Charlaine Harris - An Apple for the Creature

After he covered the basics, he invited questions, the first of which was from wolves afraid they were being secretly spied on by ghosts. Captain Bob leered a bit for form’s sake, but pointed out that werewolves could see ghosts and that there weren’t many free-range ghosts around.

Then came the question that caused me so much trouble. Shannon, a gal who liked the same TV shows that I did, said, “Can you tell us how you died?” I’d been wondering the same thing, but thought it might be impolite to ask—supernatural life has situations that aren’t discussed by Miss Manners.

Captain Bob said, “I’m happy to tell you—I want to put it out as a warning.”

The ghost’s appearance shifted, and instead of a normal see-through man, he looked like something out of a splatterpunk flick. His throat was so thoroughly savaged that his head was barely attached, and gore drenched his clothes. Only the lack of scent kept the auditorium full of werewolves from reacting to that much blood.

Captain Bob spoke, which just seemed wrong given the horrible damage. “This is how I looked just before I died. If you don’t remember anything else about this session, I want you to remember that this is what a vampire does to people.”

I froze, and I could tell most of the eyes in the auditorium were on me.

Being dead didn’t mean that Captain Bob couldn’t sense awkwardness, and when he looked at Dr. Hogencamp for an explanation, she whispered something in his ear. “For the love of God, what kind of woman would live with a vampire?” he demanded.

“That would be me,” I said.

The people to either side shrank away as Captain Bob wafted in my direction, his head bobbling along. I wouldn’t have expected werewolves to be so squeamish.

“Are you insane?” he asked.

“Is that a rhetorical question? Because if I were, I probably wouldn’t know it.”

“Then why are you living with a monster?”

“I’m a werewolf and you’re a ghost. It’s pretty much monster central casting around here.”

“There’s monsters, and then there’s monsters,” he said, as if that meant something. “How long do you think it’ll be before that bloodsucker does something like this to you?”

What was I supposed to say? A week from next Friday? “I’ve already been bitten almost that badly.”

“You see? Vampires are killers!”

“Oh, it wasn’t a vampire who bit me. It was a werewolf.” The wolves around me suddenly found other places to look, and in retrospect, I realized it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to bring up. It wasn’t as if the other werewolves didn’t know that I’d been mauled by a rogue, but they didn’t like to have their noses rubbed in the fact. It embarrassed them.

I don’t know what stupid thing I’d have said next if Dr. Hogencamp hadn’t come fluttering down the aisle. “Captain Bob, please come back to the platform.” She was waving her arms as if she could blow him in the direction she wanted him to go. He seemed completely unaffected, but did go with her, though not without turning to glower at me.

Unsurprisingly, there were no further questions, so we broke for lunch.

I didn’t enjoy my food. Nobody spoke to me while I was in the buffet line, even though I was right behind a woman I’d traded iPhone apps with over breakfast, and when I went looking for a table, every chair was suddenly filled or saved for somebody else.

Eventually I found an empty table, and sat to choke down my lunch. Had I been human, I probably would have lost my appetite, but shunned or not, I was still a werewolf. Nonetheless, I only toyed with my second dessert, and looked up happily when I noticed somebody was standing next to me. The pleasure didn’t last long. It was that damned ghost. At least he’d changed back to his non-gross form.

“Fattening yourself up for the vampire?” he asked.

“Who are you calling fat, tubby?”

He sucked in his gut or performed some sort of ectoplasmic trick to make it look as if he had. “I want to talk to you.”

Since nobody else was lining up to chat, I said, “Pull up a seat.”

He glared at me.

“Sorry.” I pulled a chair out for him, and he floated into it as if actually sitting.

“Listen,” he said, “maybe I came on too strong before, but you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Vampires are vicious killing machines.”

“And how many vampires have you met?”

“I’ve never met any, unless you count being murdered as a social event.”

“People get murdered every day, and nobody blames all humans. So is it too bizarre to accept that some vampires are nice?”

“How many vampires have you met?”

“Just one,” I admitted.

“And that makes you an expert?”

“I don’t claim to be, unlike some people.” I got up, and when Captain Bob followed me, I said, “What are you doing?”

“Sticking around until I can talk some sense into you.” He grinned. “Call it a haunting.”

The day could not get any better. “Do you mind if I go to the little werewolves’ room by myself?”

“Go ahead—I’ll wait.”

And he did. When I came out of the restroom, he followed me to the auditorium and sat down in the empty chair next to mine. Since nobody had taught exorcism, I knew of no way to get rid of a ghost and had to settle for ignoring him.

The afternoon session was a lot drier than the morning ones. Apparently Dr. Hogencamp and her late husband had researched all kinds of supernatural bloodlines, not just werewolves, and had investigated whether witches’ power was inherited and why some people became ghosts after death. Their conclusion was that supernaturals had something extra in their genetic makeup, which she referred to as the “arcane gene.”

She got more technical after that, talking recessives and dominants and trauma-induced phantomization, which apparently meant that a person who died horrifically had a better chance of becoming a ghost. After the first hour, I zoned out and started playing solitaire on my iPad. Only I couldn’t even enjoy that because Captain Bob kept pointing to cards to show me what I should play. Nor could I doze off because every time I shut my eyes, the ghost noisily cleared his throat, which both woke me up and left me wondering what he had in his throat to clear.

Finally the session ended, and we went to dinner. It was just a quick bite because it was the night of the full moon. Unlike in the movies, werewolves can Change anytime, and into any number of forms. I personally can’t manage anything that isn’t canine, but before I’d become lupine non grata, I’d heard a funny story about a kid who Changed into a reindeer. Technically, we don’t even have to Change on the full moon, except the first time. But it is traditional, so the seminar’s activities included a fun run through the resort’s extensive grounds.

After a cozy dinner alone with Captain Bob, I ducked into the bathroom, waited until the ghost was momentarily distracted, then snuck off to my cabin to Change. I usually run as a dog to avoid arousing fear, loathing, and wildlife control officers, but this time I went with a classic wolf. It’s good for all seasons, it’s slimming, and I’d be able to blend in with the other wolves.

That was the plan, anyway. Except that when I joined the wolves frolicking on the front lawn, it took about three minutes for the captain to figure out which wolf was me—I wasn’t sure if it was a ghostly talent or if another wolf squealed. Either way, as soon as he latched on to me, the other wolves found other places to be.

I ran into the forest as fast as I could, but Captain Bob had no problem keeping up, and when I ducked between trees and through underbrush, he went through it all as if it weren’t there. Or as if he weren’t there. Basically he sucked the fun out of the run, so after a frustrating hour, I decided it was time to give up.