October 31, 2005, 905 PM, 20 miles outside of London, England

Mike and Darcy had invited fifty people; forty-seven people had arrived, and were mulling around, drinking glasses of champagne (or sparkling apple cider in the case for those too young to drink, or did not like the taste of bubbles). It was already ten after nine. The Justice of the Peace was impatient to begin. "I'm only paid to work until ten," he informed Mike. "I still have two hours from here to home."

"Five more minutes, please," begged Mike. "The bride has to be here somewhere."

The man blinked. Truly, he was not a bad sort. He was balding on top, but still wore his hair long in back, pulled into a ponytail. He had hazel eyes, more brown than green, giving them a slight appearance of muddy water. "You lost your bride?"

"I did not lose her. I just don't know where she is at the moment. There is a difference."

The man blinked again, confused. "You do not seem too worried."

"Why should I be worried?" shrugged Mike. "Darcy is a capable woman. Should she wander off, she knows what mushrooms not to eat. Besides," he shrugged again, a teasing grin spreading across his face, "if she should wander off, it will save me the lifetime misery of marrying her."

"Oh, dear!" mumbled the Justice of the Peace. "Do you not feel any love towards her?"

"I don't know about love, sir, but I do like the old girl. Amusing to have around."

The poor man looked like he wanted to bolt, Mike was nearly doubled over with laughter, and it was here, that Darcy wandered over, scowl written across her face. "What lies have you been feeding this innocent gentleman, Michael Ross?" she demanded.

"Oh, nothing. Just said how I hoped you poisoned yourself on the backyard mushrooms."

"Those backyard mushrooms are harmless. But I don't suppose a United States city boy such as you would know that? Too busy polluting the air, and killing the mammals with your car exhaust."

"You drive a car. You've made your home in Paris. You are the one, who agreed to follow me back to the United States. You a hypocrite, Darcy Gallagher, and I do not marry a hypocrite."

"Oh, so you've been married before?" Her eyes were flashing now.

"And, if I was?"

"I hope for your sake, and hers, that she is dead, or I will murder her myself."

"Don't do yourself the favor. I prefer her over you."

At this, the Justice of the Peace took a step back, shaking his head, unbelievable in that he was hearing this. The guests seemed to echo his sentiments in varying degrees.

"Oh, so now you tell me this? It would have been nice to know YESTERDAY."

"Jealous much, Darce?" Mike asked, eyebrows raised, mouth quirking at the corners.

Darcy stared at him, eyes flashed once, before she threw her head back and laughed. Once calmer, she planted a kiss on his lips, turned to the Justice of the Peace, and asked, "Could we perform the ceremony?"

The man blinked yet again, more confused now than before. "You still want to be married? But, but," his voice trailed.

Mike shrugged, grinned. "Oh, that. That was nothing. So, shall we get this show on the road? Before I leave the bride at the altar?"

Still surprised, still confused, the Justice of the Peace started the ceremony. Standing towards the back, Asher and Richie watched, holding hands, own separate thoughts racing through their heads. On the outskirts of their senses, was another Immortal.