MaryJane Davidson - Undead and Uneasy

“So your husband and his buds are running around on all fours in the middle of St. Paul right about now?”

Jeannie shrugged. This was obviously old stuff to her. I couldn't help but admire her. She'd adjusted to her extreme lifestyle change a lot better than I had. Of course, she'd had a few more years to deal with it.

“I wish I was on all fours right now,” Lara said.

I looked a question at Jeannie, who replied, “Puberty, usually.”

“Oh, that sounds like a fun time.”

She grinned and opened her mouth, but before she could elaborate. . .

“Ah, Ms. Taylor! So nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, hi, uh—”

“Misty, Sherri, and I will be heading out for a quick bite, but you're our only appointment this evening. Christopher is in the back, selecting some gowns we think will superbly suit your height and complexion.”

“Superb,” I said.

“Mega superb,” Jeannie added.

“We've got some lovely things in from Saison Blanche, Nicole Miller, Vera Wang, and Signature.”

"Terrific. But you know, time's kind of an issue for me.

“And not wanting to be here is kind of an issue for my mom,” Lara added, ignoring another toe-​poke from her mother.

“Can't I just go in the back and sort of look around? It'd go a lot faster, don't you think?”

“I'm afraid that's against policy, Ms. Taylor. But we're willing to stay as late as necessary this evening to be sure you find the perfect gown.”

Jeannie groaned. I couldn't blame her. If I were in her shoes, I'd probably be bored out of my mind, too. In fact, I was sort of amazed that—

(Beth)

“Sorry, what?”

Jeannie glanced at me. “What?”

“What'd you say?”

“Nothing out loud. But I was thinking all sorts of nasty things.” She grinned. “What? Vampires can read minds?”

“No.” Not entirely true. I could read Sinclair's mind when we were making love. In fact, it was just as well we were fated to rule for a thousand years, because he had ruined sex for me with anybody else.

Wait a minute! The Book of the Dead said we were fated to rule for a thousand years. There wasn't anything in there about Sinclair being killed before we even got officially hitched.

Why hadn't I thought of that before?

I was so excited I wanted to run out of the bridal shop and—and—well, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I sure didn't want to sit there a moment longer. I—

“Here we are, Ms. Taylor.” Christopher emerged from a side hall, where I knew he'd hung three or four gowns in a dressing room for me to try on. It was good timing, since the other three clerks had just left.

Concealing my excitement, I slowly got to my feet, sauntered over to Christopher, gripped him by the elbow, and murmured, “Take us to all the dresses.”

He wheeled around like a reprogrammed robot and started marching toward the back. Snickering, Jeannie rose and followed, and Lara followed her.

Now we were getting somewhere. That's right, everything was coming up Betsy!

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.

“It fit you perfectly.“ Jeannie still couldn't get over it. We had just gotten back to the mansion. ”Didn't you say you're getting married in a few days? You really lucked out. Whoever heard of an off-​the-​rack wedding dress that didn't need alterations?"

“Proof that it's The Gown For Me. Thanks again. If you hadn't found it, I never would have thought to ask for such a thing.”

“No need to thank me, my motives were purely selfish. That's three hours of my life I didn't have to waste in that taffeta hellhole. Lara, go find your bag and get ready for bed.” She turned to me. “We grabbed one of the bedrooms on the third floor, is that all right?”

“Sure. There's plenty of room up there.” I glanced at my watch. Nine o'clock. I was giving serious thought to flipping through the Book of the Dead. But I was also afraid. The last time I'd tried such a stunt, I'd turned into a truly awful bitch for the better part of the evening. Hurt my friends. Hurt Sinclair. It had taken me a long, long time to forgive myself.

And there was Jeannie and Lara to think about. Michael hadn't left them in my care so I could attack them after reading the wrong chapter in the vampire bible.

Worse: the Book didn't have an index, or even a table of contents. There was no way to look anything up. I'd have to flip through it—skim as much as possible—and hope I stumbled across something helpful.

On the upside? The Book was never wrong. It had successfully predicted me, Sinclair, my powers, and come to think of it—

“My baby,” I said out loud, ignoring Jeannie's curious look. How did it go? “And the Queene shalt noe a living childe, and he shalt be hers by a living man.” Yeah. That was more or less it. When Sinclair had told me at the time, it had depressed the hell out of him. He assumed it meant I'd get knocked up by someone else. But I “knew” a living child who was mine by another man. . . my father.

So the Book of the Dead had been right about a baby. It also foretold that Sinclair and I were supposed to be the king and queen for a thousand years. Did that mean I could quit worrying? That everything would work itself out?

(Beth)

“What?”

“Betsy?”

“What?”

“Your purse is ringing.”

I glanced at the table where we habitually tossed our purses, wallets, and keys. Jeannie was right. My purse was ringing. I opened it and grabbed my cell.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's me. Whoa, you actually answered your cell!”

“Hi, Jess, and yes I did. What's up?”

“I was wondering how the dress shopping went.”