Crimson Death
Page 117
The building and surrounding area were just an airport like almost every other private area of every other airport that I’d ever been to, so it wasn’t that it wasn’t Irish; it wasn’t anything. If you traveled and only saw airports and hotels, then every place was the same. Even internationally, if you stayed in a chain hotel and people spoke English around you, it was like you never left home, except you were away from your actual house, your stuff, and the people you loved. Of course, this time that last part wasn’t true.
I looked at Nathaniel with his auburn hair looking surprisingly red in the watery sunlight. The sky was gray with clouds and there was the feel of rain in the air. We had packed rain gear for all of us who already had some. We’d have to buy some for Nathaniel and Damian, but most of the rest of us had some. Mine had the U.S. Marshal logo all over it, so if the local police wanted me to wear something more neutral I’d go shopping, but until they made me I’d wear what I had. At that moment I was wearing a light leather jacket that probably wouldn’t like being rained on any more than the one that Nathaniel was wearing. Most everyone else either was wearing leather or already had their raincoats on. Most of the coats were lined, so they were probably better for the temperature than the leather jackets and would definitely be winners when the rain started. Though they wouldn’t be nearly as fun to cuddle. I ran my hand down Nathaniel’s back and the leather was soft and pettable. Of course, I could feel the firm line of his shoulders and back under the leather, so that might have made me lean toward leather as opposed to raincoats. I looked around at everyone as they unloaded the luggage from the belly of the plane and thought I’d have to touch Nicky and see if I had the same reaction. Maybe it was just the person and not the coat, or maybe it was both?
A uniformed official came out of the building with Socrates, who said, “Which of you has Damian’s passport?”
“I do,” Nathaniel said, and he went back to the airplane with them so the uniform could look at the “sleeping” vampire and make sure we weren’t trying to pull a switch. Since people look different awake and alive, I wondered how hard it was to be sure the pictures matched the vampires. I could do it, because I looked at people alive and dead a lot, but I let it go and moved into the building with the others. I had my own passport and the card that matched the necklace tucked under my shirt against my skin that said I carried lycanthropy. The last time I’d traveled out of the country I hadn’t needed anything but my passport. I wasn’t really wild about the change.
It wasn’t until the uniformed officials inside the building spoke in an Irish accent that it suddenly seemed like we might be in Ireland. It was perfectly understandable, but it gave me the feeling I’d stepped into a movie, because that was the only place I’d ever heard the real accent up until that moment. Damian and others could sort of do one on command, but it wasn’t the same. I don’t know if the other felt like an act, or if the lilt and rhythm of the customs people were a slightly different accent. Either way, standing there while they inspected everyone’s passports and the medical alert cards was less real somehow. I don’t think I ever thought I’d see Ireland in person. I sure as hell never thought I’d see it with over a dozen people who included three vampires and ten lycanthropes. Once I’d thought I was the scourge of bad little vampires and rogue shapeshifters everywhere, and now here I was, one of them. Or that’s what my own medical alert card said. Lycanthrope carrier, like I was something hauling dangerous freight across the world.
A uniformed woman said, “Congratulations, it’s a beautiful ring.”
I looked down at my left hand and the platinum ring with its channel-set white diamonds and big sapphire: my work ring. It was all I could do not to say, You should see the other ring. That one lived in a safe at the Circus of the Damned while we waited for yet another compromise engagement ring to be finished that would be the one that went with the wedding ring that was also still being handcrafted. The one in the safe was the ring Jean-Claude had given to me for the video proposal. It was all white diamonds, really big white diamonds. The center stone was so many carats that rabbits should have followed me everywhere I went. I always felt like I had a sign over my head when I wore it: Please mug me. If I ever forgot myself and punched someone in the face while wearing it, I’d scar them for life. It was a very big ring, very flashy, incredibly expensive, and theatrical. It had looked great in the video and pictures that the engagement coordinator had had taken for us. Yes, there really are engagement coordinators, because asking someone to marry you has to be almost as big a production as the wedding now, or it does when you’re the King. The video had gone viral on YouTube and outed me in a major way as Jean-Claude’s fiancée. At least the woman hadn’t seen the video and didn’t ask me where that ring had gone, or if I had broken up with that beautiful vampire, and who this ring was from—I’d had all those reactions to the work ring.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling like I meant it.
The gentleman working with her leaned over from looking at Dev’s medical alert card and double-checking that it matched his bracelet to say, “Which of them is the lucky man?”
My smile widened. “He’s at home.”
The woman looked up at the men with me, hesitating here and there in a more lingering way than she had before. I guess I couldn’t blame her; after all, if you don’t meet people at work, where do you meet them?
“Very sad he couldn’t come with us. It would have been so much more romantic,” Dev said.
I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going, but I played along. “It would have been.”
“Now, Marshal Blake, you know the romance has to wait until the work is done,” said a man’s voice with a thick American Western drawl.
I turned to find Edward in full U.S. Marshal Ted Forrester guise walking toward us. He tipped his white cowboy hat back on his head and grinned at me. I probably looked surprised. I would never get used to how completely Edward could vanish into Ted Forrester. I’d only learned recently that Theodore Forrester was his legal birth name. He’d always just been Edward to me. Ted was a good ol’ boy. Edward was not. They were the same person, so they were both five-eight, though he always seemed taller, yellow-blond hair cut short, mostly hidden under the hat, pale blue eyes, a lean, in-shape body that didn’t look as strong as he actually was; I could never decide if it was genetic and he couldn’t bulk up, or if he thought lifting was too boring and didn’t bother. He pushed away from the wall and walked toward us in his jeans, which fit tight over the cowboy boots. He was wearing a white button-up shirt over a black T-shirt. The smile on his face was Ted’s smile, so it was all for the customs officials. He knew he didn’t have to waste his good-ol’-boy act on me and my people; we knew his true identity, and Ted wasn’t it.
