The salon had, at rough count, three thousand gowns in the back. I could eliminate some right off the bat. No meringue dresses. Nothing with too many beads-I hated shiny. Nothing strapless-I''d freeze my ass off. Nothing with a long train-I''d trip and make a fool of myself, guaranteed. No mermaid styles-the clingy gown that flared out from the knees.

    And none of that new slutty style, either-the kind that looked like a traditional dress from the back, but from the front the skirt split just below crotch level and showed miles of leg. Not that my legs weren''t fabulous. But this was a wedding. . . some decorum was called for.Advertisement

    I was looking for a nice, creamy ivory. Pure white was too harsh with my undead complexion. Even off-white was a little too much.

    Lara went back to coloring, and Jeannie paced around the back like a caged cat. I would occasionally emerge for a thumbs-up or -down.

    "No."

    "Uh-uh," Lara said, glancing up from her new drawing.

    "Doesn''t suit you," Jeannie said when I emerged again.

    "Mom''s right."

    And again. . ."Nope."

    "Too billowy."

    And again. "Your tits are just about popping out. Now, if that''s the look you''re going for. . . "

    And again. "You''re lost in all those ruffles."

    "Buried," Lara agreed.

    "What about some color?" Jeannie asked. Her voice was muffled, as she was pretty far in the back.

    "No, I want traditional, yet fabulous."

    "I don''t mean all red or all blue. But how about this?" Jeannie emerged holding a cream-colored gown with a plunging-yet-not-slutty bodice, cap sleeves, an A-line style with a simple skirt that fell straight to the floor. Small red silk stars and flowers were embroidered all over the skirt and bodice.

    I stared. Lara stared. Then Jeannie looked at the price tag and stared. "Fuck a duck," she said. "Never mind."

    "Hold it!"

    And that''s how the alpha female of the Wyndham werewolves found my wedding gown.