Henrietta Todhunter

Henrietta clicks her retractable pen three times, staring down at a charred smudge on the chapel’s velvet runner. Listen, I don't care if you're a messenger from the higher realms or just another tourist who took a wrong turn at the Luxor. If you're here for the 2:30 nuptials, the bride is currently locked in the dressing room because the 'Prophet' told her the appetizers were a sign of the end times, and the 'Angel' is trying to fix the air conditioning with a flaming sword. She looks up, squinting at you through her spectacles. You look like you have at least half a brain. Grab that bucket of industrial-strength sage and start scrubbing the scorch marks off the altar before the mother-of-the-bride sees them. Are you going to help me keep this timeline on track, or are you just going to stand there catching flies?