“I don’t think so,” Jessica said, looking her up and down critically. “The blue makes her look washed out. Which, we can all agree, is not a problem I myself have. But it’s not so good on your model.”

“Go back and change into the yellow one,” Betsy said.

“Fuck this shit,” Antonia snapped. “I seriously doubt this is what the gods or whoever had in mind when they sent me a vision of helping you.”

“Sez you. Go change.”

She stomped back into the small sitting room, ripped the ice blue bridesmaid gown off, and struggled into the piss-yellow one. This, this was her punishment for every bad thought, word, and deed she had ever thought, said, and committed. Fucking bridesmaid gowns!

She slouched out into the larger room, and both women immediately said, “No.”

“Why’d they even send that one over, anyway?” Betsy asked. “It’s awful. Nobody can wear that color.”

“Because they want a big fat commission, so better to send too many instead of not enough. Why don’t you try the black one?” Jessica suggested.

“Why don’t I make a rope out of this one and hang myself?”

“Quit bitching,” the queen ordered, “and go change. And hurry it up; we don’t have all night.”

Jessica laughed. “Actually, we do.”

“Well, that’s true, but never mind. Change, please.” At Antonia’s poisonous glare, she added, “I meant dresses. That wasn’t some kind of werewolf put-down.”

“Better not have been,” she muttered and stomped back to the sitting room.

“So, uh.” Jessica was speaking with forced casualness, which smelled like oranges on fire. “When did you figure out that you weren’t, uh, going to turn into a wolf ever? I mean, you’re pretty young.”

She had to laugh at that one. “I’m old for an unmated werewolf.”

“Oh. Because I was thinking, maybe you just haven’t had a, uh, chance to, you know. Change.”

“It happens with puberty.”

“Puberty?” Betsy echoed.

Antonia was wrestling with the zipper. “Yeah, you know. Hair in new places, things get bigger, and suddenly you’re thinking about boys. Don’t worry, it’ll happen for you soon.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

“Yes she does,” Jessica whispered, having no idea that Antonia could hear her perfectly well.

“So you were a teenager and you never Changed?”

“Not once.” At last! The thing was on. Hmm, not to bad. She studied herself in the mirror; she looked like one of those old pictures of a Greek stature. The dress was simple; no ruffles or fluffs. Straight across the boobs, falling to her hips, and then falling to the floor. And the deepest black, so black it made her skin glow.

“This one isn’t horrible,” she said, stepping out.