before he said, without even looking, “Those better not be my ta-

cos, bro.”

“They’re not yours anymore,” Shane mumbled around a

mouthful. “Chill. You have a bagful.”

Michael gave Eve a quick kiss on his way to the table, sorted

out tacos onto three more plates, and took his seat. “I heard squealing. What did I miss?”

“Matching licenses,” Eve said, and displayed them. When he

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reached for them, she smacked his hand. “Oh, no, you don’t. Your

hands are greasy.”

“You’re actually going to marry this taco thief?” Michael said,

and shook his head. “Disappointed.”

“Hey, man,” Shane protested. He took the hot sauce when Mi-

chael reached for it, and then tossed it in his direction. Michael

fielded it with almost as much grace as he’d had as a vampire. “So

when’s the do- over?”

“Do- over?”

“What do you call it when you get second- time- fake- married?”

“Excuse me— that’s real married,” Eve said, smacking his hand when he tried to take another taco off her plate. He took it anyway.

“When’s yours?”

“Um . . .” He chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. “Actually, I

was going to talk to you about that. About maybe . . .”

“Doing it together?”

“Are we back to the orgy talk? Because I’m—”

“God, be serious a second,” Eve said, and rolled her eyes.

“Claire?”

“I’d love it if we could have our weddings together,” she said.

“If you’re okay with it.”

“As long as Shane gives me the taco he just straight up snaked

off my plate.”

Shane solemnly put it back. They all looked at each other, and

then Michael took Eve’s hand, and then Shane’s, and Shane took

Claire’s, and Claire took Eve’s . . .

. . . and it was a little like a prayer, and a little like a hug, and a lot like home.

“So,” Shane said after the silence went on just a beat too long.

“Tacos, or orgy?”

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Rachel Caine

“Tacos,” the rest of them said, all together.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Somehow Claire hadn’t expected to be quite so scared.

She’d faced down humans, vampires, and draug. She’d regu-

larly done things that most people would go a lifetime without

ever having to deal with even once. And yes, she’d been scared,

even terrified from time to time. . . .

But not like this.

“Breathe,” Eve advised her, and tugged slightly at her dress. It

felt heavy and close around her, and in the warm air of the church’s dressing room, Claire was afraid she might pass out if she tried to move. The person in the mirror was someone else entirely—

someone dressed in a long white gown of satin, with a high- waisted beaded bodice that managed to make her look tall and regal and