl. I’m driving.”

It was a simple ceremony; they wouldn’t have anything else.

Wynonna had broken nearly every driving law in existence to get them back on time, and Nicole had grumbled about it, but as she stood on the dais, next to the man who had been like a father to her, everything evaporated from her mind except for this, right now.

She bounced a little on her feet, glancing at Nedley nervously out of the corner of her eye, fiddling with her tie. He gave her a sympathetic smile and leaned forward to whisper to her, “It’s okay, I was nervous, too. Just say the right name in the vows and it’ll all work out fine.”

She laughed, taking a steadying breath at that. She turned her eyes to the people in the chairs, watching her expectantly. In the front row, Doc gave her a curt nod and a proud smile, and though Nicole couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore in the daytime she could imagine he had something of a mischievous glint in his eyes. Their friendship was still rocky, if it could even be called a friendship right now, but after everything that had happened, it would have felt wrong to not invite him. Like it or not, Doc was still part of the family.

Besides, Alice adored him, and he was a good father. She was currently trying to crawl over to his lap from Gus’, who sat beside him trying to contain the excited child.

Gus and Alice hadn’t moved back to Purgatory permanently yet—there were still too many demonic threats in the Triangle, and they had decided it would be best if Alice had a few years of normalcy in her life before it all came crashing down—but they had started to visit. Wynonna wasn’t ready to raise her yet, but she adored her little girl, and for now that was enough.

Gus sat next to her sister, who smiled up at Nicole as warmly as any mother ever could. Michelle had wandered back to the Triangle some months before, lost in the news of Julian’s death. She had felt him go, she said. It had felt like a tether had been cut from her heart. That’s how it was, she said, loving an angel. Nicole knew the feeling.

Beside Michelle, Chrissy filming every moment on a camcorder. Nicole watched her swivel the camera over every inch of the dais, zooming in dramatically on her father standing next to Nicole as the officiant of the ceremony.

Next to Chrissy, at the end of the row, was an empty chair. They hadn’t reserved this chair for anyone, but each guest filing into the rows had looked at it and decided none of them had any right to sit in it, because it should have been Dolls sitting there instead. The thought made Nicole’s heart clench just a bit. It was still hard without her friend, but it had gotten easier, and Dolls was not one to have wanted all of them to stop their lives just because he was gone. Still, it would have been nice to see him there, smiling up at her, giving her a nod of encouragement.

A few other people from town sat in the rows of chairs—Perry, Mercedes, some of Nicole’s deputies from the Station, some of Waverly’s friends from high school who hadn’t been complete assholes. None of Nicole’s family sat in the chairs; they didn’t even know she was getting married. And that was fine with her, it was her choice. It’s not like they were her real family, anyway.

Her attention was snapped back to the present by the swelling of music—Robin, off to the side, playing a soft melody on the violin—and then everything evaporated from her mind except for the image of Waverly, walking down the aisle.

She had imagined what it might look like, some nights when she laid in bed. During the weeks that Waverly was gone, lost to the Garden, she had laid awake almost every night, staring at the ring in its small velvet box, imagining what it would be like to have Waverly back again. The thoughts had nearly driven her crazy, and at the same time they were the only thing that had kept her sane without Waverly there beside her. “When I get her back,” she had promised, night after night, speaking only to the darkness because that’s all there was around her, “I’m going to marry her.”

But even those thoughts, the ones that she had kept in her heart every day that Waverly was gone, paled in comparison to what she saw now.

Waverly turned the corner, facing down the aisle, and all the breath fell from Nicole’s lungs at once, stolen by some Greek god of fate perhaps.

She was dressed all in white—her mother’s dress, at her own insistence. It was gauzy and lacy, and its sleeves were long and flowing, like its skirt. It was a simple dress, really. A little old-fashioned, and certainly not something that had cost Michelle a lot when she first bought it, nearly 30 years ago, but it was the most beautiful wedding dress Nicole had ever seen, because it was on Waverly.

Her hair was woven with pink roses into a crown, and through the wavy tresses were peppered two or three smaller braids, interlaced with sprigs of white lace that Nicole had woven in them earlier in the day. (Not that she remembered doing this, but right then, she silently thanked her drunken self for it, anyway.)

Nicole felt utterly inadequate, in comparison, in her simple black suit, pink flower pinned to her lapel that matched Waverly’s crown.

They paused, she and Wynonna, at the top of the aisle, maybe fifteen steps away. Nicole saw Waverly take a breath, clutching her bouquet of pink and white roses tightly, and then she looked up.

Time melted away as Nicole watched them. The violins swelled in her heart. Her throat closed tightly, and it felt like something in her life was snapping into place, finally. It felt like relief, like the cord between them was shortening, step by step, until it would be gone, and they would simply be right beside one another, for the rest of their lives.

Wynonna walked her down the aisle. It should have been their father, but he was gone, and he had been no father anyway. Wynonna was the last shred of family Waverly had left. The last two Earps standing, clinging to one another so tightly that nothing could tear them apart.

