Things had not been so riotous when they first arrived. The Devil was doing its usual lively, friendly evening business, and James would have been happy to slip upstairs to their private rooms, as he had so many times before, and simply relax with his oldest friends.

Matthew, however, had immediately climbed onto a chair, demanded the entire pub’s attention by clanging his stele against the metal chandelier, and cried out, “Friends! This evening my parabatai, James Jeremiah Jehoshaphat Herondale, celebrates his last night as a single man!”

The whole pub had whooped and cheered.

James had waved a hand to thank and dismiss his well-wishers, but it seemed they weren’t done. Downworlders of all kinds approached to shake his hand and pound his back and wish him happy. To his surprise, James realized that he knew most everyone present—that he’d known many of them, in fact, since he was a boy, and they had watched him grow up.

There was Nisha, the “oldest vampire from the oldest part of this old city,” as she always said. There were Sid and Sid, the two werewolves who were always arguing over which of them could be “Sid” and which must be “Sidney.” The odd cluster of hobgoblins who chattered among each other, never spoke to anyone else, but periodically sent free drinks to other customers, seemingly at random. They surrounded James and demanded he finish the whiskey in his hand so that he might drink the whiskey they’d brought to replace it.

James was genuinely touched by the outpouring of sentiment, but it only made him feel even more uneasy about the nature of his marriage. It will all be over in a year, he thought. If you knew that, you would not be celebrating.

Matthew had disappeared up the stairs soon after his speech and left the rest of them to be surrounded by the rowdy revelers getting drunker and drunker in James’s honor, until, of course, the inevitable moment when Sid threw a punch at Sid and a roar of equal parts approval and mockery rose from the crowd.

Thomas, a scowl on his face, used his broad frame and considerable muscles to maneuver the three of them into a less crowded corner of the room.

“Cheers, Thomas,” Christopher said. His brown hair was ruffled, his spectacles pushed halfway up his head. “Matthew’s special entertainment should be starting…” He looked hopefully toward the stairs. “Any minute now.”

“When Matthew plans a special something, it’s usually either terribly delightful or delightfully terrible,” said James. “Do any of us want to take bets on which this will be?”

Christopher smiled a bit. “A thing of surpassing beauty, according to Matthew.”

“That could be anything,” said James, watching Polly the barmaid march into the middle of the fray to pull the Sids apart as Pickles the kelpie took bets on who would be the winner.