It wasn’t until the uniformed officials inside the building spoke in an Irish accent that it suddenly seemed like we might be in Ireland. It was perfectly understandable, but it gave me the feeling I’d stepped into a movie, because that was the only place I’d ever heard the real accent up until that moment. Damian and others could sort of do one on command, but it wasn’t the same. I don’t know if the other felt like an act, or if the lilt and rhythm of the customs people were a slightly different accent. Either way, standing there while they inspected everyone’s passports and the medical alert cards was less real somehow. I don’t think I ever thought I’d see Ireland in person. I sure as hell never thought I’d see it with over a dozen people who included three vampires and ten lycanthropes. Once I’d thought I was the scourge of bad little vampires and rogue shapeshifters everywhere, and now here I was, one of them. Or that’s what my own medical alert card said. Lycanthrope carrier, like I was something hauling dangerous freight across the world.
A uniformed woman said, “Congratulations, it’s a beautiful ring.”
I looked down at my left hand and the platinum ring with its channel-set white diamonds and big sapphire: my work ring. It was all I could do not to say, You should see the other ring. That one lived in a safe at the Circus of the Damned while we waited for yet another compromise engagement ring to be finished that would be the one that went with the wedding ring that was also still being handcrafted. The one in the safe was the ring Jean-Claude had given to me for the video proposal. It was all white diamonds, really big white diamonds. The center stone was so many carats that rabbits should have followed me everywhere I went. I always felt like I had a sign over my head when I wore it: Please mug me. If I ever forgot myself and punched someone in the face while wearing it, I’d scar them for life. It was a very big ring, very flashy, incredibly expensive, and theatrical. It had looked great in the video and pictures that the engagement coordinator had had taken for us. Yes, there really are engagement coordinators, because asking someone to marry you has to be almost as big a production as the wedding now, or it does when you’re the King. The video had gone viral on YouTube and outed me in a major way as Jean-Claude’s fiancée. At least the woman hadn’t seen the video and didn’t ask me where that ring had gone, or if I had broken up with that beautiful vampire, and who this ring was from—I’d had all those reactions to the work ring.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling like I meant it.
The gentleman working with her leaned over from looking at Dev’s medical alert card and double-checking that it matched his bracelet to say, “Which of them is the lucky man?”
My smile widened. “He’s at home.”
The woman looked up at the men with me, hesitating here and there in a more lingering way than she had before. I guess I couldn’t blame her; after all, if you don’t meet people at work, where do you meet them?
“Very sad he couldn’t come with us. It would have been so much more romantic,” Dev said.
I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going, but I played along. “It would have been.”
“Now, Marshal Blake, you know the romance has to wait until the work is done,” said a man’s voice with a thick American Western drawl.
I turned to find Edward in full U.S. Marshal Ted Forrester guise walking toward us. He tipped his white cowboy hat back on his head and grinned at me. I probably looked surprised. I would never get used to how completely Edward could vanish into Ted Forrester. I’d only learned recently that Theodore Forrester was his legal birth name. He’d always just been Edward to me. Ted was a good ol’ boy. Edward was not. They were the same person, so they were both five-eight, though he always seemed taller, yellow-blond hair cut short, mostly hidden under the hat, pale blue eyes, a lean, in-shape body that didn’t look as strong as he actually was; I could never decide if it was genetic and he couldn’t bulk up, or if he thought lifting was too boring and didn’t bother. He pushed away from the wall and walked toward us in his jeans, which fit tight over the cowboy boots. He was wearing a white button-up shirt over a black T-shirt. The smile on his face was Ted’s smile, so it was all for the customs officials. He knew he didn’t have to waste his good-ol’-boy act on me and my people; we knew his true identity, and Ted wasn’t it.
“Hey, Ted, I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up,” I said, smiling my real smile, because I really was happy to see him.
“If you’d come in on a commercial flight I’d have been able to check a timetable, but the fancy private jets are harder to time.” He tipped his hat at the lady customs official, and she was flustered by it. Edward was so solidly in the “best friend” box for me that I had trouble seeing him as this handsome, flirtatious man, but other women seemed to see it just fine.
He looked at some of the people with me. “This isn’t who we discussed,” he said, and the real Edward had eased into his Ted voice, just a little.
“Long story,” I said.
He let it go, because he knew that meant I couldn’t tell him in front of strangers. He eyed them all, and it wasn’t Ted looking out of his face now. Even Ted’s slightly rounded shoulders were gone, replaced by Edward’s upright, shoulders-back, I-was-in-the-military stance. The customs official who had been flattered was looking at him warily now. She’d been on the job long enough to know trouble when she saw it; good on her.