dress down to its basic essentials, it wouldn’t be too bad, Dahlia thought. But the dresses were accessorized with lace gloves and tiny veiled hats pinned to each lacquered head. Worst of all, there was a gigantic bow perched atop each girlish butt. The waggle of each passing lime-green rear end made Dahlia feel like weeping, too, along with some of the female guests—though Dahlia assumed they were crying for a different reason.
Glenda gave an audible snigger, and Dahlia despaired of ever teaching the girl manners. Dahlia herself was maintaining an appropriately pleasant wedding guest face despite the dreadful possibility that she’d have to wear such a monstrous ensemble. Though the prospect was a blow, Dahlia conscientiously remained to note the entire procedure. She was disappointed when the doves were simply released into the sky at the climax of the ceremony.
Long after Glenda had lost interest, Dahlia traced all the events of the wedding back to their human director, who was hovering at the rear of the gathering. Though the poor wedding planner was quite busy, Dahlia was ruthless (in a charming way) in getting the answers to several astute questions. She garnered information that made her feel that (if it had been beating at all) her heart would now burst.
“The groomsmen—those men up there on the husband’s side—they’ll be from among the groom’s friends,” Dahlia said, her hand gripping Glenda’s shoulder.
“Well, sure, Dally,” Glenda said. “Really, you! Didn’t you know that?”
Dahlia shook her raven head back and forth. “Werewolves,” she moaned. “They’ll all be Werewolves.”
“Ewww,” said Glenda. “We’ll have to let one touch us, Dally. Did you see that each bridesmaid took the arm of a groomsman on their way out of the … the … designated wedding area?”
And for the first time in her long, long life, Dahlia Lynley-Chivers said, “Ewww.”
To cover her shame, she added quickly, “If you call me Dally again, I’ll tear your throat out.”
When Dahlia said something like that, it was smart to assume she meant it. Glenda said, “Well, I’m sure not going to any stupid Were party with you now.”
Dahlia had to back down, something she was unused to doing. “Glenda,” she said stiffly, “neither Cassie nor Fortunata will go, and I was relying on you. It’s your duty as a bridesmaid to attend this party. Taffy said so.”
“If you think we’ll be greeted with open arms by a bunch of stupid Weres, you can think again, Miss Perfect. Open jaws is what they’ll have.” Glenda disappeared behind the tent to conceal her liftoff, and Dahlia watched her companion disappear. No doubt, Glenda would describe the bridesmaid dresses to any vamp who would listen.
With her little jaw set grimly, Dahlia Lynley-Chivers made her way to a part of Rhodes she seldom visited. This time, she took a cab. Humans became very upset when they saw her fly, and she was determined to do her best by her friend Taffy. Taffy had been born Taphronia, daughter of Leonidas, centuries ago. She’d been calling herself Taffy for the past forty years. Taffy and her fiancé, Don Swift-foot (of course that was his pack name—his human name was Don Swinton), were celebrating their forthcoming nuptials at a bar in the Werewolf part of town. The whole wedding party would be there; at least, the whole wedding party was supposed to be there. Since the other bridesmaids had dropped the baton, Dahlia feared she’d be the only vampire in attendance. She had a wide range of curses at her disposal since she’d lived so long, and she voiced a few of them on the drive through the city. Luckily, the cabdriver spoke none of the languages she used.
Dahlia got out of the cab a block away from the bar. This area of Rhodes was a bit run-down, a bit seedy. The sidewalks were crowded, even this late at night, with bar-hopping humans who didn’t realize they were just on the safe side of the moon cycle. Of course, no one who lived in Rhodes realized they were partying in an area that had a high concentration of Werewolves. Humans didn’t know about Werewolves yet. The two-natured had to retain their human faces on their nights out.
The bar, called Moonshine, was practically buzzing with energy and magic. Any humans who wandered in uninvited developed severe headaches, and went home early, as a rule. Moonshine was closed three nights out of the month.
Dahlia made sure her cocktail dress was smooth over her hips. Since she was representing her