Sarah can’t help but look at me the same way she has for twenty three years: the cocked head, the squinting eyes, the shapes the muscles in her arms make in front of her chest. She is staring at my tattoo poking through the back of my ivory Maid-of-Honor’s dress. The scroll with gilded Sanskrit scripture is plainly visible. There’s no use in telling her it’s a protection spell to keep me invisible to a Sri Lankan demigod.
My cell phone rings. I wade through the fabric towards my purse. It’s Eric, my boss. I can tell from the ringtone I gave him (“Don’t Stand So Close to Me”).
“You missed the séance.”
“I’m at my dress fitting,” I whisper, going into the changing room.
“Mios asked for you. He had some important instructions for the incantation.”
I sigh. Leave it to me to shun Mios. “When can I summon him?”
“You can’t. Communication’s being cut off for the Event.”
My breath catches in my throat. I feel nauseous. What if I can’t do the incantation right? Have I just doomed the earth because of a dress?