For the time being, we’d gone the old-fashioned route. Not for nothing had I spent my formative teenage years practising the art of thievery on the streets. I’d learnt how to blend in. It wasn’t about wearing a hat and big sunglasses, it was about attitude. So while my long white hair was completely covered, my skin was temporarily darkened and my face was in shadow, I also held myself differently. Rather than projecting the image of an all-powerful Sidhe Chieftain who cared nothing for the opinion of others, I’d chosen to take on the persona of a slick trophy wife.

Anyone who’s never had to disguise themselves won’t get it. Amateurs always believe that the best way to conceal yourself is to hunch over and fade into the background. The truth is that there are very few people capable of successfully pulling off that kind of feat. Even my years of slinking around the corridors of the Bull’s mansion and trying to avoid being noticed hadn’t made me an expert at it. Misdirection is far easier. As far as anyone who saw me knew, I was a rich woman who cared far too much about her appearance. My tight, expensive clothes and showy designer headscarf were as much about creating a picture as providing a disguise. With the obvious strut in my step and the way I thrust out my chest, even people I knew would be hard pressed to believe I was anything other than what I presented. Although my posture meant that my lower back was beginning to twinge, the high heels I was wearing made me feel rather sexy. It was a real shame they weren’t pink. Even with my supposed demise, pink would have been too dangerous.

‘Admit it, Uh Integrity,’ Bob murmured in my ear, ‘right now you think you’re pretty hot.’

Just then a car passed by with a scruffy-looking warlock in the passenger seat. He leaned out and leered at me. I smiled. ‘I don’t think, Bob,’ I murmured. ‘I know.’ It was true; looking like this was about self-belief. As Bob himself could attest if he were introspective enough, ego was vital to any façade.

I lifted my chin and strutted down the long street. From time to time I paused and glanced in shop windows to check who was behind me as well as to maintain my cover as a woman hell-bent on shopping. So far so good. I hummed to myself and crossed the street. As Tipsania had said, there was only one store in town worth visiting if you were planning upscale nuptials. I grinned as MacKay’s Marriage Emporium came into view. Bring on the meringues.

The door jangled as I entered, not with a bell-like noise but with the opening bars of Wagner’s bridal march. Neat.

‘I think I just vomited in my mouth,’ Bob whispered.

I avoided rolling my eyes as a shop assistant gave me the once over. Apparently deciding I was a fish worth reeling in, she strolled over and thrust out a perfectly manicured hand. ‘Good afternoon,’ she purred. ‘My name is Shona and I’m a bridal consultant here at the wonderful MacKay’s Emporium.’ Her smile grew to a blinding intensity. ‘We can make all of your wishes come true.’