“I’m surprised the MVD made that deal,” I said.

   “Blame Sorcha,” she said. “It’s one of the changes they made after Towerline.” That had been our final showdown with the sorceress, a brutal magical and physical fight. “The Order made some big argument about specialization, and the need for clear licensing to keep people from accusing us of being like Sorcha. In reality, it just enforces the hierarchy they prefer.”

   “With Order-licensed sorcerers at the top.”

   “Pretty much.”

   “So who works outside graveyards if not necromancers?”

   “Only Order-approved sorcerers. And I’m not aware of any who practice that kind of magic in Chicago. Since it could bump right up against dark magic, the Order would regulate it pretty tightly. But,” she said, drawing out the word, “since I’m currently standing in my house, and neither the MVD nor the Order have any damn authority here, you can send me the video if you want.” I heard what sounded like the whistling of a teakettle, the shuffle of ceramic. “I can take a look at it. Maybe I’ll recognize something.”

   “That would be great. I’ll have Luc get it to you.” She gave me her e-mail address, and I jotted it down to send to Luc later.

   “If you’re willing to think outside the box,” she said, “you could try the paranormal investigators who showed up tonight. I’m not saying I think they’re legit—this isn’t an endorsement—but they had the right equipment. If they’re worth their salt, they’ll be able to confirm you’ve got a ghost instead of some other supernatural, help identify it, and get you in touch with sorcerers who can send it home again.”

   “It’s a place to start,” I agreed, and thanked her for the help.

   • • •

   Ethan directed Luc to check out CPAN, engage them if appropriate. Then I joined him in front of the fire and greedily accepted the glass of dark wine he offered.

   “This night,” I said, and watched the flames move and shift from orange to blue to white.

   “It’s been an unusual one,” he agreed, and clinked his glass gently against mine. “We crossed a milestone tonight,” he said with a smile. “Our first shower.”

   “Our only shower,” I reminded him with a grin. There were advantages to the shortened timeline.

   “And only two months to go.”

   “Until I have to get my driver’s license renewed? Yeah, I know. I’m not looking forward to it. Such a hassle.”

   He took my free hand, pressed his soft and generous mouth to my knuckles. “You know very well I wasn’t talking about the DMV.”

   I pursed my lips. “Hmm. Was there something else on my schedule?”

   He nipped at my neck. “Our wedding. The reason we had that mostly lovely shower earlier tonight. The reason we’re now in possession of several new toasters.”

   “How much toast do they think vampires eat?”

   “Volumes, evidently.” He stretched out beside me, crooked his elbow, propped his head on his hand, and looked at me. “You aren’t nervous, are you, Sentinel?”

   “Nervous? No. Of course not. Definitely not nervous.”

   “I believe you’re familiar with the Bard and the bit about protesting too much.”

   “Okay,” I said. “I’m a little nervous.”

   For an instant, his eyes went hot. There was surprise there and maybe a little hurt.

   I put a hand on his cheek. “Not about the marriage,” I said, and let him see the truth in my eyes. “I’m apprehensive about the humans. I’m not proud of what happened tonight. Even if I handled Aunt Sarah, she may not be the only badly behaving guest.”

   Ethan smiled, took my empty wineglass, set it aside. “Badly behaving guests are the least of our concerns. If they want to drink our champagne and snipe about vampires, there’s nothing we can do to stop them. And we’re only out the cost of the champagne.”

   “That’s a very practical response.”

   “It is an unfortunate but undeniable fact that we can’t always rely on humans to be good allies. Your relatives and family friends—even though they’re your relatives and family friends—likely won’t be exceptions.”

   “They should be. They knew me before I was a vampire, know me now. They should be better than that.”

   “Most of us rarely rise to our full potential.” The glint in his eyes my only warning, he covered my body with his, pressed me back into the soft carpet.

   “And you’ve risen to yours?” I asked with a grin, putting my arms around his neck.

   “So it seems,” he said. “The nearness of you is enough.”

   His voice was low and roughened by desire, and the feel of his lips on my skin sent a shiver of excitement through me.

   “The nearness of you isn’t bad, either,” I said, and drew his head closer, pressed my mouth to his. I kissed him, letting love mingle through soft lips and tangling tongues.

   He balanced on his elbow, set his free hand against my hip, and drew my body up against his, against the hard line of his arousal.

   “Rising to the occasion,” I murmured against his mouth, and felt his answering smile.

   He sat back on his heels, pushed away his hair with a hand, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The fire in his eyes—silver and green in turn—sparked and changed, like the flames of the fire beside us. He watched me, let his long fingers trail down each pearl button with slow deliberation. It was a tease, exposing a hint of his flat and toned abdomen, of preternaturally smooth skin.

   I lifted a hand to press against the muscles that clenched there, but he pushed it aside.

   “I’m not done,” he said, and tossed the shirt away. “And I’m in charge now. I want you wild with desire.”