It was a really good time for her to come back.

Julien was standing guard outside the hall bathroom, turning to face the door every now and then, pretending to check in on Iman despite the fact she wasn't there. She was probably at his San Diego house a decade or so back in time, doing God knows what.

His bad acting had worked, for a while. But now Julien could see Beck coming down the hallway, his dress shoes squeaking against the expensive wood flooring (everything about this house was expensive, to the point where it was making Julien a bit dizzy), his black suit jacket flying like a cape behind him.

Jogging after Beck was Fritz, who looked unusually sharp in his own slim-fit maroon suit, a vibrant bowtie at his throat. "Beck!" Fritz was calling. "Shit, you're fast as hell. Slow down."

Beck was searching around, his head whipping side to side so frantically that it hurt to watch. Julien reached out, gripping Beck by the front of his shirt. Beck, his chest heaving, fumbled to grasp Julien's hand, and only then did his face flash with recognition. "Julien? Julien, where's Immy? Is she okay? Did she travel—"

"Boys?" came a familiar voice, made raspy by a lifetime of cigarette smoke. All three of them froze, turning as Lemuel Caulfield approached them, his face twisted in a frown. "Where's the lovely lady? We're about to start the toasts."

Standing side by side, the likeness between Lemmy and his son was unsettling. They shared round eyes and a broad nose bridge, detached earlobes and long eyelashes, warm umber skin. Lemmy's face, however, was peppered with freckles and sun spots, his chin unshaved, jawline more square. If Julien was being entirely honest, Lemmy looked like Beck might in about thirty years.

Fritz rose his eyebrows sharply at Julien, who cleared his throat and said: "I think she ate one too many cocktail shrimp."

Now it was Beck's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Iman hates shrimp."
An awkward silence passed. Fritz coughed.

"I suppose I can go back and stall for a bit," offered Lemmy, clapping a hand on Beck's shoulder before he turned to go. "Poor thing. I hope she recovers soon."

"Recovers? From what?"

The bathroom door swung open, and there Iman stood, looking precisely as she had when she'd dragged Julien away from the party crowd, whispering to him, It's happening. The only thing out of place was her hair, the caramel brown curls ever so slightly frizzed on one side. She blinked at the four men congregated there in the hall, as if they were the strange ones and she wasn't the one who'd just performed a vanishing act.

"Iman!" Julien yelped, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "You're back. Thank God. I knew you'd feel better once you threw up some."

"Threw up some—?"

Julien shoved her into Beck's arms. "Here. Let's get back to the main hall, right? Everyone's waiting."

Beck hesitated, but nevertheless looped an arm through Iman's, and the two of them and Lemmy made towards the main hall again, following the shaft of gold light at the end of the corridor, following the hum of human voices.

When they were long gone, Julien collapsed, pressing his forehead against the wall with a long sigh. It had been a calm night until then. A charming, pretty little engagement party, attended by Beck's and Iman's families and all Beck and Iman's college friends and, of course, Julien and Fritz. Tapas, hors d'oeuvres, glasses of champagne carried through the crowd on silver platters. Oh, and how do you know the bride? A best friend! Charming.

Right. So, so charming.

Until Iman's fingers, shaking, had latched around his arm and he'd looked into her eyes and known that she was about to vanish from thin air.

"You're a terrible liar," said Fritz from behind him now, sounding smug. "You know that, don't you?"

Julien groaned. He did know that. "What the hell else was I supposed to do?"

"Tell the truth. It's not like Beck doesn't know that he's marrying a time traveler."

"Yeah, well his dad was there, genius."

A moment of silence passed, long enough that Julien glanced over his shoulder to make sure Fritz was still there at all. "Maybe it's time Lemmy knew," said Fritz with a nonchalant shrug, picking a piece of lint from his shoulder. "I mean, he is going to be family to her soon, right?"

"Right, okay," said Julien with a roll of his eyes. "And while we're at it let's tell him and Beck's little sister and absolutely fucking everyone that we're bloodsucking creatures of myth. Yes. That sounds like it would go over perfectly well."

Fritz, scowling, deftly flipped Julien the bird before nudging him forward, after Iman and the Caulfields.