Until they reached the end of the aisle, and Waverly dropped her hand from her sister’s arm willingly. She gave Wynonna a kiss on the cheek, whispering something to her sister that Nicole couldn’t hear, but guessed was private anyway. Then she stepped away from her sister, handing her bouquet to Jeremy, who stood proud in his place on the dais as ‘Bae of Honour’, and moved to stand opposite Nicole.

Wynonna stepped around to stand beside Nicole. As she reached the place of the Best Woman, standing with her chin held high and looking like a Man in Black in her suit, she leant over and stage-whispered to Nicole, “Hurt her, and they’ll never find your body.”

Nicole chuckled, just shaking her head, but her eyes were still on Waverly.

There was maybe a foot of space between them, stood up there in front of the few people in their lives who mattered anymore, and Nicole wanted her closer. She reached out, taking Waverly’s hands in hers. Waverly laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “Hi,” she whispered.

Nicole’s lungs found breath again. “Hi,”

Between them, Nedley cleared his throat. Robin faded the violin out, and everyone sat.

“’Lo, an’ welcome, friends, family,” Nedley began his officiant speech. “We’ve gathered here on this fine day to witness the union of two people who could not be better matched if an angel came down from Heaven and tried. If one did, I think they’d have a few people to answer to, for trying to rip these two apart again.”

The crowd chuckled, but it was with a sadness for things past. Nicole gave Waverly’s hand an affectionate squeeze, and Nedley continued.

“See, the truth of it is, none of us really know what love is. We can try to guess, Willie Nelson can sing his heart out about it and make a darn good album, but we’re all just guessin'. And my guess is that love looks a lot like the two’a you,” he looked between the two women stood before him with a warm look, his voice turning soft, “fightin’ to get back to one another even after everything that’s been done to keep you apart.”

Delicately, Waverly reached over and wiped away a stray tear on Nicole’s cheek with her thumb. Nicole twisted a bit, kissing her palm appreciatively. A small thing, just one moment between them out of the thousands, and it spoke worlds.

Nedley smiled like a father, all love and warmth in his subdued expression, and continued on. “Nicole, Waverly, I’ve had the privilege of watching both of you grow from brave, fierce kids who would not let the world beat them down, into the strong, fearless women you are today. An’ I don’t know if fate exists—although, this is Purgatory, so with our luck, it probably does and it’s probably not on our side—but if it does exist, I just know there’s a special footnote in whatever fate has written out for us that says the two'a you will always find your way back to one another, and that you will always, at the end of the day, be together.”

A laugh bubbled up in Waverly’s throat, and without warning she pulled Nicole in, kissing her softly out of a simple need to remind herself that they were here. This was real. The witnesses in their chairs laughed, and beside them Wynonna rolled her eyes. Of course.

Beside them, Nedley chuckled as Waverly righted herself, clearing her throat and pulling Nicole’s tight straighter. “Think you might’a jumped the gun a bit there,” he said. “But I’ll allow it. I know how long you two have waited for this.”

Waverly blushed, and Nicole had to bite her lip to quell the grin threatening to take over her face, but her dimples still dug deep into her cheeks, and her eyes still sparkled with mischief.

“Now,” Nedley continued. “The brides have prepared their own vows. Nicole?”

He looked to Nicole, and her throat dried. She had never been the gifted public speaker. But she could feel Waverly’s hands in hers, and she looked up into those flawless hazel eyes, and the words she had rehearsed ad nauseum came to her lips like filling a queue. “Waverly,” she began. “I… I remember the first time I ever saw you. It was the day after I moved to Purgatory, and I needed to go to the grocery store—somehow, I’d forgotten to get milk for my coffee that morning. I was still in my pajamas, still had my hair in a messed-up braid from sleep. I probably looked like a complete mess, and there you were. In the cereal aisle, helping some little old lady get some cheerios from the top shelf. She said something to you, and you laughed that… that perfect laugh of yours, and Waverly I think I fell in love with you right there, without even meeting you first. That’s all it took, was one moment of seeing you across a grocery store at not even seven in the morning, looking like an angel, helping someone else you barely even knew, and I just—I knew I needed to know everything about you,” she shook her head, hardly believing herself how they had gotten from there to here.

“And then I met you,” she went on, “and you were even more than I could have ever imagined. You were kind, and you were smart—so smart—and funny, and every moment I spent getting to know you just reaffirmed a fact that I already knew: that it only took three seconds for me to decide that I would never love anyone else the way that I love you. And baby, after everything that’s happened since that day I met you in Shorty’s, after I found out that your world is full of angels and demons and literal vampires, and anything else that’s right out of a cheesy YA fiction novel, I promised I would stay right by your side as long as you would have me, and I would always protect you, no matter what. You are everything, Waverly—absolutely everything—and without you, I’m just lost. I am. I don’t know how to exist without you anymore. Where you go, I go, Waverly. I promise that, unto my dying day. I’m yours, only yours, always. I promise.”

