Read Online Honeymoon of the Dead by Tate Hallaway - Free Book Online

Minneapolis, I actually owned a car. I still tried to take the bus when I could, but there are actually many places in the nearby suburbs that are unreachable by Twin Cities public transportation.
    As we stood in the blustering snow under the awning of the hotel, I muttered beneath my fluffy scarf, “Maybe we should just take our own car.”
    Sebastian brightened up. “Can we?”
    I’d explained this earlier. “We could, but parking is horrific in Uptown. Not to mention all the weird snow-emergency rules. I can’t remember anymore which side of the street is the one you’re allowed to park on.”
    “So you said,” he said, clearly disappointed. Though watching eddies of snow swirl in the street, I was just as happy to have someone else navigate unfamiliar streets in these conditions.
    “We can drive around tomorrow. I promise. Especially if it clears up.” I smiled and gave him a playful poke in the arm.
    Despite the nearly freezing temperatures, Sebastian wore a thin, tweed black coat and a paisley silk muffler and matching necktie I’d bought him from the Smithsonian catalog. He looked pretty styling, and I’m sure I looked like I had my arm wrapped around a truly fabulous gay man. Especially since I never pulled off fashion quite the way he could, what with his vampire glamour and all.
    I’d decided to go with warmth over fashion and so had on my black jeans and knee-high, faux-fur-trimmed boots. Over that I wore the coat I found at a rummage sale, which I called my babushka coat, because it looked like something a grandma in Russia might wear. It was sort of shapeless, red and black checkered, with big black buttons, and a black trimmed, wide collar. It could pass as retro chic, on a good day, I supposed, but next to my fab guy I felt a bit frumpy.
    Sebastian scanned the snow for any sign of our cab. He checked his watch. “Why can’t we just wander around downtown Saint Paul?”
    “Because,” I said. “It’s after six. In fact, it’s nearly ten. The streets are rolled up. Nothing will be open.”
    “You can’t be serious,” he said.
    When I shrugged, a tuft of snow slid off my shoulder. “Saint Paul likes to think of itself as an old- fashioned small town. The neighborhoods are strong and the downtown is dull. Well, okay, maybe that last part isn’t fair, but, trust me, there’s a lot more happening on the other side of the river.”
    Sebastian looked to the east, where, through the buildings, you could see the frozen expanse of the Mississippi and the cliffs on the other bank. “I thought that was still Saint Paul over there.”
    I nodded. It was “the Eastside,” which was largely settled by Spanish-speaking immigrants. I was hoping to take Sebastian to a bakery there tomorrow. “The river actually bends around. We’ll cross it on the way to Minneapolis. You’ll see.”
    Sebastian shook his head. “What did Jesse Ventura say about this place and its streets? Something about being planned by drunken Irishmen?”
    I raised my gloved hand to shake a finger at him in warning. “Oh, honey, you haven’t even seen the worst of it. Wait until you see Tangletown.”
    The taxi finally came into sight as it turned into the driveway in front of the Saint Paul Hotel.
    I had the cab driver take us to the Uptown Theatre on the corner of Lagoon and Hennepin. It’s an old-fashioned movie theater. Attached to the Art Deco exterior is a tall, oblong-shaped marquee lined with bright, round bulbs proclaiming its name. Snow clung in the crevasses between the lights, giving it a frosted look.
    The cab let us out on the corner. Sebastian paid quickly, as the cabbie had double-parked and blocked a lane of traffic, though everyone in Minnesota was too polite to honk.
    There was some foreign film playing at ten thirty, so we bought tickets. I tugged Sebastian’s arm in the direction of the bookstore down the street. “Come on,” I said. “You’ll love Orr Books. Oh, and Magers & Quinn.”
    Uptown is the