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.

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.