Julien had known somewhere in the back of his head that Iman's older sister had married rich, but he hadn't quite understood how rich until he and Fritz had come up the circular drive. It was a perfect white-picket house in rural Richmond, surrounded by acres of green meadows and maple trees, the very air smelling of earth and pine and buttercups. The decor was farmhouse chic—pure white walls and tile, barn doors and chandeliers, massive floor-to-celing windows and French doors. Even after being here for over an hour, Julien still felt a bit out of place, like even brushing the wall was a cardinal sin.

The toasts began, and as people took the makeshift stage in front of the massive fireplace one by one, Julien downed a champagne glass, then another, then another for good measure. He was just the right amount of buzzed to second-guess himself when he heard Sera's voice call his name: "Julien?"

He shuddered. She'd called him Juju or Jule—never Jules like everyone else, because it was "too childish"—so often that he had forgotten what his full name sounded like in her mouth.

Nevertheless, he pivoted, champagne glass still in hand, to see her standing in the shadow of the back patio door. He would have written it off as another impromptu, impassioned visit ("Oh, but I just had to look at you one more time") if not for the dire look on her face, blue eyes wide as saucers.

Fritz frowned, not turning. "She's here, isn't she? God, I can smell her. She's always worn that stupid perfume."

Julien handed off his glass to Fritz, who shot him an almost offended look. "I'll be just a second."

"Jules, you bastard, you can't disappear now. You're making the next toast—"

"I'll be back before then!" Julien hissed, already halfway to the door. He mouthed at Fritz as he got further and further away from him, Trust me.

As soon as he eased the French door shut, the low warble of the engagement party fell away, replaced by the persistent chirruping of crickets and the rhythmic whoosh of the wind in the trees. Sera was sitting on the patio swing, motionless, her small hands folded neatly in her lap.

Her eyes lifted, and she motioned for him to sit, but Julien didn't. "I told you I'd be back tomorrow. You're supposed to give me this night to myself."

"I know, Julien. But there's something I haven't been telling you and that I'm not supposed to tell you and I—I have to, now."

Julien tried to act as though he wasn't startled, but he was startled. Sera was a liar. That much was not surprising. What was surprising was that she admitted it. "What do you mean?"

Sera ducked her head for a moment, crescent moonlight highlighting her pale hair briefly before she looked up again. Her face was a tumult of emotion: confusion, passion, terror. A violent shiver ran up Julien's spine.

She said, "Someone is looking for you, Jule."

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Someone is looking for you, and I think it's best that they don't find you."

Julien scoffed, rolling his eyes. "If this is another ploy to get me to come back and live with you again, it's a cheap shot—"

"I'm trying to warn you!" Sera said, and in less than a second she was right in front of him, gripping him by the collar of his dress shirt. Julien sputtered, half-frightened and half-aroused by the feel of her hands around his neck. "You're not listening. I know you care about that girl in there—Iman. If that's true, if you really do, and if you care even a sliver for your own life, you won't go to her wedding."

A shock went through Julien's cold veins. He brushed Sera off, ignoring the flash of hurt that crossed her face. "I have to be there, Sera. What the hell are you saying? I'm not gonna let her walk down the aisle by herself."

"Figure it out, Julien!" snapped Sera, mopping a hand across her mouth, smearing pink lipstick across her cheek. "You'd better think hard about what you want, okay? For yourself, and for Iman. Because if you don't, you might—"

"I might what?"

He watched as Sera opened her mouth, then closed it again with a shake of her head.

The patio door squeaked open, and Iman poked her head out. Her eyes found Julien first, then Sera, and her eyebrows knitted.

"Hi, Sera. So not nice to see you. Anyway, can you two continue your lover's quarrel later?" she asked, shifting once again to look at Julien. "You're up next, Jules. Everyone's just dying to hear the toast I know you definitely planned ahead of time."

"Oh, sure," said Julien with little enthusiasm, his eyes narrowing. He started to turn back to Sera, a knot of discomfort in his stomach. "She was just leaving..."

But Julien trailed off into silence, because before he had even realized it, he and Iman were alone.