“Hey, Ted, I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up,” I said, smiling my real smile, because I really was happy to see him.
I looked at Nathaniel with his auburn hair looking surprisingly red in the watery sunlight. The sky was gray with clouds and there was the feel of rain in the air. We had packed rain gear for all of us who already had some. We’d have to buy some for Nathaniel and Damian, but most of the rest of us had some. Mine had the U.S. Marshal logo all over it, so if the local police wanted me to wear something more neutral I’d go shopping, but until they made me I’d wear what I had. At that moment I was wearing a light leather jacket that probably wouldn’t like being rained on any more than the one that Nathaniel was wearing. Most everyone else either was wearing leather or already had their raincoats on. Most of the coats were lined, so they were probably better for the temperature than the leather jackets and would definitely be winners when the rain started. Though they wouldn’t be nearly as fun to cuddle. I ran my hand down Nathaniel’s back and the leather was soft and pettable. Of course, I could feel the firm line of his shoulders and back under the leather, so that might have made me lean toward leather as opposed to raincoats. I looked around at everyone as they unloaded the luggage from the belly of the plane and thought I’d have to touch Nicky and see if I had the same reaction. Maybe it was just the person and not the coat, or maybe it was both?
A uniformed official came out of the building with Socrates, who said, “Which of you has Damian’s passport?”
“I do,” Nathaniel said, and he went back to the airplane with them so the uniform could look at the “sleeping” vampire and make sure we weren’t trying to pull a switch. Since people look different awake and alive, I wondered how hard it was to be sure the pictures matched the vampires. I could do it, because I looked at people alive and dead a lot, but I let it go and moved into the building with the others. I had my own passport and the card that matched the necklace tucked under my shirt against my skin that said I carried lycanthropy. The last time I’d traveled out of the country I hadn’t needed anything but my passport. I wasn’t really wild about the change.
It wasn’t until the uniformed officials inside the building spoke in an Irish accent that it suddenly seemed like we might be in Ireland. It was perfectly understandable, but it gave me the feeling I’d stepped into a movie, because that was the only place I’d ever heard the real accent up until that moment. Damian and others could sort of do one on command, but it wasn’t the same. I don’t know if the other felt like an act, or if the lilt and rhythm of the customs people were a slightly different accent. Either way, standing there while they inspected everyone’s passports and the medical alert cards was less real somehow. I don’t think I ever thought I’d see Ireland in person. I sure as hell never thought I’d see it with over a dozen people who included three vampires and ten lycanthropes. Once I’d thought I was the scourge of bad little vampires and rogue shapeshifters everywhere, and now here I was, one of them. Or that’s what my own medical alert card said. Lycanthrope carrier, like I was something hauling dangerous freight across the world.
A uniformed woman said, “Congratulations, it’s a beautiful ring.”
I looked down at my left hand and the platinum ring with its channel-set white diamonds and big sapphire: my work ring. It was all I could do not to say, You should see the other ring. That one lived in a safe at the Circus of the Damned while we waited for yet another compromise engagement ring to be finished that would be the one that went with the wedding ring that was also still being handcrafted. The one in the safe was the ring Jean-Claude had given to me for the video proposal. It was all white diamonds, really big white diamonds. The center stone was so many carats that rabbits should have followed me everywhere I went. I always felt like I had a sign over my head when I wore it: Please mug me. If I ever forgot myself and punched someone in the face while wearing it, I’d scar them for life. It was a very big ring, very flashy, incredibly expensive, and theatrical. It had looked great in the video and pictures that the engagement coordinator had had taken for us. Yes, there really are engagement coordinators, because asking someone to marry you has to be almost as big a production as the wedding now, or it does when you’re the King. The video had gone viral on YouTube and outed me in a major way as Jean-Claude’s fiancée. At least the woman hadn’t seen the video and didn’t ask me where that ring had gone, or if I had broken up with that beautiful vampire, and who this ring was from—I’d had all those reactions to the work ring.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling like I meant it.
The gentleman working with her leaned over from looking at Dev’s medical alert card and double-checking that it matched his bracelet to say, “Which of them is the lucky man?”
My smile widened. “He’s at home.”
The woman looked up at the men with me, hesitating here and there in a more lingering way than she had before. I guess I couldn’t blame her; after all, if you don’t meet people at work, where do you meet them?
“Very sad he couldn’t come with us. It would have been so much more romantic,” Dev said.
I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going, but I played along. “It would have been.”
“Now, Marshal Blake, you know the romance has to wait until the work is done,” said a man’s voice with a thick American Western drawl.
I turned to find Edward in full U.S. Marshal Ted Forrester guise walking toward us. He tipped his white cowboy hat back on his head and grinned at me. I probably looked surprised. I would never get used to how completely Edward could vanish into Ted Forrester. I’d only learned recently that Theodore Forrester was his legal birth name. He’d always just been Edward to me. Ted was a good ol’ boy. Edward was not. They were the same person, so they were both five-eight, though he always seemed taller, yellow-blond hair cut short, mostly hidden under the hat, pale blue eyes, a lean, in-shape body that didn’t look as strong as he actually was; I could never decide if it was genetic and he couldn’t bulk up, or if he thought lifting was too boring and didn’t bother. He pushed away from the wall and walked toward us in his jeans, which fit tight over the cowboy boots. He was wearing a white button-up shirt over a black T-shirt. The smile on his face was Ted’s smile, so it was all for the customs officials. He knew he didn’t have to waste his good-ol’-boy act on me and my people; we knew his true identity, and Ted wasn’t it.
“Hey, Ted, I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up,” I said, smiling my real smile, because I really was happy to see him.