Waverly sniffled, wiping away a tear that was tracing its way down her cheek. “God, you’re such a romantic.”

Nicole grinned. “Yeah, and you love it.”

“I do.”

Nedley laughed. “Gettin’ a bit ahead’a yourself there, Waverly,” he noted good-naturedly. Waverly cut him a harmless glare, and he held up his hands in surrender. “But I s'ppose I digress. Your vows?”

Waverly sniffled once more and looked back to Nicole. “Nicole,” she began, her voice shaking. She had rehearsed these vows to perfection, she could say them backward and forward from memory as if she were reading them right from the page. But she looked up at Nicole, looked into her gentle brown eyes, and all that practice fell away. Nicole was looking at her so softly, like she was everything, and Waverly was at a loss. “Nic…”

And Nicole understood—she always did, somehow. Waverly would never understand how, but she did. Nicole bent her head down a bit, pulling her minutely closer. “I know,” she whispered, just for Waverly to hear. “Just breathe, baby.”

Tears prickled the corners of her eyes, and the words came forth. “Nicole, I didn’t know the first time I met you that I would love you like this. I wish I did, because then I wouldn’t have wasted so much time ignoring it, and then I would have a stupidly romantic story like you do, where I see you across a crowded room and hear the music swell and my life is complete as I fall in love at first sight.”

The crowd chuckled, and she went on. “But instead, I didn’t know that I would love you. You walked into my life—just showed up one day, out of the blue, asking for a cappuccino—and I didn’t fall in love with you instantly. I slipped into it, like I was slipping into a pool of water. I fell in love with you gradually, from the way you would smile at me when I came into the Station and the way you would listen to me—really listen, like you cared what I had to say—and the way you would save me the last vanilla dip doughnut from the box and the way you would chew your pen when you’re thinking really hard on a case and—and a million other little things that all add up to you being you. I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell in love with you, because honestly I was already in the middle before I even knew I had begun.”

Only Nicole laughed, now. “Pride and Prejudice,” she said with a smile. Trust Waverly to quote her favourite book in her own wedding vows.

Waverly shrugged. “Great book,” she replied, just to Nicole, before continuing on. “And now… now I can’t imagine what it would be like to have never met you. I wouldn’t be whole. There would always be something missing. It would be like reality, but a little bit to the left. Just not quite right, without you. If—if the universe is as big as they say, and if there are an infinite amount of them, each one different from the last, then I know that I’d fall in love with you in each and every one of them. Across every timeline, every lifetime, that would be the one thing that will never change in any universe: that I love you, and you love me. And I promise that no matter what tries to come between us—be it angels or demons or vampires or a stupid cursed Germanic mug or just the fact that I leave my shoes in front of the door sometimes when I get home and that annoys you—we won’t let it. I won’t let it. I’ve lost a lot of people, Nicole, and I’ll be damned if I let you go, too.”

“You’ll never lose me, Wave,” Nicole said.

“I know,” she assured her. “I know.”

Beside them, Nedley wiped away a tear and cleared his throat astutely. “Right,” he said gruffly, trying to fight off a crack in his voice. “Where are the rings?”

From behind Waverly, Jeremy stepped forward, producing two rings from his pocket: just two simple gold bands, each with a name engraved on the inside: Waverly and Nicole. They took their respectively labelled rings—so that Waverly would always have Nicole’s name kissing the inside of her finger and Nicole would always have Waverly’s—and turned to one another.

“Do you, Nicole Haught,” Nedley said, “take Waverly Earp to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

Nicole held her ring, up, grinning gallantly. “I’d like to see death try to break us apart.” Waverly rolled her eyes, and Nicole winked. “I do.”

Sliding the ring onto Waverly’s finger felt like returning it home.

Nedley turned to Waverly. “And do you, Waverly Earp, take Nicole Haught to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health and come whatever bullshit Hell may throw at you, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

Her hand shook as she slid her ring onto Nicole’s finger. “I do,” she said, eyes locked with her wife.

“Then by the power vested in me by the Province of Alberta and OfficialOfficiants-dot-com, I now pronounce you wife and wife.” He looked between them. “I guess both of you may kiss the bride.”

“Finally,” Nicole sighed and pulled her wife in by the waist, twisting her with one hand securely on the small of her back and the other on her hip into a small dip. Waverly gasped, eyes wide in surprise, but then Nicole’s lips were on hers, and her hands were tangled in red hair, eyes drooping closed as she felt every ounce of love in them, in that kiss. She could feel their friends pelting them with rice and flower petals—Wynonna, beside them, was throwing individual rice grains directly into Nicole’s ear—but all that melted away into the background of this one perfect kiss.

Their first kiss, as wives. True love’s kiss, for the second time that day, as it were.

“I love you,” she whispered to Nicole, secretly, in the shroud of red hair encircling their faces.

Nicole pecked her lips again, grinning. “I love you, too, Waverly, always.”

Always.

It sounded like a promise, and she couldn’t wait.