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several hundred other wedding guests—the whole freaking town was here, from the looks of it—waiting for the bride and groom to make their entrance. Correction: brides and grooms. Evie and Ansgar had gotten married in a double wedding ceremony with Addy Corwin, Evie’s friend, and Brand Dalvahni, another demon hunter.
    The brides had been exquisite in their frothy wedding gowns, the grooms magnificent in formal attire—tall, supernaturally handsome, and muscle bound. Normally, the cloud of euphoria and oh-my-God-I’m-so-frigging-happy-and-I-love-you-so-much-smoochie-smoochie that had permeated the sanctuary during the ceremony would’ve made Beck hurl. But thanks to Silverbell’s burst of fairy feel-good to the face, Beck sat through the whole thing spellbound by the perfection of it all, like everybody else. Once, she’d almost cried .
    Okay, she had cried. Twice. The first time was when Ansgar, the blond, gray-eyed demon hunter that Evie was marrying, had gotten choked up during his vows. There was something about a big alpha male revealing his inner mush that really got to Beck. She cried again when Ansgar and Evie kissed at the end of the ceremony. That kiss had been perfect, flipping fairy tale perfect. Beck could swear she heard little tinkling bells, and the air in the chapel went thick and hazy and turned all buttery and golden, like in a movie.
    Conall wasn’t kidding when he’d said the fairies liked Evie Douglass. The little glow worms had been everywhere, flitting around the flower arrangements, in the stained-glass windows and on the altar, sliding down the silk ribbons at the end of the freshly polished, high-backed wooden pews, and hovering around the happy couples standing at the front of the church. Judging from the comments of the people around her, most folks had no idea the fae were among them. They thought they were flower petals tossed by the attendants.
    People see what they want to see. The vast majority of the people in the church probably had no idea that the guy playing the pipe organ was a ghost. Nope, not a clue, and that was a good thing. In Beck’s experience, most norms wanted nothing to do with the supernatural. They’d rather put their fingers in their ears and say la la la, and pretend it didn’t exist.
    Take her dad, for instance. He sure lived in denial. Live in a town where the weird factor is off the charts? Ignore. Shape-shifter ex-partner? Ignore, ignore.
    Half-demon daughter? Ignore, ignore, ignore.
    Beck yanked at the hem of her dress, a slinky above-the-knee garment of midnight blue jersey with a daring scoop back. Fairy magic, she thought darkly, giving the garment another tug. The dress didn’t belong to her and neither did the shoes she wore, a pair of glittery sapphire sling-backs with matching bows and four-inch heels that put her over six feet. Totally impractical and probably cost a couple hundred bucks to boot. If she was going to spend that kind of cash on footwear she’d buy something useful. Boots to muck around the bar in maybe, or a pair of sturdy hiking sandals to wear in the woods and along the river—not a pair of girly slut pumps.
    She sneaked another admiring peek at her daintily shod feet. The shoes might not be sensible, but she had to admit they were the bomb diggity. Like something a fairy cobbler would come up with, shiny and sparkly. They’d been waiting on the end of her bed along with the dress. Her memory was patchy because of the fairy dust, but she remembered that much . . . as well as her squeal of delight when she’d seen them.
    Princess shoes, she remembered shrieking like a five-year-old girl, followed by a lot of undignified jumping up and down on her part. Her cheeks burned at the memory. Who knew she was such a girl ? She’d never been into froufrou shit, never had the chance. Her dad had treated her like one of the guys growing up. She’d never been to prom or a high school dance. Never been on a date . . . unless you counted